by C. G. Cooper
Reaching the end of the hallway, the butler opened a heavy oak door. He held it for the Congressman who stepped in alone.
“Ah, here he is!” Zimmer recognized Ishi’s voice in the dimly lit room. He looked around and found himself in an elegantly appointed dining room. A group of older Asian gentlemen were gathered near a large plate-glass window.
Brandon put on his best politician smile and stepped into the gloom. “Hey, Ishi.”
The men in the corner stopped talking and stared at the freshman Congressman from Massachusetts. Who are these guys? They were giving him the creeps with the way they looked at him.
“Congressman Zimmer, please let me introduce you to my father and some of his associates,” Ishi said loud enough for the room to hear.
Brandon followed Ishi to the group. He went to glance at the large window, but the light beyond flicked off as if on command.
“Father, this is my good friend Congressman Zimmer.”
Kazuo Nakamura stepped forward and shook Zimmer’s hand. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Congressman. My son has told me so much about you.” He smiled almost conspiratorially.
“Please, Mr. Nakamura, call me Brandon.”
“Very well.” He turned to his associates. “I won’t bother to tell you all their names, but let me introduce you. These men are my closest friends. They are all captains of industry and leaders of Japan. We trace our family roots back to the days of the samurai, through the rise of our Empire during the Second World War, and now Japan’s rebuilding. Together we’ve known both loss and success. In short, they are as close as family.”
“It’s very nice to meet you all,” Brandon said respectfully.
“Do you enjoy hand-to-hand combat, Brandon?” asked Ishi’s father.
“I’ve watched a little Mixed Martial Arts on television. It’s okay,” Brandon answered.
Kazuo Nakamura chuckled. “Ah yes. Your country calls it MMA. Well, what we have tonight is MUCH more exciting than your MMA. Can Ishi get you something to drink, Brandon?”
“Uh, sure.”
Congressman Zimmer’s mind swirled. He had a sinking feeling about the night’s festivities.
+++
A buzz sounded and the door to MSgt Trent’s cell opened. No one entered.
“Follow the hallway to the left and enter the weapons room,” the voice overhead ordered.
“Sure would be nice if you said please,” Trent shot back. When he didn’t get a response he entered the illuminated hallway. He walked slowly toward the weapons room. At set intervals he could now see other cell doors and video cameras installed above. Trent waved to the cameras and kept walking.
Reaching the only other open door, he peeked in. Inside was an impressive array of weapons displayed in stainless steel racks. Not the typical weapons Trent was used to seeing in armories. There were no firearms. All types of swords, spears, and tridents waited on one side of the space. The other side housed shields of varying sizes, along with nets. There were two of everything. Trent whistled quietly and looked up at the closest camera.
“Impressive shit you have here, fellas.”
“You have five minutes to arm. Take your weapons of choice and make your way to the door at the other side of the room,” the voice ordered.
Trent surveyed the racks. Being a lead instructor at SSI, he had experience with a multitude of arms. That included weapons of opportunity; everything from lead pipes to broken beer bottles. He finally found what he wanted. Ignoring the larger items, he picked up two identical blades. Fuck it. If I’m going out, I’m going down swinging with a couple KA-BARs, baby. The former Marine Master Sergeant took an overhand grip on both.
He cracked his neck to both sides, shook the tension out of his arms and legs, walked to the opposite end of the room and waited.
+++
Congressman Zimmer tried to be cordial as he mingled with the group of successful Japanese elders. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it felt like they were subtly trying get his take on the American economy. There were little comments like: “Would you say the dollar is more favorable than the Euro?” “What will new housing starts be next quarter?” “Will Congress re-examine its stance on internet gaming?”
Taken separately and outside the current situation, they might be innocent questions. He’d heard them all before. And yet, he sensed a well-concealed urgency in their tone. What the hell were they after?
These were men of substance. All seemed to have a fierce determination lying beneath their passive facial expressions.
A quiet gong rang from some unseen corner.
“Gentlemen, please direct your attention to the arena. Our festivities are about to begin,” the white-haired butler announced.
Congressman Zimmer followed the excitedly murmuring crowd to the large window. As he found a spot, the area beyond the glass slowly illuminated. The arena was about one floor below their vantage point. It looked like a smaller version of the gladiatorial rings he’d seen in Italy. The floor was even covered in sand. What the hell is this? Zimmer thought.
Kazuo Nakamura made his way over to Brandon, with Ishi in tow. He addressed Zimmer in a measured tone.
“What you are about to see is usually reserved for our private enjoyment. You see we were all warriors in our past lives. Now we must feel the sting of a blade or the blunt side of a shield vicariously through others. This facility was built especially for such events. We felt that in your current…situation…it might be useful to have you enjoy this as well.”
Nakamura turned to the butler and nodded. The servant pressed a small button on the wall and a door in the arena opened. Zimmer watched as a huge man entered the small arena. From his vantage point, Brandon could swear the man stood almost eight feet tall. He was covered head-to-toe in tattoos. In his right arm, he carried an enormous spiked club over his shoulder. Turning to the viewing window, the behemoth bowed.
His host explained, “The warrior you see below is a very special part of my family. Years ago, we established a sort of an orphanage on the island of Samoa. We took very good care of the orphans. The children were rarely placed with new families and most became employees within our companies as they aged. Some, like this man, are recognized for their fighting prowess. We start them in combat training from the age of seven. This one, he calls himself Poktoo, has an amazing proficiency for killing. He has never been bested. What do you think of my Poktoo, Brandon?”
“He’s very, uh, large,” Brandon answered hesitantly. He wanted nothing to do with the huge fighter.
Nakamura laughed aloud. “Indeed he is, Brandon. Now would you like to see our other fighter?”
“Sure, I guess.”
Nakamura nodded again to the butler who pressed another button. The door opposite Poktoo slid open and another warrior exited. This dark-skinned man looked large as well, but not even close to the enormity of the first fighter. Zimmer looked closer and inhaled quickly. Holy crap! That’s Trent!
“As you now see, Brandon, that is your friend William Trent. Not only did we want you to be entertained…” Nakamura paused for effect, “…we also wanted this to be a lesson of what can happen if our instructions are not followed in the future.”
Congressman Zimmer could only watch in horror as Trent paced into the center of the sandy arena and prepared for battle.
+++
The door to the arena slid open and Trent peered in. So now I’m a damned gladiator. The boys at home will never believe this one.
He stepped into the ring and tested the sand. It wasn’t very deep but it would impede quick movement. Trent looked across the arena at his opponent. That’s one big dude. Maybe I should’ve brought more than my KA-BARs.
The huge tattooed guy was looking up at the big window waiting for something. I guess that’s our audience. I wonder when they’re gonna tell us to… Trent couldn’t even finish his thought as a loud GONG sounded and the monster charged.
+++
“Hey, Cal, I
’ve got something!” Neil yelled into the next room.
Cal sprang up from his laptop and ran into the living room.
“What’s up?”
“After I got into the Ichiban system, I started trying to pinpoint anything that might help us. I still can’t get into their super secure stuff, but I was able to hack into their logistics software.”
“How does that help us?”
“Well, their logistics package deals with everything from ordering toilet paper to tasking employees.”
“Come on, Neil. Get to the point.”
“Sorry. Okay, so one of the things they track is their transportation system. Apparently they have a fleet of automobiles ranging from delivery trucks to stretch limos. They’d built this thing so that when an order goes into the system, the schedule is automatically synced with the smart phone of the first available driver.”
“How again does this help us?”
“In order to complete the request, the input must include a start and finish destination. I’m looking at today’s requests and there’ve been one hundred and thirty-two. Sixteen of those requests start at different locations but end up at the same destination.”
Cal’s impatience was visibly growing.
“We don’t have time for this, Neil. How does that help me find our guys?”
“I’m almost there. The destination of these sixteen requests is at this location, about twenty miles outside of Las Vegas.” Neil pointed to a map on one of his computer screens. “I’m not finding any hotels or amenities in the general vicinity. The only thing public records show is some industrial property owned by a subsidiary of Ichiban Gaming, LLC.”
“You sure about this?”
“I mean, I can’t confirm that our boys are there, but it seems like a good place to start.”
Cal thought for a minute. If they went into some industrial complex, guns blazing, the local police would be all over them.
“How long would it take us to drive there?” Cal asked.
“It’s almost 8:00pm so I’d say…thirty minutes, forty max.”
“Okay. Message the contingency team and tell them to get in their vehicles and meet me in the parking garage in five minutes. I’ll grab Brian and take him with me.”
“You want me to come?” Neil asked hopefully.
“No. I’ll need you here to help coordinate and break everything down if this thing goes to shit. Remember what we discussed, priority goes to keeping SSI out of the papers,” instructed Cal.
He didn’t wait for Neil’s response. Running to the bedroom, he grabbed his .45 with three extra magazines and stowed them in his sport coat. Grabbing his keys off the side table, he bolted for the door.
+++
He’d already briefed his four team leaders. In addition to Cal and Brian, there were sixteen men waiting to step off. They piled back into their four vehicles, a mixed bag of standard rentals armed with silenced weapons and a variety of breaching equipment.
“How sure is Neil that this is the place?” Brian asked Cal.
“I’d say around ninety percent. It’s really all we have so we’ve gotta go.”
Cal started the car and pulled out of the parking spot. Every vehicle had the target address programmed into a GPS. They would each take slightly different routes. No need to be a bigger target than necessary.
They pulled onto Las Vegas Boulevard. The streets were jammed with revelers. It was imperative that they get off the main drag quickly. Cal’s small strike force could be stuck for an hour on the packed thoroughfare if they weren’t careful.
+++
The politician handed his boarding pass to the airline attendant. It would be a nice flight out to Las Vegas. First class was always comfortable. The flight would probably be the last he’d ever take on a commercial airliner. Next stop: Air Force One.
+++
The huge Samoan bellowed and swung a wide sweeping blow at Trent’s head. Willy barely had time to duck and roll to the side. This guy is fast. Trent thought.
His opponent completed the swing with a graceful 360 degree spin. Must be some island fighting style.
Poktoo growled and looked at Trent. I’ll bet he’s used to killing dudes with the first swing.
The trick with big boys was to either take out their legs or take them out from afar. He didn’t have a gun so he’d have to take it close. Unless…
Trent rushed Poktoo with some tentative downward stabs at the man’s midsection. He needed to get the man off-balance. Willy roared as he tried to sweep his enemy’s left leg. Their shins connected and…nothing. The Marine looked up in shock as the tattooed devil grinned down. Before Trent could react, the deadly club came up, butt end first, and slammed him in the chin.
Willy flew back, the darkness threatening to overtaken him. He heard muted cheers from the observation deck as he struggled to his feet.
He stumbled back and shook away the stars. Okay, shithead. No more games.
Poktoo had taken the time during Trent’s stumble to throw his arms up in a victorious roar. As he looked back down at Trent, the former Marine cocked the KA-BAR in his right hand and stepped into a powerful throw. Willy knew from experience that the KA-BAR wasn’t the most balanced throwing knife. As luck would have it, he’d recently won a few bucks off former Delta guys at SSI. They’d bragged about their hot shit knife throwing skills. They used some little blades that were about as big as a man’s hand. Being a Marine and sick of their bragging, Trent insisted on using a KA-BAR. After hours of practice, he’d perfected his throws with the larger blade. He could hit the bull’s-eye on a log target fifteen yards away. Poktoo was maybe five yards from him.
The giant Samoan barely had time to register surprise as the razor sharp blade entered his open mouth and entered his brain stem. His eyes opened wide as he crumpled to the floor.
“One shot, one kill, motherfucker. Oorah,” Trent mumbled.
He turned around and yelled at the observation window. “You got another one, assholes?!”
The robotic voice returned. “Congratulations, champion. Drop your weapon and proceed to the open door.”
Trent looked toward the door that was even now sliding open. He decided enough was enough. Switching the remaining KA-BAR from his left to right hand, Willy threw the weapon at the window. He heard a muffled yell as the blade bounced harmlessly off the reinforced glass.
Instead of further instruction from the speaker, Trent heard a beep on his large collar. For the second time that day, he collapsed unconscious as an electric charge mercilessly racked his body.
+++
As the KA-BAR entered his champion’s mouth, Kazuo Nakamura screamed in rage. “NO!!”
Zimmer’s concern for Trent was replaced with barely concealed exultation. Considering the circumstances, it seemed like such a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
“Order that man to his cell now!” Nakamura screamed.
The invisible voice did as instructed. That was when Trent decided to throw his knife at the spectators. Brandon almost laughed out loud as, collectively, the men all ducked.
There were angry shouts as they directed their ire at Kazuo Nakamura. Zimmer couldn’t understand anything they said, but he got the sense that they were like a crowd who’d paid good money for a prize fight and then watched a ten second knockout.
Nakamura and his son tried to calm the heated guests. Soon they were ushered out of the observation room and into waiting vehicles by apologetic staff. Zimmer followed behind and watched. As the powerful men were loaded into their respective vehicles, a small troop of beautiful women exited the industrial building and filed in with them. Doors closed and the limos departed. What the…?
“Brandon.”
Zimmer turned around and found Ishi waiting next to a Cadillac Escalade. “It’s time to head back to the hotel. I’ll drive.”
Congressman Zimmer nodded and moved to get in. He stepped up to Ishi. “What are you going to do with Trent?”
“H
e’ll stay alive as long as he’s winning.”
Zimmer nodded and looked down at his shoes. Without thinking, he cocked his right arm and slugged Ishi in the temple. His former friend collapsed to the ground. Zimmer shook the tingling out of his hand and waited to see if Ishi would get up. He didn’t.
I’ve gotta get Trent. With a quick glance around, Congressman Brandon Zimmer ran for the building’s open door. He didn’t have a plan, but he couldn’t leave the Marine behind.
Chapter 19
Outskirts of Las Vegas, Nevada
8:25pm, September 17th
“We’re about two minutes out,” Cal announced as he looked at his watch. He felt a sense of dread that they might be too late. He never should have let Zimmer and Trent out of his sight. Maybe if he’d put some kind of tracking device on them, then just maybe… No. He couldn’t start thinking that way. Trent was a big boy and more than capable of handling the assignment. They’d all underestimated the threat.
Cal pulled up to the rendezvous point. It was in a small depression just off the narrow two-lane highway. One of the other teams was already there and had spread into a hasty security perimeter. The hiding spot was about two hundred yards from the target building. The plan was to get eyes on it, see if they could detect the presence of their two missing members, and then act accordingly.
The operation had to be fast. No one wanted the local authorities in the picture. SSI couldn’t afford the publicity.
“Any updates?” Cal asked the team leader on station. He was a small Hispanic with a long beard that he liked to braid into dual strands. Everyone called him Gaucho, sort of a Spanish version of a cowboy. The man was a former Delta operator and carefully reckless, hence the nickname.
“We got here about five minutes ago. Saw ten to fifteen stretch limos buggin’ out from the other side of the building. Couldn’t make out Top in the crowd.”