Twelve

by Dustin Stevens

  A smirk lifted the corner of his mouth before he drifted off to the right.

  Another driver filed in behind him. “Good evening. May I introduce Miss Elin Li from Pusan, South Korea.”

  The man, as non-descript as the others, stepped aside as a lithe Korean woman took his place. Her skin was creamy white and her long legs extended forth from a brightly colored hanbok dress.

  She didn’t bother to pause at the door. Instead, she walked straight in and took a champagne flute from a waiter.

  A moment later, it was gone.

  Winston watched as a small sneer pulled the upper lip back over Okahato’s teeth. Across the room, Jaxon smirked again. “You think those two have any idea what she’s capable of?”

  “None,” Rosner replied.

  Eighteen

  Every eye in the room tracked Li as she sat the flute back on the tray and walked to the next waiter. In a flash, she engulfed another.

  Nobody noticed the next driver appear in the doorway. It wasn’t until his voice rang out that every head turned forward. “Ladies and gentlemen, hailing from Hilo, Hawaii, Kekoa Lani.”

  The driver stepped aside as a thick Hawaiian man literally filled the doorway behind him. He stood only five feet eight inches tall, but was built like a whiskey barrel.

  His chest and stomach rolled outward in one booming half arc. Thick arms were screwed into the side of his body. A bare golden head gleamed, drawing attention to a thick set of scars thatched across his scalp.

  “Did you read the story behind those?” Rosner asked. A high level of indifference filled his voice.

  Winston smirked. “Self-inflicted, right?”

  “Uses them as a record of his conquests.”

  “You have to respect anybody that uses scars on their head like decals on a football helmet.”

  “Something like that.”

  Kekoa stamped forward from the doorway as an Asian driver soon replaced him. “From Bexley, England, Tommy Toulson!”

  The driver stepped aside while a wiry man filed in behind him. He wore jeans with a v-neck t-shirt and his short dark hair was pulled into a peak on his head.

  On his left forearm was a tattoo for the Tottenham Spurs football club. On his right, a Union Jack. Without prompting he walked forward and said, “If you blokes want to make a few quid, bet on me.”

  With that, he paced forward and disappeared into the crowd.

  “Well, you’ve got to admire his moxy,” Winston said aloud.

  “He’s earned it.”

  “True. Best bare knuckler fighter in Europe. Sure doesn’t look like much though.”

  “Let’s hope his competition thinks the same way. Could make for good theater.”

  Winston slid his gaze to Rosner. He didn’t try to hide the disdain on his face.

  The front door swung open again and another driver stepped through. Like the others, he was dressed in a black suit and his head was shorn clean. “Good evening. It is my pleasure to introduce Jun Xu from Hong Kong.”

  The driver stepped aside as a Chinese man paced in behind him. He stepped forward and bowed politely to the room.

  In a flash he launched into a choreographed sequence of kung fu movements. He began with several jabs, followed by a series of kicks. With each kick, his leg rose several inches above his head.

  After about fifteen seconds, he stopped and bowed again.

  Around the room several of the guests gestured with their champagne glasses. A few even leaned in close to one another and commented in hushed tones.

  Nineteen

  “Guests, please allow me the honor of introducing Miss Aello Demir from Troy, Turkey.”

  The room shifted focus from the aerial display of Xu to the newest competitor to enter the room. She did not disappoint.

  Through the door walked a woman standing six feet tall, with long blonde hair and smooth caramel skin. She wore a black halter dress with a slit clear to her hip that pulled aside as she walked.

  With over forty inches of long brown leg off-set by lace stockings that stopped mid thigh, she gave a kiss to the crowd before stepping forward.

  A few low whistles went up as she walked through. Several jaws fell slack.

  Some of the other invitees stood and watched with a mix of amusement and astonishment. All of them zeroed in on the lips and the barely covered breasts.

  Few bothered to notice the corded muscle of her arms or the twisted sinew that belied her stockings.

  The sound of her stilted high heels could be heard ringing out as another driver stepped to the door. “Good evening. Please welcome Alex Boucher from Dawson City, Canada.”

  As the words left the driver’s mouth, a mountain of a man stepped in behind him.

  Standing several inches over six feet tall and weighing on the north end of two-fifty, Boucher was by far the largest of those introduced so far. A bushy red beard and wide head made him look even more imposing.

  “Well then, that was quite a transition,” Rosner commented.

  “And where the hell is Dawson City again?”

  “The heart of the Yukon.”

  Winston smirked. “Not much to do up there but hunt and fight.”

  “That’s why we chose him, remember?”

  “Oh? Is that the reason?” Winston asked, his sarcasm thick.

  “Well, that and his innate ability to break bones. Up there, he’s known as The Butcher.”

  Winston shot another glare at Rosner, but said nothing.

  Boucher stood and surveyed the room for a moment. A sadistic grin spread behind his thick red beard and he swung his beefy arms in front of his body a few times. A deep chested chuckle rolled out from him as he stepped into the room.

  A moment of silence settled in his wake before another driver with a smooth head moved into the doorway. “Good evening. It is my distinct task to introduce to you tonight Kelly Mandrake from, well, let's just say Quantico, Virginia.”

  The driver waved his hand towards the room and stepped to the side as a petite, dark haired woman moved in behind him.

  Rosner shot a glance to Winston, who responded with a slight nod.

  Several people began to casts looks from one to another. After a moment, a thin man with dark hair parted down the middle began to laugh. Soon, others around him began to join in.

  The sound grew from a low hum into a loud cry, reverberating off the walls of the great foyer.

  Twenty

  “Wallace, where are we?” Manus released the button on the side of the phone, but didn’t bothering pulling it away from his mouth.

  “Fifty miles northeast of Bend.”

  Manus pulled the phone back just inches from his face. “You, Elf, where the hell is Bend?”

  “Skip,” Elf grumbled.

  “What was that?” Manus asked, glaring at him.

  “Um, Skip, sir. My name is Skip.”

  “Like I give a shit right now. Where the hell is Bend?”

  Skip’s ears burned bright red again as he consulted the maps. “One hundred sixty miles from Portland.”

  “So that’s, what, twenty minutes?” Manus said into the phone.

  “Assuming we’re going to Portland International. Have you got an exact location for us?”

  Manus lowered the phone again. “Heller? Briggs?”

  “Looks like the signal has quit moving, sir," Heller responded.

  Manus stood at the ready, his eyes swinging between each of them. “So where the hell is it?”

  Heller’s eyes snapped up. “It’s stopped just outside of Forest Grove.”

  “Which is?”

  “About thirty miles west of Portland.”

  “Shit,” Manus mumbled. He stared straight ahead for a moment. “Is Portland International the closest airport?”

  Analysts again began shuffling through maps.

  “No,” a young man beside Skip said.

  “And what’s your name?” Manus said, firing a glance at Skip.

  “Watts, sir,” she
said. Her attention was focused on the map in front of her as she traced a route using her index finger. “Portland Hillsboro Airport.”

  “How far out is that?”

  “Maybe twelve, fifteen miles from Forest Grove. Same total distance from here.”

  “Damn," Manus spat. "Nothing closer?”

  “Nothing on the map, sir.”

  “How accurate is the map?”

  “The FBI prints new ones every three months.”

  Manus returned the phone to his lips. “Wallace, we’re looking at the Portland Hillsboro Airport.”

  Silence filled the air for a moment.

  “Wallace?”

  “Yes, sir. Got it on the radar here. No problem. Set you down in half an hour.”

  Manus cut the line to Wallace and scrolled through his phonebook. He got the number for his secretary back in Virginia and pressed send. On the second ring, a thin and nasal female voice answered. “Evening.”

  “Brenda, it’s me. I need a favor.”

  “And why aren’t I the least bit surprised?”

  Manus ignored the comment. “Get on the horn with the Portland field office and tell them I need ground transportation ready and waiting in a half hour at Portland Hillsboro Airport.”

  In the background, he could already hear her clacking away on a keyboard. “What kind of transportation do you need?”

  Manus cast a quick glance around the room. “At least enough for me, Heller, Briggs and six marines. Something heavy duty.”

  “Got it. They’ll be there waiting when you land. Anything else?”

  “Something inconspicuous if they can.”

  Brenda laughed aloud. “Transport will be waiting.”

  A moment later, the line went dead. Manus looked at his phone before returning it to his hip.

  He hadn’t been joking.

  Twenty-One

  From the back seat, Will craned his head out the window. A rush of evening air hit him full in the face as he stared at the spread in front of him.

  A wrought iron gate stood open, allowing the Mercedes to pass through onto a long winding driveway made of interlocking brick. At the end stood a sprawling mansion.

  In truth, palace was probably a more apt description.

  Thick Ionic columns stretched from the ground to the roof, encapsulating three floors of windows and balconies. Massive wings stretched in either direction from the central structure with a secondary wall encircling the residence.

  Lights were aglow in each of the windows, lighting the structure up against the darkening sky.

  “Wow. I guess rebuilding the orphanage won’t be an issue.”

  “What?” the driver said.

  For a moment, Will couldn’t tell if he was just being abrupt or was genuinely confused.

  Will waved a hand at the spread before them. “Um, judging by the looks of this place, rebuilding the orphanage shouldn’t be a problem.”

  The driver snorted. “Right.”

  The Mercedes rolled along the brick driveway and came to a stop in front of the heavy columns. Two more like it idled in front of them. A third pulled away as they approached.

  The driver exited the car the second it came to a stop and sprinted around to Will’s door. In one quick motion he jerked it open and gestured for Will. “Out. We’re late.”

  “How am I late for a party in my honor?” Will asked as he climbed from the car.

  “You just are.”

  Will fell in beside the driver as they ascended three short stairs and headed for the massive front door. It stood open a few feet as a sea of light and laughter spilled out onto the porch.

  In front of them stood two more drivers with shaved heads. Beside them were a tall woman with short hair dyed red and a thick man with dark skin and a long black ponytail.

  As Will approached, the man turned revealing a weave of tribal tattoos across his face.

  Through his nose was a ring that looked a lot like human bone.

  Twenty-Two

  Will moved towards the door. He got no more than a step or two forward before his driver shot a hand out and clamped down hard on his arm. “Wait your turn, like everybody else.”

  Will glanced down at the hand on his arm. He stared at it until the driver got the point and lifted it away. “What the hell is this?”

  The driver turned, matching Will’s stare for a moment.

  “I’m not impressed by the thousand mile stare," Will said. "Tell me what the hell is going on here before I call a cab and take my ass back home.”

  The corner of the driver’s lip played up just a bit. “It is just what we told you it was. A banquet. You are one of our honored guests.”

  As the words slid out, the woman with red hair turned and smirked. A scowl formed on Will’s face as he glanced between her and his driver.

  The six people stood in the cooling evening air as the laughter from inside died down. As soon as it was gone, the driver next to the door stepped forward. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is with great pleasure that I introduce Miss Jannike Bryne from Carlshuus, Norway.”

  The driver slid aside as the woman with red hair turned and glanced at Will. Around her neck was a spiked dog collar and silver studs lined her nose and ears. She blew a kiss towards Will, turned and disappeared into the room.

  “Carlshuus, Norway? I thought this was a benefit for the orphanage.”

  The driver twisted his head towards Will.

  “Well?” Will demanded.

  “Um, yeah, it is.”

  “Oh yeah? And what did she do to get here?”

  “Beats me. All I know is they said you were an honored guest. Said to have you here on time. We’re here. On time.”

  A few moments after Jannike disappeared into the room, the driver in front of them stepped to the door. Will noticed he too had a shaved head and glanced over at the smooth dome standing beside him.

  “Good evening. Now introducing Maake Fatu from Aotearoa.”

  The large man in front of Will walked through the open door. His arms were held out several inches from his body as he strode forward, one shoulder at a time.

  Ten steps into the room he dropped his jacket to the floor revealing a black tank top. Underneath it was row after row of Polynesian tattoos lining both arms.

  “Aaa! Whoo!” Maake said and thrust his right forearm forward. At the same time he smacked it hard with his left hand.

  Will stared through the door as Maake then began to dance, chanting as he went.

  Ka mate, ka mate

  Ka ora, ka ora

  Tenei te tangata puhuruhuru

  Nana i tiki mai whakawhiti te ra

  Upane, upane

  Upane kaupane

  Whiti te ra!”

  With each line of verse, Maake smacked his arms, chest or legs. The room watched in rapt silence as he performed the ritual.

  Will’s jaw fell open as he watched and turned to his driver. “I don’t suppose you have any idea what the hell that was.”

  “Nope. And I don’t care.”

  Without another word the driver stepped through the door. “And, from right here in Portland, Oregon...Will Honeycutt.”

  The driver delivered the words with as little enthusiasm as he could muster. In the waning silence of Maake’s performance, Will stepped into a room ringing with awkwardness.

  Every eye in the room stared at him.

  Some with amusement. Some with curiosity.

  Some with outright contempt.

  Nightfall

  Twenty-Three

  Maggie knew what it meant the minute she heard the water turn on. A loud whooping sound burst from her and she climbed to her feet.

  No attention was paid to the blocks she had just spent all evening stacking.

  She rounded the corner into the bathroom and ran to Jenna, who sat perched on the edge of the toilet. Keeping her feet churning, she lifted her arms up high over her head.

  “Are you ready for bath time?”

  Maggie grinn
ed and nodded her head.

  “Are you ready for bath time?”

  Maggie’s feet churned as fast as they could. She bobbed her head and squealed long and loud.

  “Okay, then!”

  As Jenna pulled the Toy Story t-shirt off, Maggie fell back onto the plush loops of the bathroom rug.

  “Off we go!” Jenna said, pulling off Maggie’s pants and diaper as well.

  Maggie lay on her back and held her arms straight out in front of her. Jenna slid her hands around her daughter’s rib cage and lifted her into the warm water.

  Just as they did every night, Maggie happily splashed about as Jenna washed her. She started with her legs, followed by her arms and torso.

  The last thing each night was her hair. Using a Portland Trailblazers cup Jenna tilted Maggie’s head back and poured the warm water over her head. The suds washed clean away and rested atop the water around her.

  Most nights that was the sign for Will to lift her from the tub, dry her off and carry her to bed.

  “All done!”

  Maggie spun her head from side to side. “Dah-dee?”

  “No daddy tonight Maggie.”

  “Dah-dee!”

  “Not tonight. Tonight it’s just mommy.”

  “Daaaah-deeee!”

  Jenna sighed, forcing back a smile. “I know honey. I wish he was here too.”

  Twenty-Four

  “Where the hell am I?”

  Heath turned the radio off and hunkered down over the steering wheel. He turned his high beams on and peered out into the darkness.

  The last road name he recognized, state route 26, lay over fifteen miles behind him.

  “Come on Will, where are you taking me here?”

  Darkness encroached from either side. Heavy trees lined the road, their leaves blotting out the last bits of daylight.

  Heath grabbed his cell phone from the seat and flipped it open. Still no reception.

  “Great,” Heath mumbled and tossed it back down beside him. He lifted a water bottle from the cup holder and took a long pull.