Power Trip

by Dom Testa

  I forced myself to calm down. “What news is that?”

  “I was just told minutes ago about a discovery made in the tall grass at the back of the compound. I assume you’re responsible for killing Richter?”

  “Well, he wasn’t a nice man.”

  “Not usually, no.”

  “What does that have to do with Parnell?” I asked. “Did I just kill her only friend on the island?”

  Julianne Ormond smiled and took a final sip of coffee before setting the cup on the table. She stood up, then leaned on the back of the chair and whispered down to me. “No, Eric. You killed her husband.”

  She gave the triumphant raise of an eyebrow, then opened the door and walked out. She spent a few moments talking with Carter and Parnell, gave a nod toward me, then left with Parnell in tow.

  I sat there, trying to rebound from yet another shitty twist to the tale. That Etch-a-Sketch was getting a workout. Any chance I might have had of creating an alliance with Parnell — which, I acknowledged, was iffy at best — had just gone up in smoke.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  I would never say life’s not fair. Hell, of all people I should be the last to ever bitch about life. I mean, which one?

  As I was led back to my holding room by beefy Carter and one of the other hired guns, I calculated my chances given the options.

  Option 1: Turn around now and try to overpower two big guys, one of whom kept a weapon trained on me at all times. Horrible chances. In fact, zero chance. Just stupid.

  Option 2: Try to break out of the room where I was being held and figure out a way back to the Ops Room and disable something. I didn’t know what that would be or look like, but I could try. There was always that burn-down-the-house strategy.

  Piss-poor chances there, as well. Just getting out of the room would be difficult, especially if someone sat outside, which was likely.

  Option 3: Try one more time to get Parnell to see what was really going on. But I’d have to do that before Julianne, the Vindictive Vixen, spilled the secret that I’d shot Parnell’s husband right between the eyes and left his body as a snack for the wildlife.

  For crying out loud. Why are there never four options?

  I dismissed the first two and decided it was Parnell or nothing.

  Carter didn’t bother to tie me up this time; he just locked me into the room. The home team was either getting cocky and complacent or Carter knew something I didn’t. I spent five minutes sizing up the room and accepted the fact that there was no exit. No Bruce Willis air duct to slither through, even.

  Time ticked by, how much I couldn’t say for sure. Once I banged on the door, demanding a bathroom break, and two new thugs escorted me down the hall, straight into the men’s room. They both stood right there. I don’t care if you’re a licensed-to-kill secret agent, that’s embarrassing. And no, there were no windows anyway; it was an interior room.

  They also brought me water, but no food. It began to look like Julianne was deadly serious. She was going to allow me to see the results of her mayhem and then execute me. Damn, all those times I’d made fun of Bond movies and now it was happening to me: the bad guy was keeping me alive to see the shit go down.

  But on some level I did see the diabolical deliciousness from Julianne’s point of view. Perhaps the best thing I’d done throughout this entire failed mission was to try to humiliate her for bedding her brother. That juvenile teasing alone provided bonus time on the clock. Now it was up to me to score before the final buzzer.

  Hours passed, my spirits deflating.

  The lock turned in the door, which swung open to reveal Parnell. “C’mon,” she said. “You could use some fresh air.”

  I stayed against the wall, studying her face, trying to read her eyes, looking for any sign she’d been given the news about Richter. There was nothing. Which meant nothing. Parnell was, after all, a former operative for the British Secret Service. She could play these games as well as I could.

  “Well?” she said, standing aside and indicating the open door. I finally pushed off the wall and ambled past her, halfway tensing for a blow that never came. “I know I don’t need to say this,” she said, “but please don’t make things awkward by trying to be the stud. First, I’ll stomp your ass, and second, Carter will put at least two, possibly three, bullets into what’s left. There, that nasty bit of business is done and we can carry on.”

  The words were deadly serious, but nasty bit of business can only sound delightful coming from the mouth of an English woman. I walked out to the hall and we made our way to the outer door, followed by Carter, my constant shadow. I still owed him a few bullshit punches and I intended to settle that debt before this was over.

  It was dark outside and the morning storm that had abused the island was gone, leaving behind a strong wind that felt good against my face. Ten billion stars shone down, untainted by big-city lights. We were on a hard-packed surface with scattered trees, the hypnotic crashing of waves providing the soundtrack. If I wasn’t so close to termination it might’ve been romantic.

  Well, except for the bologna-brained chaperone walking behind us. Nothing was said for the first few minutes until we’d left the more-developed part of the island behind. I figured it was up to me to steer the discussion.

  “Did you think about what I told you?”

  “No, not so much.”

  “Do you believe Julianne’s story that I’m a paid assassin, hired by the energy moguls to kill her?”

  She didn’t answer. I tried another tack. “Tell me what happened with the Secret Service.”

  “You’re a curious bugger. Why would you care?”

  “Because I’m not a hired gun. I’m a government agent, too. I’d like to know what happened.”

  “Well, I don’t know that you’re an agent. Even so, I’m not keen on talking about those days.”

  “They weren’t all bad days, were they?”

  She kicked at a large shell on the path. “No. No, most of the days were quite good. I liked my job.”

  “But you left.” I paused. “Or you were asked to leave. There’s a big difference.”

  After a long silence she stopped and faced me. “You say your name is Eric?” I nodded. “Well, Eric, I don’t feel like talking about that. All I’ll say is that there was a rather messy series of events and I was caught in the middle. My only option was to resign. So I did.”

  “And how do you go from that to working for a family of paranoid sociopaths?”

  She looked out to sea. “You know, you’re the only one who says that, Eric. There’s no denying their husband and father was killed. I don’t see how that makes them paranoid.”

  Turning her back to me, she continued. “I’ve seen a lot of nasty shit, and I can honestly say that a lot of the people you expect to be upstanding citizens are sleazy sons-of-bitches who have no more soul than a coat hanger. So it’s easier for me to believe they’re being persecuted by jealous, competitive barbarians than you seem to think.”

  After a few seconds of silence, just so I could make sure she was finished, I said, “Wow. That’s the longest speech I’ve heard you make.”

  She shook her head and started back toward the complex. When I caught up to her I grabbed her arm, just to stop her, but in a flash she’d pushed my hand away and delivered a shot across my face. Carter lunged forward, his gun pointed at my head.

  “Whoa, whoa,” I said. “You’ve got to stop thinking I’m on the attack here, Parnell. Can you just listen to me for a moment without going all Kung Fu on me?” When she relaxed I added: “You’re a former British agent. All of your training was designed to prevent domestic espionage and terror. As you say, you’ve seen a lot of nasty shit. So let me ask you just one time: Will you take me back to the Ops Room?”

  Parnell opened her mouth to argue, but I cut her off. “Jesus, Parnell, tell me this: What the hell can it hurt? If I’m wrong, you can kill me and Carter can dispose of the body. I obviously can’t overpower you two. S
o just why the hell would I ask this? What do I have to gain? Five minutes in that room. As one agent to another, why are you so afraid to see that I’m telling the truth?”

  Time crept by as we stood there on the path. I could tell that Carter, who was hired meat and didn’t have too much going on upstairs, was getting worked up. It was his employer, after all, that I was disparaging. But he didn’t dare cross Parnell, who considered my proposition.

  “All right,” she said. “We’ll go. But not five minutes. Three.”

  “Fine. Let’s go.” I took the lead down the path. I figured we had about 12 hours until the world went crazy.

  At the main building Parnell buzzed us in. As we took the stairs she told Carter to be extra vigilant with me, to stay back at least six feet, and to never let the sights of his gun move off me.

  We got to the Ops Room door and she had me stand back. Once it was open she went in and asked two techs in there to give us the room. They walked out, looking at me like I was a zoo animal. Then Carter motioned me inside.

  “Okay,” Parnell said. “The clock is running, Mr. Agent.”

  “I work for a division of the U.S. government dealing with domestic terror. It’s not the FBI. We’re a bit more freestyle. A few weeks ago we were approached by a man who worked for LoGo.”

  In the next 60 seconds I conveyed as much of the story as I could remember. I mentioned how this whistleblower was subsequently killed. I spoke of my visit to the twins’ mansion in Colorado, about the drone I found in the office. I told her about Kyra in Oregon, and how she was strangled for knowing too much.

  “If this isn’t true,” I added, “then what purpose does it serve?”

  “Your time is almost up,” she said.

  I followed up with my trip to Georgia, the details of the drones and the EMP devices. About how one of Julianne’s hit men showed up to take me out. I conveniently left out my gun battle with Richter. She may or may not have known that he was in Georgia, but no sense in referencing him yet.

  And I told Parnell that it wasn’t just one city, like we feared. It was many. There were 20 drones ordered by Julianne. They’d been delivered. I told her about the testing they’d done on the two cities up north. “That’s easily checked,” I added. “Just do a search for unusual power outage in Saskatchewan and Alaska. It’s there.”

  “Your time is up,” she said.

  “Come look at this,” I said. I walked over to the white board and stood there. After waiting long enough to show me she was far from convinced, Parnell ambled over to join me. “If I’m full of shit, then explain what these cities and times are supposed to indicate.”

  She gazed at the board for almost a minute. I could see her brain working, trying to connect the mounds of data I’d just thrown at her with the schedule written in dark blue marker pen. “This doesn’t prove anything,” she finally said.

  “Then consider this. I’m about to tell you something that, as an experienced field agent, you know is a breach. There’s an FBI agent and a team of Special Ops not far off the coast. All they’re waiting for is word from me. It’s not a squad of mercenaries like you’ve put together here. They’re uniformed, easily-identifiable government and military team members. If we contact them now and they show up, what does that tell you?”

  She didn’t answer. I grabbed a pen and a sticky note from the table next to us. “This is the number to call. Do it. See what happens. If I’m lying, again, no skin off your nose.” I tried to hand her the note but she just stared at it and then looked coldly into my face. Exasperated, I stuck the note on the white board. Then I put my hands on my hips, sighed, and looked down at my feet. “You probably used to be a good agent, Parnell. It’s a goddamned shame you let your messy incident strip you of common sense.” I looked up at her again, shook my own head, and started toward the door.

  “Where are you going now?” she asked.

  “Back to my cell. I completely misjudged you.” When she didn’t move I stopped and looked back. “Well? Come on, former secret agent. You probably have some boots to lick. Let’s go.”

  I don’t remember a thing about the walk back to that room except that it was just me and Carter. My brain was spinning, pissed at myself for getting captured, and even more pissed that I not only couldn’t stop the slaughter, I couldn’t even contact people like Fife who could. Carter pushed me into the room and locked the door.

  Ignoring the chair, I collapsed into a sitting position on the floor with my back to the wall.

  I guessed it was around midnight, or a little after. It was officially Christmas Eve. Somewhere on the island the remaining members of the Ormond family were probably involved in some ghastly ceremony honoring the passing of their brother/husband/father. And perhaps contemplating the chaos they were about to set loose on their home country.

  My thoughts turned to Christina.

  Chapter Thirty

  In the James Bond movie From Russia With Love, one of the bad guys — a character named Kronsteen — is a chess master. He’s involved in a match against another chess wiz. But Kronsteen is the badass champ and, when his opponent sees that Kronsteen’s victory is inevitable, the opponent does the very dramatic move of tipping over his king. It signifies You just kicked my ass.

  That’s what I felt like I’d just done: I’d tipped over my king and accepted defeat. The Ormond family would win not only the game but the entire tournament and all I could do was sit here and fume.

  There was one move left for me, and it would be pure desperation. It stood no chance of success. But I had nothing to lose.

  When the door opened in a few hours I would simply attack with every tactical move Quanta had taught me. It likely meant a bullet in the head. And, if Washington and the rest of the country’s primary population centers were devastated, there was certainly no guarantee I’d ever be reinvested into another body. The little red light on my hard drive in the basement of Q2 would slowly fade out and grow dark. And that’s when I would finally die.

  I didn’t exactly sleep, but I dozed off and on for the rest of the night. Each time I’d wake with a start and visualize the plan of action when the door opened. Or, maybe the door wouldn’t open again until I was dead. Julianne could reconsider her options and just leave me here until I passed out from dehydration.

  But no. The lock turned, and before I could jump to my feet the door swung open. All three of them were in sight: Julianne, who’d walked in a step and stood gloating at me; Parnell behind her, not looking at me, a flat expression on her face; and, in the background, Carter, as usual holding his trusty gun.

  “Good morning, Eric,” Julianne said. “Are you ready for a little exercise?”

  I stood up and stretched my legs, preparing for my attack. It would have to be outside the room, otherwise Carter could just stand safely in the hall and cut me down at will.

  Julianne had to get in one more shot. “Just so you know, I had a little talk with Parnell this morning. I told her what you did to her husband. So I think we’ll leave you alone with her after we’ve finished our business. She probably has some things she’d like to say and do to you.”

  My stomach sank, but it couldn’t alter my plan. I took a deep breath and prepared to walk out with them. Once in the hall I could strike.

  That’s when everything turned upside down. I didn’t even get to move.

  With lightning-quick speed, Parnell hit Julianne in the back of the head with a blow that knocked her employer flying. Without missing a beat Parnell spun and landed a kick to Carter’s throat. He toppled to the ground, the gun clattering to the floor, and for a moment he grabbed at his crushed wind pipe. The gurgling sounds he made were not pleasant. The whole time I stood there, transfixed. Then Parnell picked up Carter’s gun and held it out to me.

  “It’s ten-thirty,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  My feet came unstuck and I bolted from the room.

  The sun beat down, the air thick with humidity. I raced toward the main building wit
h Parnell at my heels. To my right I heard sounds of gunfire coming from the dock area. Lots of gunfire. Then a staccato burst opened up from one of the guard towers before, seconds later, the tower exploded in flames. My guess was a rocket launcher had done the deed. I looked over my shoulder at Parnell, my face a giant question mark.

  “Your friends have arrived,” she said.

  This was insane. Five minutes earlier I’d been contemplating a bullet in my brain and the crashing of the nation’s energy grid. Now I was free, the executioner was on my team, and the troops were storming the shores. I only had a thousand questions, but Q2 training is solid. We’re taught to grab opportunities without question and without hesitation. I could sort out everything later.

  There was no time to wait for Fife, either. We took the stairs two at a time, burst onto the third floor, and collected ourselves outside the Ops Room.

  “There will be no fewer than two armed men,” Parnell said.

  “I’ll take center left, you take center right,” I said. She nodded, we both flexed our fingers on the grips, then I kicked in the door.

  Surprise is always good for at least a second or two. The room was staffed with about ten people, but the three armed mercenaries easily stood out. They were bunched near the windows, which were now covered by the retractable metal shutters I’d seen earlier. The building was on full alert status and they were trying to gauge what was going on by the sounds of war filtering in from outside.

  Only one of the soldiers was quick to respond, unholstering his weapon and extending it toward us. I took him down with one shot while Parnell simultaneously cut down the goon on her side of the room. The third, barely old enough to drink, had frozen. I pointed the gun, yelled for him to drop his weapon, and watched him do the dumbest thing ever. He tried to be a hero. As soon as he raised his barrel, Parnell and I both finished him off.

  It had taken a total of ten seconds. Everyone else in the room, all techs and scientists, had hit the floor, and there was a lot of screaming. Parnell and I assessed the three downed men. They were indeed dead.