The Revelation of Eden Pruitt, page 7
“We brought her here to ask questions,” Lark said. “There’s no harm in it. All classified information has been covered.”
Eden looked at the six covered walls, wondering what intel was hiding behind the curtains.
“Her story checks out,” Asher said. He filled Amir in. By the time he finished, Amir’s hair was a mess; both of his legs bounced.
“We have to get Pru out,” he said.
“We have to get all of them out,” Harlan added.
“Please let me help.” Eden came forward in her chair and nodded at Dayne. “He’s vouched for me. And you already decided to invite Alexandria in. For the foreseeable future, I will be part of Alexandria.”
They looked at her like she was speaking French.
“My father was in the CIA. I grew up with him imparting certain … skills.” She was grasping at straws now, her desperation growing. But maybe this would work. Maybe this would also throw them off her scent. She wasn’t superhuman; she was simply well-trained. “I can be just as valuable now as I was in Washington, DC.”
Her attention darted to Asher, hoping he might confirm. He knew she was valuable. But he only stared back at her with half-lidded eyes, like her plea was boring him.
“Our goals are aligned. You want to get Dvorak back. I want to get Cassian back just as bad.” Her heart was hammering now. Hammering into the silence.
It seemed to stretch on for an eternity.
Finally, Asher turned to Dayne. “If you vouch for her, we’re holding you accountable if anything goes wrong.”
He shrugged like the threat didn’t bother him in the slightest.
Eden’s heart continued to pound. Was that it? Were they going to let her in? Would Cassian be part of the prison break? One question toppled into the next like a string of dominoes as Amir set a small gadget in the center of the table and pushed a button. A three-dimensional projection appeared. A layout of what looked to be a military base. “This is where they’ve been taken,” he said. “It’s a decommissioned military prison outside Annapolis.”
Eden stared at the place Cassian was being held. All too quickly, one thing became clear. There would be no easy way to get him out.
Jericho leaned back in his chair. “It’s impossible.”
Nobody argued.
It certainly seemed impossible.
He thrust his hand toward the projection. “We don’t have the resources to break into that. Not even Harlan does.”
The old man didn’t object.
The room’s gravitational force seemed to multiply, like the air itself had grown heavy and oppressive.
Eden refused to sink beneath the weight of it. “Then we don’t break in.”
They regarded her like she was daft.
Everyone except Asher. He didn’t regard her at all, but peered at the projection as he fiddled with his queen. “We flush them out.”
“Force a transfer,” Eden said.
“By leaking their location,” Dayne added.
By then, the others had caught on, too.
The only person resisting this newfound enthusiasm was Jericho, who was—for whatever reason—hellbent on holding on to his pessimism. “And then what?”
Silence followed his challenge. Glances were exchanged. Brows were furrowed as everyone considered.
Eden set her hands flat on the table. “We figure out their route and stage an ambush.”
Jericho laughed. “That easy, huh?”
“Of course not. But it isn’t impossible either.”
The skeptic rubbed his salt and pepper goatee. “Do you have any idea how many moving pieces we’d have to control for this to be successful?”
“Not a problem, Jer.” Asher propped his elbow on the armrest of his chair, spinning the queen between his fingers. “I’m an expert at controlling pieces.”
Hope sprang to life in Eden’s chest as the wheels of a plan began to move. A sense of motion. A small but strong seed of possibility—that Cassian wasn’t lost. That she could get him back. With this group of unlikely people, she could break him free.
12
The door of Cassian’s prison cell opened.
He squinted as the blurry outline of two people came into slow focus. The woman in the blazer held a tray of food, a bottle of water, and a neatly folded jumpsuit. A man in a white coat carried a black medical bag.
A deep-seated instinct lurched inside him, demanding his body to move. Go. Barrel through this woman and the doctor and escape. But his hands were trapped behind his back and the place he would barrel into came with surveillance cameras and more guards. Cass squashed the instinct and focused instead on the water. His tongue was dry and swollen.
The woman seemed to notice. She glanced from Cassian on the floor to the bottle on the tray. “I don’t imagine you want me to feed this to you.”
His lip curled. If she tried, he would spit it in her face like he’d done to the guard. Consequences be damned.
She set the tray and the jumpsuit on the bench and removed a bionic-looking cuff from her pocket. “Do you know what this is?”
He glared up at her.
“A motion taser cuff. Or, as we call them, an MTC. If you run—if your foot so much as makes an attempt—you will be incapacitated. Painfully.” She snapped the cuff around his ankle. “I recommend against it.”
She nodded for Cass to lean forward so she could unlock the restraints around his wrists. As she did, he noticed the golden brooch again, pinned to the lapel of her blazer. It was a small rendering of a woman in a blindfold. She held a sword in one hand, scales in the other.
Lady Justice.
The doctor in the white coat set his bag on the floor and began removing salves and tinctures. Cass used his good arm to grab the bottle of water. He removed the cap with his teeth and chugged. The woman stood there all the while, watching. When he finished, the doctor applied antiseptic to the open cut above his left eye.
Cass hissed.
The doctor didn’t even pause from his treatment.
“Is this how it works?” Cass asked. “Beat the prisoners, then patch them up?”
“Prisoners who beat the guards will inevitably get beaten,” the woman answered. She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “You broke his nose.”
“He’s lucky I didn’t break more.” Cass jerked as the doctor moved to another gash. The smaller injuries had always been the most bothersome. The sting of a cut more aggravating to him than a bruised spleen. The big ones were angry bulls. The smaller injuries, pesky flies. He’d take the bull any day.
The woman sat on the bench. She handed him the tray of food as the doctor continued, no more gently than Vick between rounds. Cass recalled the piercing tenderness of Eden’s touch in the basement of Cleo’s dormitory after she hit him in the head with a door.
Voila. Tout au mieux.
Was that when he’d started to fall, when she’d spoken those words? Would he ever hear her say them again? The possibility that he might not filled him with such misery, he was almost glad when a stabbing pain yanked his mind into the present. The doctor was prodding his shoulder.
The woman crossed one leg over the other. “How does a fighter like yourself get wrapped up with Interitus?”
Interitus doesn’t exist.
Prudence Dvorak’s statement echoed inside his head, and it was confounding. In its wake, more of her words emerged like fireflies floating to the surface of his memory.
Are you spies for Swarm?
Did you come for the asset?
Was this who the guard had been referring to when he asked his strange questions? Where is he? Where are they keeping him?
The woman arched her eyebrow, waiting for Cass to answer.
“I’m not wrapped up with Interitus. I already told you, I’m not—”
“A terrorist.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. Her lips twisted to the side. “It’s the same thing your friend, Ms. Dvorak, said.”
“She’s not my friend.”
“Then why were you together?”
“Why don’t you ask her?”
“I did.”
“What did she say?”
“No more than you have.”
The knots in his chest loosened ever so slightly. He knew they’d interrogated Dvorak. What he didn’t know was what Dvorak had told them. Before the ambush, Eden and Cass had given her half-truths. Eden’s father had destroyed the test group and because of that, the Monarch was after him. Cass didn’t see how those half-truths could lead to Eden’s whereabouts. Still, he was relieved to know Dvorak had remained as tight-lipped as he had, even if that relief was short-lived. Did they try to strike the same deal with Dvorak as they had with him? If so, how long until she put the pieces together and realized what the government already knew? Eden Pruitt was Subject 006.
His ribs tightened.
Who was she with now? What if they connected the dots, too? Eden wasn’t invincible. She had a self-destruct function. The thought left his throat dry, his pulse elevated. He needed to get out of here.
The doctor shone a flashlight into each of Cassian’s eyes. He removed scissors from his bag and began cutting off his shirt.
The shock of cold air against his skin made his muscles clench.
The woman’s attention rolled up his torso. Not in a desirous, predatory way Cass had seen plenty of times before. This was a clinical and curious gaze, one that paused when it reached the scar on his side. “Was that from a fight?”
“Yes,” he said. The fight hadn’t been in a ring, but a parking garage. Dr. Norton had treated this injury in his basement while Eden stood by, on the cusp of unraveling. Maybe that was the moment he’d fallen—when she handed him his phone and told him she was dangerous. Brutal honesty mixed with a desire to protect, even as she was coming undone. Strength and vulnerability wrapped up in a selflessness that was convicting. He pushed the memory away and picked up the plastic fork on the tray. He wasn’t hungry. Especially not in light of the astringent-smelling ointment the doctor was rubbing onto his shoulder. But he shoveled a bite of unidentified casserole into his mouth anyway. If he had any hope of escape, he needed his strength.
Cass ate while the doctor wrapped his shoulder. When the gentleman finished, he collected his equipment and picked up his bag. The woman dismissed him, but she didn’t dismiss herself. She remained on the bench, her high-heeled foot bouncing casually. “You were one of the most ruthless fighters I’ve ever seen.”
“Do you make a habit of watching many fights?”
“A couple years ago, yes. It was part of my job.”
“You worked undercover.”
The woman nodded, her foot continuing its nonchalant movement. She sat with one arm wrapped across her midsection, her opposite elbow propped against her forearm. She tapped her pointer finger against her chin, studying him with a keen interest that made him want to growl. He was done with his food. The doctor was done treating him. He was half-dressed, and this wasn’t an interrogation room.
“You gave your money to the widow,” she finally said.
He shot her a look of surprise.
“A few days after you killed her husband in the ring, she received over a hundred thousand dollars from an anonymous source. It was you, wasn’t it?”
Cass pled the fifth.
The woman tilted her head. “You never returned to the ring after that.”
“Why the play-by-play?”
“I’m just trying to figure you out.” She leaned against the cement wall behind her. “You gave your money to the widow, which means you must have a conscience. But then, what about these new widows? Will you send all of them money, too?”
“What new widows?”
“The ones you made when you bombed The Sapphire.”
“I didn’t bomb The Sapphire.”
“Because you’re not a terrorist.”
“No, I’m not.”
“What are you then?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“If you’re not a terrorist. If you’re not Dvorak’s friend. What are you? Who are you?”
He narrowed his eyes, unsure where she was going with this line of questioning. Unsure what she was trying to accomplish. Who was he? This wasn’t a therapy session.
She waved her hand, gesturing to the prison cell. “Why are you here?”
“Why are you?” he shot back.
He didn’t expect her to answer. Not honestly, anyway. But she did. “I’m here to fulfill the vow I took when I went into public service. I’m here to protect the innocent.”
“Eden Pruitt is innocent.”
“Let me guess. She didn’t blow up The Sapphire either.”
“No, she didn’t.”
“Or kill an innocent family of three?”
“The Brysons.”
The woman nodded.
She was referring to Gage and Isabella Bryson, along with their son, Clay. Cass and Eden had broken into their home after receiving a tip from Willow Bryson, their estranged daughter. The answers they were looking for were in the Bryson’s safe. Cassian and Eden had broken in, confiscated several items, then escaped by the skin of their teeth. The next day, the Brysons turned up dead, and Cass and Eden were on national news wanted for their murder.
“Check out the room in their basement,” he said, “then tell me if you think they’re really innocent.”
“What does that mean?”
“They abused their children.”
“So you took justice into your own hands?”
“We didn’t kill them.”
“Of course not.”
“They were shot in their home after we broke in and escaped. You really think we’d be dumb enough to return to the scene of the crime and kill them?”
“They were killed in the same way the security guards were killed at the SafePad compound outside Chicago. A crime scene to which you were also linked. It seems to be your modus operandi.”
“When I left that compound, those security guards were alive.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose and released a heavy sigh. “How very convenient, Mr. Gray.”
“It isn’t convenient. It’s the truth.”
“Who are you suggesting killed them, then?”
“A police officer. Several were there when I left.”
She released a puff of unamused laughter.
“Wearing a badge doesn’t make you good.”
“Making an accusation doesn’t make it true.”
“So go find proof. Talk to the officers who were at SafePad. Talk to the officers who arrived on scene when the Brysons were found dead. Check out the room in their basement, while you’re at it. See what you find. See if the facts line up. But tread carefully, lest you end up with a bullet through your head, too.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a warning.” His attention flicked to her brooch. Lady Justice. “You vowed to protect the innocent. But the bad guys are still out there, and Eden Pruitt isn’t one of them.”
13
Jericho called for a mandatory assembly in the auditorium. He needed to brief his constituents, who had been thrust into a state of unease ever since the airstrike. He planned to introduce Alexandria’s new residents and explain why they were here. He broadcast the invitation from an intercom, like school announcements at the beginning of the school day.
Eden wasn’t invited.
Jericho believed her appearance would only cause an uproar. He needed to get everyone up to speed first. She was to stay in the boardroom until everyone was in the auditorium. Dayne offered to stay behind with her. By the time the coast was clear, the sun was beginning to set and Eden was long past the point of tiredness. She was amped up on caffeine, adrenaline, and hope. The ball was rolling now, but she wanted it to roll faster. She wanted it to fly at warp speed.
She followed Dayne through the courtyard. “I’d love to get my hands on a copy of Oswin Brahm’s biography, if possible.”
“That shouldn’t be difficult,” he said. “There’s an entire library of books in the basement of Kaiser. I’m sure his biography is among them. We can make a pit stop before we go to The Landing and see.”
“Can we check on Cleo, too?”
“Of course,” he said. “Let me stop by the newsroom first and we’ll be on our way.” He opened the door to the west tower of the IDA.
Eden stepped inside.
They hurried through the deserted lobby, his indignation as palpable as her eagerness. No matter how often Jericho apologized, Dayne couldn’t get over it. All this time, his right-hand man had been part of something critical. Paradigm-shifting. Newsworthy. The falsification of an entire terrorist regime. The true culprit behind The Attack. A Resistance formed to fight him. People deserved to know. America Underground existed for this very purpose. Instead, Jericho had kept it secret. According to him, he had no choice but to keep it secret.
He’d been the leader of Alexandria first. Council member of the Resistance second. That council had recruited him in order to establish a deal. Jericho’s community would be stocked with electricity and clean water and food in exchange for confidentiality and an emergency evacuation plan they hoped they would never have to use.
Eden and Dayne stepped inside an elevator. He pressed a button for the fourth floor and stood with his weight on his toes, watching the ascending numbers above the elevator door light up one by one. His hands fidgeted inside his pockets.
“Dayne.”
He looked at her.
“If you didn’t know about the deal, then how did you think Jericho was able to manage all this?” She motioned to the elevator, then lifted her hand higher to indicate everything beyond.
“I knew about Harlan,” he said. “I just didn’t know he was bankrolling a Resistance. Jericho made it sound like he was a family friend.”
The elevator stopped.
