You Only Live Once

by Haris Orkin

  “Mr. Dugan,” Flynn’s voice was hoarse from screaming. “I detect a Northern Irish accent. Ulster is it?”

  “Indeed,” Dugan said.

  He pushed the stun baton directly into Flynn’s groin and Flynn wailed even louder this time; a ragged, hair-raising shriek of animal agony. Dulcie screamed along with Flynn, tears streaming down her face. Flynn literally pissed himself as he continued to twitch and spasm. Spit dribbled from his open mouth and he looked like someone you’d find strapped to a table in a mental hospital after a lobotomy.

  Dulcie looked at Sancho to see him fighting tears. “Fucking cowards,” Sancho said.

  “You’re next, Mr. Perez,” Harper replied. “But this is Mr. Flynn’s turn. Unless, of course, he’s had enough of this and is now ready to tell us the truth.”

  Flynn struggled to control his twitching and lifted his head to glance at Harper. He smiled at Dugan.

  “You want the truth?” Flynn said. “It’s simply this…” His voice was very hoarse now and difficult to hear, so Harper and Dugan had to lean in closer. “They’re always after me Lucky Charms.”

  Dugan lost it and slapped the baton against the side of Flynn’s head. Electricity ripped through his skull and every tendon stood out on Flynn’s neck. His shriek was so shockingly loud, no one heard the door open. Not until Flynn stopped screaming, could they finally hear the young commando standing in the doorway.

  “Sir, I’m sorry to disturb you…”

  Harper seemed irritated by the interruption. “Spit it out, Jackson. What is it?”

  “Some sort of vessel has surfaced in the harbor.”

  “What do you mean surfaced?”

  “It looks like some kind of mini-sub.”

  Flynn glanced past Dugan and caught Sancho’s eye. “So, it’s begun.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Harper growled. “What has begun?”

  “Goolardo. He’s here.”

  Harper glanced at Dugan. “We’ll pick this up later.” He turned to Jackson. “You stand guard right outside this door. No one goes in or out.” He left the room without another word. Dugan followed along with young Jackson and the other commandos. The metal door slammed shut. Sancho heard the deadbolt click.

  Dulcie immediately went to Flynn and lifted his chin. Even though he was still mildly twitching, he offered her a rakish smile. “Do you think you could unfasten me?”

  Dulcie found the end of the gaffer tape and started to unwind him from the top. Sancho worked on his legs. After a minute or so, Flynn was free. He tried to stand and staggered off balance, dizzy, weak. Sancho helped him back into the chair.

  “Just chill, muchacho.”

  “But Goolardo’s here. He has to be stopped.”

  “How’s he gonna get past Harper and his private army? The dude doesn’t stand a chance.”

  “Don’t be so certain. Harper has the men and arms and equipment, but Goolardo’s exceedingly clever.” Flynn retrieved his laser pointer from his jacket pocket.

  Sancho sighed and caught Dulcie’s eye. “It’s all right,” Dulcie whispered. “It’ll keep him occupied.”

  Flynn flicked it on and aimed the red beam at the frame around the door. “If it doesn’t work on the door itself, perhaps it’ll cut through the surrounding structure,” Flynn said. Slowly, methodically, he moved the red dot of light on the wall around the door.

  Dulcie heard something that sounded like a siren. It was very faint, but continuous. “Do you hear that—”

  Sancho nodded.

  “That’s an alarm,” Flynn said.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Beckner and the other billionaires were just finishing breakfast when the alarm sounded. The pneumatic horn fractured the air, painfully vibrating eardrums everywhere. Rupert Breen leaped to his feet with his hands over his ears. “What the hell is that?”

  Beckner shouted over the siren, “That is the sound of someone who is about to be fired.”

  “Is there some sort of security breach?” Li Chu Young asked.

  “Probably just another local fisherman who drifted off course,” Beckner said. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Your men don’t seem to think so.” Breen was standing near the edge of the veranda, looking down upon the harbor. The other billionaires joined him and were not reassured by the sight that greeted them.

  A black mini-submarine slowly cruised towards the docks. Over a hundred commandos armed with sniper rifles, assault weapons, and Stinger missiles were poised and in position to take the craft out.

  “What the hell is happening here, Beckner?” The CEO of Blackstone Communications was clearly irritated.

  Beckner shook his head. He had no answer.

  In the corridor outside the holding cell, the young commando guarding the prisoners heard someone pounding on the door from the inside.

  “What’s going on in there?” he shouted.

  The pounding stopped. A moment later it started up again. He was told to guard the holding cell even though he knew all hell was breaking loose in the harbor. He wanted to be where the action was. He wanted to shoot a Stinger missile and blow shit up. But instead he was stuck inside here, guarding who knows who. The constant pounding was beginning to concern him. What the hell were they doing in there? Were they trying to break through the wall?

  “Hey! What’s that racket?” The pounding stopped. Silence. Thirty seconds later, it started up again. He grabbed the keys off the hook on the wall and unlocked the deadbolt. The pounding halted again, but he didn’t care. He drew his 9mm, released the safety, and kicked the door open.

  The door banged into Dulcie who bumped into Flynn who instinctively hid the laser pointer behind his back. Sancho stood stock still.

  “What do you have there?” the young guard demanded.

  “Nothing,” Flynn said.

  “It’s gotta be something.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Let me see it.”

  “There’s nothing to see.”

  The guard stepped past Sancho and Dulcie and aimed his pistol at Flynn’s face. “I’ll strip you naked and do an anal search if you don’t show me what the hell you’re hiding.”

  “It’s just a laser pointer,” Sancho said.

  “Show me.”

  Flynn reached into his pocket and came out with the laser pointer. Turning it on, he shined the beam in the guard’s eyes. The young commando angrily grabbed it as Flynn hooked his foot behind his leg and brought him down. The guard fired. A slug tore into the wall, inches from Sancho’s head. The sound was deafening. Dulcie stood stunned as Flynn kicked the pistol right out of the young man’s hand. The weapon skittered across the floor and Sancho scooped it up. The astonished commando immediately raised his arms. Flynn took the gun from his compadre and aimed it at the young man’s nose.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Dulcie said.

  “Escaping,” Flynn replied. “Hands on the wall. Now!” The young commando sighed and turned and put his hands against the wall. Flynn kicked his feet apart to throw him off balance. “Dulcie! Cuff him!”

  “What?”

  “The plastic handcuffs on his belt. Bind his wrists behind him.” Dulcie reluctantly cuffed him. “Now do his legs.”

  When the commando was trussed and still standing with his feet fastened together, Flynn peered out the open door into the hallway.

  “You’re on an island in the middle of nowhere,” the young commando said. He was smiling, trying to be cocky, but it wasn’t really working. “You got no place to go and nowhere to hide.”

  “He’s right,” Dulcie said.

  “They got an army out there.”

  “What if they do?” Flynn said.

  “They’ll kill you,” Dulcie answered.

  “They’ll try to,” Flynn replied.

  Flynn noticed the laser pointer on the floor. The beam was on and shining on Flynn’s foot. “I’m going to have to talk to Q about that laser device. It i
s seriously underpowered.” He set the pistol down and used the folding knife on the young commando’s belt to cut the plastic handcuffs off Sancho and Dulcie. Sancho returned the favor.

  “Come on, man, don’t go out there alone,” Sancho pleaded.

  “I wasn’t planning to,” said Flynn as he picked up the pistol. “I assumed you were coming with me.”

  “Me?”

  Flynn handed Sancho the young commando’s knife. “Dulcie, you stay put.”

  Before she could answer him, Flynn was gone. Sancho peered into the hallway. “Fuck me,” he said as he followed after Flynn.

  “Hey!” Dulcie shouted.

  “Get me out of these!” The young commando looked desperate and embarrassed.

  “Yeah, right,” Dulcie replied. She took off after Flynn and slammed the door.

  Harper stood on the dock, flanked by twelve stone-faced commandos. He watched with curiosity as the mini-sub approached. A hatch opened with a hiss and Harper watched as a man emerged wearing black combat fatigues, shiny black boots, and a jaunty black beret. He was followed by two large thugs and an even bigger thug, who had to struggle to squeeze his massive body through the hatch. All were dressed in the same black fatigues as their boss.

  “Thank you for the rousing welcome, gentlemen,” the man in the beret said.

  Harper stepped forward. “And you are?”

  “Francisco Goolardo and this is my associate, Mr. Mendoza. We’re here to pick up Mr. Beckner and his guests.”

  “And what if they don’t want to go with you?”

  “I’m afraid they have no choice.” Goolardo saw the billionaires watching from the terrace and offered them a friendly wave. “But I can assure you, they will be very comfortable. This isn’t just any luxury submersible. This is the Nautilus 1000.”

  “You do realize that you’re surrounded by over a hundred armed men.”

  Goolardo chuckled. “I do indeed.”

  “That’s funny to you?”

  “What’s funny is the fact that you’re all dead men walking and you don’t even know it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Funny more to me than you, obviously.”

  “Pardon me, if I appear to be dense, sir. But you gentlemen don’t seem to be armed.”

  “Nevertheless, if you don’t comply with my demands, you all will be dead in two hours’ time.”

  Harper almost smiled, but something about the look on Goolardo’s face told him this was no joke. “Why two hours? Why not just take us out now?”

  “I can tell by your question that you don’t believe me. I’m being too vague, aren’t I? Sorry. It’s just that I love the drama. The rising tension. The suspense. But time is at a premium, so perhaps we should get down to brass tacks.”

  Goolardo stepped closer and Harper raised the barrel of his gun. Goolardo pushed it away with his finger and said, “There is a sous chef who works in your kitchen. An assistant. His name is Armando, and last month I kidnapped his entire family; his parents, his grandparents, his wife, and his five children. He was told that they would all die if he didn’t do something for me.” Harper’s eyes flickered with apprehension. “Good. I see I have your attention now.” Goolardo paused, relishing the fact that Harper now hung on his every word. “Last night Armando poisoned your entire water supply per my instructions. The toxin is quite virulent. It can be ingested or absorbed through the skin. So, whether you drank some water, washed your face, or simply brushed your teeth, you have introduced this toxin into your system.”

  The stone-faced commandos were suddenly not so stone-faced.

  “Poison?” Harper asked.

  “It’s an extremely rare bio-toxin. Unbelievably deadly. In two hours’ time, everyone on this island will be dead.” The faces of the commandos were now deathly white. “At first you’ll suffer flu-like symptoms. Nausea. Dizziness. Diarrhea. Soon after that you’ll lose control of your limbs, then your mind, then you will bleed out of every orifice you have. I understand that at the end, it’s quite grotesque.”

  “If what you say is true, then why the hell wouldn’t I just shoot you?”

  “Because I have access to an antidote and I’ll supply you and everyone on this Island with it. But only if you do exactly as I say.”

  Harper didn’t know what to believe. He searched Goolardo’s eyes, looking for some hint, something that would tell him what to do.

  “Of course,” Goolardo said. “Your other option is blow my head off and rush everyone to the mainland. You may not have time to make it to the States, but I’m sure you could reach the finest hospital in Baja. The doctors will do their tests and when they finally determine why it is you’re dying…it will be too late. At least they’ll be able to make your last minutes a little more comfortable.”

  Harper was starting to sweat. Fine beads broke out on his forehead. It was only seconds, but it felt like hours before he finally said, “And what if I don’t believe you?”

  “Then you and everyone on Angel Island will die a painful and hideous death.”

  Sancho struggled to keep up with Flynn as he charged straight up a steep hill directly behind the security compound. Dulcie struggled even more. It was a dry island, so there was very little vegetation for them to hide behind. They slipped on the loose dirt and grabbed whatever scruffy native plants they could get their hands on as they scrambled up the hill. There were no commandos or guards patrolling the area, for they were focused on the confrontation in the harbor.

  Flynn headed for the back door of the Manor House and Sancho called to him, sucking wind something bad, “Dude, where you going? We gotta find some place to lay low until this bullshit blows over.”

  “I have to talk to Mr. Beckner.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “He’s in danger. They all are.”

  “I’m sure Harper has it under control…”

  The backdoor was unlocked and Flynn walked in like he owned the place, disappearing inside. Sancho sighed and followed after and found himself in the Manor House kitchen. The cooks and dishwashers looked very surprised to see him.

  “You see a white guy in a suit?” Sancho asked in Spanish. “He’s about this tall.” Sancho lifted his hand to show how tall Flynn was, not realizing he still had the knife. Petrified, they all pointed towards a door. Sancho hurried after Flynn and Dulcie hurried after Sancho.

  They climbed the stairs to the second floor and headed down an ornate corridor. A terrified maid burst out of a room and bumped into Sancho. She shrieked and ran even faster when she saw the knife in his hand, her little legs pumping as she brushed by Dulcie.

  Sancho peered in the door she burst from to find a master suite. He also found Flynn opening a large set of French doors. They were polished mahogany and led to a balcony above the terrace where the billionaires were breakfasting. The titans of industry were all watching the confrontation in the harbor. Sancho and Dulcie joined Flynn on the balcony. They were much too far away to hear what Harper was saying to Goolardo. They could, however, make out Mendoza. Over a hundred commandos surrounded the area and every weapon was aimed at Goolardo and his miniscule crew.

  “Look, ese! They got ‘em! Dude’s going down. Big time.”

  Goolardo’s smile faded into something ugly and mean. He held Harper’s steely gaze. “Tell your men to put down their weapons.”

  Harper’s stare didn’t waver. He didn’t like surrender, but what if this battle was already over? What if he was dying? What if his men were already dead? “I don’t think I can,” he said.

  “Do you feel nauseous? A slight dizziness? The symptoms will soon be quite apparent, Mr. Harper. Don’t wait until it’s too late.”

  Harper looked at his men. Each one was brave and resolute. Every one of them would die for him without question. He turned around farther to see the billionaires on the terrace. Personally, he didn’t give a rat’s ass about any of them. He hated rich bastards like that, but he was hired to protect them. That was the mission and h
e was ex-Delta Force, and Delta Force always completes the mission.

  Sancho watched as Harper shouted an order loud enough for him to hear. “Put down your weapons!” Harper’s men hesitated. They seemed confused. Harper shouted the order again. This time louder, with an edge of anger. “Put down your weapons!”

  Harper’s men complied. Over one hundred weapons were laid on the ground; assault rifles, machine guns, pistols, and Stinger missiles.

  “What the hell are they doing?” Sancho was stunned.

  “They are in Goolardo’s psychic grip,” Flynn said.

  “Oh, my God,” Dulcie hissed. “He’s right, it’s…”

  “Mind control,” Sancho said with amazement. He looked at Flynn with wonderment. James had the guard’s Glock in his hand and it was pointed towards the sky. “Dude, what are you—”

  Boom!! The pistol shot echoed in the relative silence. Goolardo, Mendoza, Harper, his men, and the billionaires all turned to see James Flynn standing on the balcony high above them.

  “Mr. Harper!” Flynn shouted. “Your mind is under the control of Francisco Goolardo!”

  Everyone was surprised to see Flynn on that balcony. But no one was more surprised than Goolardo. He glowered at Mendoza, who looked mortified. “I thought you said he was dead.”

  “You must fight to free your mind!” Flynn shouted. “Mr. Harper! You can do it! Don’t let them win!”

  Flynn aimed the Glock at Goolardo and squeezed the trigger. The pistol jumped and Goolardo could hear the bullet whiz over his head.

  He crouched and glared at Harper, his voice a sinister hiss. “If he kills me, he kills you!”

  “Arm yourselves!!” shouted Harper.

  Harper picked up his rifle and his men followed suit and Flynn grinned. “Yes! That’s it! Fight!”

  But then Harper and his men turned around and aimed their weapons at Flynn. “Shoot that stupid son of a bitch!” Harper shouted.

  “Fuck,” was all Sancho was able to say before everyone started firing.

  Flynn, Sancho, and Dulcie retreated back into the master suite as bullets tore into the manor house, shattering the French doors. A Stinger missile took out the balcony. It exploded in a fireball and flaming pieces rained down on the terrace. The billionaires scattered, scrambling for cover.