Twelve

by Dustin Stevens

  Both brothers turned and scanned the room.

  “What are you thinking?” Will asked.

  Heath reached into his pocket and jangled his keys. “I’m thinking I still have my car keys. Feign sickness. We’ll slip out and you can buy us a carnivore pizza at Bellagio’s. We’re both home and in bed by ten.”

  Will smiled. “Done. That’s the least I can do.”

  “Damn right. Let me hit the head and we’ll bounce.”

  Heath moved along the wall and stepped into the bathroom just as the final guest entered the banquet hall.

  A moment later, all three doors to the hall were shut tight.

  In unison, the heavy sound of all three being locked rang out over the empty foyer.

  Thirty

  They had to move fast.

  Manus explained the lineup for the cars as the plane taxied to a stop. The moment the stairs were dropped from the cabin, all nine people sprinted out into the night.

  The Marines were the first to arrive. Most of them bypassed the closest Expedition sitting with doors wide open and piled four deep into the second one.

  The last two Marines filled into the first Expedition, one at the wheel and one behind him. A second later Briggs arrived and tried to climb in the front.

  The Marines promptly ordered him to the back. The front seat was reserved for the lady. Had she not been running hard to catch up, Heller would have laughed as she approached.

  Manus went straight for the SUV nosed out ahead of the others. Nixon was already behind the wheel with the passenger door standing open for him.

  In one fluid motion, Manus leapt into the front seat and pulled the door closed behind him. “Go! Go! Go!”

  Nixon flipped the front headlights to flashers and sped across the tarmac towards Route 26. “Agent Manus, it’s a pleasure to have you here.”

  “Thanks for being available on such short notice.”

  “That’s what we’re here for.”

  “So tell me about Idiotville. What did you mean it’s a ghost town?”

  Nixon snapped a look over at him as he merged onto the highway. “That’s just it. It’s not really even a town. It was a mining camp a long time ago. Was so far up in the woods that people used to say you’d have to be an idiot to want to go there. Name kind of stuck.”

  “So there’s nothing at all there now?”

  “I don’t know. I had an analyst do a quick check when you gave me the coordinates. Best we can tell there are a few old wooden outbuildings and not much else.”

  Manus weighed the information. “That doesn’t sound at all like what we’re looking for.”

  “Sir, what exactly are we looking for?”

  Manus blinked hard to snap himself from his thoughts. “You weren’t briefed?”

  “No sir. Your assistant said the only one who knew the whole story was you.”

  Manus snorted. Brenda knew every inch of every file he worked on. She was just very cognizant of never stepping on his toes. “You’ve heard of fight clubs, right?”

  “Of course. Ever since that mixed martial arts stuff took off, we see numbskulls out in their backyards beating the hell out of each other all the time.”

  The GPS on the dash began to beep, pointing for them to make a turn on to Route 6. Nixon made a hard left without bothering to signal. He knew the others behind him were all receiving the same directions he was.

  “No, I’m not talking about that," Manus said. "I’m talking international. I’m talking high stakes.”

  “You mean something like the Kumite?”

  Manus shot him a look. “You’re familiar with the Kumite?”

  “If by familiar you mean, have I seen Bloodsport?”

  “Right," Manus said. "The Kumite is a tournament held once every five years to determine the ultimate fighting champion. Fight clubs are set up to let rich people bet a lot of money and watch people beat the hell out of each other.”

  “So people with too much time and money on their hands get together to watch some fighting?" Nixon asked. "That sounds shady, but not the kind of thing the FBI flies across the country for.”

  “You didn’t let me finish," Manus said. "That’s how we think this thing got started, but it’s grown much larger than that.

  “What was once some rich people getting together to watch fighting has morphed into a front for an international drug ring. They stage these fight clubs as a tryout of sorts for potential new partners. Check on their planning, transportation, surveillance skills, etc.

  “We’ve been tracking these guys for three years. Until now the only activity they’d had on American soil was recruiting fighters. When we got the word they were expanding here we moved into high gear.”

  “And who are these guys?”

  Manus peered out into the night. “Depends on who you ask. Some are convinced it’s a conglomerate of the world’s elite, doing this just to prove they can. Some aren’t convinced they even exist at all.”

  Nixon waited for Manus to continue. When he didn’t, a small prod was offered. “I get the impression we’re going at this alone.”

  “We’ve tried and tried to get others involved. Scotland Yard, Interpol. They both worked with us for awhile, but in the end pulled out. Said there wasn’t enough evidence for them to keep devoting serious manpower to it.”

  “But we are?” Nixon pressed.

  “We are.”

  “Reason being?”

  Manus made a face. “We just are.”

  Nixon raised his eyebrows in the darkness as the Expedition continued speeding through the night. Instead of continuing, he tried a different tact. “So how did we find out they were here?”

  Manus stared out the passenger window. “Perseverance, and a lot of luck.

  “Three years ago we discovered Kelly, an Army Ranger out of Texas. One of the best fighters the military had ever seen. We were able to convince Kelly to join us the minute enlistment commitment was up and begin traveling the country fighting in underground tournaments.

  “Soon it became North America, then the Western Hemisphere. After three years, we scored an invite.”

  Nixon weighed the information for a moment. “But how did we know it was going to be in the States?”

  “When fighters receive an invite they are given a date and a country. They are responsible for being in the country; this organization takes care of the rest.”

  “Multi-continent drug conglomerates can’t spring for a few international plane tickets?”

  Manus snorted. “It’s more about the integrity of the competition.” As he spoke, he made air quotations with his fingers. Contempt dripped from his voice. “They claim that fighters can’t be at their best if they just stepped off a twenty hour flight spanning many times zones. They have fighters arrive in country a few days early, then bring them in.”

  “As much about their own surveillance and scouting as acclimation, I’m sure.”

  Manus weighed that. In truth, he’d hadn’t considered it.

  “Shiiit...”

  Suddenly, Idiotville made a lot more sense.

  Thirty-One

  The bathroom was quiet.

  Heath used the restroom, approached the sinks to wash his hands and looked in both directions. Not a soul was to be seen anywhere.

  Even the chair for the washroom attendant sat vacant.

  Heath noted the oddity and exited back into the main room to find Will standing with just a small handful of others. He now understood what Will had meant.

  The group was mostly male, and very out of place with the crowd that had departed. Heath looked down at the dress shirt he was wearing and noticed that they had gone from underdressed to the most respectable of the group.

  “Umm, what did I miss?” Heath asked.

  Will threw a wave around the room. “Everybody else went into the dining room. We were told to wait out here for a few minutes so they could bring us in as guests of honor.”

  “You look concerned.”

/>   “Two things. First, they’ve already done that. Had bald headed guys make a big scene about introducing us when we got here. Second, I would have sworn they locked the banquet hall over there up tighter than a drum the second they were all inside.”

  The news drew Heath’s gaze towards the door. “What makes you say that?”

  “I don’t know...it just kind of sounded like it. Big, heavy metal locks have a distinctive finality to them.”

  “Hmm, glad I missed that then," Heath said.

  “Must have been some damn good peeing.”

  “A League of Their Own. Interesting choice.”

  Will cracked a smile, but said nothing.

  “Well, shall we?” Heath asked, and jangled the keys in his pocket.

  “Yeah, I think we should.”

  The two moved together for the heavy wooden front door. Heath reached it first and grabbed the heavy iron latch. He attempted to turn it, but it wouldn’t budge.

  Will smirked. “Here, let the big boys try.” He tried the latch as well without reward. “What the hell?”

  “You have no idea,” Heath whispered, using his eyes to direct Will towards the others.

  Across the room, the eleven other guests stood watching their every movement. Expressions ranging from amusement to disgust played across their faces.

  Heath jerked his head towards the door across the foyer. “I came in through that one. Want to give it a try?”

  “No reason not to.”

  Side by side they moved for the door.

  Like the other, they found it locked tight.

  Thirty-Two

  Winston and Rosner discussed the idea of assigned seating, but decided against it. They had never met most of the people in the room and didn’t know how they all interacted with one another. To mistakenly sit two enemies together would be a faux pas they could ill afford.

  Instead, they arranged for a banquet hall with far more tables than needed. Guests could seat themselves any way they saw fit.

  Winston and Rosner stood at the front of the room and waited for the crowd to choose spots. In front of them was a long rectangular table with a podium and microphone in the middle.

  Along the wall to their right was an oak table stretching over twenty feet in length. Along it were bartenders dressed in black vests and bow ties. In front of them was every kind of alcohol that had been requested, ranging from whiskey to brandy.

  To the left was a matching oak table. Half of the table was lined with more bartenders serving exclusive wines, ports and meads. The other half was manned by two men offering up fine cigars.

  Forming a massive ring around the top of room were matching oak cabinets. Along the back wall was a final table where a single person controlled all the audio-visuals for the room.

  Winston waited until the party goers situated themselves and the low hum of conversation settled in. He then stepped forward to the podium.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome again. First, a few housekeeping matters to tend to. As you can see there is more than ample space here within the room. Please, feel free to move about as much you’d like over the course of the evening.

  “Along either wall are bars offering the finest beverage and tobacco products from around the world. Please help yourself, or let one of our servers know your pleasure and they will serve you. Restrooms are located along either wall.”

  He paused for a moment to make sure he had the room’s attention.

  “Located in the center of each table you will notice a black electronic device resembling a laptop computer. This is something we developed to aid in tonight’s festivities. What you see here is the future of on-site gambling.

  “Each machine has been preloaded with an electronic account. That account has been credited the amount of your original deposit and is linked to the banking information you supplied.

  “Any person can access their account from any box by simply entering the name and pass code you requested. In addition, each box is equipped with a fingerprint scanner to ensure security.

  “Once you have accessed your account, you may allot your money in any way you see fit. Spread it around, bet big on one fighter, it is your money.

  “Odds will be calculated as the evening wears on. Should your fighter be eliminated, you may purchase additional credits to be used moving forward.”

  He paused again to ensure there were no questions.

  “One last thing, which I’m sure you all already know but I will remind you anyway. Tonight, you have free reign of this room. Eat, drink, smoke, bet, network...

  “The only rule is nobody may leave before we have a winner. The grounds have been sealed tight and nobody, whether guest or competitor, will be allowed out. Understood?”

  Everyone nodded a silent acceptance.

  Winston clasped in his hands in front of him again.

  “And with that, I bid you a good evening. Enjoy!”

  As he finished speaking, two steady lines of servers filed out from behind him. Each was carrying trays of fresh salad and hors d’oeuvres.

  Thirty-Three

  Winston waited until all eyes were off him. Just as the servers began unloading their wares on each of the tables, he slipped from the room and into a private back elevator.

  He took it up to the second floor and exited right where he had been just over an hour earlier. As before, he paused for a moment and drew in a sharp breath, rested his hand along the railing and walked toward the top of the stairs.

  He put on his most splendid smile and stopped at the top of the stairwell. “Thank you all so much for waiting.”

  Winston removed a small silver box from his jacket pocket that resembled a garage door opener and held it towards the group.

  On cue, the wall that had formed the right side of the room parted down the middle. With a slow, even hum it pushed its way towards the side along a stainless steel tract.

  The group stood back and watched the wall disappear. Some wore looks of surprise as it slid away. Others rolled their eyes at the unnecessary showmanship of it.

  Behind the partition stood a second wall, bowing outward in a wide semi-circle. Along the wall were twelve doors, each with a sign bearing one of their names.

  A few drifted over to their door. Most remained where they stood, staring at Winston.

  “We apologize for the excess, but we wanted to ensure that you had the best possible entrance. If each of you would please enter your respective doors, we’ll begin in just a moment.”

  Without another word, Winston turned on his heel and headed back for the elevator.

  Thirty-Four

  NCIS was a rerun. Lucky for Jenna, it was one she hadn’t seen.

  She started on the couch, sprawled out from one end towards the other. Pillows propped her head up and thick socks warmed her toes.

  It didn’t take long though for the five-month old lump in her stomach to become uncomfortable. Before she knew it she was back in the recliner. She had learned with Maggie that after the third month, the recliner tilted at the perfect angle was her best bet for television viewing.

  By the time Jethro Gibbs and his rogue band of agents caught the man they were looking for, Jenna’s eyes were beginning to droop.

  She climbed out of the recliner, shuffled into the kitchen and took a long pull of milk from the jug. The clock on the stove flashed 9:09.

  Jenna walked stiff-legged down the hall and cracked the door into Maggie’s room. Her damp hair was just beginning to dry and curls sprawled across the pillow. Her tiny hands gripped the top of the blanket as she slept.

  Jenna checked the time again and perched herself on the edge of the recliner. She flipped through the channels hoping that something would catch her eye.

  Nothing did.

  At 9:30 she gave it up for a lost cause and took up her cell-phone from the end table beside her. Scrolling to Will’s number in her call log, she typed out a quick text message.

  Honey, I’m sorry but I’m falling asle
ep. I’m going to bed, but be sure to wake me up as soon as you get in. I want to hear all about it! Love you!

  Jenna tossed the phone down onto the night stand beside her and toddled off to bed without a second thought.

  Thirty-Four

  Rosner was waiting on the other end of the elevator as Winston arrived back on the first floor, leaning against the wall polishing his glasses.

  Together they walked back into the dining hall.

  “Have the servers finished with the first course?” Winston asked.

  “Just about,” Rosner said without looking up. “Is everybody in position?”

  “Should be. They were all headed for their doors when I left them.”

  “You didn’t stick around to make sure they got where they were supposed to?”

  “Where the hell else could they go? Every single door down there is locked. Either they enter their door or they sit in the foyer all night, in which case we’ll be sure to send a few surprises their way.”

  Winston waited for the last of the servers to finish unloading their trays and returned to the podium. He pressed the first in a long row of silver buttons imbedded in the dark wood. Above him, a wide swath of the wooden cabinetry slid upward revealing an oversized grid of twelve video screens.

  The screens held a single image, enlarged to encompass all twelve as one. On it was a background of sea foam green moving as if waves rolling forward. Set large in the middle of it was an inverted gleaming cross with a smaller cross inset.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I hope the first course is to your satisfaction. In a few moments, our servers will be around to take your drink orders.

  “Before that though, the time is at hand for us to kick off our festivities for the evening.”

  He pressed the second silver button and the image above him changed. A large schematic came up on screen.

  “Here you will view the general layout of tonight's field of play. As you can see, it extends two floors above ground and one floor below. Most of it is contained within the mansion, though there are a few places that expose our guests to the elements.