Deadly Paths

by Jack Parker

  She did not leap onto the stage as Jake had expected. She didn't even try to go for Benedetto. Instead, his crazy partner had the flasher woman in the trenchcoat in a headlock.

  "Jake, go!" she shouted as the woman she grappled with let loose a sting of obscenities.

  Jake sprang forward. He could hear giant thudding footsteps behind him as Benedetto's man got to his feet and gave chase. Baldy seemed frozen with indecision, his face curled in a sneer of contempt as he locked eyes with Nova. After several incredibly long seconds, Carlo looked back up at Jake. By that time, Jake was three steps away.

  I've got you now, Baldy, Jake thought in triumph as he prepared to tackle the hotel owner. Suddenly, the base of the podium exploded with a loud pop, nearly as loud as a tailpipe backfiring. Jake coughed and chocked in a cloud of white smoke that brought tears to his eyes. He lost all sense of direction, and tumbled off the stage, landing on two people and knocking them over.

  When the smoke cleared, Jake found himself lying face up with Nova and the woman she had been wrestling with underneath him. It wasn't the worst place to land, considering one woman was topless and the other he had been trying to figure out a way to cop a feel from for hours now. Carlo Benedetto stared down at the three of them, a surprised and helpless expression on his face as he looked down at his suit, the bottom half of which was covered in splotches of multicolored paint.

  "Bloody hell!" Nova growled in his ear. "Get off me and get him before—"

  "I think," Carlo Benedetto interrupted in a tone that was inexplicably victorious. He had his hands on his knees now as he looked at the three of them with a large grin. "That someone already got me."

  He stood, walked over to the firework starting push down lever, and started another round of fireworks shooting into the night sky. As he did this, the three Spy Games players returned to their feet, and the blond took her leave. Before leaving the stage, presumably to change his suit, he looked over his shoulder at Jake and Nova, who could only watch in frustration as the objective of the entire mission walked away, assasinated by MANTA.

  "Better luck next time," mocked their target.

  Chapter Eight

  Grace Goodson slumped in her chair and exhaled a long, slow breath. Have I really made it through this day? She wondered. There had been moments when she was sure it would never end, and yet now that the day was done, it seemed as if it had all gone by impossibly fast. They had been lucky. After the security breach on the motorcycle course, the rest of the evening had gone off without a hitch. The cameras had caught everything, even Mako's innovative little paint bomb trick. There was always some idiot who wanted to argue if little maneuvers like that were legal, but at this point Grace honestly didn't give a flying fuck—not when she had to deal with the insane antics of players like Nova and Jake. Thank god they had behaved themselves at the takedown point.

  Even Benedetto had done everything he was supposed to do, remembering to give just the right amount of information during his two interrogations about one of the weddings at the grand opening to his hotel in two days. This was more than Grace could say for his bodyguards that he had brought along, but the way they jumped the gun and went after Nova and Jake early and other missteps like not pretending to be stunned by a tazer could easily be fixed on the editing room floor. It was amazing what a network could accomplish through editing on a show that was labeled reality television.

  "What a day, huh?" Steve said from behind her as he placed his hands on her shoulders and began to rub gently. Most of the rest of the crew had already filtered out and gone home for the night, or what was left of it. Grace too was ready to get home and run a hot bath, then crawl into bed. The morning would be drama-filled, with the debriefing and elimination of a player or two at the mission tribunal, but she didn't even want to think about that right now.

  "That's putting it mildly," she said. "Ooh, that feels nice. A little lower."

  She let her head roll back and her eyes flutter closed as she let his hands work out the tension in her upper back with what seemed like magic precision.

  "You fielded all the network's calls?" She asked softly.

  "Yeah, don't worry, they liked the stunt drivers added to the chase idea. And they want you to just edit out Jake's run on the highway. Make it look like he somehow just caught up at the end."

  That made Grace open her eyes and look at him.

  "Seriously? Not even a reprimand?"

  "You're supposed to do it privately, but not make it part of the show," Steve added.

  She furrowed her brow at him. "Did you manage to sweet talk them somehow?"

  Steve laughed. "No. In fact, they wondered how come you didn't do it again."

  "And you told them that all the other players chose the helicopter ride?"

  "What?" Steve asked in a mock-hurt tone. "You think I'd tell the board you removed the road option for the last two couples?"

  "No," she admitted softly as she closed her eyes again. "It's just that, well I mean they caught one of the bastards, right? I mean I have half a mind to go downtown and castrate that son of a bitch myself, find out where his two buddies are that helped him crash my show. But I'm more worried that it will get out through the cops or the press that those weren't stunt drivers."

  "Don't worry," Steve said soothingly. "I've already taken care of that too."

  Grace rotated the chair all the way around and sat on its edge. "How could you—"

  The office phone rang.

  "Ugh, what now?" Grace groaned as she turned the chair towards the noise.

  "Allow me," Steve offered. "One more time?"

  "Sure, knock yourself out,' Grace said with a sardonic laugh. She would have seemed more grateful for the offer, but she was very tired, and a call on this particular line meant someone was looking for her directly. Sure enough, the call was for her.

  "It's Benedetto," Steve said after jamming the hold button on the dialpad and shooting her a sympathetic look. "Want me to tell him you already left?"

  "No, I'll take it," Grace said through grinding teeth. "Give it here."

  Steve handed the phone over, and she did her best to out a smile on as she spoke. Forcing such pleasantries felt like trying to force herself to vomit by sticking a finger down her throat.

  "This is Director Goodson. Mr. Benedetto?"

  "Sweetcakes?" Carlo asked with both recognition and confusion creeping into his voice. "I thought you were . . ."

  "Where what?" Grace asked as if she were actually curious.

  "Nevermind," the hotel owner said, unable to keep the chagrin out of his voice. "I keep getting it mixed up who is in charge of what."

  Thought I was the phone secretary mouthpiece, huh? Grace thought bitterly. Typical.

  "What can I do for you Mr. Benedetto? You put on a great show tonight. I'd like to thank you on behalf of the entire network for your spirited participation."

  "The network can kiss my ass and buy me a new suit," Carlo snapped. "Do you have any idea what a Brioni Vanquish costs?"

  Grace turned her chair and crossed her legs, motioning to Steve for him to come over and resume his excellent tension relieving massage. If this call was just about some damn suit . .

  "Now Mr. Benedetto surely you were warned you might get dirty playing that part. Why would you wear something so nice?"

  "They told me I might get hit with a couple of fucking paintballs, pardon my French. I thought, 'Hey, no big deal, that will come out and I can go about the rest of the night.' But in that second run through they fucking blew up a whole wad of the stuff on me!"

  What, not going to pardon your French a second time? Grace couldn't wait until China, when they wouldn't need this blowhard anymore. Then he might get an earful of herFrench.

  "I'll see what I can do, Mr. Benedetto. Was there anything else I can do for you?"

  "Oh yeah. Sorry, I got off on a tangent there, actually. I meant to call about my future involvement and the shows promotion of my hotel opening."

>   "Is there a problem?" Grace asked, allowing just a hint of the true bitterness she felt into her voice. Steve's strong hands pressed under her shoulder blades and she leaned forward over the desk. The tension she felt at having to hold back her frustration was grinding against the kind young man's efforts, causing bundles of nerves to jump. She waved Steve off and stood.

  "Just a small one," Benedetto said. "I've had some business, ah, come up that really needs my attention after the big kickoff of the Grande Chapel. How many more episodes did the network need us to be involved in again?"

  Grace shifted the receiver from one ear to the other and began to pace. She cleared her throat, a technique that helped her keep her voice even and professional.

  "It's still two more episodes Mr. Benedetto. We told you if anything would change with the contract you signed with Spy Games we would let you know. And you know we aren't going to suddenly require you to come to China with us."

  "Right, Right. I remember now, babe. Listen is there absolutely no way we can get this all wrapped up in just one more episode? You know, just skip the wedding business and go right to the plane?"

  Grace felt her face flush red with anger. What the fuck did he just call me?

  "Listen you a—"

  Steve cleared his throat loudly and shook his head at her. He was leaning on the desk. Grace was sure from the slight upward curl at the corners of his lips that he was enjoying being a spectator to this conversation just a little too much. She let out a slow puff of air.

  "Listen, Mr. Benedetto. The network isn't going to pay for more than ten contestants to go to China. That means we have to eliminate four more players at least. We will lose at least one in the morning when we have the debriefing but not more than two."

  This wasn't exactly true according to the rules of the game, but Carlo Benedetto didn't need to be reminded right now about all the ways a player could be eliminated. The most players ever eliminated in one round to date was still three. When that happened, strategic game management usually followed. If she didn't need to remind Benedetto of the rules, she certainly did not need to get into a discussion about game management.

  "I don't understand what the problem is then," Benedetto said without disguising his irritation. "Just get rid of two tomorrow and two after the next episode."

  "Come on, sir. You're a businessman. You know full well that we need to maximize the appeal of the show. This is about ratings. This show is scripted for ten good episodes, with maybe a recap one thrown in over the holiday break. If we lose too many players too quickly we put all that in danger. Unhappy fans means unhappy network. Unhappy network means no show."

  "So just add an episode where nobody, uh, dies or whatever," Carlo said. "Give them all the immunity idol or something. Come on, for me, beautiful? I'm really in a bind here."

  Imbecile. Grace rolled her eyes and shook her head at Steve, wondering how well the young man could hear the other end of the conversation in the quiet of the office. She couldn't stand the obnoxious way this guy was begging, but she had to admit it would be nice when she didn't have to deal with him anymore.

  "We don't do immunity on this show, Mr. Benedetto, but I might be able to help. How about this. Maybe we can dismiss you're company's involvement after the wedding episode. We could find another cargo plane I'm sure for the big race to Nellis. Would that help?"

  "No no no!" the man at the other end of the line said it what sounded like a gasp of panic. He continued talking quickly, and Grace found the sudden shift odd but amusing. At least the superior bullshit attitude was gone for now. "I mean by all means I don't want the network to have to go out of its way. Please use my plane. Trust me I know what a pain in the ass it would be to find another flight to China and get it all registered for an Air Force base and all that jazz. I'm just somewhat concerned after what I was involved in tonight that the show won't really give me the publicity I am looking for but turn one of my opening weddings into a fucking dog and pony show. Also director, ah, director with the hot voice—"

  "Goodson."

  "What?"

  "My name is Director Goodson."

  "Oh. Yeah, I know that. Anyway, I plan to be on the plane when it leaves because I have business in China too. I was rather hoping we would skip right to the plane takeoff chase, save everyone time. I already have the publicity I need I think."

  "Mr. Benedetto if you need to leave early, really we can—"

  "You know what, babe? Just forget the whole thing. I'm just getting cold feet is all. Ironic, huh? Since I'm worried about weddings." Carlo laughed in a prideful manner that suggested he felt like he was very clever. Grace disagreed.

  "Anyway, when are you going to take a personal visit out to my hotel? I'd love to show you around."

  "I'm very tired, Mr. Benedetto," Grace said, allowing true weariness to enter her voice. "Is there anything else I can do for you."

  "No, that's all, sweetheart. Sorry to keep you. Hope we can talk soon alright?"

  "Goodnight, Mr. Benedetto," Grace said. She hung up the phone without waiting for a return goodnight. She looked up to see Steve grinning at her.

  "Don't you start!" She scolded. His grin was making her laugh, and it was all she could do to try to keep an edge to her voice.

  "What?" he said innocently. "I didn't say anything."

  "You were thinking it though!"

  "I think you handled yourself rather well, Grace."

  "Oh shut up. I'm going home. You get home too. I can't figure out why you're even still here."

  "I like watching you suffer in agony dealing with eccentric billionaires," Steve quipped. "Goodnight, Grace. I'll lock up."

  She told him goodnight and headed down the stairs for the elevator. She really liked Steve, but office relationships were always a bad idea. Her ex-husband had been one of those, and she hated to think on what wonderful terms she was on with that bastard. Still, that grin and those magic hands. It wasn't until she was all the way to her car in her garage that she remembered that she really wanted to know how Steve planned to make sure the news about the arrested stunt driver didn't get out, but she was too tired. She resolved to ask him in the morning.

  * * *

  "Bitch!"

  Carlo mashed the red button to end the call and threw his phone down on the mattress with such force that it bounced once and toppled to the floor at the far end of the bed.

  "Ugh, damn it," Carlo grunted as he got out of bed to go and retrieve the phone. "Now look what she made me do."

  The call had not gone well at all. Carlo had to admit that he wasn't sure what he expected that tart of a director to do, but he certainly had not expected her to offer to get someone else to do the plane sequence. That would have been a disaster. That plane and it's cargo were the reason for all of this.

  Carlo was just fine with the schedule until that sexy spook Ms. Kingsly had gotten far too close for comfort a few hours ago. Now all Carlo wanted was to speed things up. The sooner he could be on a plane with the cargo bound for China the better.

  There is no telling how Kingsly would have made the interrogation real, but Carlo suspected she had the means to get what she needed out of him. Carlo knew how the CIA worked after all. He had been CEO of a defense contracting company called EG&G. His firm, when he was in charge of it, was involved in many aspects and projects all revolving around and inside an Air Force base that officially did not exist.

  The CIA was always snooping around his business even then - even when it's own government did not want it to. Carlo didn't know if the Black Fire Dragon understood how nearly impossible it was going to be to arrange an accident for Ms. Kingsly, but he also knew that they did not care.

  Alibis were important for these matters, and Carlo wanted to be as far from Vegas as possible with the cargo he intended to deliver when Kingsly was taken out. Once he was away, Kingsly could be eliminated right on camera for all he cared. If things went wrong someone young and dumb could take the fall.

  But that
Goodrich Bitch ruined my chance to leave early, Carlo thought bitterly as he stooped to pick up his phone.

  There was a knock in his bedroom door.

  "Yeah?" Carlo growled.

  "Sorry to bother you, sir," came Shane's muffled voice from out in the living area of the two bedroom suite. "There's someone here to see you."

  "At this hour? Tell whoever it is to come back in the morning. I'm in my pajamas already."

  Carlo usually preferred a robe and the days boxers underneath, but Carlo also usually preferred female company, where clothes did not matter at all. He didn't consider satin pajamas the color of Merlo to be appropriate to be facing an unexpected visitor in.

  "Her name's Jessica, sir. She says it's urgent and you know her well. She's, ah, very insistent. Do you know a Jessica?"

  I probably know a harem full of Jessica's, Carlo thought. But why is Shane talking so weird? I suppose I could use the company, but usually I've given my number.

  "Then by all means, let her in!" Carlo announced. "Uh, as long as she's hot."

  "She's - gah!"

  Carlo's hand paused where it gripped the doorknob. On the other side of the door there was a sound like a bag of potatoes thumping against the floor.

  "Shane?" Carlo called nervously.

  Carlo backed away from the door slowly, went to the dresser beside the bed, and retrieved his revolver.

  "Get out here, Carlo!" Called a crisp alto. "You're starting to piss me off."

  "Oh," Carlo muttered to himself, feeling his stomach drop. "That Jessica."

  Jessica Alba. Alba wasn't really her last name. Hell, it wasn't even part of her alias like her first name. Matching names to celebrities he had fantasies of was the only way Carlo could remember names. Normally, it wasn't so important to remember the names of women, but there were five names right now that were too important to the operation to forget.