Trained by Sansa Rayne

Chapter 30

My combat training takes over.

Stay calm. Hold steady. Think smart.

I will my heart not to pound, my instincts not to overcome my sense.

Anton looks like he went ten rounds with a grizzly bear, his skin broken and bruised. He must be running on adrenaline. Still, all he has to do is pull the trigger. If I know him, he won’t until he’s had his say. He wants to see me suffer. He wants me to acknowledge his triumph. It’s his biggest weakness. But he’s capable of learning too — he may not make the same mistake again.

Somehow he killed one of our guards and took the man’s gear, from his gun to his combat armor. How did he escape though? Someone must have come for him after I left, someone who didn’t follow protocol, fucked up and let Anton loose. And I guess there’s really only one person who it would have been.

“Hardt came for some payback?” I ask.

Anton nods.

“How’d you kill the guard?”

“Paulina’s knife,” he replies, his face not too wrecked to offer a cruel smile.

Fucking shit! What was Jamison thinking?

Probably that Colette mattered more to him than anything else in his life — more than his empire and his legacy. I should have seen this coming. The fucking fool probably died knowing he failed to avenge Colette, and that it was his fault. His last thoughts should have been of Colette’s warm embrace, her heart beating with his back on the beach. Instead, he died alone. Did Jamison spend his final moments worrying that now Anton would kill me too, making his failure complete?

Either my training’s tamping down my rage or I’m just a bastard, because I can’t help thinking that Jamison brought this on himself. He couldn’t perceive the threat Anton presented. Not then, not now — and it could cost Kate and I our lives. I shouldn’t forget that Jamison helped me escape the Enclave in my most desperate moment, but somehow I can’t find much sympathy for him — not with Anton’s rifle pointed at me.

“Have a seat,” Anton says. “Let’s talk.”

If he was smart, if he had learned his lesson, he would shoot us now. But he has the gun, and if I know him, he feels in control. It’ll be his last mistake.

I sit, saying, “You’re not getting off this island alive if you hurt us. But if you put the gun down, you might spend the rest of your life in jail instead.”

“Bullshit,” Anton spits.

I glance at Kate; she’s gone pale, her body trembling. She doesn’t know Anton’s signed his death warrant. For now, it’s better that way.

“No, it’s true,” she says. “It was my idea. I convinced him that you should face trial, that the world should have justice — not only the two of us.”

“Oh, I heard you,” Anton says. “But it depended on Hardt’s testimony, and he won’t be able to do that now.”

“We’ll find another way,” I say. “As much as I’d love to watch you suffer, Kate’s correct. We’re not going to stoop to the same level as the Masters.”

Anton laughs.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Believe this: with or without that gun, I can kill you. You won’t even make it out of this room.”

I should kill him now; if he points the gun at Kate, I will.

“I know I won’t,” he says. “But neither will you.”

“Let Kate leave. This is between us.”

“No,” he chuckles, a raspy grunting noise. “I want you to watch her die. That’s what was supposed to happen, before you ran away. Plus, she betrayed me. If she wanted to live, she should have told me you were the one behind Anarchy, Inc. I would have spared her.”

“I’d rather be dead,” Kate snaps.

The rifle shakes in Anton’s grip. He doesn’t have much strength, after the punishment he’s taken. He won’t be able to hold it up for long. But if he shoots first…

Keep him talking.

Give him his moment of triumph.

Then take it away. Take everything.

For Jamison and Colette. For Madeleine. For Hank Lee and a hundred other people he’s wronged.

“How come you never told my father it was me who threw the bottle?” I ask Anton.

“What?”

“Your family disappeared. You never fought back. If you’d come to my father a week later and told him I did it, he would have believed you.”

Anton sneers.

“Did you not think to try?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer.

Just keep talking. Stall him. Tire him out.

“You were afraid of him. Just like me. You couldn’t even stand up to your own father; how could you stand up to mine?”

“Shut the fuck up, Ingram.”

“Alcoholism didn’t ruin Joseph Wilson. He didn’t beat you because he was a drunk. He was a weak man.”

“You didn’t know him,” Anton snarls.

I stare into his furious gaze. There’s no need to watch his trigger finger; if he’s going to fire, I’ll see it in his eyes first.

“Your father accepted being a loser,” I continue. “He accepted his demons. He destroyed his life, and your mother’s, and yours. You’ve lived your whole life blaming me instead of him.”

“No, my father was a good man. He became what he did because of you.”

Now it’s my turn to laugh.

“You took the blame for the bottle, Anton. It was noble of you to protect me from my father, but if you hadn’t said anything, your father never would have lost his job. You did more to hurt him than anyone else. Maybe that’s why he turned to drinking: to forget being betrayed by his own son.”

Anton lifts the gun higher, firming up his grip but the barrel still drifts.

“You need to shut the fuck up right now, motherfucker,” he says. “This is why you’re such a fucking piece of shit. You’ve never taken responsibility for anything you’ve done. You think you’re better than people like Hardt, or Traves, or Victor? You’re not. To them, you were just a hired gun — someone who could take out their trash. You think Hardt was really going to put you in charge?”

He’s trying to throw me off, to exploit emotional weaknesses. Hardt’s death is raw — a smart tactic, but it’s not going to work.

“Do you really think Jamison would have let you into the Masters on your own?” I ask. “The only power you ever had came from those implants. Without them, we never would have let you in. You think you’re hot shit because you’re rich? A real Master wouldn’t waste half his life on revenge. When one of us had a personal vendetta, we dealt with it — quickly. We didn’t turn it into our life’s purpose. We wanted to enjoy life.”

Anton’s lips rise in a severe smirk.

“I’ve enjoyed the last nine months a great deal. Watching Kate suffer because of you was a constant source of pleasure.”

“Ingram’s wrong about you,” Kate says, blinking away a tear. “You never would have had a normal life. You’re a psychopath. Nothing would have made you truly happy. Even if you’d gotten revenge, in the end you’d still be empty inside.”

Anton chuckles.

“I found my revenge very fulfilling. I just wish more of it had gone according to plan.”

“What about after?” Kate asks. Does she realize I’m trying to stall? If so, good for her. She adds, “If you’d beaten us and killed off all the Masters and were in full control, what would you have done then? What would have made you happy?”

“My memories of winning, first of all,” he says. “And I would have enjoyed being the most powerful tycoon on the planet. I think a life of luxury and decadence would have been enough.”

“It never would have lasted,” I reply. “Hardt was right about you. If I wasn’t the one to take you down, someone else would have. For all your talk of logic and rationality, you’ve let your life be driven by a lie. You’re a fraud, Simon, and it wouldn’t have been long before someone exposed the truth.”

“I guess we’ll never know, will we?” says Anton, as the roar of a jet sounds overhead. “I think the cavalry’s arrived.”

An icy surge clenches in my gut. No one should be flying right now.

“Ingram, respond!” Eyal calls out over the intercom, the buzz of helicopters in the background. “We have incoming!”

What the fuck is going on?

“Ingram, respond!”

“Maybe it’s the FBI,” says Anton. “Wouldn’t that be perfect? Just in time to rescue Anton Ford, America’s most beloved business icon, from the terrorist scourge of Anarchy, Inc. Any last words?”

There it is. I see it in his eyes: anticipation. Finality. Pleasure.

“Ingram, I love you,” Kate says. “Nothing will ever change that.”

I reach for her hand.

“Kate, I love you too. And I’m sorry, Anton.”

He closes one eye and aims down the iron sight at me.

“What are you sorry for?” he asks.

“For not telling my father the truth that day, or afterward.”

He grins.

“It’s too late for that.”

“Perhaps,” I say. “Maybe when this is over I’ll go see him. He may not understand, he may not remember me or you, but I’ll tell him.”

Anton’s mirth disappears as I step in front of Kate. He feels it now. He recognizes his error. Too late.

He fires a shot, then the gun falls. Fire burns in my shoulder, but it quickly goes numb. I kick the gun away as Anton hits the ground, body convulsing.

“What… what…” he groans.

I turn to Kate, looking her over. There’s a shiny patch on the black fabric of her outfit. I put my hand over it, but feel no split in the material.

It’s not her blood; it’s mine.

There’s a hole below my armpit.

“Ingram!” she shouts. “You’re-”

“I’m fine,” I say, turning back to Anton.

“How…” he gurgles.

“We implanted a chip in you,” I say, crouching down over his spastic form. “Just in case. Always have a contingency plan or two, right? I set the trigger to ‘I’m sorry, Anton.’ I knew it would be the last thing I’d ever say to you.”

I pick him up by his collar and punch him hard in the face.

“The poison should kill you within another thirty seconds or so. This is goodbye, Anton. Rot in hell, you piece of shit. Fuck off and die.”

I drop him on the ground and kick him in the side until his body stops moving.

Then I turn to Kate.

“Are you okay?” I ask, holding a hand over the bullet wound.

She stares at Anton’s body, then turns to me.

“I’m okay. Thank you. Are you… you’re shot! We have to get you help!”

I test moving my arm; it hurts, but I can still lift it okay.

“I think it just hit muscle. I’ll be fine.” Taking out my phone, I ask Eyal, “What’s going on?”

“What the hell took so long? The authorities have surrounded the island. They want us to come out, unarmed.”

I sigh. I suppose our strike on the island didn’t go unnoticed.

“Why haven’t they stormed us?”

“I told them we have hostages,” said Eyal.

Technically, that’s kinda true — a few dozen guards and courtesans. But if anyone came here to save Merwin, Evo or Franco…

“Good work,” I tell Eyal. “Let’s hold them off until we figure this out.”

“Figure what out?” asks Kate. “Let’s tell them what happened! This can all be over.”

“They’ll throw us in jail for years while they sort all this out. I’m not going to let them take you from me.”

“You need a doctor!” she shouts. “Ingram, I can’t promise that this won’t be messy. I don’t know what will happen — but we’re not fighting our way out of this. Even if it were possible, we wouldn’t be fighting hired mercenaries — these are agents trying to put a stop to a terrorist group. If we hurt them, then we’d deserve to be in jail.”

It’s true — we can’t just write these people off. They’re doing what they think is right — not because they were hired.

Anton’s dead. We did what we came here to do. Kate will be okay. Isn’t that what matters? It’s the only thing.

“Eyal, tell them we surrender,” I say.

“Then what?”

“Then we surrender. Fighting won’t end well.”

“Surrender won’t end well either,” Eyal argues.

“It’s unavoidable. I’m sorry. You’re my friend and I’ll do what I can for you, I promise. I’ll take full responsibility for everything.”

Eyal laughs.

“I don’t think that’ll work. Ingram, it’s been an honor.”

“The honor has been mine. You running or fighting?” I ask.

“Running.”

“Then give Stanislaw and Henrik my best,” I say. “I owe all of you my life. I’ll try to make good on my debt, somehow.”

“It’s appreciated.”

The line goes quiet a moment. I wish I had more to offer him.

“Eyal, can I give you one piece of advice?”

“Yes,” he says.

I grin.

“You talk too much.”

He laughs.

“Good luck,” I say. “I hope our paths cross again.”

“I hope so too.”

I shut the connection, and a moment later Eyal carries out his final order: he commands everyone to stand down.

As Kate and I step off the plane, squadrons of soldiers race to surround us.

“Hands up!” they shout. “Down on the ground!”

“He needs a medic!” Kate replies, raising her hands. “He’s been shot!”

I hold out my arms as much as I can, but I can’t raise my left all the way.

One of the soldiers walks up to me and takes off his helmet; for a second, it gives me a flashback of Anton doing the same. But it’s not him — it’s FBI Agent Mason Cole.

“Kate Atwood?” he says. “What the hell is going on here?” Turning to me, he asks, “Who are you?”

“He saved me,” Kate answers. “He saved a lot of people.”

“From who?” says Cole.

“I’ll tell you everything,” I reply, showing him my bloody hand. “Can I get some help first?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Putting away his gun, Cole says into his radio, “We need a medic to my location. Now, I’ll ask you again, who are you?”

“Ingram Dent,” I say. “The last living member of the Masters.”