The Loyal Nine

by Steven Konkoly

  “This is taking forever,” remarked Julia.

  “Yeah, it’s probably a busy weekend,” said Sarge. “The airport and the casino were packed today. I suppose between Valentine’s Day and the President’s Day weekend, Vegas is getting slammed with the turistas. Or, everyone heard I was in town.”

  “Then there’s that,” said Julia dryly as she began to pull on Sarge’s ear. Ding! Saved by the bell.

  The elevator started out empty, since Sarge and Julia were located on a floor requiring special card access. Systematically, the car descended to the lobby, picking up new passengers.

  Ding! Floor twenty-six—happy family of four, including a whiny six-year-old who should be in bed.

  Ding! Floor twenty-three—two little old ladies from Pasadena, wearing their finest Lilly Pulitzer spring fashion.

  Ding! Floor nineteen—presenting the young couple in love, because they have matching nose rings.

  Ding! Floor seventeen—introducing the high roller, clicking his leftover chips in his pockets.

  Sarge and Julia pressed against each other as Sarge assumed the role of elevator-car operator. He held the doors open as the new passengers, now numbering eleven, entered and squeezed into the brass and mirror compartment. He looked up and read the safety notice to determine the car’s rated capacity—sixteen, five to go.

  Ding! Floor fifteen—a smelly, intoxicated man entered and teetered in the remaining space.

  “Mommy, I have to pee,” squalled the six-year-old.

  “Johnny, why didn’t you pee before we left the room?” barked his father.

  “I didn’t have to go then,” replied Little Johnny.

  Ding! Floor fourteen—an elderly couple in their Sunday best joins the party.

  The head count stood at thirteen. As the elevator doors started to close, Sarge heard a shout from the hallway.

  “Hold the elevator, please,” said a young woman.

  The high roller, anxious to win big, barked in Sarge’s direction, “Hell no, we’re full. Shut that door, pal.”

  Julia squeezed Sarge’s hand, flashing him a quick look that told him to take it easy.

  “Mommy, I still have to pee,” cried Little Johnny.

  “I’ll never get to that Monopoly slot machine,” whined one of the Lilly Pulitzer twins.

  “C’mon, let’s go,” slurred the drunk.

  Sarge was determined to hold the doors for the woman now, especially in light of the protesters’ attitudes. The young woman smiled at Sarge and mouthed thank you. With the last passenger of the trip safely onboard, Sarge released the button holding the door open. Halfway closed, the lights inside the elevator flickered, and the door stopped. Sarge glanced at Julia, registering a look of concern before she disappeared. She quickly reappeared, bathed in the eerie glow of the hallway’s emergency lights, the look of concern replaced by sheer terror. The elevator car sat quiet for a moment, its passengers frozen in place. When the elevator mechanism rumbled, everyone gasped at once. When it shook again, the passengers screamed and surged toward the two-foot-wide exit.

  The drunk and the high roller hit the door first, thrashing at the rest of them with panicked limbs.

  “Calm down!” shouted Sarge. “We can all get out if we wait our turn.”

  High Roller ignored him and squeezed through the door, catching his toe in the space between the elevator and floor fourteen. He hit the carpet-covered concrete face first, bellowing a profanity-laced tirade at the empty hallway. The drunk tried to follow him into the hallway, but misgauged the distance between the doors, striking his left shoulder on the solid steel obstruction. He overcompensated for the sudden, unexpected lack of forward motion and careened backward into the elevator, tripping over his own feet. Before Sarge could react, the drunk tried to use Little Johnny as a crutch to lift himself up, pulling the kid on top of him in the process. Julia instinctively scooped the child into her arms, removing him from danger.

  With his child suddenly clear of the impact area, the enraged dad landed several hard kicks to the man’s stomach, causing him to projectile vomit on the elevator floor. Shrieks filled the elevator, along with the caustic smell of vomit and peach schnapps. With the elevator in pandemonium, the lights reenergized and the elevator door began to close. Sarge reacted by placing a hand in the door, preventing its closure and triggering the inner doors. The gap widened several inches before the power cycled, leaving the elevator car and the hallway illuminated by emergency lights.

  Screams and crying promptly filled the small space, joined by voices from the hallway as hotel guests streamed out of their rooms in search of answers. Put Sarge in charge. The motto from his father’s gubernatorial campaign rang true, giving him the clarity he needed to resolve their immediate problem.

  Ignoring the chaos behind him, he placed himself between the elevator doors to prevent them from closing if the power cycled again. Placing his back against one side and pushing with both hands on the other, Sarge opened the door another foot. He was rewarded with a stampede of selfish, unruly passengers, led by Little Johnny’s parents. Julia emerged last, covering her nose and muttering obscenities. He pulled her aside, away from the dispersing crowd of panicked passengers.

  “You okay?” he said, hugging her tightly.

  “I’m fine. What about him?” she said, motioning toward the elevator.

  “I’ll take care of it,” he said, giving High Roller a wide berth.

  The self-important gambler hadn’t moved from where he fell, reaching out frantically to grab anyone that staggered into range.

  “I need help!” he said.

  “Then get off your ass and look for it,” said Sarge.

  “Fuck you, buddy! I’m hurt here,” he replied, grabbing at one of the older women’s legs.

  The people from the elevator scrambled like bugs, eluding his grasp. Satisfied that High Roller wasn’t going to pull anyone into his clutches, Sarge entered the car and grabbed the unconscious drunk by the legs. He dragged the guy through his own vomit and deposited him on top of High Roller.

  “We need to get out of here,” he whispered to Julia, taking her hand and guiding her down the hallway.

  “I think the stairs are in the middle of the floor, next to the ice machines,” she said.

  “I knew there was a reason I kept you around,” he said, squeezing her hand and kissing her forehead. “I wonder why the backup generators haven’t kicked in.”

  “EMP?” asked Julia.

  “Don’t say that word, Julia. Please don’t say that word. Do you know how much trouble we’d be in if that were the case?”

  “Based on what I just saw in the elevator? We’d be screwed,” she said.

  “And stuck in a city dependent on electricity to run everything. Screwed might be a kinder-than-warranted assessment,” he said, spotting the stairwell door.

  A few feet in front of them, a male guest dressed in a white terrycloth bathrobe started kicking his door.

  “Goddamnit, I’m locked out of my room!” screamed the man.

  “Try your key,” said a female voice from behind Sarge and Julia.

  “I don’t have a key, you stupid bitch,” said the man. Oh boy, here we go.

  “Don’t call my wife a bitch, motherfucker!” exclaimed a second voice.

  He pulled Julia past the robed door-kicker, barely escaping the inevitable fray. Sarge glanced over his shoulder in time to see a goateed man in jeans and a green Celtic T-shirt body-slam the guy against the door he was kicking, knocking it wide open. The man slid to the floor in a heap, half in and half out of the doorway. The Celtics fan cocked his foot back to deliver a kick, but stopped when the man’s terrycloth robe parted, exposing his private parts.

  “What happened?” hissed Julia, trying to look beyond Sarge.

  “Trust me, you don’t want to see. Keep going,” he said.

  They reached the fire exit door and opened it, staring into the darkness. Screams and the sound of trampling feet filled the stairwell.


  “Christ. No lights,” said Sarge.

  “Not a problem,” said Julia, illuminating the stairwell with her smartphone.

  “Clever lady,” said Sarge.

  “Another reason to keep me around?” she said.

  “I can think of others, but this will do for now,” he said, kissing her neck. “Hey, do you have a signal?”

  She pulled the phone closer to their faces. Full reception.

  “The good news is that this wasn’t the result of an EMP,” he said.

  “What’s the bad news?” she said.

  “We still have thirteen floors to go, followed by the lobby. If it’s like this on the guest floors, imagine what it will be like out there,” said Sarge.

  Chapter 36

  February 13, 2016

  Caesars Palace Casino

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  Johnny Bagwell, aka “J-Bags,” checked the time—7:59 p.m. Almost showtime. He took one more glance around the casino to get his bearings. The plan was to allow the initial shock to settle, and then create a panic. Every union member had a different role throughout the casino floor. If the desired goal wasn’t reached, he had the authority to escalate the situation. J-Bags hoped this option wasn’t necessary. The place is filled with innocent people.

  J-Bags had compared notes earlier with the new guy, DePetri. Several of the rank-and-file members of the union provided input on what happened during power outages in the casinos.

  All of the major Las Vegas Strip hotels had massive diesel backup generators. A year ago, the Mirage, Stratosphere Casino and Circus Circus lost power when squirrels hit a Nevada Energy transformer, knocking out the substation. The power outage only lasted about an hour, but it exposed the procedures to be followed in the event of a power outage: Nevada Gaming Regulations require all gaming tables to stop operating, although the hand in play may be completed. Casino pit personnel immediately move into place to preserve the status quo and monitor the chips on the tables. Hotel security takes up positions near the exits in order to intercept anyone attempting to steal from the casino.

  For the first several minutes following the Circus Circus outage in 2015, gamblers held their positions and remained calm. Circus Circus did not have a backup generator system like the other major hotels. For planning purposes, the Circus Circus scenario was most illustrative of what to expect, because J-Bags and his associates were told the backup generator systems would fail. He had no idea how the union would pull that off, and he didn’t want to know. A strict “do as you’re told and don’t ask questions” policy had kept his career in the union on a steady, lucrative track. He had no intention of screwing that up tonight of all nights.

  A sudden darkness overcame the casino floor, resulting in a collective gasp from everyone in the building. Despite knowing the exact moment the power outage would occur, J-Bags felt the same way. Frightened. The battery-powered emergency lights lining the vast casino cast a feeble, shadowing illumination throughout the room. Once his eyes adjusted to the new lighting scheme, he observed the patrons and the employees. What will be their reaction? Will some type of primal instinct take over, causing the gamblers to make a desperate grab for the chips on the tables and run for the exits? Will opportunists take advantage of the weak by stealing their purses, wallets or buckets of quarters?

  A few screams penetrated the general chatter, but overall, the crowd remained surprisingly calm. The bulk of the noise came from casino managers and pit bosses passing sharp instructions to the table operators. Their crisp, staccato orders probably contributed to the illusion of control, delaying the inevitable panic. Unexpectedly, the lights brightened, producing a round of nervous applause. Several seconds into the jubilee, the lights went out again—this time to the sounds of annoyed gamblers.

  J-Bags leaned against a nearby slot machine and listened to the growing signs of chaos. It started with the slot machine players, their concerns revolving around the credits stored in the machine they were playing. Did the power outage wipe out the machines’ memories? Would they get their money back? The tide of irritation spread, resulting in raised voices and a few tense standoffs between angry, intoxicated gamblers and the casino staff.

  J-Bags glanced at his illuminated Casio watch again. He and the boys had agreed they would wait five minutes after the lights went out. It had been four minutes. Close enough. Maybe it was time to start the fireworks. He made eye contact with one of his associates and nodded.

  A few seconds later, shouts of “stop, thief” echoed through the darkened blackjack pits as a man ran through the casino, clutching a bag. Casino personnel ran after the man in vain.

  “I want my fucking money!” screamed a man from the slot machines.

  A crashing sound accompanied his protest as security personnel rushed to the scene. J-Bags detected a noticeable shift in the general mood. In the dim light, from his vantage point next to a raised bank of slot machines, J-Bags could tell that the casino staff was nervous. They had expected the backup generators to kick in at this point. Time to escalate this party.

  He moved to a bank of unoccupied slot machines near a plate-glass window overlooking the massive circular entrance to the hotel and lit a pack of Black Cat firecrackers. Incredibly, the exploding fireworks didn’t have the intended effect on the gamblers. Most chose to stay with their money. Are you kidding me? Before J-Bags could put his “nuclear option” into action, he heard feedback noise from a bullhorn, followed by a familiar voice.

  “All members of the Culinary Union and the Service Employees International Union, please listen up,” shouted the man, silencing the room.

  “Pursuant to our contract, we have declared this facility to be an unsafe work environment. It is our opinion that you are in danger of serious injury or even death as a result of these present conditions. Accordingly, under the Occupational Safety and Health Act, we are declaring a work stoppage and ask that you leave the premises immediately.”

  J-Bags watched as hundreds of employees simultaneously walked through the darkness toward the exits. Management personnel looked back and forth between each other, then upward out of habit—toward the inoperable cameras. Despite the bizarre exodus, casino patrons held steady, waiting for the lights to come on or the casino to refund their money. For fuck’s sake. Time for the nuclear option.

  J-Bags systematically walked through the casino floor, placing eight RIS Mark 4 electric smoke grenades (ESG) in concealed locations. Thumbing the wireless firing system in his coat pocket, he walked to the nearest exit and activated the grenades. This should do it. Smoke billowed from the devices, immediately grabbing the nearest casino guests’ attention. Shouts of “FIRE!” quickly followed, giving J-Bags an excuse to pull a fire alarm on the way out.

  “Nuclear, plus,” he muttered—unaware he had just killed or injured several dozen people with his unnecessary finale.

  Chapter 37

  February 13, 2016

  Fourteenth Floor, Caesars Palace Hotel

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  Sarge and Julia stayed pressed against the wall inside the stairwell. Sarge needed to gather his thoughts before they stepped off on the long journey down. He wasn’t convinced heading toward the lower levels was the best course of action. The casino and Forum Shops concourse had been jammed with people when they checked into the hotel. They needed to weigh their options. Stay on the guest floors, where it was less crowded, or take their chances down below.

  “Something’s off. I don’t know this for a fact, but I have to assume that Caesars Palace would have a substantial backup generator. Power outages can’t be rare in a city that draws this much juice. Why hasn’t it kicked on?” said Sarge.

  “Right,” said Julia. “But wouldn’t the backup system operate independently of the power grid. Do you think the entire grid might be down? Wait, we need a window.”

  “Good idea,” said Sarge, opening the door to assess the hallway situation. “Looks like things have calmed down out here.”
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br />   Sarge and Julia eased into the hallway, slipping past a group of whispering guests. They headed toward the opposite side of the hotel floor, away from the elevator bank and the naked man sprawled halfway into the hallway, searching for a room with an open door. The sounds of a bickering couple drew them further toward a partially open doorway several rooms away.

  “Look inside the room, but keep walking. Never know,” said Sarge.

  He slowed their pace as they drew even with the door, searching inside for a glimpse of the windows. Total darkness, except for automobile lights in the distance. They stopped a few doors down to discuss what they saw.

  “I think we can safely rule out an EMP. I saw a ton of car lights. I’ve read conflicting opinions on the effect of an electromagnetic pulse on vehicles, but that’s too many for even the most liberal EMP assessment,” said Sarge.

  “Solar flare?” said Julia.

  “I doubt it. I check solar activity forecasts every day. Today was no exception. There has been no significant solar activity and certainly no geomagnetic storm warnings.”

  “Then it had to be a deliberate attack on the grid,” she said.

  Sarge thought for a moment, deciding to reveal a secret he had kept from Julia.

  “I think you might be right. I find it very odd that the backup generator system didn’t take over. Those systems shouldn’t be susceptible to general power outages. This could be a cyberattack,” said Sarge. “A well-executed cyberattack could be more localized than an EMP. Hackers could have shut down the entire Las Vegas grid and the Caesars Palace network at the same time. Do you remember how the lights suddenly brightened and the elevator began to work again?”

  “Sure,” she said.

  “It’s possible the backup system attempted to fire, but was shut down,” said Sarge. “This has all of the earmarks of a cyberattack. The question is how long will it take for the power company and the hotel to bring things back online?”

  “We need to make a decision. Take our chances here, or take this show on the road?” said Julia.