Twist and Turn

by Tim Tigner

  She followed Sabrina to the Charger and was seated up front. As Oz got in behind her, he slipped a black bag over her head. Katya didn’t complain. She figured it was better than the headphones. In the back of her mind, she was worried about long-term brain damage from them. Of course, in the front of her mind, she was worried about short-term brain damage from a bullet, so the drive was hardly going to be worry free.

  Katya decided to change the subject. “How far are we going?”

  Oz took his time responding. “Do you want to see Achilles?”

  “Very much.”

  “I will return you to him later today, as promised, but only if you do three jobs for me first. Three acting jobs.”

  That explained the outfit, she thought. All except the black bag, which clashed.

  “Two will be relatively simple, one considerably more complex. Can I count on you?”

  “As much as I can count on you,” Katya replied.

  Oz didn’t pause to consider her clever quip. “Good. In about an hour, we’re going to arrive at our first destination.” He went on to tell her exactly what the coming task entailed, leading her to believe that this was the simple job and raising her anxiety regarding the complex one.

  He concluded with a question. “Do you know what will happen if you do anything to endanger the mission?”

  “You’ll blow the belt, and I’ll die.”

  “No. That’s what will happen if you blow the third job. If you jeopardize this one, I’ll shoot the guard. I’ll have my gun on him the whole time. If his face registers alarm or he starts looking around, you’ll end up splattered with his blood before he can push a panic button or pick up a phone.”

  Katya couldn’t see Oz’s eyes, given the bag over her head. But she was certain that they were burning with a zealous fire.

  “Why don’t you lean back and take a nap. It’s going to be a long day.”

  She did just that, and eventually drifted into a fitful, semiconscious state.

  Oz eventually roused her by pulling the bag from her head. “Two minutes. Get ready.”

  She returned her seat to the upright position.

  Oz passed her a set of the magic headphones. As intimate as she’d been with them, this was her first opportunity to inspect a pair. It reminded her of the noise-canceling headset Achilles liked to use on airplanes. It just had a few more lights and a much heftier button.

  “The on/off switch is designed for safety. You have to press it down to slide it. Please practice.”

  Katya did, causing the lights to come alive. She noted that the green diodes flashed for five seconds after the headset was turned off. A secondary safety feature, no doubt.

  “We’re almost there. Put it on.”

  Katya confirmed that it was off, then clenched her teeth and complied. She found that the headset muffled sounds a bit but wasn’t noise canceling. Clearly this was a different technology.

  Oz slid down in the back seat.

  Sabrina pulled up beside the guard hut.

  Katya got out—wearing the anesthetizing headset, a sexy shirt, and an explosive belt.

  90

  Not the Money

  Florida

  KATYA didn’t need to do much acting during her first job. Playing a damsel-in-distress came quite naturally at that moment, and Oz had done a good job of putting fear in her eyes. In fact, had the third-shift guard been able to read her mind, the only incongruent emotion he’d have found was surprise.

  When Oz first described his mission, Katya had expected the guard booth to be attached to a government office building or a high-tech corporation. Then, as they drove deeper into Florida’s dark interior, she expected it to be a hidden intelligence outpost or defense research center. But the outfit located in the midst of Florida farmland appeared to be an actual farm. Not an Old MacDonald farm, but rather a modern restaurant and grocery store supply hub. The kind of place that put truth in those farm fresh claims.

  The squinty-eyed security guard struck her as more of a night watchman. A past-his-prime former cop or military vet supplementing a paltry pension or disability payment with an easy paycheck. The kind of guy people with a lot to lose keep on hand just in case.

  The light exposing the guard’s face came from below rather than above. And it flickered. Not a computer monitor, a television show.

  He rose as she approached, casting crumbs from his chest onto the floor.

  “Oh my god! Can you protect me? Have you heard?” Katya said, delivering her line as she pulled the earphones from her head.

  The guard ducked down to see who was driving the car. Sabrina hadn’t pulled up to the booth as you would when entering, but rather alongside it so the passenger door was closest. The message was clear, they’d stopped for information, not admission.

  Sabrina said nothing. She just shook her head and buried her face in her hands.

  When he turned back to her, Katya gave the guard an imploring look.

  “Protect you from what?” he asked, eyes growing wide while darting between her face and parts further down.

  “You really haven’t heard? Oh my god! It’s terrible.” She discreetly powered the headset up with her right thumb while extending it.

  He exited the booth and walked her way. Two beautiful women, obviously stressed, asking for help in the middle of the night. He, the only man for miles around.

  “You’ve got to hear it. Please!” Katya said, jiggling her hand as a fisherman would a lure.

  The guard accepted the headset, slipped it over his ears and instantly dropped to the ground.

  Oz bounded out of the car and into the hut, a submachine gun in his hand.

  Sabrina made a quick phone call, then got busy doing something on the screen.

  The gate began retreating.

  Katya returned to the car. She got into the back seat rather than the front and began covertly feeling around. If she found the black box, she’d snatch it and run into the neighboring field. She’d run like she’d never run before. Far and fast. She’d fly over the ground.

  Katya pictured the sequence as her hands silently darted this way and that. She should remove her sandals first—they were designed for a different kind of action. And run low, so the car would shield her from Oz’s gun.

  The box wasn’t there.

  At least not on the seats or floor.

  Satisfied that Sabrina was still preoccupied with her phone, Katya slipped off her shoes and used her toes to feel beneath the seats. She found nothing.

  Time was running out. Katya could see lights approaching in the rearview mirror and hear the sound of trucks. She slowly slid a hand into each of the seatback pockets, careful not to alert Sabrina. Nothing there either.

  “It’s right here,” Oz said, startling her.

  Katya turned to see Oz holding up the black box. As her hope evaporated, an idea struck. “It just fell into your lap, didn’t it?”

  Oz met her eye and Katya knew that she was right. He knew exactly what she meant. “As Seneca the Younger said, ‘Luck is the point where preparation meets opportunity.’ I came to the conference to brainstorm my problems with a very inventive man. He ended up canceling on me—and gave me dinner at Cinquante Bouches in apology. The solution didn’t fall into my lap. I was working it. I was primed and prepared when opportunity presented.”

  Katya conceded the point. The Oxford scholar had connected dots that others would never have seen. But her mind immediately moved on to the corollary. “So it wasn’t for the money? You turned on Achilles and kidnapped me—for the headsets?”

  “The money is nice too. But the headsets will buy something that money can’t.”

  Katya found the courage to ask. “What’s that?”

  Oz smiled. “Sabrina and I want the same thing you and Achilles do, Katya. We want our old lives back.”

  The arrival of two trucks interrupted their conversation. One was driven by Omar, the other by Shakira.

  The generic white cabs with plain
white trailers thundered past them through the open gate and into the yard. Oz ran off after them, leaving Katya alone with Sabrina.

  Katya glanced nervously at the diode on her belt, preparing to chase him if it turned yellow.

  “It’s not just our lives,” Sabrina said. “It’s our parents, our siblings and our children for generations to come. I wouldn’t do this just for myself.”

  Again, Katya felt compelled to ask, even though she feared the answer. “Do what, exactly?”

  Sabrina grew a distant look.

  Katya waited. Eventually she concluded that Sabrina wasn’t going to answer, but then her captor said, “You know, for most of human history, war was fought on a much smaller scale. It wasn’t country against country, it was clan against clan. People knew what they were fighting for, back then. It was their own family, their own fortune, their own land. That made sense. It was natural. Survival of the fittest.”

  She stopped there, so Katya asked, “And today?”

  “Today, it’s all politics. The soldiers and sailors don’t really have a personal stake in the matter. They’re paid a minimum wage to do the politicians’ bidding. More often than not, they don’t really know what they’re fighting for. They certainly never know the truth behind why.

  “The generals and politicians pretend it’s about ideals. Religion or some other flavor of righteousness. Our way of life! they proclaim. In the UK and America you call it democracy. But really, it’s the same reason every time, every place. More money for the country, more power for the politicians—along with their patronizing individuals and organizations.”

  “So, what you’re doing, it’s not jihad?”

  Sabrina smirked and said, “No. But of course, that’s what everyone will assume is the motive. Even you. You, who’ve seen how we dress. You, who haven’t seen us pray once, much less five times a day. You, who have never heard us reference the Prophet, peace be upon him.” She smirked again and turned back around.

  Katya was happy to have the cognitive distraction. Something to mull over besides her immediate odds of survival.

  Her reprieve didn’t last.

  The trucks, whose engines had revved this way and that back by the loading bays, began rumbling out again. Then Oz came back into view. A moment later, he slid in beside her. His gun wasn’t smoking, but his words lit her up. “Time for your next act.”

  91

  Strange Exchange

  Florida

  AFTER OZ SHUT the farm distribution center’s gate behind the two trucks and retrieved the headphones from the snoozing guard, Katya again found herself being driven through the balmy Florida night toward an unknown destination on an unstated mission. They drove for half an hour along rural roads without passing a single car, only to pull to the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.

  Oz hadn’t put the bag back on her head, probably because there was nothing to see but dark fields and night sky. As soon as Sabrina stopped, he got out, gun in hand, and grabbed two things from the trunk.

  One was a second MP7.

  As he handed it through the window to his wife, Katya felt the tempo of her heartbeat increase from andante to vivace.

  The other was a shopping bag. Oz slid back in beside Katya and put it in her lap.

  She looked inside and saw a black Adidas tracksuit. By the weight she knew there was something else underneath. She peeked and discovered matching shoes. Her first thought was that this would greatly aid her escape. All she needed to do was snatch the little black box and run.

  Without getting shot.

  She didn’t have time for a second thought before Oz said, “Put them on, now.”

  He watched while she donned them over her current clothes. Once she’d laced her shoes, he pulled a flash drive from his pocket and held it up. “In a minute, you’re going to be making a purchase. You don’t need to verify the merchandise. You don’t even need to speak. All you need to do is walk up to the leader, nod and hand over this drive. He will then verify it, and leave.”

  She wanted to ask What merchandise? but thought better of it. She’d know soon enough.

  Sabrina pulled back onto the road. A few miles later, their headlights illuminated the reflectors of three parked cars. The trio was waiting in a corner lot that hadn’t seen commercial use in a generation. One was a black muscle car not unlike their own. The other two had bull bars. Both were black in the front and back with white middles and gold stars with SHERIFF on the doors.

  Katya’s heart leapt at the sight. She braced in expectation of Sabrina hitting the gas, but instead Sabrina pulled into the lot. This caused the three cars to come alive, engines and lights.

  Sabrina parked perpendicular to them so that their headlights combined to form a makeshift stage of illuminated gravel. She left the Charger’s engine on.

  “You’re working with the police?” Katya asked.

  “I want to remind you that this acting job is a silent part,” Oz replied, adding to the mystique of the moment. “If they say something, you smile or nod or hold up the drive, whatever is appropriate. I don’t want to see your mouth open. Your job is to make the payment and wait for them to leave.”

  Katya could do that. She got out of the car and walked into the crossbeams. It was uncomfortable to look toward the light, so she used her peripheral vision while keeping her face turned to the side.

  A large man with a broad jaw and a military haircut got out of the muscle car and joined her. He, too, was wearing a tracksuit. To Katya’s eye, he was obviously Russian. Maybe Ukrainian or another close neighbor, but definitely Slavic.

  And definitely not a cop.

  Nonetheless, if it weren’t for the belt, she would have said Save me! Instead, she kept quiet and held up the flash drive.

  The man gave her a head-to-toe-to-head appraisal, then took the drive and returned to his car.

  Katya did her best to shield her eyes from the direct light while watching him. The familiar glow of a laptop illuminated his face. A few hundred of her heartbeats later, he said, “Vcyo normalno” into what she assumed was a hands-free speaker. All’s good, Russian style. Katya couldn’t hear him, but his lips were easy enough to read given the heightened state of her senses.

  The engines and lights of both Sheriff’s cars turned off, then the driver’s doors of all three cars opened. While the flash drive recipient returned her way, two equally impressive men holding handguns took seats in his car. “You have 24 hours,” he said in Russian, handing her an envelope. “Ponyatno?” Understand?

  Katya nodded. She grasped the words if not their full meaning.

  The Russian returned to his car and drove off with his colleagues.

  Sabrina pulled the Charger up on Katya’s left.

  Oz got out and snatched the envelope. He checked it, then looked inside both Sheriff’s cars. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he returned to the Dodge and opened the back door. “Get in.”

  She did.

  They drove away.

  What was going on?

  92

  Best Face

  Florida

  RUSS DUNWOODIE was only five minutes into his drive when the dreaded flashing red and blue lights appeared ahead. No way to avoid the incident without a major detour. This was the only direct route to the highway.

  As he drew closer, Russ saw police officers working the scene. Correction, sheriff deputies. The uniforms were dark green with gold five-pointed stars. Their cars had matching fronts and rears, although they appeared black in the pre-dawn light.

  One deputy pointed a powerful flashlight at his trailer plate, then a second used her baton lights to land him on the side of the road like she was parking a plane. As he complied, Russ saw that two other trucks had also been pulled over. At least this wasn’t personal.

  Russ hated these surprise checkpoints on any occasion—who didn’t?—but this was especially bad timing. Today, he was in a hurry. The Miami run he made every week this time of year was by far his favorite
. He had a sweet little señorita down that way who liked house calls and didn’t mind the fact that he couldn’t stay more than forty-five minutes.

  Christ, he hoped this wouldn’t take long.

  Two female deputies approached the passenger side of his cab, wearing the same uniform as their male counterparts. The Latino who hung back even wore the traditional broad-brimmed hat.

  Russ rolled down the window but the lead deputy, a petite blonde, went ahead and opened the door.

  “It’s a crime that they make you wear that necktie,” he said, trying to start on a sympathetic note. It did look ridiculous on a woman. Same flat black fabric he’d worn with his Class-A uniform many years ago. Probably Army surplus.

  Despite the outfit, the deputy at his door was striking. Her expression, however, looked strained. Perhaps he’d hit on a sore note. Perhaps they were investigating a particularly nasty crime. Serial killers did like Florida.

  “Sir, I need you to take an impairment test.”

  “Was I doing something wrong, officer?”

  “It’s a random stop we’re conducting in conjunction with the field test of new equipment. We appreciate your cooperation.” She held up a big pair of headphones.

  Man, she was stunning. What was she doing working as a cop? She could earn five times as much at a club near the beach. Ten if she allowed touching.

  “Will it take long? I’ve got a hard deadline for reaching Miami.”

  “Just a few minutes. The sooner we start, the sooner you’ll be out of here. Please put these on and follow the audio instructions.”

  “You mean close my eyes and touch my nose? That kind of stuff?”

  “Exactly,” she said, extending the headset.

  He slipped it on.

  ~ ~ ~

  Russ shook his head, feeling a bit bewildered. He’d really zoned out.