“Why do we need a confession?” asked McLellan, who had been standing by Quantrill watching the entire session.
“I want everything to be by the book,” answered Quantrill. She turned to Halverson and offered him the pen. “Sign the confession.”
“No,” said Halverson through waves of pain that were crashing through his hand.
“Break another finger,” Quantrill told Kwang-Sun.
Grimacing, Halverson tried to yank his left hand free without success.
Kwang-Sun snagged Halverson’s ring finger and snapped it back as he had Halverson’s pinky.
Halverson heard the muffled crack of his finger at the bottom knuckle, and another round of pain accompanied the already-burning pain in his left hand.
“I still don’t know why we need a confession,” said McLellan.
“Because we’re gonna execute him as a spy,” said Quantrill.
Gritting his teeth, Halverson writhed in misery in his chair.
“But what if he isn’t one?” said McLellan.
“He must be.”
“Why?”
“There’s no record on the Internet of his existence. Only a professional spy could have wiped his entire background clean in cyberspace without leaving a trace in this day and age. And he also used to have a satphone. Only government agents use those. Everybody else uses cell phones.”
“Just because he’s not on the Internet doesn’t mean anything. Not everybody wants to be on Facebook and Twitter. The only people on the Internet are people who want to be on the Internet.”
“Then why doesn’t he have a credit record?”
“He told you, he pays with cash.”
Quantrill shook her head. “Nobody pays everything with cash. Everything adds up to his being a government undercover agent.” She turned to Halverson. “Are you gonna sign the confession or do we have to break another finger?”
Halverson had no desire to have another finger broken. His body was covered with sweat from the pain that had already been inflicted on him.
“I’ll sign,” he said.
“You see,” Quantrill told McLellan. “I told you he was a spy.”
“Loosen his right hand, Kwang-Sun,” said Quantrill and stepped closer to Halverson in order to give him the sheet of paper that contained his confession.
Kwang-Sun unfastened the zip tie from Halverson’s right wrist.
Halverson raised his right arm, clenching and unclenching his fist to get the circulation going.
Quantrill set the paper down on the tabletop in front of Halverson. Halverson picked up the ballpoint and signed the bottom of the paper.
Quantrill picked up the paper and read Halverson’s signature out loud. “F.U.” Quantrill paused a beat as the other shoe dropped. “You bastard!”
Halverson clobbered Quantrill with a vicious right hook to her face as she stood beside him, the paper in her hands. The impact of the blow floored Quantrill. The signed confession fluttered through the air and lit on Quantrill’s chest as she sprawled on her back on the carpet.
Face livid, woozy, groaning, she muttered incoherently, her head rolling back and forth.
Kwang-Sun tried to wrestle Halverson’s right hand back onto the chair arm so he could fetter the wrist again. Mustering all his strength Halverson fought him off. Halverson knew he was only postponing the inevitable if he couldn’t free his other hand. It was his one arm pitted against Kwang-Sun’s two. No contest.
CHAPTER 50
Out of the corner of his eye, Halverson saw Kwang-Sun slump to the floor. Halverson wondered what had happened. He managed to squirm and twist his body around enough in his chair so that he could make out McLellan looming over Kwang-Sun, gun in hand.
McLellan had coldcocked Kwang-Sun with the butt end of his FN 5.7 pistol, it seemed.
Puzzled and aching, his head still muzzy, Halverson didn’t know what to make of McLellan’s actions.
McLellan scooted over to him, reached for the zip tie, and unfastened it from Halverson’s left wrist.
Free, Halverson got to his feet clumsily, what with his pain and his fuzzy mind.
“We need to beat it before they come to,” said McLellan.
“What’s this all about?” said Halverson, squinching, trying to clear his head, grabbing the back of his chair to steady himself.
“I work for the FBI. I infiltrated Quantrill’s militia months before the outbreak. We’ve had them on our radar for three years now for their antigovernment sentiment. We thought they were plotting a coup.”
“Why didn’t you act before they broke my fingers?”
“I didn’t think she would actually break them. I thought she was just threatening you.”
Halverson rolled his eyes and massaged his forehead with his right hand, holding his injured left hand away from him so as not to jostle it. The blood had stopped streaming from his banged-up nose, yet blood still streaked his chin and throat.
“How did she find out about my satphone?” he said.
“I don’t know. Was she right about you working for the government?”
Could he trust McLellan? Halverson wondered. He barely knew the guy. Still, McLellan may have saved his life. Halverson didn’t know what to think. This could be some complex subterfuge to worm the truth out of him. He decided not to tell McLellan the truth until he knew him better.
“No,” said Halverson. He tried to read McLellan’s reaction.
McLellan’s face remained expressionless at Halverson’s answer.
“We need to make ourselves scarce,” said McLellan.
Halverson pulled himself together and hustled after McLellan, scooching through the clutter of slot machines to the nearest exit.
“We’re both gonna have to lie doggo now,” said Halverson. “You’ve blown your cover.”
“Somebody jacked my satphone when the plague hit and I haven’t been able to report back to the director.”
“I don’t like the idea of being separated from the others. Quantrill might take out her anger on them.”
“The problem is, I don’t know where your friends are right now,” said McLellan as they exited the gaming room. “We don’t have time to hang around here looking for them. We’ll find them later.”
“Looks like we don’t have much choice,” said Halverson. He didn’t see any other alternative. He had to admit McLellan was right.
“If it’s any consolation to you, Quantrill doesn’t suspect anyone else in your group of working for the government. Just you.”
“I guess she found all of them on the Internet.”
Halverson and McLellan strode through the lobby and out under the marquee. They didn’t break into a run lest it draw unwanted attention to them.
They marched out into the bright sunlight on Las Vegas Boulevard, the main artery of Las Vegas. Warm desert wind blew in their faces. A knot of clouds daubed the blue sky with white splotches.
“We have to get off the strip ASAP,” said McLellan. “We’re sitting ducks here.”
Halverson winced at the pain in his broken fingers. To his surprise he picked up on Victoria strolling down the sidewalk toward McLellan and him.
Halverson hustled over to her. “We gotta get out of here.”
“What are you doing outside?” said McLellan.
“I needed some air,” she said. “Sometimes Emma’s craziness gets to me.” She gasped at the sight of Halverson’s misshapen hand. “What happened to your hand?”
“Quantrill,” said Halverson.
“I don’t understand.”
Halverson gazed into her blue eyes inquisitively. “Somehow she found out about my satphone.”
“So?”
“She thinks I’m a government agent because I used to have one.”
“Why would she think that?”
Halverson shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know how she found out about my satphone either. I never mentioned it to her.”
“I may have.”
“What?” said Halvers
on, bent out of shape.
“She was asking me a lot of questions about you when we were having lunch together.”
“You’re friends now?”
“She seems nice to me.”
“And you told her about my phone?”
“I had never seen a phone like that before. It stuck in my mind.”
“What else did you tell her?” said Halverson, doing a slow burn.
“I said, after you got batteries for the satphone, a drone tried to kill us with a missile. Then you threw the phone away.”
Halverson shut his eyes in anguish. “No wonder she thinks I’m a government agent.”
Victoria made to touch him. “I don’t understand.”
Angry with Victoria, he stalked away from her. “That’s why she tortured me.”
“I had no idea she was going to do this to you.”
Still facing away from her, Halverson said, “You shouldn’t tell her anything.”
“We were like dogs sniffing each other. She’s just trying to get to know us, and we should try to get to know her.”
“She hasn’t told us much of anything about what really goes on here, if you haven’t noticed. We can’t trust her yet.”
“We can’t trust anyone, according to you,” Victoria said huffily.
Halverson was still miffed at her. “You could have gotten me killed.”
“I had no idea. So I told her about your stupid phone? What’s the big deal?”
“I’d be dead now if it wasn’t for McLellan.”
“Why do you trust him? I thought he was Priscilla’s bodyguard.”
“Not anymore.”
“What do you want me to say?” said Victoria, her face draining of color.
McLellan put his oar in, trying to establish a ceasefire between the two. “We need to get off the strip. We’re drawing attention here.”
Halverson knew McLellan was right. They set off at a brisk pace down the sidewalk. Victoria didn’t follow them.
Halverson turned around to look at her. “You need to come with us.”
“Why? So you can chew my head off some more?”
“Quantrill will be rounding up anyone associated with me. She’s gonna think we’re all in cahoots with the government after my escape.”
“I told you she treated me OK.”
“That was before she broke my fingers and I clobbered her. And what about Chogan? You saw what she did to his leg.”
Vacillating, Victoria stood on the sidewalk, arms crossed on her chest, chewing over her options.
“Just come with us for now,” said McLellan, warily checking behind her to make sure Quantrill and her forces weren’t emerging from the casino’s lobby. “You can always come back here later if you want. Quantrill is gonna be madder than a hornet when she comes to. She doesn’t take kindly to having her pretty face rearranged.”
Victoria fetched a sigh. She opted to follow them. Upset with Halverson for jumping down her throat, she kept her distance from him and followed McLellan.
“We need to gather the others and get out of this place,” said Halverson.
“We’ll do that after things settle down,” said McLellan. “It’s gonna be jumping with soldiers around here any minute. Quantrill isn’t gonna stay unconscious much longer.”
“When are they picking the winners of that lottery we played?” asked Victoria.
“This afternoon. The winners leave this afternoon.”
“Screw the lottery! We’re not hanging around here long enough to find out,” said Halverson.
“We better,” said McLellan. “It’ll be easier to slip out of here at night. Daytime could be tricky.”
“Why are you coming with us?” asked Victoria.
“My cover’s blown.”
Victoria ignored his answer. “We might win the lottery if we stay here this afternoon.”
“What’s the prize in this stupid lottery?” said Halverson. “Does anybody know?”
“The only one who knows is Quantrill,” said McLellan.
“What about Kwang-Sun?”
McLellan thought about it. “I doubt it,” he said uncertainly.
“Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”
“What?”
“That nobody knows what the prize is.”
“Quantrill likes playing it close to the vest.”
“If you want to know what the prize is, ask one of the winners,” said Victoria.
“How?” said McLellan. “The winners never return here.”
“Then that proves it must be a really good prize, or the winners would come back here once in a while.”
“The prize is obviously a trip out of here to someplace else. The question is, where?”
“Maybe,” said Halverson, unconvinced.
“Right now, let’s find a hidey-hole,” said McLellan.
Halverson realized passersby were shooting him disgusted looks as they passed him on the sidewalk. He touched his cheek and realized he still had coagulated blood caked on the lower half of his face as well as on his throat. He must look like hell, he decided.
“We’re way too visible here on the street,” said McLellan.
“What about there?” said Victoria and pointed at the Venetian Casino that loomed above them.
McLellan nodded. He headed toward the arched cement bridge that spanned the turquoise lagoon to the sprawling casino complex.
Halverson and Victoria followed him.
The three of them traversed the bridge to the Venetian’s flesh-colored loggia that overlooked the lagoon. Empty docked gondolas floated peacefully in the still waters of the lagoon below the bridge. A gondolier in a black-and-white striped shirt was navigating a gondola through the water with a pole as a young couple sat behind him.
“They’ll never find us here,” said McLellan, cresting the arched bridge. “This place is humongous.”
At that exact moment, gun in hand, face flushed, Quantrill and a clutch of her armed militia burst through the plate-glass doors of the Mirage’s lobby on the other side of Las Vegas Boulevard.
CHAPTER 51
“Where did Victoria and Chad go?” asked Emma as she limped toward the table that Chogan and Meers were sitting at in a ritzy Japanese restaurant on the main floor of the Mirage.
“You walk like me,” said Chogan.
“I have a hangnail.”
“Better that than a knife wound.” Chogan winced as he glanced at his wounded thigh.
“So where are Victoria and Chad?”
“Quantrill took Chad somewhere. And Victoria went for a walk outside.” Chogan searched Emma’s face. “What happened to you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You look like hell.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m serious.”
Emma hobbled to Chogan’s table. “I need a shower. That’s all.”
“It’s not that. Your face has a greenish tint to it. What do you think, Meers?”
“Yeah. You look sort of seasick.”
Emma pulled a face. “Something I ate.” She rubbed her stomach.
“That wouldn’t make you turn green,” said Chogan.
“Why are you so nosy?” said Emma, taking a seat at his table.
Chogan took in her face at point-blank range and grimaced. “Are you sure you’re OK?”
“If I get something decent to eat, I’ll be all right.”
“You just said you had a stomachache. Why do you want to eat with an upset stomach?”
“I must be having a reaction to that vaccine we took,” said Emma, face drooping.
“I don’t have any side effects.”
“Me either,” said Meers.
“Goody for you two,” said Emma.
Scowling, Chogan shifted his wounded leg out into the aisle and adjusted the position of his crutch at his side. He couldn’t fit his leg under the table without bending his knee. Whenever he bent his leg, he felt pain in the knife wound in his thigh.
“I wasn’
t bragging,” he said.
“I can’t afford to be sick. What will Millie do without me?” Emma glanced over her shoulder with concern.
“You need to worry about yourself, not about anyone else. You don’t look good.”
“Aren’t you listening to what I said? All Millie and I need is a shower.”
“You need more than that. You need a shrink.”
“I’m getting tired of your insults.”
Emma set her hands on the tabletop’s edge and pushed her chair back from the table. The chair’s legs grated against the floor. Absently she noticed Chogan had a cowlick in his black hair.
Chogan must have felt self-conscious about his hair, decided Emma, because he withdrew a black comb from his trouser pocket. About six inches long, with pocket lint wedged between its plastic teeth, the comb had two teeth broken off a half inch from one end. He ran the comb through his hair.
“Oh yeah? I’m getting tired of cuckoos,” he said.
“I’m gonna upchuck.”
“You make it sound like a threat,” said Chogan, pocketing his comb and pulling away from the table in dismay.
Face hectic, Quantrill and her soldiers barged into the restaurant.
“Where are the other two?” she demanded.
“Who?” said Chogan.
Quantrill kicked Chogan’s chair out from under him. Chogan fell off his seat onto the floor.
“Ow!” he said as his butt slammed against the floor. “Damn it!”
“Where are your two friends?” said Quantrill, brandishing her pistol at him.
“Victoria went outside for a walk.”
“Where’s Halverson?”
“You took him with you. How should I know where he is?”
“You haven’t seen him since?”
“No.”
Chogan struggled to lift himself off the floor into his chair without further aggravating his wound. Meers reached over to help him. Chogan waved Meers off.
“I’ll find them later,” said Quantrill, holstering her pistol.
“Why do you want them?” said Chogan.
“I have good news for them and you, too.”
“You could have fooled me,” said Chogan, grimacing at the exacerbated pain in his leg as he managed to sit down on his chair.
“What’s the good news?” asked Emma.
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