The Crimson Fall (The Sons of Liberty Book 1) (20 page)

“Thank you, Mr. President,” the attorney general said as she turned to address the room. “Adam Reinhart remains a threat and a fugitive. His actions and the actions of this new cell of neoconservatives have threatened to reignite the war on terror. My fellow Americans, this is not something we can afford to let happen. As the president stated, we must all take a stand against this. Therefore, I am labeling Adam Reinhart as public enemy number one of the United States. The president and I consider him a grave threat to national security and we believe the life of Senator David Malcovich is in imminent danger. We are doing everything we can, turning over every stone, in our attempt to try and find the senator and bring his captors to justice. But we need your help. We need you, the American people, to be our eyes and ears where we have none. We are offering a twenty-five million dollar reward for information leading to the direct capture of Congressman Adam Reinhart. Should you have any information of his whereabouts, please contact the FBI through the link attached to this broadcast. With that, I will turn it back over to the president.”

Mary nodded to him and stepped away from the podium. Lukas paused for a moment as he approached the microphone, letting the lie marinate just a little while longer. He knew his grand story would cover up the simple truth of what had actually transpired, but the threat of reawakening the war on terror was what he hoped would motivate the people the most. That very idea was a danger to the nation’s much enjoyed break from a tiresome war that almost bankrupted the patriotism in men a decade prior. They were now nervous, vulnerable, and scared.

And Lukas knew he had them right where he wanted.

“My fellow Americans, we are in this together. We have been tried and tested over the past few years, but we know the best of humanity still reigns. You rose together for our future security by supporting the treaty earlier this year, and I vowed to you that I would help make this country safe again. But our future is dependent on your actions as much as it is on mine. I ask the officers wondering tonight if they will face riots tomorrow to sleep easy. I hope that those who may be questioning if their Second Amendment right has been compromised can continue to trust us. I beseech every one of you to do what you were born to do. Have faith in one another. Unite in our time of need. Believe me when I say that this nation will stand strong so long as I am your president and when I am finished, know that even then will I continue my fight for you until the day I die.”

Without another word, Lukas nodded in thanks and walked off the stage. Shouts and questions sounded off like cannon fire, pursuing him as he left. However, Lukas continued walking until their noise had disappeared far behind him. It had all been a lie; all but the last sentence at least. He did not worry about the American people, for they would band together in their ignorance as they always had. His worry, as he left the White House to enter his waiting presidential motorcade, was that the Patriarchs would see though his web of deception when he was finally forced to face them again.

When he entered the vehicle, he realized that time was much sooner than he had anticipated.

Rhys Howard and Jacob Brekor sat across from him in the back of his long limousine. The Speaker reclined back with a mischievous grin on his face while Jacob bore a much more apathetic expression. Lukas could feel their eyes burn into him as he sat down wordlessly. He stared back at the men, matching their defiant silence in a battle of the wills. If it were not for the constant flutter underneath Lukas’ eye, he would have continued. Though Jacob was much less irritating, Rhys only stared and smiled; his face was devoid of any emotion save the happiness of making Lukas uncomfortable. Lukas was the first to look away and speak.

“How did you—”

“What? Come here unbeknownst to you?” Jacob said. “Did you not believe Sigmund when he said he has hidden allies where you would least suspect?”

Lukas tried to remain cool, though his eye continued to give him away. He had known the Patriarchs would keep tabs on him, but he had not suspected members of his own security detail be in on it as well. It dawned on him that Sigmund’s fingers reached deeper than he had originally imagined and that the secrets he thought he kept from the Patriarchs were in all likelihood anything but secret.

“I have nothing to hide from Sigmund or you two,” Lukas said foolishly. “What I do is guided by fate and you can go to hell if you think otherwise.”

“Then tell me, oh ye man of destiny, why were we not first consulted before you tried to kill Adam Reinhart?” Rhys asked. “I seem to remember Sigmund explicitly commanding you to avoid that very thing.”

“You speak as though the congressman is still alive,” Lukas responded. “What makes you so sure he is not dead already?”

Rhys laughed. “Because I can tell the difference between a fearless tiger and a quivering cub. The congressman knows something; otherwise you wouldn’t be so desperate. Tell us, what is it that he knows?”

“If I knew something, so would you and the others,” Lukas said, though it was only half true.

“I’m sure,” Rhys said. “Could it be that your mistakes with his brother have somehow found their way to him? Have two members of the Reinhart family out maneuvered the cunning Lukas Chambers—one of the greatest puppet masters of our time? Perhaps we should have coerced them to do your job instead?”

“Adam Reinhart is nothing,” Lukas said indignantly.

“If a man who is nothing can outsmart you,” Rhys said, “take something of yours, and cause the people of the United States to begin to question their president, then I wonder how you would survive someone who
is
something. What, did you really believe we didn’t know he stole something from you? We know everything you say, Lukas. Not a word passes between you, your wife, your guardian drones, or that dead hound of yours without us knowing. Are you so ignorant that you didn’t think we’d find out? Perhaps it should be someone else that takes the reins as president?” Rhys smiled and cocked his head to the side as though he had just thought of something fascinating. “I guess my only other question for you is if you think Maria would be willing to remarry the new president that takes your place, whoever that might be? After all, she might want to remain as the first lady.”

Lukas visibly shook with rage. He wanted to wrap his fingers around Rhys’ throat and choke the life out of him. But to act on that rage would only give Rhys the victory he was searching for. As Lukas debated assailing the Speaker, Jacob spoke.

“I have said this before and I will say it again. There will be no talking of my daughter like that, Rhys. She has given herself to Lukas and you need to respect that. Do I make myself clear?”

“If you say so,” Rhys said sarcastically.

“Yes, I do say so, you cocky little shit, and I have almost had enough of you. You don’t think I lack the ability to bury you if you continue to bring this team down, do you? You are not above reproach, and in the end even Lukas will remain a brother of ours in the coming promise land, no matter what you
think
you may know.”

Jacob’s emphasis on that last statement and Rhys’ abrupt change from arrogance to an appearance of humility told Lukas that there was more to Rhys and Jacob than he had previously known. Every Patriarch had their backdoor and guarded dealings, but any time a whiff of those secrets ventured out into the open, it was a call for calculated curiosity. However, before Lukas could unearth more about what had been said, Jacob turned to address him.

“My only question is whether or not Adam Reinhart stole something that can lead back to us?”

“Do you honestly think I am that incompetent?” Lukas asked. “I do not leave information about us lying about for people to snatch up. Whatever he took will be passed off as propaganda now that the country hates the man. So you can sit here and continue to crucify me or you can tell me what comes next.”

“We are here because only you can make this right,” Jacob responded.

“Then what would you have me do?”

“For the next four months, you will conduct the campaign of a lifetime in order to save your ass,” Rhys said. “You will humble yourself, traveling the nation and assuring everyone that the new firearm technology is completely safe. You will also embark on a media campaign—not just with the stations we own but with everyone. You will divvy out the blame for the disaster in Chicago as much as you can before you accept the rest of the responsibility yourself. You handled things poorly and you will admit to that. They will lose their confidence in you, but you will have the Patriarchs’ trust once more. We all know this might very well kill your ability to be reelected as president, but hopefully things never come to that. Things are progressing far quicker than we ever anticipated, but as you say, fate has a mind of its own.”

As Rhys spoke, a fury built inside of Lukas and he was on the verge of losing all restraint. “You think a . . . a humiliation tour is what the nation needs from me? I will not play into these games and they do not need an apology! I will be their leader after the Purge, not you. I have the situation under control and—”

Rhys laughed. “Your definition of control is far from the control we wish to achieve. No matter, if the truth is as you say it is and Adam Reinhart has or is being dealt with, then Sigmund will have no quarrel with you when he arrives here at the end of those four months to assess you himself.”

Lukas’ eyes widened and his throat constricted, making it hard to breathe. Sigmund almost never left his unknown castle of solitude—save for their Gatherings once every one or two years—and if he was coming to America, it was probably to violently remind Lukas who was really in charge. Despite knowing the answer to the question he was about to ask, Lukas couldn’t help but mutter the words that burned into the back of his skull.

“Why is he coming?”             

“To ensure you are still in control, as you say you are,” Rhys replied. “Whatever qualms we may have between each other, it is victory I yearn for; not your defeat and especially not the defeat of the Patriarchs. So tell me, what are
we,
yes we, going to do about Mr. Reinhart?”

“We?” Lukas said and laughed. “After everything you said you have the audacity to speak to me as a friend? You are not my friend and I have already done what needs to be done.”

“And how do you figure that, oh blundering President?” Rhys asked.

“I have made the country fear again. They had all thought the war on terror was finished until today. I have made them believe that they are not yet safe and that the danger is greater than ever. For two hundred and fifty years they have clung tight to their guns, refusing to give them up. In one year I have managed to make them believe that the only way to be safe is to hand over those sacred weapons so that I can ensure their protection. I have built a company that provides the means for that precious control you speak of.
I
,” Lukas shouted, emphasizing ‘
I’
every time he began a new sentence, “have let slip the dogs of war on Adam Reinhart and I will watch when they end his miserable little life. And then . . . then
you
will see that I am the one America wishes to lead them into the promise land you speak of. I am the man of fate they will follow and I will be the one that makes them see that only
we
, the Patriarchs, can offer them hope in our new world.”

Sigmund Dietrich rested back on his hands casually—his palms sinking into the dry sand as he sat quietly on the nearly empty beach. He stared out happily at the rippling bay and the bloodshot sun that was now half concealed by the distant horizon. The ocean breeze swept over him, crashing against his face with a euphoric mixture of therapeutic wind and salt water. He had always loved this time of day and longed for the last warmth of the sun to slowly climb up his face. As busy as he had been—orchestrating the largest revolution the world had ever seen—he still tried to wander down to the beach near his private getaway every evening to sit in silence and dream of a new world.

A small brown chicken meandered over to him, taking its time as it pecked around for food. The fowl, like so many other island birds, had grown accustomed to human interaction over the years, and it approached Sigmund with little caution. Sigmund smiled and pulled out a slice of bread from a nearly empty brown paper bag, holding it out for the hungry hen. It spotted the meal and moved forward, a little more caution now in its eyes as it neared his outstretched hand to take a bite. As it did so, it nipped too close to his finger and cut into Sigmund’s flesh with its sharp, pointy beak.

Sigmund let out a curse and drew his hand back quickly, eying the bird sideways as it jumped back in fright, running ten feet away before stopping to proudly pick at the torn bread. His anger quickly dissipated as he examined his finger in the failing light. Blood had begun to form on the tip and he slowly reached forward, grabbing a hold of his lower knuckle tightly, and squeezed, begging for more of the precious crimson. Blood had always comforted him, and the mere sight of it brought a cool breeze of ecstasy that calmed him to his twisted core.

Slowly—ever so slowly—he reached back into the bag and pulled out the last slice of bread. The bird rose from its meal and eyed the new fare keenly. It approached again with much less restraint in its gait this time. As it neared, it reached forward to grab the bread.