The Gauntlet Assassin (An Action Thriller)

by L. J. Sellers

  “Lovely.” She started to leave, then turned back. “Have you lost weight?”

  Paul tried not to beam. “About ten pounds.”

  “It looks good.”

  “Thanks.” He shifted on his feet. “Would you like to go out for lunch someday this week?” His voiced sounded a little panicked even to him.

  “Let me check my schedule.” She smiled and left.

  Paul didn’t know what to think. Camille had come into his office for no apparent reason and paid him a compliment, so he was encouraged. But did she really have to check her schedule? Or was she blowing him off?

  After work, Paul picked up a second prepaid iCom from a different vendor in the same park. On the bus ride home, he sent a brief text to Rathmore: The position is open. I want the rest of the money by next Tuesday.

  He didn’t hear from Rathmore until late the next night. He’d spent the evening reading a new crime fiction novel, but he’d been distracted and worried that neither Camille nor Rathmore had responded to him. At nine he put down his Dock and turned on the big screen for his hour a day of video programming. Isabel always said that any more than that would ruin a person’s mind.

  The prepaid iCom beeped and he snatched it up. The text from Rathmore was as brief as the one Paul had sent him: Not until the job is mine.

  Paul keyed back: That wasn’t the agreement. I guaranteed the opening and that you would be interviewed. Did they call you?

  Rathmore responded: Yes, but I’m not paying the rest until I get hired.

  Damn! Paul debated his next move. What leverage did he have? For starters, he knew who Rathmore was and where to find him. He also knew how to get people fired. Adrenaline surged into his chest at the thought. He had power. Paul keyed back: I can also ensure that you’re NOT hired.

  He paced the house, waiting for Rathmore to respond. After thirty minutes of distress, Paul settled down to watch a few talk shows in his queue, then got ready for bed. What if Rathmore never paid him the rest of the money? Paul decided he would go ahead with the surgery. He’d pay up front with the cash he had and put the rest on credit. He might also spend some time in the database, looking for another matchup between a vulnerable Level C employee and an ambitious climber.

  He stayed after work the next day to take another look at the personal information for the other two candidates in line for Janel Roberts’ old job. There had to be a way to help Rathmore secure the position and guarantee the additional ten grand. He really needed it. Paul decided if everything went well with this arrangement, he’d set up another one and get a chin implant too. He hated the way his face disappeared under his mouth.

  If he had any money left over, he’d get some caps too. Women liked straight, white teeth, and he was tired of smiling with his mouth closed. He worried Camille thought he was too somber. Paul knew if given the chance, he could be a fun-loving guy. He’d mentioned the commissioner to Camille that afternoon and she’d agreed to have lunch on Friday. She’d suggested a restaurant a few blocks from their building, saying she had an errand to run on the way and would meet him there. He worried at first she didn’t want to be seen leaving with him, then he remembered Camille always ran errands on her lunch hour.

  Paul opened the database and pulled up everything he could on Trevor Jamison. The candidate was already employed by HHS, so Paul also had access to his performance reviews, which, to his dismay, were stellar. Paul stared at the digital photo in the corner of the resumé. The man was ridiculously handsome. How to sabotage him? Paul considered the simplicity of letting the air out of Jamison’s tires and making him late to the interview, but he soon realized the difficulty. The interview would take place in the HHS office on Independence Avenue and Jamison already worked in the building.

  Could he alter the man’s records in some way? Of course he could. A chill crawled up Paul’s spine. He’d never considered anything so devious. The change would be temporary, Paul told himself. He’d put a few minor glitches in Jamison’s performance reviews, then change them back later. It was no guarantee Rathmore would get the job, but Paul felt like he had to do something.

  The second candidate, Ashley Summers, had an impressive resumé and currently worked for JB Pharma in its community health division. Would she even consider the position? Paul wondered. Pharma companies paid well and offered high-end med cards. Paul predicted Ms. Summers would interview for the position and use it as leverage to squeeze more money or stock options out of her employer. He scratched her off his mental list for the moment.

  After work, Paul took a walk and sent another text to Rathmore: I’ve done what I can. The position is yours if you don’t blow the interview. I’ll send instructions for the drop later. Have the money ready by Tuesday.

  On the way home, he thought about their pending transaction, hoping to come up with a better, more foolproof idea, but creativity had never been his strong suit, despite all the fiction he read. He finally decided to use a plan similar to the first one because it had worked well. Or mostly, anyway. This time he would insist on a sturdy plastic bag that didn’t smell like food. Paul also chose a small restaurant for the meet. After the incident with the dog, he was reluctant to conduct the mission outside. Changing it up was safer.

  He sent the information to Rathmore and hoped for the best.

  Back in his apartment, he tried to put it all out of his mind. He spent an hour surfing the net, looking at cosmetic procedures. Nose jobs, eyebrow lifts, cheek implants, chin extensions. They could do almost anything to improve a face. Mesmerized by the before-and-after photos, Paul kept clicking and staring at the complete makeovers. He touched the space between his teeth and vowed to get some caps.

  As he got ready for bed, he stared in the mirror and tried to visualize himself with a stronger chin. Why not? Everything seemed possible now. He heard the prepaid iCom beep and checked the message. Rathmore said simply: I’ll be there.

  Chapter 12

  Mon., May 8, 2:14 p.m.

  Wet and exhausted, Lara stood in front of the cameras and couldn’t stop smiling. She’d won her first round! She would move forward to the Puzzle. The adrenaline kept coming and she could barely focus on the director’s voice.

  “Forty-two-year-old Lara Evans of Oregon has won the first round of the Challenge, beating twenty-four-year-old Kirsten Dornberg of Florida. Lara’s official time is 59 minutes and 12.5 seconds.”

  Lara looked at the big digital clock with pulsing red numbers. Could that be right? She felt like she’d been in the tunnels for hours. She tried to remember the competitors’ times from last year, then realized it didn’t matter. The Challenge was different every year.

  “You were in trouble for a minute on the elevated maze,” Minda said, her voice breathy. “How did you manage to catch yourself and get back up? That looked impossible.”

  “Some of it was luck, but years of martial arts training have honed my reflexes and taught me to go into the fall. So I pushed myself to the beam, rather than lose my balance.” Lara flashed back on the moment, but it was a blur. “Getting up was a slow and careful process. It wasn’t something I could have ever practiced for.”

  “No one expected you to win your round of the Challenge, so the analysts and bookies are scrambling. I hear the odds against you have dropped to seventeen to one.” Minda shoved the mic at Lara, as though she’d asked a question.

  “The odds have always been against me and I’ve never let it stop me. I think the viewers tested me and I earned their support.”

  “You definitely did. After Kirsten grabbed you underwater, the viewers brought the wall down to give you a break. Do you think you could have won without that?”

  “We’ll never know.” Lara wanted to remind the director that she’d beat Kirsten in the elevated maze and in the tunnel, but it was better to be gracious. “It was an intense race and Kirsten was a formidable competitor.”

  “You have a day and a half before your next event. How do you plan to spend your time?”


  “I hope to get permission to leave the arena and see a little of the capital. This is my first visit to D.C.”

  Lara saw one of the cameramen swing his focus behind her. Kirsten must have finally come out of the water pit and through the door. Lara resisted looking back.

  “Congratulations again.” Minda grabbed Lara’s hand and shoved her arm into the air like a prizefighter. She hoped the viewers were cheering for her in their homes. She would need their popularity points in every phase, especially the final vote. After a moment, Minda nudged her to step aside. It was Kirsten’s last turn to chat up the viewers before heading home. As Lara walked away, pain flooded her legs, but the smile stayed on her face.

  She trudged down the wide hallway that circled the arena and passed a technician at a control panel, but no one else. The media only had access to the main lobby area. Lara hoped to find a way out of the building that would allow her to bypass the lobby where many of the contestants hung out. On some level, she wanted their congratulations, yet she’d been a loner for so long, it was habit to avoid social encounters, especially groups.

  The gray hallway went on forever, with occasional overhead doors for machinery and a few regular doors for people. Eventually, the hall hooked left and fifty yards later, Lara pushed through double doors into the common area where she’d started. The room held groups of soft chairs, a small cafeteria, and a few NetCom stations that had blocked access to the Gauntlet program and all social media sites. The organizers did their best to keep the participants from learning any details about the arenas before they competed.

  A group of contestants swarmed her, offering their congratulations. They slapped her shoulders and gave her high fives, their mouths smiling but their eyes distant, calculating. Even though they couldn’t watch the events, they could see the scoreboards, which were updated constantly.

  Jason Copeland gave her a friendly punch to the shoulder. “You kicked ass, old woman.”

  Lara fought the urge to put a fist into his solar plexus. “I hear you wanted to go against me in the Challenge, looking for easy points. Seems a little cowardly.”

  He grinned. “We’re all here to win, one way or another.”

  Aware of the cameras everywhere, Lara grinned back. “Maybe you’ll get a chance against me in the Battle.”

  A man with coppery skin and a black ponytail stepped closer. “I’m Makil Johnson, from Georgia. A group of us who don’t compete until tomorrow are having dinner off site. Would you like to join us?”

  Still aware of the cameras, Lara reluctantly said, “Sure. Thanks for asking.” She’d beg out of it later. “Do you have a chaperone?” Contestants could only leave the arena and hotel area in groups, and they had to take a chaperone to ensure no one watched the broadcast version of the competition.

  Makil nodded. “We’re all set to meet at seven in the hotel lobby.”

  “I’ll see you then. You’ll have to excuse me for now. I need to rest for a while.”

  “You earned it.” He gave her a nod of approval.

  After a hot shower and a small protein and vegetable shake, Lara lay down. Her body was exhausted but she didn’t sleep well even at night, so she would only meditate for a while, then get back up. After a few minutes, the desk NetCom beeped. Lara grudgingly got up to check it. The corner app flashed Video Message.

  She tapped to answer and the box enlarged. Michael Quince and Rob Schakowski, her old homicide-unit partners, grinned and shouted their congratulations. Quince did an end-zone dance that made her laugh. She recognized the conference room in the Eugene Police Department, and it warmed her weary bones to see them. Schak had retired the year before, so he’d made a special effort to join Quince. She was a little sad Jackson wasn’t there.

  “Hey! It’s good to see you guys. Thanks for checking in.”

  “You killed on the first section,” Schak shouted. “In fact, you’re the first woman to finish the Challenge in less than an hour.”

  Lara hadn’t realized that. Trust Schak to have the stats. “It’s wickedly complex. I was going on instinct.” They had to be vague when they talked about the contest. Special software monitored the contestants’ conversations with the outside world to ensure they weren’t hearing advance details. “I mostly got lucky.”

  “Bullshit. That save was amazing,” Schak said.

  Quince, going gray but still gorgeous, cut in. “I about had a heart attack when you went down, but you were so quick to correct it.”

  “You were fast in the tunnels too.” Schak still sounded excited, but a beeping noise cut him off. The software didn’t want him talking about tunnels. If Lara hadn’t already competed, their message probably wouldn’t have come through.

  “I hated every minute of it. My knees still hurt. Did you know there were reptiles in there?”

  “That’s disgusting.” Schak tried not to laugh.

  “I’m surprised you were both able to watch the live feed. How did you know when I was going to compete?” They only announced each Challenge a few hours in advance. The software also blocked viewers from the competitor’s state from voting when their representative ran the course. It kept populous states from having an advantage.

  “I was watching at home and waiting,” Schak said. “When I heard them announce your name for the first round, I contacted Jackson and came down here. He watched with us, then had to go out on a lead. He’s working a missing persons case.”

  The job always came first for Jackson. She loved that about him. “This means a lot to me, guys.” Lara struggled to keep her voice from cracking. “I appreciate the support.”

  “When do you compete again?”

  “Not until Wednesday. They’ll run Challenges all day tomorrow and post my time for the Puzzle sometime after five.”

  “Good luck. Show ’em how smart you are.”

  “Thanks.” Emotions she never thought she’d feel again were bubbling to the surface. “I have to go now. Say hello to everyone for me.” She blew a kiss for fun, then felt foolish and signed off.

  At six-thirty, she considered going out to dinner with the group who’d invited her, then decided against it. Her inability to eat solid food meant that most social gatherings were awkward for her. People always pushed her to eat and she never did. She also didn’t bother to explain why. Jackson was the only person who knew for sure about her condition and he understood without being told. Guilt was something he lived with too, even though he had no reason for it. Lara’s guilt was well-earned.

  She made another small shake with a banana, milk, and protein powder and drank it while surfing the net for news. She felt like a junkie in need of a fix. She normally tuned in to the news intermittently throughout the day, but now she was going on twenty-four hours without any. The headline was a deadly flash flood in Illinois. She thought about Jason Copeland and wondered if he knew. If he did, would it affect his performance? The civil war in Syria was still going on, a tornado had hit the southern states, and summer temperatures were predicted to be in the 115-120-degree range for most mid-Earth locations. On the bright side, a Chinese doctor had implanted an autologous-liver into a patient.

  As Lara read the details, the door burst open and Kirsten stormed in. Her roommate stopped between the desk and the couch and blocked the path to Lara’s bedroom.

  “You little old bitch.” Kirsten’s face twisted with bitterness and her breath reeked of alcohol. “First, you get lucky in the tunnels, then you earn the sympathy vote. It’s pathetic. I should have won the Challenge.”

  Lara started to laugh, then remembered the cameras. Had Kirsten forgotten about them or did she no longer care? “It was a fair competition. I’m sorry you’re going home.” It was the best Lara could do. Without the cameras, she would have told her to fuck off.

  “Fair? They handicapped me at every phase because I’m younger and better looking.”

  “Get real. I’m sure every male viewer in the audience gave you a constant thumbs-up.” Lara didn’t want this fight,
but it wasn’t in her nature to roll over either. She knew it was best to isolate herself now. She started to go around her roommate, but Kirsten stepped in her way.

  “I could’ve taken you in the Battle for sure.”

  Lara bit the inside of her cheek. “I have twenty years of martial arts training. I don’t think so.”

  “Let’s find out,” Kirsten taunted. “Let’s do battle.”

  “No thanks. I’m saving it for the contest.”

  Lara started past her again, and Kirsten leaned over, causing Lara to brush against her shoulder. Kirsten spun around, grabbed the back of Lara’s hair, and yanked. The pain and aggression sent a white-hot ball of fury into Lara’s brain. Her reaction was primal, beyond her control. She had sensed the move as Kirsten made it, so she threw herself in the direction of the pull, body slamming Kirsten and forcing her off balance. Lara released a quick jab from her waist and connected with her roommate’s soft spot in the hollow of her ribs. Kirsten made a strange grunting sound and went down to her knees. Lara forced herself to step back, rather than deliver a second blow.

  “Don’t touch me again.” She spun and headed into her bedroom, where she locked the door. Lara checked her iCom: 7:59 p.m. Crap! The cameras had caught the physical exchange and would now shut off. She sat on the bed and took long slow breaths. Would Minda boot her out for striking Kirsten? It had been self-defense as far as she was concerned, but the director might not see it that way. Her fate depended on how the viewers reacted, Lara realized. This might be one of the circumstances in which Minda polled voters before making a decision.

  Lara waited until Kirsten went into her own room, then she pulled on running shoes. She had to get out and work off some steam or she would never get to sleep, even with her meds. Lara strapped on her 9-millimeter, grabbed her room card and her mini-flashlight, and headed out. She would have liked to run through the neighborhood on the other side of the expressway, but she didn’t have permission to leave the property. She crossed the empty lobby and noticed the hotel clerk reading on his Dock. He didn’t look up.