“Our friend here’s had a bit too much. I’m her doctor. We’re just going to help her to her room.”
“I don’t think so!” says a commanding voice.
From out of nowhere, the Ramirez brothers have appeared.
“I don’t think this is any of your business,” the doctor replies.
“Are you okay?” Adrian asks, stepping close to me and forcing the evil doctor to let go of my arm and back away. I can’t find my voice so I just shake my head vigorously. The other brother takes a menacing step towards Koenig, who decides two fighters against one fighter and one doctor are just not odds he’s willing to bet on. He lets go of my arm and backs away.
Ricardo steps up and slips his arm in mine. “Are you going somewhere?”
“The airport,” I croak.
“Then we’ll hail you a cab.”
Chapter 14
The Great Escape
I’m starting to feel safe again as the taxi whisks me away from the hotel. We’re in the middle of an intense rainstorm, and the water splashing against the windows of the cab makes me feel just a little safer. If anyone were to look inside, it would be impossible to see who was sitting here and that’s fine by me.
I slip the driver an extra $20 for the promise of a speedy arrival and that he won’t stop to pick anyone else along the way. I don’t think I’ll be followed now. While at the hotel, those guys were pretty determined. It was almost like they owned the place. I just don’t think they’re motivated enough to stalk me through Portland, all the way to the airport.
I’m positive they’re not going to board a plane to come after me either. They have the tour to deal with and it’s winding down to the end. They can’t afford to go after me and neglect their tour responsibilities. I’m home free.
We get to Portland International Airport in what’s probably record time. I think the cabbie was pretty motivated by my tip. Just for good measure I give him another $20. His expression puts a long-absent smile back on my face. I just have my carry-on with me now. I left two suitcases full of clothes behind in my hotel room. I know it sucks, but when you’re on the run, there’s no sense being weighted down by things that you can always buy again once you’re safe.
I rush to the shortest line at the ticket counter and wait my turn nervously. I know I said I’d be safe once out of the hotel, but I just cannot stop myself from looking over my shoulder. Every window and polished surface suddenly becomes a mirror for me to search out any would-be pursuers. So far, so good.
“Where would you like to go, Miss?” Asks the lady at the counter.
“Um...San Francisco, or Oakland. Either airport is fine.”
She taps away on her computer. “Next flight is at 6am, to SFO but you’ll have to wait till 8am if you want to go to Oakland. Shall I book you the ticket?”
“6a.m, tomorrow? Don’t any planes leave today?”
“No, not to San Francisco or Oakland, not even San Jose. If you’d like, you can check any one of the other airlines but—”
“What’s the next flight out of here, then?” I ask, interrupting her.
“To where, Miss?”
“I don’t know...anywhere.”
“Anywhere? Are you sure you’re alright, Miss? You don’t look so good.”
“I just need to get out of here. My ex-husband is here somewhere and if he catches me...Look, I want to go south. What about LAX? It’s a huge airport, surely you have planes going there today, right?”
She gives me a sympathetic look and starts tapping on her computer. “Okay, here’s one. It leaves in two hours and it goes to LAX. It’s the best I can do.”
“Fine, I’ll take that one.”
“The price is quite steep, being last minute and all.”
“I don’t care how much it is, just get me on that flight.”
“Do you want me to call airport security for you? Or maybe Portland police?”
“What? No, don’t call the police or security. I don’t want to draw attention to myself. Just give me the ticket!”
“Sorry, sorry, just trying to help. It’s $1,100,” she says, gives me an apologetic look.
“What? Never mind. Just book it.”
A sudden commotion behind me makes me jump. I turn around expecting to see Koenig or Doctor Williams, but it’s just some kids who knocked over one of the posts that hold the rope lines in place. Their mom is scolding them in hushed tones.
“Miss?”
“Huh? Oh, uh, yes.”
“Did you want to pay cash or put it on your card?”
“Um, cash. No, actually put it on this,” I hand her my credit card. Fly now, pay later.
Five minutes later, I’m heading for gate 43. Soon as I get through the gate, then I’ll be safe. No one gets past the gate without a ticket. There is no way Koenig is gonna buy a last-second ticket and follow me through the gate. He’s got better things to do than that. Up ahead I can see gate 42. Just a little farther ahead will be—
“Excuse me—” a hand on my arm spurs me into action. I whirl around and knock the hand off my arm. I drop into a fighting stance I’d seen fighters use before. I’m ready to fight to the death.
The man recoils in shock. He’s holding a ticket in his other hand. “Y-you j-just dropped t-this.”
“Shit. Didn’t realize I dropped it. Sorry,” I was sure I put that in my purse.
He extends the ticket to me. As I take it, he grabs my hand and pulls me towards him, whipping my arm behind my back. I start to resist, but he just pulls up on my arm. The pain in my shoulder is excruciating. He could easily break snap my arm off. He’s walking beside me now with his arm around my waist, still clutching my elbow. He makes it look like were a normal couple, arm in arm, but all he has to do is just jerk my elbow up and my shoulder will pop out of its socket. We’re joined by another man who takes a position on my opposite side, pulling a suitcase along behind him.
“What do you want?” I ask through clenched teeth.
“We just wanna talk, that’s all. You just come with us quietly and you won’t be harmed. You struggle...Well, I can’t be responsible for what might happen to you, and we’ll still get what we want.”
“You want my camera, don’t you?”
“Let’s just go for a little drive here, and when we’re finished we’ll drop you back off at the terminal and you can catch your flight to wherever you were planning on going.”
“Fine.”
I relax and quit any resisting. It has the desired effect—they immediately relax as well. When they find the exit they’re looking for, they lead me outside to the taxi area where there are several cars waiting for customers. We walk up to a cab and the men shove me inside.
My momentum carries me across the seat and into the opposite door, which just happens to be unlocked. I open it and fall out onto the pavement, nearly getting run over by a departing cab. Neither men were prepared for such a move, and suddenly find the cab between them and their prey. Without hesitation, I sprint down the rows of taxis until I see the next terminal doors.
I just barely outdistance the men. I shoot between two parked cars as one of the men makes a grab for me. He misses, and I hit the doors running. As I flee into the terminal, I see a gate 43 sign pointing to the left. All I have to do is make it to the gate and I’ll be home free.
I’ve got my ticket out as I reach gate 43. As I’m handing it over, I hazard a look behind me. Both men are just standing there watching me. They know there’s nothing they can do now without buying tickets and following me. Still, I can’t relax even as I take my seat. Instead of putting my backpack in an overhead compartment near me, I walk all the way down to the back of the plane and stow it. If they do get on this flight, they won’t be thinking about looking anywhere but near me. Too bad I didn’t just check my backpack. It would have been far safer than having it in the plane with me.
As I sit back down after stowing my pack, I find myself shaking uncontrollably. I’m safe, I keep telling myself o
ver and over again. Nothing is going to happen to me on this flight. Hell, they probably even have armed Air Marshals here. Still, I watch every passenger like a hawk as they board. I bought a first class ticket, so I’m not far from the plane’s entrance and can see everyone as they board. I slip on a pair of sunglasses and pull my hood up over my head. It might work, as long as they’re not expecting me in first class.
Finally, after a long twenty minutes, we’re taxing down the runway and lining up for our turn. I’m just starting to relax when the plane stops.
“This is your captain speaking. We will be experiencing a slight delay here as we wait for two passengers to board. We appreciate your patience, and we’ll be taking off shortly.”
Shit! How did they manage to stop the plane on the runway right as it’s taking off? What could they have said? That I was a fugitive or something, and they needed to board to arrest me? This is really becoming a nightmare. Suddenly, I have an idea. I’ll just use the bathroom in the rear of the plane and stay in there until we’re moving again. What a brilliant plan. I get up and start to move to the rear when a flight attendant approaches me.
“So sorry Miss, but you’ll have to remain seated until we’re in the air and the captain has turned off the seatbelt sign.”
“Really gotta go. It’s an emergency. You really don’t want your business class smelling like a toilet, do you?” I say.
She wrinkles up her nose like there’s already been an accident and says, “Do hurry back then. We can’t have you back there when the plane is taking off.”
“No problem, I’ll just be a minute.”
I hurry down to the isle with no intention of coming out of the bathroom until I feel the plane moving again. Ten minutes later and I hear a knock on the door.
“I’m busy,” I reply.
“So sorry Miss, but it’s our turn to taxi so we really need you to take your seat now.”
“Just a minute.”
“Miss, you need to come out now. Please don’t make me unlock the door and escort you out.” This time it’s a man talking. Maybe even an Air Marshal.
“Fine!” I holler back. I splash fresh water on my face. If the guys are on the plane, I’ll have to talk to an Air Marshal and spill my guts. With my heart in my mouth and my stomach doing summersaults, I slip the latch and open the door. There’s a flight attendant and another uniformed man standing before me.
I apologize as I walk by and return to my seat. As I walk down the aisle, I study each passenger. They guys chasing me are nowhere to be seen. Unless they’re in the captain’s compartment, I am home free. I take my seat and close my eyes for just a moment.
I practice those breathing exercises that Archer used to do, in through my nose and out through my mouth. Somehow, it’s supposed to relax you. Just by virtue of taking my mind off everything and concentrating on my breathing, I feel myself starting to relax. I keep it up as I feel the plane picks up speed. Then we’re airborne. I really am safe. I keep my eyes closed until I hear the drink cart coming my way.
“Miss, can I interest you in anything to drink?”
“Sure, um...Something strong, please.”
The flight attendant sets something in a glass of ice on my tray. As I reach for my purse to pay, she stops me.
“Oh no Miss, this one’s a courtesy of the gentleman in row 7.”
Smiling, I turn back to see who my benefactor is. My blood freezes in my veins. It’s one of the men who was trying to abduct me earlier. This just can’t be happening. Why can’t these people leave me alone? I feel like giving up. Maybe I should just get my bag and give it to them—my camera, my laptop, and Andy’s laptop as well.
“Miss. Miss, would you like anything from the drink cart?”
My eyes fly open and I jump in my seat involuntarily. I look around me. I don’t see anyone familiar.
“I’m so sorry Miss, I didn’t realize you were sleeping. Can I get you anything from the cart?”
“Uh...sure...how about one of those little Jack Daniels with ice please.”
“That’ll be six dollars, please.”
I hand her a ten and two ones. “Better make that a double. It’s been a long day.”
She gives me a sympathetic smile and pours another. By the time the second one reaches my brain I finally feel relaxed for the first time in days. I am actually safe, and on the way to Los Angeles. From there, I’ll just work my way up the coast until I arrive in San Francisco or Oakland, whichever airport I can reach first.
I take one last sip from my drink and close my eyes. Next stop, California.
Chapter 15
Missing Him
I love the Bay Area. Moving to Berkeley was the best thing I could have done in my life. The weather’s perfect most of the time—never too hot, rarely too cold. And I don’t have to live in the middle of a city to enjoy it. From my house, I can hop in my car and it twenty minutes I’m in downtown San Francisco.
It’s been two months since I left the tour, and I just cannot get back into the swing of things. A quiet buzzing in my ears tells me another one of my friends is calling, trying to get me to forget about everything and join the land of the living again—meaning the working living, the going out at happy hour and bitching about my co-workers kind of living. Yeah, I don’t think so.
I take another sip of coffee and crack open my laptop. I love just sitting on my balcony looking out over the water to San Francisco while I surf the internet. If only someone could pay me to just do this. Maybe I’ll write a book, get famous, and fill my days writing best sellers on my laptop while watching clouds out over the bay. A girl could get used to that!
I scan the Web, checking in with the outside world. I’m just settling into my usual pattern of searching for news headlines when one jumps out at me with such force I nearly drop the cup of coffee I have in my hand.
Infamous Cage Fighting Tour Receives a Knockout Blow from One of Their Own!
What the hell? This I gotta read. With my heart in my mouth, I click on the headline. The page that pops up does make me drop my coffee. Right at the top of the page are two photographs: one is of that kid that Archer had to fight the night just before my whole world came crashing in, and the other picture is of Archer himself.
My hands are shaking so badly I can barely hold my laptop without spilling it on the floor. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I had no idea how many emotions just his picture could stir up. I want to jump up and run to him, wherever he is, but I also wanna give the guy a swift kick in the nuts for being dishonest and being a part of what was going on with fight fixing on the tour. I find my fingers tracing a line along his jaw, trying to remember what his skin feels like. I take a deep breath, and memories of his masculine scent fill my nostrils. I am in way too deep. This was a bad idea. I really shouldn’t be reading news headlines about him so soon but...I can’t help it. I dare to read the article itself.
While the brutal sport of cage fighting may yet be a drug free zone, it’s certainly not free from gambling and fight fixing. Fight fixing is when a fighter is paid to go down and lose a fight. The people who pay the fighter are usually the ones who are betting the most on the underdog to win, and that is exactly what has been happening on this year’s cage fighting tour that began in Florida and wrapped up in Las Vegas at the Bellagio Casino and Resort Hotel on the famous strip in downtown Las Vegas.
A group of doctors and fighters formed an unholy alliance last February at the beginning of the tour and raked in millions of dollars betting on the underdog fighters that won their fights when their champion opponents took the fall they were paid to do. They may have even gotten away with it, if it had not been for undercover officer and newcomer to the sport; a fighter who went by the name of The Kid. In fact, The Kid’s debut match was an exhibition fight last November against none other than the tour finalist known simply as The Archer. For ten months, the The Archer was the FBI’s inside man.
“What the fuck?!” I completely forget about the c
omputer in my lap when I jump to my feet in shock. Wait a second, I saw...No, this can’t be true. He would have told me! “Damn you, Archer, you should have told me! Damn you, damn you…”
I sink back into my chair, head resting in my hands. It’s suddenly too heavy to support on my neck with the weight of what I’ve done resting heavily on my conscience. I don’t know how long it is before I can think straight again. Visions of Archer keep spinning around in my brain, making me dizzy. I cannot believe I walked out on the man I loved, on the strength of evidence apparently fabricated by his worst enemies—the Ramirez brothers. What kind of person does that make me? Certainly not one deserving of The Archer.
It’s a long time before I can pick up my laptop. Amazingly, its unharmed by the sudden fall it sustained at my hands. Still shaking, I open up my computer and return to the story.
The story was blown wide open when a videographer from The Archer’s camp stumbled across evidence. Aided by Archer’s younger brother, Andy, she began to put two and two together. While shooting footage of another fighter on the tour, Jane discovered a chart predicting the outcome of each fight on the tour, all the way up to the championship bout in Vegas between The Archer and his nemesis and arch rival Adrian Ramirez. On that final night, The Archer was to first defeat Ricardo Ramirez before taking the fall for who would be 2013 tour champion, Adrian Ramirez. The Georgetown group and others involved were expected to each clear as high as 5-7 million for that fight alone.
The group of Georgetown doctors who called themselves the Fallen Angels were aided by several fighters on the tour. But their primary fighters were Archer and fighter Archie Miller, better known as Koenig. The doctors calling the shots were Ben Collins (a student at Georgetown with Bobby Saunders, The Archer), Kelvin Williams, Christopher Yazinth, and Carl Yothers.
Key players in the fight fixing scheme began to surface when The Archer began to win fights he was paid to lose. The top ranked Ramirez brothers became suspicious when they stumbled across another one of the charts spelling out who was set to win what fights and who was scheduled to lose. Soon, the enterprising brothers enlisted the help of a computer genius, hacker, and fellow fight enthusiast who shall remain anonymous. He was the one who discovered and hacked The Archer’s bank account which turned out to be the last bit of evidence to blow the entire investigation wide open. Millions of dollars had been deposited into the account each time Archer threw a fight.
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