Careful Measurements

by Layne D. Hansen

  With a screeching halt, Frank pulled to the curb and almost forgot to put the transmission in park. He hopped out and ran around the truck to help his friend. Together, the two of them were able to heave the unconscious man into the truck’s bed. Instinctively, Patton ran to the driver’s side and Frank ran to the passenger’s side. Patton burned rubber and he drove away from the city building.

  After receiving his boss’s frantic call over the radio, Anton Brown raced towards the security office on the main floor. He’d barked out the orders earlier, sending one upstairs, one downstairs, and his boss, Brian White to the right, towards the security office. In the next few seconds, Anton had cleared the lobby and made his way to a side door that was protected by an electronic lock.

  That door did not lead downstairs, so he’d made his way upstairs to the second floor. Having cleared his sector, he was on his way to the third floor when the call had come over the radio. He was now nearly two floors above, and almost entirely across the building from where his boss needed him to be. Ever loyal, Anton double-timed down the first flight of stairs. On the second flight down he took a bad step and badly twisted his ankle. Using the butt of his M4 rifle for support, he stayed on his feet, but when he tried to continue the chase, a shot of pain surged from his ankle, up his leg, and he almost collapsed again.

  “Joe! Randy! Answer that call!”

  “Okay!” came one voice, then another “Okay!” from the other. He rolled his eyes at the lack of proper radio etiquette and pushed through the door leading through the lobby.

  As he approached the short set of stairs leading up to the security office, two things happened simultaneously. The loud, blaring emergency alarm went off and he heard screeching tires in the front of the building. The first was caused by someone opening an emergency door exit, most likely the one by the security office. Anton figured the truck stopping in front was related to the alarm. Knowing that he wasn’t going to be able deal with his boss’s radio call, he changed direction and headed for the front door. He burst through the door, half using his rifle for a crutch, and made his way out onto the front lawn. He saw two men jumping into a truck and speeding away.

  His next action, as he would later play back in his mind, was totally instinctual and reflexive. He lifted his rifle into position, leveled it, and sighted it on the cab of the truck. He took a deep breath and held it. The truck was now about a hundred and fifty yards away. Adjusting for a bullet’s rise and drop, he aimed a little low and pulled the trigger.

  Patton was about to make a hard left-hand turn when he felt Frank’s body slump forward. He wouldn’t realize it until later – when he was cleaning himself up – that he’d been splattered with his best friend’s blood and brain matter. Patton made the sharp turn, the tires howling as he did so. The movement forced Frank’s slack body into the passenger door. Luckily Frank had closed the door tightly— otherwise, he might have fallen out of the truck.

  When Patton had gotten sufficiently far away from City Hall, he glanced over at Frank. He white-knuckled the steering wheel and ground his teeth. They’d done it again. They’d killed his best friend. No emergency combat medic skills were needed here. Patton had been in enough combat to know when a comrade was down for good. It would be risky, knowing he would have police on his tail, but Patton pulled the truck over to the side of the road. He pushed Frank’s body, the front of which now covered in blood, into a sitting position and fastened his seatbelt around him. He did so for safety reasons, and, out of respect, he didn’t want his buddy’s body flopping around the cab.

  Pulling back onto the road, Patton refocused himself on the task at hand. He looked to the back of the truck to see how his unconscious passenger was doing. Not seeing any movement, he smashed the accelerator and sped towards a place that only he knew about. Police would be descending on his home, Jennifer’s home, or anywhere else they would anticipate him going. He needed to be secluded and he needed time to get some information out of his new “friend.”

  Even before waking, Brian White had an eerie feeling that something wasn’t right. Although he wouldn’t feel the full effects of the blow to his head until he was fully conscious, there was already a dull throbbing behind his eyes. As his mind began to wake, the pain sharpened and he swore he could feel little cracks in his skull.

  But maybe that was a little melodramatic, he thought. His head was killing him, but he had to ignore that and concentrate. He opened his eyes slowly and a wave of nausea overcame him. He tried to turn to his right but was unable. Instead, he spewed a stream of vomit onto his legs and all over his front. The sensation of liquid hitting skin made him aware that he had no shirt or shoes or socks on. It was strange, but after vomiting, he felt much better. He tried to open his eyes again and this time he was able to see that he was in a mostly dark room that was completely unfamiliar to him.

  ‘God, where am I?’ he thought, not in prayer, but blashphemy.

  “Brian White?” came a soft voice, completely out of place in these strange surroundings.

  He tried to answer but his lips were nearly fused to his gums and teeth. Whatever had happened to him, it had sucked every last bit of moisture from his mouth. A raspy breath was all he could muster.

  “Briiiiaaan,” came the voice again, sing-songy and playful.

  He could feel his chin being forced down. At first he panicked, but when he realized what was happening, he didn’t fight it. Whoever it was calling his name was pouring water into his mouth. Gorgeous, wonderful wetness. Most of it dribbled down his chin and neck, but now being able to separate his gums from his lips and teeth and tongue was pure ecstasy.

  The bottle was removed and the voice returned.

  “Are you Brian White?”

  Not wanting to risk another vocal dry fire, Brian nodded as well as he could with his head strapped to the chair behind him.

  “You’re the head of security of Blue Creek?”

  Another nod.

  Finally the owner of the voice revealed himself. At first, White’s brain didn’t register the familiar face. After a few moment, the name came to him.

  “Larsen,” he said, rasping.

  Patton nodded and smiled.

  “Where is she?” Patton Larsen asked calmly.

  At first White didn’t know what he meant, but then remembered events from almost two days before. Jennifer Larsen was summoned to the basement of City Hall where he knocked her unconscious and then shot her up with a sedative that would make her … cooperative.

  “Who?” White asked with a trace of a sly grin.

  Patton Larsen’s smile quickly faded, replaced by a scowl.

  “I’m going to give you one more chance to answer. After that, I’m going to reintroduce you to an old friend,” he said, holding his hammer and pry tool in front of his face.

  Brian White, who wasn’t easy to scare, almost laughed. Considering his position, however, he knew that wouldn’t be a good idea. Instead, he said nothing.

  “Where is she?” Patton said, his voice now increased slightly in its intensity.

  No response.

  Without another warning, Patton slammed the hammer end of his tool down onto White’s hand. A searing, white-hot pain shot through his nervous system. When the shock of the blow dissipated, he could tell that the bones in his hand were shattered. He shrieked in pain and trembled as much as the restraints would allow him.

  “Where is she?” Patton said, raising the hammer again.

  Through his trembling and his pain, White was able to mumble the words “She’s dead.”

  Patton looked like he’d been slapped in the face. He looked away for a moment, seemingly deep in thought. He turned back to meet his captive’s frightened gaze. “I don’t believe you,” he said, raising the hammer and bringing it down on White’s right hand. He saw white as the pain exploded. He screamed and gritted his teeth.

 
“Brian, I’m telling you this can go on all night,” Patton said with a leering stare. “I’m in no hurry. Nobody knows where we are and I promise you I know how to keep you alive while giving you more pain than you ever thought possible.”

  White was shaking uncontrollably now. If he wasn’t bound he would have rolled on the floor, writhing in pain.

  “Brian, don’t make me do this. I want to just take you into town to the hospital. Don’t make me be the bad guy here.”

  The city’s top security agent was crying now, and he was ready to give in. Telling Patton that his wife was dead had been a stupid move—probably something David Asher would have done. Through gritted teeth he nodded, as if to say he was ready to cooperate.

  “Okay. One more time Brian. Are you with me?” Patton asked, trying to hold White’s wavering gaze. White nodded again.

  “Where is she Brian? I’m going to warn you. If you smart off again, if you try to lie, your kneecap is next. I promise you that you don’t want that. You hear me?”

  White nodded again and tried to compose himself. Finally, he was able to speak. “We grabbed her at City Hall. We sedated her then I don’t know what happened. When it got dark an ambulance pulled up and I helped put her into it. I don’t know what happened after that, I promise.”

  Patton nodded, grateful for the cooperation. He hunched down so that their eyes were level. His voice was softening and White was beginning to feel that maybe this was going to end soon.

  “I believe you. So when you said she was dead you were just trying to be a tough guy?”

  White nodded, closing his eyes and wishing he could just go home now.

  “Did they take her up to the prison?” Patton asked, the pieces beginning to click into place.

  White closed his eyes, trying to concentrate. He was sure, but his instinct for loyalty was kicked in as the pain faded.

  “I guess so, yeah. I don’t know though. I know if you go up there and try to get her out they’ll catch you. I’m sure Asher has that place swarming with people.”

  Patton nodded and said, “Thanks for the advice.” He stood and walked away from the restraint chair. He grabbed something and put it into his front pants pocket and turned to White again.

  “One last thing,” Patton said calmly. “Where were you when Mike Wilson was shot?”

  The question, totally out of order with the others, hit Brian White like a freight train. He had no chance to make up a story or hide his reaction. The reaction was answer enough for Patton Larsen, who now had a resolved expression.

  “That’s what I thought,” Patton said, pulling a small pistol from his pocket. He pointed it between Brian White’s eyes and pulled the trigger.

  By dawn the whole Security Service was on alert and actively looking for both their boss and the person who’d most likely abducted him—Patton Larsen. No one dared to call the Governor, but by 7 A.M. he was down at City Hall, trying to get answers about the previous night’s debacle.

  “So you saw Patton Larsen and Frank Norton load Brian White into the back of a pickup truck and drive away?” Asher asked the new leader of his security team, former Marine Anton Brown.

  Anton looked down at his right foot to bring Asher’s attention to the huge walking cast that was there.

  “And?” Asher asked petulantly.

  Anton wanted to jump across the desk and knock his ass out, but he wanted this job, especially when it looked like he might become the new Chief of Security.

  “I was hauling ass down the stairs to answer Mr. White’s distress call but I twisted my ankle,” Brown said. “However, I saw the truck pulling away and I got a shot off.”

  Asher’s eyebrows raised at that. He was impressed. ‘At least someone had the balls to fight back last night,’ he thought.

  “Did you hit anything?” Asher asked stupidly.

  The former Marine looked proud now, drawing himself into an almost full parade rest.

  “Yes Sir,” he said, his chest poking out in pride. “My round entered the rear window and exited the windshield. I don’t know if I hit anyone inside, but I know I didn’t hit the driver because the vehicle continued to drive away.”

  Asher was getting weary of the formality, but he knew he would get nothing less from this guy. Asher excused Anton and once he was out of earshot, the governor swore bitterly under his breath and went to his liquor cabinet. It wasn’t yet 9 A.M. but he badly needed a drink, both to fight his hangover from the night before and to calm his frazzled nerves.

  Headlights shined through Bao’s window. He carefully approached the window and peeled back the curtain, careful to not be seen. He was probably being overly paranoid, but he knew how David Asher operated. He’d already been his prisoner. Bao moved away from the window and sat on his couch. Bao’s house was nearly dark. He sat and watched, waited, and listened. He realized he was literally wringing his hands. He consciously placed them in his lap, but, within seconds, he was doing it again.

  Word of events at City Hall spread through the spy network like a virus. Although the spies’ communication network had been compromised and, no doubt, was under constant scrutiny, Bao and his colleagues had built an informal network. However, the linchpin had been Patton Larsen. He had gathered the spies’ reports and had transmitted them to Michael Varner. With Patton in the wind, however, this line of communication was now broken. Bao had to do something, but what? He was sure that everyone was being watched. Any attempt to contact another Insight spy would lead to his arrest.

  Bao moved to the window again. Another car was driving by, but it didn’t stop. There were no dark, suspicious looking cars parked along the opposite curb. He moved to the couch again, and after another hour of sitting and doing nothing, he realized he was being ridiculous. Bao screwed up his courage and walked to his front closet. Already dressed in all black, he put on a black hooded jacket. He pulled the hood over his head and opened his back door. The air was brisk and Bao could see his breath as he exhaled. He jammed his hands into his jacket pockets and headed through his back yard. He walked down a dark alley and tried to drum up a plan.

  If he tried to go through the main city gate, especially this time of night, he would surely be caught and arrested. His Subaru would never make it over the rough terrain, or even on the gravel roads that led out of town. He needed a truck, but didn’t know anyone that owned one. He had his delivery truck, of course, but it was too conspicuous. He needed another way. He thought of Lindsay.

  She would be angry with him showing up at her house, but Bao knew that his friend and fellow spy hated David Asher as much as anyone. It wouldn’t be easy, but he knew that he could talk her into leaving Blue Creek. What they would do after that … he had no idea. No, he knew what he should do, but getting to Michael Varner’s house in Ogden, Utah without getting caught by Blue Creek Security guards was going to be difficult.

  The closer Bao got to Lindsay’s house, the crazier he thought his idea was. What did he have to lose?

  Bao made his way to the alleyway behind Lindsay’s house, careful to stay in the shadows. It was past midnight and the streets were empty, but he forced himself to remain vigilant. Bao entered her backyard through a gate and crouched low. The house was mostly dark, but Bao could see the flickering lights from a TV. Lindsay was a night owl like himself.

  He took a deep breath and made his way to her back porch. He stalked slowly towards the stairs. Halfway across the grass, a security light suddenly came on. The backyard was basically as bright as day. To add to his failure, a large dog started barking. Bao ducked behind a small shed, but the game was up. Lindsay was at the back door, peering through the glass for her intruder. His cover blown, Bao removed his hood and walked briskly towards the door where Lindsay stood. He could tell that she was rattled.

  “What the hell Bao! What are you doing here?”

  “Shh!” Bao whispered harshly. Go insi
de. We need to talk.”

  Bao led her into her living room, making sure to shut off every light on the way. He sat her down and explained why he had come.

  Ten minutes later they were both on the couch, sitting in an uncomfortable silence. He looked at her, but her gaze was miles away and she was trembling in fear.

  “Bao? What are we going to do?”

  Bao didn’t want to seem over confident by responding too quickly, but he had concocted a plan while walking to her house.

  “We have to get out of here. We have to tell Mr. Varner what’s going on.”

  She finally looked at him, her eyes wide with terror.

  “Bao, if we try to leave they’ll catch us. They know our cars.”

  Bao nodded. This was the hardest part of the plan. They had to find a vehicle that wasn’t linked to either of them—preferably a truck. He described his plan. Fifteen minutes later they were on their way to Patton Larsen’s office building west of town. Bao had been given a key to the offices. Inside of the warehouse was a fleet of trucks. Bao knew where the keys were because he serviced a bank of vending machines that were right by the key box.

  Ten minutes later they were in Lindsay’s car. He drove slowly, guided only by her daytime running lights. He knew the roads better than she did, and despite not having full headlights, they made decent time. Bao parked her car behind the warehouse, between a large dumpster and a loading dock. They exited the car and quickly made their way to a rear service door. Bao worked his key and unlocked the door. They both stepped in and closed the door behind them. He peered through the window, making sure no one had followed them. Bao found the key box and removed a random truck key. He hit the unlock button. A truck parked three bays down lit up.