Finding Sage (The Rogue Book 1) (25 page)

45.

Caleb Rodriguez turned a key in the lock and opened the door.  Exhausted, he abandoned the formality of serving Agent Coleman and collapsed on his bed.  He ran his hands through his brown, crew-cut hair and breathed a sigh of relief.  He was in deep.  He was in very deep.

His first impression of Coleman was a young man who had advanced too far too quickly.  He was arrogant, hot-tempered, and typically ignored those around him unless they were useful to him.  He had been on the job for a week before Coleman spoke to him.  Another week before he called him by name.  Yet another week before he got his name right. 

He started out with a desk job, which mostly consisted of proofreading agent reports.  He loathed every minute of it.  He was a soldier and he belonged in the field.  He fumed indignantly over this for days.  Ambitious soldiers only dreamed of being transferred to New York, and he had been thrilled when he heard the news.  He didn’t think he would come to think of the transfer as a demotion of sorts, becoming an undervalued paper pusher.  Still, he did his job well.

After two weeks, he was selected to work under Coleman, though Coleman made it clear that he was not his first choice.  He was grateful for it nonetheless, and was determined to prove himself.  He was not in the field, but it was the next best thing. 

However, he soon found himself experiencing the same sort of unease that had placed Gamble on such a short leash.  A handicapped kid tortured before his very eyes.  Executions ordered without a second thought.  Floggings handed out for the lightest of transgressions.  He knew what the U.N. was like, he’d known that from the day he was drafted; but this was different.  It was almost as if the closer you got to the top, the more the ugly beast showed itself.

Wow, I sound like Gamble
, he grimaced.

“Hi, Caleb.”

Speak of the devil.

Rodriguez whirled around and pointed his gun at the dark corner that the voice had come from.  He was sweating and shaking, unnerved by the casual nature of the voice, the fact that someone had slipped past him, that this person had been waiting for him.  He nearly pulled the trigger on instinct, but restrained himself, perhaps out of fear more than presence of mind.

Gamble stepped into the light.

A great cloud of fear dissipated at the sight of his friend, but he did not lower his gun.  Suspicion remained inside of him.  He had seen these rogues do strange things.  Mimic voices.  Move things with their minds.  That one with the blood-red eyes could disappear.  Who’s to say one couldn’t take the form of someone else?  And why would Gamble be coming to him in secret? 

“What are you doing here, Gamble?”

He looked hurt.

“You used to call me Chris, Caleb.”

“Answer the question.”

“I need your help.”

It still seemed suspicious. 

“What’s my sister’s name?”

“What?”

“Answer.”

“You don’t have one.  You’re the oldest in a family of four boys.”

He lowered the gun.

“I had to be sure,” he said.

Gamble nodded his head.

He stood and looked his old friend in the eye. He looked worn out and on edge; he was tapping his right middle finger against his leg, a nervous habit that used to manifest itself right before a mission.  A hint of a scruffy beard was growing and his hair was a little on the shaggy side.  Agents often took liberties with their appearances, but that was strongly discouraged in lower-level soldiers.  Rodriguez guessed that he hadn’t reported for duty in at least two days, maybe more.

He embraced his friend in a tight but brief hug.

“What have you gotten yourself into, Chris?”

He threw a manila file folder on the bed.  A few crisp white papers slid out of the folder.  He picked it up and looked at it.  Papers were stapled together, about a dozen names and faces on each, along with birthdates, addresses, height, eye color, and status; a number from 1 to 10.  He’d seen these before.  The numbers were in terms of priority.  A level 1 needed to be exterminated immediately, a level 10 wasn’t often dealt with unless they manifested themselves in some way, or those around them became implicated.  Often it was the latter that got them in trouble.  A subtle curse that allowed them to influence people.  Gamble narrated the list as he grazed it.

“Travis Baugh, priority 5.  Red hair, seventeen years old.  Terminated because he got past the internet block.  Reginald Willis, priority 1.  Twenty-three years old, single father of two young children.  Terminated for the ability to walk through walls, although he has no criminal record.    Oliver Freeman, priority 2.  Thirty years old, telekinetic with an affinity for things mechanical.  Terminated for a dangerous ability.  Andre Lopez, priority 6.  Killed.  Killed for his ability to manipulate electricity.  He was an electrical mechanic, married with three kids.”

He said “killed” with much greater emphasis. 

“What are you doing, Chris?  You’re going to get yourself killed!  If the officers find out that you’re doing this—”

“I killed them, Caleb.  I killed all of them.”

“Why are showing me this?!” Rodriguez demanded, outraged.  “So I can join you in your self-deprecating pity party?  So I can turn on my superiors and take the downturn you have?  So I can burn with you?  Is that why you’ve come here?  To kill me?!”

“So you can see!  What they’re making us do, it isn’t right.”

Gamble’s voice was hushed now, as though suddenly aware that someone could be listening.

“Take your moral self-righteousness and high-tail it back to England,” Rodriguez said curtly.  “I want no part in it.”

“You haven’t even heard my offer.”

“I don’t want to!  You’re going to get all of us killed.”

“At least we’d die with honor.”

“Honor?!” he scoffed.  “Where did you even hear the word honor?  Honor hasn’t even existed for over a hundred years, Gamble.  We gave that up when we started the third world war.  When we took citizens from their homes on the basis of a hunch.  We surrendered honor for security, made a deal with the devil.  And there’s no turning back now.”

“What if there is?”

Gamble watched him closely, hoping this little tease would begin to sway him.  His momentary silence was a sign that the tide was shifting in his favor, but he didn’t want to push things too much.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“The less you know the better,” Gamble said.  “I’m in touch with someone higher than I who feels the same way I do.  He knows something important is going to happen soon, but he doesn’t have the intel to combat it.  You’re a high-ranking soldier serving under a high-ranking agent.  All we need is your credentials so we can hack into the network and get the right information.”

He chuckled.

“That won’t work.  It requires an eye-scan too.”

“Remotely?” asked Gamble skeptically.  “This is the 22
nd
century.”

Rodriguez conceded.  If he didn’t do as he asked, his friend would likely meet his demise very soon.  The longer his friend stayed alive, the greater the chance that he could be shaken from this life-threatening delusion.  Rodriguez might be risking his own life, but it would hopefully be hard to track and would likely save the life of his friend.

“Get a pen and paper.”

46.

He slowly inhaled the fresh London air.  The scene was just as he had left it.  Beggars shaking mostly empty mugs of coins.  Morning coffee for those who could afford it.  Car and bus fumes.  The sound of soldiers’ boots meeting the sidewalk.  Horns honking.  Kids running.  Parents yelling.  Mobiles ringing.  Silas tried to take it in with optimism, but he was unable.  His experience with Sage was new and thrilling, and he was less than enthralled to be back on Europe’s mainland, once again learning the constant fear for his life.  For his daughter’s life.  For Alice’s life.  For the lives of those they were here to find.  His paranoia regarding all things blue.  The pressure of millions of minds, each pressing its consciousness on his own.  He was not here for nostalgia.  He was not here for the scenery.  He had a job to do.

It turned out that Alaric was a tall middle-aged man with a streak of grey hair who had an affinity for transportation.  Such an affinity, in fact, that he transported them to a small London alleyway in a matter of seconds.  Silas thanked him for the transportation.  He simply nodded.  He didn’t seem to talk much.

Before they left, Sage had given instructions to Alaric, and he had, presumably through his view of the future, led them to the very alleyway where Eli and Tariq were sitting, leaned against the stone wall.  The four of them appeared so suddenly that Eli pulled out his gun.  When he saw it was them, he slowly lowered his gun and, with relief, embraced all of them in turn.  Tariq gave a nod of recognition, though Silas could see a smile on his face.  Despite his rugged and protected demeanor, it was clear that he was just as happy to see them as Eli was.

After a brief exchange, Silas informed them of the job they had to do.  None of them liked the sound of it.  Tariq liked the sound of it least of all, which surprised Silas.  Usually Tariq was the most aggressive one, but he seemed hesitant.  Still, they were all on board and began to make plans for their arrival in New York.

“Agent Coleman!”

Rodge answered his mobile, slightly annoyed at the inconvenience.  His day had mostly consisted of waiting, hoping that the others would make some move.  It was a chess game to him and he had left the ball in his opponent’s court with the capture of Salah.  It had taken far longer than he expected.  The call, however, was not from Jefferson. 

“This had better be good, Doctor.”

“Teddy’s data is sensing someone new.”

“That’s it?!  New rogues are born every day, Doctor.  This line is not for eliminating paperwork!”

“No, you don’t understand,” the doctor stammered.  “It’s a priority 1 rogue.  One we have a file on.  One that’s associated with the terrorist known as Sage.”

“What’s his name?”

“Alaric Mills.”

Rodge hung up the phone without another word.  He turned to Rodriguez, who was standing by his office door.

“Get Jefferson in here, now.  They’re on their way.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tonight?  You’re sure it’s tonight?”

Grayson was excited but skeptical.  He was aware of the potential traps that could be waiting for them past the security firewalls.  Still, the evidence seemed irrefutable.

“That’s what it says here,” Gamble insisted.  “If we want to intercept him, we have to be there tonight.”

“How do we know that he’ll be there?” Jax asked.  “He could be lying low.”

“Not Silas,” Grayson said.  “If he’s had contact with Sage, he’ll know what’s about to happen.  That’s what Coleman is counting on.  That means he’ll be there and when he does, we’re going to beat the U.N. to him.  Suit up boys, we’ve got a date tonight.”

47.

The United Nations Headquarters Complex.  That was perhaps the most uncreative name for any building ever constructed, but it was an accurate reflection of the building.  Tall.  Rectangular.  Reflective glass.  The thirty stories glared down on Silas and his friends with intimidation and pride, as if daring them to make a move.  And make a move they would.

The building was protected by three layers of security.  A large gate separated the grounds from the public, behind which people could observe.  The gate was about twenty feet tall and an ebony metal fence of the same height surrounded the grounds.  Inside, there was a second gate kept by a solid line of armed soldiers and four parked tanks, two on either side, just for show.  Inside the second gate was access to the building itself, which was protected by soldiers and two large turrets, presumably operated from inside.  As the pride of the U.N. and home of the most important political players, the building was practically impenetrable. 

He pulled up the hood of his white zip-up sweatshirt and walked slowly toward the ebony gate.  He had rehearsed the scene in his head, though not nearly enough.  Even his appearance was planned: white hoodie, fingerless leather gloves, and faded black jeans.  According to his adversaries, he was a rebel, a terrorist.  He was about to perform the most rebellious act of his life and yet it didn’t quite feel like rebellion.  They would expect violence.  They would expect a fight.  He would give one.  But not the one they expected. 

He took a deep breath and stopped a few yards short of the gate.  He lifted his head and faced the grounds.  Tall.  Fierce.  Intimidating.  His face was grim, weary.  He was rested.  Yet he was tired.  His anger had worn him out.  It was a heavy burden that he was tired of bearing.  It was time for it to end.  Tonight.

“Here I am!  Come and get me!  I’ve evaded, defeated, humiliated your soldiers and now I’m right on your doorstep.” 

He bellowed with all the strength his voice could muster.  His heart raced and he feared for his life, but he finished with one last threatening sentence.

“WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT?”

Soldiers ran through the grounds to the outer gate and the tanks raced into action.  In a matter of minutes he was faced with dozens of AKs and two tanks pointed right at him.  He sensed all of their minds, the weight of them all pressing on his own.  He did not crumble.  He did not flinch.  He waited. 

The soldiers put a bag over his head and forced him to walk with a gun to his back.  He felt the ground beneath him change from dirt to flooring and he knew that they had entered the building.  As they did, he breathed slowly, relaxing his mind.  There were so many minds in the building, he couldn’t number them all.  They crushed down on his own with intense pressure.  He shook while walking, clenching his fists to keep his composure.  He had to stay strong.  Appearance would be everything.

They threw him in a room and took the bag off of his head.  He opened his eyes and breathed in the musky air.  Everything was happening according to plan.

Rodge watched the security monitors with wide eyes, barely able to believe his own luck.  Silas Knight had walked right into his hands.  He was so elated, so thrilled beyond belief, that he did not hear Rodriguez talking to him.

“Agent Coleman?”

Rodge turned to him.  He didn’t know what Rodriguez had been saying, but he had only one thing on his mind.

“Bring him here.”

Rodriguez nodded and left.  Rodge turned to another nearby soldier.

“Bring Teddy.  When this works, I want the world to see it.”

As the soldier left, Rodge turned his gaze back to the monitor.

“This is actually happening,” he said softly under his breath. 

His dream would finally be realized: equality.  Once the earth was rid of those vermin, there would be no fear, no competition.  It would be beautiful. 

Alice and Alaric appeared inside the control room with so much force that Alice’s knees buckled underneath her.  In the moment it took her to recover, Alaric disarmed three of the eight soldiers before they were aware enough to strike back.  He had no weapon, but acted quickly, bashing their skulls against the control board, knocking them unconscious.  Alice attacked the remaining soldiers, taking the gun from the first soldier to knock him and the others unconscious. 

“Thanks,” she said with a nod to Alaric. 

She removed the leather gloves from her hands, placed them surely on the control board, and looked closely at the monitors.  She closed her eyes and clutched the control board.  She felt the energy rushing into her and maintained her grip until the room plunged into darkness, as did the entire building.

“Your move, Mother.”

“Who are you?”

The Prime Minister’s voice was level, but far from calm.  She was sitting in a large conference room with the Parliament.  All twenty members were present, for the first time all year.  Before her sat a man the soldiers had found attempting to eavesdrop outside.  He was wearing a crisp black and blue suit, an agent trademark, but she was suspicious.  Agents didn’t eavesdrop.  They followed orders.

“My name is Grayson Flint, I’m a level three agent that was transferred here three weeks ago, and I know that unless you act very carefully in the next few minutes, you could lose everything.”

Two soldiers guarding the room’s exit stepped forward to apprehend him, but the Prime Minister held up her hand and they stopped.

“Talk.  Now.”

“Silas Knight’s psychological profile says he’s a loner.  That information is outdated.  For the past several months, he’s been traveling with a small group of friends, most of them being other priority one rogues.  He’s extremely powerful, but his power weakens when he’s in crowds.  The number of people in this building isn’t enough to disarm him, but it is enough to keep him from doing something like controlling someone on another floor.  He has help.  They have struck tonight because Agent Rodger Coleman has gone behind your back and is planning a news broadcast tonight, without your permission.  He’s found a way to kill the rogues.  All of them.”

The Prime Minister’s expression changed from anger to fear.  All of the rogues.  All of them.  Including Alice.

She rose from her seat quickly and snapped an order to the guards standing at the door.

“We’re going to the Broadcasting Room.  NOW.”

Rodge paced impatiently, his agitation growing by the moment. 

“Where are you?” he said, feigning calmness, into his com device.

“On our way, sir.”

Both of them.  Both of the glorious pieces of his plan, on the way to him at the same time.  He was thrilled, elated beyond belief.  He was also impatient. 

His impatience, however, was replaced by dread when he heard the door open, followed by a woman’s voice behind him.

“Rodger.  What is the meaning of this?”

Not her. Not here.  Not now.  How did she find out?  He inhaled slowly, and tried to regain his composure.  He had been careful.  He had taken his time, put up with delays in order to ensure that she wouldn’t find out.  How could this have happened?

His instinct was to find a way to blend in, find a mask to convince her that they were on the same side.  In a split second’s decision, however, he abandoned the pretense.  He decided to show her his true plan.

“I’m taking care of the problem.”

“How?”

“By destroying all of them.”

Grayson, behind the Prime Minster, watched closely.  He was waiting for her words of rage, her contempt for his secrecy.  He had found the identity of the Prime Minister’s daughter by mere chance, and he hoped dearly that it would pay off here.  He knew it would.  It had to.

She locked her eyes on his in a deathly glare.  No one moved for several seconds.  Her gaze was an ancient and controlled fiery rage, his one of youthful arrogance and determination.  He was too proud to back down, yet he didn’t dare to speak. 

She turned her back on him and started to walk out of the room.

“Kill him.”

They didn’t move.

“I said kill him.”

Gamble and Jax remained still.

“Your reign of terror ends tonight, Love,” Grayson said.

“What’s going on here?” Rodge asked.

“Shut your mouth, Coleman,” the Prime Minister said.

Coleman.  Not Rodger.  She has never called him Coleman before.

Gamble and Jax pointed their guns at the two feared leaders, ready to move at any command from their fearless leader.  Grayson stood only a few inches from the Prime Minister’s face, his hands behind his back. 

The Prime Minster pursed her lips, yet she was not afraid.

“One word from me and you’re a dead woman,” Grayson said.  “Why aren’t you afraid?”

“Because you aren’t going to kill me.”

“Is that true, Love?”

“Yes.  Because your boys aren’t killers.”

Rodge stood calmly, assessing the situation.  It would be expedient if the Prime Minister were to die, but this renegade was unpredictable, insane.  Her death could very well lead to his own.  He could see the rage, the bloodlust in the renegade’s eyes.  He knew that look.  It was the look he saw in the mirror every day.  The fire that kept him going, that would not allow him to rest until every rogue lay dead in the streets. 

Blood would be shed tonight, but the Prime Minister was right.  It would not be by the pawns he had commandeered.  They could not see the rage within him.  The hint of blackness that had penetrated his heart, masked expertly by a double life.  They would not be able to see it, but Rodge knew it all too well.  It was only a matter of time before it would destroy him.  And at that, Rodge smiled.  Because it confirmed everything that he knew, the justification that had dominated his mind for so long.  They were every bit as evil as he knew them to be.  He would rid the world of their evil.  He would be the hero. 

It was then, as Rodge was enveloped in his own grandeur, that Grayson spoke.

“Jax, kill her.”

He did nothing.

“Jax?”

“No.”

Jax pulled off the officer’s hat, revealing his shaggy navy-blue hair.

“I’ve seen your intentions, Grayson.  I won’t go along with this.  Your world is just as dark as theirs.  If you want someone to die tonight, you’ll have to do it yourself.”

Grayson moved to take Gamble’s gun. As he was doing so, he heard a loud thud of boots behind him.

“Bro, you’re in way over your head.”

Eli punched Grayson with so much force that he struck the ground headfirst.  Alaric knelt behind Eli, weary from using his ability so much. 

“Um bro, you’ll wanna duck right about now.”

Alaric hit the ground while Eli kneeled and covered his head with his hands.  Bullets ripped through the air with a deafening sound.  Eli clenched his teeth and kept his eyes shut, keeping every muscle in his body tense as a way to deal with the pain. 

After several seconds, the gunfire stopped.  The two armed renegades rushed to reload, the blue-haired boy cowering on the ground. They stopped when they saw Eli stand up.  He casually popped his neck and took a deep breath, and they saw the multiple bullet wounds in his arms and torso close up in a matter of seconds. 

“Drop the piece.  Allayas.”

“No.  No, this can’t be happening,” Grayson said.

“Aw, shut it!” Eli said.  “I’m old, I’m tired, I’m cranky, and I’ve come across the Pacific Ocean for this.  Now drop it before I drop you.” 

Grayson loaded his gun, ignoring Eli’s warnings.  Eli reacted with speed, crushing Gamble and Grayson’s heads together and throwing them to the ground.  Both were now unconscious. 

Eli slung the AKs over his shoulder, and aimed them at his adversaries.

“Everybody hold tight.”

The Prime Minister looked at Eli, but not with the rage that she showed to Grayson.  With familiarity.  With grief.  With regret.

Eli handed a gun to Alaric, who quickly unlocked the door, and waited with a gun in his hand. 

The door opened slowly.  Silas walked in, with two soldiers behind him.  When they saw Alaric, however, they didn’t react.  They simply removed the bag from Silas’ head, released him from the handcuffs, and left.  Silas rubbed his wrists and removed his hood, taking in the room.

It was the largest conference room he had ever seen.  The room looked like it was large enough to seat a couple hundred people, but few chairs were set up.  That left mostly floor space, which was an intricate carpet patterned with maroon and navy blue, a pattern which looked strangely Arabic in origin.  The wall across from him was made entirely of glass, and a small logo in the upper right corner informed him that it was teleglass, capable of switching between window and a video feed.  Miniscule cameras were present along the glass, allowing the entire room to be broadcast, or a small area, depending on the amount of cameras utilized. 

In the center of the room, Eli held the Prime Minister, Rodge, and three soldiers at gunpoint.  He surveyed the room and saw that soldiers lay dead, with blood pouring out of their skulls.