All he wants to do is log on to his old anonymous account, the one he’d told Benson to use a long time ago, if they ever got separated. Not that Benson would remember it. Not that he has anything left to say to him.
And yet when he logs on, the messages are there, bursting from the screen with bold green headers:
Hello?
Are you there?
Last try
Each message under the headers is short, just basic stuff—everyone’s okay so far, I’m so sorry about Gonzo, we’re all shattered over here, stay safe, etc.—until the last one. The one titled “Last try.” The final message is a warning and a plea, Benson asking him to keep his eyes open, to be vigilant, to not trust Jarrod under any circumstances. And finally, to keep Geoffrey safe.
While Check’s pretty sure it’s just Benson being Benson—overprotective and cautious—the message also raises goose bumps on the back of his neck. He doesn’t know why. Maybe because of the last part, about Geoffrey. The last couple of days have felt odd, and he’s noticed Geoffrey disappearing at the strangest times, only to reappear with some excuse for his absence that no one can seem to corroborate.
The kid’s been through a lot, he knows. Maybe he’s just mourning in his own way, seeking solitude to deal with his recent losses. Hell, Check doesn’t particularly like being around people right now, talking to them about stupid stuff like hover-sports and the weather, things that don’t seem to matter nearly as much as they used to. But that doesn’t mean Geoffrey’s okay. He vows to keep a closer watch on the kid after tonight’s mission.
And as for the part about not trusting Jarrod, that’s easy because Check already doesn’t. Not after what he tried to do to Benson. But that doesn’t mean that they can’t have a mutual agreement about what actions need to be taken to push the rebellion forward in Saint Louis. Now more than ever, Check has to believe that Jarrod and the Lifers can help him avenge the lives of those he’s lost.
He won’t follow blindly, but he will follow. At least until Jarrod gives him a reason not to. He wants to say all that to Benson, to reassure him that they’re still on the same side in all the ways that matter, but try as he might, he can’t get a strong enough signal to send the message. After tonight, he’ll try again. He wants his friend back, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make it happen.
~~~
Geoffrey is ready. Although he’s been saying he’s ready for a long time, he realizes it was never true until now. This single moment in time, when Jarrod helps him strap on the vest and hide it under a baggy over-shirt. When he looks in the mirror, even he can’t notice a difference. He never realized explosives were so small these days. And yet able to level entire buildings; and with them, the people who don’t deserve to exist.
Like him. Small but unexpectedly powerful.
The look of pride Jarrod gives him fills him with warmth from head to toe. “You are so much more than I’d thought you would be. And I had very high expectations for you to begin with. You’re so brave. Luce would’ve been so proud.”
The words are like music, and he lets them float on a loop through his mind, until he’ll remember them exactly as they were spoken. He wants to have them at the end.
“You know, tonight will be the crowning achievement of the Lifer organization,” Jarrod says. “And you’ll be the face of it. That bastard who calls himself the leader of the RUSA will fall to his knees and weep when he sees it. If he survives it, that is.”
The image makes Geoffrey laugh. President Ford crying? That’s something he wishes he could see. But he’ll have to settle for knowing that it’s his actions that will lead to the fall of the government that killed his sister and friend.
“I won’t fail you,” Geoffrey says. “I swear I won’t.”
“I know,” Jarrod says, patting him on the shoulder. “You are the least of my worries tonight.” While Jarrod leaves to attend to business, Geoffrey practices with the disconnected detonator, amazed at how simple it is. Flick off the cover. Picture his sister’s face. Mash his thumb against the button. Boom.
Simple and effective. All he has to do is get to the spot on the blueprint where Jarrod has decided will maximize the destruction.
Pop Con won’t know what hit them.
~~~
The old picture is like a slap to the face. Destiny stares at it, her eyes bugging out of her head. “What the bots?” she murmurs.
“What?” Harrison says, looking up from his hand of cards.
“Hey, it’s your bet,” Simon says.
When Destiny looks up from Minda’s holo-screen, she realizes the entire room is watching her. Well, except for Simon, who’s intensely studying his own cards. “I found something,” she says, spinning the screen and pushing the holo button. The photo magnifies and bursts into midair.
“President Ford,” Harrison says. “So what?” The moment the question leaves his lips, he leans forward, raising a hand to the holo image, as if he can touch the light. His hand passes through one of the people. Not the president, but a young boy. Six or seven years old, perhaps.
“Where did you get that?” The question comes not from Harrison, but from his father, who’s craning his neck from his cot, peering across the room.
Maybe it’s just her imagination, but a deep, dark feeling of dread seems to creep into the room. “From an obscure holo-news site,” she says. “The people in the image—other than the president—were blurred, but I managed to clarify them.”
“The president knew the Destroyer,” Harrison says. “That bastard.”
Benson is up and out of his seat, staring intently at the photo. “Wait, wait. You’re saying that kid is the Destroyer?”
“Yeah,” Harrison says. “Domino Destovan. Apparently he went to my school, although I don’t remember him. STL Elementary is a big school.”
Destiny practically wants to scream the next part, but she manages to control herself, announcing it loudly instead. “Did anyone read the caption?”
“Oh crap,” Harrison says, scanning the words below the picture. Destiny knows exactly how he feels. Like he’s just jumped into a pool of freezing cold water.
Sandra Ford, Domino Ford, Jeremy Ford, Terrence Ford.
Silence infiltrates the room like a poisonous gas. Michael finally breaks it, his voice gruff. “Maybe I can shed some light on things.”
Harrison’s eyes dart to the corner. “More secrets, Dad?”
“No. I mean, I didn’t think it was important. It was so long ago and I never realized there was a connection.”
“Tell us,” Benson urges. “Why is Domino Destovan labelled as Domino Ford?”
“Because he’s the president’s nephew,” he says.
Destiny’s mouth falls closed. Her mind whirls. She waits for more.
“Dammit,” Michael curses, under his breath. “I don’t know how we missed this. He looked so…different.”
“Dad,” Harrison says. “We don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” Destiny was thinking the same thing.
“You remember the Slip before…”
“Before me,” Benson says, nodding encouragingly.
“Hannah Destovan,” Minda interjects. “Sister of the Destroyer.”
“Yes,” Michael says.
“The little girl your Hunters mowed down in cold blood,” Harrison says.
Destiny gives him a sharp look. “What?” he says, throwing up his hands. “It’s true. We all saw it on the holo-news for three weeks straight.”
“And yet not helping,” she says.
Duly chastised, Harrison says, “Sorry. Go on.”
It’s as if Michael’s aged ten years, his face riddled with deep lines of pain. “I hated myself for it,” he says.
“He did,” Janice agrees, rubbing Lola under the chin.
“But the Slip’s father was killed, too, and that’s most definitely not him in the photo,” Minda points out. “That’s the president’s brother, Terrence. If I remember correctly, he was killed in
a freak aut-car accident before the president was elected.”
“Correct,” Michael says. “Or so they say. The explosion was fiery. There wasn’t much left of the body.”
“What are you saying?” Harrison asks, frowning. Destiny feels like all the time she spent scanning holo-articles and photos was a ball of string, unravelling to this point, where it’s on the verge of coming completely apart. She notices Benson’s eyes on her.
“The president knew his brother had an illegal child after Domino,” Benson says. A chill runs down her spine. “He tried to cover it up—did cover it up—changing their names to Destovan. He even changed their faces.”
The moment Harrison’s twin says it, she knows he’s right, his mind clamping down hard on the conclusion that was eluding her, because it was too impossible or simply too wild.
“Dad?” Harrison says, needing confirmation.
“It was what I was thinking,” he admits. “But if the president used the full extent of his resources, it’s possible. Plastic surgery, doctored legal records, the whole shebang. I certainly didn’t recognize him as Terrence Ford when we…” Terminated him. The words don’t have to be spoken, pounding in each of their hearts. Destiny knows the story well. Everyone does. Sandra Ford was also killed, during her interrogation. The president let his brother and his whole family die. That’s the secret. The cover up of the century. He only forgot one thing.
“They didn’t change Domino’s face,” Destiny says. “Why?”
Michael shakes his head. “Maybe he thought it was unnecessary. He was just a kid. He could easily be controlled. He had him shipped off to the military academy. I think President Ford purposely pushed through that law that allowed sixteen-year-olds to enlist. I think he was trying to kill off his last loose end. His nephew.”
“But he didn’t come back in a body bag,” Minda continues. “He came back badly injured. Why didn’t he have him killed then? He could’ve refused medical care—let him slip away into the night.”
Destiny watches Michael carefully. Something flashes across his face. Pain? Or something else? “Nostalgia would be my guess. Terrence was his only sibling, and Domino was his only family left. Maybe he decided the kid was no longer a threat. Maybe he wanted to protect him.”
Minda nods. “That makes sense. He got him the best care possible, made him a cyborg to save his life, and secretly kept in touch.”
“And in his greatest time of need, provided a doctor and a robotics specialist to try to repair him,” Michael finishes.
“This is all very fascinating and exceptionally disturbing,” Harrison says, “but it doesn’t change anything. We already knew after taking down Pop Con that we’d have to deal with President Ford, right? I mean, nobody said it, but he’s as much to blame for the way things are as anyone.”
“Yes,” Minda says. “Politically.”
“Politically?” Harrison scoffs, looking to his father for confirmation. “President Ford is an evil piece of crap and we’re going to take him down…politically?”
“Yes. I agree. Politically,” Michael says, his face flat and devoid of expression. Harrison gets up and stomps upstairs without another word. Minda and Benson return to their diagram of the plan for tonight. Janice continues playing with Lola. Destiny switches off the holo-screen, suddenly wishing she’d never started digging into the past in the first place. Knowing President Ford aided the Destroyer in everything he did to her, Michael, and Harrison makes her feel sick.
And Simon slaps his cards face up on the table in victory.
Four aces and a random two of clubs.
Destiny can only hope a little of his luck rubs off on the rest of them.
Chapter Thirty-Two
They go over the plan four times as a group, until everyone feels comfortable with it. However, long after the planning meeting is finished, and everyone has moved on to getting ready for the concert, Benson continues to run through things in his mind, step by painstaking step. He’s afraid if he doesn’t continue to cling to the details of the plan, he’ll go crazy, his mind wandering down dark paths he’s managed to avoid for a while now.
When Harrison comes down, he’s barely recognizable. Not just because of his freshly gelled pink spiky hair or the glittering diamonds in his ears, but because of the dark makeup around his eyes and the devil-may-care look on his face. He looks like a thousand other rocker punks he’s seen reveling on the holo. Benson never thought he’d be one, too, his leather outfit and tats as far from his real personality as humanly possible.
“You ready for this?” Harrison asks.
“Are you?”
“Do you really have to ask, bro?”
Benson attempts the type of smirk Harrison wears so well. “I figured since I was born two minutes earlier than you…”
“Ha ha,” Harrison says, but at least he’s able to take it as a joke. Benson thinks that’s the only way either of them will ever be able to deal with their screwed up childhood—by laughing about it.
The others are ready, too, a group of friends disguised as strangers. Although Destiny wasn’t around when they were originally planning their disguises, her outrageously big hair will fit right in at the concert, and Minda managed to scrounge up some ripped jeans and a camo top. She doesn’t have the luxury of fake retinas, like the rest of them, but they’ve worked that into the plan, using it as an advantage. Or at least Benson hopes.
Minda and Simon stop by Michael’s cot before they head out the door, saying something to him Benson can’t hear. Janice’s turn is next, and she hugs him tightly. “The stars will be watching us all tonight so we’ll never be alone,” Benson hears her say. Michael kisses her cheek.
Destiny hugs Michael, too, and he says, “Thank you. For everything.” She seems embarrassed by his words, but she nods before following the others.
Harrison gives Lola a huge hug and lets her lick him right on the mouth. To his father he offers only a quick handshake. Benson suspects their relationship will require constant tearing and knitting back together—never fully repaired, never fully broken. Michael says, “I believe in you, Son,” but Harrison turns away, his face unreadable.
Benson is last, and though he has so much to say to the man who saved his life while giving up his own peace, who made impossible decisions every single day for the last seventeen years, who sacrificed everything for his family, who could be called a murderer and a hypocrite and a bad father and an absentee husband—who Benson will only ever call “Dad.”
“Son.”
Benson clasps his hand and lets himself be pulled in for a final hug with Lola pawing at his leg, wanting to be a part of whatever this is. “We’ll come back. We’ll come back if we can.”
“I know, Benson. I know. You’re a better son than I was ever a father.” Benson attempts to speak, to contradict him, but his father continues. “I’m so sorry you didn’t get the life I wanted for you. I’m so sorry I stole that from you. From both of you. I never wanted any of this.”
“It’s okay, Dad. This world took something beautiful and smashed it and bent it and covered it in filth. But it’s not too late. We can still shine it and fix it and make it beautiful again.”
“Are you talking about your mother or all of us?” Michael jokes.
“Mom is the only one who has always been beautiful,” Benson says solemnly, and Michael nods.
“Protect her like I couldn’t,” he says.
“I will.”
Benson turns away before his father can see the tears in his eyes and before he can see them reflected back at him in his father’s eyes.
And when he leaves, it’s his decision, his path, his destiny.
~~~
The moment they’re gone, Michael begins. Dragging himself from bed hurts like hell, but he’s experienced worse. A lot worse.
He knows he can’t protect his family from what they have to do—it’s far too late for that—but he can still do his part. Ever since Destiny showed him that photo he knew
what he had to do. Although he carefully hid his plans under a nonchalant expression, he could tell that Janice knew he was up to something. No matter how many cracks there are in her mind, she still has her memories, and she knows how much time he spent with Jeremy Ford—now President Ford—in college. Between them, Terrence, and Charles Boggs, they were practically inseparable.
At the end, she whispered, “Be careful,” in his ear when she hugged him. And he kissed her on the cheek and said, “Find me.” For some reason, she didn’t tell anyone what he was up to. She didn’t want to stop him.
Lola follows him around everywhere he goes, as he gets cleaned up, pulls on fresh clothes, eats a light dinner and guzzles an entire bottle of water to wash down a couple pain pills. They left two guns sitting on the counter, and he takes them both.
Although he wanted both his sons to believe that they’d wage political warfare on President Ford as soon as they’d shutdown Pop Con, he knows it will take more than legal action to end the reign of the shrewdest man he’s ever known.
It will take a bullet to the head.
Unfortunately he also knows he won’t be able to get within a kilometer of President Ford while carrying a firearm. So instead he plucks a tiny pin-like device from the counter, where it rests amongst a pile of its brothers and sisters. In reality, each are tiny dispersal devices, releasing trace amounts of whatever liquid you put inside them. As a safety measure, their tips are sheathed with a small plastic cap. Just pull off the cap and shove the needle into whatever or whoever you want to poison. The safe house had various weapons, many of them useless for today’s mission. But not useless for Michael’s purposes. Carefully, gently, he slides the pin into the edge of his mouth, between his molars and the inside of his cheek.