The Alliance (36 page)

 

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins
Publishers

....................................

Chapter
102

I begged the grand commander to let me leave her there. She deserved to be someone else's problem now. He promised me all in
good time.

—­The journal of Isaac Ryland

Nobody cared about Ian's absence, not even his daughter or public wife. Grant wondered if any of the wives he kept in private would mourn his loss. Not that it mattered. Grant was alone in his room. He examined himself in his closet mirror. He wore black pants and a black dress shirt. He straightened his gold tie and vest before putting on a crimson velvet jacket. Grant admired himself. His wedding attire was worth more than most ­people's homes.

Grant moved his arms and the small flecks of gold stitching showed off subtly in the mirror. He was the all-­American male and looked the part. But one thing was off. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the American flag pin Ian had worn. He stuck it on his lapel and had to admit it gave him a certain look of glamour.

Grant leaned into the mirror and examined the bruise on the side of his face. It was starting to show through the makeup. He couldn't have that.

Even though he found the process degrading, Grant had little option but to summon Greg Finnegan's makeup artist again. When a knock on the door came, Grant went to greet the helper. It was the same man from yesterday. He carried a kit and a light-­up mirror.

“You might be the most distinguished-­looking groom I have ever seen,” the man said.

Grant didn't need another person to tell him that. He was aware of that fact himself. Grant held his arm out and motioned for the man to enter. He went for Grant's desk and started setting up his supplies. Grant took a seat and the man started rubbing the makeup on his skin.

“Less than an hour left,” the man said. “How are those butterflies?”

“Excuse me?” Grant asked.

“Stomach nerves? I mean, you're getting married on national television, that has to increase the adrenaline.”

Grant didn't bother with a response.

“On my wedding day I was throwing up in a bucket,” he said. “It was out of happiness though.”

Grant wished the man would shut up.

“My outfit wasn't nearly as grand as yours,” he said. “I wore my old ser­vice uniform . . . not even the fancy one because I didn't move up in rank that much.”

“You got here fast,” Grant said.

He wasn't in a mood to bloody his knuckles and thought if the man continued with his story Grant would be forced to deck him in the jaw out of annoyance.

“I was sitting downstairs waiting,” he said.

“I assumed Greg would be having his makeup done.”

“Greg went to pick up his date.”

“His partner?” Grant asked.

“No,” the man said. “Poor Nicholas isn't feeling well. A friend is letting him take his wife as an escort. Strange if you ask me, but boy, was she beautiful. One of the most beautiful girls I've ever seen. I did her makeup earlier today. She had big blue eyes, shorter hair but long enough for me to give the illusion of length.”

This struck Grant as wrong. No man would lend his wife out for the evening. If she was beautiful that meant her husband had a lot of money, and that rule went double for wealthy men.

“The rumor is Nicholas and Greg are splitting up anyway,” the makeup man said. “We don't like to gossip too much but the last time I saw Nicholas was at your old wife's funeral. Funny, I almost forgot you were married before. Sorry if I'm opening up old wounds, I sometimes—­”

“This conversation is very boring,” Grant said. “Why don't we play a game where you don't open your mouth?”

No,
Grant thought to himself. Amelia was dead; that description could have fit a number of women. For all of Greg Finnegan's faults, he was a proud American. Grant wasn't about to let paranoia over take him. Another knock came on the door. Grant was happy for the distraction. The man in charge of audio walked into the room.

“Are you ready for your microphone?”

“Yes,” Grant said.

He stood up from his chair and the man walked over with the small black box he would hide under Grant's clothing.

“Are you planning on taking the jacket off tonight?”

“Possibly,” Grant said.

“Lift your arms and untuck your shirt. I'll hide the box in the back of your waistband and run the mic up to the front of your shirt. Hide it under your tie.”

Grant did as instructed, happy that this would be his last microphone fitting. Once the man was done he went to the controller he carried and put headphones over his ears.

“I'm going to turn this on,” he said. “Give me a few test words.”

“Let me know when you're ready,” Grant said.

The man flipped the switch and then winced in pain. He flung the headphones off his ears and they hit the ground. Grant wasn't expecting that response.

“Ahh,” the man said, wincing.

“Are you all right?” the makeup artist asked.

“That is the second time this has happened to me this month,” he said. “There's something giving feedback close to the microphone.”

“What do you mean?” Grant asked.

“Another electronic device,” the man said. “It happened with the grand commander a few weeks ago. He insisted he didn't have anything on him. We scanned the whole place for additional electronics and couldn't find anything. It took me thirty minutes to get the mic set to a frequency that didn't cause that noise.”

“Maybe your equipment is faulty?” the makeup artist suggested.

Of all the foolish things Grant had done, this was the one he was the most embarrassed about. The one thing he had in common with Ian was sitting on the lapel of his jacket. Grant ripped off the pin.

“Try again,” Grant said.

“You don't know how bad that hurts,” the man said. “Let me get a scan set up first.”

“No,” Grant said. “Right now.”

The tone of Grant's voice was threatening enough. The man picked up his headphones and nervously switched them back on.

“Oh,” he said. “Must have been a fluke. You're fine now.”

The pin. It wasn't a pin at all, but a bug sent to record the grand commander. Grant didn't know if it was a camera or only an audio recorder, but either way whoever had access to its information now had the key to the master Registry. Amelia's existence didn't seem so important anymore.

Grant rushed out of the room, dropping the pin in the process. He ran down the stairs, ignoring the glares of the guests who had just entered his home.

“You look fabulous,” one said.

Grant kept moving toward the back. He made it to the head of security for the event.

“Has anyone noticed anything suspicious?” Grant asked.

“Everything is running smooth,” the guard answered. “Why, did you hear something?”

“Shhh,” Grant said.

He needed the quiet to think. Most of the important ­people in America were heading to his house. That left the Mission very vulnerable. If he brought in an entire team to help him it might create too many questions. Whoever the ­people who bugged the pin were, they were armed with the knowledge that Grant had killed Ian. This information would give any American the right to kill him and strip him of the grand commander title he deserved. He pictured the redheaded assassin, the bumbling Alex, and whoever else had been helping Amelia. It could be them trying to destroy his country. Tonight would be the perfect night to attack.

He went back through the hall, pushing past the guests who were heading toward the site of his ceremony until he was out the front door.

Grant ran down the length of his driveway, blocking out the greetings ­people were giving him. He made it toward the valet who was parking ­people's cars. Grant grabbed the set of keys a new guest was handing over and ran toward the driver's side of their sporty red car.

As soon as he started the car he hit the gas pedal.

 

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins
Publishers

....................................

Chapter
103

I spent most of the drive fantasizing ways to punish my wife. I decided it was best to leave her locked alone in a room for several weeks.

—­The journal of Isaac Ryland

The car came to a stop at the gate of the Mission. Like Affinity had predicted it did not appear to be guarded well. There was a single worker blocking the iron gates that surrounded the building. He got up from his post and walked around toward Trent's lowered window. Trent held his RAG badge out the window.

“Business here, sir?”

“I have some prisoners to escort,” Trent said.

The guard looked back at the three in the backseat. “This is not the jail,” he said.

“These are special cases,” Trent said. “Grant Marsden requested I bring them here.”

“I haven't received any notice,” the guard said.

“Well, it is his wedding night,” Trent said. “Maybe he called it in late? I can help you check.”

“Stay in your vehicle,” the man said.

The first bump,
Andrew thought. The guard started walking back toward the booth. Trent waited until he was in front of the car before opening his door.

“Sir, I instructed you to stay in your vehicle,” the guard said.

Trent met him at the front of the car.

“I really wanted to stretch my legs,” he said.

The guard reached for his gun. Trent held his hands in the air.

“I am a close personal friend of Grant Marsden's and I know he would hate for this to get screwed up. I would really appreciate it if you let me take a look at your logs.”

Trent went toward the guard, his hands still in the air, and draped one around the man's shoulders. Andrew couldn't hear what they said but recognized the movement Trent was trying to hide from the security cameras. Trent held the man up but had already shot him with the silenced gun in his pocket. Trent walked the man's body into the booth and set him down in the chair. Andrew hoped whoever was watching thought this looked like a friendly exchange. Trent hit the button and the gate rose. He turned around and waved at the dead body for good measure before climbing into the front seat.

“Piece of cake,” Trent said.

Trent drove the rest of the way up to the front. He left the car parked outside and stepped out. The two guards at the front door came down to meet him. It appeared they hadn't drawn any unwanted attention yet. Trent opened the back door. He grabbed Carter and pulled him out.

“I'd appreciate your help with the other two,” Trent said.

A guard came over and pulled Andrew out of the car. The third came and grabbed Riley.

“This one is a woman,” the guard said.

“She's an Irish spy,” Trent said. “I wouldn't get too close to her. Now, Mr. Marsden instructed me to take these three to the most secure room here. He didn't trust the jail, explained it to your man down there.”

“Normally Charlie calls us when a car is driving up,” a guard said.

“You do have special holding cells, right?” Trent asked.

“Of course,” the other guard said.

They led the three prisoners through the front door; the crimson and gold interior was more lavish than Andrew had expected. He waited for Riley to take her shot. As soon as Andrew heard the moan from the other guard he pushed away from his guard and pulled his gun, angling it up and firing twice. Riley took off running. She had to make it to the security room before any other ­people were notified of their presence.

Trent started dragging the guards' bodies back to their posts. Andrew took off running, with Carter right behind him. Both men undid their cuffs as they ran. No alarm had sounded yet and Andrew took that as a good sign. He ran the memorized path and soon they were in the hall of paintings. Carter went flat against the wall. He had to keep watch and provide cover and nodded at Andrew to keep going.

Everything went according to plan. Andrew found the false panel and the door swung open. He ran down the steps toward the keypad. He typed in the memorized code Zack had given him. The door did not open. It blinked at him in error. Dread covered Andrew's face. They had lost.

 

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins
Publishers

....................................

Chapter
104

I started destroying the cargo the driver was delivering until he opened up the back door. He put a knife to my neck and in an instant I remembered my combat training and took it away from him. He looked helpless at the receiving end of my blade. I couldn't bring myself to kill him though; instead I took off running.

—­The diary of Megan Jean

Mia kept pacing back and forth. She'd spent the afternoon thinking of what to say and took solace in the fact that Greg would lead her.

“He should have been here fifty minutes ago,” Zack said.

“Greg wouldn't let us down,” Alex said.

“You're saying that about a man who has been lying to his own country for years,” Zack said.

“Maybe something happened to him,” Corinna said.

Mia feared that was the case. They heard a noise and Mia froze in place. She heard footsteps heading toward the waiting room. Zack drew his weapon.

“Where did you get that?” Frank asked.

“Greg said not to bring a weapon in here,” Alex said.

The door swung open and Greg Finnegan stood there in his full formal attire.

“Apologies for my tardiness,” Greg said. “But I had to pick up this.”

He was carrying a garment bag over his shoulder. He stepped into the room and hung the bag. He brought the zipper down and a long, flowing dress spilled out. It had wide crimson straps that met at a gold belt. A shimmering piece of gold material went up the center. The skirt was different lengths at spots and seemed to move on its own.

“You were late because you had to pick up a dress?” Zack asked.

“I don't have time to argue with you,” Greg said.

He went toward Mia and put his hands on her shoulders.

“Change and meet me on the studio floor,” Greg said. “Men, come with me.”

Greg stormed out of the room and Mia was left alone with Corinna.

“Are you nervous?” Corinna asked.

She went toward the garment bag and took the dress off its hanger. Mia stripped out of her clothes and Corinna helped slide the gown over her head.

“I don't know what to say,” Mia said. “This seems like such a mess. This obsession with beauty is part of the ideals I want to end. Greg thought getting this dress was more important than prepping me.”

“I saw the dress back at the house,” Corinna said. “Greg wasn't late for that reason.”

Mia gave Corinna an accusatory glance.

“I have always been a bit of a snoop,” Corinna said. “He was late because he didn't want to prep you.”

Corinna gripped Mia by the shoulders.

“You know what to say,” Corinna said. “Whatever your heart tells you. I have never admired a single person as much as I admire you.”

“I'm not special,” Mia said.

Corinna spun Mia around so she was looking in the mirror.

“Do you know what I see?”

Mia didn't respond.

“I see someone with a kind soul. You had everything you ever wanted, first with Grant's proposal, then finding love with Andrew. The two of you could have gone off and lived a safe, quiet life, but instead you came back to help ­people you don't even know and will probably never meet. I don't know if I would have had the courage to accomplish that.”

“This all started because of you,” Mia said. “When you told me about that magazine article it changed my whole outlook.”

“No,” Corinna said. “This started years ago when the Registry was put in place. We are the ones who are going to stop it and you will lead us in that endeavor.”

Mia turned around and gave her sister a hug. She was at a loss for words. This felt too real.

“What if I made a mistake?” Mia asked. “What if Andrew dies tonight?”

“You wouldn't love him if he wasn't willing to take that risk,” Corinna said. “Now get out there, sit on that couch, and wait for your signal to begin your story.”

Mia gave a half smile. She forced her fears away. She wasn't doing this for herself or for those she loved. Mia was doing this for the whole world.