Chapter 19
“Everything is going as planned. I need to go silent for my own safety. Don’t reach out to me. I’ll send you a message when the time is right.” -Decoded message from ILF undercover operative Flint to ILF handler Hiro Tanaka
Marcus
“Approaching destination. Would you like to relieve yourself?”
I scowl at the electronic voice coming from the sub’s control panel. “No.”
It asks me that every thirty minutes. I said yes a couple hours ago, just to see what would happen, and the middle of my seat slid back, creating an opening like toilet seats have. I’m glad I didn’t have to use it.
“Ascending,” the voice announces.
It’s been almost five hours of very limited visibility.
At a depth of thirty-five feet for most of the trip, I couldn’t see much other than murky gray water surrounding me.
The sub senses anything it could run into and diverts itself.
I’ve had nothing to do but rehearse the story I’m planning to feed to these people.
Natural light starts to make everything brighter. The sub breaks through the ocean’s surface, water sluicing off the windshield.
I don’t know if there’s surveillance in this thing, so I don’t say what I’m thinking, which is what the fuck.
Island Three has modern, two-story buildings and pristine landscaping.
There are roads with vehicles. Walkways.
There’s a fountain in front of the big building closest to me.
The flag waving from a pole is Whitman’s New America flag—red and blue vertical stripes with a single white star in the middle.
The vehicle maneuvers itself over the top of the water and into a nondescript building on the shoreline. There are dozens of boats inside, some of them like the sub I’m in, but larger. Big enough for more like four people.
Lights illuminate the massive space, and near a large dock, a woman and a man wait for me.
They’re both wearing New America’s drab olive-green command uniforms. I get a sick taste in my mouth, remembering Virginia in the same uniform when we first got to the island.
I never wore one because it was impractical for training, but she held on to hers until it wore out.
Now our supply building has lots of brand-new uniforms, none of them ever used.
I’d have to be very fucking desperate for clothing before I’d put one of those on again.
The sub loads itself into a docking station and the door on the side automatically opens up like an old DeLorean. I step out, nodding at the man and woman.
“Commander Wells, I’m Commander Ingrid Voss,” the woman says. “And this is my vice commander, Tyrone Matheson.”
“Marcus Wells. I’m still not used to calling myself commander.”
McClain never used any of the regime’s titles once we got to the island. As the head scientist, he was technically the highest-ranking person, but he never wanted to be.
“We were so sorry to hear about Commander McClain. And so soon after Virginia Marsden. Do you need more help?” Ingrid studies me.
“Thank you. Commander McClain was my mentor and I was devastated to lose him, but his cancer had advanced to the point he was ready to go. And Virginia got too cocky. She was called into the circle.”
Ingrid arches her brows. “The circle?”
“It’s a fight to the death between two people. We believe only the strong should survive.”
“I see. You do have a rather ... primitive island, from what I recall.”
I nod, standing straight and tall. “That’s right, and I’m proud of it. We’re training soldiers to serve New America in the harshest of conditions.”
Her expression softens a notch. “Peace, order, and prosperity.”
“Peace, order, and prosperity,” I echo.
“We’ll get right to it. I don’t want to keep you away for long.”
“I appreciate that.” I glance at Tyrone. “What’s his clearance level?”
Ingrid smiles tightly at her second-in-command. “That will be all.”
He nods, salutes her, and walks away.
“What did you want to say?” Ingrid asks once we’re alone.
“I just wanted to say the kids on our island are exceeding all expectations. I assume it’s okay for me to talk about it with you?”
“Of course. But only me. Island Three is a hub of sorts. Anytime a leader dies, the successor comes here for a briefing. I know what’s happening on every island.”
I nod. “Good. It’s nice to be able to talk shop with someone again. Dr. McClain was ill for a while.”
“I’m deeply saddened by his loss. He didn’t realize it, but his DNA samples are the foundation for the biggest project we have going here.”
An alarm sounds in my head. Those samples from the Original Twenty-Six include my DNA.
“He was a trailblazer.”
“Truly.” She looks me up and down, something flickering in her eyes.
She looks around forty, with short brown hair and average features. I’m relieved when she stops looking at me and begins the walk from the dock to a building attached to it.
“It’s late and I’m sure you’re tired,” she says. “A suite has been prepared for you. I’ll show you to it. Dinner will be delivered, and you’ll have an attendant for any needs that arise during your stay.”
I remind myself not to sound too appreciative. In the regime, the command officers expect to be catered to. They fire service workers for the slightest infraction.
“Okay,” I say.
Ingrid leads me through a brightly lit white hallway, the tile floor gleaming. Nothing adorns the walls. Two uniformed guards wait on either side of the door at the end of the hallway, both holding machine guns.
Both men salute Ingrid, one of them opening the door for us.
The room we enter is massive, two open stories with the same white walls and tile floors as the hallway. A framed photo of Soren Whitman adorns one wall, and the floor has an intricate inlaid blue tile design that spells out PEACE, ORDER, and PROSPERITY.
Ingrid leads me across the room and outside into a courtyard with immaculate landscaping and a fountain. She keeps walking toward another building.
“Commander Wells, where is your uniform?” she asks, giving me a sideways glance.
That must be why she was looking at me earlier. I give her a sheepish smile.
“My uniforms fit perfectly when I arrived at my island, but I’ve put on more muscle since then. They’re too tight now. I train our people myself, and regular clothes allow me to move more freely for that.”
“Of course.”
Two more armed guards—a man and a woman—salute her and hold open the doors to the next building. This one has warm bamboo floors, comfortable-looking furniture, a stocked bar, and art on the walls. One of the paintings looks like a Monet. Hopefully not an original, but who the fuck knows anymore.
A young blond woman is standing at the end of the bar, and she walks over to greet us with a smile.
“Commander Voss.” She bows at the waist.
“Kira, this is Commander Wells. Show him to his quarters and make sure he has a comfortable stay.”
“Of course, Commander.” She smiles at me and bows again. “Commander Wells.”
“I’ll send someone to your room in the morning to bring you to your briefing,” Ingrid says. “Rest well, Commander. Peace, order, and prosperity.”
I nod. “Peace, order, and prosperity.”
Kira, dressed in a long, formfitting, sleeveless dress, leads me through another door and down another hallway before we reach our destination.
“Your quarters, Commander.” She opens the door and stands aside so I can enter.
I show no reaction to the lavishly furnished room. It has the same bamboo floors as the main room, two large leather sofas, a wall of bookcases filled with books and vases, massive urns with fresh, colorful floral arrangements, a large round wood table with chairs, and an upholstered chaise.
“May I show you your sleeping quarters?” Kira asks.
There’s something off about her, but I can’t place what it is. She reminds me of the AI voice on the recorded message I watched in McClain’s office. Too perfect.
The second room is as large as the first, with a king-size four-poster bed on the far wall. Art adorns this space, too. There are lounge chairs, a large dresser, and more tropical floral arrangements in here.
A door in the bedroom leads to a bathroom, which has a luxurious walk-in shower with multiple heads, a bathtub, and a vanity with a mirror. The toilet is in a separate room.
We don’t have many mirrors in camp. It’s strange to see so much of myself reflected in this one. I wish I could’ve brought Briar; she would love this bathroom.
“Dinner will be delivered soon,” Kira says. “Would you like oral sex before it arrives?”
I can’t hide my shock. She says it like a flight attendant giving preflight instructions, as though she’s done it hundreds of times. I recover as quickly as I can, clearing my throat. “Uh, no thanks.”
“I’m here for all your needs, all the time.
There’s a button on the wall in the main room and in the bedroom that you can push to call me.
I’ll arrange for food and drinks, clean clothing, or entertainment.
You can have oral, vaginal, or anal intercourse with me.
I can also bring more women to join us if you’d like. ”
I nod, remembering I’m supposed to expect this. Like it, even. But this place is even more fucked than Blue Arrow. I want to complete my briefing as fast as I can and get the hell out of here.
“I want to be alone,” I say. “I’m tired.”
“Of course. I’ll leave your dinner in the main room.”
She leaves, and I sit down on one of the chairs, still trying to take it all in.
Twenty-four hours ago, I had no idea I’d be sleeping in a king-size bed on another island. I didn’t know there even were other regime islands. And I sure as fuck didn’t know a woman would offer me all her holes like a mindless sex doll.
The exhaustion hits me all at once. I hope this is the only night I have to spend away from Briar. I’d much rather be sweating in my cramped cot with her than sleeping alone in this bed.