“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Hagellen said before the channel on the screen closed.
Augustus leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes; he let the hum of the ship enter his body. He pictured Earth, a bright blue marble in the dense black of space. “Soon, you’ll be mine.”
Chapter 32
GREGOR WATCHED the front of the clock tower from inside the remains of a crumbling brick building. The cover from here was perfect. He was obscured by thick ivy that almost completely wrapped the building. Poking his rifle through the plant gave him a perfect shot.
Ben lay snoozing next to him. They’d spent all night walking by the side of roads and fighting their way through woodland, trying to find the former town in time to set up an ambush.
Charlie Jackson would not catch him loitering by the clock tower. This meeting was going to be on Gregor’s terms.
His stomach growled but food could wait. All he’d eaten in the last twelve hours were two unripe apples from a nearby tree. Gregor kicked himself for not grabbing some supplies from the building by the reservoir. By the time he realized his error, they were heading to Ridgway. At least it wasn’t raining. The sun beat down on them through a large hole in the collapsed roof.
Layla knelt beside him and swiped some leaves to one side. “Still no sign of them?”
“Nothing,” Gregor said. He looked at Ben. “Do you think he was telling the truth?”
She checked her watch. “If he was, Jackson’s nearly an hour late.”
“Or he’s got his own vantage point. I’m not moving first,” Gregor shook Ben’s leg. He twitched awake and looked back, bleary eyed. “Are you sure he said noon?”
“Positive. I’ve told you several times already. Why would I lie?”
Ben’s question was exactly what had started playing on Gregor’s mind. He could lie to lead them into an ambush. Jackson might’ve been in the process of surrounding the area.
The instruction was given in the belief that Gregor was still running the camp. Maybe it was to draw him away so Charlie could attack.
He wondered if Alex and Vlad were still alive. The croatoans didn’t seem to recognize feelings or attachments between humans. With a bit of luck, they’d still be feeding the livestock and monitoring inside the chocolate factory. Gregor had to get them free before Augustus got his claws into them.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Layla said.
“Where you going?” Gregor said.
“Do you really want to know?” she said rolling her eyes.
“Oh. Fine. I want to have a little chat with Ben anyway,” Gregor said.
Layla hopped over a partially collapsed internal wall, its chipped plaster surface covered with dark green mold spores, and disappeared to another part of the building.
Gregor grabbed Ben’s shoulder and squeezed with enough force to make it unfriendly. Ben returned his stare with a nervous smile. “Gregor?”
Back in Yerevan, they used Marek’s basement for extracting information from unreliable people. A thumbscrew was usually the best way to make people talk, usually after the first crunch of bone. Sometimes even the mere fitting of the medieval looking torture instrument was enough to prize out information. It depended on the backbone of the person and what they had to lose. It was certainly a cleaner approach than Igor’s amateurish knife related strategy.
A verbal thumbscrew would be enough for Ben.
“Treachery will always come home to the traitor,” Gregor said.
Ben tried to edge away and winced as Gregor tightened his grip. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Gregor drew his rifle from between the ivy and jabbed the muzzle under Ben’s chin. “It’s an old proverb meaning if you betray me, bad things will happen to you.”
“I’m not. I swear. How many times do I have to say it?”
“Do you want to know my own proverb? I’ve made it up especially for you.” Ben didn’t reply. “If you’ve betrayed me, I’ll rip off your arm and beat you to death with the soggy end. Have I made myself clear?”
Ben rapidly nodded. “Crystal.”
A foot crunched over broken glass in an adjacent room. Layla coming back. Gregor let go of Ben and aimed his rifle back between the ivy.
“Well, well, well. I didn’t expect to find you here,” a voice said.
A voice that Gregor hadn’t heard for years. That he’d dreamed of hearing scream with agony while strapped to his garage chair, as Gregor slowly pulled out his individual fingernails with snipe nose pliers. Reminding him about his cousin.
He tensed. Didn’t want to turn. Didn’t want to give Jackson a moment’s satisfaction before the bastard pulled the trigger.
Ten years of his shit. Ten years of survival. He’d been led into a trap. It was all so simple. It made his life seem trivial. Too much effort for such a stupid end.
“Get it over with, Jackson,” Gregor said.
Ben scrambled to his feet.
“Stay right where you are,” another voice called out.
Footsteps approached. Gregor glanced to his side.
A red haired, rangy looking man strode through the rubble, peering down his sights. Denver Jackson. Last time he’d seen him, he was Charlie’s feral pet, learning tricks from his master. A dog scampered behind his legs and barked.
Gregor snorted. “Look at you, all grown up.”
“Shut the fuck up. I don’t remember giving you permission to speak,” Denver said. “Hold out your weapon. Nice and slow.”
He held out the AR-15 by its grip and placed it on the ground.
“Did you get the information I asked for?” Charlie said.
Ben thrust up his hands and took a couple of steps away from Gregor. “I didn’t have time. Gregor knows. We’re not with the croatoans.”
Charlie chuckled in his distinctive sarcastic way. Gregor hated it. To Jackson, everything was black or white. He should have guessed that Ben wouldn’t have been allowed to just stroll back into the farm. Jackson’s necklace, and the opportunity to get him had a blinding effect.
Gregor looked up at Ben and scowled. The turncoat backed away another couple of steps.
“We’ve tried to get information from them before. They won’t help—” Charlie said.
“Drop your weapon,” Layla shouted.
Keeping his hands spread above his shoulders, Gregor rolled onto his back. Layla must’ve heard the Jacksons. She’d rounded the building and stood behind Charlie, pointing the croatoan rifle at the back of his head.
Charlie’s hands were raised. He didn’t look much different from ten years ago. Gregor had caught glimpses of him through the last decade, but never close up like now. Bearded, piercing blue eyes, miserable.
A woman stood next to Charlie, wearing a harvester uniform. Another lie from Ben about the fate of their crew. Gregor reached across for his rifle.
“Pick that up and I put a bullet through your forehead,” Denver said.
Gregor withdrew his hand. “If you shoot me. Your plastic father gets it in the head.”
Denver hadn’t even glanced back to Charlie. He focused down on Gregor with an intense expression and twitched his head to his left. “Then I kill your helper.”
A distant overhead noise, like an ongoing extended roll of thunder echoed from the clear blue sky.
“Leave us with Gregor,” Charlie said. “You go back to the farm. We won’t hurt you.”
“We want the same thing as you. To bring down the croatoans,” Layla said.
Charlie shook his head and groaned. “You’ve sure got a funny way of showing it.”