The Collection (9 page)

Chapter 19

Grant Marsden is living proof that mandatory service produces outstanding men with amazing contributions to our society. He is everyone's son.

—
American Gazette

The drive to the capital took a little under an hour. As Grant drove up the hill leading into the city he took a moment to soak in the view. It was almost perfect. Short buildings made out of marble reflected the afternoon sun, making the whole area glow, but his eye was distracted by the monument. A single pillar that rose several hundred feet in the air, it was designed after a rook, a piece from an ancient game most had never heard of. Grant knew not only what the game was but how to play it, and he was quite good at chess.

The building was supposed to remind the country of its past and serve to honor those who protected America, but Grant saw it as an eyesore. He'd been to the top several times. While the view was beautiful, it wasn't worth how hideous the structure looked from the ground.

He drove past the Rook and straight up to the gate surrounding the Mission. The guard waved him through without checking any documentation. Grant smiled at his own notoriety. The Mission was the most important building in the world. It housed the offices for all the men who ran the country. Grant had once heard that before the Registry, the leader of the country slept in the same place he worked; he always thought that sounded inappropriate for a man of such stature. He reminded himself that that was when the country was weak. Now it was strong and would only grow more powerful.

Grant reached the front of the building. The exterior was a deep crimson. It was the only structure in the capital whose color stood out. As he cruised the parking lot he passed other vehicles and noted that they belonged to the most important people in the world. His fit right in. He slid into a spot and jumped out of the car.

It didn't take long for him to make it to the entrance. Again he was waved through by the guard at the door and allowed to bypass the security check. He wasn't sure where to go, so instead he took in the beauty of the structure. The interior had two large twin staircases that wound up to the second floor. Everything was trimmed in deep gold. Crimson and gold, blood and glory.

“I see you made it,” the grand commander said from the top of the steps.

All of Grant's previous dealings in the Mission had been in the basement; now he was going up. He went to meet the older gentleman. As he rounded the stairs he noticed the man's outfit; he was wearing khakis and a pastel-orange polo. Grant felt a slight embarrassment, as he was wearing almost the same outfit, except instead of pants he had chosen shorts with penny loafers.

“Hello, sir,” Grant said. He reached out and shook the man's hand. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“I was hoping it would be a casual one. I've been informed by your business partners that this is your usual attire, but I didn't think we'd be exact twins,” the grand commander said. “I've never been one for suits myself, though at times they are a necessity.”

“Well, I'm glad today isn't one of those times,” Grant said.

“There is something about you. You're strong; it radiates when you enter the room. I'll have one of my wives bring me another shirt; then I was hoping I could give you a tour.”

“
One
of your wives, sir?” Grant asked.

“A perk of the position. I keep that information quiet though. Eventually I'd like multiple marriages legalized for every man. It's just another way to bring in additional funds, but there is some fear it could destroy the middle class. Rich men would buy all the pretty wives and have all the pretty daughters, leaving only the lowest of the bunch for the rest of the men.”

Grant felt this was another test. He took a moment before responding. “And if that happened the middle class might revolt. We need a joyful country for things to run smoothly.”

“You are bright,” the grand commander said. “None of my wives are from the Registry. When a man dies before his daughters come of age, we take them in. Some are sent straight to work if they won't generate a profit; others enter the Registry, where we take their whole fee—and some slip through the cracks.”

Grant had always assumed the reason the grand commander had so many daughters was that he was fortunate, but now he realized it was because they had multiple mothers. The public wife, Nancy, did appear to be constantly with child. Of course it must be a fake stomach, designed to increase public awe of the commander.

“Genius, sir,” Grant said.

“Stop with the ‘sir' nonsense. Please, call me Ian,” he said. “Shall we continue?”

Ian didn't wait for an answer. He started walking down the magnificent hall. It was lined with portraits, most of them showing the grand commander himself through the years. Each painting showed the man younger. Grant started to wonder how old Ian really was; based on the sheer number of pictures he should have been close to one hundred. Ian stopped and admired the first picture that was not his own.

“Our first grand commander, Aaron Miller, was a visionary,” Ian said.

“Did you know him?” Grant asked. He knew the man's whole story. How General Miller rescued the country when it was at its weakest. He created the Registry and required mandatory enlistment. There could not be enough praise said about the man.

“No,” Ian said. “I never had the pleasure.”

They had walked past several more portraits of Grand Commander Miller when Ian stopped again.

“Our second grand commander,” Ian said. “Gary Cleary. He built on his predecessor's ideals. It was his decision to put the technology ban into effect. Most people aren't privy to that information.”

“I wasn't aware,” Grant said.

“Commander Cleary led the country for sixty-three years,” Ian said. “Him I had the pleasure of knowing quite well.”

They continued their walk past many more portraits of Grand Commander Cleary.

“He picked me to take over,” Ian said. “I was his protégé. Young, like you are now. We were still growing; some rebels tried to revolt. People remembered the old ways back then. It was harder to break them. He knew his time was up and I would continue on with his vision.”

“I'm sure he'd be proud,” Grant said.

“Thank you. I know you mean that, because you're not one of the yes-men who follow me around, and there are many of those. They are so eager to gain my approval that they lie and tell me everything I do is wonderful and only fill my ears with good news. Find people willing to let you in on the truth. It's the only way to survive.”

Ian continued down the hall. There was an open door at the end, which led into a giant office. Grant noted it was almost as large as his bedroom. Ian made his way to the desk and used his phone to call for a shirt. Grant took a seat on a chair across from the desk. It wasn't long before a beautiful young woman came into the room. She rushed over to Ian with a blue polo. He stood up and she pulled off the orange one and dressed him in the blue.

“Thank you, Katherine, you picked just the one I wanted.” To Grant he said, “I keep some extra clothes in a spare room here,” Ian said.

His wife didn't make eye contact and bowed before turning to leave.

“Wait.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. He spun her around to face Grant. She dropped her shoulders and the commander placed his hand on her chin; she couldn't have been thirty years old.

“Notice her small frame, thick brown hair, and brown eyes?” Ian asked. “Does she remind you of anyone?”

“Your wife. Nancy,” Grant said.

“Very good,” Ian said. “That will be all, Katherine. This way nobody questions the genetic outcome of our children. Even though Nancy hasn't borne me any in at least ten years, and the last three from her were boys.”

Grant noted Katherine couldn't leave the room fast enough.

“Don't fool yourself though. I still count on Nancy for many things. She is the one who keeps all the other girls in line.”

“And you're telling me this why?” Grant asked.

Ian took a seat at his desk. He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands together.

“I love this country. I love my job—don't get me wrong, it has many benefits, but it is a difficult one. Only a certain type of man can maintain the workload. I see that in you. Even though your wife may have escaped, it wasn't due to your lack of perception. It was because you enjoyed chasing her too much.”

Grant swallowed at the last comment. He wanted to defend himself against the accusation and point out whose fault it really was, but he needed to keep his confidence in check.

“I followed her disappearance closely. I would have stepped in if she'd married another man, but I was so sure you would succeed and then we could turn it into a real hero story. But after she crossed the border I realized it was for the best. This way we can give you a proper wife who will play the public role.”

“Role as?” Grant asked.

“I am not a young man. I have some health issues and need to train a replacement. I think if you were in this position there would be enough to keep your mind busy; you wouldn't allow a chase to continue. So far I have been correct. The people love you. They see you as a strong widower. A hero. All I need is for you to prove yourself a good leader.”

“Sir—”

“Ian.”

“I relish the opportunity to prove myself to you,” Grant said.

“Then let's get started.”

Grant curled his lips into a smile and shook the man's hand. He knew this moment should have been perfect. It was more than Grant had ever dreamed of accomplishing, but he couldn't enjoy it thoroughly. In the back of his mind all he could focus on was the comment involving Amelia's escape being his fault. It added to the fury he was feeling toward her.

“Ian,” Grant said, “I would be honored to prove myself to you, but don't you think it's important that we ensure my wife is departed?”

Grant hated bringing a potential problem to the grand commander, but he hoped it would open Ian's eyes and allow him to hunt Amelia down. Instead the older man just laughed.

“I can tell it's important for you to close this, but forget about her. It is unlikely she'll reappear, and if it happens the only result will be an international public relations hiccup. All of her photos were removed from the Internet and nothing was handed out in print. No photo exists anymore. She'll look like an imposter if she steps forward.”

Grant's stomach dropped. Saint Louis. It was there he'd ordered her photo plastered all over the city. Grant had never bothered to get approval. He'd had his private team distribute them.

“You seem uneasy,” Ian said. “I know your pride is wounded, but don't let that stop you from moving forward.”

Taking a breath, Grant forced his nerves down. He nodded to Ian, but now his head swam with the more pressing issue. If a single person had saved one of those photos and Amelia did reappear, it could cause an uprising. That was not how Grant planned to spend his tenure as grand commander.

Chapter 20

Citizens from other countries are not permitted in America. If you know of a person here illegally, notify your nearest government offices. They are a waste of our precious resources and want to undermine our greatness.

—
American Gazette

A voice filled Andrew's head. The loud noise played in a quick spurt. A light flashed. Andrew popped his eyes open. He was sitting straight up at a table. A man in full military uniform sat across from him. Andrew looked around the room; it was made of red clay and a fluorescent light filled it.

“How are you feeling?” the man asked.

“Fine,” Andrew said.

His throat was dry. The sound of his own voice echoed in his head. It was foreign to him. The man reached over and grabbed a pitcher of water. He poured a glass and set it in front of himself. Andrew wanted that water so badly. He couldn't take his eyes off it.

“What's your name?” the man asked.

Andrew didn't respond.

“Mine is General Bolivar,” he said. He slid the glass of water closer to Andrew.

“Andrew,” he said, still eyeing the water.

“Where are you from?”

“America,” he said.

“Where are you now?”

Andrew opened his mouth, but no words came out. He wasn't sure how to answer. The loud music filled his head when he tried to remember. He winced.

“You're home,” the man said. “Repeat that.”

“I'm home,” Andrew said. The noise went away.

“Did you travel here with anyone?”

“Yes,” Andrew said.

“Who?”

“Carter,” Andrew said.

“Who else?”

Andrew tried to think backward. The noise filled his mind. He tried to think through it, but the sounds were too much. The noise increased and the pain did too.

“I can't,” Andrew said. “I don't want to remember.”

“What can you tell me about Mia?”

Her face appeared before Andrew's eyes. He remembered traveling across the country with her, staying in Rod's basement; then the night they were leaving, he had been intertwined with her in the bed of a truck. Kissing her, smelling her hair, feeling his hand run up and down her back. Then a car accident. He tried to think of what happened next but the memory hurt too much. The noise came back.

“What happened to her?” Andrew asked.

“You don't remember?”

Andrew shook his head. The general smiled.

“She died,” he said.

Andrew felt the world fall out from under his feet. He was floating, not sure how to respond. She couldn't have; he would remember that. His eyes went wide and he struggled for an answer.

“How?”

“A car accident,” he said. “She never made it across with you two. Both she and Roderick Rowe died in the accident.”

“You're lying,” Andrew said.

The general looked disappointed.

“You and Carter crashed a helicopter into the ocean,” he said. “There were no other footprints on that beach and nobody washed ashore. It was only the two of you flying over. If she were alive, would you have left her there?”

Andrew knew he would never abandon Mia, never.

“How did I get here?” Andrew asked.

“We found the two of you,” the general said. “Walking aimlessly in the desert. Dehydrated and starving. We don't know how long you were out there.”

Andrew squinted his eyes. He raised his chin and leaned back in his chair.

“Then how would you know about the footprints on the beach?” Andrew asked.

The general stood up and went to the door. He knocked twice and two armed guards walked in. Andrew rose from the table and backed up.

“Don't worry, we'll try again tomorrow,” the general said. “Maybe day ten will be your lucky day.”

The two men gripped Andrew's arms. He tried to push them off but they were too strong. As if he didn't have a choice, the memories came rushing back in. The memory of being trapped in the bathroom, the loud noises, the doctor stabbing him with needles, Carter being taken away.

“What are you doing to me?” Andrew asked.

He struggled harder when a doctor came in with another tray. His guards' grips intensified and he watched in horror as the doctor stabbed him with two quick injections.

“Don't fight it,” the doctor said. “You've already set a record.”

“The harder they are to break the better soldiers they will be,” the general said.

Andrew felt his body go limp. His neck couldn't support his head any longer. Before he lost consciousness he promised himself not to forget, not to break. But he was already having a difficult time holding on.