Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 110757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
“Who is it?” I ask Nova once we’re heading up the Sub’s ramp alone.
Her brows are knitted together when she meets my gaze and answers. “Pax.”
21
“Who did I piss off to get assigned as your handler? It takes more than balls to do this work. Patience is essential, and you have none. Stick to your assignment. That was good info in your last drop.” Decoded message from ILF handler Hiro Tanaka to ILF undercover operative Nightingale
Marcus
Ingrid is calculating. She’s giving me only the information I need, and nothing more. I’ve been trying to prove I’m loyal to the cause, but she’s a fortress.
She spent the entire morning briefing me in a tightly secured meeting room at the island’s main base. Island Three is large. What I could see when I first arrived was just the beginning. The base is massive, but I haven’t been able to access most of it.
Lunch was a buffet that wasn’t just for me, Ingrid, and Tyrone, but all the commanding officers. There were at least three dozen of them, all feasting on elaborate pasta dishes, rich soups, salads, steaks, and even ice cream.
“Been a while since you had ice cream? ” Tyrone asks, taking the chair next to mine in the dining area.
Some people are finishing up their desserts, and coffee is being served. We get limited coffee in our shipments, and we save it until there’s enough for everyone to have a cup. That coffee is nothing like the coffee on Island Three, though. It’s velvety and has a hint of dark chocolate.
“Yeah, it has,” I say. “You guys have a great thing going here. It’s impressive.”
Tyrone is a Black man I’d guess is close to my age, which is thirty. I had a birthday a couple of weeks ago, but I didn’t tell anyone. He’s tall and fit, his head shaved close to the scalp. He reminds me of Malachi, one of my college football teammates I was close to.
“It’s a team effort,” he says. “This is a coveted assignment compared to anything on the mainland. Well, outside the Capitol, I mean. Everyone wants to work with President Whitman.”
“Absolutely. I’m in a news blackout where I’m at, what’s happening on the mainland?”
He shrugs. “You know how it is. They’re always putting out fires. Rebellions, tax enforcement, that kind of thing.”
“Tax enforcement?”
“Not working isn’t an excuse not to pay taxes. Some people need education on that.”
I’m sure Whitman’s idea of “education” involves bodily harm. He knows how to control people—threatening their basic needs to extract compliance.
“Nobody said maintaining order would be easy, right?” I quip.
“That’s right. President Whitman is still expanding New America. That costs a lot, but it’s well worth it.”
I shake my head, doing my best to appear wowed. “All of us owe him a debt of gratitude we can never repay.”
“Well said.”
Ingrid is standing nearby, giving me an appreciative look.
“Ready to finish?” she asks me.
“Absolutely.”
She leads the way back to the meeting room, Tyrone and I following. Ingrid isn’t much on small talk, which is fine by me, because it means less bullshitting.
Once we’re inside the room and the door is closed, she doesn’t sit down. She’s giving me a look that I think is apprehensive, if I’m reading it right. It makes my gut churn nervously.
“I think we’ve covered everything you need for now,” she says. “You’ll need to name a successor. Do you have anyone in mind?”
“Nova Kern.”
“We’ll find her fingerprint in the system and make the change.”
“Great. So I’ll be heading back to my island, then?”
I’ll be back with Briar by tonight. I’ve missed her and the rest of my command team. Niran can be impulsive, but she always has my back. Nova and Ellison are my family. All of them are, really.
“Tomorrow,” Ingrid says, studying me. “You’re not entirely finished here.”
She’d make a good horror movie villain. I can never get a read on her I fully trust. Every minute I’ve been here, I’ve been on edge, not sure if she’s going to offer me a drink or have me handcuffed and dragged to a cell.
She slides out of her olive-green jacket, leaving her in just a white T-shirt. Whatever this is, I don’t like it.
She turns her forearm over to display a tattoo of the New America flag. It covers the half of her arm nearest to her elbow, the colors stark against her pale skin.
“Holy shit.” The words fly out of my mouth before I have time to consider them, but I recover quickly, saying, “That’s incredible.”
“You’ll be getting one. It’s something we’ve started giving all our command officers.”
I don’t hesitate because my life depends on her believing I’m entirely loyal to the regime. “I’d love to. Wow. I don’t even know what to say.”
I do know what to say, and it’s fuck this cultish bullshit. The last thing I want permanently inked onto my body is that flag. It sickens me.