Jason tore down the hallway. A guard ran toward him; Jason pulled the trigger and blood blossomed across the guard's chest. Adrenaline surged through his veins, masking the fear he knew he should feel, and the deep wrench of an ache he'd felt when he'd left Tasha.
He ran past the receptionist, her face shocked; she raised the phone to her ear as Jason dashed toward the door. He shot one guard, then the other; one went down, clutching his leg; the other staggered against the doorway, and a gunshot went off.
Fire pierced Jason's shoulder. He nearly fell to his knees, but he forced himself to keep running. Raindrops splashed onto his face as he ran through the central square and pushed into the press of the crowd.
I could hide in the Old Quarter, he thought. But no, that's where Elena hid with me last time. I've got to get to Munroe. But they'll suspect him too—
He ran into a side alley just as a group of soldiers started toward him. He backed against the wall, pain throbbing through his shoulder. His shirt was soaked with blood; he pressed his hand against it. He was already light-headed, and the half-healed gunshot wound in his leg stabbed him with every heartbeat.
As soon as he caught his breath, and then ran down the alley, and another street. A police car appeared; he ducked into a doorway.
A hand grabbed his arm. He tore away, jumped back; but then he saw that it was just a boy, about fifteen, with brown hair and large green eyes. The boy pressed a finger to his lips and motioned for Jason to follow him.
Jason hesitated, then he thought, I couldn't get in any worse trouble than I already have been. If they take me back to prison, at least I'll be with Tasha and James, sharing their fate…
The boy opened the door, looked at Jason expectantly. Jason followed him through a vacant, rather run-down lobby to an elevator.
"What's your name?" said Jason, once the doors closed.
"Josef," said the boy.
"Why are you helping me?"
He shrugged. "Because you need help."
"I don't want to get you in trouble."
"Everyone is already in trouble." There was a hard look in the boy's eyes that made him seem older than he looked at first glance.
The elevator doors opened on the third floor. Jason followed the boy down the hallway to the third door on the right. Josef unlocked it and led Jason inside to an open living room with old, worn but comfortable-looking furniture.
"You can sit there," said Josef, motioning to a chair.
Jason sat down, leaned his head in his hand. His head was spinning; he felt nauseous. Two gunshot wounds this mission—but then, I'm relatively unscathed compared to Tasha and James.
"Let me see," said Josef.
Jason rolled up his sleeve, wincing in pain as he did so. He risked a glance at the wound. Despite the blood, it looked pretty clean—just a flesh wound.
Josef pressed a wet cloth on his shoulder, not especially gently. Jason clenched his jaw, fighting the pain.
Josef went back into the kitchen.
"Where are your parents?" asked Jason.
"They went to watch the execution."
"The execution?"
"Everyone within four blocks of the center square is supposed to go to see it."
"Not you?"
"I will go when I'm ready. Not when the soldiers tell me."
Josef came back into the living room with another clean white rag, drenched in alcohol. Jason dreaded this next part, but he steeled himself. Josef pressed it to the bullet wound, then quickly bound his shoulder up with a clean, dry cloth.
"You're good at this," said Jason, sitting back, shoulder throbbing, but relieved the worst of it was over.
"My mother is a nurse," said Josef. "She helps some of the prisoners in Saldenz. I want to be a doctor, so I've gone in to help her. I've seen what they do to people like us."
"Like us?"
"The ones who resist. I want to help as much as I can. Someday, we're going to be free."
"There is a man who can help you become free."
"You?"
Jason laughed, shook his head. "James. The prince."
"So he really is the prince? It's not just for show?"
"We have to rescue him."
"What can I do?"
"Do you have a phone I can use?"
Josef nodded and pointed to the lampstand. Jason picked it up, dialed Munroe's office.
An unfamiliar female voice answered. "Is Munroe there?" Jason asked.
"Just a moment."
A minute ticked by.
"Hello?" said Munroe.
"It's Jason."
"Jason! I heard they'd captured the spies and I thought— Is Tasha all right?"
"No, she's not. They still have her." Jason hated to think of Tasha in there one second longer, surrounded by enemies.
"But you escaped?"
"Yes. Listen. I need to rescue her—but we need to rescue the king first."
"I can hardly believe they actually found the king."
"It's true. You know people in the resistance, right? Can you contact them, ask them to organize something?"
"It's such short notice…"
"Please. You have to try."
"If I am a true patriot, I do. I am just not certain whether it will do any good."
"Is there a place where we can meet?"
"That probably isn't a good idea…."
"Then—maybe you should just pass this on to the resistance. I'll create a diversion long enough for them to get to the king."
"What kind of diversion?"
"I haven't gotten that far yet." Though Jason had an idea….an idea that would probably not end well for him. He didn't want Munroe to know it in case he tried to talk Jason out of it.
"I will. And Jason—"
"Yes?"
"Good luck. I'll see you soon."
"'Bye." Jason hung up. He wasn't even sure if Munroe knew about Elena's betrayal, but now hadn't seemed like the best time to bring it up.
Jason pushed himself to his feet. His head whirled; his injured shoulder and ankle both punished him. Josef came over and grasped his arm for support.
"I'm okay," said Jason, attempting to stand on his own. He had to walk if he was going to do anyone any good. "Do you have a raincoat or an umbrella?"
"A raincoat."
"Could I borrow it?"
"Sure." Josef got a blue raincoat from the closet.
"Perfect," said Jason, putting it on, struggling to shove his injured arm through the sleeve.
Jason headed toward the door, trying to keep his limping to the minimum despite the pain. Josef came with him.
"You should stay here," said Jason.
"I want to help."
"It's too dangerous. I don't want to be responsible for—"
"It's my choice."
"Well, when the time comes, run. Don't let them catch you."
"What are you going to do?"
But Jason didn't answer; he kept walking down the green-carpeted hallway until he reached the elevator. Inside, he leaned back against the wall; he had to conserve energy when he could. I can't faint, he thought. At least, not until this is done.
Down in the lobby. Out the door. He flipped the hood up over his head, shadowing his face. Rain splattered onto the coat.
Jason strode down the street. The raincoat fluttered out behind him; he pulled it close, tied the sash tight. He tried to ignore Josef beside him; hoped he'd leave before he got into any real danger.
Jason reached the central square. It was packed with people, so that they spilled out into the side-streets. Jason plunged into the crowd.
A man shoved against him, and pain shot through his injured left shoulder, almost sending him to his knees. He slipped in sideways, using his right shoulder to shove through the crowd.
People shouted at him, cursing; he ignored them. He had to get as close to James as he could. He must have lost Josef; he didn't see him anywhere.
The statue loomed up ahead, the man with his fist raised toward heaven. Just to the right of the statue was an area cordoned off by police. And in the center of that clearing was—
A scaffold.
Jason inched toward it. As he did, he realized that several figures were already standing on the platform. One of them was James. Two soldiers shoved him forward, his hands tied behind his back. Jason reached the edge of the barricade, almost face-to-face with a policeman. He tugged the hood down a little more, but not so much that it obscured his vision.
If I have any hope of saving him, I'll have to get through, thought Jason. Hopefully the resistance will be watching and won't let the opportunity go to waste…
Two others stepped up to the scaffold. Zahl and Elena. Jason's heart stopped. Elena. She had used him to betray everything he believed in, all for a love that had been false. Fake. Manufactured. How could he know what was real? How could he know he'd be able to accomplish anything? He was worthless as an agent, like she'd said. A foolish boy.
What makes me think I can accomplish anything now? he thought. I will just fail again.
Zahl held a microphone. He said, "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. This is not the most ideal weather, but perhaps it is fitting for the demise of a king. A king that is nothing but the remnant of an archaic, failed system. The fact that we have captured him shows that our system works. Our system will keep on working and provide the greatest benefits you have ever known, if you will only put your faith in us, and in our Great Leader, Karl Von Warberg!" He raised his arms as if expecting applause. There was, but it was half-hearted. "Again, I apologize for the rain. It could not be helped. But it will be worth it to witness something you will tell your children and grandchildren about. The demise of all that is old, faulty, the debris that drags this country down, keeps it from rising to become everything our founding fathers meant it to be. A free, prosperous Muldavia, basking in the benefits of socialism, leading us ever onward to the grand future that Communism will bestow on us.
"This, my comrades, is the first step toward an even greater age." He gestured toward James. "I am sure you would all like to hear the ridiculous prattle of a man who has been living a life in ignorance of your existence, a true son of the monarchy. Here you go, James. Tell the people what they want to hear." Zahl handed the microphone to James as the soldiers unlocked his handcuffs.
James took it, his hand shaking—Jason could even tell from here. He was even more bruised and battered than he had been when Jason had left him. He stood as if undecided whether to say anything at all. Then, he lifted the microphone, and said in a steady, clear voice, "I am sorry for abandoning you. You are my people, and instead of suffering with you, I lived in exile. This would have happened to me had I returned sooner, but at least I would have shared your burden. You have lived under the tyrant Von Warberg for too long—both Karl, and his father Erik. I wish more than anything I could turn back the clock and find some way to make it right. But it is too late. And so I must say goodbye, before I even had a chance to get to know you as my father did. But if any good can come of this, I want you to know there is hope. There is freedom. You just have to let it burn in your hearts, until you cannot contain it any longer and it bursts into a flame. I may not live to see it, but you will find freedom. Do not give up—"
Zahl snatched the microphone away from James, an annoyed look on his face. He gave a nod, and a soldier slung the noose around James' neck.
Now or never, thought Jason. For a moment, he was paralyzed; he didn't know if he could succeed, and even if he did, he did not want to be recaptured. Then, he thought of Tasha. His place was with her, sharing whatever hardships she had to bear. And if there was any way to save the king, he had to try.
Jason withdrew his gun from his pocket and ran toward the barricade. The nearest guard raised his gun; Jason shot him, making sure to aim left, catching him in the shoulder. The guard stumbled back; Jason pushed through and ran toward the scaffold.
Gunshots burst after him; he ducked and rolled to the ground, pain slamming through his injured arm as he did so. As he climbed to his feet at the bottom of the stairs, one of the soldiers on the platform shot at him. A bullet seared his cheek. Jason ran up the steps; his shots went wild, but it didn't matter, for he reached Zahl, and pressed the gun to his temple.
"Don't move, or I'll shoot," said Jason. He hadn't expected to get this far. And he'd used up every bullet in the six-chamber pistol. But they didn't know that. Yet.
Elena stepped up to Jason, put her hand on his arm. "Give me the gun, my dear."
"Step back, or I'll shoot!"
"No, you won't," she said. Raindrops scattered across her pale skin. Her eyes were large and blue, like remnants of the absent sky. "I know you, Jason. You won't shoot in cold blood. You don't have the stomach for it. Give me the gun. You're in over your head; this is too much for you to handle."
"I am not leaving until the prince is safe." Where was Munroe's resistance? Jason wondered. Were they unable or unwilling to act?
Jason shuffled to the right, bringing Zahl with him, and took the rope off of James' neck.
"Elena," said Zahl, "I am secondary to the cause. Take him down. Whatever it takes."
Elena nodded, her eyes cold. A dangerous smile spread across her lips as she aimed a gun at Jason. "I've called your bluff, haven't I? Even if you're willing to let me shoot Zahl, there's no guarantee it won't hit you as well. The next bullet would be yours anyway. Put the gun down, my sweet."
Jason wasn't ready to give up. He had to stall a little bit more, if he could; perhaps Elena was bluffing too. He stood his ground.
"Very well." She aimed the gun at Jason's head, and pulled the trigger.
Just as she did, James stepped in front of her, grabbed for her gun. But it was too late.
James collapsed to the floor, blood spreading over his heart.