by L. T. Ryan
Screw it.
Blake sprung up from his seat, threw his leg over the back of his chair and climbed into the empty row behind him to avoid having to wait for Pacman to let him out. Thing One and Thing Two passed through the front exit door as Blake headed toward the front of the room.
The speaker had paused his presentation and made a comment about the disruption. Blake heard him but wouldn’t have been able to repeat his statement. The rest of the participants prattled at one another.
Blake exploded through the exit door and into a long service corridor that ran parallel to the back of the ballroom. It was empty, except for a few buffet serving tables, stacks of chairs, and other equipment that lined one wall. The concrete floor, walls, ceiling, and even the overhead electrical conduit were painted the same shade of gray. Blake looked in either direction. There were fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling at regular intervals toward the vanishing point, illuminating the openings to several more perpendicular corridors.
Which way would I go if I were her?
There was no difference. Either choice would have followed the same logic as flipping a coin.
Blake listened. He could hear the faint clamoring of what sounded like a kitchen or equipment room. Metallic clanking, the low hum of an air conditioner. He guessed the sound came from the right, but far away. Then he heard the voice of a man. Not the words, but the low cadence at which they were spoken. It came from the left and it was much closer. Blake moved toward it.
He hadn’t yet rounded the corner to the first offshoot when he heard the addition of a woman’s voice echoing through the concrete maze.
Pegasus.
Blake darted around the corner into an identical scene as the one he left behind. More equipment, more corridors. Only this time it wasn’t empty. Two hundred feet ahead stood the woman, flanked on either side by the two military men. Something must have stopped her there in the middle of the hallway. Why not keep running? Blake was missing something.
He could see that each man held a wooden stick. An old-fashioned billy club. And he knew why. Security had been tight. Everyone entering the facility had to pass through metal detectors. These guys were not Feds. Then what? Mercenaries? And what could they want with this young woman?
The men hadn’t seen him yet. At least, they didn’t react as if they had. Blake closed the distance, hoping to get the jump on them, but when he saw one man raise his stick, he knew he wouldn’t make it in time to prevent the woman from being injured.
“Hey, shitbird,” Blake said. He hadn’t yelled, but his voice carried, amplified by the narrow walls.
Both men startled. They hadn’t known he was there.
Blake ambled along, continuing to close the gap. He hoped to distract them from their original task long enough so he could intervene.
“Yeah, that’s right. I’m talking to you. I’m gonna have to insist you leave the lady alone,” Blake added.
Thing One’s eyes darted between Blake and Pegasus. Thing Two’s remained fixed on Blake.
Blake met Thing Two’s gaze as he neared. A faint smile then crept up on the man’s face.
“You won’t be smiling for long,” Blake said.
“No!” Pegasus cried out.
It all came together in a flash. The scream, the smile. It all registered as the wooden club crashed down on the back of his head.
They’re behind me.
At first there was no pain. Only confusion. At one moment Blake was standing. The next, his face pressed against the cool concrete floor. The muffled voices of the men echoed off the walls and again in his head. He could see only blurred shadows, haloed by green light. For a moment, Blake’s disorganized mind contemplated whether he was dead. The searing pain radiating from the back of his head, traveling down his spine and through his jaw, dispelled any such notion. He tried to get up but only lifted himself a few inches before his arms gave out. He dropped to the ground in a human puddle.
Hours passed. Or only milliseconds. Or no time at all. He couldn’t tell. The sounds of the real-world returned as if someone had turned up the treble on a graphic equalizer. The sound of brutality. The horrible sound of the wooden club striking flesh and bone. Blake could only imagine the grisly state of Pegasus’ once delicate face. She was unquestionably dead. And he would be too if he didn’t pull it together.
Blake pushed himself onto his hands and tucked his knees under him. He shook his head and tried to focus on the attackers. The images were clearer. He could discern the shapes of the men, but none of it made sense to his rattled brain. Four shadowy apparitions flittered around. Three were much larger than the other.
Pegasus.
Reasoning returned. He could see the diminutive frame of Pegasus, surrounded by three men. A fourth man laid on the ground in a heap.
She’s alive?
Blake tried to push himself to his feet, but his knees crumpled beneath him. He could only watch as one man lunged forward, swinging the stick with furious intensity. Blake’s face contorted as the stick careened toward the woman. He fought the urge to close his eyes.
What happened next defied explanation. Was he dreaming? Was he still out cold? Blake felt as though he was becoming more lucid, but now he wasn’t so sure.
The woman dodged the blow, grabbed her attacker’s wrist with both hands and yanked down. She kicked off and launched her feet into the air, using the man’s arm as a pivot point. As her legs crashed down on either side of the man’s head, she bent her knee and locked her foot around the back of her other leg. Upside down and with a vice-grip on the man’s neck, the woman twisted her body, sending the man off balance and crashing to the ground. The woman maintained her hold while she landed on her feet. The man’s head twisted violently. Blake expected it to pop off his neck. One thing he was sure of, that man would never get back up.
In one fluid motion, the woman dove toward another would-be assailant with her arms outstretched as if diving into a pool. She slid across the floor, driving her arms between the man’s legs, forcing them apart. Before he could swing the club down on her back, she erupted upward, propelling the crown of her head into the man’s groin. As he doubled over, she flipped onto her back and delivered a powerful kick. It landed square on the man’s nose. She pushed against the man’s calves, sending herself skidding out from under him as the gush of blood splashed onto the floor.
Blake’s mind may have been chaotic. But it hadn’t created the chaos he saw before him. This was real. Unbelievable. But real.
Blake staggered to his feet, his own tenacity forcing him to get back in the fight.
Pegasus wrenched the club from the man’s hand and smashed it down on the back of his neck. She turned toward the last remaining attacker. With a flourish, she spun the stick in her hand and took up a fighting stance.
Blake stumbled to the first fallen man and picked up the wooden club that rested on the floor by his lifeless legs. It was heavier than it looked.
The last of the attackers bounced back and forth in a tentative dance. Before he could muster his attack, Pegasus leapt into the air with the stick cocked high above her head. She swung in a downward stroke. The man had been ready for it, easily countering to avoid the blow. What he hadn’t been ready for, if his guttural screams were any indication, was the woman’s right foot. The stick had provided the perfect distraction for her to land a flying kick on the side of the man’s kneecap. His leg snapped at the joint, leaving it grotesquely deformed. She kicked again, further buckling his leg sideways at a ninety-degree angle. The attacker fell on his side.
Blake stood ready. He clutched the club in his right hand. He looked around at the carnage and, after a moment of cognizance, opened his hand and let gravity send the stick clattering across the floor.
“Let’s go.” Pegasus walked toward him. “We have to get out of here. Can you walk?”
Intense pain enveloped Blake’s entire head. It throbbed behind his eyes. He reached to feel the egg-sized lump and the slicknes
s of the blood. He looked at his hand to confirm.
“We’ll get that cleaned up, come on,” she said.
She took Blake by the elbow and the pair stepped further through the maze. They started slow, gradually picking up the pace. His sense of time had returned, along with control of his nervous system.
They slowed as they reached the last intersection. Seeing no way out ahead, they turned left into another corridor.
As soon as they made the turn, they saw it. A sign in the distance. A sign so commonly used that it often went unnoticed. Emergency Door. Alarm will sound. With no communication, the pair made a bee line for the door.
The red lever stretching across the door released the latch as advertised. The door swung open and daylight flooded the drab gray tunnel. The only noise was that of the city streets. No siren. No alarm.
“I knew those signs were bullshit,” Blake said. He hadn’t expected a response, and he didn’t get one.
They descended the metal staircase and ran across the loading dock, disregarding any looks they may have garnered from the employees unloading trucks or smoking cigarettes.
They made it to the end of the driveway and rounded the corner onto the sidewalk just before a semi-tractor trailer made the turn from the street. They slowed to keep pace with the normal pedestrian traffic dotting the area. They headed south, toward E Flamingo Road, with no destination.
Pegasus exhaled loudly. “I’m Haeli.”
“Blake.” He removed his hand from the back of his head intending to offer it to her but bailed on the idea when he remembered the bloody mess. “What just happened?”
“Let’s get off the street,” Haeli said. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
11
A crimson film coated the ceramic basin. Blake flicked his hand through the stream of water, sending the splashes swirling around the edges. With each motion, the deep red color of the pooling water diluted further into increasingly lighter shades of pink until it ran clear.
Blake cupped his hands and splashed a handful of water on his face. He pulled a few paper towels from the metal dispenser and patted his skin and hair, gingerly pressing the moistened towel onto the large lump on his scalp. He checked the paper towel to find only a few specks of smeared blood.
Blake shut off the water and looked in the mirror, tipping his head to glimpse the affected area. As far as he could tell, his hair covered any obvious injury. Satisfied that the bleeding had stopped, and any conspicuous evidence cleaned up, he tossed the paper towel in the bin and unbolted the door. He emerged with caution.
The place was quiet. Dimly lit, except for the light streaming through the windows that faced the street. A long bar ran along one side of the narrow storefront establishment. Nothing appeared to have changed since he’d first arrived and ducked into the bathroom. Three patrons still sat gawking at several screens mounted behind and above the bar, each displaying a live feed of a different horse racing track.
A four-foot-tall wall ran through the center of the room, parallel to the bar which delineated the eight-table dining area. The section was empty except for the one formidable young woman, who sat at the table positioned furthest toward the back wall.
Blake considered walking straight out of the front doors and not looking back. It wasn’t a question of whether it would have been the right course of action. The smart course of action. He was resolute that nothing good could come of spending another second in her presence. But he wanted some answers. He didn’t need them, but he wanted them.
Blake pulled up a chair.
“Bleeding stop?” Haeli asked.
“Yeah, bled like hell for a bit there though.” Blake reflexively reached up and patted the wound.
“Head wounds will do that. Stop touching it.” Haeli extended her fingertips and pushed a glass of amber liquid toward him. “Here, I ordered you a whiskey.”
Blake started to ask what kind, but he decided it didn’t matter. He picked up the glass and took a large swig. Haeli did the same.
“Are you old enough to drink?” Blake asked. Not that he was going to stop her.
Haeli grinned. “I get asked that a lot. A few minutes ago, the bartender asked me the same thing. But, if you must know, I’m thirty-four years old. So, yeah, I’m old enough to have a drink.”
Blake didn’t hide his surprise. He had pegged her for early twenties at the most. Just one more assumption that he had been completely wrong about. What was it about her that made her so hard to read? “Sorry, you look… I mean, you have a youthful look.”
“No worries. I should be the one apologizing. For nearly getting you killed. You were trying to help me, and I want you to know I really appreciate it.”
“I don’t think I provided very much in the way of help. But you’re welcome.” Blake paused. “But answer me this. Who were those guys? I mean, what did they want? And where did you learn to do that? I’ve never seen anything like it.” He could have gone on. “Who the hell are you, really?”
Haeli shifted her eyes toward the table. Blake fought the urge to break the elongated pause, sensing that an answer to at least one of his questions was forthcoming.
“It’s my father,” Haeli said. “He’s in trouble.”
“Okay.” Blake‘s inflection meant to encourage Haeli to continue.
“My father is a scientist,” Haeli explained. “He works for this private corporation. It’s a long story, but we sort of had a falling out and I haven’t seen or spoken to him in a while. Anyway, a few days ago, I got a call from a man who said he needed to talk to me in person. He said it was important and that it had to do with my father. That he was in trouble. Of course, I tried contacting my father, but he didn’t respond.”
“Did you meet with the guy?” Blake asked.
“Yes. Yes, I met him. That’s why I’m in Vegas. He wanted to meet here. The guy was a nervous wreck. He told me to make sure nobody followed me, to be careful and all this stuff. When I met up with him, he told me he used to work with my father.”
“Where does your father work?” Blake interjected.
“It’s an Israeli company. We used to live there, Israel, but he moved to the US when they opened the satellite office here. Anyway, the guy said my father was in danger and he gave me a thumb drive. He said there was information on it I needed to know.”
“What was on it?”
“That’s the thing.” Haeli laid her hands on the table. “When I got back to my hotel, I used the business center and tried to look at it. I plugged it in and could see it had one file on it. A .zip file. I tried opening it, but it asked me for a password.”
“The guy didn’t mention a password?” It was what she had already implied, but Blake found it hard to believe.
“He must have forgotten. And he told me I’d never see him again, like he was in hiding. So, long story short, when I realized that this DEF CON thing was happening right down the street, I thought there had to be someone there that could help me open the thing.”
“If you’re worried he’s in trouble, why not just go to the police? Give them the thumb drive and let them run with it. They have forensics people who could crack that file.” Blake had a feeling he’d receive push back on the suggestion. That there was an excuse brewing behind her piercing eyes.
“I don’t know,” Haeli countered. “The guy may be a total whack job. It could be a file full of porn for all I know. I just want to see what it is before it turns into a big production for no reason.”
Blake got the excuse he expected. He agreed with the logic to a point. He would have convinced himself of something similar if he were in her shoes.
“So, what about Thing One and Thing Two?” Blake didn’t need to see Haeli’s confused expression to realize he needed to clarify the question. “The guys in the service hallway. Who were they?”
“Oh. When I got to the conference, I noticed a couple of guys tailing me. I remembered what my father’s friend had said about being followed, so
I tried to duck into one of the shows and blend in. They found me anyway.”
“So, you ran into the service hallway where two other guys were waiting. They catch you and try to kill you, or hurt you at least. They split my head wide open, and somehow, you pull some ninja sh—”
Haeli cut him off before he could finish the escalating indictment. “I know. Crazy, right? Growing up, I studied martial arts. For years. I competed in tournaments and that sort of thing. If they cornered me, I just reacted. Honestly, I surprised myself that I had it in me.”
Blake tried to hide his skepticism. There was some truth in what she was telling him, he was sure. But by his estimation, what he had witnessed went well beyond martial arts classes. It was the skill of someone not only well trained but also highly experienced. He replayed the event in his mind — the parts that weren’t fuzzy — and one detail stood out. She could have kept running further into the network of hallways, but she chose not to. She stopped to face the men. They didn’t chase her. She had lured them there. Out of the public eye.
Blake played along. “So, what do you think they were after, the thumb drive?”
“That’s the only thing I can think of. Maybe there is something important in that file. Maybe, whatever it is, someone doesn’t want it getting out. Do you think you can help open it?”
“That’s not really my thing.” Blake figured he could play the lying game just as well as she could. “I wish I could help, but I’m a dope with computers. I just came out to visit a friend who was attending the conference.”
“Oh. Do you think she could help?”
“He,” Blake corrected, “and no, he was called away for work this morning.”
“That’s okay.” Haeli’s shoulders sagged as if her lungs had sprung a leak. “You’ve done enough already. Again, I’m so sorry for all of this.”
Haeli’s bottom lip shifted upward in a subtle pout. The look meant to be pathetic, yet adorable. It was both, but it wasn’t working on Blake. It reminded him of Anja, how she would give a similar look when she wanted something he resisted. The only difference was, from Anja, it always worked.