A Wolf In Sheep's Clothing Page 11

  A thin line of drool escaped the corner of Damarion's mouth as he rocked back and forth.

  “It’s also excellent at finding your most traumatic experiences and forcing you to replay them, repeatedly.” Cornelius bent over Damarion. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket he dabbed Damarion's mouth. “There, there. This can all be over. All you have to do is tell me where they are. You can end this.”

  Damarion shook his head. “Never,” he whispered.

  “You don't understand Damarion. I will figure it out.” Cornelius puffed his chest. “Chamber, run trace program.”

  The scene on one side of the room changed to a busy Easton street. Damarion watched himself walking along its sidewalk.

  “There, all I have to do is have the computer replay your every move for the few months leading up to you being here,” Cornelius explained.

  Damarion turned his head to one side and closed his eyes. The scene on the other side of the room went back to an empty cell. “Only if I allow it to control my thoughts,” he replied through clenched jaws.

  “Yes, well, we'll see how long you'll be able to keep that up!” Cornelius snapped. “I'll leave you to your thoughts,” Cornelius finished with a smile. “Chamber, exit.”

  Cornelius sat upright on the gurney and removed his headset. Crawling off the bed he straightened his suit jacket before moving in front of Damarion's control panel. He tapped the screen, smiling. “There,” he said, patting Damarion's arm. “I'll come back and see you tomorrow after you've had another three months to think about it.”

  ◆◆◆

  Seated in his study, Cornelius scanned the painting of his grandfather. He studied the familiar features of the man, reminiscing, as a stocky woman in a blue dress applied his makeup.

  'You will be a great man someday if you follow my instruction.' Cornelius recalled the medical mogul's words. Louis Cromwell the third made his billions acquiring and merging over ten thousand hospitals in the early twenty-first century. He then set up a hospital investment trust, combining all the publicly traded stock before selling them off in fractional pieces as low risk, high yield mutual funds. Making himself the manager of the widely successful fund, he siphoned off hundreds of millions in administrative fees to fund his unquenchable thirst for buying companies, along with his many vices.

  Although the man was harsh, even cruel towards Cornelius, he still looked up to his grandfather. Followed his every footstep into the family businesses, inheriting his insatiable appetite for wealth and power.

  'Some men lead, and some follow. Which are you going to be, boy?' Cornelius recalled his Grandfather's favorite line, spoken with alcohol on his breath and a belt in his hand.

  Richard poked his head in the door, tugging Cornelius from his thoughts.

  “Are you ready? It's almost time.”

  “Excellent,” Cornelius replied as the cosmetologist dabbed a final coat of powder to his cheeks with a brush before leaving the room.

  Cornelius shuffled the notes for his speech as the broadcast crew made final adjustments to the cameras that sat in front and to one side of his desk. A man wearing a headset walked in giving Cornelius a thumbs up. Cornelius returned the gesture, and the man counted backwards. “And in five, four, three.” He signaled the last two numbers with his fingers as Cornelius cleared his throat. A red light illuminated on the camera in front of him and he could see himself on the monitor out of the corner of his eye. Cornelius smiled. He knew the entire city was watching.

  “My dear citizens of Easton. It is with great pleasure and excitement I come before you this morning. Because of hard-working people like you, our city continues to grow and prosper. Unemployment remains at an all-time low of two percent. The economy has swelled by another three percent and I have kept inflation in check. All of this has been accomplished under my guidance as your Governor. As you know this is an election year. Dear citizens, if re-elected, I promise to reduce health care costs and raise the minimum wage in addition to maintaining low unemployment and a growing economy. Continue to work, go to school, spend, shop and good things will continue to come your way.”

  Cornelius caught the monitor blinking out of the corner of his eye.

  “I have an announcement to make regarding this fine city's safety. Crime continues to be at an all-time low, and it will remain so under the direction of your new chief of city security, Rich-”

  “What is going on?” the crewman behind the camera interrupted.

  “I don't know,” the man in the headset replied.

  Cornelius turned to view the monitor. It displayed a picture of a dragon with a crown.

  “What the hell is happening to my broadcast?” Cornelius barked.

  “I'm not sure, sir. We're looking into it.”

  “Hurry, everyone in the city is watching!”

  Pictures of Cornelius flipped across the screen, followed by lab reports with download links. Large block text scrolled along the bottom of the screen explaining what the people were seeing.

  'PROOF IS IN THE PUDDING' it read while displaying a picture of a popular pudding brand and its ingredients, along with a report of the poisonous nature of the additive causing Fleishman's.

  “What the f...” Cornelius trailed off, awestruck at the sight. “Turn it off,” he croaked.

  “I'm getting audio,” the crewman wearing the headset announced, moving towards the monitor to turn on the sound. Pictures continued flipping across the screen as Atticus spoke.

  “People of Easton. For too long tyranny has held you in its grasp. For too long, you all have been sick and tired. They have tricked you into believing that you need treatments to stay healthy, when the very food you're eating is what's making you sick. The people in power would have you believe the wall is for your protection, when it's actually your prison. The man you just heard from is responsible. Your own Governor, without oversight, without checks and balances, has abused his power to such an extent he has turned you into sheep for the shearing. Like cattle, he prods you from the feed lot towards harvest for his own benefit and profit, without regard for your needs. This country was built on freedom. Freedom and the pursuit of happiness. Cornelius Cromwell has exsanguinated you of your time, skinned you of your health, gutted you of your freedom and de-boned you of your rights. How can one pursue anything when you're kept sick and nearly dead? How can one conjure a free thought when you work a hundred hours every week? The people in power justify their decisions in their own mind like the wolf of Aesop's fable. Tyrants will always find reasons for their tyranny. Their villainous nature will not allow them to hear the pleas of the innocent. The Government has you right where they want you, confident you will go quietly into that good night.”

  The vein in Cornelius's temple swelled to the size of his little finger. “Cut it! Cut the feed!” he spat through reddened jowls.

  “I'm trying. We can't, sir. It's directly connected to our system,” the man in the headset replied, typing at a keyboard set up on a makeshift workstation to one side of the room.

  “Trace it!” Cornelius demanded. “Where' it coming from?”

  The man at the workstation shook his head. “The message is coming from...,” his eyes widened, “it's coming from inside this house,” he replied.

  The recording continued.

  “It is time for us to stand up. To fight. To make ourselves heard. But we must stand together. For too long we have been digitally tethered to everyone, but lack a meaningful connection with anyone. You have segregated yourselves, hiding behind screens and monitors. It is time to reconnect with one another. Put down your phones. Turn off your televisions. Shut down your tablets. Go outside. Take a walk to feel the sun on your face. Play a game with your children. Read a book. Expand your mind. Talk to your partner. Have dinner with your neighbor. For God's sake speak to each other, face to face. Take comfort in hearing your own voices. Your voice makes the difference. One voice may be quiet, but together we will make change through a cacophony chorus. The time has
come for revolution! We will be heard!”

  The screen filled with the logo of the crowned dragon, this time with a spear through its heart. Under the logo read the words. 'This has been a HackerJax production.'

  Cornelius grabbed the camera sitting in front of his desk. The live feed came back on as he swung the tripod over his head, smashing it into the video monitor in the corner. The entire city watched as he threw his tantrum. “Cut the power! Cut it now! I don't care how, just turn it off.” he spat.

  “Sir, the people are wat-”

  Cornelius cut him off. “I don't give a shit about the fucking people! Cut the God damned feed,” he raged.

  “Shut up,” Richard yelled.

  “Never tell me to shut up, you disrespectful puke of a man.” Cornelius stomped his feet while picking up a chair. He threw it across the room in Richard's direction. “It was that girl!” he screamed. “Wool. They weren't here for Damarion. They were here to hack my broadcast.”

  “Sir, it's over. You're back on live.”

  “What?”

  “Which you would have noticed if you hadn't destroyed your own monitor,” Richard added.

  Cornelius stood frozen with wide eyes. “Shit!” he whispered as the broadcast crew cut the electricity and the lights went dark.

  CHAPTER XIII

  Dialing Wesley's number from her contact list, Anna chewed her left thumbnail. She had been trying to come up with a way to get Damarion's electronic signature on a warrant, but the city security system was too much for even Jax to hack his way in. Once Cornelius made Richard's position official, he would be untouchable.

  “Hello,” Wesley's dreamy voice flowed into Anna ear.

  “Wesley, it's Anna. I know where Damarion is.”

  “Send me the address of where he is. I need his signature before we run out of time.”

  Anna ran her hand through her hair, coaxing a lock from behind her ear. “There's a problem. He's being held at the Governor's Mansion.”

  There was silence at the other end of the line. Anna had to move the phone from her cheek and check, making sure she hadn't lost the call. “Wesley?”

  “Yes, I'm here. That creates a problem. We can't get the warrant without his signature and we can't get his signature without the warrant.”

  “Cornelius has him in the Chamber. The two people I was with last night saw him, but I didn't have a chance to tell you. Cromwell's guards escorted us off the property.”

  “The Chamber? That's not good Anna, but I don't know how to get him out of there.”

  “There's an emergency senate meeting today to approve Cornelius's request to appoint Richard as Chief. We have to do it now. I need you to get as many men together as you can that are loyal to Damarion,” Anna instructed.

  “Putting a team together won't be a problem. My only concern is what might happen to us all if we do this. I risk being sent through the gates, along with my men. What is your plan?”

  “Raid the place. Get to Damarion as soon as possible. Wake him up and have him sign the warrant, then take Richard into custody and get Damarion out of there.”

  “I've heard the Chamber stories. My guess is Damarion won't be of much use right after he comes to,” Wesley argued.

  “I'm confident he'll be strong enough. So, are you in?”

  There was a long pause and Anna heard Wesley take a deep breath. “Meet me in front of the Governor's mansion in one hour.”

  ◆◆◆

  “Where are they!” Cornelius rattled into Damarion's ear.

  Seated in the concrete room with his back against the wall for support, Damarion listed to one side. “Never. I will never tell you,” he breathed.

  “Chamber, next scenario,” Cornelius commanded.

  Cornelius squinted through the sudden blast of sunlight. He was standing next to a swimming pool in the backyard of an upscale home. A young boy was fishing something from the water.

  “Liz!” the boy cried.

  “Liz,” he repeated, getting a small fistful of his younger sister's hair. He pulled her to the edge of the pool. “Help,” the boy wailed. “Help!”

  He tried to pull her from the water, his small arms not strong enough to lift her free. With trembling hands he rolled the girl onto her back, straining with the effort.

  “Help!” he screamed in refreshed panic, seeing his siblings blue lips and pale face. Thrashing at the water, he tried to pull the girl from the pool's clutches as small waves lapped across her wide, lifeless eyes.

  “What are you doing?” a woman called out, racing across the patio towards the children. “Oh my God, Damarion. What have you done!” the woman wailed, dragging her daughter from the pool. “You were supposed to keep an eye on your sister,” Damarion's mother spat, checking Elizabeth's airway with shaking hands and starting resuscitation. “Call 911.”

  The scene changed to a living room setting with a young Damarion standing in front of his mother. “It's your fault,” she slurred, slapping him across the face. Losing her balance from the vodka induced stupor, the woman fell to the floor. “I will never forgive you. That's why your father left us!” she screamed.

  The boy scanned his mother's disheveled hair and bloodshot eyes. “I tried mom. I tried to save her.” Tears welled, spilling over his lower eyelids into a stream across his bruised cheek.

  “You killed your sister!” his mother replied, throwing her empty glass at him.

  Cornelius moved in front of the boy and hunched over his small frame. “Tell me where they are Damarion and this all goes away.”

  “A hundred times. A hundred time a hundred it repeats and always ends the same. I can't save her,” he said, looking up at Cornelius.

  “Repeating your most traumatic memories is what the Chamber does best. Over and over until it drives you mad. Just tell me where they are.”

  “Never!”

  “We'll see,” Cornelius replied. “Chamber, exit.”

  Throwing off his headset Cornelius dropped from the bed. He tapped the control panel next to Damarion. “Let's see how you feel after a few years.”

  Cornelius hobbled up the stairs from the lower level as fast as his arthritic knees would allow. “Richard!” he hollered from the main hallway. “Richard!”

  “Yes, what is it, sir? How are things going with Damarion?” Richard asked, racing from the ballroom.

  “I'm not getting anywhere. Start a city wide search, immediately,” Cornelius commanded, grabbing Richard by the collar. “Utilize every resource. Every city security employee at your disposal.”

  “The senate has to approve-”

  “The senate won't be a problem,” Cornelius interrupted, shaking his shirt and pushing him backwards. Cornelius continued pushing Richard as he spoke, spit flying onto his grandson's cheek. “Search everywhere, systematically and methodically. Do you understand? I'm talking about every penthouse, warehouse, doghouse, boathouse, whorehouse, slaughterhouse, outhouse and tree house.”

  “Yes, I get it.” Richard replied.

  “I don't think you do. Search the entire city. Every ice shack, crack shack, crab shack and caddie shack.”

  “Paddy whack?” Richard smiled.

  “This isn't funny,” Cornelius spat, slapping Richard hard across the face. “If you don't find them, you'll feel the buckle end of my belt, boy. In this world there are men who lead and men who follow. Which one will you be?”

  Richard rubbed his cheek as the front entry door flew open and dozens of armed city security officers swarmed around them.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Cornelius crackled with wide eyes.

  Wesley stepped across the threshold followed by Anna and Charlie. “You!” Cornelius yelled, flying towards them in a fit of rage. An armed officer grabbed Cornelius before he made it to the front door. “Get your hands off of me,” he barked.

  “He's downstairs,” Anna directed, pointing in the stairwell's direction.

  “Where's you warrant?” Cornelius asked Wesley.

 
; Wesley produced a document and handed it to him. Cornelius scanned it. “There's only one signature on this,” he said, ripping it to pieces. “You also need a signature from the Chief of City Security, which is this man right here,” Cornelius explained, gesturing towards Richard.

  Wesley smiled. “The senate hasn't voted yet. My chief is Damarion Brockman and your signature is forthcoming.”

  Anna led several guards down to the lower level and into the Chamber room while Wesley waited.

  “Isabelle said to get George out first. He can help with Damarion,” Anna instructed the emergency medical team that followed them in, wheeling a gurney. They gave George an injection and disconnected the tubing. He opened his eyes as the medical team removed the helmet from his head, connected to several ribbons of wires. George sat up before rolling to one side and vomiting on the floor.

  “Oh God. I was in the Chamber? That was the most awful experience of my life,” George whispered. “You don't have the faintest idea.”

  Anna smiled at George. “I have the faintest,” she replied. “Come on, I'll help you up. We have to get Damarion out.”

  Anna steadied George as he got on his feet. He moved in front of Damarion's control panel as the medical team gave Damarion an injection and removed his IV tubing. George shook his head. “How much do you know about the Chamber Anna?”

  “Not much. Just how awful it is.”

  “My knowledge is limited, but I can see that Cornelius maxed out the time lapse and intensity of Damarion's experience,” George explained, adjusting the settings on the display.

  “What does that mean?” Anna asked.

  “It means, for Damarion, months may have gone by, even years.”

  “Vitals are weak,” a blond nurse announced.

  “We have to get him out now,” George urged. “We can't let him die while he's still connected to the Chamber. That would be the worst fate of all.”

  “Why?” Anna asked, seeing the fear behind his reddened eyes.