Rumor: Grant Marsden is wedding the daughter of the grand commander. It will certainly be the social event of the year.
—American Gazette
The cavernous east wing might have intimidated some, but not Grant. He walked through the giant warren of unused rooms. Sheets covered most of the furniture. He had planned to house his staff here, but so few lived on the premises. Once he was grand commander he would fill it with daughters and secret wives. Maybe even some female employees who could cook and clean for him. After all, he would be part of the government then.
He was getting closer to the occupied room and had to keep his pace normal, or else let Dr. Schaffer see how excited he was for this moment. He turned into the makeshift hospital room and saw the doctor standing over his unconscious patient. It wouldn’t take long for Roderick Rowe to awaken, and find himself Grant’s prisoner.
The pathetic man who had thrown himself from the helicopter had hit the ground with a thud. Grant was already down, having been kicked by the man’s son. The helicopter took off and the sirens came closer.
Two ambulances arrived on the scene. As they loaded up Roderick into one, Grant insisted they ride together. Grant’s ribs hurt from where he had been kicked, but Roderick was in far worse shape. He was unconscious and the paramedics were pumping air into his lungs. At first Grant wanted to offer them money to let Roderick die. This man who loved his son so much that he would sacrifice himself, he was responsible for Mia’s escape. Then Grant remembered love wasn’t a strength, it was a weakness. One he could exploit.
The hospital wasn’t busy. Roderick was rushed away on a stretcher and Grant was treated for his bruises. He sat alone in the room until an administrator walked in.
“We received word not to discharge you,” the doctor said. “Escorts are waiting outside your door.”
“What about my friend?” Grant asked.
“He’s in surgery,” the man said. “It’s looking fifty-fifty.”
Grant reached into his pocket. He ignored the black phone he’d lifted off Rod in the ambulance and pulled out his own cell phone. The doctor looked impressed. Only Grant could have access to such fine equipment. A perk from the work he did.
“Have you seen one of these before?” Grant asked.
“No,” the man said. “What is it?”
“Think of it as a tiny computer,” Grant said. “It can do a lot of things. Take pictures and videos, access the Internet, make bank transactions. I think your hospital is doing a fine job. I’d like to make a donation, and a personal one to you as well.”
“I’m sorry,” the doctor said. “I have strict orders not to discharge you. This is coming from pretty high up.”
Grant punched in a number and showed it to the doctor. His eyes went wide.
“Once that man is out of surgery you will send him and all his belongings to my home,” Grant said. “A death certificate will be issued and no questions will be asked.”
The man looked at the figure on Grant’s phone. He smiled. “What’s the address?”
A helicopter delivered Rod later that night. Grant already had his personal physician, Dr. Schaffer, at the house ready to greet his new patient. Under Grant’s orders the man had been kept in a medical coma since then.
“How’s our patient?” Grant asked.
“His brain is responding,” said Dr. Schaffer. “Outside of the two broken legs and fractured ribs, he should be fine. I administered the medication to pull him out of the coma several hours ago.”
“And he isn’t awake yet,” Grant said. He crossed his arms.
“Sometimes these things take time,” the doctor said. “I wouldn’t want to risk his health.”
“You must be able to give him something,” Grant said. “He’s been asleep for over a month.”
The doctor reached for a syringe and readied it to inject the liquid into Rod’s IV. “A straight shot of adrenaline might do it,” he said. “But it might also shock his system.”
Grant rolled his eyes. He’d waited on the boy to call long enough. Grant waved his hand, signaling for the doctor to inject his patient.
“He’ll be disoriented at first. Then I don’t know what he’ll remember,” said Dr. Schaffer. “I would be better prepared at my lab.”
“Well, this is all you have,” Grant said. “He must stay here.”
“As always, your requests will be honored,” Dr. Schaffer said.
He pushed the plunger of the syringe down and the beeping of Rod’s machines stayed constant. Then Rod’s head rolled to the side. The beeping started increasing. Grant smiled as the man’s eyes began to open. Dr. Schaffer pulled them open and shone a light.
“Where am I?”
He spat out the question with fury.
“You’ve been in an accident,” the doctor said. “You’re safe now.”
“Where’s my son?” Roderick said. He started to sit up in his bed. The doctor pushed him back and adjusted the bed frame so he was sitting up.
“He’s fine,” Grant said.
Roderick’s eyes focused on Grant. He squinted. “Grant Marsden?”
This wasn’t what Grant wanted. He had hoped for some memory loss. He was preparing to inform Rod of his hostage position when the man spoke again.
“You’re a billionaire; what would you want with someone like me?”
Music to Grant’s ears. It was only his notoriety Rod was aware of.
“So you follow the weapons business?” Grant asked.
“I like to stay informed,” Rod said. “Where’s my son?”
“Not here,” Grant said. “He’ll be in contact soon.”
“What happened?”
“You were in a terrible car accident,” Grant said. “I pulled you from the wreckage.”
Grant felt his lips slide over his teeth as he tried his best to form a warm smile. Rod did not appear comforted. That was never a skill Grant had acquired.
A fishy smell had woken Grant up. He was seated at a long, fancy table, tied to a chair. He looked around and saw the other captive was already awake. Their host was seated at the head of the table, smiling as he ate his fish.
“It is so nice the two of you are joining me for dinner,” the man said.
“Where am I?” the other man asked.
“You know the answer to that,” the host said. “You broke into my house. Were you planning on stealing something or shooting me? Since you had the gun.”
“Let me go, you sick piece of—”
“Now, now,” the host said. “No foul language, please. That’s no way to treat your host. How about you? Do you want to add to the conversation?”
He looked at Grant. Grant shook his head no.
“You’re different,” he said. “You don’t look scared. Your counterpart, on the other hand, is struggling against his ropes, trying to break free. You are sitting calmly. Why is that?”
“I’m not scared,” Grant said. “Of anything.”
“How long have you been living here?”
“Two weeks,” Grant said.
“You’re good,” the host said. “I didn’t notice anything out of place, not even food.”
“I know,” Grant said.
The other man continued to struggle. He started to yell again.
“Stop behaving like a boor,” the host said. “Do you know what I do for a living? How I have enough money to live in this lavish home you were attempting to burglarize?”
The man continued to scream. The host stood up and yelled over him. Grant saw a vein in his forehead bulge.
“I create things. I am an engineer. I work hard for my money while you’re content to cheat and steal for yours.”
The other man did not stop yelling. The host grew more agitated. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small gun. He didn’t think twice before firing off two shots into the other man’s chest and head. The blast from the bullets rang in Grant’s ears. The other captive slumped over dead.
“Now,” the man said. “Where were we?”
I’d really like to speak with Carter,” Rod said. “He wasn’t in the accident, was he?”
“Safe and sound at home,” Grant said. “At least a day’s drive away I might add.”
“Where is this place?”
“An hour outside the capital,” Grant said. “I assume you were driving to bid on some sort of work—at least that’s what your child said.”
Rod looked down at his nose, trying to process the events. Grant needed him alive and conscious, nothing else.
“Well,” Grant said, “I’m sure you have a lot of questions. I’ll leave the doctor to answer them for you.”
“How long was I out for?” Rod asked.
“About eighteen hours,” Dr. Schaffer said.
Grant nodded his head at the physician and left the room. His scheme was working and Grant was starting to feel like his old self again.