by C. R. Daems
I paused to let everyone consider the potential problem. “And although I’m picking on C-agent Gregory, it’s not personal. Ninety percent of you are like C-agent Gregory in that you aren’t familiar with the Coaca Virus and wouldn’t know what to do. Your actions might not be the same but nevertheless potentially dangerous. So, what should you do? First, stay at least four meters away from the individual. Try not to shoot the individual but if you must, try to find a room or isolated area and be aware of where your bullets will travel. Maybe we should issue stun guns or at least have them in easy to access places. Next, do not touch the individual. Then call Mercy Hospital and tell them you have a Coaca Virus victim. And then keep everybody away from the individual and the area you believe infected by the individual or your bullet’s path. Finally, stay in the area to direct traffic and to be there when the medical decontamination team from the hospital arrives.”
For the rest of the day, I ran exercises to demonstrate what to do and not to do.
* * *
“That was great, Anna,” Seth said back in the office with Ramon and Justin, who were responsible for the c-agents. “I doubt any of us would have handled an incident with an infected individual without creating a major problem. Our basic c-agent training runs contrary to handling a person with the Coaca Virus.”
“I liked your idea of having stun guns available at convenient locations.” Justin laughed. “It would also be beneficial if we shot someone who we thought had the virus and they didn’t.”
“In the ideal, stun the individual, call Mercy Hospital, and keep people away from the body and the area he or she used to gain entry,” Seth said.
“Perfect.” I smiled. It had been a good day and I felt the training had gone well and may prevent a disaster if I wasn’t around when a person with the virus entered the building.
* * *
I should be doing something, but what? It was unlikely the four assassins would talk and even if they did, how much would they know? One thing was for certain, the UnCab would like me dead before the Committee ended this session. Actually, they could kill the right person on any of the two delegations I had identified, which would cause them to be returned home where I was sure the UnCab already knew who the replacement would be. Or they could kill any one of the three Liberal delegates from Oasis and obtain an immediate majority, except I had them and the other Liberals from New Zheng and Shadows Rest sequestered in their delegation’s area and extra c-agents guarding them since that would be easier than sending assassins to the systems. Thinking about my limited and their seemingly infinite options gave me a headache that felt like my head had an exploding volcano inside. I decided to call it a day when my earbud came to life.
“Director, this is C-agent Morgan. I’m in the Committee auditorium. I think I found an individual with the Coaca Virus hiding here. He has a gun.”
“Try not to shoot him. I’m on my way,” I said as I lunged to my feet and began running out the door and down the hallway with my two security guards following. When I reached the eight-foot door I placed my hand against the metal plate and the lock clicked open. As I opened the door, I vaguely wondered how the c-agent and the unauthorized individual had entered the secure area. The only other entrance was via the underground monorail tram accessible only through the delegations’ areas.
I entered and heard the door shut behind me as I scanned the area. The room had a three-story dome with a stained-glass replica of the UAS seal. Storm clouds were currently blocking the sun and only a dim gray light filtered through the stained-glass dome. As clouds drifted past, the stained-glass produced alternating colored shadows which gave the room a feeling of death creeping in and out of the booths. The top level, L0, had a walkway for access to the Committee cameras and communications booths, which were spaced equidistant around the room and were separated by small one-meter walls. The next lower level walkway, Level 1, gave access to the delegations’ booths, which were also separated by one-meter walls. The next lower level, Level 2, provided access to the delegates’ support staff and advisors, who were located to provide easy access to ground level, Level 3, containing a large fifteen-sided wooden conference table where the senior systems’ delegates sat. All around the room large monitors hung for easy viewing from any angle.
As my eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness, I saw someone standing in the center of the area where the conference table sat. He appeared to be holding a light directed at the floor where something was lying. If the something lying on the ground had the Coaca Virus, he was standing far too close, I thought. Red hissed as his head emerged from my blouse and the wrongness of the situation struck home: a c-agent inside a secure room, standing too close to a potential Coaca Virus victim, no lights on…
Just then I heard the crack of a Sig Sauer handgun behind me and a body slammed into me, sending me right into the first Committee’s support booth on Level 0. The push sent me sprawling to my knees as a second shot rang out. I didn’t bother looking but rather scrambled on my hands and knees under a table loaded with machines and computers. I crawled past equipment sitting on the floor and chairs, which combined with the lack of light to shield me from view. A third, four, and fifth shot shattered cloth and padding from two of the chairs positioned in front of the table I was under. A sixth shot hit the metal of the next chair and spun the chair crashing into the table and the adjacent chair, leaving me exposed for a brief second. I continued to scramble dog-like under an adjacent table. The seventh shot hit a metal cabinet containing communication equipment, causing a flash of light and debris to hit my side and legs.
Although I couldn’t help making noise, I dared not stop crawling. As I neared the end of the table, I had several bad choices: stop and draw my weapon, leaving me stationary and a fair target even though partially hidden by chairs and equipment, make a dash out of this booth into the empty space between booths, and then over the short wall into the next booth, making me totally exposed for several seconds, or over the wall onto the lower walkway, Level 1, and then into one of the delegations’ booths, leaving me exposed as I slid over the wall and maybe visible to the man on the main level, Level 3, some twenty meters below.
I decided my best bad choice was the wall behind the table to the lower walkway, Level 1, as it was partially shielded by the table, equipment, and chairs, and the lack of lights would make me a moving shadow. I kicked the last chair away from the table and heard three rapid shots, causing one chair to spin out of the booth. Simultaneously, I crawled out from under the back of the table, took two steps back the way I had come, and dove head first over the wall. A second later two shots hit the booth’s wall behind me. Eleven shots, which should mean the shooter’s Sig Sauer would be empty. I heard the clip being ejected and another slammed in but I didn’t have a chance to draw my weapon as the man on the lower level began firing and pieces of the wall only centimeters from me exploded.
Only being on my stomach saved me. I rolled over several times and into one of the delegations’ booths and the protection of the small wall enclosing the booth. There I managed to draw my weapon as I crawled behind the delegations’ five-centimeter-thick wooden table which was long enough to accommodate five padded leather chairs. I had just made it when a full magazine of 9 mm bullets ripped through the chair, shedding them, the table, and the wall facing the lower level which enclosed the booth. The only thing that saved me was luck and the fact he was shooting blind—the darkness, chairs, and equipment made it impossible to see me as I wasn’t moving.
It occurred to me that he might be shooting to freeze me in place while his partner advanced toward me. When I heard him eject his empty clip, I rose to my knees and looked over the wall, my Sig Sauer ready. As I had surmised, a shadow was running toward the booth. I fired three shots and was rewarded with a yelp of pain as I ducked back down and the man above me fired off three shots.
“Corey, you all right?” a gruff voice shouted.
“I’ll live,” came a voice filled with pa
in and anger. “Kill the bitch and let’s get out of here. I can keep her from leaving the booth.”
Silence followed as we each listened for some noise to betray the other’s position. Again, I debated my choices: my present position hid me from view but the chairs were no protection from bullets. The wall protected me from the man on the lower level but meant I couldn’t retreat over it without exposing myself, and attempting to crawl to the next delegation’s booth would expose me to the man on the higher level. I could release Red and I had no doubt he would find the man and strike him, but the man might kill Red before he died, which would be my death as well.
But I had to do something. Doing nothing was not an option. Waiting would not help as this room was soundproof and the electronics would make my smartphone and intercom useless. And eventually they would get close enough to get a better view. A partial shadow would be enough. They would have an unobstructed shooting view whereas I had chairs blocking my view. It was my move as they could afford to wait.
I slowly inched my jacket off one arm then the other, careful not to make any sound or quick movement that might betray my position—they knew my general location. Then I rotated enough to reach the first chair and tied my jacket’s arm around one leg. Then, moving like a wounded snail, I began working my way toward the other end of the table. While I moved I could hear the man on the level above me moving toward the booth. I slowly rose to my knees and then raised one leg so my foot was on the ground.
Now or never, I thought as I jerked the sleeve of my jacket I was holding, which caused the further chair to slide several centimeters. As it did, the man on the level above me rose up and began firing. The chair was shredded and chunks of cement flew from the wall not a meter from me. I rose in a crouch, located the flash of the man’s weapon and his shadow above the upper wall, and fired three shots. The shadow spun backward out of sight with a shriek of pain, and I jumped the wall into the next delegation’s booth and then into the next.
“Janis! Did you get her?” the voice called from the man on the lower level, Level 2.
“I don’t think so. But the bitch got me in the shoulder and arm,” came the voice of the man on level Level 0 above me.
I wondered whether that was good or bad. Wounded men could be more dangerous than unwounded men. Wounded men couldn’t return to work as they would be identified as the killers, so they had nothing to lose and therefore would be more reckless in their attack. In fact, they may be willing to die for the satisfaction of killing me. All it took was one lucky shot.
I slid to the corner, where I had a view both down to the lower levels and up to where I had shot the other man. Nothing moved.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
A Deal too Good to Be True
The deal had sounded too good to be true. He had met this middle-aged woman, Maria, in a bar and one thing had led to another and they had wound up in bed. Now that he looked back on the incident, she knew a lot about him, likes and dislikes, the places he frequented, and recent troubles. His wife of ten years had left him after his multiple affairs and took his two boys with her, vowing he would never get custody or even visiting rights. That was eight months ago. At first, he didn’t mind. He was free to enjoy himself without having to make up excuses. He had gone wild and it had been fun until he realized the debt he had accumulated. He had bought a new car, clothes, and partied with beautiful, talented, and expensive women. Maria had also been expensive; she liked fine dining and high-class clubs. He realized he was on the verge of bankruptcy and losing his job when Maria offered him a way out.
“How’s your new director working out, Janis?” she asked one night after a satisfying evening of rough sex.
“She’s not like the others. She’s sticking her nose into everything and has the senior agents following her like she was that Irish Saint Patrick and them snakes.” He spat at the thought. He didn’t care for Colonel Ballard or Harris. They were following that…girl like they had rings in their noses.
“I’ve a friend who would pay good money to know what she’s doing. She got his daughter killed and he’d like to see her fired,” Maria said, while stroking his chest.
“Just for information?” he asked, knowing he could use the money.
“Just for information. He’s hoping he will find something he can use against her.”
“What information and what would it be worth?” he asked, not sure if it would be worth the risk. The next night, Maria told him he could get a thousand credits a week if he could give her timely updates on when Paulus was leaving the building. He had agreed—big credits with little risk.
* * *
“Maria, they tried to kill her!” he shouted when he next saw her. “I’d be an accessory to murder!”
“True, Janis. But the money is very good and the risk is almost nonexistent,” she had replied.
“I want out,” he said, knowing subconsciously that he had swallowed the hook, line, and sinker, and he was as good as filleted and cooked.
“It a good deal, Janis, and better than the alternatives,” she whispered. Her tone was menacing, her face and demeanor suddenly deadly. “My friends don’t like people who renege on their deals. Relax, the rewards far outweigh the risks.”
That had been true at the time. But several weeks later after another failed attempt on Director Paulus’s life, Maria had appeared.
“Janis, I’m afraid you are going to have to kill the Director,” Maria said and she wasn’t smiling. “Get your friend Corey to help.”
“I can’t…I won’t,” Janis blurted, his stomach twisting in raw fear. What did they expect? He’d just walk up to her and shoot her? She was guarded day and night by c-agents…his friends and comrades. “That’s not what I signed up for.”
“That’s true,” she said, looking amused. “I do empathize with your situation and agree the risk is not proportional with the reward. Unfortunately, my friends insist.” She held a finger to her lips before Janis could speak. “And they are willing to make the reward worth the increased risk. They are willing to give you and a partner each one million credits to kill her.”
Janis’s jaw dropped open and then moved but no coherent sound emerged. One million credits would buy him a new life on some planet even if they discovered he killed her, and if he could convince Corey to help…
* * *
Corey didn’t need convincing. He had lived on the edge all his life, and as it turned out, he had been part of the marines-for-hire organization and had killed as part of the group. He hadn’t been caught because he had resigned prior to the organization being closed down. So Corey had arranged to be assigned to Paulus’s security and to get access to the Committee meeting room. It all seemed so easy—an emergency call to Paulus to go to the Committee meeting room, knock out the second security guard, kill Paulus, and leave a million credits richer. And Maria promised new identifications and a spacecraft to transport them to Oasis.
But the clever plan had shit raining all over it. He and Corey had been shot and needed medical attention, and the bitch Paulus was loose somewhere in the room with a gun she knew how to shoot as well as them. They had no choice. They had to kill Paulus or die trying.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Now or Never
“Corey!” the man on the lower level shouted. “It’s all or nothing.”
Couldn’t blame them, I mused. They were wounded, probably bleeding, so they couldn’t wait forever, while I could. I would be missed and a search would soon begin. The Committee meeting room would be the last place to be searched but it would be searched eventually. I slowly made my way to the other end of the booth, found a place where the shadows were the darkest, and slithered over the wall like a snake into the next booth. Ignoring the assassins, I worked my way halfway around the room and up to the top level. There I found a location behind a wall where the shadows were the darkest and where I could see anyone approaching and waited. I had just settled in when I heard multiple gunshots and saw the muzzl
e flashes. From the look of it, they had apparently crept up on the delegation booth I had been in, and on some signal simultaneously stood and began firing. A reasonably good tactic if I had been there.
“She’s not here!” Corey screamed. “The fucking bitch has disappeared!” They were both standing as if to tempt me to fire so they would know where I was or thinking I had somehow left the room.
I almost laughed, as I wondered what they would do next. They couldn’t leave, but time was certainly running out. I shouldn’t have been surprised by what they did next. Although suicidal, it was the most logical response—they began moving around the walkways toward the only direction I could have gone. The man who had been on the lower level limped along the walkway between the delegations’ booths and the Committee conference table while the other man walked crouched on the walkway between the delegations’ booths and the communications booths. The logic wasn’t bad considering they were running out of time—a search or bleeding to death. That way they hoped to get lucky and catch me hiding, surprise me, or one of them would be able to shoot me when I was shooting the other one. Or maybe they thought they were as good as dead and hoped to take me with them.