The Razor's Edge: A Postapocalytic Novel (The New World Book 6) (15 page)

“What is this?” Gordon asked directly to Cruz.

“We’re just finishing our meeting,” Jacques answered.

“Not you, him,” Gordon said as he sat down next to Cruz.

Cruz looked away.

“Gordon, we just finished the same meeting you and I are about to have, nothing more,” Jacques said.

“I come in here after what happened yesterday and see him laughing with you.”

“I’ll leave now,” Cruz said and stood up.

“No,” Gordon said and jumped up. “What’s going on?”

Cruz walked around the couch to avoid Gordon.

Not easily deterred, Gordon blocked him from leaving. “Talk to me. How can you sit here and laugh with this asshole after he had your mother’s hand cut off?”

“Get out of my way,” Cruz said.

“Tell me. I came to you in good faith. We have our differences, but you owe me at least some honesty,” Gordon insisted.

“Move,” Cruz said.

Jacques walked up next to Gordon and placed his hand on his shoulder.

Gordon shrugged off his hand and went one step further by shoving Jacques. “Back off.”

The doors opened and in came half a dozen guards.

Jacques regained his footing and said, “No, we will handle this.”

“Tell me. This isn’t right. I have good instincts, and what I saw when I came in wasn’t right,” Gordon pressed.

Cruz repeatedly tried to step around Gordon, who in turn blocked him each time.

Jacques stepped back in and said, “Enough, let the man go back to his mother. You’re seeing things that aren’t there.”

With Jacques blocking Gordon, Cruz walked around and left the room.

The guards who had entered also departed leaving Jacques and Gordon alone.

“I should just kill you right here,” Gordon said.

“You could, of course, I know I would, but you won’t, you can’t. One person is stopping you and it burns you up inside. I can see the anger, I can see the hatred, but that one person is preventing you from being you,” Jacques taunted.

Gordon knew he was referring to Samantha. What really struck Gordon hard was Jacques was right, he was spot on. If he was alone, he would strike out at Jacques but doing so would ensure Samantha died. So he stewed and kept his composure.

Jacques walked away and headed to his desk. “I had my people draft a treaty. All I need is your signature.”

Gordon walked up and looked down at the document. “Can I read it?”

“Of course, but none of it is negotiable.”

“I can’t,” Gordon said and walked away.

“I know it’s hard, but you lost. You put up a valiant fight. Hell, I was even impressed at what you were able to accomplish with so few men and against a powerful foe, though weakened, but nonetheless a powerful force to be reckoned with,” Jacques said. His comments were heartfelt. He did have respect for Gordon, but his worldview was different—respect never got in the way of his goals. For him this was just business.

Gordon walked to the window he just yesterday witnessed Samantha being abused from. He looked down and saw the post. The red snow was gone, covered with a fresh blanket of white. “I did lose.”

Jacques came up behind him and said, “I like you, Gordon, I do. None of this is personal for me. I made my people a promise that I’d give them the land of their ancestors back and I’m close to fulfilling that promise.”

“I promised my people too,” Gordon said.

“What did you promise them?” Jacques asked.

“I promised them freedom.”

Jacques pivoted around so he could look Gordon in the face and said passionately, “And I can give that to them too, just under a different banner.”

“You’re cruel, you’re really no different than Conner,” Gordon said.

“Don’t fool yourself, Gordon, we’re all the same. I’ve heard about you, I’ve heard the stories,” Jacques said.

“I never killed innocents; I had enemy officers executed for crimes against humanity,” Gordon said defending himself from Jacques’ accusations.

“Is that what you tell yourself? I heard you beat a man to death with your fists. I heard you hunted down another man and killed him regardless that the collateral damage killed dozens of innocent children, and I heard you assassinated that rogue colonel in Oregon. So don’t preach to me how righteous you are.”

“How was I to know Rahab would blow himself up? And I didn’t kill Barone, that was Conner. I don’t torture innocent women and children; you do, Rahab did, Conner did.”

“You, me, Conner, Cruz, all leaders do what is necessary so their people will survive and thrive; we’re no different,” Jacques said leaving Gordon’s side.

Gordon turned and said, “I’ll sign that document, but you have to let Samantha go.”

“That’s not the deal, Gordon.”

“I will not let her stay here.”

“I’ll explain one last time, you sign and then you go with me to McCall. Together we’ll present this to your council. You’ll convince them that this reunification with Western Canada is the best alternative for them.”

“Samantha comes with us, then.”

“No, she must stay here so I know you’ll follow through. You’re a resourceful man, I caught you once with your pants down, but I can’t give you an opportunity to not hold up your end of the bargain.”

“Then I won’t sign.”

“Then I’ll just kill you both. I’ll invade and take your land by force and my one priority will be to hunt down what’s left of your family and have them killed. The choice is yours.”

Gordon turned back around and looked out.

The sky was muted gray like it was yesterday and the day before. Flurries drifted down slowly and settled on the ground.

Gordon was boxed in. He had no wiggle room. This was checkmate. He hated losing especially when the stakes were this high, but he couldn’t risk losing Samantha. He spun back around and said, “Give me the pen.”

Cheyenne, Wyoming, United States

Ferguson opened the rear passenger-side door and stood beside it, his focus and attention on the surrounding area. Situational awareness was critical to a bodyguard’s job but more so considering the threats and attacks recently against government officials.

Even though Eli and the resistance were the perpetrators of the attacks, Baxter moved briskly from the front door of his house to the car. He was important to them and at one time a member, but things were unpredictable now and he could find himself on a hit list at anytime.

He jumped into the back and breathed a sigh of relief.

Ferguson leaned in and without asking removed the pistol Baxter kept in a shoulder holster.

“What are you doing?” Baxter asked.

“It’s for your own safety, sir,” Ferguson said and closed the door.

Instantly Baxter became fearful.
Is this it? Am I about to die? Have Ferguson and his team been bought off?
he thought as he tried the door handle only to find that it didn’t work.

“Just sit still Mr. Secretary,” the security agent sitting next to Baxter said.

Ferguson jumped into the front passenger side and as soon as he closed his door, the driver sped off quickly at a high rate of speed.

“Good morning, sir,” Ferguson said.

“What’s going on?” Baxter asked.

Keeping his attention out front, Ferguson reached in his coat pocket, pulled out a thick white envelope and passed it back to Baxter. “Here, sir, this is for you.”

A strong feeling of vertigo was beginning to grip Baxter. He took the envelope but didn’t open it. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Is this really it?
he again thought.

“Open the envelope, Mr. Secretary,” Ferguson said.

Baxter took another deep breath, opened his eyes and said, “I will. I, ah, just wasn’t expecting to die today.”

“Die?”

“Isn’t that what this is? You’re going to take me somewhere and shoot me?” Baxter said.

“Open the envelope, Mr. Secretary,” Ferguson insisted.

Baxter tore open the envelope and pulled out seven folded sheets of standard-sized paper. He unfolded it and found the cover letter reference on top.

Secretary Baxter,

I sent two men from the security detail to follow Mr. Bennett. He bounced from one location to another. Our surveillance ended at the residence of Secretary Wilbur when he came out to our vehicle and gave us the following letter. I am sure after you read it you’ll understand as someone who was once a patriot why I had to do what I had to do.

Baxter flipped to the next page and saw photos of him with Pat and Wilbur, followed by a letter handwritten by Pat detailing the initial conspiracy against then President Conner and in it Pat gave his name as well as Wilbur’s and other important co-conspirators. His heart rate skyrocketed as he glanced over each damning and incriminating word. On the last page, a note was handwritten in bold saying,
‘I told you to keep your mouth shut,’
signed by Eli. Flabbergasted that Eli would actually expose him, he dropped the papers in shock.

The vehicle made a hard right in the direction of Warren Air Force Base.

“None of this is true,” Baxter said, first using denial to help him get out of his predicament.

Ferguson didn’t respond.

“Where are you taking me? You can’t just kill me. I didn’t have anything to do with the resistance,” Baxter declared.

Silence from everyone in the vehicle.

The driver turned hard left.

By the route they were taking, it appeared they were going to Warren Air Force Base. This could only mean he was being taken in. He gulped hard at the severe consequences he’d suffer. His entire career ruined, his reputation destroyed and all because he was the true patriot in his own eyes. Conner had violated his oath; he had committed war crimes and taken the presidency in a dangerous direction. He was only doing what he felt was right to protect their republic and their freedom from a tyrant; now he would go down as a traitor and all his hard work over the many years would be lost to history. He would forever be branded a turncoat.

Baxter’s pulse was racing and sweat beaded on his forehead.

The vehicle made another hard left.

Baxter calculated they’d reach the main gate of Warren in five minutes along this route. He had mere minutes to make a decision if he was going to make an attempt to flee because once he was on base, it would be practically impossible.

The driver veered left again and accelerated.

Baxter looked at his trembling hands.
What have I done?
he thought. He needed to act. “Ferguson, please understand, these photos, that note, it’s not true, none of it.”

Ferguson and the others said nothing. They sat stoically in the vehicle.

“Just stop and let me explain,” Baxter pleaded.

Silence.

“Answer me!” Baxter barked.

“Sir, we’re turning you over to the base military police. They will process you and keep you in a cell until we can determine what is going on.”

“Why the military police?” Baxter asked.

“To be quite frank, sir, we don’t know if we can trust anyone in the new FBI or other federal agencies. Being a soldier, I think the military police is the best place to take you so we can determine the facts.”

“Have you notified the cabinet?”

Ferguson cocked his head so he could see Baxter out of the corner of his eye and answered, “We’ve kept this between us here. There appears to be a vast conspiracy, and after what happened on Christmas, we need to be careful who we discuss this with. Once you’re in custody on base, we fully expect they will make an announcement and inform the cabinet.”

The opening Baxter was seeking had just appeared. He had one chance to escape but it required him to act decisively and viciously. He was an older man, but he was still strong, and his willpower would have to see him through. Out of the corner of his eye he located the agent’s holstered pistol. It was the closest weapon available to him, but he just needed to get it. An idea came to him. He picked up the papers and with his left hand reached into his jacket.

The agent next to him grabbed his arm and said, “Sir, what are you doing?”

Ferguson looked back.

“Just going to write some things down. This is all so overwhelming, I need to collect my thoughts,” Baxter said, slowly revealing he had a pen.

The agent retracted his arm and turned his gaze outside.

Ferguson grunted his displeasure at what he felt was an unwarranted alarm.

Baxter began to jot gibberish down while keeping his eye on the agent to his left.

The vehicle turned right.

Baxter looked out the window and now calculated he had only two minutes, one hundred and twenty seconds, to act. He looked back at the agent and saw his attention was outside. He looked up and confirmed the driver wasn’t looking and Ferguson was focused towards the front. This was his moment. He clenched the pen in his left hand and looked at the agent to see he was looking at him then his hand.