The Gambit (26 page)

Rachel’s comment seemed to placate Briana’s temper. I stood, glancing between these two Latina women yelling in Spanish to each other. I wasn’t going to
dare
butt in.

“Fine, I’m listening,” she conceded.

Rachel exhaled and composed herself before speaking.

“We need your help getting Owen out of the country.”

“What?” I asked, yelling.

“Look, Owen, we need to figure out the truth, I get that…but you can only run for so long. You have to get out of this situation, and I don’t mean in handcuffs.”

“I—I need to help you, though,” I stammered.

“What good does the truth do if you’re behind bars before the world knows? Then you will have to spend years in a jail cell until you go to trial, and God only knows what kind of false evidence the government might have.”

Her plan was well thought out. It was the truth. Frightening, but still the truth.

“But this is my home…”

“I know,” she said sympathetically. “Your freedom is more important than staying here, don’t you agree?”

“Yes…but, where would I go?”

“We can figure that out later. Obviously, it needs to be a country that doesn’t extradite to the United States. China, United Arab Emirates, Russia.”

“What great choices…” I mumbled.

“Owen, you’re like the new Edward Snowden. Except, you didn’t expose anything. Well at least, not yet you haven’t.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt your grand plan,” Briana began. “But, I have a feeling I know where Rachel is going with this. I refuse. You can stay here, but I’m not doing it again. It’s not worth the risk.”

“What is she talking about?” I questioned Rachel.

“Briana used to make fakes. Fake IDs, fake documents, whatever you wanted—she could do it. It made her a lot of extra money…but when one of her IDs was connected to the biggest insurance fraud this area has ever seen, she had to do time for it. Three years and probation for no previous record.”

“And that’s
exactly
why I can’t help you,” Briana added. “I am still on probation. I can’t even leave the state without permission.”

“You don’t have to leave the state,” Rachel pressed.

“
Ay Dios mio, Raquel! Te dijé no!”

Rachel was shaking her head. Briana’s resistance to persuasion was making her irritated.

“Do you remember the Confinement?”

Briana’s forehead scrunched up.

“Of course. What kind of question is that?” she retorted.

“Did you like it?”

“Seriously, Rachel? What the fuck.”

“So you
didn’t
like it, then.”

“Stop playing dumb.”

“I’m not,” Rachel replied firmly. “But you are going to have to take a step back and think about Owen’s situation from a broader perspective.”

“Broader as in…?”

“Who are you going to vote for in November?”

“I—um. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Answer the question,” Rachel said.

“Convergence Party…” She mumbled.

“What about after the bombs?”

Briana blinked and glanced at me sheepishly, then turned her eyes to the carpet. For the first time since we had entered, she seemed nervous to speak because I was in the room.

“It made me question who I was going to vote for…”

“See!” Rachel exclaimed. “That is the first glimpse of the big picture. Why else would these bombs happen less than a month from the election? It just doesn’t make sense. Why would Owen ruin everything he has worked for in his party? Someone with power is trying to slant the election in their favor.”

Briana just stared at Rachel and didn’t respond.

“You know,” I spoke up. “That night, at the debate, the Russian guy who was sitting a row in front of me was wearing my colors. I had never seen him involved with our party before. It wasn’t even that big of an amphitheater. It was strictly invitation only. It was as if Alexei Malchikov appeared out of thin air…like he was
placed
there.”

“He was wearing your colors.” Briana repeated.

“Yes, purple vest and tie.”

She bit her bottom lip.

“The whole thing seems fishy to me, now that you told me that.”

“So, will you help us?” Rachel asked.

Us
. There it was, that word. Rachel thought of me and her as
us
. Hearing it, though, made my soul swell up in love. After last night’s escapade, just the way she looked at me was different. She was enjoying being my partner in crime, and so was I.

“What’s in it for me?” she retorted.

“Are you serious? After everything we’ve been through…”

“Don’t even go there! Yeah, we are from the same
barrio
en Miami,
but we are different now! Look at you, with your perfect life and your fancy college degree. You weren’t even around to see the shit I went through in the past five years. So
fuck
you for judging me for not wanting to risk my freedom for a stranger!”

I quite literally watched the blood rush to Rachel’s face.

“
Briana
, you don’t seem to understand,” she said, rapping the counter with her knuckles. “If the people who framed Owen win, then
all
of our freedom will be at risk.”

“And if we
lose
, then not only will you and Owen be in jail, but so will I!”

“Well if you want to live your life afraid of
ifs
, then let me make something really clear for you.
If
the people who framed Owen get away with this monstrous lie, then we might all be imprisoned! Who knows? Maybe we were
never
supposed to be released from the Confinement!”

I glanced at Rachel in shock.

“What if they never let us go?”

The question I had posed to Cole that day during the Confinement reentered my thoughts. He had told me,
“You can’t think like that, Owen. You can’t.”
The purpose of his statement was to keep me hopeful. So that one day, when we were released, we could create our party. We
were
released, but Rachel’s statement brought forth a terrifying possibility. What if we were never
meant
to be released?

“But we
were
, though,” Briana sneered. “Why would you even think there would be another Confinement? There hasn’t been a riot in almost two years. There’s no reason for that to happen.”

“The reason is standing right beside you!” Rachel shouted and pointed at me. “Just three days ago he was America’s sweetheart and now he is a wanted terrorist. Now, he looks bad. His party looks bad, and the polls
will
look bad. All in time for the election! Something is going on that is far bigger than what we can see. As a journalist, I am obligated to expose the
true
story since I have the chance to! And now, I’m standing in front of someone I
thought
was my best friend and she is asking me what’s in it for her!”

Briana’s jaw dropped, and I saw tears form in the corners of her eyes.

“How
dare
you, Rachel. How dare you come into my house out of nowhere and just throw all this shit on me, asking me to take a huge risk on the
slim
chance that we will be able to expose anything! Let alone get Owen out of the country. Fuck you for even asking me to take a risk like that! You wouldn’t want to know what would happen to a Barbie doll like you in a women’s prison. I don’t want to go back! Not a damn thing could make me take that risk again!”

“1.4 million dollars,” I interrupted.

Rachel and Briana whipped around, staring at me.

“
What
did you just say?” Briana asked, her face streaked with tears.

“1.4
million
dollars,” I repeated.

“But Owen,” Rachel gasped, her expression confused. “We’ve been handing out bundles of cash left and right. You can’t possibly have that kind of money.”

“I don’t, but Grey does.”

“Who?” she asked.

“Remember when you asked me if I had help, and I told you he was good at what he did. Grey Maxwell—my best friend from high school. He is an IT genius, and he helped me rob the bank. He also wired and stole one-hundred thousand dollars from fourteen separate squatter accounts. All of which came from the grand larceny committed by the VP of the bank where Grey works. The grand total of the money siphoned from the illegal activity being 1.4 million dollars. Grey is in on this, and perhaps,
Briana
…if you help us, the compensation might be well worth the risk.”

She stared at me, completely dumbfounded. In the corner of my eye, I thought I saw Rachel begin to smile. Briana bit her lower lip and looked down at the ground. I heard her exhale sharply out of her nose.

“How much?” she asked.

“Twenty-five percent. That would be three-hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

Briana stared at me silently. Behind her eyes, the gears were turning. She was
considering
it.

“What exactly do I have to do?”

“Get Owen out of the country. A fake passport is what he needs from you,” Rachel said.

“And what if I fail?”

“Well, then we are all fucked,” Rachel answered.

She glanced between Rachel and me. The nervousness in her expression was palpable, but my offer was more than tempting to her. This wasn’t the greatest neighborhood, and for an ex-con who wanted to better her life, 350K could get her a lot.

“Okay. I’ll do it. I’ll help,” she conceded.

“Yay!” Rachel hooted. “
Gracias, amiga, muchisimas gracias!
”

I waited until the girls calmed down to say anything.

“Briana, thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“You can thank me later,” she laughed. “When you’re out of the country.”

Out of the country
…

The words stung. Rachel’s plan was necessary. She was right, I couldn’t stay in the States much longer. Eventually the FBI and CIA would have us cornered. Once arrested, my voice would be silenced, and so would Rachel’s. Our hopes of uncovering the truth would be but a failed attempt.
That
was something I couldn’t stomach thinking about.

“So, what now?” Rachel asked.

Briana shrugged. “You guys said you were hungry. Want some breakfast?”

Rachel and I both nodded quickly in response.

“Great. I still have some
arroz con leche
from this morning.”

“
Mi favorita
,” Rachel added.

Before Briana could walk to the kitchen I stopped her.

“Briana.”

“Yes?” she turned back to me.

“Do you have a laptop? Or a desktop?”

She seemed confused by my request.

“Yes, I have a laptop. Why?”

“I need to contact Grey.”

I could still taste the sweet, milky flavor from the
arroz con leche
in my mouth. The meal was simple and filling. It was great, considering we hadn’t eaten in so long. The girls were sitting on the barstools that lined the kitchen counter, catching up with each other. I had shut down the computer, and when I restarted it, I immediately pressed F2. When the USB option did not show up, I quickly pressed F12.

Whew, it appeared. Grey’s flash drive he gave me was blinking red every second, already ready to go in the USB port. When I chose his drive to load the OS from, the startup screen was plain and simple.

There was one icon on the desktop. Bitmessage.

I made sure I was connected to the Wi-Fi and clicked it. It loaded a login screen, and I fumbled to get my wallet out of my pocket. From inside one of the slits, I pulled out the piece of paper he had given me the morning I robbed the bank.