by Brandt Legg
“Good, but that’s not what I’m talking about.”
They heard another sound—empty beer bottles, perhaps accidentally kicked, spinning on the concrete floor. Broken glass—maybe one hit a wall.
“She’s right, it’s probably that homeless guy.”
“No. He won’t come back.”
“Then let’s just get outta here,” Chase said.
Wen pointed her gun and light in an arch ahead of them as they passed an old shoe store, and then what was probably a jewelry kiosk, the outline of block letters spelling “GOLD” and “SILVER” still visible.
They hustled toward the escalators. She spotted a shadow move inside a space called something “ATTIC” and nudged Chase to look.
“We’re about to get hit,” she said.
They began to sprint.
Five feet from the escalators, just as Chase was thinking they were going to make it, something fast and invisible hit them. They both went down on their backs.
Wen managed to keep one of her weapons, but Chase’s gun popped out of his hands as he hit the hard floor. For a second, with the wind knocked out of him, he couldn’t breathe, and wasn’t sure if he’d been shot. Before he could recover, a heavy, wet canvass tarp landed on top of them.
Wen fired through the dank material, but it was too late. She kicked and screamed. However, the fight made no difference, as all reference and sound quickly faded. Soon there was nothing but forever dark silence as their bodies floated in nothingness.
Fifty-Eight
Chase awoke to burning pain across his cheeks, feeling as if a giant dog was biting his face over and over again. He tried to reach up and stop it, but his hands were trapped behind him. His wrists also stung, feeling as if they were on fire. He tried to speak, but his tongue seemed glued in place in the worst case of cotton mouth ever.
A few seconds later, although he couldn’t be sure if it had been ten minutes, maybe even longer, Chase finally realized that somebody was slapping him repeatedly across the face. In the startling pain, he suddenly opened to his situation and the suffocating odor of heavy cologne and thick smoke—cigarettes, maybe something else.
Is it burning flesh?
“Where’s Wen?” Chase finally managed to say in a raspy, stuttered voice.
“Where is when? What is what? Who is who? Who is on first?” a man, smelling of vodka, mimicked in a Russian accent. “You should shut up, you pathetic dog,”
Chase tried to focus on his surroundings. They were still in the mall. He looked out and could see the main hallway where more was light coming in, but it wasn’t a natural hue, and gave no clue as to its origins. The store across the way had giant, once brightly-colored letters that spelled out “TOYS” and then some other missing letters. For some reason this depressed him even more.
Then he saw Wen in the reflection of a broken mirror. She was behind him. They were both in old folding-chairs, hands taped at their backs.
Two stocky men were at one end of the space. Lenny stood near them with his hands tied in front of him. Skrunch paced nervously fifteen-feet away. She was definitely free.
“What do you want?” Chase asked.
“Money, Mr. Malone. Lots and lots of money,” the Russian said, holding up Chase’s wallet. “You are wealthy man. Seven hundred twenty-nine dollars in your wallet is nothing. I want ten million dollars.”
“I’ll bet you do,” Chase said with a laugh.
The man kicked Chase’s chair out from under him. Chase’s head slammed against the floor.
“There is nothing funny happening here Mr. Malone. If I do not get ten million dollars, you are going to die very quickly.”
“If you want ten million dollars, maybe you should start acting a little nicer,” Chase said. From his new vantage point on the floor, he could see the contents of his and Wen’s packs piled up on an old, tipped over display counter, including the Antimatter Machine, which he hoped they thought was just another laptop. Not far from their stuff he saw another woman, also tied up. He didn’t recognize her.
While the media tried to unravel the mysterious end of the militia in Idaho and how it connected to the Fire Bomber, Gunner continued with his master plans. At about the same time the FBI was arriving at the Training Fields, his militia’s compound in Michigan, he was getting off a small plane in West Virginia. The man greeting him shared the news about the Idaho militia. Gunner immediately made a risky call to his source.
“This isn’t proper,” the source whispered into the phone.
“Idaho,” Gunner said.
“I was powerless to stop it.”
“But you knew they had nothing to do with this.”
“I don’t think you would have escaped without them hitting Idaho.”
“This is typical. They destroyed innocent people without any evidence they were involved with the bombings.”
“We can’t predict how every aspect of this will go. There is always the possibility for collateral damage.”
“Remember those words in the coming days,” Gunner said, hanging up. He pulled out a handwritten list from his pocket. One side of the worn yellow sheet listed the horUS companies. The back contained many more names, including most tech titans that had anything to do with artificial intelligence, and their companies. “Autopilot,” he said to the man who had met his flight, “starts tonight.”
Flint, now in San Francisco, personally checked on Chase’s mother at the hospital, reorganized the security detail, then went to Balance Engineering to make certain the building was completely secure. Before he left town he met with his agents who had been at the Malone home during the attack and paid his respects to the husband of the officer who had lost her life. Flint, frustrated by his inability to protect Chase and his family, or discover the identities of those pursuing them, called Tess.
“What about Idaho?” he asked after they exchanged greetings.
“We’re not confident.”
“Bad intel?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Do you have Chase?”
“No, he lost us in Los Angeles. We’ll get him on-screen again. It’s LA, not the wilds of the Shasta wilderness.”
“I’ve tried to pull him away from this, but even before they killed his father, he was not backing off. He’s not much of a surrenderer.”
“Is that a word?”
“Apparently not to him.”
“We’re trying to ID the attackers. The FBI found hidden web-based surveillance cameras in the house. They’re trying to access the feeds.”
“I want to know,” Flint said, already planning to check with Chase in case he knew how to get in.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“If not Idaho?”
“We have another group,” Tess said. “They’re going in now.”
“Where?”
“Can’t say.”
“Come on, my guy is a target of the group. His dad is dead. His mom is not out of the woods.”
“I’ll tell you when I can.”
“What else aren’t you telling me?”
“More than you can ever imagine.”
Fifty-Nine
The narrow space allowed only enough light to show the silhouetted figures of the others who were present. Chase strained his eyes to identify them and figure out his chances. In the darker shadows, the areas outside his line of sight, there could be more thugs, which made planning an escape challenging.
I know Wen is going to try something, but without seeing her, I can’t know the timing, he thought. I’ve got to get into a position to help her.
“You dumb dog,” the Russian said, suddenly kicking Chase in the leg. “I am tired and would like to go have a drink. But you are wasting my time. So I will have to settle for the half-million dollars you have already given my friend over there.” He pointed to Lenny. “And then, I will give you something in return. How about five bullets. One for each of you. I am a decent fellow, so I will do it. Quickly. In. The. Hea
d. Boom.” The Russian laughed. “I do not think it will even hurt.”
“You’re not a good fellow!” Wen shouted. Chase knew this was just to make sure he knew she was alive and her location.
“Perhaps you are right. Maybe if I am not a good fellow, I should use you first. I like Chinese food.”
“Try it, you impotent oaf,” Wen taunted.
“Do not worry, little Chinese slut, I will give you some of this Russian bear before you die. But first, business. Always business before pleasure. So, Mr. Chase Malone, brilliant billionaire, one last chance.”
Chase said nothing.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” the Russian said. “But if you do not want to spend ten million dollars to save five lives, I do not care. I am tired and thirsty.” He turned away from Chase and began talking to someone else. “Shoot them one at a time.”
“In the head?” the man asked.
“No, I have changed my mind. The China girl insulted me, so shoot them in the gut, slow bleeding, painful death. But shoot the famous Chase Malone last. I think he might reconsider his selfish position once we are about to kill his girlfriend.”
“Who first, then?”
“Start with Skrunch girl. We need to get rid of her anyway.”
“Hey, I helped you!” Skrunch yelled. “We had a deal! I wouldn’t owe you anymore. You’re going to let me go!”
The Russian laughed. “We were never going to let you go, stupid girl. You should know better. I cannot let people go.”
“You made a deal!?” Lenny yelled. “You idiot! They’re going to kill us all!”
One of the other men grabbed Skrunch and dragged her over in front of Chase, pushing her up against the wall. Someone lifted Chase’s chair off the floor.
“Try to keep your seat this time, Mr. Malone.” The Russian laughed. “Are we ready now? We will give you three seconds to stop this unfortunate event, Malone. Kill her when I count to three.”
The man holding Skrunch tied her to a post and held a gun against her head.
Skrunch cried and pleaded, “No, no we had a deal.”
“One,” the Russian snapped loudly.
Three seconds? What the hell? Chase thought. Come on Wen, spring into one of your action moves. He couldn’t tell if the Russians would actually kill Skrunch, and he definitely wasn’t sure if it was up to him to try to save her after she’d betrayed them and set up this trap. But he couldn’t just let somebody . . .
“Three.”
The gunshot was deafening in the small space and seemed to echo forever. The man let go of Skrunch’s arm. She dropped to the cluttered floor. Chase saw blood running from her head and turned away.
“Ohhh!” Lenny screamed. “What happened to two?”
“Okey-dokey,” the Russian said. “Who is next?” He shined the light at the other woman Chase now assumed was Bull. “How about we let Mr. Malone choose who dies next.”
Why is Wen being so quiet? Chase wondered.
“Okay, if you aren’t going to choose, I will,” the Russian said. “Let’s kill the stupid dog, because I would like to maybe play with this girl while Mr. Malone watches because he looks like he might like that.”
Two guys dragged Lenny over in front of Chase while the leader absently fondled Bull.
“Should we do three-seconds again?” the Russian asked. “That seemed to work well the last time. One . . . ”
Sixty
He’s going to do it again! Chase thought frantically, looking around the dark space inside the abandoned mall, searching for any way to stop the nightmare. I don’t really care about Lenny, but he didn’t seem to know any better, and he’s no more than thirty seconds from killing Wen . . .
“Two,” the Russian said, as if it had a second syllable, while eying Chase.
“All right, wait,” Chase said.
Lenny let out a moaning sigh.
The Russian smiled. “You cracked sooner than I expected. That is good. Maybe I will have time for another drink.”
“What do I have to do for you to let us out of here?” Chase knew the Russian would never release them—he’d just heard him say to Skrunch a minute earlier that he couldn’t let people go—but he had to buy time.
“Transfer ten million dollars to my account, and then you will be free,” the Russian said in his best innocent voice. “That is all you need to do, my friend.”
“You’re not my friend, but if you let my friends go—the two women and Lenny over there—I’ll transfer the money. But you have to let them go first.”
“You are confusing me, Mr. Malone.”
“One—release the two women and Lenny. Two—Transfer the ten million. Three—confirm the funds are in your account. Four—you let me go. We’re done.”
“No, dumb dog! It is not working like that. First, you give me the money. Then my friends and I will leave this pig sty. You will remain here, tied up, until someone finds you.”
“No deal.”
“Shoot funny Lenny!”
“Okay, wait!” Chase said as Lenny whimpered. “How about this? We do everything your way, but you don’t leave us tied up. We’ll stay here until you’ve been gone twenty minutes. If we leave earlier, you can shoot us.”
“I can shoot you now. I do not need permission,” the Russian said, firing his pistol. Lenny collapsed, screaming in pain. “Ahhh, sorry, I did not hit his face. Next time I will not miss.” He pointed his gun again.
“All right, stop, please,” Chase snapped. “I’ll take the deal.”
“That deal is no longer available,” the Russian said, lowering his gun and smirking. “Now it cost you eleven million.”
“What?”
“Best deal you can have.” He pointed his gun at Lenny, who was curled up on the floor holding his leg, moaning. “Count to three with me. One . . . ”
“Okay, eleven million,” Chase said. “Untie me. Bring me the laptop.”
“No, you call someone. You have them do it.”
“Then I’ll have to give them my access code, and as soon as I do, they’ll know that I’m in trouble, and it will start a GPS trace and alert my private security force, state and local police, and the FBI. All my accounts will instantly be frozen. That’s the way my system is set up.”
“I do not like you Mr. Malone, and I truly do not trust you.”
“The only way you can get this money is if I type the access keys in right now. I’m the only one with the authority.”
The Russian looked at one of the other men, who shrugged. “Okeydokey. Keep the guns on them. Anything funny, kill them all.”
Now what the hell do I do? Chase wondered. Still worried about Wen, hoping she’d decided to play opossum; that she, like Chase, was counting on the Russians being oblivious to her dangerous capabilities. He didn’t care about the money. Everything was to buy time.
One of the men cut the tape from Chase’s wrists and pushed him to the counter where the register had once been. Another shoved a laptop in front of him.
Chase looked at the computer. “This is the wrong one.”
“It came from your bag,” one of them argued.
“I know, but it doesn’t have the right access. I need the one he had. That’s where we transferred the money.”
It didn’t make sense, but Chase figured they might not argue with a tech genius about computer issues. Chase held his breath, hoping the bluff would work.
The first Russian nodded to the other, who went to get the second laptop, put it in front of Chase, and turned it on.
“Happy?”
“Yeah, thanks.” Knowing this could be the last minutes of their lives, Chase went to a banking site and keyed in some numbers. They watched him closely as his account information appeared on the screen.
“It will take a moment,” Chase said. “It requires three-part validation.”
“Kill the girl if it does not validate in thirty seconds,” the Russian said, setting a timer on his phone. “Twenty-nine, twenty-eight . . . ”
&
nbsp; Sixty-One
Chase knew how to signal Wen. He took a deep breath, then said in a loud, deliberate voice, “I feel like I’m about to jump off a dam!”
Wen instantly let out an excruciating scream that could have shattered glass.
Everybody turned their attention to her. “Shut her up,” the head Russian said.
In that same moment, Chase took the laptop and swung it with all his strength into the Russian’s face. Wen stood up, still taped in her chair, and managed to jam the metal backrest under the chin of the man closest to her. As she crushed his Adam’s apple, she continued pushing backwards with her momentum. She landed with the chair full force onto his chest as the man slammed into the floor, knocked out. Wen sprang back to her feet and charged another man. Just as he was about to fire at her, she turned sideways and leaped at him, smashing his head and sending him reeling. Before he could recover, Wen had him pinned against the wall. She produced a concealed shard of broken mirror and efficiently cut his throat without ever slowing her movement.
Wen continued moving, spinning out and heading back into another attacker. Lenny, leg still bleeding, somehow got up long enough to tackle a man running toward Chase, who was trying to get to Wen. Lenny, outmatched, was able to knock the man’s gun into the darkness before the Russian worked him over as if pounding a heavy bag hanging in a gym. He left Lenny back on the floor, curled in a fetal position, before resuming his charge toward Chase.
Bull flew in between them, tripping the ape and even getting a half-kick into his eye as he went down. It wasn’t enough to stop him for long. He staggered back into the fray, picking Bull up off the ground, planning to slam her down, before Wen suddenly appeared, spinning backward and thrusting javelin-style two of the metal chair legs into his stomach and face. The strike hit perfectly, impaling one of the steel legs into his mouth and out his jaw.
The successful assault left Wen tangled on the floor with the massive man screaming. Another Russian stepped in, pointing a gun at her. She rolled back, inflicting further agony onto her self-connected victim and kicked the incoming man hard in the face, wrapping her legs around his neck and twisting until his spinal cord snapped and he collapsed onto her. Wen, completely trapped under the two Russians, and still bound to the chair, tried to claw for the gun the second man had dropped. Bull, who had somehow freed herself, pulled the second attacker off Wen and helped her free herself from the chair, leaving it stuck into the first man.