Chokepoint

by Jill Williamson

  I went the other way. I took my time, not wanting the cavalry to be far behind in case my secret friend was right about the gardener.

  Like before, Gardener followed me into the locker room. But it wasn’t empty. There were at least five guys, plus the door to the laundry was open and an employee was dumping all the used towels into a hamper on wheels.

  I doubted Gardener would grab me with this many witnesses present. Figs and jam. What now?

  I was going to have to provoke him and see what he did. I turned and sized him up. He looked about five ten and weighed close to two-twenty. Had a bit of a gut. But he was wearing a holster holding two guns that I could see and who knew what else. This might backfire in a big way. Even if he was guilty he could still deny everything.

  He could also kill me.

  Either way, I had to try and force him to admit his real role as bad guy. If it didn’t work, I’d lose nothing. If it did…

  I dropped my bag and walked straight toward him. His eyes ballooned; he glanced behind him, then back at me.

  “So you’re Ronald Ashton, right?” I hoped I’d remembered the name right.

  His face paled. “Kimbal tell you that?”

  “He told me you’re the leak.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed. “That’s a lie!”

  “They’re coming for you now. I was supposed to lure you in here.”

  Gardener stepped close and pulled one of his guns. “To the pool,” he whispered. “Let’s go.”

  Oh… kay. I did not expect that to work so well. It was on now. But my backup hadn’t arrived yet. I had to think of some way to stall because I certainly didn’t want to go toward the pool. I couldn’t swim.

  I turned as if I was going to comply, then darted through the door to the laundry. It was hot in there and smelled like dryer sheets. I ran without knowing where I was going, hoping I could somehow get back to the men’s locker room where Kimbal would come looking.

  I passed by the pool office, then turned right down a hallway that came out in the pool bleachers. A half-wall divided the spectator area from the pool. Figs and Jam. Should have gone the other way. Couldn’t be helped now.

  I banged through the little half-door and jogged out onto the pool apron, taking careful steps. My shoes squeaked on the tile. The pool was empty. I marked a life ring hanging on the wall and wondered if Gardener would throw it to me if I fell in.

  “Stop!” Gardener yelled.

  I looked back. He was standing at the little half door, gun pointed at me.

  “You’re not going to shoot me,” I said. “You need me alive.”

  “Which is why I pulled my tranq gun.”

  Tranq gun and swimming pool. Bad combination.

  Ashton jerked the gun to the side and pushed through the half door. “Move it. That way. Toward the exit.”

  I started that way, but my eyes scanned the place for any other way out. Girl’s locker room. Oh yes.

  I ran for it, thrilled to put space between me and the water. The gun cracked. I flinched. The tile wall on the other side of the pool splintered. I kept running. Into the tile hallway, over the wet rubber drip mats, past the showers—empty—and into the locker room itself. Also empty.

  Come on! I was living every teenage guy’s dream right now, and the place was empty.

  So unfair.

  A quick glance showed the place was set up like the guys’ locker rooms, only the E was reversed. I needed to lure Ashton back to the men’s locker room. I ran toward the door and darted down the row of stalls. No urinals. I slipped into the middle stall and stood on the toilet.

  Gardener wasn’t far behind. His footsteps slapped into the locker room and stopped. They started again, coming closer. The locker room door opened, squeaking so loudly it muffled the sound of Gardener’s hurried steps.

  I looked at the floor, watching for shadows, and spotted my wet footprints on the pink tile. Figs and—

  My stall door knocked open, so I jumped on the guy. He turned, slipped into my stall, and my body fell past him. I tried to grab hold and bring him to the floor with me, but… well… clearly clinch holds were something I needed to work on. I tumbled into the stall hall alone.

  “Spencer?”

  I turned to look out into the open, mirrored area, and there stood Beth, duffle bag in one hand, towel in the other.

  “Why are you in the girl’s locker room?” she asked.

  “Get rid of her, or she’s dead,” Gardener whispered. He holstered his tranq gun and drew his pistol.

  Oh, well. This was working out nicely.

  “I wanted to talk to you,” I said. Because making myself look like a perverted stalker was the best I could come up with on the spot, okay?

  I pushed to my feet and made sure that I got a full step closer to the main room in the process. “What you did in that last round…”

  Beth dropped her bag. “I told you a hundred times, Tiger, this isn’t a regular sport. LCT isn’t fair because life isn’t fair.”

  “It was a low blow.” And I meant it. But I turned my body enough so that my right arm would be hidden from Ashton and inched forward a bit more.

  “Get over it. You could’ve beaten me, Spencer. You were awesome out there. But, as usual, you lost your focus.”

  I thumbed behind me, but it probably looked like I was pointing at myself. “Well… competition has turned you into a machine.”

  She snorted. “Like you can talk. Have you seen yourself play basketball?”

  I inched toward her again. “That’s totally diff—”

  “Enough!” Ashton stepped out of the stall and pressed the gun to the back of my head. My shoulders went up instinctively, as did my hands. “We’re leaving. Girl, you come over here.”

  “Okay,” Beth said, her eyes wide, her bottom lip trembling.

  Nice. Mr. Ashton-Gardener was about to meet his match. He fisted the back of my shirt and pulled me behind him, keeping the gun against the back of my skull. He motioned Beth toward us. “Quickly, or I’ll shoot him.”

  Beth moved. I suppose I could have tried to knock away the gun, or steal his other one, but stories that Kip’s dad had told me of guns going off and people dying had me a little gun shy.

  Ashton ushered Beth into stall. “On your knees, facing the toilet.” He stepped back and waved the gun at me. “Tie her up.”

  “With what?”

  He stepped back and started fumbling with his belt buckle.

  “Really?” I said. “I thought you were a cop. This is the best you can do?”

  His face purpled. “It wasn’t supposed to happen here! We had plans. Plans you ruined.” He yanked his belt out in one long pull and tossed it to me. “Bind her hands and feet together.”

  I looked at Beth, who was mouthing something to me. “Are you kidding me? She’s not a contortionist.”

  “Make it happen,” Ashton said.

  Beth was still trying to tell me something, so I said, “It’s a tiny stall.”

  “Kid…” He scowled and breathed a few short breaths through his nose. Then he pulled the tranq gun and shot Beth in the back. The impact knocked her into the crack between the bowl and the stall’s wall. She stirred for a minute, then collapsed on the floor of the stall.

  I yelled, totally taken off guard. “What’d you do that for?”

  “Eliminating complications. Now, let’s go.”

  He backed out of the stall hall and motioned me past him, deeper into the locker room, back toward the showers and pool entrance. I went. The other agents couldn’t be far now. And with Beth as a witness—if she was okay—they could arrest Ashton and hopefully find out who “we” was.

  It was time to lose the shadow.

  I walked past the lockers and turned down the bank of showers. I let my sneaker snag on the rubber drip mat and tripped, falling on my knees under the first showerhead. I cranked the knob, and the water came on, shooting over my head and drenching Ashton. He gasped. I stepped to the side of the flow, pushed
off the wall, and side-kicked his right knee.

  I’d never heard such a horrible scream.

  He went down, dropped his gun, clutched his knee.

  I kicked the gun away and reached for the tranq gun, but he got to it first. So I sat on him, trapping him in the mount position. I applied a left handed choke to get his gun arm. Then I moved off to his right side, pulled his arm with me, rolled my left leg over his face, and laid back, getting him in an armbar. This put me on my back with my legs extended sideways over him, and I had his arm trapped between my legs with the gun at my face, pointing straight above my head. I pulled a little, forcing his arm back until he cried out and dropped the gun. It clunked to the rubber mats just over my left shoulder.

  I could break his arm. I probably should. I doubted I could hold him until someone came in and could go for help. He might be hurt, but he was well trained, rusty or not.

  I did my best to hold the armbar with my left hand as I reached my right hand over my body toward the gun. I managed to grab it, but Ashton got leverage against my one-handed armbar and hitchhiked, turning up on his shoulder and pushing his back against the back of my legs. He scooted along the floor on his side, unwinding himself from my grip, and suddenly got me in a side control position.

  But I had the gun.

  I reached over his head and fired at his back. The gun clicked.

  Ashton laughed, his head down by my left armpit. “Only had two darts, kid.”

  I threw the gun and pulled a third one from the back of his belt. It was black and yellow and tiny. A Taser. It had a safety switch on the side. So, I flicked it and fired. There was no recoil. It sounded like a balloon popped, and then like a rattlesnake. Ashton grunted and released me. I unthreaded myself and left him there, ran back out through the pool and into the men’s locker room. I met Sasquatch in the hall to the showers.

  He pointed his gun at me, then quickly lowered it. “He’s here, Kimbal.”

  “It’s Ashton,” I said over my own panting. “I Tased him. He’s in the girl’s locker room. You can get there through the pool.”

  “Bridges, Stern, with me.” Sasquatch ran out the way I’d come in. Two guys followed.

  Kimbal approached me. “When Schwarz told me you were in the locker room, I assumed that meant the men’s locker room.”

  “It did.” I took a deep breath, then remembered Beth. “He shot Beth with a tranq gun. She’s in a stall in the girl’s locker room.”

  Kimbal turned from me and touched his ear. “We need a medical team in the girl’s locker room right now.” He straightened and rubbed his finger and thumb over his eyes. “Did it knock her out?”

  “Yeah, but… It’s just a tranquillizer,” I said. “She’ll be fine, right?”

  “Tranqs are iffy. It’s not like in the movies, Garmond. It’s all about the dose. Too small, your man doesn’t go down. Too high, you could kill him. My guess is Ashton knew your weight and tailored that dose for you. And you’ve got at least thirty pounds on Watkins. I’m also betting this was the same stuff they shot you with before.”

  Kimbal’s words hit me like a taser, electric and gripping. Beth could be dead.

  Because of me.

  REPORT NUMBER: 11

  REPORT TITLE: I Get Lectured by a French Guy

  SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond

  LOCATION: UCLA Medical Center, 757 Westwood Plaza, Los Angeles, California, USA

  DATE AND TIME: Saturday, December 6, 3:56 p.m.

  Beth was taken to the Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center in Westwood. I followed in a sedan with Kimbal, praying—yes, praying—that she was okay.

  After an hour of sitting in the waiting room, Prière showed up. He pulled me to a private corner to get the full story.

  After I’d given him the scoop he said, “I must confess, Spence, I am very disturbed.”

  Uh oh. “You are? Why?”

  “It is true, in this mission we were hoping that the traitor would come forward. We had reason to believe that he would. But we did not ask you to risk your life to draw him out.”

  Oh. “I just… wanted it to end. It needed to end. Now it has.” Sort of. “But you chose to use me as bait. And you’re the one who put an ultimatum on this day. It had to be my final stand. Plus, why would he kill me? You said it yourself. They want information, the prophecy or whatever.”

  “This Freeforlifeservant who sends you messages. You must begin reporting these. He might not be the friend you think him to be. And I am still unconvinced that you are safe living in this place.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t mean to be rude, Prière, but I don’t care.” The man’s eyes widened, so I kept talking. “I mean, Christians are supposed to have faith, to trust God with their life, right? Don’t you trust God?”

  “Oui. Of course I trust him.”

  “Then let this play out. Let them come for me. I’m not afraid.” I was a little afraid, actually, but he didn’t have to know that.

  “Beth Watkins?” a deep voice said.

  I looked up. A doctor was standing at the front of the waiting room. I jumped up and ran over to him, beating Kimbal by three good paces. Please let her be okay.

  “She’s awake,” the doctor said, and relief swelled through me. “The sedative was iVitrax. It’s a popular street drug that induces hallucinations, but in large doses can knock out a person pretty fast.”

  Yeah… I’d heard that.

  “She overdosed, actually,” the doctor said, “so we need to monitor her for a few days. Have her parents arrived?”

  “Her father, not yet,” Kimbal said.

  “Once he arrives we can see about letting in some visitors,” the doctor said.

  I tried to go sit with Kimbal after that, but Prière called me back over. “Very well, Spence. We will give this a little more time. See if our people can get Ashton to reveal anything of use. I am pleased that you are so very brave, but I must raise one point that I think you have neglected to consider.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You might not be afraid of being captured. And that is fine. But once you are captured, and perhaps tortured—maybe you give up the information these people desire, and maybe you don’t. But when all of that has come to an end, then you should be afraid. Because once they have determined that they have no further use for you, they will kill you. I do not want that to happen. Remember, Spence. God will do what he will do. Maybe he will save you. Or maybe he will allow the consequences of your recklessness to end your life. I cannot say. But I do not gamble with life. And you should not do so either.”

  Point taken. I should really stop trying to outthink Christians where God was concerned. Clearly I didn’t fully understand how the big guy did things. A little more prayer might help, I supposed.

  Prière was letting me stay, for now. I might stink at LCT, and I wasn’t any good at getting the girl, but I wasn’t helpless. I’d drawn out Ashton. I’d proven that I could do this spy thing. And now, I’d search Grandma’s room for clues about my mom. I’d find out what really happened to her. And the baddies? They could just bring it, because I’d be ready. I’d proven to Prière and Kimbal and Mr. S that I could take care of myself.

  THE END

  Spencer will return in Project Gemini

  Acknowledgements

  Much gratitude to the following individuals: Jeff Gerke for letting me do this project. Amanda Luedeke for supporting me and my crazy ideas. Kirk DouPonce for designing an amazing book cover. Jeremy Gwinn and Lucinda Tilstra for modeling. Rebecca Luella Miller for being my editor. Chris Kolmorgen for that last-minute brainstorming session. Kerry Nietz for creating the ebooks and coaching me in ISBN and ebook uploading. Angie Lusco for being my medical source. Melanie Dickerson, Stephanie Morrill, Shellie Neumier, and Nicole O’Dell for moral support. Brad Williamson for being amazing and putting up with my crazy questions and crises. And to Kevin and Wendy Haydon for adopting two children who needed a home. Congratulations on your new family!
r />   Other books by Jill Williamson

  The Mission League series

  The New Recruit

  Chokepoint

  Project Gemini

  Ambushed

  The Blood of Kings trilogy

  By Darkness Hid

  To Darkness Fled

  From Darkness Won

  The Safe Lands series

  Captives

  Outcasts

  Rebels

  Stand-Alone Titles

  Replication: The Jason Experiment

  Nonfiction

  Go Teen Writers: How to Turn Your First Draft into a Published Book

  Storyworld First: Creating a Unique Fantasy World for Your Novel