Against the Clock

by Charlie Moore

  "You know me. They were going to use you to get to me."

  Shirin grabbed a duffel bag, threw the secured weapons inside, and moved quickly past Ben toward the balcony. "Ben, I give you my word, I will tell you everything! But there are more of these guys coming, and we need to get out of here now!" She looked over the balcony. The streets below looked normal. They hadn't arrived yet.

  "How do you feel? Are you injured? Can you run?"

  "Uhh…" Ben patted himself down, moved, jumped up and down on the spot. "Yeah, I'm okay"

  "Good. Let's go!"

  18:03:21

  Barratt held himself against Robyn Mills' bedroom wall. He could hear her calling him, trying to wrestle his attention toward her, to free her from her restraints. But everything outside his mind's struggle seemed a blur.

  He closed his eyes to concentrate, to focus, to fight off the inevitable shock his body demanded. He had to keep his mind focused, if he was going to get out of here. His life depended on it, and so did Robyn's.

  Barratt opened his eyes, set them at a specific point across the room, and waited for the periphery of his vision to stop swaying. His breathing was shallow, in short bursts, his body reverting to primal instinct, protecting itself. He made a conscious effort to breathe deeper to test his injury. It hurt, but he was able to do it. The knife had missed the lower lobe of his lung. He was lucky.

  He moved his left foot, propped himself against the wall with his left hand, then moved his right foot. The dizziness subsided, and with each small movement, he gained some measure of confidence that his body was not destroyed. He was not dead―yet.

  "Robyn," he said haltingly. It hurt to talk. "It's okay, please, stop screaming. You're going to be okay." He moved closer to her, his movements short and labored, but at least he could still move. He reached the bed, stumbled slightly, and righted himself by the headboard.

  Robyn flinched sideways as his hand pressed against the bloodied mattress beside her for support.

  "It's okay. I'll get you out of here," he said, lifting the bed sheet up and over her naked body. It covered only half her exposed flesh, but the act alone seemed to restore some sense of dignity to her. "Did you see where he put the keys to the handcuffs?"

  "On the counter, by the door," she cried.

  Barratt walked painfully over to the counter. The keys were there in full view. Smith had wanted her to see them while he tortured her. So close, yet so far. Barratt wished so badly he had killed that man.

  He shuffled back to Robyn's side. With his left hand, he reached up tenderly to her restrained hands, trying not to move the knife in his side too much. He fumbled the key into position, turned it a few times before the key found purchase, clicked, unlocked, and the cuffs fell from the iron headboard.

  Robyn quickly freed her arms, worked the latch on the cuff still attached to her wrist, her excitement and adrenalin pitched at a nervous, frantic energy as she threw the cuffs away, clanging off the wall in disgust.

  Barratt watched her run to the closet, then turned away and headed toward the window. He peered through the blinds, out into the street.

  "Robyn. We have to go." His voice had less strength than he wanted, and he wondered if his words had gotten through to her. When he turned around, she had slipped on a long sleep pullover and was buttoning a pair of jeans. "Robyn," he said again, "you're not safe here. We have to go…now…"

  Barratt took a step forward, forgetting for a moment the knife still stuck in his side, felt a searing pain, and dropped to one knee.

  "Oh my God!" Robyn gasped and ran around the bed to check on him. "Oh my God! The knife! It's so deep!"

  "Robyn," he said struggling for control over his breathing, "My back pocket…my wallet…take it."

  Hesitantly, she reached around him and took it. She opened it. There was cash and a driver's license. The name said John Jones.

  "Your name is John?" she asked.

  "No. That's fake. My name is Trent, Trent Barratt." He was dying. They were trying to kill her. There wasn't much point in lying to her. Knowing his real name might even save her if she was captured by the police. "I won't be able to make it out of here with you. You have to do as I say. Do you understand?"

  Robyn didn't seem to comprehend what he was saying. She looked at his license, looked at the other ID in the wallet, shaking her head. She couldn't believe what was happening. "I… I…don't…"

  "Robyn!" he said with as much force as he could. "I work for a friend of your brother's. You are both in danger! Don't trust anyone! Not even cops! Do you understand?"

  "No! I don't. What the hell is going on?" she screamed.

  "I'm not going to make it…" he said, ignoring her last comment. "Take the credit card. Go to Glorietta Plaza, buy new clothes, take out some cash, and wait there. Shirin will find you…"

  "Who's Shirin?" she asked. "And what about Ben? You said he was in danger, too? But why? What do they want with us?"

  "Shirin is a friend of Ben's. She's gone to get him now. Just do it. Go to the Plaza. Use my card. She'll find you. Go. Now."

  Robyn baulked at the idea. She didn't know who this man was, but he had saved her life, and in doing so, was about to die. The fear was strong, but her guilt and compassion were stronger. She couldn't just leave him there. Leave him there to die, alone.

  She knelt down beside him, propped his left arm over her shoulder, then struggled to help him back to his feet. "We go there together!" she said with forced confidence.

  Barratt didn't argue. He didn't have the strength. With Robyn taking most of his weight, they hobbled out of the bedroom and headed for the street.

  18:04:17

  "Stay on the outside edge," Shirin called over her shoulder as they ran down the enclosed stairwell. Their hurried footsteps echoed through the concrete structure.

  Ben was fit. In great shape. But he was puffing, keeping up with the speed at which Shirin bounded down the stairs three and four at a time.

  They hadn't spoken in the last minutes since leaving his apartment.

  Katie, hmm… Shirin was focused, her face hard and foreign to the one he knew so well, yet somehow this transformation didn't surprise him as much as he thought it should.

  He had no idea what was happening, and he was frankly too scared to care. Men with guns were in his apartment. Their intent wasn't clear at first, but by the end he knew they would have killed him and Kat…Shirin, too. She had saved him. What was her real name? What was she involved in? Had she been lying to him all this time? They were all questions he had and would need answered, but for the moment, he didn't care. His heart hammering in his chest, he would follow her anywhere.

  They reached the ground floor. Shirin took the lead and gave him a hand signal to stand back, to the side of the exit door. She nudged it open a crack, peered through the small slit, five seconds, ten seconds. She extended her hand for him to take, and they entered the lobby of the apartment complex.

  They were past the exterior security gate and crossing the road when they heard the sirens. They ran.

  18:05:08

  Barratt leaned on the tree trunk outside Robyn Mills' home. She opened the garage panel door and reversed the Toyota onto the driveway. His muscles were tensing; he was sweating; he felt cold and hot at the same time, and the pain from his side was growing unbearable. He had to get to a hospital fast, or he'd be dead. He knew it, and he feared Robyn knew it also. Maybe that was why she couldn't leave him behind.

  He glanced up and down the quiet road while waiting for Robyn to position the car in front of him. The dark blue sedan was gone. Smith must have taken it. The other cars parked on the street when he arrived were still there. He wondered how long it would take for the mop-up team to arrive. Not long, he thought.

  Robyn ran around to the passenger side, opened the door, and tried to help him into the back seat, where he could prop himself into a position where the knife handle wouldn't bump into anything.

  "Your brother's a nurse. Right?" he
asked her as she drove nervously away from her home.

  "Um, yes. A theater recovery nurse."

  "Which hospital?"

  "Nepean Hospital. Why?" she asked.

  "That's close. Fifteen minutes from here, right?"

  "Yeah, ten minutes if I speed and we don't hit traffic."

  "Good…good…" he mumbled, then grimaced as she took a corner too fast. "Slow down, Robyn. We don't want to get pulled over. Try to drive just on the speed limit."

  Robyn threw a glance backward and caught him snarling in pain.

  "Robyn, take me to Nepean Hospital. When we get…" he stalled in pain. "When we get there… I need you to leave."

  "But―"

  "Leave me there. They'll fix me up. I can't risk these men tracking you down."

  "What about you? They'll find you!"

  "No, they won't. I have a different name, one they don't know." He grimaced again, felt dizzy, and almost threw up. "Leave me there. Get to the Plaza like I told you. Shirin will find you. She'll keep you safe. Then you can tell her where I am."

  Barratt found himself wondering what would happen if Shirin had run into trouble as well. With him in this condition, Shirin was this girl's only hope. He hoped Shirin was having more luck than he was.

  18:08:32

  "So where are we going?" Ben asked.

  "My office," Shirin responded. Her stare constantly darted from the side mirrors to the rearview mirror. They had narrowly missed being picked up by the next wave of Zelig's men. It was luck, and she hated it. She didn't like to credit her survival, or her success, to luck. But for now, they were safe. She hoped Barratt and the girl were safe, too.

  They were to rendezvous back at the office; she'd know soon.

  "So do you want to tell me what's going on?"

  She could tell he was restraining his emotions as best he could. She had never seen him short-tempered or angry, but she could see it in him now. He had it there, deep inside him, waiting to come out. He deserved to know the truth, and he deserved to know it all.

  "I was married, a long time ago. I was working for a unit of the government that responded to terrorist cells, domestic and abroad. My husband was with the federal police. He had set up an operation tracking down a traitor in our government who was selling intelligence and state secrets to other parties." She changed gears, glanced at the mirrors again, changed lanes, and got off the motorway.

  "The operation was green lit. He was given permission to set up a trap and catch the traitor. Something didn't seem right to him, and he confided in me. I came on unofficially as backup. I was in a chopper overhead, keeping an eye on things so he'd have someone he trusted watching his back."

  She glanced at Ben. He stared at her with a keen and pointed interest. She continued, "On the way to the mission, all hell broke loose. It was a setup! They shot down my chopper, ambushed his car, and killed him."

  She paused, reliving the moment but trying to distance herself from it. "I was injured, and when I recovered, I was told the case had gone cold. They didn't catch the traitor, didn't know who had ambushed us. They fed me some bullshit about a hired team from Kazakhstan. I didn't buy it." Her knuckles turned white, wrapped around the steering wheel. "So I left the Agency. And started digging into it on my own."

  "And?" Ben asked after a long silence.

  "And I found them. One by one. I found them. But I found only the hired guns, and some moneymen, not the people who had given the order. Until now."

  "So… How do I fit into all of this?" he asked. He was afraid to ask. Afraid that their time together was a lie or a distraction. He was afraid it was anything but the relationship he had invested himself in. He had laughed with her, held her, loved her... What he felt was genuine. Real. It was love. He thought she felt the same, but now for the first time, he wasn't sure.

  "I told you my name was Katie Jones for a reason―to protect you." She looked at him. She wanted him to know she was telling the truth. "But I made a mistake… Until this morning, I had no hard evidence of who was behind his death. This morning, I found some documents, banking and transaction records. But they were so confusing and convoluted, I couldn't make much sense of them."

  "So that's why you asked for Robyn's accountant?"

  "Yes. That was my mistake. He must have triggered some alert, because they found him, and he must have given your or your sister's name."

  "And that's why they came after me? And were asking me questions about you and a file? To find you?"

  Shirin could only nod. She felt silly and guilty; it was an error far beneath her ability.

  Ben looked to the side, his brow furrowed deeply. "That means they could have gone after Robyn, too?" He sounded suddenly alarmed. "We have to go get her!"

  "We have. A good friend of mine went to pick her up. He's very good. He's going to bring her back to my office. The two of you will be safe there while I finish this!"

  18:10:21

  Minister Jordan didn't feel the pride or importance her title normally afforded her. She felt small, powerless, beaten.

  Zelig had outmaneuvered her. There was nowhere to go, no one to ask for help. When the scandal of her husband's indiscretions―and her complicity in them that Zelig had surely manufactured―was released, anyone she sought help from would be marred with the same tainted brush. Careers would be burned and lives destroyed. How could she possibly share that plague with anyone willing to help her?

  She had to succumb to Zelig's machinations―for now. Although what he wanted from her, she had no idea.

  Her past few hours had been tortured with guessing and double-guessing at what he wanted from her. She had to assume it was knowledge, perhaps policy influence?

  More likely, he would demand her help in his perversion of the intelligence society; gathering blackmail material on important figures of government in preparation or protection against any moves against him.

  Whatever his motivation, she was caught squarely in his web, and the more she wriggled and squirmed, the more entangled she became.

  "Excuse me, Minister Jordan," the intercom at her desk squawked. Her executive assistant said, “The car is ready."

  It was unlike her to feel scared. Yet she did. Her husband waited at the airport. Another "gift" from Zelig. She was sure he would love to watch that confrontation. It occurred to her that she wouldn't be surprised if he recorded it for posterity's sake.

  What scared her most was facing her husband and knowing instantly that she loved the man, regardless of his betrayal.

  "Thank you, Alice," she said with as much poise as she could muster.

  Standing from her desk, she adjusted her blouse in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror. Despite her aging body and her countless hours working, she had still managed to keep in good shape. Her figure often turned heads, and her designer business suits emphasized it in all the right places.

  At fifty-two, she was an attractive woman. It was a trait that had both helped and hurt her during her career. But why had it not been enough?

  She turned away from the mirror; there was nothing she could do about her swollen and puffy eyes. She couldn't hide that she'd been crying for hours. Maybe it was a good thing… Maybe if her husband could see how much he had hurt her, he would snap out of whatever alternative mid-life crisis he'd experimented with and come back to her.

  It was weak. And she scorned herself for having such thoughts. But still they persisted. She couldn't escape her pain and couldn't escape that she still loved him.

  She scooped the large sealed envelope off her desk and tucked it neatly under her arm as she exited the office. And now, to top it off, she had to act like Zelig's personal delivery girl as well. She knew it was his way of rubbing salt into her wounds. The package was probably filled with blank pages. He was such a spiteful little man.

  18:18:03

  Robyn parked the car and turned around in the seat. Through the rear window, she watched ED nurses lift Trent Barratt from the curb onto a stretche
r and wheel him quickly into the emergency department of Nepean Hospital.

  She felt guilty leaving him there like that. She wanted to go in with him, she felt obligated, even responsible for him, but he was adamant. She'd only just met him, but she trusted him.

  She would do as he asked, but she vowed to come back, check on him, and thank him for saving her life.

  She waited a few minutes longer after losing sight of him, then drove off toward Glorietta Plaza.

  18:18:26

  Shirin angled the car into a spot at the far end of the car park, near an emergency exit door. At this hour, with late night shopping, there were few vacant spaces left. She was happy to have one so close to an established egress route.

  Glorietta Plaza had an ebb and flow about it she fell in sync with long ago. With her office securely tucked away on the upper levels of the center, she felt comfortable here. She could safely hide Ben and his sister with little difficulty.

  Ben strode behind her as she walked briskly to the executive elevator. He was worried, she understood. She hoped Barratt would be waiting for them with Ben's sister when they arrived.

  18:18:37

  Smith stood naked in front of the young girl. She was his regular. He stood proud and strong, his legs slightly parted, his arms flexed to the side.

  As she scrubbed him with the lathered sponge, he relived his encounter with Robyn Mills.

  He should have killed Barratt for interrupting him. The old man's intention to keep Barratt and Shirin alive and in play was made clear, but whatever that reason was, Smith would challenge it. Perhaps he shouldn't have stuck him with the kitchen knife. He smirked to himself. Too bad.

  The old man would have to accept that it was either him or Barratt. At least Barratt wasn't dead yet.

  The young girl held the flexible showerhead in her hand and rinsed the suds from his chiseled body. She didn't speak; he liked that. She washed him, serviced him, then washed him again. It was an arrangement he paid for and respected. It didn't fill him with excitement, but it helped his calm.