Deadly Paths

by Jack Parker

  You didn't live long in her line of work without noticing the little things—the way the camera lens cover was still on the camera, the way the three men began to fan out and separate, rather than crowding together like a normal camera crew, even the bead of sweat that glistened off a forehead in the moonlight.

  Cover was scarce, with the rectangular protrusion of the stairwell being the only viable option. She tried to act naturally, walking toward the crew at an angle that would offset her toward the stairwell protrusion. They had not moved far and were still near the doorway at the far end.

  Her mind raced as time seemed to slow. The door clicked shut. Her bare feet dug into concrete as she started to sprint towards her only chance. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears.

  Thump-thump.

  Two of the men were reaching into the camera crew vests they wore. The cameraman reached up and into his camera, dropping the bulk of it.

  Victoria made it three steps toward the stairwell protrusion, unzipping her ridiculously bright orange jumpsuit.

  Thump-thump.

  The camera hit the ground, the lens shattering in a loud crash. Three guns with silencers already attached were drawn. All three men took aim as they surged forward.

  Thump-thump.

  She made it three more steps and threw herself into a forward roll.

  Thump-thump.

  She could hear the silent whine of three, four, five, shots as triggers were squeezed.

  Thump-thump.

  Two shots hit the ground on either side of her as she was halfway through the wall. Splinters of jagged hot concrete stung her shoulder and cheeks. A bullet whistles loudly as it zips past her ear.

  Thump-thump.

  Victoria came out of the roll smoothly and pressed her back hard against the concrete wall of the protrusion. Footsteps thudded heavily toward her as she reached into her jumpsuit—past the opening in the skirt of her dress. She found the holster strapped to the inside of her thigh and inhaled deeply as her hand wrapped around the hilt of her own weapon.

  Thump-thump.

  She exhaled slowly as she pulled the weapon free with a tug, and in one motion came up to one knee. She aimed the muzzle of her Walther PPK around the corner of the stairwell, finding three men no more than five meters from her, and opened fire.

  Thump-thump

  A chunk of concrete from the corner she just emerged from is blown to chalk as she squeezed her trigger one, two three times.

  Thump-thump

  One man yelled and grasped his eye before falling forward—dead. The second clutched at his chest and pressed his back against the stairwell building. He slid down the wall to a sitting position, leaving a bloody smear before breathing his last.

  The man who held the camera clutched his right shoulder. Victoria realizes before her next heartbeat that his whole arm must have gone numb, because he dropped his weapon. Slumping to his knees, the man searched for his weapon, but could not stop from vomiting.

  Thump-thump

  Victoria stood over the man, her weapon trained at his head. He looked up at her without apology, without any emotion at all. His was not the face of any man she had seen before on any crew. These were recent infiltrators, and they were all Asian. Victoria inhaled to speak, to ask who he was, who sent him, but he reached behind his back with his good arm and Victoria heard the rip of Velcro being torn.

  She shot him in the head before the spare weapon could even be brought level with her foot. Victoria exhaled slowly, and time seemed to return to its normal rhythm. The noises of the street returned. The honking, the laughing of drunks, and the song of the street musician all returned. Victoria glanced back at the Luxor as she secured her gun.

  There was still no sign of Jake, and she found herself glad, at least for the moment, that he was such a scardy-cat. Several questions tumbled through her mind as she dragged the bodies as best she could out of view of the landing platform on the far side of the stairwell. Why were they Asian? How had her cover been blown? Should she abort? Why was she considered a great enough of a threat for someone to send three armed men to risk killing her here, on this exposed rooftop? Surely Benedetto didn't have the intelligence resources.

  No, whoever had been behind this hit was well aware of what it might take to take her out. This meant that this was an organization beyond anything Carlo would be involved in. A dreadful terrified scream cut into her thoughts. She rounded the corner just in time to great a pale and shaking Jake as he struggled to unhook himself from the zip-line.

  After she helped him, he knelt to the ground and nearly hugged it.

  "I'm alive!" he panted. "Oh I'm alive!"

  After a few moments he looked up at her, and then looked around the empty roof.

  "What, no one to greet us? Don't we have to do a post terrible event interview?"

  "You just missed them," Victoria said wryly.

  Chapter Four

  "Tell me again why I am wearing a god damned flak jacket under my suit," Carlo Benedetto grumbled in frustration as he adjusted his scarlet neck tie. It was probably difficult enough to get the body armor on standing up, he reflected, much less trying to put one on while crouched inside a limo.

  "You don't have to, sir," the network liaison for Spy Games replied. "But I am told paintballs can leave a nasty welt."

  "Course they do," Carlo snarled with impatience, as if the man had said something stupid. "I've been paintballing, you twit. I mean why are they going to be shooting at me? And what's to say they won't shoot me in the head?"

  "That would be tragic," the forty- something year old muttered.

  Carlo heard every word, and the sarcasm was not lost on him.

  "What?" he said coldly.

  The network baboon sighed, "That's what the goggles are for, Mr. Benedetto. But anyone shooting at you has instructions to aim for the heart or they won't get the points. If you're lucky everyone will choose to be on the good guy team so far, and that's likely since it's still early in the game."

  "Who the hell wears ski-goggles to a street event at night? I'm going to look like a fucking idiot."

  The man who's name Carlo had already forgotten shrugged.

  "Lady Gaga?"

  "Funny."

  "Sir, don't worry, you're going to be setting off fireworks so it will make sense that you're wearing eye protection."

  Carlo sighed and looked across the limo cabin at Jameson and Shane, his two bodyguards. They were sitting quietly listening to the entire exchange. They were good men those two, and he was glad that he had made the network send for one of his own limos, even if it wasted a little of their time. For one thing, Carlo's grand white stretch limo was bulletproof, and he could still run most of his business from inside the cabin. These features were going to be all too critical soon, since if the next forty eight hours didn't go right he may have to be worried about ammunition much more lethal than paintballs. If the deal did go right though, there wouldn't be a weapons dealer in the world that would be able to compete with him anymore, and there wouldn't be a nation that could afford not to buy from him. Well, except for the nation he was stealing from of course, but that was beside the point.

  Jameson was a bit of a thug, but the big black man was intimidating as hell standing at six foot seven. He liked to wear gold all over, on chains around his neck, in his ear, even on the nob of a long black walking stick he was always carrying around. Shane was smaller, quieter, and more refined. He had an annoying tendency to report every detail and ask for instructions all the time, but Carlo knew his was as deadly as any secret service agent. He was often an easy way to give orders to people though, and he even wore a small earpiece for communication. Both men wore white suits with black ties and seemed very bored.

  Carlo couldn't blame them. The whole idea that he had to be involved with this ridiculous television show to get this deal done was already trying his patience to the limit. Unfortunately, he had no better ideas, and he had to admit the plan was ingenious, even if he didn'
t come up with it himself.

  "What about my people?" Carlo said, gesturing to the silent pair as he grinned at them. "Won't they be targeted too? They might be if this were all for real. Why not give them paintball guns to shoot back and protect me?"

  Jameson immediately scowled at what his boss was trying to drag them into.

  "We think the players will be better shots than that, Mr. Benedetto. Plus there really will be a lot of people just coming to watch a Chinese New Year fireworks show. We're trying to limit the collateral. If you're guys start firing back into the crowd some kid will get it in the face and that's the end of our fun."

  "Tragic," Carlo threw back at the man.

  Shane pressed a finger to his ear and with the other hand gestured to Carlo that he was getting a call. Carlo waited.

  Now what? He thought wearily.

  "Yes," Shane was saying into a microphone on his suit lapel. His face was as serious as ever, which told Carlo nothing. "Alright, I'll tell him."

  "Sir, it's a business call for the monitor screen," he said as he dropped his finger from his ear.

  "Ugh, tell them I'll call them back in an hour. Remember the dog and pony show?"

  "Sir, it's about the big business."

  Carlo felt his throat give a little heave as understanding crept into his mind. They were parked in a private lot behind Ceasar's palace, so his next decision was easy enough.

  "Alright everyone out!" Carlo snapped at once.

  Jameson started to protest, but Carlo cut him off.

  "You wait right outside Jameson, Shane take our friend here to the front."

  "You realize you're on in fifteen minutes, Mr. Benedetto? Please don't take too long."

  "I know, I know!" Carlo waved at him in agitation as he opened the door. "And I know I have to do the whole fucking clown act like three times or whatever. Just fucking…"

  Carlo took a breath to compose himself.

  "If I'm late at all it will only be a few moments, Mr. . . . ah . . ."

  "Riley."

  "Whatever, look, I'll be there, okay? Now if you'll please excuse me . . ."

  Riley the network guy smoothed his own trousers and stepped out. He took one doubtful glance back before walking with Shane into the back entrance to the casino. Carlo hurriedly shut the door and pressed two buttons on an arm console to his left.

  A plasma screen rose from a place of concealment towards the front of the cabin, eclipsing the opaque barrier window to the limo driver. When it was fully raised it immediately crackled to life, showing nothing but a snake-like black dragon curled in a question mark pattern centered in a ring of black fire. Supposedly, he was dealing with Chinese mafia out of Shanghai called the Black Fire Dragon, but Carlo had worked with enough Mafia to understand their limitations. This group had connections worldwide, they had no rival organizations, and they knew more about him than his own mother did before he even met them.

  The was a soft regular beeping in a low tone as the satellite hookup initiated, and Carlo used the time to brighten the overhead lights and move a little closer to the screen along the plush leather seating that lined the sides of the cabin. As soon as the connection was established a deep digitized voice, meant to disguise the true voice of the user, cut into the silence coldly.

  "You have a big problem on your hands Bennedetto."

  Carlo swallowed. There was nothing to look at but the silhouette of a man hidden in shadow in a dark room, almost the same shade of red that photographers used to use to develop photos. He was an older man, seated on some kind of large comfortable looking chair, and was clearly Asian with a full head of hair. Other than that Carlo could not make out any other distinguishing features through the shadows. Carlo wondered why they bothered with the conference call at all except that it was probably a very secure form of communication on their end.

  "I was not aware of any problems my Chinese friend. Other than the fact that they are threatening to shoot me at least three times with paintballs. The things I go through for you people. But you should hear the voice on the bigshot—"

  "You're going to want to take this seriously, Bennedetto, if you value this business partnership," the voice boomed. "I don't have to tell you what it means if we don't get what we want, do I?"

  Carlo sobered, passively wondering exactly what amount of men and resources could protect him from these guys if things were as bad as the voice was implying.

  "No. My apologies. So what is the nature of this . . . big problem."

  "A CIA operative has infiltrated the show as one of the contestants, perhaps you have come across her already?"

  The screen changed from the image of the shadowy figure to three photographs arranged to give a complete profile of the woman, along with a full bio in the lower right corner.

  "She's hot," Carlo remarked, unable to control his first impulse. "I-I mean no, I have not encountered her yet."

  "Her name is Victoria Kingsly, and she is extremely dangerous. She has already taken out our three operatives that were on site to monitor the situation for just such an intrusion. She's onto you Carlo. Eliminate her."

  "You had three guys here already?" Carlo blurted. "You can't just send more?

  "They will be replaced in time, yes," said the voice softly. "But by the time they get there and are in place Kingsly will have either gotten to you already or the show will be on its way to China. You must handle this."

  "Do you realize what you're asking me to do? You're asking me to take on the CIA. You realize the feds only let me operate because I keep the drug flow into Vegas at a minimum, right?"

  "She's on a TV show with high profile stunts. Set her on fire. Push her off a building. Make it look like an accident. Get her executed from the show and then take care of it. We don't care how you do it, just eliminate her or we will eliminate you."

  The threats were getting less subtle now. Carlo nodded, daring to ask one more question.

  "You guys don't happen to know where she is now, do you?"

  "She's on her way to you," said the voice in a tone that suggested this should have already been common knowledge. "At this rate, she'll probably arrive in the first group while you're on stage. You might want to stop her."

  Carlo sat up straighter and adjusted his tie as he tried to give off the impression that he was formulating a plan.

  "Alright I'll do it. Seems like such a waste though. Hot piece of ass like that. How did you guys even know she was involved?"

  "It would be best," threatened the voice with a dramatic pause, "If you didn't ask too many questions."

  With that, the screen went dark.

  Carlo sat back in the plush seating for a moment and blew out a long breath as he both tried to process what he had just been told and what his next move was. After a moment he pressed a button which rolled down a tinted window.

  "Jameson?"

  "I'm here sir," said the monotone deep voice from outside.

  'Tell the driver to take me around to the front to start the show."

  "Right away, sir."

  "And assemble your best guys. We get to play Spy Games for real now."

  * * *

  "I thought you said they would be right downstairs?" Jake asked her anxiously.

  He had been like this for the last few minutes, impatiently pacing back and forth inside the smaller hotel. It was all Victoria could do to try to keep him entertained, especially since she had much more important matters on her mind at the moment. She considered abandoning him altogether. She was obviously compromised, and perhaps her best option was to quit this whole reality show shtick, go after Carlo herself, take him in, and have the CIA take their chances with interrogation.

  Victoria felt she needed to report in for orders before she did anything that drastic. The attack could have nothing to do with her current mission. But this meant she would have to put up with Jake for just a little while longer. Besides, he was likely to be much more pleasant company than Benedetto.

  "Will you j
ust calm down? How am I supposed to keep track of these people? They must be on a break someplace."

  "Yes, Nova, I know. But that was five minutes ago and we've already got at least one team ahead of us and another close on our heels, and we don't even know the next part of the challenge!"

  In truth Victoria wasn't sure what to do. She could understand his agitation, but it would help nothing to show her own. Instead she tried to project confidence and relaxation. The real crew that was supposed to meet them would be out of commission somehow—knocked out, tied up, or caught in some tragic accident. Eventually, the show's producers would send replacements, but Victoria had no way of knowing when that would be. Perhaps it was time to forget the rest of the challenge and just make their way to Caesar's on their own. She didn't like sitting still when she had no idea what the true size of the threat was anyway. If only she could get back to her secure laptop. She grabbed Jake by the wrist, pulling him with her toward the double glass door front exit to the lobby.

  "Come on then, Jakey. We at least know where to go. Maybe we won't lose too many points if we just grab a cab or—"

  A young man holding a camera in a Yankee's baseball cap shouldered his way through one door, while another shorter man with red hair and freckles burst through the other. The latter sprinted up to Victoria and handed her another challenge card. She read it while he put his hands on his knees and caught his breath.

  "Well, so glad you guys could finally make it." Jake jibed.

  "So sorry," the card deliverer panted. "There was a mix up over which crew was supposed to be meeting everyone mid challenge. We won't waste your time with the mid-challenge interview. Just choose one of the two options there. Come on, Stan, let's get up to the roof to catch the last two teams."

  Stan the cameraman shot Victoria a wink as he walked by, but Victoria was already ripping open the card, with Jake peering annoyingly over her shoulder.

  "Oh, hell no," blurted Jake, as he finished reading. "No more aerial acrobatics, I know you'll want to catch the helicopter and all but I say we take the motorcycle course. I'm staying on the ground. End of discussion."