Rebels & Lies (Rebels & Lies Trilogy Book 1) (8 page)

Kaspar looked down at his watch. The impatience
within grew stronger. Eight-thirty sharp his ass. It was almost twenty ‘till
nine now. He looked away from his watch before he zipped up his track jacket.
The chill of the night started to get to him. Curfew’s approach moved at a
rapid pace and the only thought in his mind was that this man had better show
up. Another part of his mind continued to tell Kaspar that the old man was full
of shit. Danny, a member of the resistance? Not a shot in hell.

A large, African-American man started to
approach, causing Kaspar’s heart rate to increase several beats. The dim street
lamps made it difficult to make anything out of the man. What could be seen,
however, would make anybody want to turn and run: USR in bold yellow letters
across the chest. Panic took over now and his mind raced for a quick way out of
this.

Maybe he was just on patrol. Kaspar looked away
and tried to act natural. Did Danny set him up in a trap? How stupid could one
be to listen to a man who built an entire relationship on a lie? That whole
erasing you from the system sounded like pure horse shit, too. A glance back
over and the Agent continued his approach.

The thought of running sprang to mind. With all
that gear on, not to mention the man’s size, Kaspar had an easy advantage in
terms of speed. The problem with that idea was clear. The Agent had a gun and a
radio. He knew where the others were on patrol, so he had back up, too. Kaspar
erased that idea from his mind and remained still.

Act cool. Act natural.

“Can I see your identification, citizen?” the
Agent demanded.

“Yes, sir.” Kaspar replied. He reached into his
pocket and handed over his USR ID card.

The Agent pointed his small flashlight into
Kaspar’s eyes. Kaspar squinted as his eyes adjusted to sudden bright light. The
Agent moved the light away onto the ID card before he moved the light back on
to his face. Kaspar’s heart raced like he just ran a marathon and the thought
of running suddenly seemed like a good one again.

The Agent broke the silence. “Ryan Kaspar?”

“That’s right.”

“Follow me.”

Instincts crept in as the Agent led the way down
the street. Kaspar looked for any exposed pressure points he could use to stun
the large man in front of him. Once stunned, he could take the Agent’s gun and
blow his face off with it. Despite a damn good effort, Kaspar could not keep
his legs from shaking.

What now? What is this Agent going to do to me?
They thought Mother was a rebel, they’ll think the same about me. They’ll blame
that entire shooting on me and throw me in the gas chamber. Goddamn you, Danny.

The two men arrived at an abandoned antique shop
on the other side of the street. No one bothered to buy the property and the
windows had long been busted out. The wooden door in front showed its age and
years of non-maintenance. The Agent grabbed the wobbled door handle and forced the
door open.

“Step inside,” he ordered.

“What for?” Kaspar asked. He felt the immediate
urge to slap himself.

“Step inside, now!”

The inside proved to be a bigger mess than the
outside. The light that penetrated through the broken windows revealed dust,
rodent shit, and broken glass on the dirty floor. A pack of brown rats ran down
the hall along the floorboards at the sound of the intruders breaking into
their home. Maybe they could feast on Kaspar’s flesh when the Agent got done
with him.

“Down the stairs.” the Agent ordered.

Kaspar moved towards the circular, claustrophobic
stair well in front of him. The rusted metal stairs cried with each step down.
The feeling that these stairs led to his death could not escape. He hoped it
would be quick, like how he imagined Mother’s death. Just give one to the head
and be done with it. No need to prolong it. Then again, the USR were inhumane
pieces of trash that needed to make examples out of citizens…

Don’t think like that.

The unknown was about to be discovered. Once at
the bottom of the steps, the Agent behind pressed Kaspar forward. A light bulb
hung from the ceiling and only provided a dim light. The sound of glass
crunching underneath two pairs of boots and rats clawing through the walls
filled Kaspar’s eardrums. A doorway at the end provided a sense of ironic
relief. Just get this over with…

Inside sat a wooden table and three individuals.
They all wore the same black getup that the Agent behind had on. One older
gentleman sat at the head, two men standing on either side behind him. The man
on the right looked out of place with his thick black rimmed glasses and
scraggly white hair. The one of the left looked no taller than five foot five
and wore a cocky smirk. He stared into the Asian man’s squinted eyes then
looked elsewhere to the left and a familiar woman stood leaned up against the
wall: Krys. She provided a brief sigh of relief. She did not go through all
that trouble today just to give him up…right?

“You weren’t followed?” asked the leader in a raspy
voice.

“No. All’s clear.” the Agent replied.

“Take a seat, Ryan.”

Kaspar sat down on the chair in front of him. The
loose legs of the chair made comfort impossible. He looked into the old man’s
eyes and didn’t like what he saw. Suddenly, those uneasy feelings made
themselves at home once more. The whole room felt like a prison and no one was
coming to save him. In an attempt to relieve some of the tension, he looked
back at that familiar face. She just looked expressionless back at him. The
tension remained.

“Who are you people?” Kaspar demanded.

“The name’s Paxton. Danny sent you here?”

“That’s right.”

“What are you doing here?” Paxton asked.

“Excuse me?”

“You must have a reason for being here to put
Danny through the trouble.”

“Danny told me that he knew the leader of the
resist…”

“You watch that kind of talk, boy scout.” Paxton
interrupted.

“I’m sorry, I…”

“Don’t be sorry. Just don’t do it again.”

Kaspar looked around the room. Every single pair
of eyes looked with intent at him. There was no doubt that these people would
kill him if they deemed it necessary. Kaspar cursed Danny once more under his
breath. He breathed in deep and tried to relax.

“So,” Paxton said. “What brings you here?”

“I wish to join your…endeavors.” Kaspar replied.

“Why?”

Kaspar paused and his mind went blank at the
search for the perfect answer. He went with the first thing that came to him.

“I look around this city,” Kaspar said, “and I
don’t like what I see anymore.”

“Don’t bullshit me.”

“What do you want from me, huh?”

“What do
I
want from
you?
You came
here, remember? What do you want from us?” Paxton demanded.

In his mind, the scenario played out much
different. Kaspar expected to be offered a job on the spot, to which he would
respond in a positive manner. What he didn’t expect was to be interrogated and
that old ass man did very little in helping to prepare. To hell with this…

“Maybe this was a bad idea, Mr. Paxton. Sorry to
waste your time.” Kaspar said. He tried to stand, but felt two bear claws grip
at his shoulders.

Paxton sighed. “I guess what I’m trying to figure
out is if you are working for
them.
”

“Them?”

“You know who I’m talking about.”

“You think I’m working for the USR? After they
killed my mother? Fuck you.” Kaspar cried.

“Who knows? Maybe deep down you really hated her
and you used her death as a way to get in good with me. Tear us up from the
inside.”

Kaspar clinched both of his fists. “Fuck you.”

“Or, maybe you are just trying to prove something
to that old man of yours…”

“Enough!” Kaspar yelled. His face beet red with
rage and his knuckles white.

Kaspar looked around the dim lit room and caught
nothing but ice cold stares his way. Except for one. Krys, she had this grin on
her face, and when Kaspar got a glimpse of her, she bit her bottom lip. She had
a half frown, half smile as she tried to hide it. What was her problem?

“You know,” Paxton said, bringing Kaspar back to
reality. “We usually monitor our potentials for weeks before we arrange a
meeting. We made a special exception for you.”

“Why?” Kaspar demanded.

“Danny vouches for you. And, Danny is one of the
few people that I trust.”

“He did, huh?”

“Yes, he did. So, what are you really after?”
Paxton asked.

“Revenge. To find each and every one of my
mother’s killers to put them in a body bag.”

Paxton nodded and leaned his body forward. “Anything
else?”

“I’m no patriot.”

“Money?”

“I don’t need it.”

“Serving your community even?”

“No.” Kaspar replied.

Paxton nodded once again. “Fine. If retribution
is all you seek, we might be able to help you with that. Just don’t get it
stuck in your head that this is all about you.”

“Fine.”

Paxton smirked and then looked down at his watch.
“We need to get moving. We’ll explain everything later. Just know that we don’t
have time for loose cannons. You step out of line—and you’re done.”

Kaspar’s nerves calmed once more. He thought
about the strange and unexpected turn of events. He was a prize fighter, he
disappointed Mother time and again by entering the ring, and the only reason he
did it was to keep her away from the dangerous world. That dangerous world
found her anyway. Now, he would live the life of a vigilante, a mercenary. He
would look over his shoulder now and every night his job would be to eradicate
the USR, taking out the Agents that watched everybody’s move.

No. His job would be to find those responsible
for Mother’s death. All that peace and we are the world shit could come later.
He would find those responsible and, if that meant he must masquerade with
these people for a while, then so be it.

“So, that’s it?” Kaspar asked.

“That’s it, unless you have any questions.”
Paxton replied.

“What is your aim?”

“
Our
aim is to bring back a world without
fear, without control. I remember, as Danny did, what life was before.”

“And committing acts of terrorism is the
solution, right?”

It became Paxton’s turn to grow a red face. He
squinted his eyes and gave Kaspar a look of sheer anger. Paxton leaned his body
forward and slammed his fists on the table.

“Who said that?” Paxton demanded. “The television
reporters? Those politicians out there? Have you really been listening to
them?”

“I’m just saying…”

“Don’t just ‘say’ anything! If you think we’re
just a bunch of terrorists then get out of my face. Go out there and continue
boxing or whatever it is you want to do. Go it alone for all I care and see how
long your little revenge mission lasts.”

Serves him right, Kaspar thought while he tried
to fight back a grin. After all the old veteran accused him of earlier, a
slight sense of satisfaction grew at seeing the leader get flustered.

“They will brand me a terrorist now, an enemy of
the state.” Kaspar said.

“Yes, they will. Do you know how much I hate
wearing this shit?” Paxton pointed to the USR letters embroidered on his chest.
“I’d rather be branded an enemy of the state than to be part of the state. Can
you live with that?”

“I don’t care.”

“Do you have any other questions?”

“When do I start?” Kaspar asked, anticipation in
his voice.

“Right now.”

Kaspar looked down at the bloodied face of Razor.
The behemoth lay unconscious on the blood stained mat. Kaspar raised his fists
in the air and pumped them up and down in celebration. The crowd cheered him on
and a smile broke across his face. The ring official carried with him an
oversized duffel bag, no doubt filled with enough credits to live on for a long
time. The prize fighter unzipped the bag to examine the contents. Inside, all
he saw was Mother’s face. Her eyes were wide open despite the fact that she was
dead. He dropped the bag and tears flowed down his cheeks. Something could be
felt in his right palm. A bloodied American flag patch rested there…

The van braked to a stop, jolting Kaspar from his
sleep. He tried to get his bearings back as he looked around the van. His left
shoulder ached from leaning against the window. He looked towards the bench in
front of him and was met with a concerned face.

“Hey,” Krys said, “you okay, man?”

“I’m fine. Just a bad dream.”

“What kind of dream?”

“You wouldn’t understand.” Kaspar replied.

“Fine. We’re here.” Krys said. She stretched out
her back and let out a yawn.

The short Asian man stood up and undid the back
double doors. He moved out followed by Krys. Kaspar felt a sharp pain in his
left eye as he rubbed at both eyes. Another round of ice packs would be
necessary before the eye became a swollen mess once again. He stood and ducked
his head from the roof and hopped out of the van. His feet landed on the tiny
rocks of the driveway.

Kaspar stretched out his back then looked
forward. An old two story building stood in front of him. The exterior looked
like it had been abandoned years ago by the look of the chipped white paint and
black shutters. There was nothing but forest surrounding the place. It was in
the middle of nowhere, not an Agent or another human being in sight. At least
they knew how to pick a safe house.

After a yawn, he followed the others to the front
porch. Paxton reached into his pockets and fished out a set of keys. It took
four different keys to unlock the four deadbolt locks that ran down the door.
With all the deadbolts undone, he unlocked the handle with a fifth and final
key. With the door opened, Paxton walked in and flipped on the light switch.

The others entered the old building first, Kaspar
followed behind the Asian. A short right turn took him into the living room.
Two well-worn couches rested on the damaged wooden floor. On the coffee table
sat newspapers and propaganda letters the USR sent out like clockwork. The
couches faced a thirty two inch flat screen television.

Something caught his eye in the back. There were
stairs that led to the second floor and a banister at the top. Over the
banister hung that evil flag with its red and white strips, the fifty white
stars and blue background on the left hand side. The sheer size of the flag
made it look like an idol that these people worshipped. Did he get drafted into
a rebellion or a cult? It would be any moment now before they asked him to bow
before it or put his hand over his heart. Kaspar stared at the flag and, for
the first time, wondered what in the hell he got himself into.

“Come on,” Paxton said, interrupting Kaspar’s
thoughts. “Follow me.”

Kaspar shook his head and followed the leader
through the kitchen into the garage. Paxton opened a door in the garage and led
the way into a large storage room. A flick of the light switch and the
illumination revealed that the storage room had been turned into a briefing
room. There were three rows of tables and chairs, a podium in front, another
American flag at the left, and a large projection screen.

The others filed into the room. They took their
places in front of the podium and stared at the new recruit. Kaspar stared
right back at them. Nobody made a sound. There were no sudden moves. It was
another stare down. Didn’t these people have voices? Were they not allowed to
speak unless given permission?

Another thought crept in as he stared at his new
squad mates. What in the hell was this? From all the news reports the USR put
out, he imagined the resistance being something on a much larger scale.
Kaspar’s initial thought at the abandoned shop was that there would be more
rebels to be met later. That thought turned out to be dead wrong, apparently.
There were only six of them, including Kaspar. Where was all the high tech
equipment, the military grunts, the special ops stuff? Just how full of shit
was the USR?

Paxton took his place at the end of the row, next
to the big black man with the shined bald head.

“Time to introduce you to the team.” Paxton said.

“Okay.” Kaspar replied.

“Big guy here is Ron Kilbourne. He’s our
specialist in explosives. He did as much for the USR before he defected and
joined our side. He’s also my second in command. Come to him if you need
anything.”

“Nice to meet you.” Kilbourne’s gruff voice said.

“You were with the USR?” Kaspar asked.

“Sure was. But, I got out when they started
asking me to do some wild shit.”

Kaspar started to ask another question, but
Paxton moved down to the skinny guy with the glasses. Glasses man looked up and
rubbed at his red nose.

“Skinny guy here is Robert Clarke. He’s our…eyes
you could say. He’s a real high tech nerd.”

“I’m not a nerd,” Clarke said, he adjusted the
glasses on the rim of his nose. “I’m just a guy who happens to be good at what
he does. When you guys go out on missions, I’m the one who keeps your rear ends
in one piece.”

“Good to know,” Kaspar replied.

Paxton moved down the line to Krys. She stood
there with her arms folded across her chest and no facial expression.

“You’ve already met Krys.”

Krys nodded. “Yeah, so he knows my skills on the
bike, right?”

Kaspar said nothing.

“She can handle herself,” Paxton continued. “Her
skills on the bike do come in handy as does her skill in infiltration. Quiet as
a mouse, she is.”

Up next came the short oriental guy, with the
same cocky expression on his face.

“Yung Li, double black belt in Tae Kwon Do. Li
knows Danny quite well. He trained him in another one of those underground
fighting leagues.”

Li took a bow in front of Kaspar and didn’t say
anything. Kaspar nodded at the bowing Li and wondered what in the hell he was
doing. He thought about the assertion from Paxton that this tiny kid was a
double black belt. Could he be taken in a fight? Kaspar thought so. Maybe he
would find out one day.

“So,” Kaspar said. “Was Danny an old prick to
you, too?”

Li moved his head up and nodded a yes.

“Yung, he doesn’t talk much. He’s still working
on his gun fighting but if things get to close quarters…well, don’t be the other
guy.” Paxton said.

Li smiled.

“Well, I guess that leaves me. We do have rules
which I can explain to you in the morning. Right now, you need some rest.
Everyone is dismissed.”

“I have questions.” Kaspar replied, the others
filed their way out of the room around him.

“Sleep on them. You’ll have all day to ask away
tomorrow. A lot will be explained to you and we’ve got some stops to make as
well. Robert here will show you to your room.”

“Follow me,” Clarke said.

Paxton remained in the situation room as Kaspar
followed the skinny guy out. They walked back into the living room and to the
stairs. They began their accent upwards when something…beautiful caught
Kaspar’s eyes. Krys walked across the hall in nothing but a black sports bra
and gray sweat pants. She had a work of art going down her rib cage. A red rose
with some red petals falling down her bronzed skin.

“Eyes to yourself,” Krys said without a look
over, “Mr. Kaspar.”

Kaspar moved his eyes away and focused them on
the stairs below. Once they reached the top they came to a narrow hallway. The
wooden floors here made more noise than the ones at the old apartment he would
never step foot in again. At the very end, to the left, Clarke opened the white
painted door.

A small bedroom waited inside. No decorations on
the walls or anywhere else, save a picture of a bald eagle in a gold frame on
the night stand. I really am joining a cult, he thought. The hope was that at
least this cult would provide him with a gun, and train him how to use that gun
to kill as many USR before his own death. Kaspar moved to the white cot and
took a seat. His ass fell straight down.

“That bed’s kinda old.” Clarke said.

“Tell me about it.”

“There’s some clothes in that closet. They
belonged to…well, he was about your size.”

“I’ll be wearing a ghost’s clothes, then?”

“Yeah, sort of. Just watch yourself when you talk
about Zach. We are all still stinging from it.”

“So, that was his name,” Kaspar said as he
remembered the news broadcast once again.

“If you need anything, I’m in the room directly
across from you. Have a good night.”

Kaspar stood as the door closed. He walked over
to the closet, opened the door, and examined the contents inside. Not much in
the way of clothes hung inside. A few pairs of jeans, plain shorts, long sleeve
shirts, and white tees folded on the shelf above. He shut the door and stripped
down to his boxers.

The tears started to flow once more. Kaspar
buried his head into the soft white pillow on the bed and didn’t try to stop
them. He felt a sharp pain in his left eye, but ignored it. No matter how
valiant the attempt, he could not get his mother’s eyes out of his mind.

He hoped that joining this rag tag band of rebels
would make the pain go away.