Three Dollars & Seventy Three Cents
An excerpt from my first book, The Prisoner and The Assassin
If you enjoy this excerpt, physical copies of The Prisoner and The Assassin can be purchased here and e-book copies are available here.
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Steven was surprised to find he could navigate through Minneapolis with ease, despite a nearly two-decade absence from the city. It was simple enough to steer back up Hennepin Avenue and find the turn to go to Interstate 94. Quick enough, they were out and running onto the Interstate, heading east toward St. Paul.
It was astonishing how quickly they had repaired the damage following the fighting that had consumed the region, first in the Great Revolt and then in the Nicolett Uprising just a decade before- but he knew that St. Paul had borne the brunt of the fighting in the Great Revolt and the southwestern suburbs had taken heavy damage during the Nicolett Uprising. Minneapolis had been lucky both times.
They drove in silence. Harvey was lost in a world of his own and Melinda and Steven wrapped up in too many memories to count. They had gone to college here. They had met here. They had fallen in love here, amidst the growing chaos of protests and riots that almost tore the country apart until the Alliance of States had been declared at Dubuque and the Great Revolt had begun. And they had been here when the final doom of the Alliance had been sealed when, after weeks of bloody fighting, the Twin Cities had fallen to advancing Federal Forces.
Now they were back and everything was new and different and old and familiar all at the same time- especially the thrill of danger and the tension that seemed to ebb and flow like the tides between the three of them. What they were doing wasn’t without risk. The nano-masks were not foolproof. The Federal Council had bounties on their heads and Harvey had a long history with law enforcement in the Metro area that pretty much guaranteed his arrest on sight, if not an outright shootout with cops. They could all wind up back in prison again- or worse still, dead, shot down like dogs.
Steven still wasn’t sure how Harvey had talked him into it.
It had taken them nearly a day of hard travel to get across the border to an AIM safehouse southeast of Matamoros on the coast. It was two days after that when Harvey had recovered much of his lucidity when he had gathered them all in the front room, where he was sprawled on the couch, wrapped in a light blanket, his face drawn and his eyes exhausted.
I need your help, he said. Then he had told them the story of The Rabbit, a young hacker who had worked for them and how she had stumbled across something bigger than she expected. She had shot her way into Falls Park in Sioux Falls and had immolated herself there. Whatever she had, Harvey said. It was big- so big. And we only got a fragment of it.
What did you get? Steven had been dubious. Every bone in his body, every fiber of his being wanted to go home and be safe and be free for once. It had been ten years and he had done enough, he had given enough and he wanted to go home and forget the bad parts and remember what it was like to sleep in a bed and feel Melinda sleep beside him.
Not much, Harvey admitted. Just a sentence... Prisoner 112 must never be found.
Steven had felt his face freeze as Melinda asked, Who is Prisoner 112?
We don’t know- but Homeland Security was willing to kill to make sure nobody found out, Harvey said.
They were near me, Steven said. They all turned. On Alcatraz. I don’t know who they are but they were on the north end of the complex with me- where they kept the high-value prisoners.
Did anyone know? Harvey asked.
Steven shook his head. But you’re right, he said. Whomever they are, they’re big. Very big--
How big?
General John Casey big.
He came to visit them? Harvey asked.
Just once, Steven said. Very late at night, a few months ago.
Melinda’s eyes narrowed as she realized what he was thinking. You can’t be serious.
What choice do we have? Steven said. This could be big. They’ll need to know.
Their argument had started there and lasted for nearly an hour. Melinda had raged at him, cursing his stupidity and calling him every name in the book. She had come up with reason after reason why it was a bad idea and after she had exhausted all of those, she came up with more. And when she saw him smiling at her, she started to throw things until finally, she had accepted the inevitable.
Steven had felt happy, truly happy watching her rage at him. It was the Melinda of old, the Melinda he had dreamed about in prison- so alive, so passionate, so full of fire come back to him. This was the woman he loved.
After that, it was simple. Drive to Mexico City. Plane to Ottawa. Another, smaller plane to Winnipeg. Drive to the south into the wilderness and a sliver of Minnesota above the 38th Parallel known as The Angle. From there, a boat ride, some disguises, and a long drive later, and here they were.
Steven switched lanes to take the exit to Kellogg Avenue that would lead them to the State Capitol. The off-ramp was extensive, stretching far ahead until it gently sloped upward, the Interstate falling away as it carried them higher until-
“There it is,” Melinda whispered. The dome of the Minnesota State Capitol swung into view and then vanished again as they came to the traffic lights on Marion Avenue. Steven turned northwards and they caught tantalizing glimpses of it as they traveled the few blocks to University Avenue.
St. Paul drew a stark contrast to Minneapolis. Where Minneapolis was bustling, shiny, and new, St. Paul was bruised and battered, sidewalks cracked and broken, roads were a mass of tar patches and broken cement. Even the buildings looked worn and broken. St. Paul was still a wounded city, even after all these years.
As they came to the intersection with University Avenue, they saw that the light rail bifurcated the road, which was the main surface road between St. Paul and Minneapolis and it vanished downwards to its station underground that served the Capitol Complex before re-emerging to eventually terminate at the Riverfront downtown. They turned towards the Capitol, now visible again.
“Drop me off on this side,” Harvey said. “Then the two of you go around front and park. It’s a Saturday so on-street parking shouldn’t be a problem.”
Steven nodded and pulled up beside the barriers that protected the north side of the Capitol from the road. Harvey flung open the door and jumped out, slamming it shut behind him. Steven checked his mirror and merged back into traffic again, turning right and then left as they made their way around the Capitol before slipping into a parking space on the south side, not far from the stairs that led up to the main entrance. Steven parked the car and after exchanging a long glance with Melinda, they opened their doors together and stepped out.
The sun was shining, the lawn stretched away to the south of the Capitol, heading toward downtown and it was the perfect shade of emerald green. At the far end of the lawn, a Cenotaph rose high into the sky, balanced between the Capitol Building and-
“They didn’t rebuild it,” Steven noted. “That’s a surprise.”
“Yes,” Melinda said. The headquarters of the Minnesota National Guard had long sat at the far end of the south lawn of the Capitol but had been destroyed in the battle to retake the Twin Cities towards the end of the Great Revolt. Now only the skeleton of the building remained. Melinda closed her car door and walked around the car as Steven closed his door. She slipped his hand into him as together they walked up the stairs towards the entrance.
“The last time I was here...” Melinda said. She shook her head, unable to finish and Steven squeezed her hand in reassurance. The loss of the Twin Cities in the Great Revolt had been the first stroke of doom for the Alliance of States. Everything that had come after had been delaying action after delaying action, buying time for Alliance soldiers to melt back into the general populace and for weapons caches to be hidden. It still haunted many of the veterans of the Revolt- Melinda perhaps most of all.
Reaching the entrance, they opened the doors and stepped inside to the cool within. The Rotunda was unchanged, arching high above them and crowded with tourists and a line of children, hands tied to a rope walking towards the House Chamber. Steven blinked as the burner phone in his pocket vibrated. He fished it out and read the text message. “Harvey’s in position outside the Governor’s Office,” he said to Melinda. Nodding, she made her way toward the north end of the rotunda and headed down the long hallway to the Governor’s Office. Steven followed in her wake, feeling a bit strange about it all, remembering the last time had walked these halls, Federal forces had just begun an artillery barrage from across the border in Wisconsin, softening them up for the final advance into the metro area.
Melinda nodded, not speaking and Steven gave her hand another reassuring squeeze. Her grip on his hand tightened as they turned down the long hallway that led to the Governor’s Office. They hadn’t touched anything, Steven saw. Bullet holes and scars in the concrete, a lurid burn mark that seemed to point the way to their destination, a block of marble right outside the Governor’s office which had a single, solitary candle placed on top of it.
“My God,” whispered Melinda as they drew near. It was placed in front of a large picture that was framed opposite the double doors to the Governor’s Office. Steven squeezed her hand again, as her eyes filled with tears. The photograph was in black and white and in the twenty years since the Revolt had become iconic. It was the interior of the Governor’s office, a cluster of people huddled around the wide desk and a familiar face at the center of it all, her fists on the desk, jaw tight and a defiant look in her eyes, staring into the camera.
Governor Isabella Sanderson had gone missing the day that the Twin Cities had fallen, presumed dead these past twenty years. The Federal Council had refused to release a body and had refused to release any information on the Governor’s fate at all. “I was there,” Melinda whispered. “I was standing next to him when he took the photograph.”
“She should have evacuated,” Steven said. “We needed her.”
“We still do,” Melinda said Governor Sanderson had become the driving force, the heart and soul of the Alliance, and had commanded unswerving loyalty from those that had come to know her. Her energy, her passionate belief that America deserved better, could be better, and should strive for better every day had been an inspiration to the Alliance during some very dark days in the Great Revolt.
Harvey was admiring a series of photographs near the north door as Steven and Melinda strode up to the block of marble with the candle on top. There, embedded in the front was a device to accept donations, just as The Key had said. A slot for credit cards and debit chips and an increasing rarity these days, for dollar bills and coins as well.
Steven pulled out his wallet. “How much did he say?”
“Three dollars and seventy-three cents,” Melinda said.
“I hope I have pennies,” Steven said.
“Not all of them are out of circulation yet,” Melinda said. Steven began digging through the change compartment of the wallet, sighing in relief as he found three battered pennies buried towards the bottom. Melinda extended a hand and Steven dropped the change into her waiting palm and fished out three dollar bills.
Working quickly, they inserted the dollar bills and then the change and waited for a moment. There was a clunk as something dropped into the change slot below. With a glance to make sure no one was watching Melinda bent down and retrieved something from the slot and slipped it into her pocket.
“What is it?” Steven asked.
“A memory chip,” she said. “And a data port.”
“So now what?”
Melinda smiled. “Now we go back to Sioux Falls and finish this.”