Choke Point

by Jay MacLarty

  Atherton turned his head, listening hard to the distant drone of the Zodiac. “I don’t think so.” Keeping his automatic leveled on Kyra, he crouched down, unclipped the cell phone from Mawl’s belt, and picked up the Uzi. “I’ll give you five minutes.” He glanced at the watch. “If you’re not back by—”

  “I’ll be back,” Simon interrupted, “but it will take at least fifteen minutes.” Kyra stared at him, knowing it shouldn’t take half that time.

  “Five minutes,” Atherton snapped. “I suggest you run.”

  Simon didn’t move. The man was clearly growing impatient, and impatience led to bad decisions. “Five minutes isn’t long enough. Not on foot. It might be possible if we—” He purposely said we, knowing Atherton would resist any suggestion. “—took one of the boats.”

  Atherton hesitated, his expression going from wary to appraising. Simon silently held his ground, letting the pressure of time wear on the man. “Five minutes,” Atherton repeated. “I don’t give a fuck how you do it.”

  “I’ll take this one,” Simon said, moving toward the boat still partially in the water. “It’s warmed up.” He reached down, yanked the tow line out of Mawl’s lifeless hand, and pushed off.

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” Atherton warned, “and we can all walk away from this little adventure.”

  Though he didn’t have a watch, Simon doubted if it took him more than three or four minutes to retrieve the crest and start back, but he knew that was the easy part—that things were about to get hairy. As he came around the last outcropping of rocks, he could see the two of them silhouetted against the sand, Atherton now standing behind Kyra, using her as a shield. Before he got too close, Simon adjusted his course to a spot about thirty feet offshore, then cut the engine and slipped over the side. Using the crest’s Frisbee-sized container to maintain direction, he wrapped his broken arm around the prop shaft, and ducked as low as he could behind the engine.

  “Don’t start playing games,” Atherton yelled. “I can see you, Leonidovich, and you know I’m a very good shot.”

  Simon held up the crest, the golden sunburst clearly visible in the moonlight, letting the man see the prize. “You shoot me, you lose this.”

  Atherton placed the tip of his automatic below Kyra’s ear. “I’m going to start counting, and if—”

  “Cut the bullshit,” Simon shouted back. “You want this crest, you’ll have to do better than count.”

  “I’m not kidding!”

  “You think I am?

  “One!”

  “You kill her, you think I’m going to give you the crest?”

  “Two!”

  Kyra closed her eyes, the moonlight pale against her face, and Simon hoped to hell he wasn’t making a mistake. “You told me the first step in any negotiation was to determine what the other person wanted.”

  “I’m not negotiating.”

  “Then you lose, because when you say ‘three,’ I’m dropping this thing in the ocean. Is that what you call a ‘successful end result’—no one ends up with anything? Sounds like lose-lose to me.”

  Atherton hesitated, a man sifting through his choices, looking for the best one, then apparently gave up. “What is it you want?”

  “You know what I want. Release her.”

  “I will. Put the crest in the boat and shove it over.”

  “That’s not going to happen, Jim. I’ll trust you with my life, not hers. You release her and you can have the damn thing. You have my word.”

  “I’m going to start counting, Leonidovich!”

  “Don’t try and play the stupid card, Jim. It doesn’t work for you. I’m making you a good offer and you know it. You get me, you get the crest. I heard you say it, ‘you’ve got to give up something to get something.’” Actually, he didn’t remember Atherton saying anything of the kind, but it sounded reasonable. “And I suggest you make up your mind…I don’t think your new friends are going to be too happy about what you did to their boss.”

  Atherton smiled awkwardly, the expression of someone feeling outmaneuvered but having to act like it was all for the best. “Sure, let’s do it that way.” He pulled the gun away from Kyra’s head, then carefully leveled it on Simon before releasing her.

  “Go on!” Simon shouted. “Get out of here.”

  She hesitated, their eyes making a brief connection, then she turned and sprinted into the trees.

  Atherton steadied the gun with his free hand. “Come on, come on! You got what you wanted.”

  “Don’t get trigger happy,” Simon warned, holding the crest above the boat where Atherton could see it. “You hit me…or the boat—” He emphasized the words, making sure Atherton got the picture. “You’ll lose the crest.”

  “Just bring it here.”

  “Hang on, I said you could have it.” He began to rotate the boat around, making a production of it and filling his lungs with air. As the bow came about, shielding his body, he dropped the crest into the boat and slid beneath the surface. Muffled by the water, he barely heard the eruption, but realized it was only a shriek of anger, the man not daring to fire with the boat between them.

  Ignoring the pain in his arm, Simon began to kick and stroke his way into deeper water, not surfacing until it felt like every capillary in his lungs would explode. He grabbed a quick breath and dove again, moving to his right with the current. When he surfaced again, he grabbed a quick look around, surprised to find that he wasn’t more than fifty feet from shore. Atherton had already retrieved the boat and was pulling it onto the beach. He reached inside, grabbed the container and snapped it open. Though too distant to read his expression, Simon could well imagine the triumphant smile.

  As if hearing the thought, Atherton looked up, scanning the surface of the water. “I know you’re out there, Leonidovich! Nice move! Unfortunately, you’re not going to live long enough to enjoy it.” He stepped back and fired three shots into the inflatable. Then he laughed, the sound high and maniacal. “I’m only sorry I won’t be here to see what they do to you.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  An Island in the South China Sea

  Saturday, 14 July 23:34:16 GMT +0800

  By the time Simon reached shore, his arms and legs had gone numb with fatigue. “You realize this is the second time I’ve had to crawl onto this beach?”

  Kyra squatted and ducked her head beneath his arm, trying to pull him up. “Come on, Leonidovich, we need to get out of here.”

  “Give me a break, Rynerson, I just saved your puny butt.”

  “For which you shall be thanked and rewarded for the rest of my life.”

  Thanked and rewarded—that didn’t sound too painful.

  “Which won’t be very long, if we don’t get moving!”

  Though his legs felt like Silly Putty, he finally managed to get his feet under him and stand. “Just give me a couple minutes. I need to catch my breath.”

  “I’m not sure we have minutes.” She pulled him around, pointing toward a bouncing speck of light, the sound of the Zodiac’s huge engine reverberating over the water. “Once we’re in the trees we’ll be okay.”

  He felt two rubbery legs short of okay. “You go. We stand a better chance if we split up.”

  “Don’t give me that crap, Leonidovich. You mean me, not we! We’re a team, remember? Muscle and brains. Giddyup, cowboy. Let’s go!”

  A disembodied voice put an end to the debate. “Brick! Come in!”

  For one heart-stopping moment neither one of them moved, their feet cemented to the sand, then the tiny radio on Mawl’s belt gave a beep, and they realized where the voice had come from. “That was Robbie,” Kyra whispered, as if he might hear her.

  Simon stared at the light, which now hung steady over the dark water, the sound of engine reduced to a low idling rumble, and realized they had stopped to use the radio. And he realized something else, it was right there, as clear as Mawl’s body lying in the sand: the cat-and-mouse game was over, or it should be, there was nothing
in it for mercenary soldiers without a leader. “Give me that damn thing.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve got an idea.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “You sure?”

  Beep. “Brick! Come in!” Beep.

  “Rynerson, if we’re going to be a team, you need to get past this questioning every one of my little life-and-death decisions.”

  She hesitated, then dropped his arm, ran to Mawl’s body, pulled the radio off his belt, and rushed back. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Don’t we all. He pressed the TALK button, trying to sound almost giddy with confidence. “Hello-o-o, Rob-bie.”

  There was a long pause before Robbie answered, his voice tentative and muted, as if filtered through cotton. Beep. “Mr. Leonidovich?” Beep.

  “You got it, Robbie boy.”

  Another long silence. Beep. “Where’s…where did you get that radio, Mr. Leonidovich?” Beep.

  Kyra smiled and shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You gotta admit, that boy sure is polite.”

  “Sure is.”

  “Now what?”

  “Now I give him the bad news.” He pressed the TALK button. “Sorry to break it to you like this, Robbie boy, but James Atherton just killed your boss and took off in one of those small inflatables.”

  Beep. “That’s a bloody lie!” Beep.

  “Oh, it’s true, Robbie. How else would I have gotten his radio? Not to mention his machine gun and his cell phone.” He released the button. “That should make them think twice before storming the beach.”

  Kyra nodded. “Remind me not to play poker with you.”

  Beep. “You’re full of blarney! You snatched the radio! We ain’t stupid!” Beep.

  “You may not be stupid, Robbie, but you’re damn lucky.”

  Beep. “Lucky?” Beep.

  “Atherton tried to kill all of you. He put something in your food.”

  Kyra chuckled. “Nice touch. Chricher is now hanging over the side of the boat trying to barf up the last of his dinner.”

  There was another long pause before Robbie came back, his voice subdued. Beep. “How do we…you know…how do we know…?” Beep.

  “He’s lying right here,” Simon answered, “if that’s what you’re asking.” He began moving toward Mawl’s body. “Why don’t you think of a good question? Something that will prove I’m not feeding you a line.”

  While they waited for a response, Kyra searched Mawl’s pockets. “Just this.” She held up a digital micro-recorder. “No ID.”

  Simon slipped the recorder into his pocket. “Can you flip him over?”

  “I knew you were going to ask that.” She grabbed the man’s belt and pulled him onto his back. “Ugh!” The front of his skull had been completely blown away, his face nothing but a mass of chunky red globules covered in sand. “I’ll never eat cherry pie again.”

  Beep. “Mr. Leonidovich?” Beep.

  “Go ahead, Robbie.”

  Beep. “He has a tattoo on the underside of his right arm. Can you describe it?” Beep.

  “Sure.” At least they didn’t ask for eye color. “Hold on.” He squatted down next to the man’s body as Kyra turned his arm and wiped away the sand. “Yeah, I see it. It’s a double-edged commando knife over a pair of wings. There’s a banner across the blade that reads ‘who dares wins.’”

  Beep. “Okay…I uh…I’ll get back to you.” Beep.

  “There’s nothing more we need to talk about, Robbie. You’ve got two men down, and another one who needs a doctor if he wants to live. It’s time to cut your losses and go home.”

  Kyra nodded toward the water. “They just turned off the light.”

  “Doesn’t matter. We’ll hear them if they crank up that engine.”

  She cocked her head, listening to the faint drown. “You’re right. Now what?”

  “Now we call in the Marines.”

  “And just how are we—”

  “You said they used a laptop to monitor their network of sensors. That means it’s wireless. Which means—”

  “Ohmygod, the Internet!” She spun around, her feet digging into the sand. “I should have thought of that!”

  He tried to keep up, but his legs were still a bit shaky, and by the time he reached the enclosure she was at the laptop, a finger tapping impatiently on the mouse pad. “It’s in hibernation.”

  Naturally, no reason for the cosmic scale-master to start making things easy. “That could be a problem.”

  “Meaning a password?”

  “Most likely.” He made a slow three-sixty, scanning the supplies. Everything looked neat and tidy, very military—cases of ready-to-eat meals and boxes of canned fruit; twenty-liter containers of gasoline and cans of marine motor oil—everything but the true essentials of military life: guns, ammunition, and hand grenades.

  Beep. “Mr. Leonidovich? Beep.

  “Yes, Robbie.” He paused and took a breath, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “What can I do for you?”

  Beep. “We need to pick up the body.” Beep.

  Need, not a good sign. “Forget it, Robbie. You set foot on this beach, and I’m not going to hesitate to use this machine gun.”

  Beep. “Nae, I don’t believe you would.” Beep.

  “Don’t test me, Robbie. I’ve been out in the rain and mud too long. I’m in a pretty grouchy mood right now.”

  Beep. “Sorry, my friends insist. We can’t leave him.” Beep.

  Kyra waved a hand. “It’s waking up.” Her green eyes glowed hopefully in the reflection of the screen, then suddenly dimmed as if someone had switched off the power. “Shit! You were right, it wants a password.” She looked up. “Unless you know some magic…”

  “What operating system?”

  “Vista professional. But the header on the dialog says Drivecrypt.”

  “Forget it. That’s a military encryption program. We couldn’t break it if we had two lifetimes.”

  Beep. “Mr. Leonidovich?” Beep.

  “They’re calling your bluff,” Kyra said, holding out her hand. “Let’s see if I can do any better.”

  He dropped into one of the canvas chairs—he couldn’t remember a chair ever feeling so good—and slid the radio across the small table. “Good luck.” But he had a bad feeling it was going to take more than luck and a bluff to get them out of the game.

  She studied the keys a moment, then pressed the TALK button. “Robbie, it’s Kyra Rynerson.”

  Beep. “Aye,” he answered, his voice rising with a sudden vibrancy. “You okay, Ms. Rynerson?” Beep.

  “Yes, Robbie, I’m fine, but I don’t feel very good about you wanting to kill me.” She gave Simon a wink. “I thought we had a good relationship. Did I do something wrong? Did I mistreat you in some way?”

  Beep. “No, ma’am…I mean…I didn’t…I’m sorry about all this…it was—” There was a faint whap, the edge of a hand coming into contact with exposed flesh, and when he continued his voice had gone flat and sullen. “We need to pick up that body, ma’am. It’s…it’s important.” Beep.

  Kyra looked at Simon. “Someone else is calling the shots.”

  “Absolutely, you can forget about Robbie. You need to speak as if you were talking directly to the decision maker. Let him know this isn’t a negotiation.”

  She nodded and brought the two-way to her mouth. “Sorry, but that’s out of the question. You need to do the smart thing, Robbie. You need to get out of here while you can. We’ve already spoken to the authorities in Hong Kong. They’re on the way.”

  There was another short delay—pow-wow time—before Robbie responded. Beep. “With all due respect, ma’am…on the way where?” Beep.

  Kyra looked at Simon and grimaced. “You need to stay firm,” he warned. “You need to convince them.”

  “Robbie,” she said firmly, as if to question her word was not only ill-advised, but foolish. “I’m a pilot. I may not know the name of this island, but
I know where we came down. I gave them our final coordinates.”

  This time the delay was longer—long enough to suspect the men were arguing about what they should do. “I don’t understand it,” Kyra said, more in denial than confusion. “They’re willing to risk their own necks over a dead man?”

  “Apparently,” Simon answered, but suspected it was more than that. “Or it’s their necks they’re worried about.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They can run, but they can’t hide…not as long as we’re around to identify them.”

  Beep. “Ms. Rynerson?” Beep.

  “Go ahead, Robbie.”

  Beep. “We’re leaving.” Beep.

  “Good decision, Robbie. Good luck.”

  Simon nearly choked—Good luck!—the kid might be polite, but that hardly excused his actions.

  Beep. “Aye. Thank you, ma’am. I…uh…I’m sorry.” Beep.

  Kyra opened her mouth, about to respond, but Simon caught her hand. “Don’t you dare tell him ‘it’s okay.’ Let it go.”

  She hesitated, then nodded and laid the radio on the table. “You’re right.”

  “Screw ‘right.’ I just don’t want you giving that kid a moral pass. He’s a—”

  “Shhhh. Listen.” The low idling rumble of the engine quickly accelerated, its steady drone echoing through the darkness, then slowly began to fade. “I can hardly believe it,” she whispered, as if saying it out loud would make it less true. “They’re actually leaving.”

  Simon nodded, though something about the situation felt wrong. “They gave up too easily.”

  “You’re being paranoid.”

  Probably. “Why are they heading south? It’s the long away around the island. The long way to Hong Kong.”

  “And what make you think they’re going to Hong Kong?”

  “It’s their home base,” he answered. “The Kowloon Security Service.”

  “All the more reason they wouldn’t go there. Besides, they can’t sneak up on us in that boat…you can still hear the thing, and they’ve got to half a mile away by now.”