Hold On! - Season 1 (26 page)

Two years later

February 13
th
, 2016

Belinda found a new job working as a secretary at an insurance company in Denver. She’d continued her life to the best of her ability. It was all so terribly boring. It seemed as though every time she stepped out of her apartment, or met somebody new at work, she was bombarded with questions about Brandon and the Carringby escape. In the beginning, she’d been hounded by the press relentlessly.

Brandon was always in her thoughts. He was the most incredible human being she’d ever known, but now he was gone; caged by his own people. She hadn’t been able to come to terms with his incarceration, and had long since realized that whatever he’d planned at his trial hadn’t succeeded. She’d become a bitter woman, whose life was a living memorial to him.

She’d rejected all advances from other men. No man could ever compete with her memory of Brandon. He was perfect. Who could possibly follow him?

She returned to her apartment after work and switched on her fourteen-inch, flat-screen television set with abandon. Tara Willoughby’s voice was so familiar it had become a piece of monotonous background noise.

That is, until that fateful evening. Her head snapped toward the screen urgently. The kettle of boiling water slipped from her hands onto the kitchen floor.

“Unruly celebrations are taking place tonight,” Tara said with unusually-unprofessional joviality, “following the escape from Fort Leavenworth of the man many have called a national hero—Brandon Drake.’

Belinda’s hand came across her mouth.

“To repeat,” Tara continued, “the man Time Magazine rebelliously voted the ultimate hero, Brandon Drake, has escaped from Leavenworth. Drake was sentenced to an indefinite period, his release conditional upon his surrendering stolen military hardware two years ago. It is still not known why Mr. Drake refused to comply with the order.”

In that moment, Belinda knew her life was renewed. She knew Brandon, and she knew exactly where he was heading. Her life and love with him was about to be resumed. They were finally going to be reunited.

Her face shone with excited, tearful elation as she made a hurried move to pack her belongings. She hadn’t a moment to waste lest the authorities be on her trail. She would be vigilant, watchful, never averting her eyes from what may be behind her. One way or another, she was determined to reach him.

In her mind, she was already in the cabin, holding him, kissing him, loving him.

“I’m coming, Brandon,” she murmured. “
Hold on!
”

To be continued in

Go!

________________________________________________

Hold On!
—
Season 2

OUT NOW!

http://www.amazon.com/Go-Hold-Season-Peter-Darley-ebook/dp/B00YD8497U

_________________________________________________

Hold On!
—
Season 2

Video trailer:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1fA0ufEp-MU

Excerpt

Belinda approached the station and there seemed to be no cause for alarm. She entered the ticket court, relieved she’d made it. It was crowded and easy for her to lose herself among the commuters. Excitedly, she joined a line to one of the ticket vendors. Immediately, another commuter stepped in behind her. She glanced around trying to spot anything alarming, but there was nothing. Everything was perfectly normal.

As she reached the halfway point in the line, she noticed a man in a suit talking on his cell phone close to the station’s entrance. There was nothing unusual about that. But it was the way in which he just glanced at her as he spoke into the phone. She looked away.

And then she slowly looked back. Their eyes locked. In an instant, she knew, and could see he did too.

Her breathing became shallow, her palms were damp, and there was a heaviness in the pit of her stomach.

She gently eased her way out of the line and looked back again for a fleeting instant. The man was talking into his cell phone with a sudden urgency in his eyes, and he was persistently looking back at her.

She darted forward only to be halted by a hand on her shoulder. She looked around to see it was the man who’d been standing behind her.

“Belinda Reese?” he said.

That was enough. Without hesitation, she drove her fist into the man’s nose and he recoiled with blood trickling onto his lip. He was stunned by her unhesitant assault, which gave her the moment necessary to run.

A number of men in suits emerged from the crowd like a swarm. Belinda barely missed being grasped by one of them as she dashed through the exit.

Out in the street, she ran as fast as her legs would carry her. The suitcase was slowing her down, her breathing was labored, and she didn’t know how long she could keep up the pace.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw men she thought must be CIA or federal agents appearing on street corners all around her. “Oh God, no!”

The memory of what Payne had done to her filled her mind again. It would most likely result in a repeat of the ordeal if they caught her. That was unthinkable.

She saw a crowded street ahead and sprinted into it, trying to steal herself among the pedestrians in order to slip back into one of the alleyways.

She quickly saw her chance and darted back into the alley where she’d almost been mugged. Her emotions flitted between fear and rage. It was all so terribly unjust. She only wanted to be with her man and live her life in peace. Neither she, nor Brandon, had any desire to harm anyone, and yet both of them were suffering such overwhelming persecution. She questioned what right they had to do this to them? Why couldn’t they just leave them alone?

Hopefully, Brandon would have the Turbo Swan sent back to the army, and that would be the end of it.

She continued running, but agents came up behind her within moments.

Seconds later, she lost her footing and found herself on the ground. A brawny agent twisted her arm behind her back and she swore loudly with the pain. She didn’t know what was going to be worse. The sticks under the fingernails? Or the suffocation of waterboarding? She hadn’t been able to decide on that before. They were both completely different types of horror. Consumed with panic, her tears flowed with unbearable dread.

“Take it easy lady and this’ll all go smooth,” the agent said. “We only want to talk to you.”

She could hear the footsteps of several more agents hurrying toward them.

“Good job, Rogers,” she heard one of them say.

And then, Rogers collapsed. The others followed, falling like dominoes beside her.

She rubbed her eyes and looked around her. It was such a familiar scene—being captured by the authorities and the authority figures just falling unconscious in front of her. It brought back a harrowing memory. Moore, Wyoming. She smiled with relief and excited exhilaration at the only thing it could mean. “Brandon.”

Beaming, even through her exhaustion, she turned around to a sight she hadn’t seen for two years. He stood before her in his black, bullet-resistant suit and the smooth black helmet with the visor. It was what he’d been wearing when he’d rescued her on that fateful first night. In his right hand was the sonic force emitter pistol. She realized the agents had been rendered unconscious by an intense concentration of ultrasound wave jolts.

Looking up she saw more agents turn down the alleyway behind him. The leader, a tall man in his mid-thirties, took out his cell phone, close enough for her to hear. “Sir, four men are down, but we have Reese in sight, and an unidentified individual. I think it’s Drake.”

There was a pause on the line.

And then the reply came through. “Take him out.”

Belinda heard and saw the official drawing his pistol. “Brandon, look out!”               

The agent fired and the bullet struck him in the back, knocking him to the ground.

“No!” she screamed, and ran to him.

However, he rolled onto his back and fired at the agents with desperate speed, taking down four of them. But more were coming.

She knelt down beside him and held him tightly. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”

“I’m fine. It’s Kevlar. Bullet proof.”

“Of course.”

Something wasn’t right. His voice was different. He seemed to have some kind of a Southern hint to his accent.
Surely, he wouldn’t have picked that up in Leavenworth
.

“Run to the end of the alley,” he said. “Help’s coming.”

“Help? What help?”

“You’ll see when you get there.”

She frowned, confused. In addition to the new voice, his manner wasn’t as it used to be.

He lifted his visor.

She looked up and saw it was Brandon’s face—his eyes, his mouth, even his nose. But something was wrong. “B-Brandon?”

He didn’t answer.

“Who are you?”

“Later. There’s no time now. You’ve got to go.” He pointed to the end of the alley.

Perplexed, she stood and picked up her suitcase.

Immediately, another three agents appeared at the opening of the alleyway, and they were closing in.

The man who looked like Brandon got to his feet and a bullet struck the armor of his left arm. Dropping the visor back into place, he fired at the agent who had shot him, but the sonic jolt missed its mark.

Belinda heard a familiar sound behind her. She turned to see a white van with blacked-out windows pull up at the far end of the alley. Her heart leaped. Was the real Brandon inside? It couldn’t drive any nearer because the alley was too narrow. Seeing the problem, she ran toward the van.

The man in the Kevlar suit fired and took down another agent, but two were still coming. He got to his feet and started to run backward while firing at the remaining two pursuers. But nothing happened. His sonic force gun had depleted its charge. “Piece o’ shit!” he spat.

Belinda glanced behind her. “Come on. Hurry.”

He turned and ran toward her, but the agents were gaining on him. “Go!”

“Come on!”

“GO!”

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About the Author

Peter Darley (P.D. to his friends) is a British novelist, whose professional history is in showbusiness. He is a graduate of the Birmingham School of Speech and Dramatic Art, and he studied television drama at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art (RADA). His television credits include guest-starring roles is UK productions such as BBC’s
Crime Limited, Stanley’s Dragon
for ITV
, The Bill
, Sky One’s
Dream Team
, and numerous TV commercials. He also worked as a model, presenter, and voice-over artiste for ten years, and has been an agent for several variety acts.

His lifelong admiration of heroes, and love of roller-coaster-style thrills have been a huge influence on his writings.

He is a keen athlete, and lives in rural England.

Web:
www.peterdarley.com

Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/PDAuthor

Twitter: @Pete_Darley