How the fuck did they even manage to get around in an aircraft like this without having to log flight plans? Air security was tight, but possibly the resistance had “inside people” that took care of that shit for them. They were clearly not without power and contacts. Tonight wouldn’t have happened otherwise, and since we were heading straight into the belly of their stronghold, that really didn't bode well for our survival.
Rafe had better be in one fucking piece when we got to him. I knew he was part of the Society, as they called themselves, but this extremist branch of the resistance was not the same and I had no idea what they wanted with the Swiss prince.
They hadn't killed him on the roof, though, and they could have. So they must need him forsomething.
This knowledge was the only thing keeping my sanity intact.
Chapter 2
When we finally landed for the second time, it was almost night again, and I was fucking exhausted.
The pilots got off first, and as soon as they disappeared from the helicopter pad, the dude who’d smuggled us on whipped his head toward us. "We need to debrief with the leader," he said. "It's standard practice, but since the earlier team with... your guy"—he cleared his throat—"will have already reported in, and the others will be logging the dead soldiers, it should be short and brief. Follow me."
He spun on his heel and stormed off into the growing darkness, clearly much more confident back in his own territory. Jordan and I followed, cataloging everything as we walked.
The helicopter pad was on the top of a building, and the last rays of sun were visible off in the distance. "Skyscrapers…?" I murmured, slightly confused about where we were.
"It's a compound," Jordan whispered, leaning close to me. "See the fence way out there?"
He pointed to his right, and I followed that line until I saw the glint of a tall chain link fence. Between us and that fence were dozens—or more—of tall, shiny buildings.
"Why the fuck did I think they were living in huts or underground," I said, shaking my head. "This is modern... as modern as America and Arbon Academy."
Jordan was about to say something else, when the resistance asshole turned back and snapped, "Hurry the fuck up. They're waiting for us, and any delay will look suspicious."
His voice shook, and from the way he fidgeted back and forth, I could tell he was desperate for us to move. And that might have been because he was worried about getting into trouble.
Or... another reason.
"Be ready for anything," I murmured to Jordan before we picked up speed and hurried to where the dickhead was waiting at a door that led into an internal set of stairs.
"This is Red East's main headquarters," the guy explained as we stepped inside, the metal door slamming after us. "The very top resistance members live here; the rest of us are spread out further within the compound."
"How many of you are there?" Jordan asked as we all started down the surprisingly wide staircase. It was fancy, and as everything else I'd seen, super modern and sophisticated.
How much fucking money did they have?
"Ten thousand here, twenty thousand in the Red West camp, and probably a million spread over all the resistance camps."
A. Million. People.
Fuck's sake. How were we supposed to find Rafe in a million people? I mean, my hope was that he'd been taken here, but maybe we'd been lied to from the start and now we were stuck in the Red East compound.
No. Just, no.
I couldn't let myself go there. I needed every ounce of my focus, and being beyond tired was not helping. I couldn't do the Rafe-might-be-dead-or-far-away-from-here thing as well.
The guy was silent for the rest of our journey down many, many flights of stairs. An elevator would have been a welcome sight, but since we appeared to be in some sort of closed-in stairwell, there was no way to tell what lay beyond.
When we reached the bottom level, we exited through the only door and found ourselves in a room filled with black-clad individuals.
The asshole who had been leading us spun at the last second and shouted so loudly it hurt my ears: "East target! East target!"
He was pointing at us, and everyone in the place erupted, diving forward, weapons out as they pointed swords and guns and other fun shit in our direction. Jordan and I moved closer together, our hands held out in front of us because there was no way we could take on this many armed people and survive.
Our only chance was to talk our way out of this.
Jordan got there before I did, ripping his mask off. "I'm a resistance member," he said with all the authority that a prince contained—spoiler alert, a fucking lot. "And I demand you take me to your leader."
