“He was right,” I say. I touch the bruise on my head. “It took a little convincing, but that’s no surprise. I’ve always been stubborn.”
“The best ones are,” Moore says. “But if you stay with us, you stay by choice. Not by force.”
“Choice,” I say. “That’s exactly what it is.”
Moore smiles.
“I’m glad to hear that,” he says. “You’re going to be an important part of things moving forward.”
“I know how Francisco convinced me, but I’m curious to know how you convinced him.”
“In the beginning?”
“That’s right.”
“I didn’t have to convince him.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t have that power, Daniel, not really. Francisco had already turned against The Program when he met me. He just needed someone to show him a different way to live. He needed a new mission.”
“Just like me,” I say.
“Like you,” Moore says. “You were already beginning to doubt the people you work for and the things they ask you to do. I saw it that night at the community center.”
I take another step toward Moore. I remove my glasses and repeat the now familiar gesture as I swing them by my side.
Moore turns his back to me, looking out the window at the camp below.
“Now you’re here to stay,” he says. “I have plans for us, big plans.”
“I want to hear all about them.”
“Of course,” Moore says. “As soon as Francisco gets back.”
He looks out across the encampment, his back to me.
“Where is Francisco?” Moore says.
“He went back to his room, but he should be here momentarily.”
“I see,” Moore says.
I step toward him, closing in on striking range. He continues to look out the window, his posture relaxed.
This is going to be easy.
Or so I think until Moore turns back to me with a pistol in his hand.
“Don’t come any closer,” he says.
I look at the pistol.
It’s a black Beretta M9. Standard-issue U.S. military pistol. Its 9mm bullets have questionable lethality from a distance, but we’re not at a distance. We are in the same room, a few feet away from each other.
“You’re here and Francisco is not,” Moore says. “I’m going to err on the side of caution and ask you to keep your distance until Francisco returns.”
The way he holds the pistol, it’s obvious he knows how to use it.
We are at a stalemate.
Two minutes until Aaron returns, perhaps five minutes before Moore becomes convinced something is wrong and sends someone to find Francisco. By then there will be eyes on the situation and multiple people between me and Moore.
I cannot let that happen.
“Francisco won’t be back,” I say.
“Why is that?”
“He’s dead.”
“Is that right?” Moore says unflinchingly. “How did he die?”
“I killed him and left his body in the woods.”
Moore is silent for a moment, watching me.
“Why?” he says.
He aims his weapon at my chest, the largest target of opportunity. From this distance, he will not miss.
“Because he was a traitor,” I say.
“To your Program?”
“Yes. And also to you.”
His eyes narrow. The first real reaction I’ve gotten out of him.
“He was plotting against you. He disagreed with your political ideas, and he wanted us to take over the camp together.”
Moore looks at me, the aim in his gun hand unyielding.
“You disagreed with that approach?”
“Obviously,” I say.
Moore pauses for a moment, and then he laughs. A deep belly laugh that causes him to fold at the waist.
“Would you like to tell me why you disagreed?” Moore says.
“Lee and Miranda,” I say.
“What about them?”
“I like them. I trust them. And they believe in you. I thought I might just try it myself.”
“You really killed Francisco,” he says.
“Sorry about that,” I say. “But I saved you the trouble.”
Moore lowers the gun to his side, his face stricken.
“I trusted him,” Moore says, his face going slack.
“That was a mistake,” I say, and in one motion I step forward, detaching the temple arm from my glasses. I arc them through the air, pressing the point into the side of his neck and depressing the plunger.
He doesn’t flinch, only looks at me with a confused expression on his face.
He stumbles as the poison hits him. He drops to one knee.
I step toward him, removing the pistol from his hand and helping him to balance. I don’t want him falling in a way that will create a blood splatter or anything else that will look strange to his people.
Our faces are close, too close.
“You—” he whispers.
I lay him back on the floor. I replace the pistol in its holster at his waist.
He gasps for air. Two more seconds—
“You’re the traitor,” he says.
“I’m a patriot,” I say, and I watch him die.
Twenty seconds have gone by, far long enough for Moore to pass beyond hope of resuscitation. I hear footsteps in the hall outside, coming toward the room.
This is it. I’m out of time.
“Help!” I shout.
The footsteps speed up. Aaron rushes into the room.
“We were talking and he collapsed,” I say, making my voice shaky.
Aaron scans the room quickly, checking for a weapon, checking for any sign of foul play. I can see him looking and finding nothing. His attention quickly returns to Moore.
“I think he’s having a heart attack,” I say.
“Where is Francisco?” Aaron says.
“I don’t know,” I say.
Aaron leaps down onto the floor next to Moore, checks his vital signs, then begins CPR. He’s not skilled enough to know that it’s too late.
“There’s a walkie on my belt,” he says. “Tell them we have an emergency. We need medical up here immediately.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
I USE THE CONFUSION OF RUSHING BODIES TO GET OUT OF THE HOUSE.
A light rain is falling outside. The news spreads quickly. By the time I make it across the camp, teens are already rushing out of their houses, their faces panicked as they run toward the main house with umbrellas or plastic bags over their heads.
A few people look in my direction as they notice me moving away from the main house rather than toward it, but no one challenges me. I keep my head down, not allowing anyone to engage with me.
I sense the fear and confusion coursing through the crowd, along with a growing panic. Moore is the glue that binds this group together. Without him, that glue will begin to dissolve. The kids will wander away, returning to their homes and families on the outside, looking for some semblance of the life they once knew.
I will be the first to leave, but I won’t be the last.
I move toward the parking area. I turn the corner, and I see Francisco’s black truck is there. The keys will be in the ignition, as they are with all the vehicles here. I head toward it.
Suddenly Sergeant Burch steps out of the woods behind the parking area. I notice something in his hands that he quickly slips into a pocket when he sees me.
It’s an iPhone.
What was he doing with a phone in the forest?
He walks slowly across the lot, his eyes weary.
Choices:
I can engage him, try and talk my way out of the situation.
Or I can neutralize him. I’m younger and stronger than him, but there’s no doubt he knows how to fight, and he will not give up willingly. I’ll have to kill him.
Another soldier, another death. Burch is a good man. I’d like to avoid this if I can.