The Honorable Warrior

by Kimberly Krey

  “You want to know why we’re here?” Frank’s voice was wound up tight. The trapped energy behind it causing his tone to rise in pitch. “Why don’t I start with the fact that I have a bomb set to blow in here? And if I don’t get what I want, I’m going to kill Ms. Vasco and myself too.”

  “Yourself too?” Blayze asked.

  “Yes,” she heard Frank assure from somewhere along the far corner of the shed. “Is that hard to believe?” he screeched. “If you saw me right now, you wouldn’t find that hard to believe.”

  “Well, that’s just the problem, man,” came Blayze’s calm voice. “I can’t see you at all because I’m locked out of the shed. What would I see if I were on the other side of this door? Can you describe that for me?”

  Sophia pulled herself away from the back of the chair and wiggled around a bit, testing. If she had to shoot to her feet and run, could she? The mere question made her woozy.

  Frank’s footsteps picked up again. “If you could see things from my side of the door, you’d notice an explosive device ready to blow the second someone dared to open it. It’s there to discourage anyone from trying to come in.”

  “What else would I see, Frank?”

  The controlled tone of Blayze’s voice reminded Sophia of just how strong Blayze really was. Inwardly, she knew part of him wanted to rip this kid apart.

  “If you came in from the back of the shed, where you are, you’d see shelving units holding hundreds of stage props, backdrops, and wardrobes. But if you walked toward the front, where the garage door is, you’d see a staged room that looks a lot like the roach-infested motel room that I wound up in a few years ago. Right after my life went to pot.”

  Sophia’s eyes widened at the news. Motel room?

  “Would that be the Maraddo Motel, Frank?”

  “Bingo. I wonder how Ms. Vasco would’ve liked ending up in a place like that on her eighteenth birthday. I wonder how her family would’ve liked getting all of their things taken from them. Their houses, cars, money, even their respect.”

  Sophia tried sifting through the suspects Blayze had told her about; his story sounded familiar.

  “Are you starting to see the picture?” Frank barked, his voice and footsteps getting closer still. He darted from behind one of the shelving units and scurried toward Sophia, the soles of his loafers sliding on the floor.

  Through heavy breaths, he grasped the armchair and slid to a stop. Heat radiated off his rigid form as he looked at her, stun-faced and wide-eyed, the phone still firm in his grip.

  Frank’s pale complexion did nothing to hide his distress. Red blotches seeping through his skin like angry welts on his cheeks, neck, and forehead. The sour stench of body odor wafted from his sweat-ridden shirt.

  “And right here…” he breathed, “resting on a crushed velvet chair like a little princess, we have District Attorney, Nicolas Vasco’s daughter.” His green eyes squinted as he studied her. Beads of sweat cased his upper lip, gathering also around the red hair at his temples.

  “Sophia, are you all right?” Blayze blurted from the line, his voice shifting from laid back to grasping in a blink.

  “Yes,” she blurted, glad she could find her voice. Frank’s comment had shoved Sophia into wide-awake-and-angry mode. Resting on a velvet chair like a princess… She wouldn’t be doing that for long. She might still be groggy from whatever Frank had used to sedate her, but Sophia wasn’t about to play the role of a damsel in distress. And she knew Blayze wouldn’t expect her to either.

  “Of course, she’s all right. I told you she was. I’m not a monster.” The edge was back in Frank’s voice. He clenched his fist tight, loose, tight. “Wanting what I want doesn’t make me a monster. And if things go my way then no one has to get hurt.”

  “I know you’re not a monster, Frank,” Blayze said, resuming that low, even tone. “Now, you didn’t finish telling me what I’d see in there.”

  “That’s right. I didn’t get to the best part. Because if you looked beyond all the fake world settings —the replica of my lowest hour—you’d see me wearing a backpack filled with explosives powerful enough to take out a quarter of a block. If I decide to go that route.”

  It felt as if Sophia’s heart stopped at the news, and then clanked back up in double rhythm.

  “We don’t want you to go that route, Frank. Or is it Victor? Which one would you like to go by?”

  Frank had been pacing again, but he stopped in his tracks and shot a look at Sophia. “What do you guys know?” His lips gnarled up at the center. But as he paused to consider, his face relaxed, and a smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. “Did you figure out who my dad is?”

  “Yes,” Blayze said. “Is that all right? It gave me a lot of insight as to why you might be upset at Mr. Vasco.”

  Sophia shifted in the seat, panic building now. She worked to catch up on what Blayze said—that he’d figured out who Frank was. Other than the intern who called himself Frankenstein, Sophia had no idea.

  “Did you say you understood why I might be upset with Mr. Vasco?” Frank’s face scrunched up like he’d been socked in the nose. His head shook wildly back and forth as he stared at the phone. “My dad raised a butt-load of money for Nicolas Vasco so he could get into office. And how did he repay him? By letting some false charge go to trial where he lost everything.”

  Frank reached up and loosened his tie with frantic, blotchy hands. “I had everything. I had a mom and a dad who took me on vacations and bought me everything I wanted. I had a better house than all my friends. I had the biggest pool. The fastest cars. People liked me because everything we had was the best.”

  Sophia recalled the guy from Blayze’s list —the friends-with-everyone guy who mingled with the rich. The one convicted of stock fraud. The one who…

  “My dad was so humiliated he hung himself in jail.”

  Her heart sunk —his dad. She searched Frank’s face as he stared across the room. Those tormented, green eyes.

  The guy who hung himself had sons. The recollection was a sledgehammer. “Frank, I’m so sorry,” Sophia whispered as their eyes met.

  “You guys don’t know what I’m capable of,” Frank growled. “You don’t know what I can do.”

  “I know you can do anything you put your mind to,” Blayze assured, voice thick with compassion. “You’re a resilient guy.”

  Sophia clenched her eyes shut as it caught up to her. Frank was the one who killed her mom… It was a tragedy of its own, the fact that someone so young had done such a thing. And now he was holding her hostage. Bombs rigged at the door and on Frank’s back.

  “That’s right,” Frank snapped. “I am resilient.” He was pacing again, a guard before a castle, his backpack right where he promised. “I don’t know what kind of connections the District Attorney has, but he better get greasing some wheels because I want to be compensated, or his daughter’s going to die.”

  Sophia had to shut that last line out of her head. She couldn’t truly believe that Frank, the anxious intern, would actually kill her. It was too much.

  Still, in the volatile situation, with explosives spread throughout the place, she had to admit that anything could happen. And she needed to be ready to act.

  “Got my notebook out in front of me, Frank. I’m ready.” Someone who didn’t know better might picture a therapist-looking guy on the other side of that line. Round glasses, tall, thin frame, and a goatee. Sophia knew better. It’s what made Blayze Brockton a rare mystery. All muscle and mass, enough angst trapped in him to fuel a jet, yet here he was, calmly talking through a situation that just might save her life and Frank’s. And if she knew Blayze— he was aiming for just that: no lives lost.

  Frank cleared his throat. “I need a helicopter that can hold enough fuel for three hundred miles.” His last word stopped short as he shot a frantic look across the room, his eyes squinting in concentration.

  Sophia followed his gaze, but saw only a mass of industrial style shelving, stacked tall
and loaded with boxes, bags, and stage props.

  “You want a chopper that holds extra fuel,” Blayze repeated in a lulling voice.

  “Exactly. And I want my mom out of that stupid mental hospital and brought here, right now, with my little brother. He works as a janitor there, so you can get them at the same time.”

  “Your brother and your mom,” Blayze repeated. Sophia detected a hint of sadness in his voice now. Something that sunk into her as well as she considered Frank’s demands.

  Frank’s gaze darted back to the spot across the shed once more. His eyes narrowed, and then his chin lifted with a slight nod. A nod of understanding—the type you’d give someone offering silent instruction from across the room.

  The idea slammed into her with a razor-sharp edge, causing a new dose of dread to pool over her skin: They weren’t alone, which explained why Frank had Blayze on speaker.

  “Who else is in here?” Sophia blurted. The question was more for Blayze than it was Frank; she needed to tip him off that someone else might be there too, hiding in the shadows.

  Frank’s eyes widened. His face turned hard. All harsh angles and crazed eyes.

  “Is someone else there, Frank?” Blayze asked.

  “No,” he snarled. “I’m by myself. This is my idea, and I’m the one in charge.”

  Frank tapped the tip of his loafer on the floor furiously, his breaths coming loud and fast.

  Sophia’s mind was working in a similar fashion. Fast and frantic. Working to figure out who was in there with them.

  “You know how to fly a chopper, don’t you, Frank?”

  His foot stopped tapping. “Yes. But that’s not all I want.” Despite what looked like his best effort to avoid it, Frank shot a side-glance at that spot across the room.

  “I need two million dollars.”

  A slow whistle sounded from the line. “That’s pretty steep, Frank.”

  “That’s …just a minute…” Frank hurried across the cement floor before disappearing behind a packed shelving unit. “Hold on a minute,” he said again.

  With Frank out of sight, Sophia pulled herself off of the chair and shot to her feet. The room swayed and spun, a reaction to standing so quickly, but she held strong, setting her mind to the trick Blayze taught her to break free. Frank was probably conversing with whomever was in on this with him. The thought was terrifying. At least she’d been able to tip Blayze off about the possibility.

  A quick wiggle of her wrists caused the thin, rigid band to dig into her skin—the way she imagined a zip tie might. Hopefully, they were the hardware store ties, not the unbreakable ties cops used. With her arms strapped behind her back, she lifted her hands away from her body, then slammed them down against her back. The band’s cutting edge scraped her wrists upon impact, but as she went to pull her hands apart, Sophia realized they were still stuck.

  “I said two million dollars, and I’m not going to budge,” Frank snapped.

  Heart pounding, Sophia kept her eyes pasted on the spot she’d seen Frank disappear. Most likely he’d come tearing around that very corner any second.

  “We lost much more than that,” she heard him say.

  “I understand,” Blayze assured through the line. “You lost a lot, didn’t you? But you still have a lot, isn’t that right?”

  Sophia tried again, her wrists stinging as the band dug in to her skin a second time. With a small grunt, she slammed her bound wrists hard against her back, envisioning the strong, plastic band snapping beneath the pressure.

  This time it did.

  Sophia rubbed her wrists, wondering if she should stay in place or try to find a way out.

  The sound of Frank’s voice made the decision for her, the nearness causing her to plop back onto the chair and tuck her arms behind her back once more.

  “I wish I didn’t have to do this,” he said as he walked back toward Sophia.

  “Have you considered that maybe there’s another way?” Blayze asked.

  “I… of course, I’ve thought that. But I’ve already gone this far. I’ve already got all this dynamite on my back. I’ve already kidnapped Ms. Vasco. If I don’t get out of this I’ll spend my entire life in prison.”

  “Not if you stop now, Frank. Why don’t I come in there and—”

  “No!” That crazed look was back in his eyes, and suddenly he was tugging at his backpack. With the pack still strapped onto his back, he unzipped a side pouch, wrestling with something stuck inside.

  “Frank, are you there? We can keep talking like this if you’d prefer. I don’t have to come in there yet.”

  “You can’t come in here. Not until you have the things I need. And to give you the incentive you need…” he said, wiggling his fist free from the pouch. “I’ve got a gun in my hand.” He aimed the dull black pistol at the wall. “Don’t make me use it.” Frank pressed a button on his phone and shoved it into his back pocket.

  Sophia fixed her gaze on the gun in his hand, the absence of Blayze on the line sending a chill through her blood. Panic came in hard, threatening to paralyze her, but Sophia stopped it short.

  No. She would not let that gun take her life. She would not let Frank take her life. This wasn’t where her story would end.

  She forced her mind back to the defense moves Blayze taught her, assuring herself of that very thing. One way or another, she’d make it out of this alive.

  Chapter 23

  Blayze’s stomach clenched at the image Frank painted. He reared back, gave the side of the building a good, hard kick, and dialed the number back.

  It picked up on the first ring.

  “Frank, listen to me. I’m working on your demands right now. But if you don’t keep up your end of the deal…” I’ll choke the life out of you, he wanted to say, but he couldn’t afford to fly off the handle, “…then you’ll have a real problem on your hands, Frank, I can assure you.”

  During his prior conversation with Frank, Blayze had sensed something was holding him back. Sophia’s suggestion that someone else was there confirmed it.

  Now Blayze just had to figure out who it was. The kid’s mother and younger brother were the first to come to mind, but he wouldn’t have asked that they go get them if they were already there.

  He muted the phone Frank gave him and tuned into the mouthpiece Roman was linked to.

  “Did you catch all that, Roman? It’s more than just the kid.”

  “I heard it,” Roman grumbled. “Sounded like it was more of a suspicion to me. Do we have confirmation there’s a second hostile?”

  “Just my gut,” Blayze said.

  “We ready to take action yet?” Roman asked. “Looks like there are two decent-sized air vents on the roof.”

  Blayze shook his head. “Not yet.” Making a move like that would force things to escalate. And Blayze had seen first-hand just how wrong that could go. His entire Platoon had.

  Blayze unmuted the other phone. “Frank, you there?” He’d already come a long way with the kid. Another twenty or thirty minutes, and they could have a peaceful resolution on their hands. No lives lost.

  The problem was, his tactics would be useless if there was another hostile in there, building him up every time Blayze had him ready to back down.

  His intuition said Frank didn’t want to hurt Sophia, or anyone for that matter. Whoever he brought along with him was a different story. And if Blayze couldn’t resolve the matter quickly, he’d have to change course—cut the phone chat and bust in.

  “Frank?” he tried again.

  “I’m here. I hope you don’t make me hurt her.”

  “No, Frank. We want to avoid that. Ms. Vasco isn’t the person you’re angry with. In fact, she said you were one of her most promising interns. You could have a real bright future ahead of you.”

  A long pause came.

  “Are they getting the stuff I want or not?”

  Blayze walked around to the side of the building and scrutinized each outer wall as he answered. “I’m working on
it, Frank. I’m sure you understand there’s a process involved. No ATM is equipped to give out anywhere near that amount, and people rarely carry that kind of cash.”

  “Well then, what the crud am I supposed to do?” Frank asked.

  “It’d be easier if we could make a deposit,” Blayze said. “You know, handle everything online.”

  “What about the helicopter?” Frank urged.

  “Sure,” Blayze said, “That’s the one I’m working on.” He typed out an emergency text to Zane, the numbers 911 indicating the urgency of the matter.

  Blayze: 911 Victor’s our guy, but he’s not alone. Any guess at who could be in there with him?

  It was hard to search through his own mental register, as sick as he felt. He had to get Sophia out of this.

  The trouble was, Blayze wouldn’t see a peaceful end unless he could appeal to the one leading the show, and after what he’d heard, Blayze was certain that wasn’t Victor.

  So, who else wanted Nicolas Vasco to suffer? Whoever it was, they were more determined than Frank—he could feel it in the kid’s demands. His desperation to undo what he’d started.

  Blayze stared up at the sky, stretching a plea to the heavens. “Hey, Frank?” It came out scratchy, his throat dry and sore. “How you doing in there, man?”

  “I don’t know…” Frank’s voice was heavy with dread.

  Blayze’s pulse hammered. “Don’t know what?”

  “If I can go through with this.”

  “I can give you a way out any time, Frank. We can do it right now. How about we both walk to the garage door. You don’t have explosives set up there, do you?”

  “Yes, I do. They’re everywhere! And that’s right where Ms. Vasco is.” Whispers sounded then, and the muffled noise of someone palming the speaker.

  Blayze closed his eyes to tune in. Overhearing one very important question: “Why didn’t we blindfold her?”