He’s managed to turn the biggest terrorist attack in history into a goddamn publicity stunt… and the people are loving it! He just admitted it was American technology that caused all this, and they’re fucking applauding him!
Jesus fucking Christ.
I turn to face everyone. “Schultz, have you heard from Josh and Tori?” I ask.
“They’re safe,” he replies. “They slipped away in the chaos back in Atlanta.”
“Good. So, what’s your plan?”
“I need to make a call — try to get everyone released.”
I shake my head. “There’s no way the CIA are going to let us go when we know so much.”
He reaches into his pockets, pulls out a USB flash drive, and waves it at me.
“But they don’t know we can actually prove anything,” he says with a wicked smile. “Let me do some negotiating. With Freeman’s help, I’m sure we can make them see it’s best if we keep quiet and all this disappears… the world’s got enough to worry about, right?”
Schultz walks out of the room, followed by Freeman. Wallis and Raynor both sit down on the sofa in the corner, but I remain standing, staring at the TV screen. The scope of this whole thing is beyond comprehension. Millions of people have died. The last twenty-four hours ranks up there with the first two World Wars and Smallpox.
I pace back and forth, unaware of the time. It doesn’t seem long before Schultz and Freeman re-enter the room. They look flustered.
“Okay, we’re going,” says Schultz, urgently.
I frown at his tone. “With or without permission?” I ask.
“With… sort of. Come on, we don’t have much time. There’s a chopper waiting for us out front.”
He turns and practically runs out of the office, with Freeman close behind him. The three of us exchange looks of confusion before filing out after him. We walk down the corridor, ignoring the seemingly accusatory glances of the people we pass, and step out into the open.
Sure enough, there’s a chopper on the front lawn, which Schultz is just climbing aboard. Freeman is on the ground signaling us over. We all break into a jog and duck as we approach. The noise of the spinning rotor blades is deafening. We climb into the back, and we lift off before I even have chance to sit down.
“Where are we going?” I shout to Schultz.
“The safest place I know,” he replies, cryptically.
40
The safest place he knew turned out to be GlobaTech’s main headquarters in Santa Clarita, California. The chopper took us to Atlanta International Airport, where a private jet was waiting for us on the runway, fueled, and ready to go. Vowing to myself that it was definitely the last time I ever traveled on one, we climbed aboard and were soon in the air.
The flight took a little over eight hours, during which I tried to get some sleep, but failed miserably. We touched down at Whiteman Airport in Pacoima, and made the half hour drive from there to the GlobaTech building in a chauffeured limousine that was waiting for us.
The site is at the base of a small mountain range, and is enormous. All the years I’ve had a relationship with them, I never knew just how big of a company they are. We drive in through the main gate, and across what feels like a small town surrounded by a fence. Three- and four-story buildings are scattered around the site with seemingly no prior planning. Operatives parade around the grounds, kitted out, armed, and heading in various directions to do God knows what. There are helicopters, and even fighter jets, standing stationary, all bearing GlobaTech’s red and black emblem.
We make our way over to one of the largest buildings around, which I take as their main office, and stop out front. We all pile out of the car and, as I stand and stretch, I see Tori and Josh waiting for us. My girl runs over, jumping up, and wrapping herself around me. I kiss her with as much passion as I can, and guide her to the ground. Josh follows behind her, holding a laptop. We shake hands, and the group exchange pleasantries all around before heading inside to Schultz’s office, where we sit around a large conference table, and proceed to catch everyone up with what we know, right up to the point where we left Fort Benning.
“So the CIA agreed to let you all go?” asks Josh. “Just like that?”
Schultz squirms awkwardly in his seat at the question, and doesn’t immediately answer.
“Yeah, Ryan…” I say. “What was the story with us getting out of there?”
He hesitates another moment, his gaze rapidly flitting around the room, seeing everyone staring back at him.
“I spoke to a guy at the CIA,” he says. “I was given him as a contact when I was going back and forth with the goddamn NSA. I said that, under the circumstances, they can’t justify holding GlobaTech responsible for anything now that they’ve announced to the world El-Zurak has been captured. The guy didn’t exactly admit what they’ve done, but he said they still need to be seen to be bringing the people responsible to justice.”
“Sorry if I’m missing something,” says Raynor. “But I thought they’d done that already?”
“They still have a whole lot of paperwork that we know they can’t own up to, that says the people in this room played a large part in it all. They have to justify their intel should there be an investigation.”
My spider sense starts tingling. I look around the room at everyone. Schultz is sitting at the far end, looking flustered and out of breath. On his left, Tori looks tired, like she’s spent a long time crying. She must be running on fumes right now, the poor thing. Next to her, Josh is sitting upright, tense, and alert, listening to Schultz, and by the look on his face, the cogs are turning inside his head — always thinking. His laptop is on the table in front of him with the lid closed.
Wallis is next to him, and Freeman is at the opposite end to Schultz, both looking positively disinterested, which I can understand, from their point of view — Wallis is back in the FBI’s good books, so there’s no pressure on him anymore. They’ll just be anxious to get back to work and put it all behind them. Opposite Tori, on my left, is Raynor, who still looks like he’s trying to wrap his head around everything. He’s a smart man, but he’s old school. He likes to take his time with things, and I think this is taking a bit longer than normal to process, which again, is understandable.
Then there’s me. No official ties to the real world, apart from a bar in desperate need of renovating in a backwater town in Texas. No affiliation with any government agency… out of everyone in this room, I’m the one with the least to lose.
Maybe I’m just being paranoid…
“I got them to agree that no one associated with GlobaTech in any capacity will be held accountable for anything that’s happened,” continues Schultz. “They’re dropping any charges against this company, and releasing all of the assets they seized back to us. We’re business as usual, effective immediately.”
“What about me?” asks Tori, speaking for the first time since we all sat down. “I don’t work for you.”
“Sweetheart, you were the victim of a kidnapping by a known terrorist — you’re fine.”
“And me?” asks Raynor.
“You were a consultant, acting in an advisory capacity because of your knowledge and experience in dealing with the terrorists,” says Schultz. “You’re fine too.”
The room goes silent, and Schultz shifts uneasily in his chair. Josh leans forward, pushing his laptop further out in front of him and resting his elbows on the table.
“And what about Adrian?” he asks.
Everyone looks at me, and I look up at Schultz. I already know the answer to this question…
“Tell them, Ryan,” I say. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I brought it on myself.”