by James Codlin
Nico’s voice sounded strained. “Not yet,” he said.
Well, fuck, thought Dennis. His hand instinctively reached down and palmed the grip of one of his pistols. He was out of time.
*
Gina saw the guards grabbing Martín under each armpit, yanking him to his feet, and shoving him forward. The red lights from the lasers teased the empty stake that awaited him.
“Gina, I’m going to try to take out the lasers,” Dennis said. “I probably won’t get all three—do what you can to get Marty moving off that platform.”
“Nico, is the grate open?” Gina asked.
She heard a couple of grunts and then a satisfied yelp. “Yeah, we’re ready here! Get Martín to it and we’ll pull him in.”
“Dennis,” she said, “see if you can do something to clear the way for Martín after you take out the lasers.”
From the speakers Gina heard Dennis’s high-pitched, hysterical laugh.
“Yeah, mate,” he said. “I’ll get right on that!”
*
Dennis watched the platform. Martín was slowly being led to his execution. The lasers were flitting over the stake—ready to lock onto Martín’s head once he was in place.
Dennis pushed back through the crowd and ran a hundred meters beyond the grandstands to a small opening in the throng. He could see laser emplacements to the east and west. The technicians were focused on the platform below them. He looked around, saw that no one was paying attention to him, and slipped one of the machine pistols out of his belt. He raised the gun and squeezed the trigger.
There was a rattle and a bright muzzle flash from the gun, and Dennis saw the laser burst into a shower of sparks. The technician operating it dropped to the floor of the platform, covering his head with his hands. Ignoring the screams and commotion around him as the people in the crowd began to panic and flee from the sound of gunfire, Dennis turned to the west and pulled the trigger again. There were a series of electrical arcs from the equipment, and the laser went dark. Emboldened, Dennis fired wildly at the remaining laser, but his line-of-sight was blocked by a stanchion of lights.
People around him were scrambling to get away. “Run,” he shouted maniacally, “or I’ll kill you all!”
They ran.
His path now cleared, he turned and raced back toward the platform.
*
Martín felt himself being dragged. Strobe-like images flashed in his brain of Gina, Lenin, his brother, and Sister Trinidad. Everyone hated him for being a Jew and wanted to kill him, and yet Gina’s voice was saying into his ear that she loved him and that people were trying to save him.
He didn’t know who or what to believe.
*
“Martín,” Gina pleaded, “if you ever loved me, listen to me now and remember when we were on your boat in the ocean and I didn’t know where we were or where we were going, and you showed me how the compass and the compass rose on the map worked together. You told me that those would always guide us to where we needed to go. I’m your compass now. Let me guide you. We can work together to get you where you need to go. Do this for me—because it’s the last chance we’ve got, Martín. Listen to me closely and don’t think—just act.” Gina paused, took a last, deep breath, and then shouted into the microphone with everything she had. “Turn to your left ninety degrees and run… now!”
She watched the monitor as the guards led him forward. Martín’s head jerked and then he twisted his torso to the left and lunged. The guards’ grips on Martín’s arms were wrenched free by the sudden, unexpected movement, and one of the guards took an unsteady step backward.
“Run forward—go!” Gina shouted. She watched as Martín accelerated blindly forward, running on pure faith and instinct.
Dennis Prinn appeared on screen at the top of the platform stairs, running toward Martín. He was shouting something when a luminous red dot appeared on his shoulder. She saw a wisp of smoke ascend from his shirt and dissipate into the night air. Dennis whirled around and slapped his hand against the smoldering fabric. The speakers emitted a loud yelp of pain and a curse.
Dennis looked off screen and shouted at Martín to run toward his voice. A red dot moved to Martín’s head, trying to remain fixed as he sprinted forward. A guard lunged at Martín from behind, baton cocked and ready to strike. But as he did so, he ran between the laser and its target. Smoke rose off the guard’s back in tight ringlets and the man threw his arms up in pain and surprise. He collapsed to the platform.
“Turn ten degrees more to the left and keep going!” Gina shouted.
On the monitor she saw Martín turn slightly and dash ahead. Dennis leaped forward as Martín arrived at the top of the stairs and he grabbed Martín by the arm. Martín started to wrest himself away from his unknown assailant. Dennis shouted something into Martín’s ear.
“Martín,” Gina said, “you’re four paces from the stairs. Just let Prinn be your eyes!”
Dennis released Martín for a moment to slug an oncoming guard, and Martín staggered forward a few steps, suddenly unmoored and directionless. He bumped into the wooden handrail and grabbed it. The red dot glowed briefly just above Martín’s hand on the top of the post, which burst into flames and sailed off. Martín recoiled from the heat and then began to try to find the edge of the stairs with his foot. Dennis was suddenly beside him again and helped him forward to the top of the stairs. As the laser moved upward toward Martín’s face, a priest seized him by his sanbenito and caught the crimson beam across his eyes for his troubles. The priest’s mouth opened into a wide ‘O,’ and his hands clutched his smoldering eyes as he fell.
“One pace forward, and the next step will be the first step down,” Gina called through the microphone. “I don’t know how many stairs there are, but just keep going until you get to the bottom.”
Martín obeyed and disappeared off the screen. Dennis saw that Martín had his footing and turned around at the top of the stairs. He raised his gun and fired a sequence of shots into the air. The priests and guards on the platform flattened themselves upon the wooden planks.
The searching scarlet point of light fell on Dennis’s breastbone. Dennis grunted, spun around, and disappeared down the stairs.
*
Dennis ran down the steps to Martín and caught the blind man’s arm. “Come on! Your brother is waiting for you!” Dennis turned him to his left and saw the laser beam sweep past them, searching back and forth. As it flashed over Martín’s head and down toward his face, Dennis shoved him aside. The beam settled on the metal leg of the grandstand instead, setting off a shower of sparks. As the sparks arced over the two fugitives, the beam moved on, illuminating a wooden post that quickly burst into flames.
“Keep running!” Dennis shouted. “Lenin and your brother have an escape hatch ready—I can see it six meters ahead!”
Dennis saw Nicolás and Lenin emerge from the hatch, crawling onto the pavement. He yelled in their direction and they turned to see the onrushing men. The laser beam cut into a steel strut beside Nicolás, burning him with flying molten metal as the strut melted. He dropped prone on the ground and the beam swung toward Lenin. Nicolás grabbed the professor by the ankle and yanked him to the ground.
Dennis dragged Martín toward the open grate. Suddenly there was a sharp pain in his leg and he pitched forward to the pavement. “Go, go straight ahead!” he shouted to Martín.
“Dennis!” Nicolás bellowed. “The gun, the gun!”
Dennis could barely see Nicolás as the pain blurred his vision. He tossed one of the machine pistols, sending it scraping across the concrete into Nicolás’s hand. As the revolutionary brought the gun up, the red dot traced across his chest. He rolled, and chips of concrete flew amid crackling sparks beside him. He pointed the gun in the direction of the laser emplacement and repeatedly hammered the trigger, letting loose a stream of fire. The red dot skittered across his forearm. Nicolás rolled to his left, aimed, and squeezed again, firing another dozen rounds. Bright flashe
s erupted from the laser emplacement.
Martín sprinted five more paces straight ahead until there was nothing under his feet. His stomach fluttered with the sudden downward acceleration as he dropped. Sharp metal jammed under his armpits, arresting his fall and causing searing pain. He let out a cry as his feet dangled in the air below him. Martín extended his hands, feeling around to get oriented. There was a round hub with steel paddles extending out from it—a large ventilator fan, he guessed—and he had fallen between two of the blades.
Shots rang out, and screams erupted above him. There were thuds as bodies fell to the pavement. “Martín, drop down!” his brother shouted. “Drop down before they kill you!”
Martín lifted himself off the blades, turned his body, and let go, dropping straight down through the gap and crashing onto a metal floor. He heard a voice shouting in English from the opening above him, “Pull out the camera, pull out the camera!”
Martín lay stunned for a moment. Then he remembered the camera and battery pack under his sanbenito.
*
For several seconds, Gina could only see people lying dazed, dead, or wounded on the platform.
Dennis’s voice came over her headset, strained and muffled. “Gina, throw the G-eight sliding switch and tie in the Delta receptor.”
She looked around the console, found a sliding switch marked “G-8,” and moved it from zero up to the maximum position. She then searched the console until she found a switch labeled “D” and toggled it to the opposite position.
Gina looked up at the bank of monitors and saw that one of them had stripes flashing across it, but no picture. She checked the intercom switch settings and said into the microphone, “Martín, do you have the camera out now?”
She heard heavy breathing. “Yeah, it’s out,” Martín finally said. “But what the hell good will it do?”
“It’ll give me a picture and I’ll be your eyes.”
Gina looked at the monitor again. There was still nothing on the screen but wild patterns. She ran her hand through her hair and looked over the console. What did she have to do to get his camera turned on? Then it occurred to her that the problem might not be on her end.
“Martín, have you connected the camera to the battery pack?”
“Shit. No,” he said back through the headset. There was a pause. “Okay… I found a wire… you getting anything now?”
The stripes on the monitor changed, rolled, and suddenly she was seeing a picture of a corner formed by a wall and a floor.
“I see something, Martín!” she exclaimed. “Pan the camera around you.”
“He’s down here!” a voice off camera called.
Gina saw a wall with vertical seams and metal rungs attached to it. The camera moved on and she saw a series of black squares down at floor level. “Martín, there’s an opening down by the floor. Get down on all fours, turn ten degrees right, and crawl forward. Hold the camera in front of you as you go.”
The view on the monitor changed as he dropped to the floor and the dark squares straight ahead became larger as he crawled to them.
“That’s it, keep going… keep going… okay, it’s a pipe or a duct or something.”
“Which way?” Martín croaked.
Another voice barked in the distance, “Get some men down here, now! Now!”
There was a loud clash of metal. “Shit!” Martín said.
“You’re at the wall, Martín—turn the camera to the left.” The screen was blank. “Turn it right,” she said. Blank.
“Point it down.”
On the monitor she could see the dim outline of a square.
“Martín, the duct turns ninety degrees downward. I can’t tell how far. Ease yourself forward, use your hands, and try to brace yourself on the sides. Let yourself down slowly.”
Martín crawled forward, feeling with his hands. He felt the precipice and stopped. Behind him he heard boots thudding onto sheet metal. Voices echoed through the duct.
“Martín, someone’s close behind you, I can see the light of a flashlight shining on the metal. Get down that duct fast!”
“Wait, I think I see someone up ahead!” a voice called.
Martín shoved his legs down the opening and let himself slide. His hands burned against the metal as he slid downward for what seemed like an impossibly long time until his feet hit something solid. He held the camera out, turning his body at ninety-degree intervals until he had scanned a full circle with the camera.
“The duct splits four ways,” Gina said. “I don’t know where any of them go,” she added with a slight tone of resignation.
There were metallic thuds ringing nearby.
“Someone’s crawling into the duct behind me,” Martín whispered into his microphone. “Guess!”
“Turn all the way around from where you are now, get down on all fours, and move straight ahead.”
He did as she said, holding the camera out ahead of him.
*
Dennis rolled over on his back and looked up. A circle of grim faces glared down at him. Three pistols and a rifle were inches away from his face.
“A pie!”
“Uh, I don’t speak Spanish,” Dennis said.
Hands gripped him under his armpits and jerked him to his feet. A searing pain shot up his calf and he slumped back down to his knees. He was pulled upright again and his captors shoved him forward toward the open grate.
“Donde está tu compañero? A donde escapó Ibarra?”
Dennis shrugged in mock ignorance. Someone shouted up from below and the guards shoved Dennis to the opening in the grate.
“No way!” Dennis said. “I can’t go down there! What if that bloody fan turns on?”
He heard the pistol under his ear being cocked. “Yeah… I’ll give it a go, amigo.”
Dennis gave a wan smile and thrust his legs between the fan blades, slowly letting his body slide into the flashlight-illuminated chamber below.
*
Nicolás and Lenin stood outside the plenum. As they replaced the removable panel to seal off their escape route they heard men climbing down from the open grate. They heard Dennis saying, “No way! I can’t go down there! What if that bloody fan turns on?”
Nicolás walked quickly to the fan control switch on the wall. He checked his watch, then put a hand on the lever. After ten seconds he threw the switch.
The howl of a large electric motor energizing mixed with a cry of surprise and distress. The motor caught for a moment as the blades found resistance, then they gained speed again and screams echoed around the plenum. The fan turned faster, the screams were abruptly cut off, and multiple thuds reverberated against the floor. The fan accelerated to full speed creating an impenetrable barrier between the surface and their location.
Nicolás went to the removable panel and listened. There was silence other than the rumbling of the enormous fan. Then, much closer to the metal door, a voice pleaded in English, “Let me in!”
Nicolás got down on his knees, twisted the butterfly screws holding the panel, and slid it aside. He crawled in until only his feet were visible to Lenin, who waited with apprehension. Nicolás backed his way out a few seconds later, and Lenin watched as Nicolás reappeared, dragging Dennis by his shirt collar.
Dennis was covered with blood but was intact. Nicolás pulled him clear of the access panel, put it back in place, and secured the screws.
“Son of a bitch,” Dennis said. “I could have been killed in that fucking fan!” He looked back and saw that there was no line of sight from the panel to the fan blades. “How did you know when I cleared it?”
Nicolás gave a dry chuckle and shrugged. “Buena suerte?”
“Good luck?”
“And here I thought you didn’t speak any Spanish,” Nicolás said.
*
Martín crawled as fast as he could, holding the camera out in front of him.
“There’s a turn coming up,” Gina said. “To the right.”
He
felt ahead with his hand and made the turn. He stopped a moment to listen. He could hear thudding in the ducts above and behind him.
“I can’t tell how close they are,” he whispered.
“Turn the camera behind you.” He did. “I don’t see any light—they must not be too close.”
Martín crawled on until Gina said, “I see a T-intersection going left and right. Go left.”
He turned and steadily moved forward.
“Slow down, slow down!” Gina said. “Show me what’s ahead.”
Martín held out the camera.
“Point the camera down,” Gina instructed. “Okay, it turns straight down. There’s a blue light below, and it looks like there’s a grate or something. Let yourself down easy—it’s maybe three or four meters—but keep a hold if you can in case the grate can’t support your weight.”
Martín felt around the square duct, trying to find something to grasp. The duct was smooth except for the sheet metal seams. The echoing thuds were getting louder behind him. He pushed his feet down into the duct and let himself down. He extended his arms, letting his body hang down as far as he could.
Martín hung on one hand and put the other out to push against the duct to act as a brake, but it was awkward while clutching the small camera. He couldn’t get as much purchase against the sides as he wanted to, but he needed to act quickly. He let go of the ledge above and started dropping. He accelerated much faster than he intended and he jammed both hands out against the metal, slowing his fall until his left hand slid over a metal seam, slicing his skin. Martín yelped in pain and his hand involuntarily released. He fell several meters until his feet slammed onto something solid. Before he could get oriented he heard the groan of steel bending and felt a snap as the metal gave way beneath him.
*
Gina heard the loud crash and watched as the picture on the monitor turned at crazy angles, finally stopping dead. There was no sound.
“Martín?” she said into her microphone.
Silence.
“Martín?”
She threw a switch on the console.
“Nico, can you hear me?” Gina asked.
“I hear you, Gina. What’s happening?”