State of Emergency: Jack Emery 2 (19 page)

“You look tired.” Celeste sat down next to him and took a sip from her own coffee. “Why don’t you take a break?”

“Yeah, okay.” Jack nodded and leaned back on the sofa. It was a ratty old thing, a castoff that had been exiled to live the last of its useful life in basement purgatory.

She touched the bruises on his face. “I wonder if we should just burn these documents and hide here for a year or two.”

Jack smiled and stroked her hair. “I’d love to, but we’d run out of tinned tuna before too long. Besides, I hate this décor too much to call it home. We’ll just have to stop Hall.”

While the US had seen its share of lunatics, extremists with poisonous ideology, Jack felt that Hall was the first with the unfettered power to back him up. In a year he’d created a police state without parallel in recent history, with more sophisticated surveillance than the East German Stasi and more military might than any regime in history. He had to be stopped.

She pursed her lips. “Easier said than done.”

“Totalitarianism and oppression only last as long as there’s a threat to make people afraid. Once there’s nothing to fear they want their rights back. Plus, if we don’t fight, nobody will. I’ve seen a lot of good people die this year, trying to do the right thing, some of them because of my mistakes. It needs to end.”

He was about to say more when there was a knock at the front door, a pounding that they could barely hear in the basement. Jack tensed and wished he had a weapon, but found it strange that the authorities would knock. That wasn’t FEMA’s style. They were more the ‘have goons kick in your door and shoot you in the face’ type. He looked at Celeste. She seemed relaxed as she stood. She smiled and gave him a single nod as she started up the stairs.

He thought briefly about trying to hide the papers, but there was no point. They were both fugitives, and there were so many classified documents in the basement that if it was the authorities at the door then they’d have ample evidence of wrongdoing. He sat back on the sofa and sipped his coffee, waiting for whoever Celeste had invited into the house. He wondered if it was a relative of the owner, Mariposa, or a straggler from the resistance.

It turned out to be neither. Jack gasped when he saw who was following Celeste down the stairs. He flared with anger and pitched his coffee cup across the room toward her. Elena flinched and cowered as the cup sailed past her head and shattered on the brick wall behind her. She held up both hands as he looked for something else to arm himself with. He stood and lifted the ashtray in the middle of the coffee table. He hefted it.

He didn’t get the chance to throw it before Celeste was in front of him, wrapping her arms around him and saying words he couldn’t process. Slowly, the red mist receded and he could hear her telling him it was okay, that she’d planned it, and that Elena was here to help. He growled in frustration and stepped backward, which seemed to satisfy Celeste. She let go, but remained between Jack and Elena, who was still on the stairs.

“Jack, please.” Elena’s voice was soft with emotion. He wondered what she’d been doing in the days since she’d sold him out. It had probably involved champagne and caviar.

“Elena, if you were on fire I wouldn’t piss on you.” He exhaled strongly through his nose and looked at Celeste. “Why did you bring her here?”

Celeste stepped close to him again, took hold of his hands and smiled. “Because she can help us, Jack. She’s scared, just like us. She wants to act, just like us.”

“The resistance is in tatters because of her!”

“You’re wrong.” Elena shrugged. “While I may have sold you out, the only other thing I did was confirm some information FEMA already had about the resistance and its members.”

“So they could kill them.”

“They’d have done that months ago, Jack, if you hadn’t been hiding. Hall was waiting for you to re-emerge. Once you did, he struck.”

Jack didn’t care what role she’d played in the dismantling of the resistance, either central coordinator or bit player. She’d betrayed him, betrayed their cause and helped to get a lot of people killed in the meantime. Personally, he’d never felt a punch to the guts like the moment she’d shown her true colors. It had been worse than the beating he’d taken. Worse than any beating he’d ever taken.

He was about to say more when Celeste put a hand on his shoulder. She leaned in close to his ear. “Jack, give her a chance. I think you should hear her out.”

He sighed. If he wasn’t so happy to be alongside Celeste, against all odds, he’d have resisted her advice. He clamped his teeth together. “Why are you here, Elena?”

She smiled sadly and started to walk down the stairs again. He put down the ashtray and stood with his fists balled by his side as she joined them, and they all took a seat on one of the two sofas. She crossed her legs in front of her and seemed to consider her words carefully before she spoke. He waited, impatiently, while she seemed to struggle to find what she wanted to say.

Finally, she spoke. “Jack, I just want to say that I’m sorry. Beyond sorry. Hall imprisoned my fiancé, as you know, and he’s been used as leverage against me.”

“Sorry, but I don’t care.” He stared straight at her. “A whole lot of my friends are dead now because of the action you took.”

“I know.” She smiled sadly. “And I’m sorry. I made the wrong choices. But I knew you wouldn’t be giving up. That’s why I’m here.”

“How did you find us?” Jack’s eyes flicked to Celeste, then back to Elena, when finally the realization hit him. “Hickens.”

She nodded. “He’s been my friend for a long time, Jack. I didn’t sell him out. He tracked your phone to this location, though he assures me the NSA can’t do the same.”

“Fuck me, did he give my number or location to everyone who asked?” He sighed and rubbed his face. “Just go, Elena. There’s nothing you can do that I’d trust you to do.”

“I can get a message to Hall.” She dropped the revelation like a bomb. “I can tell him where you are. That must be a massive opportunity in some way.”

Jack paused. A plan began to form in his head. Several times the women asked him what was going on and if he was okay, but he ignored them. It would be a long shot, but if Elena really could get a message to Hall, then it might work. He closed his eyes and turned the fledgling plan over in his head, probing for flaws and trouble spots. Hall had proven to be a detailed planner, but consistent in his habits. Predictable. It just might work.

He opened his eyes and smiled. They had to stop Hall, who now had the entire apparatus of the US government and military at his disposal. If they failed, there wouldn’t be a country worth living in. It was time to take a final stand. He spent the next hour explaining the plan to them. At first, they doubted him, then they started to come around to his thinking.

When he was finished, Elena laughed. “More than happy to do my part in that, Jack.”

“Wait a minute.” Celeste looked concerned. “He’s got the military, Jack. It’s impossible.”

“Not impossible, just difficult.” He shared her grim expression. “We win or we die.”

Jack sat on the bench, a baseball cap covering his head and his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. His disguise wouldn’t deter a keen observer, but he had to hope that his efforts would hold up to a casual glance by a passer by. For extra concealment, he had his back to the road. He stared out into the distance, enjoying the fact that he had little but the giant mass of Lake Michigan for company.

“Jack Emery. I knew they couldn’t fucking kill you!”

Jack smiled when he heard the voice. It was barely a loud whisper, but the speaker was close enough that Jack could hear every word. He’d know that voice underwater. He turned and his smile only grew wider. Dan Ortiz was standing there in uniform, looking a lot less scruffy than the last time Jack had seen him. The meeting they’d had in Millennium Park felt like it was a century ago.

“Good to see you, Dan.” Jack reached out a hand and they shook. “You’re late.”

Ortiz laughed. “They had bacon in the mess this morning.”

Jack scoffed. “Take a seat, Dan. I need to talk to you. I need your help.”

Ortiz nodded, rounded the bench and sat down. He pulled out a cigarette, saw the look Jack gave him and then put the packet away. He shook his head. “Don’t judge me.”

“Didn’t say a word.” Jack smiled.

“Like hell.” Ortiz sparked the cigarette and took a long drag, then blew it out slowly.

“Thanks for meeting with me. I know it’s not safe.”

“You’re telling me it’s not safe? I’m the one got you involved in all of this shit, Jack. I reckon we’re even in the danger stakes.” Ortiz shrugged. “So what do you need?”

Jack had considered his next words for the past week, but they still didn’t come easily. He’d spent that time working up the plan with Elena and Celeste. They’d concluded that while it had a theoretical chance, there was a high likelihood that they’d end up dead. They’d all come to terms with that fact, but asking Ortiz to help – a man with a career and a family largely untouched by the takeover – troubled him.

More troubling still was the idea of Richard Hall continuing to tighten his grip on a country that was nearly exhausted. Whatever the risk, whatever the threat, he knew the plan and what it could achieve was worth it. Between them, Jack, Celeste and Elena had considerable talents in analyzing information and telling a story, but without the means to broadcast it they were toothless. Jack knew a solution.

“We’ve got everything we need to bring down Hall and FEMA. It’s as simple as that.”

“No, it’s not, or I wouldn’t be here.” Ortiz slapped Jack on the leg. “Get on with it.”

Jack stared down at his feet. “I have information, but no way to broadcast it.”

If only Ortiz knew the half of it. He dug into his pocket, pulled out a few folded sheets of paper and handed them over. The sheets were a typed summary of events between the start of the attacks and now, with highlighter marks next to the events that Jack had managed to link to FEMA. He waited as the other man scanned the documents, a range of emotions rolling across his face. Mostly anger.

After a while, Ortiz handed them back and looked squarely at him, his eyes probing for any hint of mistruth. “I’m listening, Jack.”

Jack stared back at the lake. “What’s the feeling inside the Marines?”

“People are shitty we’re taking orders from FEMA now.” Ortiz’s voice dripped with disdain. “From the same guy that shot up the 38th Infantry in Indianapolis.”

“So, big fans then.”

“Yeah, the boys are getting their tits out for autographs. But why do you ask?”

Jack smiled. “I have a mountain of stuff. If I can get it out, it’ll topple Hall, FEMA and the State Guard. It has to. But I need your help. Lots of it.”

“OK.” Ortiz tapped his foot. “I’ll play along. If I help you out with that, what happens? We take back the country?”

“Something like that.” Jack nodded. He didn’t need to tell Ortiz that his ambitions were a hell of a lot bigger than that. “But there’ll only be one chance. If we fail, we die.”

“I’m used to those sort of odds.” Ortiz smiled. “But how can some grunts help with what you need? They’re blocking our comms, so it’s not like you can use the Marine network.”

“Well, that’s the thing.” Jack turned his head to look at Ortiz, whose gaze was locked on him. “Have you ever heard of the Emergency Alert System?”

***

Richard watched with interest as the man’s eyes bulged and his body fought hard against the restraints. The medical professionals kept their distance from the gurney, even as the guard and priest did their best to calm the man down. Richard couldn’t hear what they were saying through the glass, but guessed it had something to do with the futility of the struggle. Though the man was strapped in tight, Richard respected the effort.

He leaned forward, his face inches from the glass. He’d never seen a man die and the process of a state-sanctioned killing – calculated, clinical and just – fascinated him. It was the ultimate manifestation of the power of the state over the individual, the ultimate upholder of order against the worst crimes: in this case, the efforts by rebels to undermine his important work. He didn’t like having to do this, but nor could he cower from it.

Eventually, the staff inside the room calmed the man down enough for the two orderlies to go to work. Richard was amused by the fact that they still swabbed the man’s arm with alcohol, considering infection was probably a moot point for someone who’d be dead in an hour. They then inserted a pair of IV tubes into his arm, attached the line and secured the whole setup. After a saline drip and a heart monitor were attached, it was ready.

As the priest did his work, the prison officer keyed the intercom. “Administrator Hall, we’re about to begin.”

Richard smiled. Even though he had no role to play, the staff were clearly unnerved by his presence. He pressed the button on his own intercom panel. “Don’t let me stop you.”

“Okay, sir.”

Richard sat back and waited as the final spiritual preparations were made. Though there had been other executions under FEMA’s watch, this was the first he’d watched. He cursed as his phone suddenly started to blare. He stared down at it and felt faint as soon as he read the message. It was as if all of his Christmases had come at once. Elena Winston had texted him that Jack Emery was alive and was planning a major broadcast of information against FEMA. Most importantly, she knew where he was.

Richard’s lips peeled back into a smile. He glanced up at the man doomed to die, pleased that the process had started. But his attention was now elsewhere, on Elena Winston and Jack Emery. Richard had thought she’d gone rogue, but it sounded like she was just where he needed her. He was glad that the room to witness the execution was empty. This was the opportunity to put the final piece in the puzzle. He dialed her number and waited until she picked up, then waited again while the encryption technology on his phone did its thing.

Finally able to speak, he took a deep breath. “Elena? It’s Richard Hall. You’ve got some explaining to do.”

To her credit, she didn’t hide from his accusation. “I’ve been held up. When the two you sent failed to do the job, I was worried you’d blame me. But I know where Jack Emery is.”

Emery was the last piece in a very large puzzle. “Tell me.”

“He’s at a house. It’s just a regular, suburban place. He’s sitting on a mountain of information that was leaked by one of your staff. Mariposa Esposito?”

Richard’s eyes widened and his mind screamed. Somehow Emery had got his hands on the Holy Grail. Elena couldn’t be lying because she had no way of knowing. In the blink of an eye Emery had graduated from washed-up minor annoyance to the most dangerous man on the planet. With the information that Mariposa had trawled, Emery would have all he needed to put the pieces together on nearly everything Richard had been doing. As much as those actions had been necessary, they wouldn’t resonate well with the broader public. Crucially, Emery had shown through the saga with the Foundation for a New America that he had the ingenuity to get the word out. He had to be dealt with.

“Give me the address, Elena.”

She paused. It betrayed her nerves. “For a price, sure.”

He rolled his eyes. “Name it.”

“You release my fiancé.” Her voice was angry. He couldn’t blame her, given how badly he’d played her. He regretted it, slightly, but it had been necessary. “And leave us alone.”

“Done.” Richard knew the deal even before she’d asked for it. The release of one man was a trifling matter. “Your information better be good.”

“The release first.”

Richard sighed. “The address first. You’ve got precious little credit left with me, Elena. You can be smart and alive or dumb and dead. Make your decision.”

She gave him the address and Richard hung up the call. He sent out a message to have Elena’s fiancé released, then quickly dialed another number. Time was of the essence. As he waited, he watched as drugs were pumped into the man on the gurney. Where he might have expected spectacular convulsions, blood –
something
– instead the man’s heart slowed, betrayed only by the heart rate monitor that showed it was done. As he watched the priest close the man’s eyes, Richard considered that his work in fixing America was nearly done. There was only one more thing to do.

Jack Emery had to die.

***

One felt a sense of closure. Barring a major surprise, this would be her last mission for Richard Hall – the assassination of Jack Emery, the man responsible for the resistance that had kept her busy for months. She’d thought the attack on the President’s convoy would signal the end of their arrangement, but Hall had contacted her with blunt instructions: kill Jack Emery, no matter how loud or costly. Loud and costly her team could do, especially for a large pile of cash.

She nodded at Two. “Go.”

The small ram that Two swung at the door took just a couple of hard strikes to send the flimsy wooden thing swinging back on its hinges. As he backed away and threw the ram onto the lawn, the rest of her team surged inside. She’d left nobody on guard, this job was going to be done quickly, brutally and by the numbers. She let her team move inside before following, with Two bringing up the rear to keep their exit clear.

She moved through the house with the rest of her team. With each room they reached, a member of the team split off to make sure it was clear. She kept her weapon raised as she entered the kitchen when it came to her turn. The flash light on the end of her weapon illuminated the room. As the rest of the team started to report in, she scanned the kitchen a few times back and forth, then added her call to the mix.

The house was small, so it didn’t take long. She’d made a decision to enter with maximum aggression, one member of her team per room, given it was unlikely that Emery was expecting an assault. He also probably didn’t have the capacity to fight back, even if he was. While she wouldn’t usually go in so loud, she hadn’t had time to plan properly or get hold of the floor plans. That meant speed was their best protection.

As the last member of her team reported in, having checked the yard, she paused near the entrance to the basement, the only possible place for Emery to be hiding. Either that or Hall’s information was incorrect and Emery wasn’t here. But Hall had been right about nearly everything else since she’d been working with him, so she figured the likelihood of bad intelligence was fairly low.

She keyed her mic. “Okay, basement it is.”

The order was confirmed in her headset. Three and Four reached for the handle, opened the door and then moved down the stairs. One followed, leaving the others upstairs. She reached the bottom of the stairs and her eyes widened as she saw the mountains of paper stacked in the middle of the room. She walked over to it as Three and Four stood alert. She gave the material a cursory glance. She’d found the information, but not Emery.

“Fucking hell, guys.” She scoffed. The shock at finding so much information and the frustration at not finding Emery struck home. “Would you look at all of this?”

Three broke into a broad grin. “I wonder if there’s—”

A single thud from upstairs interrupted him mid-sentence. It was a sound akin to a sack of potatoes hitting the floor. They looked to the ceiling and raised their weapons. One’s mind screamed with possibilities as she froze, waiting for another sound or for one of her team to open the door, stick their heads in the basement and tell her it was okay – that someone had made a mistake. Her team didn’t make mistakes. There were two more thuds.

“Move guys.” She took one step toward the stairs, weapon raised, when the door at the top opened. A pair of small metal canisters bounced down the stairs and she heard the distinctive rattle of metal on concrete. She knew the green canisters well. “Oh, fuck.”

The flash bangs exploded with light and noise. One tried to shield her eyes, but it was far too late. She staggered and dropped to one knee. She was blinded and couldn’t hear anything around her. A few seconds later she felt a blow against her temple. She fell to the ground and screamed in pain as a boot found her midsection, again and again, until she was against something – a wall or some sort of furniture. Then she felt a barrel press against her skull.

It took some time for her vision to clear. When it did, she was lying on her side, able to see the brutal consequences of Richard Hall’s miscalculation in full technicolor. It burned in her vision worse than the stun grenades. Three and Four were splayed out in front of her, a pair of corpses who minutes ago had been highly skilled men she’d considered friends and colleagues. The story would be the same upstairs.