Once Is Never Enough

by Haris Orkin

  Harper and both his men had tactical flashlights with xenon bulbs that brightly illuminated what otherwise would be total darkness. Flynn grabbed Belenki by the shoulder and overly enunciated the words, “Panic Room.”

  Belenki raised an eyebrow.

  Flynn mouthed the words again. “Panic Room.”

  Belenki understood that time and vigorously nodded.

  As a former drill sergeant, Harper had no trouble shouting over the alarm siren with his booming voice. “Is it getting hotter in here?”

  Belenki said something back, but Flynn couldn’t hear him. Harper was right though. The temperature in the house rose quickly. It had to be over a hundred degrees.

  Harper’s operators took point as they headed down another corridor, the tactical flashlights alerted them to a wall sliding open. Behind it squatted a machine gun turret.

  “What the fuck is—” The turret unleashed, prematurely ending Harper’s sentence. He tackled Belenki, and Flynn flattened Severina.

  Sancho turned away and a pepper gel-filled paintball smacked him in the back. Harper’s man caught one in the balls, chest, and forehead. Another crouched, shouting for everyone to duck as a paintball flew in his open piehole. It lodged in his throat and he choked.

  He fell to his knees, eyes bugging out, face turning blue. Flynn crawled over, grabbed him from behind, and gave him the Heimlich Maneuver until the gel ball popped free. Another guard had pepper gel splattered all over his face.

  He clawed at his eyes, screaming, “Oh, my God! Oh my God!”

  Harper shot at the turret with his .44 until it fell over on its side. The turret continued to fire, but the balls exploded harmlessly off the walls. “Let’s move!” he shouted.

  Flynn helped Severina up. Belenki guided the way, down another corridor and into a double doorway that led to his fabulous library. The lights were out because all the bulbs were shattered, but a five-foot-high fireplace blazed with a gas fire. Harper shined his tactical flashlight around the room. The light danced off the forty-foot-high ceiling, decorated with a beautiful stained-glass dome.

  Belenki was a man on a mission. When he crossed by the fireplace, it erupted with a Vesuvius of flame. Belenki was engulfed. Flynn’s reactions were quicker than anyone else’s. He knocked the billionaire to the ground and rolled him across the plush oriental carpet.

  The billionaire stared in stunned silence at the flame roaring out of his fireplace. He hurried to a bookshelf that was starting to burn and pulled back a particular book. The entire wall swung away, revealing a solid steel door eight feet tall. Belenki approached a security panel outfitted with a retinal scanner and used his fingers to force open his right eye, squinty and blood-shot as it was. He stared into the sensor and…nothing happened. No beeping. No clicking. No door unlocking. Belenki was nonplussed. “Something’s wrong with it!”

  “Is there a code you can use? Any kind of manual override?” Harper asked.

  “No, it’s a retinal scanner. Only my eye can open it.”

  “Maybe there’s a problem with the power.”

  “It’s on its own auxiliary system. No, no, no, this can’t be right.” He put his eye up to it again. Nothing. “It’s worked every fucking time I’ve tried it, but now that I need it—”

  “You’ve been hacked,” Flynn said.

  “What?”

  “Someone has control of your house and every system in it.”

  “The Russians?” Harper speculated.

  “Could be.”

  “How is that possible?” Harper shouted.

  “They found a vulnerability and planted malware most likely.”

  “Now what do we do?” Severina was on the edge of panic. “We can’t stay here. This whole room is going to go up in flames.” A couple of the books on the higher shelves already burned.

  “We need to unbolt the doors and get all those security shutters open.” Flynn grabbed Belenki by the shoulders. “Where’s the master control box? There has to be one.”

  “The basement,” Belenki said.

  “Take us there!” Flynn ordered.

  “Now!” Harper shouted.

  On the way to the basement, they passed the laundry area. A flood rushed from the room and into the corridor. Water erupted like a geyser from the washing machine. The hackers must have quadrupled the water pressure and now the pipes had burst. Sparking light fixtures and bare wires dangling. Flynn grabbed Belenki to stop him from stepping into the water.

  No one grabbed Harper, however, and he went totally rigid, dropping his gun as electricity surged through his body. Sancho reached for him. Flynn slapped his hand away. He took off his jacket and looped it over Harper’s head and under his arms and dragged him back out of the water. Harper immediately collapsed, unconscious.

  Flynn put his ear to the man’s chest. “Still breathing. Still has a heartbeat. Help me get him up.” Flynn and Sancho carried him into the kitchen, where every burner blazed hot and high on the gas range. Smoke poured from the convection oven and hovered near the ceiling. A gusher of water erupted from the sink.

  Belenki pointed the way. “The basement’s over here.”

  Severina opened the door and Sancho and Flynn carried Harper down the stairs. The alarm siren was less intense down there; no speakers in the basement. Harper was a big guy, a heavy guy, and Sancho nearly dropped him near the bottom. They gently set him on the cement floor as Belenki approached a big metal electrical box. He opened the door to reveal a myriad of switches and buttons and digital readouts.

  “Do you know how to shut it off?” Flynn asked.

  “I didn’t set up or program the system, but how hard could it be?” Belenki tried a number of switches and buttons and levers and the digital readout continued to blink. “I can’t access the system and I can’t cut the power. Something won’t let me.”

  “Someone else has control.”

  “This whole house is going to burn if we don’t do something,” Sancho said.

  “The police and fire department are on the way. They’ll be here any second,” Belenki said.

  “If they got the signal. But if someone else has control of the system…” Flynn raised his eyebrows to mark his point.

  The gravity of the situation finally sank in for Severina. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “We’re like rats in a goddamn oven!” Sancho shouted.

  “I think have an idea,” Flynn said.

  “That’s usually the last thing you say before you do something really, really stupid,” Sancho replied.

  Flynn offered them all a confident grin before bolting back up the basement stairs.

  Chapter Fourteen

  As Sancho sat hunkered on the basement floor, sweat dripping down his face, Severina glared at him. “What?”

  “Aren’t you going to go with him?”

  “Why would I?”

  “Because you’re his friend! Because he needs you.”

  “Why don’t you go?”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “Maybe you should!”

  But Severina didn’t get up; Sancho did, and without another word, he bounded up the basement steps to find his old compadre. There wasn’t a lot to burn in the kitchen, but what could burn was burning like a hijo de puta. The drapes. The wallpaper. A butcher block table. A couple of the guests struggled to pry open the steel shutters that sealed off the kitchen windows and back door. The room would have been an inferno if not for the geyser of water erupting from the sink and raining down, creating a fog of steam.

  Sancho didn’t bother shouting for Flynn because the siren still screamed. He avoided the corridor with electrified water and pushed past a dozen freaked-out guests, warning them about the danger ahead. He located Flynn kneeling in front of a cabinet that held a massive hot water heater.

  “Dude, what are you doing?”

  “This water heater is commercial grade and holds 120 gallons. It’s seventy-five inches tall and thirty-three inches in diameter. Radius squared tim
es pi is 560 square inches.”

  “So?”

  “The temperature is probably 180 degrees and climbing, which means the pressure inside is approximately 350 pounds per square inch. Multiply that by 560 and you get one hundred and ninety-six thousand pounds of pressure.”

  “So!”

  “I blocked the TPR valve. I’m turning this into a rocket.”

  “You’re what?”

  “I saw it on MythBusters. It was quite impressive.”

  “Not a good idea, dude.”

  “Already done. Time to go.”

  “What?”

  “Before it blows.” Flynn jumped to his feet. “Let’s move.”

  “What do you mean it’s time to—”

  “Run!”

  Flynn took off and Sancho ran after him. They bumped into guests feeling their way forward in the dark from the other direction. “Turn around! Run! Go! Get outa here!” Sancho screamed. “Bomb! It’s a—”

  The hot water heater detonated. An unbelievable roar shook the house. The explosion was so loud, the sound drowned out the shrieking alarm. Walls cracked, glass shattered, and parts of the ceiling came down. A secondary blast shook the house again. Sancho was sure this had to be the end.

  Dr. Nickelson hadn’t been this drunk since his junior year at USC. It was a Dungeons and Dragons party at Theta Beta Pi and he was dressed like a dwarf wizard and drunk off his ass on Long Island Ice Teas. He woke up the next morning on the rec room floor, between a puddle of vomit and a passed-out orc warrior. Nickelson had been hungover that whole day and the day after that. He had a blinding migraine and was sick as a dog. As bad as he felt back then, he felt even worse now.

  The tear gas and flashbang grenades killed his buzz. His drunken euphoria was overwhelmed by fear and adrenaline. He, too, fell in the pool, but finally found the edge and managed to get his elbows and then the rest of himself out of the water. His brief moment of relief was snatched away when he fell off the edge of the infinity pool and tumbled down the steep hillside.

  He somersaulted and tumbled, eating dirt and ripping his suit, grabbing for shrubs in a desperate attempt to slow his roll. He skidded to a painful stop and could already feel the bruises and stinging scratches, lacerations and pulled muscles. Nickelson rolled over onto his knees and worked his way to his feet before climbing back up the hill. It was slow going, but he had no other plan. Still fuzzy-headed from all the mai tai’s, he kept losing ground and sliding back, but he didn’t give up.

  It took him forever. When he finally made it back to Belenki’s patio and yard, it surprised him no one was around. Not a soul. The light in the pool glowed and so did all the party lights, but the house was dark. Navigating his way across the yard, he made it to the mansion and found every window sealed tight with steel shutters. No way in. Nickelson got a familiar feeling. He first felt it as a small boy when his parents divorced and his father moved away; and again when his wife left him two months ago.

  Abandonment.

  He was all alone. Discarded. Forsaken. Shunned. Tears dribbled down his face. He wasn’t sure if they were from the residual tear gas or the deep well of sadness he carried with him everywhere.

  Where’s Flynn? Where’s Sancho? Where was Weird Al Yankovic? Why wasn’t he with them? Why did they abandon him? He walked all around the massive mansion to try and find a way in, but the place was impregnable. Sealed like a tomb.

  He sat down on a cement bench a short distance away and stared at the house. Entry denied because he wasn’t part of the club. Always unwanted. Always alone. Damaged. Broken. That was what led him to study psychology and get a medical degree and become a psychiatrist. Because way down deep in the darkest recesses of his soul, he understood what it felt like to be an outsider.

  The ground trembled. Saratoga wasn’t far from the San Andreas Fault. Could this be the big one? Is the Earth about to open wide and swallow me whole? He braced himself as a massive explosion rocked Blinky Castle. The roof erupted. Something huge shot out of the house and continued high into the air.

  In the moonlight, it was hard to see exactly what it was, but Nickelson followed its trajectory as it climbed into the sky. What the hell is that? He continued to stare as its acceleration slowed and it reached the apex of its upward progress.

  Whatever it was plummeted back down to Earth. In fact, it looked like it was about to fall right on top of him. Nickelson stood up as quick as he could, which wasn’t very quick, and tried to decide which way to run. It was hard to tell exactly where the giant falling thing was going to hit and he didn’t want to make the stupid mistake of running right underneath it. So instead, he stood frozen in place, unable to make a decision and understood that his chronic indecisiveness would likely be the ultimate cause of his demise. His luck held, however, and the large burning thing hit in the infinity pool with a huge splash.

  Water sloshed over the sides of the pool and Nickelson approached to see what had landed. A hot water heater? Why the hell would a hot water heater launch itself through the roof? Nickelson turned back to look at the mansion just as a secondary explosion blew out a wall. The blast knocked Nickelson off his feet. As he struggled upright he watched as Flynn led Belenki and some of his guests out through the room-sized hole.

  Dozens and dozens of other guests followed, including Sancho and Miss Angelli and Lady Gaga and Weird Al. Mr. Harper and two of his security team were carried out by four other security contractors. Everyone was filthy and disheveled and stumbling and coughing.

  Nickelson caught Sancho’s eye; he looked so surprised and relieved to see him. A big smile lit up Sancho’s face. “Doc, are you okay?”

  “I am now,” Nickelson said.

  Four fire trucks arrived moments after Flynn evacuated the mansion. Firefighters tackled the blaze before it could ignite the dried brush on the hillside and cause a major conflagration. The fire engines were followed by four ambulances, three patrol cars from the Santa Clara County Sheriff’s Department and a news helicopter overhead. Sirens filled the air and the cherries of police and emergency vehicles flashed with red and white lights.

  Flynn stood outside the burning mansion and marveled at the size of the hole in the wall created by that secondary gas explosion. It was a miracle no one died. Harper remained out of action and on his way to the hospital. He regained consciousness before he left in the ambulance and didn’t seem to suffer any serious damage.

  Severina argued with the police. Her boss was in no mood to answer any questions. He just wanted out of there. They initially requested that everyone stay put, but those movie stars and celebrity billionaires weren’t about to stand around and wait their turn to talk to the authorities. They were tired, dirty, furious and litigious. Within thirty minutes most everyone left.

  Severina beckoned Flynn over. She was smudged and bedraggled, but surprisingly composed considering what she’d been through. “As Harper is out of commission, Mr. Belenki wants you to take over his protection detail.”

  “I can tell by your tone that you don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “At least I got him out of there alive.”

  “After almost blowing us all to kingdom come.”

  “Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, dear.”

  “I’ll be honest, Mr. Flynn. I tried to get Sergei to fire you, but he is stubborn and loyal to a fault. For whatever reason, he still trusts you, and for now I have to live with that. But I did convince him to hire another security firm. It’s run by the former Deputy Director of the Secret Service. A man by the name of Fergus.”

  “That was quick work.”

  “He was my original choice, but Sergei had a history with Harper and like I said…he’s loyal.”

  “When is Mr. Fergus coming aboard?”

  “Immediately. He’s currently securing Sergei’s private island in the San Juan Archipelago.”

  “What is it with billionaires and their private islands?”

&
nbsp; “They like control.”

  “Or at least the illusion of it. Is that where we’re headed?” Flynn asked.

  “Yes. Back to the airport where we’ll fly to Bellingham. Sergei has a yacht in Squalicum harbor. The Nautilus.”

  “Sergei apparently has a fondness for Victorian science fiction. Does he see himself as a modern-day Captain Nemo?”

  “He sees himself as getting out of here as soon as possible.”

  Much to Severina’s consternation, Flynn insisted on driving. The car he chose wasn’t autonomous as he didn’t want a repeat of what happened on the ride in from the airport. It was, however, Electro Go’s flagship vehicle. The Mach 5. The top of the line Electro Go. It went zero to sixty in 3.7 seconds and had a top speed of 160 miles an hour. Sergei’s personal Mach 5 was white with custom red racing stripes and sported a sleek aerodynamic shape similar to its anime namesake. Speed Racer was Sergei’s favorite TV show when he was a boy. For all its speed and design, it was quite comfortable if not exactly roomy.

  Severina sat squished in the backseat with Nickelson, Sancho, and Anika. Belenki rode shotgun next to Flynn. Even though the Mach 5 wasn’t autonomous, it did have a few advanced features. Forward collision control and automatic braking. A lane departure warning and steering assist. Adaptive cruise control with radar, camera, and laser sensors.

  The Mach 5 cornered as well if not better than Severina’s BMW M2 and she suspected Flynn longed to put the pedal to the metal as the twisting mountain road had tight curves and sweeping vistas; but Sergei had requested an escort from the Santa Clara County Sheriff’s Department and a patrol car led the way. Another patrol car followed from behind. Both traveled at the forty-five mile an hour speed limit and Severina felt like they were moving in slow motion. Better safe than sorry. Patience. Not easy for a quintessential Type A personality.

  She glanced at Sergei. He was exhausted as hell. By the set of his jaw and the way he glowered out the window, she could also see his agitation and anger. He wasn’t watching the scenery zip by. He was deep in thought. Lost in his head.