Twelve

by Dustin Stevens

  “Look like footprints,” Will said.

  “Judging by the shape, looks like a woman’s shoe,” Kelly said.

  Heath leaned down beside the smudges and studied them. “Blood.” He raised his gaze from the smudges and followed the trail in the direction it had came from. “Aw hell, we’ve got another one.”

  All three turned and stared at the body lying prone down the hallway.

  “Any idea who it is?” Kelly asked.

  “Only one way to find out,” Heath responded. In light, jogging steps he set off for the body.

  He didn’t bother to check her vitals when he reached her. It was obvious that she was already gone. Most of her blood was in a pool on the ground around her. A knife protruded from between her open and lifeless eyes.

  Heath shook his head for a moment and bit back the anger that welled in him again. He rose and stared down at her a moment longer.

  Before he could move, the sound of an iron gate slamming shut rang out behind him.

  Seventy-One

  It took a full moment for realization to set in.

  Heath turned and looked over his shoulder, the rest of his body following a fraction of a second behind.

  Opposite him, Will stared at the closed gate and started moving towards it in slow motion. “Oh no,” he whispered. He found his feet beneath him and began jogging, then running towards the gate. “No no no no. No!”

  He reached the gate a moment before Heath and began tugging at the heavy iron bars.

  They didn’t budge.

  He pressed his feet against the wall and strained as hard as he could. Veins bulged in his arms and sweat formed on his scalp.

  Nothing.

  Heath gripped the bars just above Will and matched his position against the wall.

  Combined, their effort yielded nothing.

  “Guys, I don’t think it’s going to happen,” Kelly whispered behind them.

  “Shut the hell up!” Will snapped.

  Together they continued to heave against the bars to no avail. They pulled until they were both sweating and panting.

  The brothers looked at each other and slowly brought their feet down from the wall. One by one they peeled their hands away from the bars.

  “What now?” Heath asked, almost a whisper.

  “I don’t know.”

  Heath glanced down the hallway.

  “Man, I am so sorry. For all of this,” Will said.

  “Right now, we took out one and we found two others. Between Kelly and us, that’s five we know of. That leaves a maximum of seven left,” Heath responded.

  “For real, I can’t believe I got you into this.”

  “We know that one of the two girls is still around from the footprints. Beyond that, it’s hard to tell.”

  “Heath! Are you listening to me?”

  “Of course I’m listening,” Heath snapped. “What do you want me to say? I know you’re sorry. I know this sucks ass. I know we may not make it out of here. I just don’t feel up for stating the obvious.”

  Will gripped the bars and leaned on them one more time. They didn’t budge. “Remember what I told you. Never stay still. Use your legs. When in doubt, err on the side of aggression.

  “Stay on the periphery. We’ll find you as soon as we can.”

  Heath nodded and lowered his voice. “And you remember, if it comes down to you or her, don’t be a hero. You don’t know her and you don’t owe her anything.”

  Will glanced over his shoulder. “You know I can’t do that.”

  “Yeah, I know. Alright, how’s this...it takes fifty-six pounds of pressure to break a neck under tension.”

  “What?”

  “You’re offering me fighting advice. I’m trying to do the same here.”

  Will smirked. “So much for being a healer huh?”

  Heath shrugged. “I’m also a self-preservationist. And a big brother.”

  Heath stuck his hand through the bar. Will reciprocated with both of his.

  “You stay alive, brother," Will said. "No matter what you have to do, stay alive.”

  “You too,” Heath responded. He recognized the quote from Last of the Mohicans, but opted against saying anything.

  The brothers released the shake and backed away from the screen. Kelly waited for Will to reach her before the two groups set off in opposite directions.

  At the end of the hallway, both brothers turned and waved to one another.

  Heath watched them until they were out of sight, then turned and headed out himself. The last thing he did as he walked away was stop and pull the ceramic knife from between Jannike’s eyes.

  Seventy-Two

  Manus took the stairs two at a time. Behind him he could hear Nixon and the others doing the same. He emerged on the main floor and out into the main lobby. “Stone! Stone!”

  A head popped out from a door down the hall. A moment later, another one popped out behind it. “Yes, sir!”

  “We’ve got an address!”

  Stone and McMichaels both dropped the papers they were holding. The sounds of their boots slapped against the floor as they sprinted towards the lobby.

  Manus waited in the main lobby for Stone and McMichaels to join him, paused and waited for the others to file up from the basement. Everyone ignored the three dead bodies on the floor.

  Manus pulled the cell-phone from his hip and again dialed Brenda.

  “What have you got for me, sir?”

  “Have you still got the address I gave you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Can you access a map of the plot?”

  “I am looking at it now, sir.”

  “Describe it, and be as accurate as possible.”

  A few keystrokes filled the air. “The lot sits on the corner of Dunbar and Ludwig Roads. Both two-lane country roads. Very remote.

  “The plot is about a mile square. There is one main entrance to the place off of Dunbar, sitting dead center of the southern side of the property.

  “Using satellite imagery, it appears there are two walls enclosing the entire place. They both look to be brick, the inner wall right next to the house and a bit taller than the outer wall. No way of knowing exact heights. Gates are used at both walls and have guard stations at each.

  “Driveway winds through the walls and over the grounds, ending on a turnabout in front of the house. A single off-shoot wraps around to the garage.

  “House is enormous. Has at least three wings and looks to be two to three stories tall depending on where you’re at.”

  She fell silent.

  “What else can you give me on the house?” Manus asked.

  “Looks to be a porch across the front with a central entrance and large columns. There are several courtyards attached.

  “I apologize sir, but at this time of night that's really all I can offer you. There’s just not enough light for the satellite imagery to pick up greater detail.”

  “What about the grounds?”

  “Looks to be a few occasional trees, but otherwise open. Nothing but meadows.”

  Manus swore under his breath. “One last thing. How long will it take us to get from here to there?”

  “At this time of night? Eighteen minutes. Twenty tops.”

  “Thank you Brenda. Stand by in case we need anything further?”

  “Will do.”

  Manus returned the phone to his hip and looked at Stone. “You get all that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. You have eighteen minutes to figure out how to storm this place with six marines and a handful of agents.”

  Stone’s face remained impassive.

  “Should I have some more sent out?” Nixon asked.

  Manus paused a second. “Not for the initial breach. Most are in bed right now, we'd lose too much time waiting for them to arrive.

  “Get two clean-up crews on the horn. Have one of them sent here. Have the other on stand-by for Forest Grove.

  “Let’s move!”r />
  As a group, all ten people filed back into the SUV’s.

  Behind them they left nothing but three dead guards and a fading tendril of smoke.

  Seventy-Three

  A few whistles went up from the banquet hall. A couple of errant claps could even be heard.

  Around the room, the effects of an evening of fine food and alcohol were beginning to take effect. Many men had undone their bow ties. Women were starting to unpin their hair.

  As the camera showed Will and Heath backing from the gate in opposite directions, a few called out in mock sympathy.

  The reaction relieved Winston to no end.

  The teaming of the brothers Honeycutt had been bothering him for most of the evening. The fact that most people still seemed to be in good spirits was a positive sign. He pushed himself up from the table and walked to the podium.

  “One last round of applause for the Honeycutt’s dramatic rendition of Farewell to Arms!”

  Several people in the audience chuckled. A few more applauded.

  In the back of the room, Julia Klauff leaned in close to her husband. “What do you think that means for the Honeycutt’s?”

  Augy drew his lips into a tight line and slowly shook his head. “I don’t know. Can’t be good though.”

  For as tired as his wife was, he was still very much awake and alert. Avoiding the cigars and alcohol helped.

  “Is there anything we can do?” Julia asked.

  “No,” he said. “Right now all we can do is watch and wait.”

  At last, the large screen at the front of the room pulled back from the Honeycutt’s and resumed the schematic.

  Winston scanned the map of the grounds and found another battle lurking. He stared at the two competitors heading towards one another for a moment and a thought occurred to him.

  Without a word he sped away from the podium in search of Chester.

  Seventy-Four

  Winston burst into the kitchen in a huff. The wooden door swung back hard on its two-way hinges behind him, just missing a waitress carrying a tray. He stepped past the kitchen and through the backdoor into a narrow corridor. Turning right he sped by three doors and entered through the fourth.

  Chester was spread out at a conference table in the middle of the room. Banks of televisions played out around him as he was bent over an array of papers.

  “Chester!”

  Chester jumped several inches from the table. The action was so swift his glasses swung up high on his forehead. “Yes sir?

  “What are you working on right now?”

  “I am tabulating where we stand on wagers to this point.”

  Winston waved a hand. “That can wait until morning. Right now I’ve got something else for you.”

  Chester bunched the papers together and shoved them aside.

  Winston scanned the televisions around the room. He raised his right arm and pointed to a television on one wall. With his left, he pointed to a television on the opposite wall. “What do you see right there?”

  Chester followed the ends of Winston’s fingers from one television to the other. “I see Maake...and I see Kekoa.”

  Winston dropped his hands. “Good, and where are they going?”

  Chester studied the screens again. “Maake is on the outer rim of the top level. Kekoa is rising from the basement...

  “They’re about to hit the courtyard.”

  A smug look crossed Winston’s face. “They’re about to hit the courtyard.”

  Chester glanced between the screens for a moment. He turned to Winston with mouth agape as a realization hit him. “I’m on it.”

  Seventy-Five

  The anticipation had long since built in Kekoa. Through the process of random selection he had managed to not cross paths with a single competition fighter.

  His first battle had been with a patsy in black and had lasted less than a minute. One open palmed head slap and one fierce head butt was all it had taken to knock the man cold.

  The second patsy he had stumbled on by mistake. Kekoa had spotted him in the hallway on a short ladder fixing a faulty camera.

  At first, the man had thought Kekoa wouldn’t bother him. He was on a ladder, more concerned with rewiring the camera than fighting.

  Every few seconds he glanced over and finally realized Kekoa was moving for him. He tried to hop from the ladder and run, but Kekoa was too quick for him.

  The encounter didn’t last much longer than the first had.

  The thick calluses on Kekoa’s feet were impervious to the barren earth as he stomped through. The torches had raised the temperature in the tunnel to near sauna levels. Sweat beaded and rolled down from the top of his head. His golden brown skin glowed with perspiration.

  He stomped forward through the tunnel and rounded a corner to find a single door blocking the path. His eyes narrowed and he surveyed the room around him.

  Nothing.

  Kekoa walked forward and tried the handle of the door. It turned easily in his hand. Using his shoulder he pushed it open and was greeted by a rush of cool night air.

  Kekoa closed his eyes and drank it in for a moment, the air dabbing at the moisture on his skin. A familiar scent crossed his nose and he snapped his eyes open and jerked his head in a long circle.

  Fire.

  Off to the left was a circle of torches. The flames leapt high into the night sky, the orange and yellow bursts licking at the blackness.

  Around the ring a few shadowy figures in black moved, lighting them. Once the circle was complete, they disappeared.

  A crooked smile grew across Kekoa’s face and he slapped at his chest with heavy hands. He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust, then stomped off towards the circle.

  He made it only a few steps when a sound pierced the night air.

  “Tautua'â!”

  The voice was heavy and rich, drawn out several syllables in length. Kekoa lowered his head and glowered from beneath his thick forehead. “I don’t speak Maori. I wouldn’t bother putting such slime in my mouth.”

  A slapping sound echoed out of the darkness. “That is quite an insult, coming from a Samoan. At home we call you the filth of the Pacific.”

  Kekoa approached the circle from the opposite side and stopped between two torches. “I’m not a Samoan. I come from Hawaii. The Big Island.”

  A menacing laugh responded. Across the ring, a hulking shape emerged. Maake stepped forward, stopping between two torches.

  The firelight threw deep shadows over his enormous body. “Even better. Everybody knows Hawaiians are soft. You’re afraid to wear your heritage on your skin, so you must be worse than most.”

  Kekoa motioned to the thick scars scouring his head. “I don’t need tattoos to tell my story.”

  “You’re going to need something to tell your story after I’m done with you.”

  Kekoa slowly raised his head and peered down his nose at Maake. He took three steps forward into the circle.

  Across from him, Maake did the same.

  Seventy-Six

  Kekoa started by slapping his chest. He alternated heavy handed shots from his right hand to his left pectoral and his left hand to his right pectoral.

  The skin soon took on a reddish hue. The sound echoed out into the night.

  Maake responded by again launching into the Haka. His deep voice rolled out over the grounds as he smacked his thick thighs and shoulders and chanted.

  Ka mate, ka mate

  Ka ora, ka ora

  Tenei te tangata puhuruhuru-“

  Kekoa stepped forward and clapped his hands together. "Would you shut the hell up already, eh?"

  Maake stopped the dance and lowered his hands to his side. His eyes grew dark as he stared at Kekoa. “You dare interrupt me?”

  “I’m not some mainland haole. That stuff doesn’t scare me.”

  Maake kept his iron gaze on Kekoa and stepped forward.

  The two stood and glowered at each other for several moments.

  Fin
ally, they rushed forward at one another in a fit of rage.

  The two men collided in the center of the circle. Over six hundred pounds of flesh and anger meeting in a violent collision.

  Both men bounced back a couple of steps and Kekoa threw a heavy mauling punch at Maake’s head. Maake raised a thick arm and absorbed the blow, followed by a hard right that caught Kekoa square in the chest.

  Kekoa bent at the waist and shot straight up with a hard uppercut across Maake’s jaw. Blood began to run down from Maake’s already busted lip. It dripped off his chin and on to his chest, mixing with the dark design of his tattoos.

  Unfazed, Maake stepped forward and struck Kekoa with an open handed shove across his chest with both hands. It knocked Kekoa back a few feet, which Maake used to step across with his right foot and swing a hard backwards left toward Kekoa’s head.

  It struck across the bridge of Kekoa’s nose and blood began to drip from a fresh cut. It ran down either side of his mouth and along his jaw line, dripping off the end of his chin.

  Kekoa burst forward and wrapped his enormous arms around Maake. His fingers barely locked at the first knuckle around Maake’s thick midsection.

  Using his legs he bent low and picked Maake into the air, tossing him backwards over his left hip. The sound of wood splintering filled the night as Maake crashed through multiple torches.

  One of the torches was smothered by Maake’s body, leaving a thick red welt across his back. The other spilled out onto the grass, catching the dry ground ablaze instantly.

  Maake rolled to his feet and stood leering at Kekoa. Around them, the blaze crawled across the ground in an ever-widening circle.

  As the flames reached a diameter of ten feet, several men in black appeared with fire extinguishers. They ignored the fighters and emptied one can after another onto the burning ground.

  Through it, Kekoa and Maake continued to stare at one another.

  “You see what is going on here, bruddah?” Kekoa said.

  Maake nodded his head. “They are making a joke of us. Putting us out here. Setting up a ring of fire.”