Go! - Hold On! Season 2

by Peter Darley

  Tyler gritted his teeth as he fought to curb his rage. The girl looked no older than ten or eleven and Caucasian, with mousy blonde hair. As she came farther into the light, he could see her fear had been anesthetized by some kind of soporific drug. She moved along as though she was in a trance, not fully aware of where she was, or what was happening.

  “Show your appreciation for young Tiffany,” Sapphire said. “She’s ten years old, and yours to do with as you please. Place your bids.”

  Tyler lowered his head to the bidding screen and watched as the price escalated––five thousand dollars, then six, seven, and eight. His stomach turned over with a feeling of helplessness. Could he save them all by buying them? Was there enough money in his Swiss account? He had around $3 million. But if he tried something like that, he would not only risk losing the funds he needed to buy Emily, he would surely expose his true agenda. Even the thought of purchasing a child chilled him to the bone. He knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that of all the places he had encountered during his worldly travels, this was truly the heart of darkness. There has to be another way to save them. There just has to be another way.

  “Are you not placing a bid, Mr. Faraday?” Fong whispered in his ear.

  Note to self: pull it together, NOW! Tyler shrugged his shoulders. “Not my scene. I like ‘em younger.” He tapped Fong’s shoulder and laughed convincingly. “Just kidding. Let me see what’s on offer. I need to know what kind of competition I’ve got. Let’s see what she goes for.”

  “Of course. Take all the time you need, and enjoy the evening.”

  “You bet.”

  The final bid for Tiffany flashed up on Tyler’s screen at $10,720.

  “Congratulations to that high bidder,” Sapphire said.

  Tyler watched as two tuxedoed men approached the girl, took her by her hands, and led her off the catwalk. He gripped the armrests of his seat tightly in order to hide his trembling hands.

  Nine more children appeared on the catwalk––seven girls, and three boys, aged between eight and thirteen. Their prices ended at bids between $8,500 and $9,600 for one of the boys.

  Tyler’s resolve was wearing down. He didn’t know how much more he could endure.

  Almost forty-five minutes had elapsed. After the last child had been escorted from the stage, The Scramble moved on to the next phase.

  “And now, ladies and gentlemen,” Sapphire said, “I proudly present a selection of beauties to satisfy even the most discerning. First up is Robin. She’s twenty-one years old, a keen athlete, and also trained to fulfill your wildest fantasies.”

  Tyler watched a beautiful young woman step onto the catwalk. Her black, Lycra body glove accentuated every curve of her lean, toned physique. Her tanned, olive complexion complemented her flowing, raven black hair, her stunning blue eyes lifeless under the effects of drugs.

  Tyler still couldn’t bring himself to touch the bidding screen and watched in horror as Robin sold for $75,600.

  And so it continued.

  Thirteen more women appeared on the catwalk. After the seventh, Tyler became anxious. What if Emily wasn’t going to be among them? What if, down to that one possibility, his elaborate plan to save his sister had been in vain?

  He was also conscious of Fong’s eyes on him at all times. He suspects something.

  And then Sapphire made his final announcement. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have saved the very best for last.”

  Tyler’s gaze shot up. At the back of the stage, a figure appeared in silhouette. As she came into the light, her white dress became visible, with a matching silk hood resting across the top of her head. Her brown hair was perfectly straight, and her skin was flawless. Her face radiated innocence and purity.

  Tyler’s heart pounded, and his eyes filled with tears, unable to rein in his emotions. Oh, my God.

  “Emily is twenty-four . . . and a nun,” Sapphire said. “She has never been touched by a man. Surely, she is our finest acquisition to date.”

  Tyler couldn’t avoid noticing the unanimous ambiance of enthusiastic attention all around him. All eyes were fixed on Emily. Transfixed, he watched as she slowly moved along the catwalk like a human mannequin.

  The numbers on the screen increased rapidly before him. Within seconds, the bids reached $100,000. Knowing how to play the game, Tyler fought back every instinct to place a bid. The way to succeed was to bid high and last. His fingers trembled on the screen, but he didn’t enter a number.

  Fong noticed Tyler’s hands, and then he looked up to see perspiration coating his brow. The young man’s rapid breathing and demeanor seemed to be more desperate than passionate. He’d shown no interest in any of the other offerings. Fong put it down to Tyler’s own words, initially. He’d said he was looking for something different, but he was now certain there was more to it than that. Tyler Faraday was not what he seemed.

  Almost casually, Fong turned his head fleetingly to Emily. He glanced back at Tyler and then back to Emily again. After quietly standing, he eased his way out onto the steps, leaving Tyler engrossed in the bidding war.

  Fong hurried out to the back of the bar area, up the two flights of steps, and almost ran along the corridor. Arriving at Mae Ling’s door, he entered without knocking.

  She looked away from her monitor screen with a start. “What—?”

  “Shut up and listen,” Fong cut her off in Mandarin. “We may have a serious problem.”

  With her hands pressed onto her desk, she stood slowly with an almost-knowing look in her eyes. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t think Tyler Faraday is here for recreational reasons.”

  Fear showed in Mae Ling’s eyes. “I had a call from Landis a couple of days ago. Do you think he’s with the authorities?”

  “It’s possible, but I doubt it. I think his interest is much more personal.”

  “A rescue attempt?”

  “I think so.”

  She turned back to the screen. Emily’s bids had just soared over $1 million.

  She took out her cell phone and made a call. “Jin? I want to see you in my office right away.”

  Tyler waited with unendurable tension until the bidding stopped at $1.25 million.

  “You have ten seconds to enter your bids,” Sapphire said. “Going, going . . .”

  With desperate speed, Tyler entered $2 million.

  “Congratulations to our winning bidder.”

  Tyler sat back and exhaled with the relief of having won his sister’s freedom.

  Sapphire grinned. “That concludes The Scramble. Enjoy the rest of your evening. Until next time, friends.” The image on the screen disappeared and the lights came on.

  The auditorium was silent. The bidders stood, and Tyler noticed how their gazes were all aimed downwards. Nobody made eye contact with anyone.

  Shaking, he got out of his seat and immediately felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Fong smiling.

  “Did you win, Mr. Faraday?”

  Tyler forced a smile. “Yes, I did, it seems.”

  “Congratulations. If you’d like to follow me, we can arrange for your purchase to be secured. There is a procedure to ensure that you leave with your acquisition in complete safety.”

  “Thank you.”

  Fong led him to Mae Ling’s office. Tyler shivered at the cruel coldness radiating from the woman before him.

  And then he saw the huge behemoth standing behind the door.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Faraday,” Mae Ling said. “I am Mae Ling Cheung, the administrator of this facility.”

  “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

  She moved from behind the desk and came closer to him, her hospitable expression darkening. “I haven’t got time to waste on frivolities, so I’m going to get to the point. The only question I have is—who the hell are you?”

  Tyler frowned, confused. “I . . . I’m not sure I follow you.”

  Mae Ling took a face-down photograph from her desk
. “I don’t know if you are with the authorities, but the one thing I just can’t get past . . .” She turned the photograph over. Tyler looked down to see a close-up of Emily’s face. “. . . is the striking resemblance.”

  A lump formed in his throat. Oh, boy.

  “Jin,” she said.

  Tyler cried out with the pain of his left arm being twisted high behind his back.

  Forty-Two

  The Secret of Sapphire

  “It’s going down. He’s in trouble!” Brandon threw the receiver onto Nikki’s lap. Before she could say anything, he was out of the van.

  By the time he reached the rear doors, his jacket and shirt were already off his back. He opened the doors and climbed inside, kicking off his shoes immediately. He unbuckled his jeans and threw all of his clothing to the far side, behind the Turbo Swan.

  He unclasped a metallic silver chest in the corner. With desperate speed, he reached inside and took out the Kevlar pants and jacket, feeding himself into them as fast as his hands could move.

  Next, he took out the boots and put them on. It took him less than a minute to secure the buckle straps along both ankles and calves

  After putting on the armored gloves, he grasped the tool belt from the silver chest, and secured it around his waist. Skimming it with his hands, he ensured all of his weaponry was attached to the individual compartments—two state-of-the-art machine pistols, the sonic force emitter, the laser torch, and a spider cable, among several other potentially-useful devices.

  Finally, he took the helmet and brought it up to his head. As he was about to put it on, he froze with an almost-sixth sense that someone was in the van with him.

  Looking to his right, huddled behind the Turbo Swan, was a sight that caused his heart to sink into despair. “Belinda?”

  She stood with a guilty look on her face. “I’m sorry.”

  “I told you to stay with Miranda! You’re pregnant. You can’t be here now.”

  “I-I couldn’t stay, Brandon. I love you. Nothing has changed since North Carolina. I’m with you to the end, remember?”

  He put his helmet on, lifted the visor, and gently held her by the shoulders. “Tyler was made. I have to go, baby. Please. I’m begging you. Stay with Nikki. She’s really scared.”

  “OK, but . . .”

  “What?”

  “Oh, God. Please don’t die, baby.”

  His face expressionless, he turned away, ran to the open doors, and leaped out of the van.

  ***

  Kevin Hobson sat in the control room of Channel 7’s Studio 6, surrounded by technicians and TV monitors. Overseeing a late night live interview between his top anchor person, Tara Willoughby, and a particularly prominent politician, wasn’t his idea of fun.

  He’d continued in his function as the station’s CEO, but his experience with Brandon Drake and Belinda Reese two years earlier remained the highlight of his journalistic career. Nothing since had captured the public attention like that particular interview. Armed killers bursting into his studio had been a terrifying, but highly-publicized incident, which had thrust Channel 7 into a media league far above its original status.

  His attention was distracted by the abrupt entrance of his long-standing, petite assistant, Julie Beacham. “What’s going on?” he said.

  “We’ve just had a tip from Charlie downtown. Something big is about to kick off down at the docks.”

  “What?”

  “No specific details. Something was overheard down at police headquarters about Homeland Security, police helicopters, and the Eighty-Second Airborne Division.”

  Hobson stood rapidly, holding her eager look for a moment. “Homeland Security and the Eighty-Second add up to Brandon Drake. I can feel it. Get Tara and a news crew down to the docks right away.”

  Julie cringed. “As you can see, Tara’s in the middle of a live interview.”

  He aggressively gestured toward the politician on the monitor. “Get that goddamn, boring asshole out of here! We’ve got real news to cover.”

  “I’ll use slightly different wording.” She turned and exited the room.

  Hobson followed her, his heart aglow with opportunistic elation.

  ***

  Brandon reached the edge of the Hamlin factory and braced his back against the front wall. Peering around the side to his left, he saw the length of the building was clear. After taking the sonic force emitter from his tool belt, he scurried along the side toward the rear and reached the end within moments. He leaned against the wall again and peered along the back of the building.

  Two men were at the far end guarding an entrance door, both carrying machine guns. Brandon knew his armor could withstand the bullets, although the impacts would seriously knock the wind out of him. The real danger was the alerting noise the gunfire would create.

  Despite the darkness, he could make out the two men were Caucasian and wearing night camos. He knew he’d have to take them out in rapid succession.

  Shielding half of his body behind the wall, he reached around, aimed the sonic force emitter squarely at the face of the guard nearest to him, and took the shot. The man fell to the ground instantly.

  The second guard raised his machine gun, but not quickly enough. A sonic wave bolt rendered him unconscious, and he collapsed onto his colleague.

  Without a moment to spare, Brandon sprinted along the back of the building to the door. After stepping over the unconscious guards, he studied the door for a second, discovering it was steel and locked from within.

  Adrenaline coursed through him in the grip of self-doubt. Did he have the ability to defeat whatever awaited him inside?

  He recalled the time he’d set off from the cabin to stop the attack against Carringby Industries. It was the same then as it was now. He was alone. Once again, he had to face the fact that he was afraid.

  Reaching around, he gripped the laser torch on his tool belt. As he drew it out of its titanium holder, he was startled by a hand on his shoulder.

  He spun around and knocked the hand away. Instinctively falling into a stance, he put his mysterious visitor in a position that was out of his own body range. He grasped the man by the throat and thrust him up against the wall. Only then did he see who it was. He lifted his visor and stared into the man’s perturbed eyes. “Jed?”

  “Yeah, take it easy. I’m trying to help,” Jed Crane said.

  Brandon released him and stepped back. “What are you doing here?”

  “Brandon, you’ve got to get out of here. Wilmot and Garrett are on their way down here with the police and some of your buddies from the Eighty-Second.”

  “Dammit! I can’t go, Jed. My brother and sister are in there, and they know what Tyler’s been trying to do. If I don’t go in there right now, they’re gonna kill him.”

  Jed exhaled with a knowing look. “All right, I’ll help you. Two of us are going to be more use than one. Fill me in on what we’re dealing with.”

  Brandon knelt down and took the two machine guns from the unconscious guards, identifying them as type 05 JS nine millimeter submachine guns. Why would American personnel be carrying Chinese-manufactured firearms?

  He hooked a gun across his shoulder, and gave the other to Jed. “This should help. I’ve got a couple of whisper-silent machine pistols on my belt. I want to make as little noise as possible in there, but I have a feeling it’s not gonna make a difference for long.”

  Jed hooked the machine gun across his shoulder and over his satchel. “Thanks. So, what are we up against?”

  “A human trafficking outfit led by some African-American kingpin called Sapphire, who nobody has ever seen in the flesh. He only appears on a screen apparently, from different locations. That’s all I know. That, and the fact that everybody who knows about him gets scared for their lives.”

  Brandon adjusted the calibrator on the pen-sized laser torch. A fine beam of orange light cut into the taut crack in the door. As he drew the laser downwards past the door lock, the odor of burni
ng metal filled the air.

  “That’s an impressive piece of equipment you’ve got there,” Crane said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “I know. All this stuff I’ve got on me is experimental tech. I swiped it from Mach Industries a couple of years back.”

  “Yeah, so I was told.”

  The beam cut down to the bottom and the door swung open a fraction of an inch.

  Brandon lightly grasped the edge just above the point where the laser had made contact. The door creaked open.

  The two men held themselves behind the door for a moment. There were no sounds coming from within.

  Brandon took one of the machine pistols from his belt, braced it against his helmet, and darted around the door, aiming inside. There was nothing other than a maintenance stairwell. “It’s clear. Let’s go.”

  Jed followed him up the stairwell, both of them taking cautious steps.

  Brandon caught a glimpse of what was ahead of them when he was ten steps from the top. It appeared to be an office-style corridor with several rooms on the right.

  He waved Jed up when he reached the top, and slowly edged his way along. The first room was empty, save for a curious slew of Chinese regalia and paperwork.

  A yard away from the second room, he could hear a rustling of activity. He gestured to Jed to be prepared. Crane held his pistol next to his ear.

  They entered the small room to find three Chinese males sitting at a computer terminal. Three monitor screens appeared to show different locations within the complex.

  The Chinese operatives turned in unison, alerted by the presence behind them. The momentary shock on their faces was clear as their gazes fell upon the tall, hulking, black-armored figure in the doorway. They went for their pistols concealed beneath their jackets.

  With one squeeze of the trigger, Brandon sprayed them with bullets to the faint drum roll of gunfire through a silencer. The walls and floor were instantly splattered with blood.

  Brandon stood silent, trying to gather his thoughts, numb with shock. He removed his helmet and looked upon the carnage.