by Bill Brewer
“How many guys are in the tournament?”
“There will be four of you in total.”
“So four of us go into the area you walked me around, and then we try to kill each other.”
“The four participants will enter the Proving Grounds, and you will win by assassinating all of them.”
“Okay, tell me what you know about these guys.”
“Brutus Orilius is a Bulgarian who completed his Army service and was a decorated security officer. He wants to work for the Crepusculous Board as a bodyguard, and his military background got him into the program. He’s big, six four, two hundred thirty pounds, and he was the Bulgarian army’s judo champion for three years.”
“That’s it? An MP who knows how to grab you by your shirt and roll you to the ground?”
“Hey, these guys could’ve gone through the same training program we put you through.”
“Well, if they did, it wouldn’t make any fucking difference. This program sucks; it’s not about learning, it’s about surviving.”
“You want to hear about the next guy?”
Diegert nodded.
“Shioki Wong is a former member of the Chinese special forces.”
“The People’s Liberation Army Special Operations Forces,” clarified Diegert.
“What a mouthful. He was an explosive specialist, and apparently, he mistakenly killed some comrades with charges. He was court-martialed, but his sentence was purchased by a powerful individual, and Wong has been trained for service with Crepusculous.”
“Okay, now we got a guy who can’t safely light his fire crackers, and his admission to this death match has been purchased by some rich prick?”
Fatima looked at him not wanting to acknowledge his sarcasm. “The third participant is Deiobo Mogales. He comes from Brazil, where he was convicted of murdering two sons of a cocaine cartel boss. In prison, he killed three more men who were apparently instructed by the boss to kill him. For a sum, his sentence was purchased, and he was released to a member of the Board. Deiobo is skilled in capoeira, the Brazilian martial art. He killed the cocaine sons with a gun, but the three men in prison were killed with his hands.”
“Alright, this guy sounds like a challenge. Someone worth going up against.”
“You can shove that arrogant attitude. If you underestimate your opponents, you’re sure to lose.”
“Did you read that on the bumper of a truck or a car?”
“You fuck this up, and all that I’ve invested in you will be for nothing.”
“I see you want all that’s been invested in these other guys to be for nothing. Training operators and then sending them to be killed seems stupid and wasteful. Why do they do this?”
“Failing on a mission is the real waste we are trying to avoid. The Board has enough resources that it can afford this process to develop the best operators.”
“Yeah, as long as the lives of the guys are worthless.”
“You’re in this way too deep to start with that kind of sanctimonious shit. The resources of Crepusculous make the expense of this a total nonissue. Now get your head straight and be ready for these guys on Tuesday.”
“What else is in it for me if I win?”
“You mean, what else besides the rest of your life?”
“Yeah, Yeah, what else?”
“You’ll get to operate alone, carrying out clandestine sanctions in remote locations.”
“That’s not a reward, that’s a continuance of service. I mean is there money, a vacation, a new car?”
“It’s not a fuckng TV game show.”
Diegert’s crestfallen look drew a smile from Fatima before she told him, “There is however a monetary inducement. If you win you will be given $100,000 dollars.”
The stoic face of David Diegert looked like a little boy just given a Christmas toy. Fatima’s smirk blossomed into a smile as she watched him beam with excitement. 100K would solve his Mother’s problems allowing her to pay off the house and stay in the only home she ever loved.
“Now this whole stupid thing has a purpose.”
“Money? Your purpose is money?”
“It depends what’s done with the money.”
“And what’s that?”
“I’m not telling you.”
Fatima withdrew from the position into which she had leaned. She realized that no matter if she felt like she and Diegert were growing closer, this place was no substitute for the real world. Their hidden pasts preserved the dearth of intimacy that this business required.
“Very well.” Fatima handed him the file with the mug shots of each participant as she stood and walked away saying, “You only get the money if all three of them are dead.”
Diegert opened the folder, looked into their faces to see strength and ruthlessness. He imagined facing them, visualizing what he would need to do to kill each one.
40
Three vehicles arrived at the Headquarters Monday night. Each transported a man who was capable of killing others and living with himself. Each man found that violence was within his comfort zone and was willing to take people’s lives at the request of others without having a personal dispute with the victim. An assassin’s work was to be a purveyor of death as a service to those who wanted to kill but were unwilling to take a life themselves. These men possessed that capacity and were now coming to the Proving Grounds to test their skills, strength. and determination—not against innocents and unknowns, but against men of the same breed.
Diegert’s breakfast was brought to him in his room. He had never had breakfast in bed, and, in fact, he sat at his desk and ate his meal in his chair. He dressed in his combat blacks and placed his gloves with the padded knuckles and open fingers in a cargo pocket. Fatima came and walked with him to the Proving Grounds. “Use your head when you’re in there. Look for weapons and tools dispersed throughout the area. They’ll be on the ground, in the trees, hidden behind objects. Keep whatever you find, or at least make certain it is unavailable to the others.”
“Thanks. Mom, I wrote my name on the waistband of my undies too, anything else?”
“Fucker. When you take a man down, check his pockets to see what valuables he’s carrying.”
“Alright, step back,” a big guard said, moving between Fatima and Diegert. “Trainers must go to the monitoring area. Participants will come with me.”
Diegert followed the big guy to the gates of the Proving Grounds. Standing outside the gate were his three opponents, each escorted by a pair of Headquarters-assigned guards. The Bulgarian MP was big and looked very strong, but he stoically looked above everyone and avoided eye contact. If Diegert had to make up a name for him, he couldn’t have done better than Brutus Orilius.
The Chinese man, Shioki Wong, looked straight ahead like the soldiers of China on parade that Diegert had seen in National Geographic magazines. He was unwavering in his absolute discipline, remaining detached and focused on his mission.
Deiobo Mogales, however, leaned against the post of the gate. His hair, braided in cornrows, was covered by a tight black do-rag. He had tattoos on his arms and neck, which continued under his sleeves and the collar of his black T-shirt. He had a thin mustache, and his jaw was dark with the stubble of yesterday’s growth. With a tilt of his head and a dismissive smirk, he looked Diegert right in the eyes and had that crazy kind of stare that people use to make others feel uncomfortable. Diegert held his gaze, raised his fist to eye level, and extended his middle finger. Deiobo’s surprised chuckle produced a devious smile that revealed his crooked yellow teeth.
The guard opened the gate, and each man and his guards moved in. They were then escorted to the four corners of the fenced in area. Diegert recalled that the swampy area was to the north, while the field of concrete blocks was in the center, and the urban movie set was to the south. Diegert was taken to the southeast corner, passing behind the buildings of the movie set.
In this far corner of the Proving Grounds was a ten-by-twelve-foot
concrete block building with a shingle roof. There was a door in the center of the front wall but no windows. Diegert hadn’t seen this structure when he was here with Fatima. The guards directed him toward the building. Standing in front of the structure, one of the guards unlocked the door, opened it, and motioned for Diegert to step inside. The interior of the building was pitch black, but Diegert could smell water—or rather, the foul smell of stagnant water. His hesitation at the threshold earned him a powerful shove. He fell several feet, landing with a splash in waist deep water.
The door closed, and the complete darkness robbed him of vision. Being blind was disorienting. Diegert extended his hands out in front of him and tried to get his bearings. The walls were slick and straight. He didn’t know how far below ground level he was, except that he had fallen quite a ways after being shoved. Touching the wall again, he recognized the feel of plastic used to create a liner for a backyard pool. He stretched and reached as high as he could along the wall, and his fingers touched a wire. Immediately, he felt an electric shock, and deafening acid rock music blared out of unseen speakers. Diegert withdrew from the side wall and stood in the middle of the waist-deep water.
He slowly walked forward but was startled when he bumped into a solid structure in the middle of the water. He tested it with his hands, feeling around it to get a sense of its shape. It was a square wooden box that was just barely under the water. If he stood on the box, he would be out of the water. He climbed on the box and stood up on it. When he reached his full height, and all his weight was on the center of the box, he heard a great gushing sound of a large volume of water flowing into the pool. It sounded like the water was flowing in from the corner behind him, but worse was the smell. His nose was assaulted with the stench of untreated sewage. He jumped off the box and back into the water, but the flow didn’t stop. He walked toward the sound of the water, and the powerful volume of disgusting waste splashed him as he sought a shutoff valve. He reached up to explore the pipe and received another electric shock and an unrelenting blast from an air horn. The eardrum-splitting sound lasted a long time. When the sewage finally stopped flowing, it was up to his armpits. He stood in it as the foul stench assailed his nostrils. He made contact with pieces of shit whenever he moved his arms and hands.
Diegert started to feel an irritation and a wriggling sensation at his ankle just above his boot and below his pants. He kicked his leg and shook his foot, but the wriggling only grew more intense. Soon he felt more and more wriggling motions against the skin of his legs. Creatures were crawling up his thighs. He put his hands under the water and pressed against his legs. He tried to stop the invaders, but when he had isolated one and tried to squish it, it delivered a bite that was sharp and painful. Diegert pulled his hands out of the water, only to feel the wriggling beings now on his arms. The slimy attackers moved up his sleeves and onto his chest and back. They didn’t wait to be driven off before biting, and soon Diegert was suffering multiple bites from these aqueous aggravators.
Focus was difficult to find, but he located one of the tormentors on his forearm. He palpated it and determined he was being besieged by aquatic leeches. Their bites hurt at first, but then the pain subsided. The problem was they were blood sucking, and without counting, Diegert was afraid he already had over a hundred bites. If they all sucked a hundred milliliters of blood, he would soon lose a liter. The longer he stayed in the water, the more leeches he would be hosting.
He reached up the side of the pit again and flattened his hands so he was just able to slide under the shock wire, which was held out an inch or so from the wall by spaced insulators. With his fingers under the wire, he found the top edge of the pool liner. The plastic sheeting had been nailed to a wooden top piece, but Diegert was able to claw at the very top edge of the plastic. He curled the plastic over and pulled on a small piece of it with all the strength in his fingertips. The plastic cracked, and he pulled on one side of the separation, tearing the plastic and forming a vertical split. He managed to pull the strip of plastic below the shock wire, and then yanked it with both hands, rendering the lining and revealing the earth underneath. He kept pulling until the tear was below the waterline and the ground began absorbing the water. The liner was pushed away from the earthen wall as water widened the space between it and the underlying dirt.
The water level fell, and when it reached his waist, the flow from the corner pipe restarted. There must have been a float valve somewhere in the darkness that regulated the water level. As the surrounding earthen walls became saturated, the water level rose again, soon reaching his neck.
Diegert felt the earth through the torn plastic and discovered a section of shale rock. Shale was a sedimentary rock that formed in layers. It was very strong in one plane and quite brittle in the perpendicular plane. He dug into the softened earth and extracted several pieces of shale. One piece was rectangular, about eighteen inches long and one inch wide. Another piece was a twelve-inch triangle with a very sharp edge on one of the lengths. Diegert took the eighteen-inch piece and broke it perpendicularly on the edge of the wooden box into two nine-inch sections.
He searched the wall of the pit to find a span between insulators. Cutting the wire would break the circuit, stopping the shocks, and provide eight feet of current-carrying capacity. The wire lacked insulation, so it had to be kept out of the water, yet the bare wire would be useful.
He reached up, and after shocking himself a couple times, managed to impale the sharp point of the triangular piece of shale into the wall above the wire. He took the two sections of rectangular shale and placed them on either side of the wire. Using the lace from his boot, he tied the two pieces together so the wire was held firmly and could be safely handled. He then pulled down on the triangular piece, severing the wire with the sharp edge.
Now he held the live wire with the tied pieces of shale and had to make sure it didn’t fall into the water. With a four-inch piece of wire extending from the shale, he touched a blood-filled leech on his arm. He felt a shock, but the leech got the worst of it and released its blood-sucking grip as it died. Diegert electrocuted leeches on his arms and neck above the waterline.
With the electric circuit broken, he investigated the sewage pipe again. Putrid sewage continued to flow, but the pipe was no longer electrified. It was very strong and extended out from the wall far enough that he could climb up onto it. He took off his belt and affixed it around the pipe. He needed to climb up while holding the live wire out of the water. Using his left arm to hoist himself, and holding the wire in his right hand, he lifted his upper body over the pipe. He shimmied forward and was able to swing his right leg around the pipe, and suddenly he was sitting on the pipe like a horse. His feet were still in the water, but he could raise them out.
What qualified as a victory depended on the circumstances of the struggle. Diegert felt like he’d just won a world championship, even though he was still trapped in a cauldron of shit. The stench did not subside, and he still was losing blood to leeches, but he had foiled his captors and found refuge from the tortures in the midst of their trap.
It was the first moment Diegert had to consider the other tournament participants, and he hoped they had it worse than him. Fatima had never mentioned anything about this, and Diegert reasoned that the tournament would continue as planned just as soon as the sick fuck who’d thought this up decided they’d weakened the contestants enough to now let the killing begin. Meanwhile, Diegert sat on his pipe electrocuting leeches.
After twenty-four hours in his private cesspool, a bottom drain opened, and the water started to drain out of the pool. A light high up in the rafters came on, and when the water was gone, the door opened and a ladder was tossed into the pit, providing a route to the exit. Diegert tested his live wire; it no longer carried a current. He relaced and tied his boot before climbing off the pipe. The bottom of the pool wriggled with the movements of thousands of leeches. It disgusted Diegert to walk across them but crushing them under his boo
ts felt like evening a score. When he stepped outside, it was sunny and warm. Greeting him with assault rifles was Strakov and Jaeger.
Standing in his sewage-drenched clothes, several blood-swollen leeches hanging from his skin, he looked at his dual nemeses who offered nothing but a bullet if he didn’t comply. Diegert said, “I’m done with the shithouse, if either of you have to go.”
Strakov plunged the butt of his rifle into Diegert’s gut, doubling him over. Strakov drove the end of the rifle up under his chin, cracking his jaw, sending him sprawling onto the pine-covered ground.
Diegert lay there, lost consciousness, and remained prone while Strakov and Jaeger chuckled on their way back to Headquarters.
41
An air horn blasted, and the three other contestants, also released from twenty-four hours of torture, began actively searching for quarry. Diegert didn’t hear a thing as he lay on the ground unconscious. His awareness began to return when he felt a heavy object jabbing his left shoulder. A mass was driven under his left hip, and he felt a powerful force roll him onto his back. Opening his eyes, he saw the big Bulgarian cop standing over him. He was not only imposing but hideous. His torture session must have involved fire, because he was burned over much of his body. His hair was singed back from his face. His cheeks and jaws had second-degree burns, but his lower legs, hands, and forearms were all burned to the third degree. Diegert could see the bare muscle of his appendages where the skin had been destroyed by fire. How he was able to hold on to the heavy machete in his right hand, Diegert couldn’t understand.
“Brutus,” Diegert exclaimed. The man was amazed that Diegert knew his name, and at that instant, Diegert realized Fatima had shared with him information the others didn’t have.
“I’m glad you found me,” he said as he slowly rose to his feet.
