by David Clark
Robert sat on the cold ground and leaned back against a tree. Doug pulled out two bars from his vest and handed one to Robert. “It isn’t a five course, but it will work.”
Robert tore through the brown paper wrapper. The scent that came out was a mixture of wood and old damp mildew-filled basement. Not exactly appetizing. He watched the others bite into their bars without hesitation. Robert took a bite, stopping midway, before his teeth clenched together. The bar melted under the pressure of his teeth. The small bite dropped into his mouth with the consistency of gritty toothpaste. He attempted to chew, but the salty goo only oozed between his teeth. Instead, he decided to treat it like a taffy and mush it around with his tongue until it slid down his throat.
Doug chuckled to himself, then the other two joined in. The attention caused Robert to turn to one side, to keep any of them from seeing the look on his face as he took another bite of the bar.
Roger explained, “It never gets any better. It is a mixture of a bunch of stuff that are high in carbs and caffeine, meant to give us energy and focus. No one asks what is in it, we really don’t want to know. The texture allows us to eat it without having to drink anything with it.”
“It’s poop,” said William, as he took another big bite of the concoction.
13
Night fell over the posh Russian Estate, but the exterior lights and sweeping search lights made it as bright as day. Roger slipped back down the hill to describe what he saw to the others.
“I expected the lights, but didn’t expect a party.”
“A party?”
“There is a parade of cars coming along the drive and parking on either side. So far, they are parked in rows, three deep.”
Doug asked, “Can we use the cars to cover our approach?”
Roger nodded.
All four men crawled up the hill, making sure to stay just even with the ridge to see over, but to avoid detection of any patrols walking the fence line. To Robert’s surprise, what appeared to be a rather sleepy house, nestled in a meadow surrounded by forest on all sides, lit up like Las Vegas. Exotic and high-end cars were parked everywhere while a line continued up the circular drive.
William asked, “Ready?”
Doug replied, “Blind them.”
William pulled the device out once again and pushed a few buttons. He watched the screen to verify he had a connection with each of the cameras. He let each camera cycle a few times through his display before he pressed a button on the side. Another cycle through the cameras confirmed he was now sending them back the same image, from a recorded two-second loop. The image wouldn’t look stagnant to them, but not enough movement to notice it cycled. He put the device down on the ground next to a tree.
Doug moved forward, to the bottom of the fence. He reached his hand backward and William passed a block of the gray clay substance Robert saw earlier. He assumed it would be some kind of explosive like in the movies, C4 or something like that, and started to slide down the hill for cover. Roger reached over and stopped him. Using his hands, he signaled him to stay still. Doug smeared the substance on the bottom third of three bars. Once the substance was applied, he pulled a match from his vest and struck it against the substance. In those few seconds, the clay had stiffened into a solid stone-like substance and produced a spark from the match. The spark did not light the match. Robert expected Doug would need to strike another and didn’t notice the light blue smoke coming from the bars as they disintegrated into the air.
Roger moved forward through the bars and paused to use the scope on his rifle. Once he was sure there was no one that could see them, he stood in a crouch and ran to the closest row of cars. Another check with his scope and he signaled the others through. William first, then Doug insisted Robert go. Doug followed behind. When Robert made it to the car, his heart was pounding in his chest. He thought he was in great shape, that twenty-yard trot shouldn’t have been an issue.
They maneuvered through the rows of cars, staying at least one row back from the driveway, and working toward the house. The sound of a majestic symphony radiated from the front of the house as people dressed in their formal best walked up the drive and front walkway. Tuxedos and formal gowns were everywhere. Two men dressed in all black suits greeted them at the door to check their invitations. They made no attempt to hide the short submachine guns that were slung over their shoulders as they smiled and exchanged pleasantries with each attendee.
Stationed at the corner of the house was another pair of guards, dressed in similar suits and weaponry. Their attention alternated between the exotic cars and the exotic beauties that walked by. The team was positioned at the last car and needed to make a dash past those guards. Roger held the team until a very voluptuous blonde, in a skintight red sequined gown, walked up the drive and to the front entry. Their eyes followed every bounce of her bosom and sway of her hips. Roger released them and the team sprinted through a semi-dark patch of the properly to the back corner of the house. Doug and William reached the side of the house and slipped up behind the guards, while Roger and Robert continued around the corner. Doug and William appeared around the corner holding two radios and pushing earpieces into their ears.
Hugging the exterior wall, they moved toward an illuminated door. Roger in front, looking for guards, with Doug guarding their rear. When they approached the door, Robert crouched down, remembering how they did when trying to escape Ying in Macau. For the second time, he was corrected as William pulled him back up by the waistband of his pants. William then snuck around him and entered through the door. After a nervous few seconds, the light shining through the glass panels of the door went out. The door opened and William let them all through.
Roger moved through and whispered, “Step wide.” Robert didn’t know what he meant, until his foot hit the body of another guard, lying face-down on the floor. A small puddle of blood formed around his throat and ran off toward the drain in the center of the mud room they’d entered. The room was dimly lit as lights flooded down hallways into the room. Without pause, they moved past the body, past the hooks for coats, past the gun rack which housed an assortment of hunting rifles and assault weapons, and down the hallway. The sound of the music they’d heard out front grew with every step. Under the music you could hear the gentle murmur of dozens of conversations occurring in the various rooms off the hallway. Without hesitation, Roger stepped through an open door on his right and into the back stairwell. The others followed behind and Doug closed and secured the door.
Roger asked in a whisper, “When does it start?”
William said, “If my Russian is still good. We have ten minutes before they start moving people down.”
“Where to?”
Roger answered by moving down the stairs and around the spiral. Two turns down, it opened into a massive theater. Seats arched a central stage. Lights and speakers hung overhead. Cameras were mounted at multiple levels on the stage and above. On the stage sat a large cauldron. Roger led them down to the darkened stage. They spied the locations they’d planned out, using the many intelligence reports. William and Roger headed for the catwalks above. Doug took his spot in a technical closet by the control room, but first he directed Robert to his spot. Now they waited.
14
The wait didn’t last long in the cold and dark. The lights came up in the theater and Robert had a clear view of the Russian elite entering. Each carrying their favorite beverage in as if they were here to enjoy a night of fine opera. The speakers overhead crackled on and the music they heard out front, and again in the main residence, played in the background, below the murmur of the gathering crowd. He estimated there were maybe one-hundred or one-hundred and twenty in attendance, filling every seat. One thing that was missing were the security guards. The heavily armed presence they had at the front door and around the house was absent here. Just as Doug said he’d expected. Ivan only secured the exterior. If you stop the threats outside, the inside needs no security.
A qu
ick flash of the lights brought the murmur of the conversations down. The attention of hundreds of eyes now focused on the stage. The many lights over the stage turned on. Two spotlights illuminated the cauldron. The cameras sprang to life and focused their attention on the stage itself. Each highlighting a different view. They’d carefully selected the hiding spots of the team with this in mind, to avoid accidental attention. The soft regal symphony stopped and the lights over the crowd reduced to a faint glow.
The thumbing bass and ear-splitting guitar riff that replaced it caused an eruption of cheers from the crowd. A third spotlight exploded on as Ivan strolled on to the stage, soaking in the cheers of his adoring fans. Two of the cameras followed his every move as he approached the cauldron.
“Thank you. Thank you,” he said. “You are all too kind. Welcome to you, and our audience around the world. Welcome to Game Master.”
The crowd erupted into a standing ovation as he threw both hands up in gratitude of the adoration.
“So tonight, we have a very special treat for everyone. Instead of our usual team events, we only have one person.”
The crowd in the audience disapproved of this announcement. Boos and hissing replaced the normal cheers. Ivan worked to calm the crowd down before continuing. He walked across the stage from side to side urging the crowd to quiet down. When they did, he continued, “Trust me. You will not be disappointed. We have with us someone who owes us a lot, and I plan to extract everything, very painfully. Let’s bring him out.”
He motioned toward the side of the stage where the man from the picture Doug showed them earlier, Sergey Menidivev, walked out a stumbling bound and beaten individual. His head focused down on the floor. Sergey led the hostage to the frame that was standing behind the cauldron, with the crowd cheering every step. At the frame, he untied his hands and, one at a time, cuffed them to opposite corners of the square frame. The frame raised and stretched his arms above his head. Each leg was then strapped to the two lower corners of the frame. The frame lurched upward, taking the full weight of the individual. Their head jerked up in reaction to the pain and strain on their shoulders and hips. Robert’s eyes jolted open at the image of Christopher being hoisted into the air, attached to a frame, spread eagle.
Robert looked across the stage at where Doug said he would signal him from, but there was none.
Ivan announced, “I give you Christopher.” His name echoed through the theater until the cheer from the crowd replaced it.
“First, each of you have been cheated by Christopher, and I, the creator of these games, have taken the liberty to repay you from his bank account. Of course, that was only a partial repayment. The rest, we will have to take out of him. Let’s sweat it out of him. What do you say?”
A huge flame erupted from the cauldron. The crowd showed their approval with a standing ovation. One that Ivan took part of, himself, by turning to the cauldron and clapping. They moved the frame into position, twenty feet over the flaming pot
“Here is how this works. The clock will start, every ten seconds we will lower Christopher by a foot. The clock stops when he passes out or dies. Those predicting the exact time, or the closest time, wins. The betting lines are now on your pads. Let me give you a few moments to place your wager.”
Each member of the crowd leaned forward and returned holding a six-inch tablet. They scrolled through, looking at the betting lines. Each line was established in five-second increments. Once they decided on one, they selected it, entered their wager, and pressed the green confirm button on the bottom of the tablet. Ivan watched a screen on the back wall that showed the percentage of bets in. The number started out in red, but changed to yellow when it hit 50%. It stalled at 73% and Ivan prompted the crowded, “We have just a few seconds left, so get your bets in.” He fidgeted while he watched the display. Finally, it turned green when it hit 80% and settled at 81%.
“All right, shall we get started? Start the clock and let’s begin our game.”
A digital screen dropped from the roof. It showed a red 0:00. The crowd began a consistent chorus of cheers and jeers as the clock started its count. 0:01… 0:02… Christopher hung limp in the frame. His face stained with both new and old streams of blood. Bruises covered every inch of exposed skin. The crowd grew restless from the lack of reaction from him. At 0:10, the frame jerked down a foot, causing Christopher’s body to pull against the straps, sending painful jolts through his joints. He screamed and began to struggle. First pulling with his right arm and then his left. The straps held. The appearance of fight in their hostage delighted the crowd. It dropped another foot at 0:20, and signs of sweat formed on the clean white shirt and sweatpants he was wearing.
At 0:25, Robert noticed another jerk. Not the frame, but the cameras. Each of them dropped from their steady position, following the action, to a neutral position straight out from their mounting. The crowd erupted again at 0:30, with the next drop of the frame. Through the smoke, Robert saw a flash of light from the direction Doug told him to watch. He said the signal would be two flashes. The second one arrived right on cue. Robert stood up from his crouched position in the darkness, behind a sound monitor positioned on the left-hand side of the stage. He flipped the hood off of his head and strolled out on the stage. A murmur of confusion began in the crowd, and grew with every step. There was another quick flash from above, dropping Sergey where he stood. Ivan noticed the crowd’s reaction before he saw Robert. Robert crossed in front of the cauldron, in clear view of the crowd. Ivan saw him seconds before Robert’s right fist found its mark against Ivan’s cheek. Ivan stumbled backward and Robert hit him with an upper cut before he stood up. Ivan fell back, splayed on the ground, with Robert standing over him.
Several flashes appeared from both sides of the stage as the rest of the members of the team dispatched their targets. Doug rushed on the stage and, to the horror of those sitting in the first few rows, collided into the cauldron with all his weight. The ten-foot-wide iron pot flew forward, flinging the burning oil into the first three rows of the audience. The rest of the crowd made a run for the doors, clogging the narrow walkways between columns of seats. This clog also restricted Ivan’s security forces from entering. The only other entrance was the back stairs that Doug blocked on the way in.
The frame crashed to the stage and Robert hurried over and unstrapped Christopher. He was barely conscious. Throwing Christopher’s arm around his neck, Robert dragged him off the stage. William jumped off the catwalk ladder and helped to carry Christopher. Following their plan, they headed straight for the back stairs. There was a single gunshot behind them. Doug rushed past them and up the stairs. Several blasts of automatic weapons echoed down the spiral stairs. When Robert and William reached the top, the door was open. Roger was positioned in the hallway, exchanging fire with several security members positioned in the mud room. In between volleys he yelled, “Plan B.”
“Great,” groaned William.
Doug led the way through the hallway and into the main rooms at the front of the residence, joining the mass of fleeing members of the crowd. He fired several shots overhead, causing everyone in the room to drop, exposing the members of the security detail seeing to the evacuation. Four exact shots dropped them before they reacted.
In Russian, Doug yelled, “Stay down.”
Everyone complied and stayed down as they approached the front door. Two more members of the security detail were out front. Doug pulled the trigger twice on his handgun, sending both men to the ground in a pile of dark suit and blood splatter. Doug stopped at the door to cover Robert and William as they carried Christopher out. They started toward the fence line. Roger sprinted out and past them with a different idea. “Follow me, guys.”
Roger ran to a couple who were getting into a silver Land Rover. He pulled the man out of the driver’s seat and threw him to the ground. Pointing the gun at the woman, he ordered her out of the passenger seat. The keys were in the ignition and it was running. He motioned for the others to
hurry. Doug opened the back door and William, Christopher, and Robert collapsed inside in a mass of humanity. He slammed the door shut and jumped into the passenger seat as Roger pulled off at high speed.
A guard stationed at the gate stood in the driveway, confused. He heard the commotion at the house, but just stood there as the SUV containing the ones that caused it drove by in the mass of cars escaping the mayhem. Roger kept speed with the surrounding cars to blend in.
The plan worked perfectly. They were the only car in the group that turned on to the highway that led to the airfield. Roger killed the lights when they turned into the airfield. He maneuvered down the tarmac to find the Gulfstream jet just where they’d left it.
The five men boarded, placing Christopher on the floor in the back. William searched through the duffel bag and pulled out a hard-black case. He laid it open on the floor next to Christopher while the plane bounced down the dilapidated tarmac. He retrieved a needle and a bottle of clear solution from the pack. Carefully, he loaded the needle and rolled up Christopher’s sleeve, looking for a vein. Finding one suitable for his purpose, William positioned the needle. An ill-timed bump produced an annoyed look in the cockpit's direction. He held his position until the Gulf-stream was back in its natural environment and airborne. After the injection, he hung an IV from an overhead light fixture. Satisfied in the patient's condition, he moved forward and took a seat with the others.
Doug asked, “How is he, Doc?”
“Battered and bruised, but he will survive until I can get him back to my ER.”
15
Christopher spent nine months in the UC San Diego hospital, recovering under the care of Doctor William Divet. William was a Navy Corpsman who became involved in the special forces and intelligence community. When he left, he went back to school to complete his medical degree. The SanSquad took turns for the first month, sitting with Christopher day and night. William told them it was unnecessary, but he understood. He said all in all, Christopher was lucky. He suffered hemorrhages and broken bones in both his legs and ribs, but nothing that time wouldn’t heal.