by Matthew Rief
One guard stood at either side of me, and Brier stood in front by the doors. He eyed me, then slid his badge and punched a button. The ride was smooth and fast. The walls and ceiling mirror were spotless. Everything looked brand-new.
Just before we reached their desired level, Brier pulled a blindfold from a pocket and tied it over my eyes. I didn’t see the point of it at that time but wasn’t exactly in a position to protest.
The elevator stopped. The doors opened. They pushed me forward and out onto what felt like a marble floor. It was hard and made a distinct clopping sound with every footstep.
The two guys each held me by an arm as they led me across a room, through a doorway, and into what felt like an even larger room. The sounds of our footsteps echoed.
They shoved me into a much more comfortable chair and spoke amongst themselves. A moment later, a side door opened, and someone entered.
“Mr. Wake,” Brier said, “we have Dodge here. And I’ve received word that the three ASC workers we paid off have the bombs in position.” Brier handed Wake something and told him that it was the remote to detonate the explosives. Brier laughed, then added, “I told them to stand by for our word to disembark the vessel. But I think it’s best to keep them there so they can watch the result of their labor firsthand.”
There was a short pause. I heard only footsteps that stopped right behind me.
“Very good, Brier,” Wake said. “Two birds with one stone. We get rid of the loose ends and save money at the same time. You’re thinking like me more and more every day.” He cleared his throat, then added, “Given that information, bring him up to my penthouse. We’re going to start the show a little early.”
They forced me up and led me back over through the doorway and into the elevator, then the doors shut once more. A few seconds later, they forced me out again. We stepped into a large space, down a few steps, then across a carpet. I heard the sound of a crackling fire to my right as they stopped me in place.
“Make a move, and we’ll blow your head off,” Brier said.
They removed my blindfold. I was standing just a few feet away from a floor-to-ceiling window that put the entire downtown Miami waterfront on display. From the layouts I’d looked at, I knew that Wake’s private penthouse started on the sixtieth floor, over seven hundred feet up. From that high, I could see above most of the smaller buildings of the skyline. To the left, I could see the entire stretch of Miami Beach. To the right, I could see the tip of Key Biscayne. The dark waters of the Atlantic loomed out into the horizon beyond. It was an incredible view.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it, Mr. Dodge?” an articulate and authoritative voice said.
I turned around and looked for the source of the words. The room was dark aside for the flickering light of the massive fireplace. A large glass table sat in the middle of the marble-floored room, surrounded by luxury furniture. Fancy pieces of art hung on the walls. The entire place screamed of extravagance from top to bottom.
After a brief scan, I laid my eyes on Richard Wake, who was standing in the shadows. Though it was the first time I’d ever seen him in person, I recognized him from all the magazines and online articles.
He stepped toward me when we made eye contact. Into the light. He was wearing a fancy gray suit. He held a small glass with ice and a brown liquid in his right hand, a lit cigar in his left. His gray-patched hair was trimmed and neat, his face clean-shaven.
He looked and moved like a man much younger than his sixty years. When he stopped in front of me, he looked me over with a scrutinizing gaze. He looked like every picture I’d ever seen of him. Formal, yet stern.
“I’ve seen the Egyptian pyramids, walked among remote regions of the Great Wall, and been given a tour of the Sistine Chapel by the pope himself,” he continued. “But this is one of my favorite views in the entire world.” He paused a moment. “We’ve never formally met. I’m Richard Wake. You know, the man you tried to kill back in Honduras last week.”
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say. The longer I looked at him, the angrier it made me. He had a strange vibe. Like a politician who’s overly agreeable, but you can see a darker side lingering beneath the fake persona.
By his expression, his words, and the way the guards stood behind him, I half expected a bullet to the head at any second. It would be the smart thing to do. The reasonable and safe thing. But Wake hadn’t made his fortune by playing safe.
He placed his cigar on an end table and stepped right up alongside me.
This is it. A knife to the gut. Game over.
“Do you know why this is one of my favorite views, Dodge?” he said. He smiled, stepped toward the window, and swept his drink hand slowly to the side. “Because I own this city and everything in it.” He gave a cold laugh. “I can get away with anything here. And…” He grabbed the back of my neck firmly and jerked my head right up to the glass. “You see those ships? And the acres of shipping containers? Those are mine, Dodge. Every time I look out this window, it’s a beautiful reminder of just how powerful I am. How rich and influential I’ve become. I control eighty percent of trade with Central and South America and forty percent of the world’s. And soon… soon I’ll control all of it.”
He said the last few words under his breath, like they were a secret.
“It’s a great view, isn’t it, Dodge?” He squeezed my neck harder and tapped my head against the glass twice. Just hard enough for me to feel a little pain and make rapping noises that echoed throughout the spacious room.
It took every morsel of my self-control not to slip free of his grasp and break his nose.
“Don’t worry,” he said with a laugh. “It’s safety glass, of course. You won’t be taking a long fall tonight. Though that sounds like it would be fun to watch. No, we have other… more interesting plans in store for you this evening.”
He turned and forced my head down. He tried to knock me to the floor, but I shuffled to the side and stayed on my feet. He laughed it off, then motioned to one of the guards.
“Darius,” Wake said, raising his voice.
Brier was standing less than ten feet behind us with his arms crossed. There were two guys on either side of him. They were fanned out a few steps and watching our interaction.
The big black guy on the end stepped forward.
I guess he’s Darius.
“I hear that you are a good fighter, Dodge,” Wake continued. He grabbed a gold-hilted dagger from a nearby nightstand and tapped it against his glass. “As a preliminary event to this evening’s festivities, you and Darius will have a little brawl.” He gave a sinister smile, then added, “If there’s one thing I like better than dogfighting, it’s good old-fashioned man-on-man no-holds-barred.”
I glared at him. He somehow managed to get more and more sinister with every passing second.
I looked over at Darius. He was even bigger when he stepped close. Probably six and a half feet tall, and nearly three hundred pounds. He threw off his white T-shirt, revealing a chiseled chest that was covered in tattoos and scars.
He mean-mugged me as he stepped up to me, shifting his weight from side to side and cracking his neck like an angry pit bull waiting for the signal to attack. His face and build reminded me of Ray Lewis, the great NFL linebacker. Only this guy was significantly taller and wider than the Brick Wall.
Wake prodded us over to an open space in front of the fireplace. Brier stood beside a guard on one side, facing two guards on the other. Wake sat on a gold chaise, took a puff from his cigar, and refilled his drink. He motioned toward Brier.
“Remove his bindings,” Wake said. “We want this to be a fair fight, of course.”
We’re well beyond that, I thought, looking over my massive opponent from head to toe. I probably looked like a featherweight who’d gotten lost and stumbled into a heavyweight bout.
Brier stepped over and moved in close behind me. He grabbed me by the arm, squeezing it as hard as he could.
“You
make a single move toward either Wake or myself,” he said, inserting the key, “I’ll blow your head off with my forty-five.” He twisted, and the cuff ratchet loosened and slid free. Then he removed the other one. “Understand, Dodge?”
I didn’t reply. I didn’t move or even make a sound. I hadn’t made a sound since we’d left the dark lower level holding room.
“I said,” Brier said, pulling me back by the shoulder and moving his mouth close to my ear, “understand, Dodge?”
“Brier, please,” Wake said, shaking his head. “I think he gets it.” Wake shooed him away from me with a wave of his hand. Brier grunted but complied. He moved with heavy steps back to where he’d been moments earlier.
I brought my hands up in front of me. I was free to move my arms after what had felt like days. I rotated and stretched my shoulder, rubbed my wrists.
“Ding, ding,” Wake said. “Fight.” He glanced at Darius. “Just don’t kill him, alright? I need him alive to see the grand finale.”
“Yes, sir,” Darius replied in a low, powerful voice. He cracked his neck and knuckles again, then closed in on me.
I took in a deep breath and let it out.
Alright, big boy. Here we go.
I stood my ground and raised my eyebrows twice, egging him on. He took the bait. With a grunt, he lunged after me, his face expressing his desire to crater me into the marble floor.
I rolled to the side just before he reached me. He forced himself to stop and turn, the rubber soles of his boots squeaking on the floor. He sprang toward me and threw a big right haymaker. I weaved and ducked, then avoided two more attempted blows.
Over the years, I’d learned that the key to fighting Goliath-sized guys is to make sure that they never hit you dead-on. A single well-landed kick or punch from a guy Darius’s size could very well put me out of commission. The second thing I’d learned is that bigger guys tend to tire more easily.
“Somebody hold this bitch down,” Darius snarled.
He finally changed his tactics. Instead of a quick attack, he closed in like a wrestler looking to grapple me for a takedown. I countered with a fast and hard strike of my own, launching my right palm up into his face. He jerked his head sideways, but the blow still hit him hard in the cheek. And as he looked away from me, I kicked him hard in the side.
If the blow hurt him, he barely showed it. He shook it off, grunted, and dove at me. I managed to keep his reaching arms away from my face, but we both flew hard to the floor and rolled to the base of the fireplace.
I landed a punch to his right ear, causing him to yell in pain, then forced myself behind his hulking frame. With my legs around his waist, I put him in a strong rear-naked chokehold. He yelled and cursed and shook. He landed a few elbows to my gut and a backward punch to my face. I gritted my teeth from the pain, using it as motivation to squeeze harder.
I yelled out as I crunched his neck with everything I had.
Desperate, he reached for anything he could to get me off him. His right hand grabbed hold of a fire poker that had been left on the edge of the hearth. The tip was red hot as he pulled it free and pressed it back toward me. I adjusted my head as the tip slammed into the floor inches from my right ear.
As he tried to twist it toward me, I released my hold and grabbed his wrist. Keeping the scorching red just inches from my body, I slammed his hands on the ground. The poker rattled free, but letting go of the big guy had given him just the opening he needed to roll and jump to his feet.
As he reared back to stomp a massive boot into my face and crush my skull, I made a desperate reach for the poker. Gripping it at the last second, I stabbed the burning red tip hard into his planted leg. He yelled maniacally as the scalding-hot metal burned his flesh and caused his pant leg to catch fire.
He stumbled backward, and I took advantage of his temporary loss of balance. Scissor-kicking his legs, I leveraged his upper body downward, and he slammed hard into the floor beside me. As he struggled to put out the fire, I staggered to my feet and slammed him across the head with the poker. The force of the blow knocked him unconscious, and the heat from the tip burned a gruesome crater into the side of his face.
I collected myself and caught my breath. I looked at the others. They were all stunned by what they’d just seen. As they watched, I casually put out the flames burning Darius’s pants. Catching my breath, I stared down Wake. I narrowed my gaze, boring holes into his eyes. Then I loosened my grip on the poker, letting it rattle to my feet.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Angelina didn’t need to wait for a recommendation to make her move. The moment Murph stated that Logan’s tracker was indicating movement, she rose to her feet. She’d been sitting at a curbside table in front of a small corner café for the past two hours. Pinning a twenty beneath her half-empty iced coffee, she turned and strode down the sidewalk.
Her blond hair was tied back, and she had on a pair of stylish glasses with narrow black frames. She wore an unbuttoned black blazer over a white button-down shirt that was tucked into a pair of black straight-leg dress pants. On her feet, she wore a pair of three-inch high heels, making her just over six feet tall.
She looked commanding yet intoxicating. Like a confident runway model who’d transitioned into the corporate realm.
She moved with a purpose across First Street, right up to the base of the Wake Corporation Tower. She slid the strap of a small shoulder bag higher up onto her shoulder, then headed through the center large revolving glass door at the tower’s main entrance.
Once inside, she strode right past the main reception area. An Indian guy who was talking on the phone lowered it against his chest.
“Excuse me, miss,” he said. He was respectful but rigid. “Visiting hours are over. Do you have an access badge?”
Ange ignored the guy. She continued unaffected toward a security checkpoint flanked by two big guys in suits. One, an intimidating Hispanic guy who looked like he could be an NFL lineman, approached her and raised a hand.
“Miss,” he said in a low, stern voice. “You have to check in with reception prior to entering the building.”
Ange reacted for the first time since striding through the door. She stopped, turned her head, and shot the big guy an irritated look.
“I’ve already entered the building,” she fired back with an attitude.
The big guy glared at her. “And you’ll be leaving the building right away if you don’t show me an access badge.”
Ange took in a breath and sighed dramatically. “I don’t have an access badge.”
The guy smirked, then shook his head. He reached a hand toward her shoulder.
“Then it’s time for you to leave.”
Ange stepped back so he couldn’t touch her. “I know your boss,” she said. “Richard Wake. He’s expecting me.”
The guy looked over at the guard across from him, who just shrugged. “I wasn’t told that he was expecting any company tonight,” he said, eyeing her up and down.
“Well, why don’t you get on your little radio and tell him that I’m here?” Ange snapped. “I’m far too important for you to be wasting my time like this.”
He narrowed his gaze on Ange. He made her wait a few seconds, then held up a hand while he grabbed the radio from his belt with the other.
“What’s your name?” he said.
“Angelina,” she said in an agitated tone. She cleared her throat and raised her voice. “Angelina Dodge.”
She said her full name slowly, wanting to make sure that the brute got it right. The big guy adjusted the radio dial, then held down the talk button.
“Sir, this is Cruz down in the lobby,” he said, his voice more respectful.
“What is it?” a voice fired back. It wasn’t Wake. Ange thought it sounded like Brier. “And this better be good. We’re busy up here.”
The big guy cleared his throat and glared at Ange again. She was getting him in trouble with the top dog. He cursed himself for not kicking her to the curb right away
.
“Yes, sir,” he said into the radio. “I’m sorry to bother you. There’s an Angelina Dodge here. She says she knows Mr. Wake and that he’s expecting her.”
There was a brief moment of silence. Ange grinned as she imagined how Brier was reacting. She gave it a second, letting her name sink in as she took a step toward the big guy.
“Ge—”
The instant Brier’s voice returned through the speaker, she landed a blink-of-an-eye punch square into the big guy’s neck. His trachea crunched and he doubled over and struggled to breathe.
As the second guard reached for his sidearm, Ange lunged toward him and hit him with a quick slide kick. Her right leg slammed into his calves, causing him to buckle and fall hard onto his back. Ange darted over and kicked him across the face before finishing off the big guy with a kick to the groin and a punch across his temple. Both guards were on the floor and unconscious in just a few quick seconds.
Ange straightened her body and casually fixed her clothes. She grabbed her bag from the floor and slid it back over her right shoulder. In her peripherals, she saw the guy at the receptionist counter reach for something.
“Don’t even think about it,” Ange said, shooting the terrified guy a stone-cold gaze.
The man froze.
“Hands in the air,” Ange instructed calmly.
He complied. His arms were shaking as he extended them up. His breathing was erratic.
Ange smiled. “Very good.”
She dropped down and swiped the big guy’s security badge off his jacket. Turning around, she resumed her former pace, striding confidently past the second sprawled-out guard and under the walk-through metal detector. She didn’t even flinch, let alone stop, when a loud buzzer sounded and two red strobe lights illuminated.
Ange stepped up to the center elevator, swiped the badge, and stepped inside when the doors opened.
“Have a nice evening,” she said, nodding toward the receptionist as the elevator doors slid into each other.
