Fighting Chance - A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Thriller (Lights Out in Vegas Book 3)

by Sean Patten

  “Funny way to refer to criminals,” I said.

  He sipped his drink, saying nothing.

  “‘Criminal’ is a subjective term,” he said, crossing his legs and sipping his drink.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that you don’t need to worry yourself with matters you don’t understand, Mr. Powell.”

  I sat forward and set down my drink on the table, my tie dangling between my legs.

  “I don’t understand it?” I said. “No, I understand it pretty damn well. I was there—I saw people die, watched as your robbery made the panic of the power outage even worse, watched as people died getting stomped underfoot during the stampede.”

  The words came out on their own, and I regretted them right away. I needed to be polite; I could be sabotaging this whole damn meeting if I offended the guy.

  But instead of blowing up or even saying a word in response, Oleg simply allowed a small smile to tug at the corner of his mouth.

  “I’m sure you have all sorts of feelings on the subject,” he said. “But, unfortunately for you, I couldn’t be less interested in those.”

  There was no malice to what he’d said. It was as though I’d brought up some totally incidental details about the attack, like I had an issue with the types of shoes his men were wearing.

  Oleg went on, totally unmoved by my outburst.

  “What’s important is that you’ve found yourself in a position where you have something that I want. This could prove to be most beneficial for you, assuming that you play your cards right. And avoid any further outbursts.”

  I formed my mouth into a hard line, waiting for him to go on. Sure, I was pissed that he was being so glib about the violence that he’d apparently played a direct role in, but I knew I had to keep myself in check.

  I needed something from him, and it was up to Oleg whether or not I’d get it.

  He took another slow sip, his motions fluid and slow as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Everything about Oleg, from his office to his dress to his body language, seemed carefully designed to let someone in my position know that I didn’t have the slightest trace of power.

  “Now,” he said, tinkling the ice in his drink. “Let’s try this again. I sent some of my men to the Medley. And now I want to know what happened to them. Are you going to be able to help me with this, Mr. Powell, or are you going to insist on being obstinate?”

  I took a deep breath and tried to let my frustration at his tone flow through and out of me.

  “Yes,” I said. “I can help.”

  “Very good,” he said. “Now, my first concern is whether or not my men took the money and ran. I only employ those I can trust, but human nature is what it is, you know? It was no small sum that I asked them to bring back.”

  “I don’t get it,” I said. “Why would you rob your competition like that? Don’t you make enough money as it is?”

  Oleg weighed my words carefully, as if trying to decide how much he wanted to reveal.

  “I’ll level with you, Mr. Powell,” he said. “There’s much that goes on behind the scenes in this city, as I’m sure you can guess. Most of these casinos are run by the sorts of men that people like you know better than to associate with.”

  “Like the mob,” I said.

  “Something like that,” he said vaguely. “Anyway, the owner of the Medley and I have some business that goes back over the years. I won’t get into the details, but let’s just say that I have very good reason to not let go of the bad blood between us. So I figured that an organized raid on his lovely new casino would be just the thing to even the score. I get some money, he loses it, and business takes a nosedive. A win all around.”

  “Aside from the innocent people killed in the process,” I said.

  “That’s wasn’t part of the plan,” he said, his tone sharpening. “It was meant to be an in-and-out job. Go in, grab the money, get out without hurting anyone. I expect a level of sophistication in my operation, which is why I need to know exactly what happened.”

  “You call killing people on stage sophisticated?” I asked.

  “I call it ‘keeping order’,” he said. “I know that here in America breaking laws is oftentimes punished by a few years in adult time-out, but where I’m from we know that a bullet to the head is the ounce of prevention that’s worth a pound of cure.”

  He cleared his throat and went on.

  “So, Mr. Powell,” he said. “What happened?”

  “Your boys broke in,” I said. “Made a big fuss, told everyone to get down on the ground. And then the lights went off when the EMP hit.”

  One of his eyebrows rose.

  “The EMP?” he asked.

  This was an interesting development. Did he really not know what was going on out there?”

  “The EMP,” I said. “The reason there’s no power.”

  “I’d…heard about something like this on the news,” he said. “But I didn’t expect it to actually happen. It sounded like some panic over nothing.”

  “It’s not,” I said. “It’s possibly the end of civilization as we know it. If it hit the entire planet like I think it might’ve, then we could be at the threshold of a collapse like humanity has never seen before.”

  He said nothing, weighing my words.

  “We’ll deal with that when the time comes,” he said. “For now, I’m more interested in what you have to say about the Medley.”

  “Power went out,” I said. “And your men tried to finish the job. They went for the manager, who was in complete panic. The team split up to take him down and open the safe, and the rest stayed up above. One of your guys got a little overeager with some kid who wanted to be a hero, then an off-duty cop took it upon himself to step in.”

  “Idiot,” hissed Oleg. “Always some fool who wants to play hero with other people’s money.”

  “A gunfight broke out,” I went on, “and my brother and I took advantage of the confusion to get the hell out of there. What happened after that is anyone’s guess.”

  “So,” said Oleg. ‘My men very well could’ve taken the money and ran. Or, they could all be—”

  “Dead,” I finished. “Between the gunfight and the stampede and the chaos that broke out after the EMP, your entire squad might be gone.”

  His expression darkened.

  “I see,” he said. “That’s…unfortunate.”

  He took another sip, and I couldn’t tell if he was upset over the loss of his men or the money. Didn’t really matter.

  “Anyway,” he said. “Tell me what the world outside looks like right now. As you might’ve guessed, I’m considering sending some of my men out there to take a look around, maybe go by the Medley. But your insider information could save me the trouble.”

  “It’s hell out there,” I said. “And we’re just seeing the beginning of it. People are taking advantage of the chaos, looting for TVs and video games and whatever stuff that’s useless now. A few people are getting the hint and realizing that this is for keeps, that the power might never come back on. They’re hoarding supplies and trying to hunker down.”

  “Sounds sensible,” he said. “Isn’t it then just a simple matter of everyone staying put until order is restored?”

  “There might not be anyone to restore order,” I said. “And if not, we’re going to have no more than a few weeks before people start running out of the clean water and bags of rice they stole from the wholesale stores. And when that happens…”

  “Total chaos,” he finished.

  “That’s right,” I said. “You’re going to see the worst of what humanity is capable of over the next few weeks.”

  “Then I should be counting myself lucky for being in a place like this,” he said.

  “You have no idea how right you are,” I said. “Which makes it totally insane why you’re wasting all your power on fun and games. I don’t care if you’ve got a nuclear reactor down there or what—”

  He cu
t me off with a laugh.

  “You believe that, too?” he asked.

  “It’s what I heard,” I said.

  Oleg shook his head.

  “Funny how rumors get started. I’ve even heard people say that this place was built by KGB officials as some kind of secret base for when the Soviet Union finally invaded.”

  “Then what’s going on here?” I asked. “How do you have power?”

  “My father designed this place to be impenetrable,” he said. “In the event of a power outage or whatever else, he wanted the Troika to be the one place in the city where people could go and still have fun and spend their money. It was built solid—strong enough to withstand the shockwave of a nuclear blast. My father grew up during the Cold War, you see. Figured he could never be too careful about such things.”

  “Okay,” I said. “So the concrete reinforcement explains why the power didn’t get shut off. But how is it still on?”

  “Diesel generators,” he said. “Just like any hospital.”

  “Are you serious?” I asked. “You’re wasting all this electricity on keeping this place open and you’re running things with diesel? What happens when you run out?”

  He allowed himself a small smile.

  “I have plans for when, and if, that happens. Don’t worry your little head about it.”

  He went on.

  “Truly, my father was the expert in disaster prevention. My skill is in business and showmanship. Which is why this conversation with you, Mr. Powell, is all the more interesting.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “What was your job before all this business happened?”

  “Mechanical engineer,” I said.

  “Ah,” he said. “That makes sense. You have an analytical mind, one free from emotional biases. The exact sort of cool-headed person you’d want to have on your side after a disaster like this.”

  I said nothing, wanting to see where he was going with this.

  “A man with your knowledge and skill set and disposition might be someone useful to keep in my employ. That generator’s not going to be running smoothly forever, as I’m sure you could guess. Having someone around who specializes in such equipment might be a smart idea.”

  Relief began to take hold. Not only was Oleg not planning on shooting me onstage, he wanted to keep me around. And more than that, he wanted something from me.

  “I’ll let you take some time to think about it,” he went on. “Working for me is no small task. I’m a very…demanding employer.”

  “There’s something that I’d need if I were to work for you,” I said.

  “Oh?” he asked. “And what’s that?”

  “My brother,” I said. “He was injured last night and he needs my help. I only left him behind to go get some medical supplies so I could treat him. And Carlos was supposed to help me out.”

  “Carlos?” he asked, as if he’d completely forgotten.

  “The man you killed on stage.”

  His eyebrows flicked up.

  “Oh, yes,” he said. “Well, I don’t think he’s going to be treating any more injuries now.”

  The man had ice water in his veins. But I couldn’t afford to lose focus right now.

  “But I need to see my brother,” I said. “Right now he’s alone without any food or water and no medical treatment. If I don’t get to him—”

  “Not going to happen,” Oleg said.

  “What?”

  “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, the Troika is in something of a lockdown mode. We’re not letting anyone leave the premises once they’ve walked through the doors.”

  “But why?”

  “Because,” he said. “The National Guard should be rolling in at any moment, and I want to make sure they…think twice before getting any big ideas about commandeering my casino. Something like that might be bad for business.”

  I opened my mouth to speak or protest, but he raised his palm.

  “I’m sorry to hear about your brother, but I simply can’t let you leave. If I were you, I’d be a little more concerned with myself, thinking about how I could best look out for my own safety and security. Might be a smarter use of your mental energy than worrying about matters you have no control over.”

  I didn’t need to hear another word. I shot up from my seat and stuck my finger out at Oleg.

  “You think you’re keeping me penned up in this shithole while my brother’s out there then you’ve got another thing coming!”

  Oleg kept his eyes on me, his cool not disturbed in the slightest by my outburst. Instead, he reached under the coffee table and appeared to press a button.

  Seconds later, the doors opened and two guards rushed into the room. Before I had a chance to react they were on top of me, each one of them grabbing an arm and holding me in place. I struggled, but to no avail.

  “I’m going to pretend that you didn’t just slight the institution my father built, Mr. Powell, and instead give you a chance to think the matter over before you say or do anything you regret. My men here are going to take you back downstairs. Have a drink at the bar, tell them it’s on me, and think about what I’m offering you. I’m sure you’ll come around.”

  Oleg gave the men a knowing look and they dragged me off, a small smile on Oleg’s face the last thing I saw before the heavy doors shut in front of me.

  Chapter 9

  With a hard shove, Oleg’s men pushed me back onto the casino floor. The usual lights and chimes and bells greeted me, and were the last thing I wanted to see. After learning that this entire place was powered by a diesel generator, the fuel stores vanishing by the second, all I could think about is what it would look like when the power finally went out.

  I made my way through the casino floor, finding Kelly waiting for me right where she’d been. Relief spread through me.

  “There you are!” she said as I slid into the booth. “What happened?”

  I took a deep breath, letting my nerves calm before starting. It dawned on me at that moment Oleg could’ve easily had me killed right there in his office. Like an idiot, I’d lost my cool and risked getting on the bad side of someone who very well could’ve been the current most powerful man in the city.

  “I met with Oleg,” I said. “The boss.”

  “And?” she asked, her blue eyes wide. “What happened?”

  “He told me this place is being run by a goddamned diesel generator.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that it’s powered by gas. And unless they’ve got a secret pipeline downstairs that goes all the way to Alaska, they’ve got a few days at the most.”

  I glanced back at the casino lights, the music from the events hall blasting over the PA system, flooding the space. So much valuable electricity going to waste—fuel that could’ve been used to power a hospital or any number of places more important than this.

  “Then what?” Kelly asked. “What’s his plan? Is he just having some kind of end-of-the-world party or something?”

  “No,” I said. “There’s something more going on than that. Because he said he’s planning on keeping everyone locked up in here until he’s ready to let them go. And that includes us.”

  “Why, though?” she asked. “Why would he do something like that?”

  I played back the conversation again in my head, trying to figure out a way to answer her question.

  Then it occurred to me.

  “The National Guard,” I said.

  “What about them?”

  “He mentioned that he thinks they’re going to show up eventually.”

  “Okay,” Kelly said. “And what does that have to do with us?”

  “It means that he’s got this place locked up like a fort. And it’s got possibly the largest operational generator in the city. Which means that it very well could be the most strategically important place in Vegas. Maybe even the entire state.”

  “Sure,” she said. “So…he’s being nice and keeping
us here? That doesn’t sound like the behavior of a man who shoots people on stage for fun.”

  “No,” I said. “He’s not running this like a refugee camp. Look at this place—look around you. What do you notice about everyone here?”

  “Most of them look totally plastered,” Kelly said.

  “No,” I said. “More than that. What do they all have in common?”

  Kelly looked out over the crowd, as if trying to puzzle out what I was referring to.

  “They’re all gambling,” she said. “They’re all gambling and drinking and eating and watching half-naked ladies dance on stage. They’re…distracted.”

  There it was.

  “You’ve got it,” I said. “Imagine if this place was being run bare-bones, just food and water and that was it. Sure, he’d have the people inside, but it wouldn’t be long before they started asking questions, wondering why they weren’t allowed to leave. But with the place running like nothing happened they’re all too drunk and occupied to spend even a minute thinking about what’s going on.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Makes sense. We’re probably the only people here wondering why we’re not allowed to leave. But what does he want us all here for? Company?”

  “No,” I said. “He thinks the National Guard’s coming any minute now. And if they were to come across a place like this they’d take it, no questions asked. But if Oleg’s got a building full of people…”

  “He’s got a position to negotiate,” she said. “At the very least make sure they don’t kick the doors down and take the place by force.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “Everyone here is a bargaining chip. Wouldn’t be surprised if Oleg thinks he’ll be able to cut a deal with the troops, let him be the little boss of the Strip in exchange for access to the generator.”

  “Won’t they just, I don’t know, kill him and take the casino?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe they’d figure working with him would be a smarter play than taking heavy casualties invading the Troika.”

  “True,” Kelly said.

  “But that’s not even the biggest issue,” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  I leaned in, making sure no one would hear us. Though with the noise there wasn’t much of a chance of that.