The Gauntlet Assassin (An Action Thriller)

by L. J. Sellers

  What the hell had he gotten himself into?

  Chapter 29

  Six weeks earlier: Sat., April 1, 8:42 p.m.

  Feeling restless and irritable, Paul put Lilly on the leash and went out for a walk. He rarely left his apartment on foot after dark, but both his brain and body were too wired to sit and read. At the bottom of the stairs, he saw Mrs. Olson coming in from the garage, carrying a big recycling container. He turned and headed back upstairs to avoid her. He didn’t want to talk to anyone right now.

  When the lobby was clear, he hurried outside. A little surprised by his behavior, Paul wondered if the MetaboSlim pills were affecting his mood and giving him a bit of insomnia. Still ten pounds away from his goal weight, he wasn’t giving them up yet. Maybe he could just cut back. He also hated to let go of the confidence they gave him. He liked his new assertiveness.

  Paul jogged toward the nearby park, grateful the wind was neither bitter cold or suffocatingly hot, just relentless. April and its lack of extremes had become his favorite month. His thoughts, as always, came back to Camille. He loved her green eyes, slender neck, and throaty laugh. He loved being seen with her…outside the office. More than anything, he loved having sex with her and thought about it constantly. How had he gone through his whole life without that pleasure? They’d had two more dates and the sex was definitely getting better. Camille had come easily both times. He’d briefly wondered if she was faking it, then decided no. As good as the sex was, Paul wanted more than a bimonthly romp. He wanted a life together.

  A little stab of guilt twisted in his gut. He hadn’t told Camille yet that he’d already uploaded her name and file into the replacement database. In the back of his mind, he feared she would stop seeing him once she knew. But if he wanted a real relationship, he had to tell her.

  Paul reached the park and paused. Away from sidewalk and streetlights, the area was dark and unnerving. A sliver of moon gave off just enough light to let him see a homeless camp under a clump of trees. No one seemed to be around, or they were sleeping, and he was tempted to let Lilly off the leash for a while. He decided against it. His baby was too precious to risk.

  Paul jogged around the perimeter a few times, then headed for home. As he passed a section of empty storefronts, a man stepped out from behind a parked car and blocked the sidewalk. The stranger was taller than Paul but thin, like a junkie. With his dark skin and clothes, he blended into the night, a surreal figure. Yet the silver gun in his hand seemed terrifyingly real.

  “Just give me yo electronics, then go ’bout yo business.” His voice was low-pitched and casual.

  Heart pounding in his ears, Paul stammered, “I don’t have anything with me. I’m just out for a walk.”

  The man lurched forward and grabbed Paul by the collar. “I want yo iCom, yo Dock, whatever yo carryin’.” His breath reeked of booze and decay.

  Before Paul could respond, Lilly starting barking with a high-pitched intensity. The mugger let go of Paul and gave Lilly a vicious kick. His little girl landed with a soft thud and went silent.

  Rage and hatred unlike anything he’d ever felt exploded in Paul’s chest. He bellowed and swung wildly at Lilly’s attacker, landing a glancing blow to the side of the man’s head. The mugger reared back, stunned and angered. He brought up his arm and slammed Paul in the face with his gun. Paul grunted in pain, clutching his nose. The assailant punched him in the chest, knocking him to the ground.

  Panic flooded his body. Paul felt certain Lilly was dead and he would soon be too. His last sexual encounter with Camille flashed in his mind and he was glad he’d had the experience. His attacker dropped down and straddled Paul, trapping him against the sidewalk. Bony fingers dug through his pockets, looking for loot. Humiliation and rage fought for control of Paul emotions. Yet he was trapped and helpless. He began to pray, something he hadn’t done in a long time.

  “Fuck you!” The man spit in his face, outraged that Paul didn’t have anything of value. He pushed off and kicked Paul in the head, then ran away, cursing.

  Paul let out a sob, then crawled to where Lilly lay. His baby girl was still alive, but she was broken. Paul picked her up and sprinted for home, blood running from his nose, Lilly limp in his arms. He would grab his keys and drive her to the Union Veterinary Clinic. Maybe they could save her.

  Paul called in sick the next day, too grief-stricken to work. He hadn’t mentioned Lilly’s passing to Stacia. She was not the kind of boss who would understand. He opened one of his favorite comfort reads, but couldn’t focus. He watched a talk show on the NetCom and found it irritating. Paul iced his nose for another twenty-minute session and hoped like hell the damage wasn’t permanent.

  As the day passed, his grief turned to rage. He fantasized about killing the bastard who’d crushed Lilly with the toe of his boot. He would buy a gun and patrol the neighborhood every evening until he found him. When he spotted the man, he’d rush him and shoot him in the balls. As the bastard lay dying, he would say, That’s what you get for killing my dog.

  Paul paced the apartment and occasionally drew his imaginary weapon, pointing at the dark man with the violent streak. Pulling the trigger and saying the words gave him moments of reprieve from his grief. He decided he really did need a gun. Everyone else had one. He wanted to feel safe too. Paul rushed to his NetCom and searched for weapons. Page after page of photos loaded. He knew nothing about guns, and the information was overwhelming. Paul thought he would try a gun shop and get the advice of an expert.

  As he perused the pages, he came across a Taser and decided it would come in handy. A few minutes later, his order had been processed. Paul felt better already. He thought he might get another dog someday, but not while his grief was still so raw.

  First Isabel, then Lilly. Old feelings of abandonment surfaced, shaking his foundation. He couldn’t lose Camille as well.

  Chapter 30

  “I have to get going.” Camille threw back the sheet and reached for her clothes.

  It was the first time they’d made love in his apartment. The first time any woman had been naked in his home. Paul was still lightheaded from his climax. “Please stay the night. I love having you here.”

  “I can’t. I have early plans for the morning.”

  “We should spend a Saturday together sometime.” Paul tried to sound casual, but he felt needy and it came through.

  “We will, but we have to go slow. Office romances too often end in disaster.” She pulled on her little black dress.

  “Maybe one of us should get a different job. Then we could be open about our relationship.” Paul couldn’t believe he’d just suggested it.

  “Maybe I should.” She sat on the bed next to him. “Have you had any success getting my file into Thaddeus Morton’s replacement list?”

  Paul couldn’t lie to her. “Yes, it’s done and I meant to tell you. I finally found a way to cover my digital tracks.”

  “Awesome news! Thank you, Paul.” Camille kissed him on the mouth with just enough pressure to arouse him.

  “We should celebrate. Can I see you—?”

  “We should get him fired.” Camille chuckled, as if she might have been kidding.

  Paul knew she was not. If she’d asked him three months ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated. But since the FBI had sent an agent to question him, he was being more cautious. He hadn’t heard from them since, but they were probably still investigating, still watching the system. He was torn. “I’ll help you if I can. What did you have in mind?”

  “I don’t know. Can you do it?” Camille went in search of her shoes.

  “It seems risky. He doesn’t have any weaknesses in his personal data.”

  “So you’ve looked at his files?” She glanced at him with sly amusement.

  “I saw them when I set up the replacement database.”

  “Do you snoop, Paul?” Camille grinned. “I would if I had access.”

  His face flushed. “I only looked at the commissioner’s files because you
were so interested in the position.”

  “I really want that job, Paul. I’m perfect for it. I would do a lot more media interviews and programming partnerships. I was meant to network. I’m withering away in this dead-end paperwork position.”

  “You should be on camera,” Paul agreed. “You’re beautiful and dynamic.” He thought the job was more complex than she realized, but he wasn’t foolish enough to say it.

  “I hear Morton is bisexual, but with a preference for men. Can we use that against him?”

  A tingle of excitement ran up Paul’s spine. They were in it together now, a mission to get Morton fired, so Camille could have his job and they could openly be together. “We have to be careful. I can’t hack his message account without drawing the FBI’s attention.”

  She scowled. “They’ll never do a serious investigation about something so minor. They’re too busy tracking all the ID thieves and terrorists.”

  “Morton is doing a great job and he’s well-respected. Getting him fired won’t be easy.”

  She sat on the bed again. “You’ll figure it out. And I will be very grateful.” Camille stroked his penis, giving him another spasm of pleasure.

  “Let’s brainstorm tomorrow over dinner at Georgio’s.” Paul wanted to be with her every day.

  She shook her head. “I can’t see you again until next weekend. I’ll cook for you at my condo.”

  A wave of hurt washed over him. She didn’t want to be seen with him in public. Despite his new nose and chin and beautiful teeth, he still wasn’t good enough for her. “Are you ashamed of me?”

  “No. Don’t say that. You’re an attractive and respectable man.” Camille grabbed her sweater and purse. “Restaurants are expensive, and I like to cook for you. Staying in together is a good thing. It’s what couples do.”

  She’d called them a couple. Paul let go of his hurt and paranoia. “When you’re the employment commissioner, we’ll be a power couple.”

  She gave him an odd smile. “I’ve got to go. See you Monday at work.”

  Paul spent the weekend thinking about Thaddeus Morton and how to get him fired. Just because he couldn’t use the federal system to send fake messages didn’t mean he couldn’t launch a cyber-attack from outside the system. Inappropriate photos on his WorldChat page, outrageous comments on political blogs, spam from his personal number—so many possibilities. Paul had never done anything like it before his first arrangement, and he detested people who did, but he now had the motive to pull it off.

  Where would he get inappropriate photos? He’d already checked out the commissioner’s WorldChat page and it was sparse, with very little personal information and few pictures. Paul considered following Morton around for a while, hoping to catch a camera shot of something scandalous, but that seemed like a time-consuming endeavor that might not pay off. He remembered how he’d let the air out of Janel Roberts’ tires. Maybe he had to be more aggressive again.

  Paul picked up the stun gun that had arrived with his weekly mail. Could he use it somehow?

  On Sunday, he drove by Morton’s house on Frontier Street, a neighborhood of upscale homes not far from the Gauntlet arena. Once the airport had shut down, the nearby neighborhood had been renovated with access to the river. A tall hedge surrounded Morton’s oversized brick home, but from what Paul could see through the gate, the place was quiet. No cars were in the driveway and there was no sign of movement. Paul remembered the commissioner also had a home in Eugene and commuted back and forth between the two. How did he afford both on his federal salary? Then Paul recalled that Morton had been a high-earning executive at one of the AmGo companies before the merger. He probably owned the house in Eugene outright.

  Could he dig up some financial dirt on the commissioner? Paul turned at the corner and started to circle the block. A woman in a Fusion Hybrid sped out of a driveway directly in front of him and slowed to a crawl.

  “Get the hell out of my way!” Paul slammed his palm into the steering wheel. This was why he hated driving. He resisted honking, but blew past her when she finally pulled to the curb.

  He drove around the block and slowed down to assess Morton’s home again. The metal gate likely opened with a remote, but the hedge was shorter along the sides of the property and could be scaled. What would he do once he was inside? One option was to lie in wait with a camera and hope to catch Morton with a male date. Paul rejected the idea. It made more sense to follow the commissioner and watch for an opportunity to snap an incriminating photo with his iCom.

  Paul sped up and left the neighborhood. He needed to know Morton’s schedule and he could find it if he accessed the commissioner’s message center. He would get in and out quickly. As long as he didn’t send any fraudulent texts, the FBI would never know.

  Chapter 31

  Fri., May 12, 9:05 a.m.

  Lara rode the shuttle to the arena with the two other contestants who remained in the competition: Makil Johnson of Georgia and Jason Copeland, the cocky Illinois competitor who’d annoyed her from day one. Makil worried her the most. He looked about five-eleven, but compared to Jason, he was slender and ageless. His straight black hair was pulled into a ponytail and she knew from his blog he was Chinese, Puerto Rican, and Cherokee.

  This morning they would run the Obstacle, a collection of challenge courses that changed every year and could be anything. Lara hoped speed and agility would be more important than strength. Tomorrow would be all about endurance, a twenty-six mile marathon through the suburbs.

  “I can’t believe you made it to the final phases.” Jason turned in the van seat, smiling in his smarmy way.

  “I just may be the last one standing.” Truthfully, she was a little stunned. Like the other contestants, she’d entered the Gauntlet with the abstract idea that she could pull it off, but the reality of the close calls in every round made her feel lucky to still be here.

  “I wonder what they’ve constructed this year,” Jason mused. “I hope there’s a rope climb. I am the master of the rope.”

  Lara didn’t feel like chatting. They weren’t on their way to camp. “We’ll see.”

  “When this thing is over, I plan to watch your two Battle rounds. That guy from Texas was big. I don’t know how you beat him.”

  “The second fight with Eric was harder. I got lucky.” The weapon had been a flying hammer, a cross between an old-style flail and a nunchuk. Made of synthetic polymers, it had a short chain linking two padded ends that were used as both a grip and a strike. Lara had practiced with nunchuks when she was much younger, but had gone into the red circle with little confidence. Fortunately, her second Battle opponent had underestimated her speed and made a fatal error.

  “Luck won’t help you today.” Makil spoke from the back of the van for the first time.

  Lara turned and nodded, but didn’t respond. They had pulled up in front of the third massive structure on the compound. The Obstacle was open to the sky, with moveable walls that served only to keep the construction a secret. Despite the effort to surprise contestants and viewers each year, some details occasionally leaked out. Lara could see several tall structures but had no idea what they were.

  “What have you heard?” Jason asked Makil as they climbed from the van.

  “Why would I tell you?” Makil shook his head and trotted over to the row of reporters who stood waiting for them. He was the favorite to win and she’d heard a rumor that he already had spokesperson offers.

  Lara braced herself for more media bullshit. It was almost over. Today, the Obstacle; tomorrow the Marathon. She was in the competition to the end now, with both events being strictly about finishing order and voter points. The three contestants who’d made it through the Battle tournament competed in the last phases with no elimination.

  The sun beat down and the wind picked up force. Thank god the sky was clear with no storm warnings. Last’s year’s Obstacle had been delayed by several mini-twisters. Media and contestants alike had run for the storm shelter under th
e main lobby.

  A reporter rushed up. “Did you hear about Jodie Hansen’s new Puzzle time?”

  Her excited tone gave Lara hope. “We don’t have access to information unless we’re in the arena.”

  “Her second time was 10:23 for an average of 7:71. So you won the Puzzle and you now have 233 points. You’re in the lead by 17.”

  Her throat swelled with joy. All she could do for a minute was hold back an undignified sob. When she could speak, she said. “That means I have a fighting chance.”

  “The analysts give you fifty-fifty odds.”

  Lara smiled. “Now I’m feeling downright optimistic.”

  Other reporters chatted her up and Minda made a point to get in another quick interview as well. Eager to see what awaited her in the Obstacle, Lara could barely concentrate on their questions. She finally pulled away and hurried through the narrow gate. Could she hold the lead?

  The first thing she saw was a thirty-foot wall, topped by three matching T-shaped structures she didn’t understand at first. A rope hung down the wall near each structure. Behind her, someone said, “They’re ziplines.”

  Lara’s shoulders slumped in relief. After the thirty-foot rope climb, the zipline would be a breeze—depending on what was on the other side of the wall.

  An attendant, this time an older man, ushered her over to the middle rope on the wall and outfitted her with gloves, elbow pads, and a helmet. The headgear gave her a little case of the jitters. They hadn’t even given her a helmet when she faced a two-hundred-pound man with a joust. What the hell was the zipline dropping into?

  The attendant gave her brief instructions. “At the top, run for the zipline, grab the straps, and go. When you see the luge below, prepare to release.”

  Oh crap. Now she understood the helmet.

  After another five minutes of waiting around and going over safety precautions, she heard an announcer call out, “The Obstacle is about to begin. Attendants, please take your stations. Contestants, make your final preparations.”