Twelve

by Dustin Stevens

  “Everything is running smooth.”

  “Have we heard back from everyone yet?”

  “All one hundred are on the ground and arriving as we speak.”

  “And our twelve special guests?”

  Winston checked his watch. “They’re not due for another forty-five minutes. I figured we would allow everyone to get settled in and begin with appetizers before bringing on the main course.”

  “Hmm.”

  Five more minutes passed in silence as the line of cars dwindled before them.

  When the final cars reached the stairs the two men exited the balcony.

  “Shall we?” Rosner asked.

  “It’s showtime.”

  Twelve

  “Wow, look at you. I’m almost sad I’m going to miss this," Jenna said, leaning against the bathroom door frame. Her head rested against the wooden casing, a hand rested on her bulging stomach.

  Will smeared a bit of aftershave lotion onto his cheeks and turned to face her. “So you want to go? I’m sure Heath wouldn’t mind. In fact, I can promise he wouldn’t.”

  “I said almost.”

  A small smirk escaped Will as he turned from the mirror and walked to her. He wore pressed light tan slacks and a black dress shirt rolled at the sleeves.

  His skin was tanned an even golden hue, showing through the close cropped hair on the sides and back of his skull. His hair on top was a little longer, gelled and falling straight forward.

  “You think they’d believe I got sick?”

  Before Jenna could answer a sharp rasp could be heard on the front door.

  Jenna leaned in, pecked him on the lips and said, “Too late now anyway. Go get your award, my handsome hero.”

  “Gee thanks.”

  “What time should I expect you home?”

  “Shouldn’t be too late. I’ll have Heath give me a ride afterwards.”

  Will stuck his head into his daughter’s room for a moment. She sat on the floor arranging blocks in neat piles. “Bye Maggie!”

  An oversized smile burst forth amid a mop of blonde curls. “Byeeeee!”

  He returned a smile as he moved for the front door.

  Will pulled the front door open to find a black man with a clean shaven head standing before him. A driver’s cap was tucked under his right arm. “Mr. Honeycutt, I presume?”

  “Yes sir,” Will said and stuck his hand out.

  The driver’s eyes flashed down at the hand and back up to Will. “We should be going. They’ll be expecting us.”

  Without another word he turned on his heel and headed for the black Mercedes parked on the curb.

  “Well, alright then,” Will mumbled.

  He pulled the door shut behind him and followed the driver out to the car in silence.

  Thirteen

  Three identical black Mercedes sat on the edge of the airstrip as the Cessna touched down. No other planes were in sight.

  The plane rolled to a halt halfway down the airstrip, opening its cabin door right on the runway.

  Kelly hoisted the lone allowed carry-on up from the adjoining seat and stepped out into the waning afternoon sunshine. “Where the hell are we?”

  “Portland,” the pilot said. His gaze never left the runway in front of him.

  “I’ve flown to Portland. This isn’t Portland.”

  “Pearson Field. Private airstrip 18 miles from Portland International. We’ve rented it for the weekend.”

  “We?”

  “Please exit the plane now. Another flight is expected shortly.”

  Kelly stepped down the short collapsible column of stairs onto the clipped grass of the runway. Seconds after touching the ground, the plane accelerated down the strip and departed again.

  Kelly paused for a moment and watched the plane go before turning to the row of shiny black sedans. Two of the three cars sat motionless. The only signs of life were dark silhouettes behind the steering wheels. Any facial features were blocked out by tinted glass.

  Beside the third car stood a middle aged white man with a shaved head. His hands were clasped in front of him as he waited for Kelly to approach.

  “E-Class. Nice,” Kelly said, admiring the car while walking towards it.

  The driver remained silent as Kelly approached. At the last second he moved for the rear door and held it open, slamming it shut the moment Kelly was inside.

  “So I’m in Portland. Now where we going?”

  “Hillsboro,” the driver said.

  “Never heard of it.”

  Silence was the only response.

  Fourteen

  Minutes ticked by.

  Winston stood several feet back from the wooden banister at the top of the stairwell and waited. Below him, a hundred voices could be heard droning on in a low static murmur. Mixed in was the steady din of a cocktail band.

  Downstairs, the last guests made their way through the front door and were swallowed up by the crowd.

  Behind them, a guard in a black suit with a clean shaved head stepped through the front door and nodded up at Winston. A moment later, he disappeared outside and closed the door behind him.

  As soon as the heavy door was shut, the band fell silent. The room soon followed suit.

  Winston took one last deep breath and stepped forward. One hundred stares locked on him as he rested his right hand on the railing and used it to guide him to the top of the stairs.

  “Good evening! Thank you all so much for being here. It’s very good to see so many familiar faces and even better to see a few new ones.

  “We have gone to great lengths to ensure that this evening is everything we’ve all come to expect from our little gatherings.”

  Halfway down the stairs he stopped and peered at the crowd.

  “I won’t waste time on a lengthy speech beyond to say welcome. If there is anything we can do for you here tonight please let us know.”

  He clasped his hands in front of him and paused for effect.

  The room just stared back.

  “To reiterate the information you received in your villas, our other guests shall begin arriving in fifteen minutes. When they arrive, they will be introduced by name and location to the room. In keeping with tradition, no other information about them will be distributed.

  “After they arrive, you will have forty-five minutes to mingle with the twelve of them. Use the time however you see fit. Ask them anything you like. It is yours.

  “At the end of that time, we shall retire next door. Our guests will be sequestered and the evening’s festivities will begin. Are there any questions?”

  A short, round man with a ring of white hair around his head and a walrus mustache raised his hand. “Retire next door?”

  “Excellent question! Off to your left is a banquet room equipped with televisions covering every square inch of the grounds. It is there that we shall serve dinner and enjoy the events of the evening.”

  A tall man with long graying hair in the back of the room raised his hand. “And all other arrangements?”

  “Everything is in order, I assure you.”

  Winston surveyed the crowd a moment longer.

  No hands went up. Just a sea of gazes staring back at him.

  “Very well then. I wish you all a good evening and good luck!”

  Fifteen

  The pitch came in high, with a little backspin on it. It floated level on a plane, a bit inside and shoulder height.

  Heath shifted his weight hard at the ball, before pulling back a moment longer. He waited until it was just in front of his left shoulder before exploding forward, his hips rotating the top half of his body in a quick arc.

  The ball gave no resistance as his bat cut a path right through it.

  Two sounds, separated by just a couple of seconds, greeted Heath’s ears. The first was the loud ping of aluminum meeting rawhide. The second was his team cheering from the dugout.

  The instant it left the bat Heath knew it was going a long way.

 
He didn’t bother running. No need to.

  Instead he watched the ball continue climbing as it passed the outfield fence. He stood as his friend Serra, a nurse tech on the third rotation, scampered towards home and hopped on the plate with both feet.

  “Nice shot!”

  Smiling, Heath caught her as she jumped onto him in a full body hug. A moment later several sets of hands clapped him hard on the back.

  “Aren’t you going to run?” his teammate Britta asked, jogging in from the dugout. A light brown ponytail bounced in rhythm with each step she took.

  “Naw, no need. We already won.”

  “That’s my boy!” another teammate, James, said and raised his hand for a high five. “No need to do any more running than necessary!”

  A prodigious stomach proved this was more than just an expression.

  The rest of the team joined them at home plate. They congratulated Heath for the hit and Serra for the run.

  They shook hands with the other team.

  Heath talked to the other team captain for a minute, signed the scorecard for the umpire and headed straight for the bench. Other team members talked around him. The ones who were off for the evening opened beers. The ones who had to report to the hospital later despised them for it.

  Grabbing his gym bag from under the bench, Heath pulled his cleats off without untying them. He peeled his socks back as well and tossed them into his gym bag. Sliding a pair of sandals on to his feet, he headed straight for his car. “Hey, I’ll email you guys about next week’s game, alright?”

  A few “Yeah’s,” went up around him. James made a wisecrack about the fact they all saw each other seventy hours a week anyway.

  Standing in the parking lot, Heath dropped his gym shorts and pulled on a pair of black slacks. He sat on the edge of his trunk and tugged on dress shoes and socks.

  “So, those of us that are off tomorrow are thinking about hitting Boomers. You game?”

  Heath looked up to see Serra bouncing towards him from the opposite side of the car. “Can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  Heath held his leg up high enough for her to see the slacks and shoes.

  A cloud crossed her face. “Hot date?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Heath said with an eye roll. He peeled his sweaty t-shirt off over his head and used it to towel off.

  Serra watched him wipe the sweat from his lithe body and toss the shirt into the car. “It’s not that little tramp from ICU is it?”

  Heath laughed out loud. He took a clean white t-shirt from a hanger and pulled it on.

  “Well, is it?”

  “No, it’s not that little tramp from ICU.”

  “Oh, good. So where you taking her?”

  Heath pulled a sky blue dress shirt with a thin black pinstripe from another hanger and slid his arms into it. He began buttoning it from the bottom up. “Actually, it’s where he’s taking me.”

  “Come again?” Serra asked with eyes wide.

  Heath smiled and shoved the shirttail into his slacks. “My brother saved a bunch of children in an orphanage fire yesterday. They’re having a banquet for him and some others tonight.”

  Serra's face brightened in recognition. “Oh yeah, I heard about that! I saw the name, should have known it was one of yours.”

  Heath tossed his glove and bat into the backseat. He slammed the rear door shut and hitched open the driver’s door. “Yeah, it was one of ours. Will’s always been the good-looking, athletic brother. Now he’s the hero too.”

  Serra backed away from the car and leveled her eyes on him. “Oh, I dunno. You just hit the game winning homerun tonight. That makes you a hero too doesn’t it?”

  Heath laughed out loud again. “Oh, yeah. Big hero.”

  “Have fun tonight,” Serra said with a smile before disappearing in a twirl of blonde hair.

  Sixteen

  Manus paced the narrow aisle of the Gulfstream G250. The craft was capable of covering thirty-four hundred nautical miles on a single tank and had a cruising speed of Mach 0.80, but it felt like it was standing still.

  On either side of the aisle Briggs and Heller sat stooped over laptops. Large headphones wrapped across the tops of their heads as they stared at the screens before them. Two analysts sat behind each of them, studying printouts of maps covering the western part of the country.

  Lining the bench seats in the back half of the cabin were a half dozen ‘honorary agents.’

  The only condition Manus had made when accepting this assignment was that he and his team be allowed to work from the FBI Academy at Quantico instead of the Headquarters in northwest DC. It was a condition made for this very reason.

  The agents were in fact Marines, borrowed from the base that the academy shares grounds with. Classified as ‘tactical support,’ they were an element Manus hope he wouldn’t need but was glad he had.

  Damn glad.

  The first few times Manus paced the aisle way, a few of them tracked him expectantly. After a few trips, they realized he was pacing out of frustration, not anticipation. Now, all six faces remained forward as he walked by, peering straight ahead beneath jarhead haircuts.

  “Sir, I think I’ve got something,” Briggs announced.

  The headphones he was wearing distorted his volume level. His voice blasted through the silent cabin.

  Manus blinked himself back into the moment and strode quickly forward from the back. “Hit me.”

  As he passed, each Marine returned to tracking his progress.

  Briggs remained poised in front of the monitor. “It’s spotty right now. I think they’re using something to block the signal.”

  “Heller, this was your tracking device. Can you get a clear read?” Manus snapped.

  “Briggs, what are your coordinates?” Heller asked.

  “I...uh...don’t know.” He was distracted, screwing the headphones down tighter on to his ears.

  Heller slid across the aisle and jammed her headphone jack into the side of his computer. Behind them, nearly a dozen people leaned forward in anticipation.

  Manus tugged his Blackberry from his hip and switched it to speakerphone. He punched a single button and held it to his lips, waiting.

  A loud puff of static leaked out, followed by a break.

  “This is your co-pilot, go ahead.”

  “Wallace, this is Manus. Stand by for a heading.”

  “Roger that, standing by.”

  Silence again filled the cabin. The Marines exchanged furtive glances.

  “Come on, come on, come on,” Manus muttered.

  “They’re jamming it,” Heller said.

  “Can you get anything?” Manus asked.

  “They can’t run the jammer while a plane is landing or departing. The pilot would be flying blind," Briggs said.

  “Meaning?”

  “That’s probably how the first signal got through," Heller finished. "They were landing.”

  “Was it enough to get a read?”

  “I’m working on it," Briggs said.

  “Work faster!” Manus yelled.

  “I can give you a rough heading. Going to need a few minutes to pinpoint it.”

  “Give me anything you've got right now!”

  Briggs ran his finger down the left edge of his screen. “Looks live we’ve got 45º48’ north and 118º28’ west.”

  “What?” Manus bawled. “In English!”

  The other analysts rifled through stacks of maps. A young man with a bony face and red hair said, “Oregon, sir.”

  The phone came up to Manus’ lips. “Wallace, we’ve got a direction.”

  “Go when ready, sir.”

  “Oregon. We’ll get you an exact site shortly.”

  “Roger that.”

  The phone was still in place when Heller said, “We’ve got another signal!”

  Manus leaned in hard over them. “Would have to be Portland. What the hell else is there?”

  “We have got 45°31′12″ north and 122°40′55″ west
!” Briggs announced.

  Manus swung his head from the laptop to the analyst. “Elf boy, where is that?”

  The edges of the analyst’s ears grew red as he scanned the map for the coordinates. “Portland, sir.”

  Manus relayed the information on to Wallace.

  Briggs and Heller removed the headphones and turned to Manus. He stood and scanned the cabin. “Alright folks, we’re headed to Portland.”

  “Not necessarily,” Heller said behind him.

  Manus started to speak, but stopped short and turned to face her. “Come again?”

  “We only got one signal that time too. Either means Kelly deplaned and one snuck through before they were able to jam again...”

  “Or it means they’re already airborne somewhere else,” Manus finished.

  

  Seventeen

  It began just minutes later.

  The heavy oak door swung forth without so much as the slightest sound. Every head in the great hall turned as it opened.

  A man of medium height in a black suit walked forth, his shaved head reflecting light. “Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce Mr. Katsu Okahato from Seika, Japan.”

  His voice, flat and lifeless, was swallowed up by the great room. A moment later, he was as well.

  Through the door walked a Japanese man standing just under five and a half feet tall. His rust colored hair was pulled into a tall Mohawk that gave him an extra four inches.

  He walked through the door with a cocksure smile on his face. Without warning, he snapped two quick jabs into the air followed by a lightning quick spinning heel kick.

  In the back of the room, Winston leaned towards Rosner. "Karate.”

  “Mhmm.”

  Rosner didn’t look up as he began wiping his glasses again.

  Once Katsu moved from the doorway, another driver in a plain black suit and shaved head took his place. “Allow me to introduce Kofi Jaxon from Malabar, Trinidad and Tobago.”

  Behind him walked in a man with dark black skin and long black dreadlocks. Beads were tied into the ends of the locks and jangled as he walked. He paused in the doorway and surveyed the room for a moment.