Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“There are only so many ways Medved could’ve possibly found that safe house location. I’m having trouble coming up with anything remotely plausible.”
“No. That’s not possible.”
“I know you believe your organization is ironclad—”
“They care about me.” I meet her gaze and hold it, daring her to deny what I’m saying. She only looks back. “Each and every person in the Fortress owes me their lives. I’ve saved families, fixed problems, given them everything. That’s why they’re here.”
“Sometimes it isn’t enough. New problems come up. You know that.”
“It isn’t like that here.” I don’t know why I’m being so adamant about this. I know Lucy’s most likely correct.
But this is how I rose to power. I surround myself with people who owe me something. Not like debt or money, but something deeper. I treat them like my own family, and they do the same for me in return. I’m not warm and fuzzy, but I pull strings for the people in my orbit. I go out of my way to ensure they’re taken care of. I give them everything I possibly can, and all I expect in return is their loyalty.
It works. Because I believe in it. This isn’t some bullshit act.
I care about these people. On a fundamental level, they matter to me.
The thought of one of them betraying me hurts more than I want to admit.
“We’ve been lucky for a long time,” Lucy says quietly. She’s more subdued and thoughtful now. I think the idea of a traitor bothers her as much as it bothers me, but she’s better at hiding it. “I always knew this could happen. We treat the people here well, but there’s always more. There are always pressure points to push against, and Medved’s good at finding them. All it takes is one little seam, and he can split this place wide open.”
I blow out a long breath. “The dead boy from the other day. Do you think he was involved?”
“I have a strong hunch that he was.”
I hesitate, frowning. Lucy’s avoiding my stare now. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t want you to know. I thought I had it handled.”
“Lucy. Tell me.”
“He was caught sending messages from an encrypted phone. We don’t know who he was texting or what he was saying, but he knew the rules. No communications from the Fortress. That’s why people work three months out of the year.”
“You had him killed? For messaging an outside number?”
“He also met with Allie hours before we caught him.”
That stuns me. I lean back and stare at her, feeling like someone kicked me in the chest. “I don’t believe that.”
“It’s true. Lady’s listening systems were disabled by some convenient glitch in the short period they were talking. We don’t know what they said, but based on Allie’s movements that day, they were definitely in the same room.”
“Coincidence.”
“You know that’s unlikely.”
I stare at my hands. I feel sick at the thought of my wife betraying me. And yet… “We don’t know anything for sure.”
“That’s true. All I can say is that young man messaged people outside of the safe zone against explicit orders and met with your wife briefly during a freak surveillance failure.”
I shove my chair back and stand. My head’s a swirling mess, and I need to start moving before these emotions threaten to overwhelm me. “Compile a report. Figure out who that young man was talking to. I’ll handle the Medved fallout later.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” I move to walk past her, but Lucy stops me. She touches my arm lightly. “You don’t know Allie’s doing anything wrong.”
I don’t look down. “Do you believe she’s innocent?”
Lucy doesn’t answer. For all her faults, my second-in-command won’t ever lie to me.
Not even to make me feel better.
The door to the west wing opens after I punch in the code. The gyros hidden in the wall pull the massive metal barrier down like something from a sci-fi movie. Warm air rushes out, and I smile to myself.
“You’re like a lizard, I swear.” I step into the room. The smells are all so familiar. Antiseptic, cologne, and last night’s dinner. There’s a thick carpet on the floor. The walls are hung with old photographs and decorated with wood paneling. The main space is dominated by a couch, an old laminate table, an ancient television, and a massive hospital-style bed surrounded by beeping equipment.
The man in the bed glances at me. He’s got thick glasses, his gray hair fuzzy and unkempt, a deep frown on his pale and scarred face. His hands shake as he lowers a book. “And you’re like a bad dream I can’t seem to shake.”
“More like the answer to all your prayers.”
Elias Thorne laughs softly. His voice is a rasp, like wind through the trees, and his once-massive frame is a withered husk of his former perfect health. He puts the book down as I walk over and lower myself into an old folding chair.