by Dom Testa
And, promptly at five o’clock, a list of duties was posted. Next to the name Mirco was printed: Kitchen detail, daily, 8am, 1pm, 8pm.
So I was to wash dishes and clean up after everyone. I almost laughed on the way back to my room. I passed Brandt going the other way and we actually bumped shoulders in the cramped space. He uttered something unintelligible at my back as I kept walking.
I sat on my bunk and stared at my shoes. There was no way to upload on the ship, no way to ever have enough uninterrupted time. But that almost didn’t matter to me; there wasn’t much to report, other than a grouchy roommate and a badass female drill sergeant. It made me wonder if I’d get any chance to upload on the island. Maybe not. Too much was about to start happening too soon, and, with only a few days remaining until Christmas Eve, if I failed it would be too late to get an up-to-speed replacement out to the island anyway. I knew that Quanta and the staff of Q2 were furiously working on other defense ideas, trying to track down the squad of drones.
But the truth of the matter was that I was the last line of defense. I had to take out the base of operations. At this point, if a large, armed group began to storm the island, the twins could probably just begin their EMP assault right away, rather than wait for their poignant anniversary.
The hours passed, I ambled off to dinner, then stuck around in the kitchen to do my chores like a good boy. I was quiet the entire time, working side-by-side with a crew member, as well as another guy I assumed was one of the hired guns. It took us less than an hour to get everything cleaned and put away. By 9:15 I was back on the deck, back in my spot at the bow, watching as swift-moving clouds played peek-a-boo with the moon.
I thought about Christina, wondering if she was still hard at work at the restaurant or if she’d called it a night and headed home. Home to her quiet condo on the 7th floor. Would she be lonely? Would the day come when, no matter how much she treasured her alone time, she’d long for a companion who stuck around for more than a day at a time? Who always looked the same when he walked through the door? Who—
I cut off those thoughts with a shake of my head. I couldn’t get distracted now. The island and the ultimate showdown would roll over the horizon soon enough. Focus was critical.
At ten o’clock I went back to my room. Brandt was in his berth, his back turned to me. I slipped off my shoes and stretched out, my feet hanging off the ends of the bunk. With one arm beneath my head, I stared at the dark ceiling until I eventually dropped into a light sleep.
It must not have lasted long. I opened my eyes with a start and found myself staring into a rat’s nest of black beard. Brandt’s face loomed just inches above me, and I distinctly felt the point of a knife under my chin, penetrating just enough to draw a tiny bead of blood.
Chapter Twenty-Three
At a bar one time I listened with interest as a group at the table next to me nursed their half-priced drinks and fell onto the subject of how they’d like to die. There were the usual weenies who said In my sleep, which is a cop-out and totally not in the spirit of the game. There were a few who mentioned In a car in the garage with the engine running, and a couple who said, Instant heart attack or stroke. All solid answers, along with Lethal injection and Guillotine.
Well, once upon a time I watched a French agent get his neck slashed. It was grisly, nothing like you see in movies. I would do anything to get the memory of his dying gurgle out of my mind. That’s a sound to haunt you for the ages. Why did that have to get uploaded with every other detail? I wish we could cherry-pick.
The point is, when I think about all the ways I’ve been killed over the years, I’m grateful that I’ve never had my throat cut. I don’t know why all the other options are fine and that one is not, but there it is. My biggest fear in this work, I guess.
I sure as hell wasn’t going to let it happen at the hands of a dickhead like Brandt, with his garbage-can beard and zombie-breath. Bad guys in real life don’t talk before they shoot you, but the other truism is this: If they’re going to cut your throat, they just cut your throat. The fact that this German douche was merely poking my skin meant he was a showboat and a bully who figured I would piss my pants and tremble an apology about how I’d treated him. A real badass wouldn’t have even let me wake up. He’d fillet me like a Chilean sea bass and go right back to sleep.
So I just stared at him. Stared like I was bored. That in itself probably threw him for a loop. I knew if I waited long enough he’d say something stupid and I wasn’t disappointed. “You wanted me to speak English,” he said in a heavy, guttural accent. “So how about this? I won’t think twice about killing you at any time on this trip or on the island.” He was already wrong, but I didn’t point it out. “Next time I’ll cut your head right off. Understand, asshole? I may do it anyway, anytime.”
I still didn’t answer. He waited the appropriate amount of time for his tough-guy routine to sink in and terrify me, then pulled the blade back slowly for dramatic effect and stood up. I made note of the knife, a Buck hunting blade, the folding variety, about four inches long with a contoured handle and finger grips. It looked nice, something I wouldn’t mind having on the island. He slid it into a cheap little black sheath, stuck that into his belt in the back, and, after giving me one more glare, walked out of the room.
All I’d wanted to do was catch a little sleep, and now I’d have to take out the trash. I counted to 20 to give him time to get back up onto the deck, which is where I was sure he was headed to let the adrenaline evaporate. Then I put my shoes back on, took a drink of water, and stepped into the hall. The timing was perfect, because Parnell and LeMan were near the stairs, finishing up their business for the night. I walked straight up to them, ignored LeMan, and spoke to Parnell. “Do you have any special affection for my roommate?”
“What?”
“You guys aren’t related? He’s not your lover? He doesn’t owe you money or anything like that?”
She looked at LeMan, then back at me. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m going to see him in a minute, and there’s a very good chance I’ll kill him and throw his body over the side. Just wanted to make sure it wouldn’t twist your knickers. Based on your reaction it obviously wouldn’t. Thanks.”
I pushed past and climbed the stairs. After they spent a moment of hesitation I heard Parnell and LeMan following. But they didn’t stop me or call out. I think they were truly speechless. Certainly curious.
The skies had cleared and the quarter-moon provided just enough light. I stood with my hands on my hips, looking around until I spotted Mr. Tough Talk near the spot I liked at the bow. He was lighting a cigarette, his back to me. Parnell and LeMan had arrived nearby, but they still said nothing. I didn’t think they would. I smiled at them, then walked across the deck, whistling. When I was 20 feet away Brandt turned around, holding the railing with one hand and his cancer stick in the other.
“Hey,” I said, loving the look on his face — the classic Uh, what the hell? look when something is totally unexpected. “Smoking is bad for you.”
He recovered and raised himself up to his full height. “You want to finish this now? I was hoping you would. Come here, arschloch.”
He flicked his cigarette to the side.
The knife came out again, and he shifted it from hand to hand, as if testing its weight. How had this moron survived as long as he had? And he’d called me an asshole?
He moved toward me in a standard attack lunge, the knife whistling as it cut through the air.
This was almost too easy. I feinted, let him swing the knife one more time, then, as it passed, delivered one of the side-kicks I’d learned in my training. Quanta would be thrilled to know I hadn’t crouched. The blow hit him right in the solar plexus and produced just the diaphragm spasm I was looking for. He dropped to his knees and gasped, the blade clattering onto the deck. With my own knee I struck him square on the chin, knocking him backwards.
A heel to his throat would’ve been
a nice play, but the lit cigarette beside him on the deck caught my attention. I moved over and slowly ground it out, then kicked it over the side. Brandt lay there, struggling to breathe. LeMan looked scared as hell. Parnell, however, had walked right up and now watched intently, like she had $50k riding on a heavyweight match at The MGM Grand.
“Brandt, you’re a shitty roommate,” I said, retrieving the knife. I lifted the prone German to his feet. He made an attempt to fight back, but it was weak. He was done. I spun him around so he faced the water, then snatched the handy sheath from his belt. In one swift move I jammed the knife through the back of his neck into his skull. He went limp, and I simply pushed his corpse over the railing. Leaning out, I watched it plummet into the water with a satisfying smack, then disappear under the charging vessel. Something large and carnivorous would dine well tonight.
Turning back, I slipped the knife into its sheath and gave a little half-salute to Parnell. “Like you said, all our problems go over the side. Good night.” I walked away, whistling again. Neither she nor LeMan uttered a word.
Let me share three thoughts on this exercise so you can see the psychology in action.
Brandt and the real Mirco Mayer — the guy I pretended to be — weren’t hired to be mall cops. We were selected from a bevy of killers around the world who would protect the island from unwanted interference. Maybe LeMan was squeamish about it, but I knew Parnell understood exactly who LoGo had hired. She was a badass who appreciated badasses. That whole speech earlier about how ‘macho shit’ didn’t impress her? Nonsense. That’s exactly what impressed her. When I’d mouthed off in our meeting I saw it right there in her face, just inches away. I wouldn’t say we bonded, but she knew I was a pro’s pro, and that’s what she wanted. Guys who wouldn’t flinch at the thought of killing.
So Brandt gave me the opportunity to cement my reputation. And before you cry out that what I did was murder, remember that Brandt had killed an awful lot of innocent people over the years. He’d gotten away with it because he’d always been hired by corrupt countries and businesses that paid to keep him covered. He was no saint, he would’ve killed again, and had, in front of witnesses, tried to chalk me up as his latest victim. He had to go. I’ve got work to do and I don’t need bullshit like that hanging over my shoulder. Part of my job description is killing killers. Now there was one less to worry about.
Point Two: The twisted twins from LoGo were attempting to kill or at least destroy the lives of millions of people. Neither they nor their top brass would lose any sleep over a dead mercenary with shitty facial hair.
Point Three: The word would not only spread throughout the crew on this ship, but within hours of docking at the island it would become common news. That’s what I wanted. It’s no different from a convict going into the exercise yard on his first day and punching the cell block’s toughest dude right in the mouth. I wanted everyone on that island to steer clear and leave me alone.
The cherry on top was that I now had a new knife and a private suite. It couldn’t have worked out better. I slept great.
In the morning I ate breakfast alone, fully aware of many sets of eyes on me. When eight o’clock rolled around I blew off my kitchen duty assignment and sat in the sun on the deck, reading a magazine I’d found. No one said a word.
We’d arrive at the island the following day at noon. I reclined my chair, spread the open magazine over my face and, under the pretense of napping, considered what we knew and what I still needed to find out. We knew the operation’s home base was the island but we still lacked solid evidence that an attack was going to happen, so the troops couldn’t invade just yet. By now the twins had to be on the island. And we knew the drones and EMP system had been successfully tested within the past week.
What we didn’t know was crippling. We didn’t know the specific target, or if there was more than one. We didn’t know where the drones were at this point in time, but we assumed within just a few miles of their individual target zones. And we didn’t know how long it would take for me to confirm the operation so a much better armed assault team could descend beneath the red, white, and blue to clean up and preserve our inalienable right to sit in traffic and watch videos on our phones.
It was December 21st.
I knew it was only a matter of time until Parnell would want to talk. She’d kept her distance after cooly watching me dispatch ol’ stinky face the night before. But she’d approach soon enough.
When she finally did, it wasn’t exactly the way I’d expected.
Dinner was over and I’d skipped KP duty again. After an extended visit to the bow where I was almost tempted to stick out my arms and do my own king-of-the-world scene, I stopped off to pee before returning to my room. I’d barely climbed into bed when there was a knock. The door opened and there she was.
Beneath the bed sheet I carefully gripped my gun.
She leaned against the wall beside the door and eyed me for a while. “You know who you sound like when you talk? Arnold Schwarzenegger.”
“He’s Austrian,” I said. “I’m not.”
With a shrug she said, “Just sounds funny. Every time you talk I want you to say a few more things just to entertain me.”
“You’d be a cheap date. We could just drive around while I read street signs out loud.” I rested my head on one hand. “What about you? British, I’m assuming.”
I hadn’t seen her smile till now. I’d never really paid attention before but she had quite a beautiful face, the butchered hair notwithstanding. Her remarkably-toned body did an impressive job filling out her shorts and T-shirt with cut-off sleeves. Parnell was probably a murderous bitch but a damned hot one. Just in case, I kept my grip on the hidden Glock.
“Oh, I’ve been around,” she said, refusing to satisfy my curiosity about her background. “So why did you kill Brandt? A lovers’ quarrel in here?”
“Pretty much. He liked to cuddle afterwards and I need my space. It was never going to work out.”
Her smile widened. “That’s what I thought.” She pushed off from the wall, nudged the door closed, and sat down on the edge of my bunk, her gaze moving around my shirtless upper body. I kept my cool.
“At least you’ll be able to protect yourself on the island,” she said. “We’re told there could be some trouble.”
“That’s too bad. I’m writing a book of poetry and need to have as much undisturbed time as possible. Quatrains are a bitch.”
“Yes, well, don’t count on that.”
I studied her face. “What kind of trouble should I anticipate, Ms. Parnell?”
She scooted up a little closer to me. “Really bad people.”
“Aren’t we really bad people?”
This caused her smile to expand into a laugh. “Oh, yes we are, Mr. Mayer. Some much worse than others. You, for one. I’ve seen a lot of cold-blooded shit in my life but never anything like what you did last night. That was . . . frightening.”
“You don’t seem very scared of me right now.”
“Oh, my heart is beating. But I saw your moves and I think I could take you hand-to-hand.”
“What discipline are we talking? Ninjutsu?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m more of a Krav Maga girl. Heard of it?”
“Israeli security forces.”
Her eyes widened with pleasure. “Oh, my. You really know your killing techniques, don’t you?” Her hand reached out and began to run along my bicep and shoulder. “We’re going to divide up the forces tomorrow when we arrive. You were originally assigned to a non-essential area because we really didn’t know a lot about you. But I’m thinking now we should have you upstairs with us.”
“What’s upstairs?”
“That’s where the grownups are.”
I looked down at her hand, which had moved a little lower on my chest. “Would I be closer to the action upstairs with the grownups?”
She nodded again, slowly. “Right in the middle.”
“Then I would
love that assignment. Count me in.”
Her hand had reached the top of the sheet. She grasped it and I could tell the next move was to pull it down. I took my free hand and wrapped it around hers, stopping the action. “And what exactly are you doing right now, Ms. Parnell? Is this a form of orientation to see if I, um, fit in?” She locked eyes with me. “I mean, fit in with the team.”
I think she was surprised that I’d stopped her. I may have been the first man in her life who’d stopped her from anything.
“It’s the last night at sea,” she said. “Are you bothered that I’m here?”
“I’m not bothered,” I said, lifting her hand and placing it in her own lap. “But I can’t do what I think you want me to do.”
Her smile disappeared. “You’re not really gay, are you? I was joking about that.”
I laughed. “I’m not gay. I’m married. And I really love my wife.”
There were easily ten seconds of silence as she stared at me, from one eye to the other. Then she spit out: “Are you shitting me?”
It was my turn to shrug. “I shit you not. You’re one of the most desirable women I’ve ever met. But my wife is spectacular. I could show you a picture if you like.”
After another pause she chuckled. Then she shook her head in utter disbelief and stood up. “You’re unbelievable. The sappy killer.”
I just smiled with an Oh well look on my face. She turned and headed for the door.
“Oh, Parnell,” I said before she opened it. When she turned back around I asked: “Does this mean I can’t sit at the adult table now?”
She gave a snort of disgust and walked out.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I finally discovered the name of the island, which was good because I was tired of calling it the island.
Niall Ormond had christened it Vita Solis, an abbreviated form of Vita Ex Solis. That supposedly was Latin for life from the sun. Or something like that. For all I knew it was like one of those butchered Asian sayings people get as tattoos, then find out after the ink dries they’ve just had I eat socks permanently placed on their forearm.