Rain unto Death

by Alex Ryan

  The host family, she can trust. It’s a different host family than she is registered with. The agents already visited the host family of record. They said they hadn’t seen her and believed she returned to Korea. But she has to work. She can’t stay there for free forever.

  “Is there a telephone here?” She asked.

  “I’m sure there is. I didn’t really look. The closer you stay to this room, the better. I think they’re all gone for the night, but I’m not positive. You got a car?”

  “I have a car. But I have to call my host family. Let them know I’ll be late.”

  “Okay, but be careful.”

  So-Young removed her tall boots, and walked silently towards the door of the large room, which was cluttered with stacked desks and tables. She cracked the door open. The upper hallway was dark and silent. There was a corner office adjacent to the room, which had a desk with a telephone. The building and most of its décor dated back to the sixties. The phone itself was still a rotary dial. She dialed the number and listened to the other end ring. A trembling female voice answered. “Hello?”

  “Mary Grace, this is So-Young. I just wanted to let you know I’ll be late tonight.”

  “So-Young, listen, there is a problem.”

  “What problem?”

  “Immigration. They are here. Waiting in cars outside. It is not safe for you to come here.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m in some building by the restaurant.”

  “I saved your passport and your important things. I will keep them for you. But go, you can’t come here.”

  A tear came from her eyes. She wiped it quickly. Be strong. She lowered the handset back on the telephone, and silently walked back in to the room, and sat back down on the carpet next to Dahl. “Immigration is waiting at my host home. They found out where I was living. I have no hope anymore.”

  “I’m sorry.” Dahl said. He was busy formulating his own plan. On one hand it was a little hard to be empathetic about her situation given his own status, but, on the other hand, she could potentially be an asset. Quit fooling yourself Dahl, he thought to himself. She isn’t an asset. She could only be baggage. But he looked at her. Those eyes. That face. Those lips. He felt an intense, animal attraction to her. He felt very protective. Even in the tense, make-or-break moments of the fake embrace and kiss, he had to admit to himself that it didn’t feel fake. She was warm. She had an inner fire, and inner passion that passed into his body like an electric shock. She had both strength, and innocence at the same time. Dahl composed himself. The beer was starting to wear off. Rational thought was of primary importance. She had a car. They were waiting for her at home. She called home.

  She called home. “Hey,” Dahl said. “By chance, did you tell them where you were?”

  “I told them I was in some building near the restaurant.”

  His eyes widened. He jumped up and looked outside. They traced the damn call. They had the house’s phone tapped. “We have to leave right now.”

  “Is it a good idea?”

  “They are headed here right now.”

  “The family would never tell them...”

  “They don’t need to. They had the phone tapped.”

  Just then, the noise of keys rattling in the downstairs lockset could be heard. It was a city building. They probably got the keys from the city. “What do we do?” She whispered.

  “Stay back in the corner. Hide. I have a plan.”

  “Okay.”

  Dahl fished out the 1911 .45 automatic he took from Huff, chambered a round, and waited on the inside of the room, next to the door.

  They only sent one agent. The other agents had their hands full. Why send two? They were only expecting a slightly built Korean girl. There was little to no excuse for the 225 pound agent to not be able to apprehend and cuff a 110 pound girl. Right?

  What Agent Morse wasn’t expecting was armed resistance by a one-man agent of destruction. He elected to start his search working from the front doorway, through the first floor to the end, then upstairs, to drive the girl in to a corner with no escape. After ten agonizing minutes, he opened the door of the storeroom, and walked in. This was the last room.

  He felt a presence behind him as he surveyed the room, and then felt the cold metal of the muzzle of the pistol staring him straight in to his face as Dahl came in to view.

  “Put your fucking hands up, turn around, and face the wall.” Dahl ordered as he leveled the gun, unwavering, unflinching. His eyes read one thing. He meant it. The agent trembled and turned around. Dahl brought the slide of the pistol down hard on the crown of his head, instantly incapacitating him. The agent had cuffs, but cuffing a subject by one’s self while holding a gun is a very risky move. Quickly, Dahl handcuffed the agent’s hands together behind his back as the agent started to come back in to consciousness. So-Young approached. “Find me some tape.”

  So-Young rifled through the office desk next door and returned with some masking tape. “This is the biggest tape I could find.”

  “That will work.” Dahl wrapped the tape in loops around the man’s head so he could not yell or speak. “Really sorry to have to do this to you, it’s a real shitty deal I know, but you’re going to have to take a rest here for a while, okay?”

  Hot damn. The man had a prime piece of weaponry in holster. A Sig Sauer P226 nine millimeter pistol. Not that the .45 isn’t a good piece, but he’d take the finely made Sig with its high capacity magazine, double action first pull capability, and superior controllability over the ratty, worn 1911, made by whatever arms contractor back in World War Two. “Trade ya, buddy.” Dahl spoke. As a final gesture, he stripped the Motorola handheld radio from his belt, rolled his torso over to reveal his nametag, and rolled him back over. The man’s name was Morse. “Come on, we gotta go. Dahl peered out the window. The rear exit wasn’t covered. They quickly sped down the corner stairwell, through the door, and in to the parking lot.

  They weren’t looking for a man and a woman. They were looking for a single girl. Or, an agent escorting a single girl. There was neither an agent, nor a single girl in the vicinity, so they didn’t pay much attention. Besides, Morse has this one. They focused on more pressing tasks, and they were all starting to leave.

  “Where’s your car?” Dahl asked.

  “The brown Toyota. Over there.”

  “Get in and drive.”

  So-Young took the driver’s seat and fired up the 1977 Toyota Corolla, painted in the ugliest puke tan brown color one could imagine. “Where are we going?”

  “Head for Los Angeles. 395 I think. That’s closest. Just get on it and head west.”

  The drone of the engine was overcome by a garbled radio transmission from the handheld radio. “Do you know the name of the street we were on, the one out in front of the shopping center?” Dahl asked.

  “It is called Inyokern Boulevard.”

  “Thanks.” Dahl keyed the mic and spoke in to the radio. “This is Morse. Suspect is on foot, running north on Inyokern boulevard.”

  “Roger,” a crackling voice replied.

  Dahl’s initial reaction was to throw the radio out the window, but why do that? It could be useful at some point. He turned it off and placed it under the seat.

  “I’m getting low on gas. I’m going to have to get some soon. I’m not sure I have enough cash to fill the tank.” So-Young said.

  “I’ve got some.”

  It would have been nice to have the warm carpet of the community center available to sleep for the night. More importantly, to sleep for free for the night. Dahl still had fairly close to the two hundred and fifty dollars he liberated from Huff’s wallet, but start spending it on motels, and it will evaporate in a hurry, but spending a night out in the cold, especially with So-Young, was not a desirable situation.

  The last book that Dahl had read was George Orwell’s 1984. If he only knew how commonplace surveillance had come to be in this very year. Governme
nt installations. The major commercial centers. The five star luxury hotels. They have closed circuit television monitoring systems. You didn’t have to worry about roadside motels though. Rest assured, the day would come when even the roadside motels would have cameras on every corner, but that’s probably a few years off. Hopefully, many years off.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d contemplated the situation. Urban SERE training was the first time he had the idea. Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape. They put you on a truck with the canvas cover drawn so you can’t tell where you are. They drive you several hours and dump you out in the middle of the woods someplace. You might not even be in the same state, and you often weren’t. You had a certain amount of time to get back to your unit on your own without being caught. They had evaluators camped out in the woods to intercept you. Also at the bus and train stations. Plus you had nothing except the clothes on your back. No cash, just your ID card and dog tags.

  The smart guys, they stole cars. They weren’t supposed to, trainees were supposed to return on foot. Except the timeline they calculated could only be met by running at full speed for twenty four hours. Fuck that.

  Car or no car, you have to sleep someplace. You can’t sleep in the car, it’s stolen. No, you ditch it a few blocks away from the base, and you sleep in a motel for the night. How do you do that with no money? Simple. Motels are rarely at full occupancy, especially the fleabags. Motel rooms aren’t elaborately secured, particularly when they don’t have anyone inside them. Especially the fleabags, which often don’t even have a deadbolt. Those can be defeated with a small knife or a plastic credit card. When they can’t, there is another way in. The maids. They come through and clean. They aren’t paid to track which rooms are rented out and which aren’t. They know that the block of rooms on the east side, second floor are kept in reserve. They skip those automatically. Otherwise, if they know a room isn’t rented out, they skip it. If they’re not sure, they knock and take a look. If it’s occupied, they skip it. If it’s unoccupied but lived in, they make the room up.

  It’s probably best to stay east of the San Gabriel Mountains for tonight, in Hesperia. Cross over the Cajon Pass to San Bernardino or Chino, and things start to get seedy in a hurry. Plus that’s probably a good place to find the right motel. Then, he saw it up ahead, on the right side.

  “Hey, see that motel?” Dahl asked.

  “Yeah.” So-Young replied.

  “Take the next road off the highway to the right. Park on the side of the road in front of the gas station.”

  “What are we doing?”

  “Hopefully getting a place to sleep tonight so we won’t freeze out here.” She parked the car. “Follow me,” Dahl said, as he locked and closed the door.

  “Isn’t the office on the other side?”

  “Yeah, but we need to conserve cash.”

  “Huh?”

  The back rooms facing the highway were vacant. They were the last to rent out, because, in addition to being hidden from the office view, there were facing the highway and thus noisy. As far as which level to take was up in the air. The rooms had individual heat pump units sticking out of the wall. The lower level was had the advantage of being easier to escape from if challenged, but on the other hand, the upper level would be warmer, and a running heat pump in an unused room might be noticed. Dahl elected to stay with the lower level.

  The lock was a plain Jane beveled bolt, which popped open easily with Huff’s pocketknife. “Don’t turn on the lights. Just get used to the dark. Crack the shade open slightly if you need light.”

  “I need to use the restroom.”

  “Fine.” There was a small couch and a recliner sofa sitting off the side of the bed, and some extra blankets inside of a cabinet. For a fleabag motel, this was nicely equipped. Dahl grabbed the extra set of blankets, and placed them on the sofa.

  So-Young came out. “You can have the bed, I will take the sofa,” she offered.

  Don’t argue, Dahl figured. It occurred to Dahl that he really needed a shower. He took a long, hot, soapy shower, and tiptoed to the bed, naked, carrying his folded clothes. He normally slept naked, at least when he was in a bed. Clothes don’t get cleaner by sleeping in them. Give them a chance to dry.

  Of course, it was impossible to focus on sleep with So-Young curled up under covers on the sofa. She looked like an angel. He imagined holding her in his arms. Don’t get too comfortable with the thought. Don’t get too close. Your life is at stake. He could only wonder what was going on in her mind. Sleeping in a room with a strange man. Koreans have large families. She’s probably slept in the same room with brothers before. But it’s not the same thing. Not at all.

  The room was cold. Despite the covers, it was still cold. But it was ten times better than the last few days. Hell, the last three weeks. Dahl drifted off in to a deep sleep. He felt warm, finally. They say prisoners of war have beautiful, fun, encouraging dreams when they fall asleep, and that people living comfortable, safe lives are the ones that tend to have the nightmares and dreams of action and adventure. It’s the subconscious brain’s way of balancing things out between wakefulness and sleep. The fact of the matter is that Dahl had been under such extreme stress lately that his stomach physically hurt. He felt nauseated. Sick. The way you feel when you are in an extreme amount of trouble. Which he was. But there was some indescribable feeling of salvation. Something to look forward to, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. At least, that is, he couldn’t put his finger on it until the sun’s rays poked through in the morning. That feeling of warmth wasn’t imaginary. He felt warm skin, and soft breathing next to him. Touching him. Laying on his bare chest. So-Young was sound asleep, entangled in his left arm.

  Don’t get too close. Don’t get too personal. He was conflicted. She felt so good in his arms. He wanted to hold her. Kiss her. Make love to her. Dahl had been in love a few times before. Nothing ever really worked out. He was a fighter, not a lover. But he was a man, one with an uncanny animal presence and attraction. To So-Young, it was like sleeping in the mane of a lion, a protective lion with immense strength and utmost devotion.

  “Just so you know, I have a fiancé. In Korea.”

  Dahl was silent for a couple minutes. Of course it’s too good to be true. Things like this just don’t happen. “It doesn’t surprise me. So then why are you still here, running from immigration?”

  “It’s an arranged marriage. My parents allowed me to travel with them over here before they were sent back. The rest of the families, both of them, expect me to return to marry this man. I don’t want to do it.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know. I think at some point, I won’t have much choice. You saw what happened last night. They will just keep coming, and keep coming.”

  “You at least have a home to return to. I do not. Right now, I’m not even supposed to exist in the state of freedom.”

  “Then we must go separate ways then,” So-Young said in a stoic voice.

  “Yeah. But, I think not quite yet. I need to get to Los Angeles. I need to talk to a man that can hopefully help me. Stay with me, at least until I have had a chance to talk to him. And I will help you get a safe return to Korea.”

  “How? How can you do that?”

  “You have a Korean passport right?”

  “Yes, but no valid American visa.”

  “You show up with an airline ticket to Korea, with a valid Korean passport, they’ll let you on the plane, and they don’t care what your American visa status is. Hell, immigration wouldn’t touch that. Otherwise, they’re just going to chase you, and catch you eventually, then you will probably stay in some kind of detention center, possibly a jail, for months, even years until they send you back.”

  “My passport is back in Ridgecrest with that family.”

  “Stay away from that place for a while, until things cool down. Otherwise, you know what might happen.”

  It’s not like So-Young was entirely unused to
tall buildings. Seoul has its share, but damn, 707 Wilshire Boulevard was towering. It looked almost like a big, black, engorged square needle poking in to the sky. The AON center. It isn’t the tallest building in the world, or even the country, but it’s on the list. There were an awful lot of suits walking in and out of the lobby.

  You can’t just go up to the 50th floor. You have to have a reason, as Dahl discovered when he tried to take the elevator. You had to pass through a security checkpoint to get to the elevator that would take you there.

  Dahl dialed the number on the lobby telephone. A lady with a British accent answered. “Arrow Services, how may I help you?”

  “Hi, I’d like to meet with Simon Bowe please.” Dahl replied.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “Um, no, that’s why I’m calling. I need to make one.”

  “Well, Simon Bowe is a very busy man, I can probably schedule something for... this week does not look good, let me see...”

  “I’m standing in the lobby.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m standing in the lobby of the building. I need to talk to Mr. Bowe and it is fairly urgent.”

  “What is your name, and what is the nature of your business?”

  “My name is Alex Dahl, and I’m looking for a job. Roger from Ridgecrest sent me.”

  “Simon doesn’t just take...”

  “Can you please just tell him?”

  “All right, wait one moment please.” There was a long, several minute pause. Dahl felt out of place and under dressed in the lobby of the corporate high rise. He stuck out like a sore thumb. Plus, although freshly showed from the night before, his clothes were starting to obtain an odor. “Mr. Dahl?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you please spell your last name?”

  “D-A-H-L.”

  “Thank you. One moment please.” There was another long pause. This wasn’t sounding good. He expected armed security guards to jump on him at any moment, tackling him to the ground at gunpoint. Cuffing him. Pummeling him with batons. He was starting to survey the lobby for an escape route. The fat guard would be an easy take. The tall black guy would be more challenging. There were enough people that he could run interference through them if he needed. “Mr. Dahl?”