The Suns of Liberty (Book 2): Revolution (12 page)

Though the police had never
released the names of David Ward's killers, it was well known at the time that
his death was due to gang warfare. The papers splashed his death on the front
page. He died playing outside the community center David's mother, Lori, had
started for Boston's poorest residents. It was one of those tragedies people
talked about at work and again at home that night—and then forgot about the
next day. Alison had seen plenty of paperwork proving the Council used the
Brown Recluse to move guns, money, and other items around the city from time to
time. She knew the community center had been on their turf; she told him.

The death of Ward's wife had been
less well reported.   

They sat there drinking coffee and
talking. Two hours went by.

Ward confessed to her that he
blamed himself for Lori’s death. He’d buried his head in his work while she
suffered alone through the darkest days of both their lives. He’d always had a
tendency to fight past his own problems, “with an optimism that bordered on
neuroses,” Lori had told him more than once. When she committed suicide he
hadn’t spoken to her in days.

Finally, the heart-to-heart came
to an end. Ward made a face. Raised his eyebrows. “Wow. Can't believe I told
you all that. I don't really talk about it.”

Alison placed her hand over his.
“It's okay. Actually, same here. I mean, look where I work.” She laughed. “You
wanna know something really crazy?”

Ward nodded.  

“After my parents were killed, I
actually thought about joining your pal.”

“My pal?” Ward wasn’t immediately
sure who she meant but then he realized they had only ever really spoken about
two individuals in the letters they had shared. And only one of them could be
described as his
pal
. “The Revolution?” he deduced.

She nodded. “The Resistance,
anyway. But I realized that I could do more good working on the inside. Plus,
it's nice to be able to pay your bills. So here I am.
The Source
. At
your service.”

“We really do have a lot in
common.” Ward brightened up.

“Well, we're both enamored with a
superhero.” She winked at him, really changing the mood. “In fact, I was
nervous to meet you.”  

Ward laughed. It hadn't occurred
to him that someone might view him the way he viewed the Revolution. For a
moment he thought she might be joking. But Alison just sipped her coffee, never
breaking eye contact. And that's when he realized.

 His lucky day just got
luckier.

Later, in Ward's apartment, he dutifully cleaned up
the remnants of the fancy French dinner he had cooked for her. They had washed
down the food with wine.

Lots of wine.

And after the food was gone the
wine kept coming. Ward had changed into tighter jeans and a tighter shirt. This
was a first date after all. That's what it had turned into, anyway.

The two settled down into Ward's
plush wraparound couch, but the only thing either of them wanted to wrap around
was each other.

“So these spider wasps”—her eyes
twinkled—“what do they do when they catch a little spider?”  Alison sat
cross-legged with her wine glass extended lazily in front of her as the wine
made her rock back and forth just a little. Ward thought it made her look
devastatingly cute. “Well, as I understand it, normally they
sting
them.”

“Oh really?  And what if the
little spider resists?”

“Well, I think that's what the
venom is for.”

“You really think that will work? We're
talking about a pretty deadly spider here.”

Ward gulped his wine. “God, I hope
so.” He set the empty glass on the coffee table.

Alison leaned in close to him. Her
white silk blouse drooped open and revealed the push-up bra that had been vying
for Ward's attention all day.

She grinned as he brought his eyes
back up to hers. The wine had stolen his manners. She seemed glad.

“What if she entraps him in her
web?” She said, leaning in closer. Their lips nearly touching.

“I think she already has. Hope
she's not the kind who eats her mate.”

With that she closed her mouth
onto his, and they explored each other, letting loose pent-up passions.

Alison came up for air. Set her
glass down on the coffee table beside his. “Mmmm, how does a good-looking man
like you stay single?”

“You should see what I do with my
nights.”

“It's night now...”

She unbuttoned her shirt, slipped
it off, and tossed it aside. She unclasped the bra from the front, wriggled out
of it playfully, and slung it over his shoulder with a grin. She sat there for
him to see. She was stunning.

He pulled her to him. “That's
okay, I've already caught my spider.”

Their lips parted, and they kissed
again. This time harder, longer. And somewhere in the middle of it Ward led her
into his bedroom. By the time they got there, they were both naked.

CHAPTER
20

T
he
sun was just setting as the deputy chief of Boston's Council Guard strolled
toward his SUV. The parking garage was full of vehicles, but he was the only
person around. As was his usual habit, he arrived early and left early.
Allowing him unfettered access to the best parking spaces in the crowded
garage. State Street was a busy place, and his position afforded him the
ability to take a few minor liberties with his schedule.

Unfortunately, habits of behavior
create patterns. Patterns that predators, criminals, or any other unsavory
types might choose to exploit. Most people know this. The deputy chief
certainly did. But like everyone else, he assumed it would never happen to him.
Besides, who would mess with the deputy chief of the Freedom Council's
enforcement arm?      

He rummaged through his pockets
and found his keys and shifted the stack of papers he had stuffed under his
arm. He peered down to put the key in the lock. In the reflection in the
driver’s side window he glimpsed something move behind him—a face. The deputy
chief gasped—someone right behind him.

He tried to react, but a gun was
jammed into the small of his back.

“Turn around slowly.” The voice
was calm but firm. It seemed familiar, but the malice in it was clear. He was
at a complete disadvantage, so he did what he was told. He calculated how long
it would take him to reach the ankle holster that contained his weapon. Too
long. His hands were full. His best bet was to face his attacker. Wait for an
opening.

His assailant was tall. When the
deputy chief turned, his eyes came level with the attacker’s chest. The first
thing he recognized was a pair of camouflaged fatigues. He looked up and saw...

Lithium.
Unarmed. The steel
of his glove had only felt like a weapon.

“Holy shit!  Almost shot you!
You trying to get yourself killed?”

Clay Arbor grinned. “No risk of
that.”

The deputy chief’s spirit sank. He
knew Arbor was right. In some ways, Lithium was a joke. But no one would dare
say that to his face. Why a bona fide badass like Arbor would agree to do the
things they asked him to was a mystery. He was technically a captain in the
Marine Corps. He could be running his own unit if he wanted, and on paper
that’s what Lithium’s job equated to. In practice, it was about as far from
that as you could get. But there was no question that this man was lethal.

All one had to do was look at his
war record. That the masked hero Lithium was actually Clay Arbor was one of the
Council's worst-kept secrets. And Arbor was a living legend in military
circles. The deputy chief figured it had to be loyalty and a fat paycheck that
kept him playing dress-up. That and the VIP celebrity treatment he received.
Why else?  He'd even heard rumors of a film in the works. It was gonna
make him fat and lazy eventually. But he sure as shit wasn't going to tell
Arbor that. Or test it.

Arbor flipped open one of the
compartments of his utility vest and fished around for a second. “I know you
have a lot of resources tracking the star-spangled freak. I want in.”

Arbor handed him a small device.

“Look, I can't just—”

“You let me know whenever you get
a hit on his whereabouts. And keep this between you and me. Trust me, better to
break their orders than mine.”  

CHAPTER
21

A
cross
town, Ward had the flowers ready as he waited at the door. The last several
days had been intense. He and Alison had spent every nonworking moment
together, which wasn’t often, considering she worked in the day and he
worked
at night. So they had made them count.

Ward had checked his phone at noon
and heard a message that disturbed him. Very short, very terse, very stressed.
He was pretty sure he’d done nothing wrong. But why take chances? Something was
troubling his new girlfriend, and there was no way he was coming to their
dinner date without roses. He was no fool.

Ward rang the bell. He could hear
her footfalls. Heavy, fast. She opened the door, beer in hand. Ward on the
other side, flowers in hand. She smiled, and they kissed their hellos. “You
okay?” he asked.

“Come on in.” She closed the door,
and Ward noticed she scanned the sidewalk to see if he'd been followed. His
spider sense started tingling.

“I intercepted a memo today. You
need to see it right now.”

“What is it?”

She was all business. Just like
when she had discussed the arms shipment the day they’d met. Same look in her
eyes. That made him nervous. She handed him a photocopy of a short, cryptic
memo. She didn't wait for him to read it.

“Council's developing a weapon. An
ultimate weapon. To kill the Revolution.”

“Kill him? I thought you said they
didn't want to make him a martyr?”

“I just know what I read.” She
paced over to the table and sat in one of the chairs. She gave him a look that
he couldn’t quite interpret, but then she said, “He's your hero. You’ve got to
try to stop him from going to that shipment. You may just have the chance to
save his life.”

Ward stood there in awe of the metal man in
front of him.

And then Revolution thanked
him. He said that if Ward ever needed his help he could meet him on these
rooftops. If he came for assistance, Revolution would know. He would find him.
But then he stressed, “Make it count. I'll only come once.” 

Ward had never cashed in that
chip. But this ought to count.

As he stood in the same spot,
decked out in his full Spider Wasp flight suit, the nerves of the long wait
began to wear on him. It had been a long night of waiting. The caffeine was
losing its battle with nervous monotony.
How do cops stay sane on stakeouts?

He tossed the last can of his
six-pack of Diet Coke into the corner, and its spent hull clattered among the
others—saved for later recycling. He hoped the caffeine would keep him going.

One hundred yards away in the
black, someone took note of the sound. He crept forward. Darting from shadow to
shadow. Silent.

Paul Ward crouched. He slid into
the black shade of the brick chimney behind him. The adjacent rooftops and the
alley below were visible from there. He figured this was the best place to
catch the Revolution. Not only was he in his designated contact point, it was
on the way to the rail station. He had no idea how the Revolution could
possibly know he was here, but that’s what the man had said. The arms shipment
was still hours away. Ward saw no other option but to wait and hope.

Twenty-five yards behind Ward, the
dark figure swept across the roof. Shifting between the shadows. He'd seen
Spider Wasp disappear behind the chimney. The figure was moving in fast. Spider
was blind to him. He would never know what hit him. The figure moved forward,
closing the distance between the two. He readied a small bladed weapon in his
hand.

Ward felt himself drifting. He
fought to stay awake. He whispered the song that kept amusingly running through
his head:
“You say you want a Revolution—”

A flutter of movement behind him.
A shadow rose in front of him. Ward jumped up. He spun. Standing not three feet
from him was a dark, hulking figure of metal.

The Revolution nodded his head.

“Damn it, you scared me to death!”
Ward gasped.

“I liked what you did to the Brown
Recluse the other day,” was the reply.

“Thanks.”

Revolution said nothing.

“I—I guess you can call me Spider
Wasp.”

“I
don't
like being spied
on. I like being followed even less.”

“No, I wasn't...remember...you
said...”  

Revolution flipped something at
him. It was small and shiny and round, and it sailed right at him. For a second
Ward thought he was toast. He flinched but caught it on reflex. It was a
throwing star. There was something written on it. An address. And a date and
time. It was an appointment.

“I need to warn you—” Ward started
as he looked up, but the Revolution had already paced across the rooftop,
nearly to the edge. Ward scrambled after him.

“Hey!  Wait!”

Revolution didn't wait. He leapt
from the roof. Ward rushed to ledge. The Revolution’s crimson cape snapped
rigid. He plummeted to the street. It looked like a hard fall.

Revolution dreaded the landing. Just as with a cat,
a fall from a lower height is often worse than from higher up. Less time to
prepare the body. Less time for Revolution's cape to slow him. Less time for
the servos to adjust for impact.

He landed hard, fell to one knee
with an audible grunt. Revolution rose, but as he sprinted away, he limped.