Текст книги "State of Alliance"

Автор книги: Summer Lane

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“What do we do?” I ask Chris.

“We get inside,” he says, repeating his earlier plan. “We get to cover.”

I get a cold, chilling flashback of the Battle of the Grapevine. I see myself running through a huge drainage pipe, away from Jeff Young’s lifeless body, as dozens of men and women in our ranks suddenly turned on us, creating the same kind of chaos that we have here today.

“Follow me!” Chris yells. “Go!”

He’s up and running across the meadow, keeping his head down, shoulders tucked, body moving. I follow, keeping behind his shoulder, light and quick on my feet. Elle and Devin are behind me, including Bravo.

We cross the street, quickly picking our way through the carnage of the ruined convoy. My mind is reeling – how could they have all been rigged to explode at the same time? And if they were rigged, why didn’t they blow up while everyone was inside the vehicles?

There is a row of barracks here, light tan buildings in neat rows. We slip between two of them. Chris kicks the door open and we rush inside the building. The interior has been cleared out. There is nothing but rows of bunks and shuttered windows here.

“Stay here,” Chris says.

“No freaking way!” I reply, angry. “I’m a Commander, and I do not stay behind.”

Chris opens his mouth to argue but thinks better of it. He knows that I am right. He cannot protect me anymore. I am no longer his sole responsibility. Sophia and Andrew step inside the barracks. Andrew is holding a radio, streaked with grime and smoke. Sophia is heaving, a ribbon of blood slipping down the side of her neck.

“We’ve secured the area,” Andrew says. He pauses. “I think.”

“You don’t know?” Chris says. “I’ll be damned if Omega’s going to push their way into Monterey.” He walks to the door, turning to me. “Cassidy. Stay here.” Devin gives me an apologetic look and follows Chris. Apparently birds of a feather flock together.

I heave an exasperated sigh, then turn to check on Elle.

“You okay?” I ask.

She nods, a detached expression on her face.

I look at Sophia.

“Keep an eye on Elle,” I tell her.

“But I’m—”

“—Don’t argue with me, Lieutenant.” My tone is harsh. I’m in no mood to argue with Sophia. I am in charge.

I step to the threshold of the door, overlooking the meadow. The grass appears to be smoldering, covered with hot metal, patches of plants in flames. There are militiamen and National Guard patrols going through every building, checking every nook and cranny of the compound.

Whoever did this is gone.

Behind me, Bravo whines softly, deliberately sitting in one place, a position I had taken him to exhibit only when he finds explosives or poison. I look at Elle. “I don’t understand,” she says, searching the room.

There is nothing below our feet but a slab of concrete.

“I’m not babysitting,” Sophia snaps. “Andrew? Come on.”

“Sophia, Cassidy gave an order—” he begins, but Sophia storms past him anyway. Andrew shakes his head. “She’s been impossible.”

“Sorry,” Elle shrugs. “Bravo must be smelling traces of old explosives in here.”

“You sure? How come he didn’t detect the explosives in the convoy?” I ask.

“He would have.”

“So what happened?”

Sophia leaves the room, infuriated. Frustrated.

Elle stands up from her crouched position next to Bravo, and suddenly the dog relaxes. She raises a confused eyebrow. “He never makes mistakes,” she says quietly. “I think it was a daisy chain. A series of linked explosions, hard to detect. And I didn’t get a chance to check everything out when we got here, anyway.”

The fact that somebody could even get inside the Presidio to do something like that is more than merely disturbing – it’s terrifying. I take a few deep breaths.

“Stick with me, Elle,” I say.

She nods. She and Bravo follow me outside, into the clearing. The wreckage is depressing, and the bodies of the soldiers who were caught in the explosion lie twisted at unnatural angles in the grass. Elle’s face goes taut, mimicking my own expression. Like me, Elle has probably seen death on more than one occasion. It’s a scary reminder of the reality of what war is. War is death. War is bloodshed.

“It doesn’t get any easier,” I tell Elle softly. “It helps to think of why you’re here when you see this stuff. Remind yourself of the good things.”

Elle stares at me, licking her lips.

“It’ll be okay,” I say.

I walk to Chris. He looks tired. There are dark circles around his eyes, and there is nothing but sheer anger in his voice.

“Bravo caught an explosives scent in the barracks,” I tell Chris.

“I’ll have the bomb squad check it out,” Devin replies, overhearing our conversation. “My God, have we got some cleanup to do.”

His words hang awkwardly in the air. To my left, they are moving the lifeless bodies of Nathanial Mero and Ken Thrawn off the podium. There are still fresh streaks of blood on the ground from their wounds. I feel like crying, but the tears won’t come.

“How many people are dead?” I ask Chris.

He folds his arms across his chest.

“At least nine,” he answers, low. “It could have been worse, but it never should have happened in the first place.”

“I’m beginning to think there are Omega spies everywhere,” I say.

“You’re not far off,” Devin comments.

I look down at my shirt, covered with Nathanial’s blood. Droplets are still caked to my hands. I shudder and look over the Pacific Ocean.

It doesn’t matter where we are.

Omega always finds us.

Chapter Nine

It’s early. I slip out of my hotel room and shut the door behind me, clicking the lock into place. I check my weapon, my extra magazines, my knife. I am armored up. I haven’t been able to sleep. My mind keeps replaying the day’s events. Every time I close my eyes I see Nathanial dying or Ken being shot in the head.

My security detachment follows me wherever I go, no matter what time it is. They shadow me, quiet and respectful, allowing me to think, but near enough to protect me if needed. These men and women are comprised of soldiers from the Naval Postgraduate School. They are all strangers to me, and they take over my protection while my primary Lieutenants – Uriah, Vera and Sophia – are sleeping.

The hallways are silent and cold at night. There are patrols everywhere. Most of the compound is dark, due to the fact that there’s really no reason to run the generators for lights when most on the compound are asleep.

I find my way to the exit doors of Herrmann Hall, pushing them open. The air is freezing at night. A heavy, cloying fog hovers over the tips of the coastal firs and the rooftops of the buildings.

“Hey, where are you headed at this time of night?” Devin is standing at the bottom of the steps leading up to the hotel entrance. He’s got his arms crossed, jacket unbuttoned.

“Clearing my head,” I reply. “You?”

He shrugs. Yeah. The same thing.

I descend the steps, surveying the area. It’s very quiet at night – almost eerie. But I know that there are countless patrols on duty. Every square inch of the compound is being watched. Not to mention the fact that at least eight people are standing around me in my security detail, watching my every move.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Devin asks. His blonde hair looks white in the darkness. “Sleeping?”

“Yeah, somewhere around here,” I reply.

“I notice there’s a little… tension between you two.” He holds his hands up. “Tell me if I’m being out of line here and I’ll shut up, but something’s going on.”

I flash a sad smile.

“It’s war.”

“Chris is a good guy,” Devin answers. “We were good buddies back in the day. Great buddies, actually. Not surprised he became one of the leaders of the militia movement. He always had leadership in him.”

I shove my hands in my pockets, curious.

“What was he like when you knew him?” I ask. “Before all of this?”

Devin raises an eyebrow, like he knows that I am fishing for information that Chris won’t give me. And, being the good friend that he is, Devin chooses his words carefully.

“He was the same,” he answers. “He wasn’t so serious, though. The war… that changed him. Everything changed him.”

I say nothing.

“He told me he was in Afghanistan and Iraq before the EMP,” I say.

“We both were.” Devin sighs. “It doesn’t matter who you are. War changes you. For better or for worse.”

True story. I see the carnage of today’s Presidio bloodbath in my mind’s eye – and then I shove it away.

“Hey,” Devin says. “Don’t look so depressed. You’re a great Senator, and now you can go back to Sacramento as a hero. People love you already – now they’ll love you even more.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “My father’s probably dead.”

Devin looks surprised.

“Chris told me about that,” he answers. “I was under the impression that he just hadn’t been found yet.”

I lift one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.

“MIA is the same thing as being dead,” I whisper. I haven’t allowed myself to think about my father while we’ve been here. I knew that if I let my mind wander in that direction, I would be overcome with grief, and I would be off my A-game for the Negotiations.

“Hey,” Devin says, touching my shoulder. “Let’s not get doom and gloomy. Come on, I’ll show you something cool.”

He gestures for me to follow him, and I do.

I feel slightly guilty, going off with Devin in the middle of the night, leaving Chris behind in the hotel. But honestly… Chris isn’t really talking to me very much right now anyway, so here I am.

We round the back corner of the compound and Devin opens the passenger door of a retrofitted armored Jeep. “After you, my lady.”

“We’re going somewhere?” I ask.

“You’re going to like this place, I promise,” he says. For a split second, the thought occurs to me that Devin is trying to trick me – trying to lure me out of the compound and kill me outside of the school.

And then I throw the idea out the window. My security detachment is following us in two vehicles behind us. If Devin was an enemy, he wouldn’t kill me right now. He wouldn’t even try.

I hop into the passenger seat. Devin closes the door and walks around the vehicle to get behind the wheel. He grins at me, and in that moment he reminds me of Chris. It’s the same mischievous, devilish look I’m used to seeing when Chris is happy.

And those times are few and far between, anymore.

Devin turns the key in the ignition and we are rolling toward the exit. I feel a little bit of excitement. Where is he taking me?

I fold my hands on my lap and watch Devin out of the corner of my eye. His tight, methodical mannerisms, the way he scans his surroundings and the way he fists his hands at his sides are reminiscent of Chris.

Either they were much closer than I realized, or all Navy SEALS are the same.

He checks in with the guard at the checkpoint and then we’re turning right, toward the highway. “Where are we going, Devin?” I ask.

“You’ll see.” Devin smiles again. “Take my word for it, it’s going to be worth it.”

The sun is just beginning to rise, barely penetrating the coastal fog. We roll onto the onramp for Highway 1, a quaint freeway that parallels the ocean, then dives into a scenic, mountainous route along the coastline.

“This is gorgeous,” I say. “It’s like being in the mountains again.”

“That’s the charm of Monterey,” Devin replies. “We’ve got the best of both worlds.”

There is no traffic on the freeway, of course. Aside from the occasional military vehicle or checkpoint, the entire city’s traffic and tourist trade has stopped. Frozen in time. It is depressing and fascinating all at once.

After a good ten minutes winding through the small highway, it becomes a two-lane road. We bypass dead stoplights and the road dips downward, overlooking a marshy valley interspersed between the mountains.

“What is this place?” I ask.

“Carmel-by-the-Sea,” Devin replies. “Used to be the place to live. It’s like Beverly Hills but the traffic is better and there are no paparazzi.”

I laugh.

The road curves to the right. There is a sprawling, abandoned shopping center to the left. Devin takes a right and we follow a road, flashing by abandoned houses with dead grass and shriveled foliage.

“What happened to the people who lived here?” I ask. “I mean, if it’s under military protection, why is everyone gone?”

“Because Monterey wasn’t completely secure until a couple of months after the EMP,” Devin replies. “People still panicked. People still left the city. There were riots, a little bit of anarchy. But the strong military presence here kept everything from going completely under. We were able to secure the city limits and make Monterey a stronghold.” He shrugs. “It’s worked so far.”

“Except for the annoying rash of assassination attempts,” I remark.

“Yeah. Except for that.” Devin smirks. “You know, Senator, it’s not every day I get to take a pretty girl for a drive off the base. Life’s been pretty rough since everything went down.”

I give Devin a look.

“Don’t get any ideas,” I state.

“Oh, I would never do that.” Devin chuckles. “Hey, here we are.”

I lean forward as Devin slows the Jeep, making a left turn. We turn into a driveway, and I note a large adobe wall and a wall of purple bougainvillea. There are only a few military vehicles here, and it hits me then just how far away I am from the Naval Post-Graduate School… and from Chris.

Devin pulls into a parking spot. My security detachment takes the two spots to the left of Devin’s vehicle. I nod to them. “Give me some space,” I tell them, which is just a nice way of saying Stay close, but not too close. I want space to think.

“Come on,” he encourages.

I open the door and get out, the crispness of the early morning air pinching my cheeks. I can see my breath, tiny white puffs hovering in front of my mouth.

There is a small wooden door in the side of the adobe wall. It looks like an old Spanish house. There are two guards standing at the door, and they seem to know Devin. They let us pass without questioning us. I take a step inside. There are two rooms separated by an adobe wall. An old sign that reads Gift Shop hangs on the wall, but besides that, the rooms have been cleared out. They are empty, and there are armed National Guardsmen at every door.

“Come on,” Devin says, keeping the mystique going. “This way.”

I follow him through the empty rooms, through a swinging door that opens into a courtyard. There is a beautiful fountain and flowers everywhere, bursts of color enclosed behind pale yellow walls. On the right, a church building stands unapologetically against the early morning sky. There are two small bell towers and, in the center, a stained glass window in the shape of a star.

“Where are we?” I ask, struck by the melancholy silence.

“The Carmel Mission,” Devin replies, watching my face. “It’s been here in one way or another since 1771. The official title is the San Carlo Borromeo de Carmelo Mission.”

“That’s a mouthful.”

Devin grins. “You like it?”

I smile.

“Yeah,” I say. “I do.”

There is nothing but total silence here. I keep my voice low, struck with a feeling of reverence. I walk through the courtyard, past the church building, and follow a path. There is a cemetery here, filled with the headstones of deceased priests, mission Indians and workers.

“It’s so old,” I whisper. “It’s like time just froze in place here.”

“Places like this,” Devin replies, “are the places that survived the EMP the best. I mean, what adjustments would you really have to make to live here? The walls are still adobe. The garden is the same. The church will always be the church, no matter if there’s electricity or not.”

I pause at the end of the walkway. Little wooden crosses fill the dirt patch on the right hand side of the cemetery. Most of the shrubbery has died here, but there are still trees – old trees.

“Can we go inside the church?” I ask.

Devin nods.

I take the path back to the front of the building and stop at the doors. Two guards stand at the entrance. It is amazing to me how the military presence here is so strong – and yet so silent. No one has said a word to us since we arrived.

This place is sacred.

I stop and turn to the security detachment behind me.

“Wait here,” I say.

I walk through the doors and step into a long, ornate chapel. Old wooden pews stretch from here to an intricately carved backdrop with statues of Jesus and the Virgin Mary. The chapel is lit with dozens of flickering candles.

I pause at the front. A large basin sits on a pillar, filled with holy water.

I hesitate, unsure of how to proceed. Is it a sin to walk inside without washing? I don’t know.

I dip my fingers into the liquid before walking further. Devin remains at the door, watching but never moving. I slowly walk down the center aisle between the rows of pews. The ceiling is lovely, vaulted. It towers above my head, reminding me of the vastness of the sky.

It’s as if this entire place is from another world.

I stop at the end of the church. There are graves marked into the floor here, below the huge iconic carvings. Jesus’ blood runs down the side of his cross, and I swallow.

I am a soldier, and I have killed many men, and yet I have the nerve to stand in a church.

I look at the graves. One of them is marked with the name Junipero Serra. I remember his name from history class, back in elementary school. He was the Father of the missions on the California coastline. I had no idea that he was buried in this place.

I suddenly feel very unworthy of being here.

I take a step backward, overwhelmed with the events of the past few weeks. The Battle of the Grapevine, the rescue mission into Los Angeles, the journey to Sacramento, the carnage of the bombing of the Capitol Building, the disappearance of my father, the Negotiations and the assassination attempts.

I have so much blood on my hands. But I fight for freedom, so am I justified in what I’m doing? Why is standing in a church messing with my head? Hot, salty tears burn in my eyes and I fold my hands together, staring at the Jesus carving.

I whisper, “God, I’m just trying to do the right thing.”

I slowly drop down to my knees and bow my head, overcome with emotion and sadness. I’m not really sure how to pray, so I just stay there, unmoving, silent. Just feeling.

If there’s a God, I pray that he forgives us for this war.

And I pray he lets us win. Or all hope will be lost.

When I turn around, Devin is no longer standing at the entrance to the church. Chris has taken his place. I stand up, going rigid. Like I’ve been caught doing something highly private. I mean… isn’t prayer sacred?

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.” Chris begins walking inside the church, pausing at the basin of holy water. And then he passes it and continues to stalk toward me. “What’s wrong with you Cassie? Leaving the compound without telling me?”

“I’m a Commander,” I reply. “I go where I want.”

“I noticed.” Chris stops at the tip of the front pew. A muscle is ticking in his jaw, a sign that he is very, very angry. “You have a reason for running off in the middle of the night with your security detachment?”

I swallow, choosing my words carefully.

“I just had to get out for a second, Chris,” I answer. “I needed… this.”

“What? Prayer? Faith?” Chris shakes his head. “You don’t need to leave to find that, and you certainly don’t need to leave with Devin to figure out where your head is.” He stops. “If something was bothering you, why didn’t you come talk to me? You can always talk to me, you know that.”

I give him a look.

“You haven’t been terribly accessible lately.”

“I’m not the one who’s been having the communication problem,” he replies.

I open my mouth, a thousand retorts dancing on the tip of my tongue. I could tell him that yes, this whole thing is his fault. He’s keeping secrets, he won’t tell me he loves me, and he’s been cold since I cornered him about his marriage on the train to Monterey.

But I say nothing, because sometimes that’s the best thing to do.

“So what’s the issue, Cassidy?” Chris demands.

His eyes are ringed with red, a sign of sleepless nights and crushing pressure. He is not himself. The Chris I fell in love with is patient and kind, gentle yet firm.

“What’s not the problem?” I say. My voice echoes in the church. “We’re at war.”

Chris considers this, then holds out his hand.

“You and I don’t have to be,” he answers slowly.

I lean on the wall, flickering candles throwing shadows across our faces.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” I say. “But I don’t want to force you to tell me things that you don’t want to share. I can’t be everything to you all the time. I get that. I just want to be your friend again, at least.”

As the words leave my mouth, I get a bitter taste in the back of my throat.

“We’re a little more then friends, Cassie,” Chris replies, and he smiles nervously. “You don’t have to be dramatic.”

And that’s when I see it: fear.

There is fear in Chris’s eyes.

“Why are you afraid?” I ask. “If you don’t want to lose me, tell me. If you love me, tell me! Keeping secrets and holding back words that need to be said will never help anyone, Chris. Sometimes you have to say something, or the moment will be over, and it will be too late. ”

He doesn’t move, seemingly frozen in place.

I wonder if I’ve said too much – gone too far.

Chris shakes his head, as if laughing at a private joke, and takes several steps forward, hooking his right arm around my waist, sliding his left hand behind my neck, into my hair. It seems like it has been an eternity since he has held me, and I press against him, forgetting the argument for a moment.

I just want to be.

Chris’s body is warm, and I feel comfort in his embrace. A thrill rushes down my spine. My fingers and toes tingle with the excitement of being so close to him – it has been a long time.

He kisses the side of my neck, a soft, warm touch. I wrap my arms around his neck and he draws me into a sweet, slow kiss. It’s the kind of kiss that eats you up. The kind that you feel in the pit of your stomach, in the bottom of your heart. The best kind of kiss; real, true and perfect.

It’s Chris.

He hooks his fingers through the belt loops of my fatigues and holds me closer. I taste the coffee on his breath and feel the stubble on his jaw, scratching my lips.

“Cassie,” Chris breathes, kissing my cheek. “My marriage – all of that. It’s in the past. I’m not married anymore. My wife… she died. A long time ago.” He takes a great, heaving breath. “It’s just hard for me to talk about.”

First, I feel relief: This woman doesn’t present a threat to our relationship!

And second: I had no idea Chris’s heart had been so broken in the past.

“What happened?” I ask softly.

Chris closes his eyes, kisses me again.

“She…” he begins, and trails off. “It’s a long story, Cassie. Not a pretty one.”

“You can’t protect me anymore. Not even from your past.”

He looks surprised to hear me say that. I press a deep kiss to his mouth, smiling gently. “Don’t hide from me,” I say. “We need each other. We’re a team, remember?” I hold up my hand, reminiscent of a gesture of loyalty we made to each other long ago, in a cabin in the woods… “We’re in this together.”

Chris takes my hand and kisses each knuckle, green eyes never leaving mine.

“If that’s the case—” he says, but he is interrupted.

Devin appears at the front of the church.

“Sorry to break up the love fest,” he says, his voice echoing loudly in the sanctuary. “But we have a situation.”

Out of habit – and a little bit of embarrassment – I step away from Chris. I immediately miss the warmth of his body. I feel cold already.

“What’s up?” Chris says, flushed.

“Omega ships are inbound off the coast,” Devin replies.

I stare at him, still racked with emotion.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I mutter.

Devin shakes his head.

“I wish I was, Commander,” he says. “I really wish I was.”