by S L Shelton
I dropped my head and rubbed my tired eyes.
“I changed my mind, John,” I muttered. “I don’t want to be a spy.”
I turned my head, rubbing my eye against the palm of my hand. When I opened it, my sight came to rest on the crossbar of the heavy shelving unit in the cage.
My flowchart mind examined the structure and superimposed even the hidden parts of it, such as the hooks and screws that held it together.
Use it, my other voice whispered into my ear.
Spurred on by the voice, I got up from my resting place and examined it more closely.
There was nothing of use to hammer or cut heavy wire mesh with, but the shelves themselves were made of heavy, square, tubular steel with thick steel hooks for hanging on the posts. I closed my eyes.
Virtual images of the shelf pieces flitted across my eyelids in a jumble and then coalesced into a recognizable form—
A fulcrum and lever! I thought. Give me a place to stand and with a lever I will move the whole world.
“Thank you, Archimedes,” I muttered.
I unloaded the cans from the bottom shelf and kicked one of the crossbars several times until it unhooked from the frame. Then I went to the other side and did the same at that end.
As soon as it was free, I grabbed a wooden rolling pin from the top shelf and placed it on the floor parallel to the cage wall.
“Okay, Archimedes,” I muttered. “Don’t let me down.”
I wedged the heavy hook into the mesh of the cage and pressed on the other end of the bar with all my weight.
It moved.
I bounced. ZIP. The mesh made a sound as the hook sliced through several strands.
“Not exactly what I had in mind, but I’ll take it,” I muttered, pleased with the accidental discovery of a slicing tool.
I moved the bar over about two feet and repeated the procedure. ZIP!
I kicked at the mesh with my foot until the weld broke at the base, and I continued to kick until it rolled up outside the cage. It still wasn’t enough to crawl under, but it was a start.
I pulled a short section of square tubing from the shelves and took down another rolling pin. After placing the tubing across the two rolling pins, raising my fulcrum a few extra inches, I placed the hook through the mesh and jumped on it.
ZIP. Several more inches of mesh were cut loose. As soon as I had kicked the mesh out so that it curled up, I got down on the floor and tried to squeeze through. It was tight, but I managed to work my head and shoulders through.
It’s funny how your priorities change once you’ve had a windfall. While in the cage, all I could think about was getting out and going back home with an interesting story to tell. But as soon as I pulled myself free, all I wanted was to look in the boxes in the corner.
I lay on the cool concrete floor for a few minutes, breathing heavily from my exertion, and then pushed myself to my feet. Without so much as looking at the exit, I went to the corner and opened the cardboard boxes. The small one was empty, but the larger one had two remote surveillance screens inside, one focused on a parking space somewhere and the other facing down a street.
It only took me a moment longer to realize it was the same street, and sub shop I had just gotten my food from.
“That's how you found me,” I muttered in admiration. “But what did you do with the rockets, Mark?” I asked quietly.
Next to the boxes was a pile of torn cardboard covered in metal filings. I also saw cardboard with fresh black spray paint on it. I reached over and touched it with my fingertips. It was still tacky to the touch.
I lifted the cardboard and saw a small device. I didn’t know what I was looking at, but it was about the size of a notebook, made of metal, and had an angular frame under it, tilting it up approximately forty-five degrees from the ground. On top was a strip of black plastic taped across the top edge. I lifted the plastic and saw the tips of eight projectiles.
The rockets!
“What are you going to do with these?” I muttered.
On the flat part of the metal device were four large magnets. I picked up a metal can and placed it on one of them. The powerful magnet nearly jerked it out of my hands as it got close and it took a great deal of effort to pull it off again. They were very powerful magnets.
Looking around, I saw nothing else of interest and reached for the wheeled metal case pressed against the wall. I pulled on its hinged lid by the latch, opening it to reveal an interesting array of items. On top were several pages of a printout. I reached in and gently lifted one corner to look beneath, and I discovered a phone, some tools, and remote key fobs.
I pulled the sheets of paper all the way out and began thumbing through them as I picked up the phone and then dialed John’s number.
“Oh!” I exclaimed as the phone started to ring. “Multi-tool!”
I grabbed the substantial-looking modern equivalent to a Swiss army knife, turning it over once before John answered.
“Temple,” came John’s voice from the other end as I stuffed the tool into my pocket.
“Hey there,” I said casually as I started looking at the numbers on the sheets.
“Where the hell are you?” he asked, the tension in his voice higher than I had ever heard it.
“I’m about three blocks from the hotel,” I replied, noting the sheets were split printouts—not all the information was on one line. “Gaines caught me when I went to get food.”
There was a short pause. “Where is he now?” John asked.
“I don’t know,” I replied as I continued to flip through the pages. “He left several hours ago. But he left some of his stuff here, including this phone.”
“Jesus,” John muttered. “Are you hurt?”
“Not really. But one of those subs I got for us really did a number on my stomach,” I replied, grinning. “He locked me in a metal cage, but I got out.”
“You got… Where are you?” he asked again.
“Starting from the corner where the pizza shop is, walk north to the next street and turn left,” I said, as I discovered the names portion of the data was on the back sheets. “Then—”
“Who the hell are you?” came a voice from behind me.
I turned and saw a woman holding a large revolver in my face—large being relative of course. Any gun in your face is going to seem large.
She was gorgeous. If not for the fact that she was holding a gun on me, I might have flirted with her. She had light brown skin with a glow that suggested she spent a lot of time in the sun. Her long hair looked like onyx, poured in liquid form over her shoulders—and her lips…I had seen those lips before… Angelina. Yeah, definitely Angelina lips. She was a real knockout.
“I asked you a question,” she reiterated, her features calm, her hand steady. The tone of her voice suggested I was going to have to answer her—she wasn’t nervous about holding a gun on someone.
“I have to go,” I said to John. “A very attractive woman is holding a gun on me.”
Her cheeks flushed.
I pressed one of the number keys instead of the ‘end’ button, and then tossed the phone back into the box, followed by the papers, making sure they covered it. If I was lucky, she wouldn't look in and see I still had a live connection.
“Hi,” I chirped, smiling and reaching my hand out to shake. “I’m Scott Wolfe.”
She raised her gun a few inches, indicating she would not be shaking hands with me.
“That doesn’t really answer my question,” she said, flicking her gun with her wrist in the universal sign of hands up or else. “Why are you here?”
“That’s technically a different question than the one you asked before,” I said, smiling as I lifted my hands.
“Do you really think this is a good time to be a smart ass?” she threatened.
“Funny. You aren't the first person to ask me that today.” I smirked.
She pressed her lips together tightly and tensed her gun hand.
“But
I’m here because a big, goofy-looking guy with a hoodie stuck a gun in my back and brought me here. He locked me in there.” I pointed at the cage.
“Jesus, Mark,” she muttered and then looked at me through slitted eyes. “How’d you get out?”
I shrugged. I didn’t want to give up all my secrets. Besides, if I could get her to look for my escape route, she might drop her focus momentarily so I could escape or get her gun away from her.
She looked over at the cage, seeing it was still padlocked, and began to scan the sides. As soon as she saw the bent metal mesh, she returned her attention to me. I had moved a step closer to her.
Oops!
She raised her gun up to my nose threateningly, her brow etched with a deep furrow of anger.
“Back up.”
I did as ordered.
“Who are you with?” she asked.
“TravTech,” I replied calmly. “We are a travel technology and computer security company.”
She must have figured she wouldn’t get a straight answer from me because she reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out a pair of black zip cuffs like law enforcement uses. She tossed them on the floor in front of me.
“Put those on,” she ordered, her gun and voice never wavering—there was a command quality ton her tone that made me suspect she was law enforcement.
I picked up the zip cuffs and did as she ordered.
“Behind your back,” she added as I slipped my hand through one side.
I put them on behind me and then turned my back to her when she flicked her gun directing me to do so. She then reached out and cinched them down very tightly.
“Ow,” I complained.
“Now, sit,” she commanded, pointing at a stack of boxed cans next to the wall.
I again complied, being very careful not to give her the impression I would disobey her at all.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“None of your fuckin’ business,” she responded mildly, though with no anger.
“I know who Mark is,” I said. “How do you know him?”
She squinted her eyes at me and tilted her head to the side. “How do you know who Mark is?” she asked.
“I’m here to help find him,” I said. “I work with his old boss.”
“You said you're with TravTech,” she said, testing my knowledge and truthfulness.
“Contract, tech support,” I replied, smiling.
“So who is his old boss?” the woman asked. “Who does he work for?”
It was my turn to narrow my eyes at her. “I’m sorry, but I’m not at liberty to discuss it,” I replied. “Besides, how do I even know you're friends with Mark? You could be hunting him.”
“Ha!” she exclaimed. “You were the one who was locked up.”
I looked over at the cage. “Yeah, well, not everybody sees when you're trying to help them.”
She thought about that response for a moment and then reached into her bag and pulled her phone out. She dialed. The phone in the box beeped, and she immediately walked over to it.
“Son of a bitch,” she muttered—presumably because she saw that the previous call was still active.
She quickly pulled the phone out of the box and ended the call.
“Who were you talking to?” she asked.
I plastered an innocent look on my face and shrugged.
“This isn’t a fucking game!” she yelled, crossing the room quickly.
“I've heard that one today too,” I muttered.
She was about to strike me across the face with her revolver when John came into the room behind her, pointing his gun at her.
“Stop,” he commanded quietly.
She turned, but he had the drop on her. She immediately resigned herself to her fate and held her hands up, letting the revolver dangle from her finger by the trigger guard.
“Thanks.” I turned toward John, relief evident in my voice. “I wasn’t looking forward to losing any teeth.”
“Why didn’t you just get out of here when you got free?” he asked as he took her revolver and tossed it across the room onto a stack of cardboard.
“Then I wouldn’t have met this lovely lady,” I responded, grinning. “Besides. If he had come back and seen me gone, he might have cleared out.”
“What were you going to do if he came back?” John asked as he shoved the woman down to a seated position. “Disarm him with your charm? You left your phone, your weapon, and your wallet in the room.”
I shrugged. “You're the spy, I’m just tech support.” Why is everyone so dead set on complaining about me today?
The look on his face instantly revealed his displeasure at my statement.
“Spy?” the woman asked, looking at me. “So you were telling the truth?”
“I always tell the truth,” I replied with a grin.
“Bullshit,” John muttered as he walked toward me, presumably to free me—but he never got the chance. Mark Gaines suddenly appeared in the doorway behind John—he was flying through the air before John knew he was there.
“Behind you!” I yelled, but it was too late. Gaines had brought the pistol grip of his giant handgun down on the back of John’s skull. He dropped like a sack of potatoes into the floor.
Gaines wasted no time admiring his handiwork. His gun was in my face immediately.
**
THE MAN who had been following John Temple watched from a block away as he turned down an alley with his phone pressed to his ear. Temple had seemed to change directions abruptly and head off in single-minded fashion.
The man pulled his phone out as he approached the corner. The call was answered on the first ring.
“Yes,” Heinrich Braun answered.
“I think Temple might have found something,” the man said. “I just lost sight of him, but I should—”
The man stopped in his tracks, seeing Gaines maneuver around a dumpster and then disappear down the alley as well.
“I just saw Gaines,” he said. “Hold on.”
He ran to the corner and carefully looked around the edge of the building. He saw no one.
“They are in an alley on Third about half a block from Olive,” he said. “If you’ll give me a few minutes, I’ll tell you which building they are in.
“No,” Braun snapped. “Wait until we can rendezvous. I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
“But what if—”
“Wait,” Braun said firmly. “Unless they look to be leaving, do not compromise yourself. Wait for backup.”
Braun ended the call before he could respond. The man tucked himself into a window well so he could look down the alley discretely.
I could take ’em, he thought sullenly.
**
“You annoying prick,” Gaines growled with a sneer.
“What?” I asked innocently, trying not to show my anger over the assault on John. “I was just sitting here.”
“When I came in, he was going through your box,” the woman said, rising to join him in front of me. “He got a call out on your phone.”
“What did you tell them?” Gaines asked the woman without taking his eyes off me. I guessed he didn’t ask me because he knew he wouldn’t get a straight answer.
“Nothing,” she replied defensively. “He was in the middle of the call when I came in on him. I cuffed him and was questioning him when that other guy came in.”
“That’s John Fucking Temple,” Gaines said. “My old boss.”
I looked at the woman and smiled. “See, I always tell the truth.”
She shot me a hard look and then turned to Mark. “What do you want me to do?” she asked with a hushed voice, as if it would prevent me from hearing.
“Get the account lists and go,” he said—normal voice. “It’s a problem anyone knows you were here.”
“What does that mean?” she asked and then looked down at John’s limp form. “Mark, you can’t kill them.”
“I wouldn’t count on that,” he replied, clipped—
but I could tell he had no intention of killing us. He was trying to instill fear in me, most likely to get me to behave.
“Mark—”
“Get the list and go before you end up like Dee,” he snapped with anger bubbling in his voice.
I wasn’t sure who Dee was, but whatever happened to her clearly wasn’t pleasant. The woman pulled the papers out of the top of his metal box and stuffed them into her bag.
Gaines looked over at the curled mesh on the cage. “Do you have more cuffs?” he asked her, again without turning his attention from me. For some reason, I got the feeling he didn’t trust me.
The woman reached into her bag and pulled out several more sets of zip cuffs and then handed them to him. He took them without looking.
“You won’t hear from me again for a while,” he said. “Take those pages and find out what the upstream source is. It’s going to get sloppy soon.”
“Are you going to be okay?” she asked.
“Go,” he ordered sharply.
She started to leave and then, at the doorway, she turned. “I’m sorry about your sister,” she said with sadness in her voice.
“Go!” he yelled.
She paused for a moment, staring at his back, and then turned and left. There was another moment of him just staring at me with anger on his face, and then he abruptly dropped to his knee and rolled John onto his belly, zip cuffing his hands behind his back.
“Who’s Dee?” I asked.
No response, but I saw his jaw set in a hard line. The mention of her caused anger to well up in him.
“I don’t understand what it is you’re involved with,” I said calmly. “I thought you were just after the guys who killed your sister. If there’s more, you should ask John for help. I know—”
Gaines rose abruptly and kicked me in the chest, sending me and the stack of cartons tumbling backward.
“Keep your fucking mouth shut,” he yelled. “Don’t talk to me. Don’t talk about my sister and don’t talk about Dee. One more fucking word and I’ll put a bullet in your head.”
I rolled to my side and looked at him. He stood there, red-faced, veins bulging in his neck and forehead and, more importantly, that hand canon of his pointing directly at my face. I decided to keep my mouth shut for the time being.