“Nope, still dead.” The glow turned off.
“Try the cellie again.”
“I am…it’s dead too.” Tills grabbed Mark’s arm again as they stood, thinking over their options in darkness. Mark knew that the darkness was temporary.
“You scared of the dark, Denny? I can feel your heart pounding through your arm,” Jameson said.
“I’m fine,” Mark answered, trying to keep his voice steady. He heard Jameson pressing the elevator buttons, but there was no response.
After thirty seconds of silence in complete darkness, Mark heard the elevator doors open. They felt a rush of cool air, but the open elevator doors did nothing to change the total darkness.
“What the hell is going on?” Jameson said, squeezing tighter on Mark’s arm.
Several red laser dots quivered on Mark’s chest before they slid to the chests and heads of Jameson and Tills. He heard four “pops,” then felt both hands release his arms and two muffled, heavy thuds as the bodies of the agents fell at his feet.
Mark instinctively crouched, almost losing his balance with his hands still cuffed behind him. He trembled and said, “Wait, please wait!” He felt the body of one agent under his right knee. He knew Morana had arranged protection for him, but he didn’t expect his protection to include murder.
He felt strong hands take each of his arms. “Step high, Mr. Denny,” a male voice said. Mark took a high step off the elevator, still in complete darkness as the firm grip of hands on either arm guided him forward. He remembered the padded corridor of his first meeting with the Trail Bladers. As they led him further in, he saw the glow of the familiar entry console. The silhouette of a hand spread on it, and a flash of green light triggered a metallic clunk inside the door.
It swung open and Mark squinted when the bright light of the next room hit him. Two men dressed in red and black Trail Bladers uniforms held each of his arms. They wore what Mark recognized as night vision goggles strapped around their heads.
“We need to hurry, Mr. Denny,” the man on the right said. “Truck’s waiting. That elevator.” He pointed to the freight elevator. The door to the vestibule clicked open again and a woman with the same sort of goggles appeared, carrying a key. She ran up behind Mark, working to remove his handcuffs as they walked.
The freight elevator opened and out rolled two gurneys pushed by two more uniformed Trail Bladers. Each gurney had an empty body bag draped over it, and the Trail Bladers rushed by as they pushed the gurneys toward the vestibule door.
Mark entered the elevator with his escorts and they began their descent to the freight dock. “Mr. Denny, do you suffer from claustrophobia?”
“I haven’t before.”
“Are you afraid of the dark?”
“No. Although it’s a little late for you to ask,” Mark said, cracking a nervous smile.
The Trail Blader didn’t laugh. “Excellent,” he said.
The doors of the elevator opened and Mark looked where the Trail Blader pointed. A Trail Bladers truck sat flush to the edge of the loading dock, its rear doors opened wide. Four more Trail Bladers stood between Mark and the truck. Two of them patted Mark’s back as he passed. “You are okay now. We have you,” one of them said.
A Trail Blader beside the open back door offered Mark help onto the truck. The floor had an open hatch in it the size of a casket.
“Mr. Denny, please get into the bay and make no sound until we remove you,” the Trail Blader said, pointing to the open hatch.
Mark hesitated and checked over his shoulder. The four Trail Bladers stood on the loading dock watching and each leaning slightly forward with urgency. Mark stepped down into the bay and laid down fast. “How long will I have to be in here?” he asked.
“Until we are out of the city. We will remove you as soon as possible. You’ll have plenty of air.”
With that, Mark crossed his arms on his chest. The double doors of the hatch closed over him, enveloping him in complete darkness. The truck’s engine growled to life as it jerked forward, first gear vibrating Mark’s temporary tomb. Between the sound of shifting gears, Mark heard the whine of distant sirens.
Mark shifted, trying to get a more comfortable position. The sound of the engine was much louder from within the bay of the truck than in the rear cabin above the floor. The grinding of the truck’s gears and squeaking of its shocks were amplified. The piercing pop and hiss of the air brakes rang in Mark’s ears. He felt the truck jerk ahead and tilt as it exited the driveway of the ALCO building. He felt as captive as he did protected. He was now a fugitive harbored by criminals.
He heard passing sirens, and within five minutes the truck came to a stop and the engine reduced to steady idling. He heard voices outside and then the truck’s back doors swung open.
The voice of a Trail Blader said, “No cargo tonight, Officer. We’re taking this truck for maintenance.”
“Still need to search it, sir,” the officer replied.
The truck’s rear end dipped slightly as someone entered the back. Mark heard footsteps right above his face and he held his breath whenever the footsteps stopped.
He turned his head sideways and through a slit in the bottom of the bay, he saw pavement and an occasional flash of light on it. He moved his head closer to the slit to widen his field of vision. A rounded mirror the size of a basketball passed under the crack and then a few moments later slid by in the opposite direction.
The nasal squawk of a radio dispatcher called out the address of the ALCO building followed by the reply of officers with codes and confirmation.
“Isn’t your company based in the ACLO Building?” a voice outside the truck said.
“Used to be.”
“Where are you now?”
“The Valley.”
“Whereabouts?”
A distant shout interrupted. “Let’s go, Shelby, you’re jamming up the flow! Close up that truck and move it.”
Mark heard more footsteps above him before the doors slammed shut and latched. The truck jerked forward and groaned through gears until Mark heard a steady whir of wind.
In less than a minute, the truck slowed and its brakes squeaked it to a stop. Mark heard the sound of something sliding above him and then the doors to the hatch swung open. A rush of fresh air hit him in the face and he took a big breath.
Teddy and an unfamiliar male Trail Blader stared down at him. They had turned on a small ceiling lamp that produced light barely bright enough to distinguish each other’s faces. “Are you okay?” Teddy said. He reached down to Mark and pulled him out of the hatch.
“Yes, I’m fine,” Mark said. He scooted to the side of the truck bed to lean against the wall.
The other Trail Blader closed the hatch and slid a dark cloth pad that had been folded in the corner back over it. Mark raised his feet to give room.
“We’re out of Santa Monica. You can ride the rest of the way up here with us.”
“Are we going back to your headquarters?”
“Yes, we are headed to the Nest.”
“Who is that?” Mark asked, pointing to the other Trail Blader.
“That’s Kendall,” Teddy said.
Mark nodded at Kendall who saluted him. “Where’s Morana? I’ve been on the phone with her—I thought she would be here.”
“She’s at the Nest. You’ll see her in a few minutes.”
Mark craned his neck to look out the rear window of the truck. Neither Kendall nor Teddy objected.
“What’s happening on the news? Can one of you tell me what the hell is going on at my apartment?” Mark asked.
Kendall looked to Teddy, so Mark did the same.
“There was a shooting,” Teddy said.
“Who got shot?”
“An agent.”
“Do they know who did it?”
“No,” Teddy said.
“I want to know exactly what this has to do with me.”
Neither Teddy nor Kendall responded. Their heads swayed and nodded w
ith the motion of the truck.
“You don’t seem excited about this conversation. Did the shooting involve Trail Bladers?” Mark said.
“You can catch up on all the news when we get to The Nest.”
“Pop told you to give me anything I want and I want the truth right now. Who got shot and why do I have to run? Am I being framed?”
“Yes, you have anything you desire—at the Nest. Please wait until we get there. You’ll be more comfortable,” Teddy said.
Mark checked the window frequently. He saw street and freeway signs and saw that they were headed over the Mulholland pass on the 405 freeway, into the San Fernando Valley.
Twice during the ride Teddy answered his phone. During each conversation Teddy listened more than talked. When he did talk, his answers were limited to “yes” and “no.”
After Teddy’s last call he hung up and said, “Mark, we are truly honored that you have chosen to join our noble cause.”
Kendall nodded and raised an imaginary hat to Mark.
“Thank you,” Mark said, trying to pack as much sincerity into his answer as possible.
“I can’t even begin to tell you how your presence in our operation will boost morale among your Trail Bladers.”
“My Trail Bladers?”
“Yes. You hold a leadership position on our staff. In fact, you will probably work more closely with Pop than Morana or I do. She will explain more.”
Fifteen minutes later the truck slowed and turned onto a bumpy driveway. Mark peered through the window, but it was too dark to see anything except a silhouette that may have been hedges.
“You won’t see much until we get closer to the garage. This stretch of driveway is pitch black to your eyes, but it is lit up like a Christmas tree on our infrared monitors in the Nest.”
The truck stopped. Mark checked outside the window again, but saw only a garage door sliding down to enclose them.
The truck’s engine went silent and then he heard a thump. Mark stood to look out the rear window. He saw concrete slabs moving out from under the truck and it appeared as though the truck was suspended in air. Far below he saw countertops, a few open document carts, and the garage floor of the bunker. When the slabs separated far enough, the truck sank through the opening.
At the bottom, they came to rest with a gentle bump. Teddy placed his hand on a console inside the truck and the rear doors clicked open.
After they exited, the truck pulled forward onto a different lift and rose back up through the ceiling. Mark stopped walking to watch the truck lift at work and Teddy obliged, telling Kendall to go ahead into the Nest. When the truck reached the top, the concrete slabs closed under it creating a ceiling that showed barely a seam. Up above, they heard another truck pulling into the garage and onto the lift.
Teddy pointed up and said, “That’s Raphael. He followed us in another truck. He’s bringing in your federal leaches for disposal.”
Teddy motioned for Mark to follow and they entered the foyer. The giant mural of Mark was still on the far wall. Mark noticed the wide red door that had no handles or hinges located on the far side of the foyer. Again, Mark wondered what was behind it.
Teddy pointed to the security console beside the black door and said, “You have full access privileges now. Would you do us the honor?”
Mark placed his hand on the console’s glass. A green light flashed and a lock clunked inside the door.
They saw Morana approaching down the hallway. “Welcome to safety,” she said.
“I suppose I should say thank you,” Mark said.
She embraced him. “You are a hero and a tremendous asset to our cause. It is our pleasure to ensure your safety and comfort. I’ll take you to your suite.”
Teddy bid them good-bye and disappeared down another hallway.
On the way to Mark’s suite, Morana asked, “Would you like some dinner?”
“No, thank you. I couldn’t hold anything down right now. But I’ll tell you what I do want, Morana, and I want it right now.”
She turned to him, her expression changing to worry. “Whatever you want,” she said.
“Somebody needs to tell me what the hell is going on and why you had to save me. I’m getting pissed off that nobody will tell me anything and I don’t think Pop wants me to be pissed off.”
Morana checked both directions of the hallway as if she might hush Mark for talking too loudly. She touched his shoulder and said, “I’m sorry. You have a right to know. I will tell you in your suite.”
They approached the security console outside his suite’s door. She prompted him to unlock it. He placed his hand on it; again the door clicked and he pushed it open.
Morana nibbled on her bottom lip—thinking. “Okay. We’ll watch the news together.”
Once inside, Mark went straight for the TV in the den. He picked up the remote control, turned on the television, and sat on the sofa. Morana pulled two bottled waters from the refrigerator and sat down beside him. Mark flipped through the channels until he found a local news station with breaking news that was happening in Venice—at his home.
Laurie Jetters, a local TV reporter, had backed as close as she could to the police tape. Mark’s apartment complex framed her on camera. “Police and other officials are still gathering information, but what we know now is that neighbors heard a gunshot at about 4:30 p.m. at this apartment complex in Venice. The victim was a federal agent who was killed by a single shot to the head. The identity of the agent is being withheld pending notification of his family members. Police refuse to comment on whether this killing could be related to the terror that has gripped our city for weeks now. But law enforcement sources say that the agent was, in fact, investigating the case when he was gunned down.”
Morana kept her eyes on the television. Mark watched her. She was calm and her face showed no surprise.
“Care to explain to me why I had to run away from that if I didn’t do it?” Mark said, pointing at the television.
Morana covered her face and then ran her fingers through her hair before letting her hands fall to her lap. She sighed and said, “Papa’s prediction is coming true. You are going to be a suspect because of your—”
“What?” Mark yelled, and stood. His photo covered the screen and the reporter’s voice named Mark as a person of interest in this crime.
The news cut back to the reporter as she turned to a bystander who had stepped into the frame. It was the man who always watered plants in the apartment courtyard. “What can you tell us about Mark Denny?” she asked.
“Well, he’s quiet. Keeps to himself. He was in the news not long ago for saving some guy on a roof and seemed to sneak in and out of his unit ever since. Cautious—I’d call him a very cautious fellow. I tried talking to him a few times, but he didn’t have much use for me. Keeps his windows drawn and doesn’t speak much…but other than that, he’s a good neighbor.”
The reporter thanked him and signed off, sending the news back to the studio.
“So I’ve been set up,” Mark said.
“Does it matter what anyone thinks of you, if you are completely safe?”
“Yes, it matters because I live out there!” Mark pointed to the television. “I don’t live underground in a secret world like you people do.” Mark sat on the edge of the couch and leaned toward her. “And now you’ve made me a fugitive so I can’t return. What happened to joining you out of my own free will?”
“You agreed, on the phone, to join us. I can play you the recording.”
“Unbelievable!” Mark stood and grabbed the top of his head.
“If you have changed your mind, you are free to leave. In fact, we’ll drive you to any location you choose. In a matter of hours, they’ll find you and you’ll spend the rest of your life in prison.”
“Why are you people doing this to me?”
“Look, Mark, if you make the right decision, you will be completely safe with us. We weren’t going to allow them to take you. Under our watch
you were never in any danger.”
“Oh, and that wasn’t close?” Mark pointed at the television.
“You told us that you bought into our mission. Now you’ve chosen our protection—at least for the time being. Our world has become your world. What happens on the outside will no longer affect your safety. If you are now in a better place, what difference do the events that brought you here make?”
Mark put his head back and exhaled. His eyes darted between a vent and a speaker in the ceiling as the weight of his new predicament fell on him. “The part you failed to inform me about before I agreed was that I would have to flee from armed federal agents, get body slammed by Raphael, get handcuffed and transported in a metal coffin inside an armored truck and, oh, be a fugitive. If you call that my own free will then you have a point.”
“I’m sorry about Raphael. I will talk to him.”
Mark raised his hands, exasperated. The TV footage showed the agent’s body being carefully carried on a stretcher down the steps that lead to his apartment.
“I can see you need some time alone,” Morana said. She went to the door.
Mark watched her, his face full of resentment. “Am I captive now?” he asked.
She shook her head. “You are our honored guest—that hasn’t changed. You are free to leave any time you want. There are trucks available, or Teddy will take you wherever you want to go by car.”
Mark nodded.
“If you change your mind about dinner, the café staff will prepare whatever you like. You’ll remember from your first visit that we keep your favorite menu items stocked.” The door clicked closed behind her.
Mark went to the bedroom. The bed was made, its comforter taut. Mints sat on the pillow. The full-wall screen showed a beach scene; the ocean waves lapped the shore twenty feet away. The room seemed more plush and inviting than it had on his first visit. He pulled a bureau drawer open. It was stocked with socks and underwear, his size. Another drawer contained shirts and slacks, all his size and each with a new tag dangling from it. Over at the entrance to the walk-in closet a note stuck to the door frame read, “Mark, Welcome. Accept the wardrobe with our compliments. Pop.” He walked into the deep closet and found it loaded with an assortment of new business and casual wear, organized by color. A variety of new designer shoes sat along racks near the floor. He went back to the bed and flopped onto his back.
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