Renegades of PEACE (Secrets of PEACE Book 2)

  RENEGADES OF PEACE

  Copyright © 2017 by T. A. Hernandez

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means without the express written consent of the copyright holder, except in the case of brief quotations for the purpose of reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Cover art by T. A. Hernandez

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  Four polished, ivory caskets sat in a row at the top of the grassy slope in the PEACE Project compound’s cemetery. Crisp, white flags bearing the seal of the Project had been draped over each one, topped with bouquets of flowers whose colors matched the deceased’s unit. Blue for Chairman Collin, green for Chairman Ava, yellow for Chairman Leon, and red for Chairman Brynn. The flowers and the grass offered the only splashes of color in sight. The hundreds of onlookers gathered to pay their final respects had all dressed in black for the somber occasion, and the sky was the same drab gray as the compound wall behind them.

  Jared stood at the back of the crowd of mourners, trying to remain inconspicuous. He’d come to the service because it was expected of him, but he didn’t want to talk to anyone. His mind was a torrent of conflicting thoughts and emotions, but guilt was at the forefront of them all. Guilt about agreeing to keep Ryku’s secret, guilt about the surprisingly vociferous part of him that wanted to betray the chairman’s trust, guilt about the fact that he had lived when everyone else who’d been in that room had died, and about his small part in all of it. He tried to push it down, but it kept forcing its way back to the surface.

  A few minutes ago, Ryku had concluded a speech that probably would have seemed appropriately poignant had Jared not known the truth. His words had coaxed more than a few tears from the audience. Now, many of them were starting to drift away. Jared glanced at his CyberLink for the time. He’d been here long enough—fulfilled whatever social obligation he had to his colleagues and to Ryku. He needed to get out of here, back to the comforting solitude of his apartment where the guilt had a slightly less oppressive hold on him.

  He skirted around the edges of the crowd, then made his way through the tombstones. He still couldn’t believe this was happening. It all felt so surreal, and it had happened so fast—not even forty-eight hours ago. Jared remembered because he’d noted the time when the chairmen’s final meeting together had lasted longer than usual, and again when he and Ryku had received news of the tragedy. He was supposed to have been with them when it happened.

  He was probably the last person to have seen them alive.

  * * *

  TWO DAYS EARLIER

  The meeting had lasted almost two hours already, and Jared was beginning to grow restless. He sat in Ryku’s usual seat at the end of a rectangular table in the office the chairmen used for their weekly debriefings. He’d been attending regularly with Ryku for a few months now, but today the chairman had sent him alone, complaining of a headache and too many mission files to go through. “I don’t have the patience to deal with them today,” he’d said. “I trust you can handle things on your own in there.” Jared had been more than willing to accept the responsibility.

  Chairman Leon finished speaking and withdrew the charts projected over the table. “Thank you for the update,” said Chairman Brynn with a polite, if somewhat forced, smile. “We’re always interested to learn what exciting new breakthroughs your researchers are working on.”

  Leon nodded. “Yes, I’m very proud of all they’ve accomplished. And how have your people been doing with the food distribution issues?”

  “It’s getting better,” she replied. “Thanks to your hard work over the past two years, we’re finally starting to see an increase in agricultural production. This week, we also implemented the new prison rationing system with the assistance of Chairman Ava and unit E-1. It’s just a small change, but we hope it will ensure that the law-abiding, working members of society are given the priority they deserve.”

  “How did the prisoners react to the news?” Chairman Collin asked.

  “They were upset, naturally,” said Ava. “It’s not a permanent solution, but it’s the best we can do for the time being.”

  That was Jared’s cue to speak. “If the prisons weren’t so overcrowded…” he began, then paused as Ava narrowed her eyes and frowned at him. He started over. “Ryku thinks they drain our resources, and the prisoners contribute nothing to society.”

  “He’s right,” said Ava, “but we can’t risk sending all of them to labor camps.”

  Jared nodded. Ryku and Ava had this same argument at least every other week, so he knew the script by heart. Prisons were reserved for dangerous criminals who posed a threat to others, while more benign individuals who hadn’t committed a violent crime were sent to labor camps to work off their debt to society. Ryku believed the prison system was an enormous waste of already limited resources. Ava insisted it was necessary, and that those who were locked up deserved the highest quality of life the Project could give them.

  “We’re not asking you to send all of them to labor camps,” Jared said.

  “No,” she replied. “I know exactly what you’re asking. We’re not going to kill them. They’re still human beings, and Ryku doesn’t get to play judge, jury, and executioner all on his own. That’s why we have separate units. We’ve been over this before.”

  Jared gave a small shrug, backing out of the argument. He’d said what he was supposed to say, and it would take a lot more than just his insistence to get Ava to agree with Ryku’s proposal. It wasn’t his battle to fight, anyway.

  His CyberLink lit up as Chairman Collin directed them all to their next order of business. Jared tapped the screen and scanned the brief message. “Excuse me,” he said, standing up from the table. “Chairman Ryku is asking for me back in his office. I’ll be sure to pass along everything we discussed today.”

  The others barely glanced up at him as he left the room. He made his way across the compound to Ryku’s office, won
dering what was so important that the chairman had to pull him out of the meeting. When he arrived, he found Ryku sitting behind his desk with an open file in front of him and a stack of at least a dozen more off to one side. “How did it go?” he asked as Jared walked in.

  “More of the same,” said Jared.

  Ryku’s mouth stretched in a small, thin frown, but he didn’t look up from his work. “I apologize for pulling you away like that, but there’s more to do here than I anticipated. Would you mind helping me?”

  “Of course, sir,” said Jared. He took the stack of files Ryku handed him, sat on a couch, and opened the first one. Reviewing mission reports was far from the most thrilling work he’d ever done, but he didn’t mind. He liked seeing how all the pieces fit together. When he carried out his own assignments, he was just one person completing a minor task, eliminating some small threat while hundreds of others remained unchallenged. It was easy to forget the larger machine at work, all the moving parts that operated together to ensure the country stayed safe. Looking over mission reports allowed him to see how he and other operatives were making a difference. It gave him a sense of pride and fulfillment, and he needed all of that he could get these days.

  The minutes passed quickly. His CL beeped with an incoming call, and he saw that it was almost noon. More surprisingly, the call came from Cecilia. He communicated with other operatives through text messages sometimes, but never about anything pressing enough to warrant a phone call, and he and Cecilia weren’t exactly friends. He tapped to answer it but didn’t bother transferring the audio to his earpiece. “Hello?”

  “Are you with Ryku?” Cecilia asked. Her voice sounded strained through heavy breathing, like she was running.

  Jared glanced at the chairman, who looked up at the mention of his name and frowned. “Yes,” said Jared. “We’re in his office.

  “Is he okay?”

  “Of course. Why?”

  “Haven’t you heard?”

  Jared looked at Ryku again, but he shook his head. “What’s going on?” Jared asked.

  Cecilia muttered a stream of profanities. “We couldn’t reach him on his CL, and we thought—” She paused to catch her breath. “Just wait. Almost there.”

  The call ended, and Jared turned to Ryku. The chairman raised his arm and held down a button on his CyberLink. “I must have forgotten to turn alerts back on when I woke up this morning,” he said.

  Just as he began scrolling through his missed messages, Cecilia burst through the office door. Her expression brightened in relief when she saw him. “Chairman Ryku—are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” he said. “What’s this about?”

  “The other chairmen—they’re all dead.”

  Jared’s mouth went dry. Dead? They couldn’t be. “I just saw them. They were fine.”

  “What happened?” Ryku asked.

  “They’re still trying to figure it out,” said Cecilia. “There’s no blood, no signs of injury, nothing to suggest a struggle. One of the guys in unit P was looking for Chairman Collin, and he found them all in that room, just lying there. People are saying it was some sort of nerve gas.”

  Ryku stood slowly and turned to the window behind his desk. He clasped his hands together and didn’t say anything for a long time. As Jared watched him, something unsettling began to grow deep in the pit of his stomach, but he pushed it away. “Sir?” he said.

  “I’m sure everyone is very worried,” said Ryku. He turned back around to face Cecilia. “Please let them know I’ll be out to speak with them all shortly.”

  “Yes, Chairman,” she replied.

  When she shut the door behind her, the silence seemed to fill up every corner of the room. Ryku closed an open file on his desk without a word, and Jared handed back the reports he’d been reviewing. He studied the chairman’s face. Ryku’s expression was flat, betraying no emotion whatsoever. Jared wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but the unsettling feeling became stronger, twisting itself around his core and insisting he acknowledge it.

  He should have been in that room. If Ryku hadn’t called him to his office, perhaps he would be dead now, too. The chairman himself should have been there; he’d never missed a meeting before. Jared hadn’t given his excuses a second thought until now, but he couldn’t deny that it all seemed just a little too convenient for chance. Ryku had had disagreements with the other chairmen for a long time now, and on several occasions, he’d commented on how much easier his job would be if the others would just stay out of his way. But that was just frustration talking. He wouldn’t actually do anything to harm them. Would he?

  Jared wasn’t sure if he wanted to know, but the question came out before he could stop it. “Did you do this?”

  Ryku straightened the collar of his shirt and gave Jared a slight nod. “I did.”

  Jared blinked a few times, taken aback by how freely the chairman had confessed to the murders. His whole body tensed, and he clenched a fist at his side. “Why? How?”

  “I enlisted the help of one of the chemists in unit A. He provided me with the gas, which I released into the room once I knew you’d left.”

  Jared almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He gaped at the chairman, unsure of how to respond.

  “Don’t look so concerned,” said Ryku. “I took care of him. It’s unfortunate, but I can’t have anyone tracing this back to me. A necessary casualty. I made sure it was quick and painless, and I wrote a very convincing suicide note for him.”

  “Why?” Jared asked again.

  “This Project was established almost three decades ago. In that time, we’ve made little progress towards true peace. The riots in the North Pacific and other regions demonstrate that. We’ve left far too much freedom in the hands of people who don’t know what to do with it.”

  “You could have told the others that.”

  “I’ve tried,” Ryku said. “You’ve seen my attempts to reason with them. They didn’t want to listen. They allowed themselves to be manipulated by rules and petty human rights to the extent that they could hardly do their jobs anymore.”

  “Petty human rights?”

  Ryku gave him a small, indifferent shrug. “If you allow people to choose whether to embrace law, order, and safety, the majority might try, but their efforts will always fall short. The only way to achieve true peace and stability is to place power in the hands of those who are willing and able to do whatever is necessary to get there. For too long, we have sacrificed the comfort and safety of the good, honest people in this country because we’re overly concerned with the rights of criminals. For too long, we’ve failed to address the most basic needs of our citizens. It’s no wonder people have been rioting. The system is failing.”

  “The other chairmen were trying to fix it,” said Jared. “You all were. Together.”

  The lines in Ryku’s face became more pronounced as he frowned. “I know, but it wasn’t enough. I grew tired of sitting in that room with them week after week, learning of some new horror one human being had done to another. We should be trying to prevent these things from ever happening in the first place. The other chairmen were hindering our progress. They wasted time and energy running circles around temporary solutions without addressing the bigger problems. They lacked the strength to do what is necessary, and that inaction was beginning to threaten the security of this entire country.”

  He had some valid points. There had been times when unit P reached out to powerful gang leaders and drug lords, trying to negotiate a peaceful solution while ordinary people continued to suffer. Unit C wasted time filling out paperwork and documenting complaints about food distribution while the children of poor families starved for weeks or even months until everything got sorted out. Unit E-1 regularly failed to gather enough evidence to successfully prosecute criminals in court, allowing even the worst offenders to walk free. The only unit that seemed to value swift and effective action over meaningless rules and paperwork was unit E-2. That was the nature of thei
r work, but much of their efficiency came from Ryku’s strong leadership.

  The chairman walked around the desk and took a few steps towards Jared. “Think about it. Wouldn’t it be better if the Project was more united? Imagine all we can accomplish now that we don’t have one chairman arguing with another about the best course of action. We can be so much more efficient. This country can become the utopia we always wanted it to be for those who deserve it.”

  Perhaps he was right. Perhaps the country really would be better off if the five units of the Project were unified under a single leader. Ryku for now, but if he stayed on the right track, Jared himself could be that sole chairman in another decade or two.

  The thought shouldn’t have come to him so readily, but now that it had, he could already imagine the possibilities—all the ways he could make a difference. It was an enticing proposition, but it wasn’t enough to justify killing four of the most powerful and respected people in the country.

  “You shouldn’t have killed them,” he said, but it didn’t matter. It was done. “What are you going to tell everyone else?”

  “That’s where I need your cooperation,” said Ryku. “I need their support, and if anyone finds out the truth about what happened, I’ll lose it. You can’t tell anyone else about this. The chemist was responsible for their deaths, and he felt so guilty about it that he took his own life afterwards. That’s all they need to know.”

  “They’re not stupid. Some of them are going to figure it out.”

  “They’ll be smart enough not to say anything.”

  “And if they do?”

  “Let me worry about that. I’m assuming I can count on your loyalty?”

  Jared turned around, partly because he needed a moment to take everything in without the influence of Ryku’s penetrating gaze, and partly because he feared his own expression would betray him. Ryku had spoken of loyalty, something Jared had once prided himself on above all else. He couldn’t claim that loyalty now—not completely. He still believed he’d made the right decision in allowing Zira to live, but in doing so, he’d betrayed Ryku, the only person in his life he’d ever been able to consistently rely on. They’d had their differences, and Ryku had asked some hard things of Jared over the years. But all of that had molded him into a stronger man. Ryku had been his mentor and guide, the person who’d provided him with this life and the many opportunities he’d had to succeed. He’d never once abandoned him, even going so far as to personally rescue Jared from his captors in the Republic of Asia. After all of that, Jared owed him something—owed him everything.