The Alliance (8 page)

 

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Publishers

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

Chapter
20

We arrived to see that about one thousand survivors had picked up our message and traveled to our destination. Almost all of them are soldiers and they are celebrating new faces. Something is wrong though; the men outnumber the women at least ten to one, if not more. The general seems confident more will come, but it seems to me the only ­people who survived this poisoning are ­people who were not present.

—­The journal of Isaac Ryland

The Mission was becoming a second home to Grant. He didn't appreciate being summoned at Ian's beck and call but was getting used to the building. He knocked on the door to Ian's office and let himself inside. He couldn't wait until this room belonged to him. Ian was behind his desk and waved Grant over. The old man was on the phone.

“Splendid,” he said. “Please keep me up to date on their travels.”

Grant sat down and smoothed out his striped shorts. They were black and white with small red lines. He wore a light red sweater to match. Grant leaned back in the chair and brought his foot up to his knee. He noticed a scuff in his black penny loafers and tried to rub it out.

“Did you look into the backstory?” Ian asked. “Remember, these ­people are our allies. I don't think it's anything to worry about as long as everything checks out all right. Some information may get lost in translation.”

The scuff was coming out and Grant was glad to have a way to hide his interest in Ian's conversation. He wondered what problem the grand commander was overlooking now.

“Thank you,” Ian said. “Good-­bye.”

He set the phone down and wasted no time engaging Grant in conversation.

“Our international guests are starting to arrive.”

“Is there a problem?”

“No,” Ian said. “A typo on one of the forms. Three of the nine countries have arrived. They will be here by the end of the week.”

“Could I take a look at who is coming?” Grant asked. “I would like to memorize their information.”

“You only have to worry about the countries' leaders,” Ian said. “Not their escorts.”

“I want to use everything at my disposal to charm them,” Grant said.

This was the third time he had made this request. Grant was pleased when Ian opened his desk drawer and pulled out a flash drive.

“Since you've asked so nicely,” Ian said. “Is your home coming along?”

“Everything will be perfect for the wedding,” Grant said.

“Tamara is excited,” Ian said. “It's all she'll speak of.”

“Is that why you called me down here today?”

“Of course not,” Ian said. “I scheduled another taping of
The Greg Finnegan Show
. You haven't been in public for almost two weeks. He is going to interview you about the wedding.”

Grant smiled through his teeth. He hated Greg Finnegan and his television show. It was the most watched program in all of America and the ­people regarded Finnegan as their nightly source for the most important news. The man was a flake though, and Grant wished he could limit their interaction.

“You could have phoned to tell me that,” Grant said.

“The last time I did that you had an excuse why you couldn't come down,” Ian said. “This way you're already here. Besides, the taping will take place in the Mission. The ­people will become comfortable seeing you here. Trust me when I say this may appear minor, but we want the transition as smooth as possible.”

“Instead of worrying about our citizens,” Grant said, “I was hoping you could tell me more about the position itself. What do I have left to learn?”

“Everything else you will learn over the next few years,” Ian said. “Watching me.”

“What about the security codes?” Grant asked. “I think I've earned your trust.”

“I am the only one who knows those,” Ian said.

He raised a white eyebrow at Grant.

Grant smiled politely and nodded. “My concern is about an accident though,” he said. “What if you meet an untimely death? What would happen then?”

“I have thought about that before,” Ian said. “I hope you would create a copy of the information the public uses before a group of renegades have the chance to hack those. You would have the authority to create a new master list and I hope you would act quickly.”

“But those are vulnerable to attack,” Grant said.

“Nothing will happen to me,” Ian said.

Outside of Grant's wanting control he could see that Ian's belief that he was infallible was a mistake. There was no use trying to talk sense into the man. Grant changed the subject.

“I see you are still wearing the American pin our French guests sent you,” Grant said.

“I do like it,” Ian said.

Grant let the smile linger on his lips, but he could not draw his eyes away from the pin. It represented everything Ian was doing wrong: accepting gifts from outsiders, caring too much about keeping the status quo instead of making America a better, stronger country. As soon as Grant had those codes he would rip that pin off of Ian's shirt and shove it down his throat.

 

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

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

Chapter
21

We received a radio message, urging ­people to head to Washington State. I keep thinking of my run-­in with the other traveling party, but my new friend is insistent we join the new civilization emerging on the coast.

—­The diary of Megan Jean

The sun flooded Mia's hotel room and she was happy to get out of bed. Whatever sleep had come to her the previous night had been minimal, and at least now she had an excuse to start getting ready for the day's activities.

She had become so obsessed with speaking in a French accent that even her internal monologue was producing one. Still, she hoped Agent Barker would have fewer questions today.

Mia showered and tried her best to style her hair. She found it strange the short hair took longer to get presentable than her long hair did. Once she was finished she dressed in a pair of orange wide-­legged pants and a white short-­sleeved blouse. She plopped her wide-­brimmed hat on her head just as a knock on her door came. In the hall were Albin, Flo, and Agent Barker. Mia forced a smile before joining them in the hall, pulling her small suitcase behind her.

“Did you sleep well?” Albin asked.

“I miss France,” Mia said.

She meant it too. The hotel room wasn't a single percent as exquisite as Flo's home. It was a tiny space with a small uncomfortable mattress, but Mia knew that wasn't the reason for her lack of sleep.

“Well, maybe you shouldn't have come,” Agent Barker said.

Flo turned around to defend Mia, but the agent was already starting down the hall.

“Where is the security?” Mia asked.

“They're waiting outside,” Flo said. Under her breath she added, “It seems Agent Barker had them sleep as far away from us as possible.”

“Why?” Mia whispered back.

“To prove he is in control,” Albin said.

“We have a strict schedule,” Agent Barker said. “Please keep up.”

The trio broke off their conversation and followed the agent down the hall. They stayed on the first floor of the empty hotel and nobody noticed their presence. When the group went outside the two black SUVs were waiting. Agent Barker opened the door to one and climbed inside. The driver grabbed Mia's bag and loaded it into the rear.

“Where is our security?” Flo asked him.

The driver did not respond.

“Sir,” Albin said. “Please answer the question.”

“They are in the second car,” he said. “Already loaded up.”

Mia took note of the fact that the driver responded to Albin with ease yet ignored Flo altogether. She was more used to this behavior than the prime minister but had a feeling it wasn't affecting Flo in the slightest. Mia wished she had the older woman's self-­control.

The three entered the SUV. Flo sat next to Agent Barker and Albin sat across from him, giving Mia the seat farthest from the man. She was grateful for that distance.

“We have an eight-­and-­a-­half-­hour drive,” Agent Barker said. “Then we'll stop and tour a youth home. After that we'll drive four more hours and rest for the night. All your meals are scheduled.”

“We didn't get breakfast,” Flo said.

Agent Barker kept his eyes glued to Albin.

“There are pastries for you and your guests in the side compartment,” he said.

Albin smiled and leaned over, coming back with a white box. He offered Flo the first choice, then Mia. She shook her head. There was no way her stomach could hold food. Albin shrugged and picked out a frosted treat before putting the box on the seat.

“They should be serving you,” Agent Barker said.

“Can we keep it civil?” Flo said. “If you have such a problem with our ways maybe you can switch places with a member of my security? They have been much more agreeable.”

Barker didn't look at Flo. Instead he tapped twice on the partition and the driver took off. Mia gazed out the tinted window. She didn't want to stop at the orphanage. More than anything else Mia wished this trip was over with.

“You look so familiar,” Agent Barker said.

“I am in many pictures with the prime minister,” Albin said.

“Not you,” Barker said. “Jeanette.”

Mia turned to face him.

“Where do I know you from?”

Her heart jumped in her throat. The man was examining her face and Mia tried her best not to tremble. The government might have destroyed all photographs of her, but if Agent Barker had been active during her escape there was no doubt her face had crossed his desk on many occasions.

“Jeanette used to model,” Flo said. “Mainly cologne.”

Barker laughed. “Cologne is for men,” he said.

“Sorry for the translation issue,” Albin said. “She means perfume.”

“I bet you could sell a lot of things to men,” Agent Barker said.

The car went silent.

“I value my mind more than my appearance,” Mia said.

“That's a shame,” Agent Barker replied.

He appeared content with the explanation and reached for the box of pastries.

“Tell me, are you married?” Albin asked.

“No,” Agent Barker said. “I want to wait, maybe another ten years. My wife will be beautiful. Perfect.”

“Then maybe you should stop speaking of things you have such little knowledge of,” Albin said.

Agent Barker leaned back in his seat. He did not have a response and Mia was grateful. She went back to staring out the window, certain the agent's eyes were still fixed upon her. Mia closed her own, hoping sleep would come and take her away from the ill feeling that she would never make it across the country alive.

 

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

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Publishers

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

Chapter
22

I always prided myself on being an educated man, but now it appears a weakness. Brawn is more favored than brains in our new society and I am forced to keep my mouth shut as we work to build it.

—­The journal of Isaac Ryland

The images on the flash drive were projected onto Grant's wall. He could use his hand to rifle through them and pull up the file that went with the corresponding face. There were nine countries invited, yet photographs were available of only the supreme leaders of the land. In total twenty-­three guests were making their way to his country, and that did not include their American soldier escorts. Some groups had one or two, while others had as many as six or seven.

Grant had pulled all of their names and every one checked out. There were no girls around Mia's age on any of the manifests. Several of the groups reported bringing young men into the country with them and Grant wondered if Mia was back to posing as a male.

It had taken a few hours, but Grant had finally used the information to find the names of the RAG agents in charge of the foreign visitors. Six teams were already in the country. It made Grant's skin crawl to think America was being invaded like this. He picked up his phone and dialed the next number on his list of agents.

“Agent Fuller,” the man said as he picked up the phone.

“Special Agent Fuller,” Grant said. “This is Grant Marsden. I am calling to check on the status of our guests.”

There was silence for a moment on the other end.

“Is this a joke?” the agent asked.

“No,” Grant said. “Please tell me, how are our foreign visitors?”

“Sir,” Agent Fuller said. “It is an honor to hear from you, I am one of your biggest supporters.”

“Thank you,” Grant said. Each of the four phone calls prior to this one had gone similarly. With each number he dialed, Grant's patience was spread thinner.

“Were there any problems or issues with our guests?” Grant asked.

He had his computer screen up with the information Ian had supplied. A photograph of the supreme leader of each country, along with the names and dates of birth of their civilian escorts, then information on the American soldiers escorting the parties.

“Problems? No, sir, none at all,” the agent said.

“I know you are eager to please,” Grant said. “But I want to hear all the details. Is everyone on the itinerary accounted for?”

“President Mannhouse's flight landed safely,” Agent Fuller said. “He brought along his son Bradley. They appear content. No issues to report.”

“No females in the group?”

“None, sir,” Agent Fuller said.

Grant let out a sigh; another wasted phone call.

“I would love to take this time to tell you how inspiring I find your story. Everyone is expecting Grand Commander Miller to announce you as his replacement and I think the country couldn't be left to better hands.”

“Thank you for time,” Grant said.

“The way that you have overcome so much with your wife's passing and how you have dedicated your life to bettering our armed ser­vices are an inspiration. I would love to—­”

Grant hung up the phone. He didn't care about his celebrity status. There were too many coincidences going on at the moment and Grant was certain Mia was on her way into the country. The last name on his list to call was an Agent Barker. Grant pulled up the picture of the French leader and rolled his eyes as he saw the woman's picture on his screen. Her itinerary listed two male companions. Grant dialed Agent Barker's phone number.

“Agent Barker,” the man said.

“Hello. This is Grant Marsden. I am phoning to check on the status of our international guests.”

“This is . . .
the
Grant Marsden?”

“Yes,” Grant said. “Now, how are my guests doing?”

“Sir,” Agent Barker said. “This is truly a privilege to hear from you. I—­”

“Thank you for your words,” Grant said, interrupting. “But my time is limited. How is your trip?”

“Yes, sir, of course. We're stopped at a gas station right now,” the agent said. “Refueling for the rest of the trek. We are an hour away from visiting the youth home.”

“I don't care about your itinerary,” Grant said. “I want to know about the visitors. Were there any issues?”

“None other than the ones I've already reported,” Agent Barker said.

“Please,” Grant said. “Give me those details.”

Grant sat up in his chair. He felt his heart skip a beat with excitement.

“The young man listed on the guest list was in fact a young woman,” Agent Barker said.

“Can you take a photograph of this woman and send it to me?” Grant asked.

“We don't have that type of technology,” Agent Barker said.

Grant rolled his eyes in frustration over the technology ban. “Describe her,” Grant said.

“Shorter dark blond hair,” Agent Barker said. “Blue eyes, average height, quiet.”

“Is she very pretty?” Grant asked.

The agent didn't respond at first.

“I've been annoyed at having to escort a female leader,” Agent Barker said. “But if I think about it, I would say she is stunning.”

“Do you have a GPS locator?” Grant asked.

“I haven't seen one of those since my time in ser­vice,” Agent Barker said.

“Do you know your exact location?” Grant asked.

“I can give you the location of the youth home we're visiting and the hotel we're staying at tonight,” Agent Barker said.

“You're in the South Area?” Grant asked.

He pulled up the itinerary of this group on his computer screen. It was at least a five-­hour flight away.

“Yes,” Agent Barker said. “Should I be concerned?”

“Not at all,” Grant said.

The last thing Grant wanted was for Mia's presence to become public knowledge.

“One last question,” Grant asked. “The soldiers escorting the group; I see there are five listed. Is one of them young, tall, and lean, with dark hair and eyes?”

“Yes,” Agent Barker said. “I haven't had a lot of conversation with the escorts.”

Mia and Andrew were together, traveling with the French. Grant slammed his fist down on his desk. He wasn't sure if it was in triumph at finding them or in aggravation over their attempt to infiltrate America.

“Sir,” Agent Barker said, “does this affect our schedule?”

Grant did not want Mia to know he was onto them. He also technically had no authority over this RAG agent and didn't want Barker calling his superiors and notifying them. This had to be taken care of personally.

“No,” Grant said. “Proceed as normal.”

Grant hung up the phone. He jumped up from his desk and ran out of his office. He spotted his butler Brandon in the hallway.

“Make the arrangements for my plane,” Grant said. “I want to land as close as possible to the Hotel Austin in the South Area.”

“Yes, sir,” Brandon said.

Grant appreciated that he didn't ask many questions. Grant went toward the front door and paused by the mirror hanging in the hall. He was wearing a navy blue cashmere sweater with navy and green checked pants. It would have to do; Grant didn't have the time to change. Tonight he would meet an unsuspecting Amelia Morrissey in her hotel room and safely dispose of her forever.