The Frihet Rebellion

Jenny Sax lay naked on top of the rumpled sheets of the hotel bed, relaxed in a post-coital daze, contemplating the disappointingly grubby ceiling and its single glow square. Pixels flicked on and off in random patterns of disrepair. Before too long the whole square would crackle and die, leaving the windowless room in darkness. She hoped it would survive at least until she had left.

The room as a whole, other than the ceiling, was clean, tidy, and barely big enough for the double bed she lay on, the clock on the wall and the small bedside table beneath it. But it served its purpose. It provided a place away from the eyes of the office rumor mill and, more importantly, the President’s security personnel. She needed that privacy. She could not be seen with the naked man who lay alongside her, smiling and content.

“If the President ever finds out about us, I’ll be out of a job,” she said, quietly. “You are not on his list of favorite people right now.”

“So I hear.” Bryant Johnson smiled and nuzzled against her shoulder. “Still, better than being ignored, eh? At least he knows who I am.”

“It’s not a joke, Bryant.” Jenny turned towards him, stroking a finger lazily back and forth on his bare chest. “The only thing keeping you safe is that Jon won’t fly Spearhead with anyone else. If the President or Bentley find a way round that…”

“I’ll be fine,” said Bryant, taking Jenny’s hand in his and squeezing it reassuringly. “Don’t worry. Me and Jon are a team, and neither the President, nor anyone else is going to break us up.”

Jenny wished she could believe him, but the recent discussions between the President and Bentley, and overheard whispers between senior security officers, made her fear otherwise.

She glanced at the clock and slipped off the bed.

“I’ll be late getting back to work,” she said, pulling on her clothes.

“Don’t worry, I’ll drive you.”

“But…”

“No one will see,” said Bryant. “It’ll save you rushing.”

She hesitated. It was true that, having lost track of time, she would have to hurry. If she was late back it could lead to questions, and she wanted to avoid that. Rumors spread through the offices of the palace as they did any other place of work. She did not want to end up the subject of any. And she did trust Bryant to be careful they weren’t seen together. In the final analysis, the clock was the deciding factor.

“Okay,” she smiled. “You can drive me. Now, get dressed. We need to go.”

The hotel corridor was lit by replicas of the glow square in the room, each one pockmarked with dead pixels. Bryant ushered Jenny along the thin, cheap carpet towards the elevator, hesitating as they drew near. Anxiety, placed at the back of his mind by Jenny’s concerns, nagged at him. The idea of being confined in a small metal box, unable to see what lay outside, teased at the paranoia in his brain.

“Let’s take the stairs,” he said. “Good exercise for us both.”

Pulling open the door to the stairwell, he began a cautious descent towards Reception, Jenny close behind him. Their footsteps echoed loudly in the narrow space. An unpleasant tang of stale urine hung in the air.

“Next time, I’m taking the lift, whatever you say,” said Jenny, almost slipping on one of the well-worn steps.

Bryant smiled, but his mind was already worrying about what they would find when they reached the ground floor.

The hotel lobby was quiet, almost empty. The carpeting was clean, if a little faded. A chandelier hung crooked from the ceiling. Well-used furniture was scattered around the walls, and a selection of vending machines skulked in a small, shadow-filled alcove. The Reception Desk stretched along a wall, facing the frosted glass entrance doors.

The woman behind the desk, who looked up from her paperwork and smiled at them as they exited the stairwell, was not the one Bryant had booked-in with earlier. It was most likely an innocent shift change, but Bryant’s growing sense of unease didn’t like it. Over by the news vending machine, a man flicked through the daily papers on the touch-screen. Another man sat in one of the slightly worn chairs near the entrance, engrossed in his eBook. Both were dressed casually, and showed no interest in Bryant and Jenny.

“You paid when you booked-in, right?” said Jenny, as they walked with forced casualness towards the exit.

“Yes,” said Bryant, distracted. “Sure, sure. All paid. No problem.”

Jenny took his hand and squeezed it. “Are you okay? Have you spotted something?”

“If I give you a push,” said Bryant, his voice lowered into a whisper, “you get down on the ground and stay there. Flat as you can. Understand?”

Jenny nodded nervously, shooting quick glances around the lobby as they drew level with the vending machine alcove, and the man browsing the news.

“What is it Bryant?” she whispered back. “What’s wrong?”

Bryant didn’t answer. Instead, he stopped, letting out a sigh of resignation. He had really hoped that Jenny’s warning, and his anxiety, had been without foundation.

Moving suddenly towards the vending machine alcove, he pushed Jenny to one side, hoping she remembered what he had said. The browsing man had pulled a compact, fully automatic machine pistol from his jacket and was lifting the barrel into a firing position.

Knocking the rising gun aside, Bryant clamped an iron grip on the man’s wrist, and tugged him off-balance. The short arc of an elbow cracked his jaw. With a final twist, Bryant broke the man’s wrist and relieved him of his weapon. The man folded to the ground, pain etched deep into his face, although he made no sound.

Bryant lifted the machine pistol and fired, bullets ripping through the face of the man rising from his seat by the entrance. Another machine pistol dropped to the ground, along with the eBook which had concealed it.

From the floor, the news browser made a desperate grab for Bryant’s leg. Bryant shattered his skull with one short burst of bullets. His instincts were still those of a soldier: kill or be killed.

With relief, he saw that Jenny had taken his advice and lay flat on the lobby carpet. Keeping the machine pistol raised, he quickly scanned the area for more danger.

The receptionist had ducked down behind the desk when the firing began. Now, she stood, a semi-automatic shotgun in her hands. Military issue.

Bryant dropped to the floor as the blast echoed around the lobby. He rolled, steadied himself and returned fire.

His first two short bursts blasted holes through the plaswood counter, ripping into the woman’s thighs. She flinched and staggered backwards. His third burst lifted the scalp from her skull, spinning a clump of hair into the wall behind.

Not waiting to watch her die, Bryant pulled Jenny to her feet and ran for the entrance.

“Do you think they were working for the President?” said Jenny, her voice shaking.

“From the way they handled themselves, I’d guess his own elite bodyguard,” said Bryant, his eyes searching for more attackers.

They pushed through the doorway out onto the bright, midday street. It should not have been deserted, but it was. No traffic, no people. Bryant knew they were trapped.

Gunfire whined past his head, exploding the glass door behind. He moved to push Jenny to the floor, but already fine sprays of blood were drifting through the air around her as bullets thudded into the body he had so recently held close.

He raised the machine pistol, but before he could return fire, bullets smashed through his arm, his shoulder. Another punched a hole in his stomach. Another grazed his skull and he went down, hitting the ground alongside Jenny. Her face was frozen in surprise. Her eyes wide open and unseeing.

Fading in and out of consciousness, unable to move, unable to defend himself or Jenny, he watched four men detach themselves from the shadows, the dark niches on the street. They stood around him, smiling. One raised his weapon, a military issue assault rifle, and aimed directly at Bryant’s head. He waited for the final shot, wondering how much pain he would feel as the bullet cracked his skull and entered his brain.

One of the men spoke, but the words were distorted in his head, hard to understand. They sounded like, “goodbye from the President”, but he could not be sure.

Did it really matter?

He could not even close his eyes, forced to stare at the barrel, the dark purveyor of the death-dealing bullet.

He watched. He waited.

Without warning, the assault rifle slipped from the man’s grasp, landing heavily, but unfelt, across Bryant’s chest. The man who had dropped it opened his mouth in a silent scream, clawing at his head and face. The others were doing the same, gouging bloody tracks, worms of skin dangling, writhing with each movement.

One by one, the four men fell, their bodies clenching in agony.

Bryant finally lost consciousness. But for one moment, just before darkness claimed him, he thought he saw his friend, Jon, stepping over the dying men, coming towards him.