Sanctuary: A Postapocalyptic Novel (The New World Series) (17 page)

“I still don’t understand,” Gordon said, looking puzzled.

Barone was feeling the alcohol, and was beginning to slur his speech.

“I have to be the thing I hate the most, a fucking politician. I have to manage the situation that the mayor has caused, and I gotta do it with kid gloves. Believe me, I want to go in with a sledgehammer and fix it, but I can’t. So I sat her down this morning and we came to an agreement.”

“That was an agreement?” Gordon joked about the yelling and screaming he heard when he first showed up.

“Oh, that was just pillow talk between us. You should have heard it earlier when she found out that I had taken the vice president. Oh my God, she lost it. Eventually she begrudgingly agreed and we worked out the details. What you heard before were a few parting comments about how she wanted me out. Tough shit, lady.”

“I still don’t know why you don’t put them on a bird and fly them. Hell, you’d be done with this in no time and I can go on my way. You know how bad it is out there,” Gordon said.

“She doesn’t trust that my men will do the right thing,” Barone barked.

“Then have President Conner send some choppers from Cheyenne. Driving is—let me put it bluntly—stupid.”

Barone stopped pacing and slammed his glass on the desk. “Van Zandt, I’m controlling this situation. I don’t want to see any U.S. choppers coming in here. I need to maintain control over this entire thing. Having Conner send in choppers gives him more intel on what we have going on here than I like. Here’s the reality: I don’t know if our little treaty will last and I don’t need him having eyes on our operation here.”

“Then mix it up. I’ll drive them to a location—”

“Enough, Van Zandt! Are you going to help me and do it my way or not?”

Gordon paused before he answered. He thought the plan was a total soup sandwich, but he didn’t want to say no.

“I’m in, Colonel.”

“Good.”

“Can we run through it all again? She wants one of her people to go?”

“Christ, Van Zandt, do I need to spell this out for ya? That blast hurt your head, didn’t it?” Barone said. “She doesn’t believe me. She wants to hear it from the president himself. I don’t feel like picking up the phone and having her talk to him, because . . . fuck her. If she wants to talk to him, she can go to Cheyenne. I thought she’d jump at going; however, she caught on to my plan. She is now sending a surrogate to get verification. Her caveat for sending her aide was that we find a third party and you, my friend, are it.”

“But who’s bringing this person back? I’m not coming all the way back here.”

“All I care is that you deliver them there. I never gave my word to bring ’em back,” Barone joked.

“Seriously, you want me to leave them?”

“I really don’t give a fuck about them. If they love the U.S., then hell, you’re probably doing them a favor.”

“You’re really putting me a bind, not having transpo for their return,” Gordon commented.

“You’ll figure it out.”

“Fine. How many people am I taking?”

“Three. Cruz, a staff person, and the mayor’s rep.”

“I’ve got a problem. I promised my friend Brittany and her son, Tyler, they’d be coming with me. I need a vehicle large enough for six people.”

“You’ll have it. It won’t be a Caddy, but it’ll get you there safely.”

“All right, when do we leave?”

“Tomorrow morning. So here, have another!” Barone said, grabbing the bottle from the counter behind his desk and handing it to Gordon.

Gordon exhaled deeply and said, “Respectfully sir, you are one crazy son of a bitch.”

Cheyenne, Wyoming

“Good morning, Pat!” Conner said happily as he walked into the coffee shop.

“Good morning, Mr. President. The usual?”

“Of course.”

Handing him his hot cup of coffee, Pat said, “Thank you so much for the MREs and milk. What a gift!”

“You’re welcome! You earned it.”

“Mr. President, we need to go,” Dylan said, sticking his head into the shop.

“Wait a minute,” he shot back to Dylan.

“Mr. President, you need to go.”

Conner eyed Dylan, but knew that his tone signaled that something was wrong. He thanked Pat again and left quickly. After stepping into the Humvee, it sped off abruptly, throwing him forcibly against the seat.

“What the hell is going on?” he asked urgently.

“We just received credible word of an assassination plot against you,” Dylan said.

“What?”

“I just got the call; we didn’t want to alarm Pat and the others in the shop. So that’s why I went in.”

“How do you know?”

“We caught a group of people attempting to access the federal zone north gate. When one of the police asked them their business, a guy took off running. We arrested them all. During the interrogation, one told us they and two other kill teams were sent to assassinate you.”

Conner took a deep breath and asked, “Who are they?”

“We don’t know what group yet, but we’ll get that information soon enough. They’ve been sent to Warren for further interrogation.”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“This will prompt a discussion about getting a new vice president.”

“I don’t need another VP. Cruz is mine.”

“But—”

“No buts, we made the deal. He’ll be back here soon.”

“So are these assassins American?”

“No, sir, they’re Venezuelan.”

Sacramento, California

Isabelle awoke to find Pablo staring at her.

“Hi,” she said softly as she stretched.

“Good morning, my love, how did you sleep?” he asked.

Their relationship had grown into an intimate one after their third dinner together. Isabelle’s affair with the “Butcher of Sacramento,” the moniker that her father had given him, had driven a wedge between the normally close father and daughter. She didn’t like many of the things Pablo had done, but she rationalized that what she was doing was surviving. She tried to reason with her father that allying with Pablo would protect the two of them, but he wouldn’t hear it.

“I slept great,” she purred as she placed her long, slender arms around his neck and drew him closer.

“Ah, you tease. I can’t. I have an important meeting with General Pasqual.”

“Ugh, General Pasqual,” she mocked, rolling her eyes.

Pablo slid out of bed and walked to the large window, opening the blinds. Sunlight splashed across the large bedroom, formerly the governor’s master suite.

“Why that tone about the general?” Pablo asked curiously.

“I just don’t like him,” she said, twirling her hair.

“Why? He’s a trusted commander. I specifically had him handpicked. He has an impeccable record, and he’s brilliant,” Pablo said in his defense.

“I don’t trust him. I don’t think it’s wise to trust anyone, but I specifically wouldn’t trust him.”

Pablo looked at her oddly. He was always taught by his father not to trust anyone. And if what he did to his own father wasn’t a lesson enough, you can’t even trust family. Once again, he felt as if Isabelle knew him intimately.

“Why don’t you trust him?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I feel like he’s always whispering to others, and when you’re not looking, he’s throwing nasty looks at you.”

“I think you’re seeing things. I trust him. He’s a valuable part of my command; besides, what exactly do you think he’d do?” Pablo said, now attempting to brush off suspicion of his top commander.

“Do his men love him? Will they do whatever he says?” she asked.

Pablo thought about the question for a second, then dismissed it. “He is loyal. He’d never work against me.”

“Next time you see him among the others officers, watch how he interacts with them.”

Pablo thought even longer but decided to not have his mind clouded by doubt. He looked at her leg sticking out of the sheets and rubbed it. “I forgot that you’re a woman. Women’s minds are always contemplating sinister and mischievous things. I think you’re bored. You need to find something to do besides conjuring up such petty and childish things.”

“Maybe you’re right,” she said in a bored tone. “Why would he challenge you? What would he gain?”

Her last two questions resonated with him. He needed Pasqual, but did Pasqual need him? Fear gripped him when this concept announced itself. He stood up quickly and went to the bathroom to get cleaned up.

He slammed the door, turned on the battery-powered lantern, and poured a bottle of water into the plugged sink. He splashed the water on his face and stopped to look at himself in the mirror.

Could he trust Pasqual? Nothing stood between Pasqual and him. She was right—Pasqual’s men loved him, but did they love their emperor more?

He knew the truth to that question. Of course they didn’t, but they did fear him. But was fear enough to keep them in line? His mind raced as he headed out for his meeting.

Northern Utah, off of I-84

“Brandon and Luke, I want to talk with you,” Sebastian said.

The boys walked over to him. Both had their arms crossed in an attempt to stay warm. The temperatures had dipped down into the teens and it was getting colder. The overpass had provided shelter for more than a week. A snowstorm had forced them off the road and stopped their journey north.

“Can we talk after we make a fire?” Brandon asked.

“Not necessary, this won’t take long. After what happened to Brandon more than two weeks ago, I’ve decided to let you both keep guns on you.”

“Fuck yeah!” Brandon chirped with excitement.

“Just so it’s on the record, I think this is a bad idea,” Annaliese chimed in.

“I know you don’t have training, so I’m keeping it simple. I have two revolvers. Here and here,” Sebastian said, handing Brandon a Smith & Wesson model 649, and Luke an old Colt Detective.

“What is this?” Brandon snapped angrily.

“It’s a revolver.”

“Yeah, a fucking grandpa gun, I want a Glock or something badass like that.”

“Until you have training, this is what you’re going to get.”

Luke held the pistol in his hand like it was a baby bird. He didn’t know what to do with it.

“Sebastian, look! Luke looks so uncomfortable. This is a bad idea. And that one”—she said, pointing at Brandon—“will shoot us with it, probably.”

Brandon raised the pistol and pointed it at her.

Sebastian’s expression changed to anger as he slapped the gun out of his hand and stepped into Brandon’s face.

“Don’t ever, ever, point that at anyone in this group again! Do you understand me?”

“I’m sorry, I was just joking,” Brandon said sheepishly.

“You don’t point a weapon at someone unless you intend to use it!”

“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it!”

“See what I mean?” Annaliese exclaimed.

Sebastian picked up the revolver and put it back in his pocket. “You were right. This was a bad idea.” He reached over and snatched the gun out of Luke’s trembling hands.

The boys both stood, unsure of what to do.

Brandon, who was always so sure of himself, looked down and mumbled a few words under his breath about how stupid he was for doing that.

“Go make the fire,” Sebastian ordered.

Both boys turned around and began to assemble the materials for the fire.

Sebastian turned to Annaliese, who said, “Is this where I say, I told you so?”

“Don’t start with me.”

Sebastian walked away from her and began to unload the sleeping bags.

She walked up behind him and rubbed his back. “Hey, I’m sorry to rub it in your face.”

He turned around and said, “I have a lot of responsibility here. I have to protect you and those boys. It’s just me.”

“I think I can handle myself.”

“I’m not saying that, but I feel it’s my responsibility. These boys are old enough to handle a gun.”

“Old enough . . . but not mature enough,” she remarked.

Sebastian looked at her, then toward the boys. She had a point. When he was Brandon’s age, he had been shooting for years and his father had taught Gordon and him how to handle and respect a firearm. These boys didn’t have that kind of upbringing. It wasn’t right or wrong, it just was what it was. These boys needed to mature. He knew Brandon had the will and desire to use it, but was not trustworthy because of his emotional state. Luke could be trusted not to abuse it, but the reality was that he might not use it at all because he feared it.

“Why don’t you start training them properly, if you feel like they need to be armed? Get them shooting starting tomorrow morning. Then when you feel that they’re ready, let them have the guns. Just take your time with it.”

Annaliese’s reasonable suggestion felt right to him.

He leaned in and embraced her tightly. “What did I do to deserve you?”

She answered him by whispering into his ear, “Have you seen how hot you are? I’m the lucky one.”

“Fire! I made fire!” Brandon bellowed.

They both turned and saw the fun-loving child who Brandon kept hidden. Deep down he still was a twelve-year-old boy, but the new world had perverted him. Sebastian didn’t know just what kind of man he’d become.

Eagle, Idaho

“Scott, just because they don’t have cars and other things doesn’t make them less of a threat. It actually makes them more of one!” Nelson said heatedly.

Nelson had called the community to a meeting to discuss Truman. He was getting a lot of pushback from the residents.

“This isn’t our problem. We’ve been living here for years! Now you show up, and we suddenly have a problem,” an older woman said. She was one of the original homeowners in the community.

“Nelson, I understand your concern, but I agree with Sadie. I don’t see how this affects us,” Barbara, Sadie’s neighbor said.

“It affects us all, because we have decided to come together as a group to survive this.” Nelson pleaded for their understanding.

“Nelson, I agree that we should be vigilant and watch out for anyone who could be an adversary, but attacking them for no reason out of an assumption that they’ll attack us soon doesn’t make sense,” Scott said.

“Scott, everybody, these men will come for us one day, trust me. They know what we have and now Truman has justification in his mind that it’s payback for his brother,” Eric said, impassioned.