by H. L. Wegley
Jess slid her hands down the wall to the face plate for the light switch. She found the switch and flipped it.
The light flashed with a muffled pop, leaving the room black.
Darn!
The old light bulb had blown. How long had it been since she said Vince could get here in an hour? Maybe twenty or thirty minutes? She had lost all track of the time of day and could only track time relative to Vince driving onto I-90.
No way would Jess remain here and let them lure Vince to his death. But what she would attempt next, she had only seen done on a video.
Jess raised her bound wrists high over her head and drew a deep breath. In an explosive motion, she drove her hands down and apart.
Plastic ripped into her skin, but her hands flew out to her sides after the zip tie broke. A sharp sting echoed up and down the nerves of her hands and forearms.
She touched her right wrist. It was warm and sticky. Blood. The video said the ties would probably break her skin. A small price to pay for freeing her hands.
To escape, Jess needed to be left with only one guard. She could take one man out using the element of surprise and the powerful kick she had developed. If the door opened before she freed her feet, she’d never get that chance. But how could she free her feet?
She waddled around the room feeling for the shelves. She had seen two sets when Sal carried her in, one on each side of the room. Her left hand bumped one set of the shelves.
These shelves were part of the metal structure. They were screwed or bolted onto it. Nothing she could pull loose.
Jess moved to the other side of the room. The shelves here were wooden boards, lying across shelf brackets. She measured the length of the shelf. Twelve hand widths. About eight feet.
The corners of the boards were milled with a moderately sharp edge. Maybe she could sit on the floor and saw through her ankle restraints. But she feared she had only about fifteen minutes left before Vince arrived and her situation changed.
Footsteps sounded by the door.
She didn't need this. Jess swept the floor with her hands and grabbed the broken restraints that had bound her wrists. She put them around her wrists, pressing her hands together as if she were still bound.
The door rattled and opened.
Jess dropped to her knees, blinded by the light now stabbing her eyes and flooding the room.
“Looks like you've been busy.” Louie’s voice.
“I have orders to move you. Sal can carry you if he wants. But for me, you're going to walk.” Louie pulled something from his pocket.
Each blink of her eyes gave Jess a stabbing pain from the light. She forced her eyes open to minimize the adjustment time because she needed to watch Larry. This might be the only time she would have a single guard while the room door was open.
Larry, AKA Louie, opened the pocket knife. “Sit down and give me your feet.”
She wanted to give him her feet right on his big crooked nose.
Jess rocked back onto her rear and shoved her feet toward Larry.
He cut the ties on the fourth try. Larry wasn't the most coordinated of the stooges.
She stood, a better posture for attacking.
“Ms. Jamison, you are in luck. We’re all alone and, despite all the names Sal called you, I think you are one hot babe. How about a kiss for luck?”
They were alone and he wanted a kiss? How about a foot in the kisser? But she had only about ten minutes to accomplish that and get away.
Louie moved close.
Jess drew a breath, planted both feet solidly on the floor, and shoved Louie’s chest.
He stepped backward to gain his balance, opening six feet between them.
Jess prayed it was enough and leaped, launching her body toward Louie with her leg retracted, preparing to kick his head into orbit.
Chapter 18
Vince flew down the west side of the Cascades at least twenty miles-per-hour over the speed limit. As darkness blanketed the valley below, what the caller said he would do to Jess replayed as a nightmare that Vince couldn’t shake.
The man had succeeded at pushing Vince’s buttons. Was that slime face’s intent? Maybe he was only trying to intimidate Vince like the trash talkers he’d heard on the football field? But his gut told him these guys could do trash as well as talk it. For that reason, Vince would go after them, no holds barred. He would be violent, brutal, whatever was needed to rip Jess away from their filthy paws.
But Jess had mentioned playing cowboys and Indians. Each time they played, she was the Indian maiden whom Vince captured. When he tied her up, his knots were never good enough to hold her. Jess always got away. Was that what she was telling him? That she could escape from these men?
Jess was smart, strong, and she knew some karate, but these men were likely pros at what they did. If she tried to escape and got caught, they might make good on their threats. And, as the man had said, they could do worse things to Jess than killing her.
The police wouldn't help him for twenty-four hours. By then, it would be too late. The people who had Jess knew the laws. Whatever these guys’ game, it would be over by then.
Twenty-four hours. The clock was ticking, but so was Vince … like a virtual time bomb. And Patrick would soon catch the brunt of Vince’s explosion.
The people behind Jess's abduction wanted Patrick in control of Virtuality. That meant the pudgy little punk should have some clout with the kidnappers. And Vince’s threat of immediate, severe bodily harm should convince Patrick to wield that clout.
After the threats, if Patrick refused to cooperate, Vince would beat the little geek, who likely started all this mess, until he spilled everything he knew.
Fifteen minutes later, Vince exited I-90 at North Bend and drove through town headed toward Snoqualmie and Virtuality's lab.
Rumors he and Jess had heard said Patrick had been living at the lab twenty-four-seven since Paul went into the hospital. The clock on the dash read 11:30 p.m. Hopefully, Patrick would be up.
Vince pulled into the old mill site in Snoqualmie at 11:35 and cut the car’s lights.
The window by Patrick's office indicated he was still up.
Vince eased the car to a quiet stop almost fifty yards from the lab. He locked his car and made his way along the windowless side of the big building, where he couldn’t be spotted from Patrick's office window.
Vince tried the lobby entrance door. It was locked. He could smash Patrick's office window, but that would probably set off the security alarm. And Vince van Gordon pounding on the door at midnight probably wouldn’t get a positive response from Patrick either.
With Jess in danger and the lab locked, a big rock through the window was about to get Vince’s vote.
The lab door opened.
Vince pressed tightly against the building and froze in the semi-darkness of the dimly lit area.
A man in a white lab coat stepped out, pinching a cigarette between two fingers. The man reached back and fiddled with something the inside of the door. Then he lit the cigarette and walked across the parking area toward a parked vehicle.
Vince moved to the door behind the man and waited until he was about thirty yards away. When Vince tried the door, it opened. A small wad of paper fell to the floor.
The lazy worker had stopped the door from locking. If the guy got locked out when Vince entered, it served him right.
Vince slipped inside and tried the office door.
The door was closed and locked.
Time to wake Mr. Michaels. Vince beat on the door loud enough to wake Patrick out of a dead sleep.
Footsteps sounded on the other side. The door opened. “Walker, I told you—” Patrick looked up at Vince and froze. Panic filled Patrick’s darting eyes.
Vince clamped his hands around the short man's neck and squeezed, choking off a whimper. He shoved Patrick across the office and pinned him against the far wall.
“I want you to listen, carefully, because one chance is all you're
going to get.”
Patrick squeaked out a pitiful complaint.
Vince choked it off. “Somebody nearly killed me today. They kidnapped Jess and flew off with her in a chopper. Where is Jess, Patrick?” Vince eased off his choke hold.
“What do you mean kidnapped—”
Vince choked harder. “That was a question, not an answer. Now, if you value your larynx and that tube in your throat that you suck air through, I suggest you give the correct answer. Where is Jess?” Vince relaxed his grip slightly.
“I—I don't know. I don't know anything about a kidnapping. You don't think I had—”
“That's where you’re wrong. You had everything to do with it. Kidnapping and threatening Jess. Demanding that I sign an agreement to sell Virtuality to you. Mr. Michaels, that's what the goon on the phone did. And if I refuse to sign, he said some bad things would happen to Jess.”
Patrick's eyes bulged as Vince squeezed again. “I want the truth, Patrick. Tell me where she is and call off your dogs, now, or some horrific things are going to happen to you. Do you know what it's like to choke to death on your own larynx?”
Patrick waved his hands wildly and sucked in a raspy breath.
Vince relaxed his grip.
“Please, man, don't kill me.” Patrick moaned out the words. “I swear I don't know anything about a kidnapping. Jess was one of Paul's friends. I would never hurt her.”
“Then suppose you tell me who would hurt her and why.”
Patrick blew out a ragged breath.
Vince let go of his throat, grabbed a fistful Patrick's pajama top, and pinned him to the wall. “If anything happens to Jess, I'm holding you personally accountable. Now, for the third time, who took her?”
“Vince, you know I've had discussions with LACO. Paul probably told you that. I didn't know it until a few days ago, but LACO has some shady, third-party partners. I think they're planning on making a lot of money if I gain ownership and if they can force me into seeing things their way.”
“Who are these shady characters? The Mafia?”
Patrick's eyes bulged again, without any choking. “Why would you ask about the Mafia?”
“Hyperbole for effect. Now who are the shady characters?”
“You may be right about Mafia connections.”
It had been hyperbole for effect. But, if there were an element of truth to Patrick’s words, things were spiraling even further out of control. Organized crime wouldn't think twice about murder—Jess and Vince both—if it got them what they wanted. “Tell me what you know. All of it!”
“I did some checking with what little info I had. These third parties are connected with the adult entertainment world out of Southern California.”
“You mean porn companies?”
“Something like that.”
“And you, the Christian partner of my Christian brother, were good with this?”
“I didn't say that.”
“Everyone involved wanted to make money doing the very things Paul was trying to prevent.”
“LACO and the others evidently want to. And they'll do things Paul didn't even know existed.”
After slipping on that shirt and the goggles, Vince had an idea about what existed. “How much money are we talking?”
Patrick massaged his neck and pointed at Vince's fist still grinding into Patrick's chest.
Vince loosened his grip.
Patrick drew a breath and blew it back out slowly. “LACO told me I might become the next Bill Gates, if I cooperated.”
“Which you were ready to do, provided you could remove the obstacle, me.”
“No. That's not—”
“Cool it, Patrick. Let me think for a minute.” Vince released his hold on Patrick. “And you think Mafia-type thugs have Jess?”
“That's my best guess.”
“Can you use LACO to call off the Mafia mongrels?”
“Vince, these guys do whatever they want. They have their own reasons. Nobody can control them.”
Patrick still wasn't telling Vince everything. If this DOD project were Top Secret, how would LACO and organized crime know enough to strike up a deal with Patrick? Something about this project had been either leaked by lab workers or by Patrick.
Unlocking that mystery required inspecting the lab more thoroughly than the two or three minutes Vince had been inside. If he were correct, there already had been serious security breaches. At this point, one more wouldn’t matter.
The evidence said Patrick was making a big-time gamble for wealth. It was time to call him on it, even if that required some speculation and bluffing. “I want to see what's going on in the lab. And I need a tour guide.” Vince grabbed Patrick's pajamas again and stared down into the short man's eyes.
“But I can't let you in, Vince. The work in the lab is classified.”
“I'm not officially cleared, but that’s only because of your stonewalling and negligence. Punch the cipher code into the door lock or I'm going to break your neck and then break down the door.”
“But—but, that would cost us the Army contract.” Patrick sputtered out the words.
“Patrick, I don't give a rip about the contract you're using to fund the R&D to develop products that will damage people, damage our society—probably the entire world—to make you filthy rich.”
“But it's not like that. It’s—”
“But it is like that. And I'll bet the Army has no clue about your plans for their technology or that they’re already funding them.”
“They aren't stupid. They know there are other applications for remote nerve and—” Patrick stopped. The look in his eyes said he had just smacked himself on the forehead for his unintentional disclosure.
“What were you saying?”
“I can't say. It’s classified.”
Patrick wouldn't voluntarily open the door. Vince decided to go with plan B. He grabbed Patrick's arm, twisted, and forced it behind his back. Vince pushed up on it until Patrick moaned.
Then Vince pushed harder.
Patrick wailed.
Vince shoved him toward the locked door. “Open it. Now!” He forced Patrick's arm near the breaking point.
“Okay! Okay. I'll open it.”
Vince eased up on the arm.
Patrick slumped into a broken heap, gasping for breath.
What about Jess? You aren’t thinking, dude.
The voice inside was right. He needed to learn more about the lab, but he could do that later. If Patrick's arm needed to be broken, it should be done to keep Jess safe.
Vince huffed a blast of air, then spun Patrick around. “First, you're going to call LACO, their CEO, and tell him everything you planned with them is about to go down the toilet. If LACO can't convince the thugs to free Jess, unharmed, it is all down the toilet, because I'm the person who’s about to flush it. I want Jess freed within the hour or that’s exactly what I will do. I’ll flush this whole project, the technology and your billion dollars. And I’ll kill anybody who gets in my way. So call! Now!”
“But I can't just demand—”
“Yes, you can, Mr. Michaels, or you won't be around to see what happens with your precious little project and its technology.” Vince pushed Patrick into his office and closed the door. “There's the phone. Pick it up and call.”
“But it's after midnight.”
“Call their emergency contact number. Companies always have one for important business. Consider this an emergency, a life-threatening one, because that's what I'm making it. Do you understand?”
Vince clamped a hand on Patrick's throat and squeezed.
Patrick choked.
Vince relaxed his grip and pointed at the phone.
Patrick coughed three or four times and then reached for it.
Behind Vince, a thump came from the office door.
He whirled toward it.
The door swung open.
A slender form leaped into the room.
Jess. How had she gotten away
from—
“Vince, I took out Larry. But Curly and Moe have assault rifles.” Jess’s strong, slender arms gripped Vince’s shoulders. “We've got to get out of here.”
Chapter 19
Somehow, Vince and Jess had slipped out of the lab, dodged a few bullets and beat the thugs to the river. They had nearly reached the other side. But now the glacier-fed water of the Snoqualmie River was beating Vince.
Though he stood in three feet of water near the shore with his good hand gripping Jess’s tank top, a torrent ripped at Vince’s lower legs and thighs. The current slid him downstream, along the river bottom.
He slid at least a foot every second. If he raised even one foot to take a step, he would lose this duel with the river.
How could three feet of water exert so much force?
Jess’s body created most of the drag. He needed to get her out of the water.
The black void lay only two steps to Vince’s right.
Though his arms had turned to rubber, he bent down and shoved his arms under Jess.
Bending sent Vince’s body shooting toward the precipice.
He lifted hard and, with Jess in his arms, dove toward the shore. But would he land on the bank or on the rocks three-hundred feet below?
The pain came as a relief when his shoulder and side smashed on river rocks in six inches of water. His deep, violent gasps threatened to rip something loose inside his body.
During their final assault on the current, Vince had somehow managed to keep Jess’s body upstream from his.
Now, she lay beside him, pressed against his body by the current. Her right arm curled around his waist, holding on with whatever strength remained.
Vince raised his head and looked to his right into a black hole that rumbled back at him, sending a cloud of mist coating his head with an icy chill, a chill colder than the river water, the chill of fear and imminent death.
He lay only a step away from where the river plunged three-hundred feet to the churning cauldron of angry water at the base of Snoqualmie Falls.
“D-did we m-make it, Vince? A-are we—” Jess shook violently as she tried to talk.
He needed to get her out of the water and out of possible gunshot range. The opposite side of the river wasn't easily navigated on foot this close to the falls. But this was no time for taking further chances because, if such a thing as luck existed, Vince had probably used up his life’s quota over the past fifteen minutes.
