The Gauntlet Assassin (An Action Thriller)

by L. J. Sellers

  Lara had no final prep, just an escalating flood of energy that made her heart pound with anticipation. She gripped the thick rope above her head and bent her knees for the initial jump. Jason’s comment about being a rope master echoed in her brain. We’ll see, she thought. Lara had done a lot of rope and wall climbing too.

  A starter pistol fired and Lara jumped, landing both feet on the wall. Hand over hand, she surged upward, using her powerful quads as well. She pushed to capacity, not worrying about the pace, breathing from deep in her gut. At the midpoint, she sensed both men had pulled ahead, but not by much. Arms aching, she kept climbing as though her life depended on it. Near the top, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jason scamper over the edge. Makil was parallel with her and they pulled themselves up and over in frantic unison.

  Lara scrambled to her feet and charged to the T-shaped structure. She leapt onto the platform and grabbed for the overhead straps at the top of the zipline. Pushing with her legs, she vaulted off the platform and into the air. Hanging by her arms, she sped down the line, noting that Jason had a good lead. His heavier weight worked for him in the descent. Lara allowed herself a quick glance below and saw thick blocks of foam pads twenty feet below. She looked ahead and started watching for the luge she was expected to drop into.

  A fluorescent green came into view. Speeding toward it, Lara watched the green blob take shape into a six-foot luge sitting on a metal track. The opening seemed like a ridiculously small target. It was obvious now that she needed to not only drop into the seat but also do it with such grace and timing that her entrance would propel the luge forward until it hit the next downward slope. Lara closed her eyes and slowed her heart rate. When she opened them again, she visualized herself making the drop. In her mind, she conceptualized the exact moment to let go and how to position her body for the landing.

  A loud thunk below made her look down. Jason had missed his opening, landed on the edge of the luge, and rolled off to the platform below. He swore loudly, sounding like he was in pain. Nothing in the Obstacle in the two previous years had been this dangerous.

  She was ten feet out and counting down. Ready….Now!

  Lara let go, arched her back, and tucked her legs. After a quick descent though the air, she landed on the luge’s seat, shoved her feet into the dark opening in front, and threw her body forward. The luge slid toward the next slope. She passed Jason, who was pushing his wheel-less cart along the track to get it moving. Lara’s luge hit the decline and picked up speed. Only then did she realize the track was curved and she would have to steer with her body. She leaned forward and treated it like a downhill bike ride, feeling almost euphoric from the speed and danger.

  She soon ran out of slope and the luge slammed into a red canvas-covered foam wall. Lara jumped from the sled and ran back about ten feet. She sprinted for the wall, and from several feet away, she jumped and caught her hands on the top edge. Arms still exhausted from her rope climb, Lara struggled to pull herself up. In her mind, she heard Jackson and Caden both urging her on. As she swung her knee up and over the top, another luge slammed into the foam wall ten feet away, almost shaking her loose. She still had a lead, but someone was right behind her.

  A row of elevated rings stretched out into the distance, hung from a minimalist structure. Monkey rings, like an old-school playground, all made of high-tech plastic. Her arms ached already. The first ring was five feet away. Lara leapt from the top of the wall and caught the ring with both hands. As she swung toward the next one, a tiny shock ripped through her shoes, shooting pain into her feet. Damn! They were sending pulses of electricity under her. She yanked up her legs and grabbed the next ring. Keeping her lower half in a tucked position added strain to her abdominal muscles and slowed her down. She wondered if the guys were feeling the shock too. Were the viewers punishing her for being in the lead?

  She was in the lead, wasn’t she? Makil had to be back there somewhere. She hadn’t seen his luge move ahead of her.

  The rings went on for hundreds of feet. Lara’s arms and abdomen burned with the strain and she was grateful for the gloves. What would happen if she slipped? Would she pass through the layer of shock and land safely on the three-foot-thick pads? She kept grabbing rings, one hand after the other, making small grunting noises from the effort to keep going. The slap of flesh-on-metal closed in behind her.

  The end of the structure was twenty feet away. Lara pushed herself but didn’t sense any gain in speed. She was maxed out. She made it to the small platform, crossed it, and saw the slide on the other side. She dropped to her butt, lifted her feet, and slid to the arena floor, made of old runway tarmac.

  A single, freestanding escalator rose in the air a hundred yards away. Lara sprinted for it. Pounding footsteps were right behind her, coming at an angle from the right. Jason! Being in the middle, with a straight shot at the escalator, gave her a fraction of an advantage. Lara pumped her arms for all she was worth, her sprint workouts at the track paying off. She hit the escalator first, guessing correctly that the steps were coming down and she’d be working against them.

  Taking long strides to hit every third step, Lara began the climb. The escalator was about forty feet long with a twenty-foot rise and was just wide enough that a competitor could pass her if he had the strength and speed. Over the noise of her own labored breathing, she heard Jason sucking wind at her flank. He seemed close enough to reach out and grab her. That kind of contact wasn’t allowed, and with cameras recording every move, she didn’t think he would.

  About halfway up, Lara’s lungs began to burn and her throat was as dry as an August day in Arizona. She felt herself slow down. God, this was insane. It could take forever. She pushed on, climbing and climbing and getting almost nowhere.

  Behind her, Jason yelled, “Get out of my way!”

  Lara ignored him and made a final burst for the top. Another short platform and another escalator. This structure headed back down, but of course, the steps were rising. Legs weakened from her intense climb, Lara stumbled her first step on the escalator, twisting her ankle a little as she landed. A shock of pain traveled up her shin. She fell forward, but grabbed the rails before landing facedown on the moving stairs.

  Lara switched strategies and pushed off the rails to vault to the bottom, touching her feet to the upward-bound steps as little as possible. She stumbled off the escalator and looked up for the next obstacle. All she saw was a red ribbon stretched across the middle section of the arena about thirty feet away. Reporters and cameramen waited on the other side.

  Ignoring the pain surging everywhere and never once looking over her shoulder, Lara sprinted for the finish.

  Chapter 32

  Three weeks earlier, Mon., April 24, noon

  Paul took a diet pill, ate half his sandwich, and rushed outside. He stood near the bus stop, with no intention of going anywhere. Sweat broke out on his upper body as he waited for Camille to come out of their work building. The summer heat was coming on. Soon he would have to stay inside as much as possible. When he spotted Camille in her white sundress, he stepped behind the bus sign so she wouldn’t see him.

  After a minute, he glanced back and watched her walk toward Broadway Bistro, the restaurant she frequented but never invited him to. He suspected she was seeing someone else. She’d canceled their date at the last minute on Friday, saying she wasn’t feeling well, then hadn’t returned his texts over the weekend, except once to say she needed rest.

  Paul hadn’t seen her in the office that morning and he thought she was avoiding him. He hurried after her, not bothering to be discrete. Camille never looked back, so he followed her to the restaurant, admiring the way she carried herself, shoulders back and head up. Paul envied her natural confidence.

  From inside the restaurant doorway, he saw her take a seat in a booth where another woman waited. Were they lovers? Paul saw the hostess eyeball him, so he stepped back outside. Okay, so she’d met a friend for lunch. It didn’t prove she wasn’t seeing
another man or that she wasn’t breaking up with him.

  He spent the rest of his lunch break walking around the block, sweating in the ninety-degree heat. He figured he burned at least three hundred calories.

  Back inside, he went through security and stepped on the elevator. An older co-worker named Marlie was on board. She leaned over and pushed the button for the third floor. “By the way, Paul. I’ve been meaning to say that you look terrific. You’ve lost a lot of weight and it really shows in your face.”

  “Thanks.” Did she not realize he’d had two cosmetic procedures? Was she unobservant or just trying to be polite?

  “What’s your diet secret?” She smiled and touched his arm.

  “I’ve been taking a supplement called MetaboSlim.”

  Marlie looked alarmed. “Health websites say there’s a chemical in that stuff that is really bad for you. I think it cause changes in your brain chemistry.”

  “But it’s FDA approved.”

  “That doesn’t mean much anymore.”

  Paul was irritated with the conversation. It wasn’t her business. “I’m only taking it temporarily. I’m almost at my goal weight.” The elevator stopped and he stepped off without saying anything else. He’d tried to quit the MetaboSlim recently, but the first day without it, he’d become too depressed to function. Now he was trying to cut back slowly.

  At five, he strode down to Camille’s office and walked in as she prepared to leave for the day. “Can I walk you to your car? I’d like to talk.”

  “Of course.” She smiled, her beauty taking his breath away. In that moment, Paul believed everything would turn out well.

  He waited until they were in the parking lot to speak. A few other employees were getting into their cars, but they seemed focused on going home.

  “Camille, are you breaking up with me?”

  “No. It was just one date and I wasn’t well.” Her tone was sharp.

  “You’re angry with me because I haven’t managed to get Morton fired.”

  “Not angry. Just disappointed.” Camille climbed in her car and rolled down the window. “Can you make it happen?”

  “I’m trying, but I’m not really a hacker and I can’t get into his WorldChat page. He pays for extra security and changes his password every day.”

  “If I get a sleazy photo of him, can you post it somewhere it doesn’t belong?”

  “Of course.” He would find a way. Paul hated admitting to his lover that he was failing the one thing she’d asked of him. “We’ll see each other this Friday? At my place?”

  “Sure.” She drove away without offering him a ride home.

  After an unsatisfying dinner of humus, celery, and low-fat crackers, Paul went to his NetCom and searched for the commissioner again. There had to be something he had overlooked. He remembered Camille’s offer to track down a sleazy photo. At the time, he’d been pleased by her offer to help, but the more he thought about it, the more worried he grew.

  Too agitated to sit longer, Paul changed and went out for a run, taking his Taser with him. He carried it in a water-bottle pouch in his shirt. The weight was annoying, but worth it for the security. His missed having Lilly at his side, but in the long run, her absence was for the best. A little white lapdog didn’t match his new image. As he jogged through the neighborhood, he kept trying to imagine how Camille would obtain a sleazy photo of Morton. Then it hit him. Camille planned to seduce the commissioner to get him naked. Would she have sex with him too?

  Paul sprinted back to his apartment, grabbed his keys, and drove like a madman across town. A thunderstorm shook the night and occasional flashes of lightning lit up the empty roads. Paul didn’t care. Let it rain. Let it hail! Nothing would stop him.

  He reached the new suburb and slowed down, not wanting to attract attention. He passed Morton’s house and spotted Camille’s car in the driveway. No! Paul pulled to the curb and shut off the engine. Every nerve and muscle in his body wanted to run into the house and confront them.

  What if they were screwing?

  The thought filled him with despair and rage. Little bursts of pain flared in his temples. He gulped in air and willed himself to think rationally. Just because Camille was here didn’t mean she was sucking Morton’s dick. She was just trying to get an incriminating photo. He wanted desperately to believe that.

  Paul climbed out of his car and softly closed the door. He jogged down the sidewalk, inhaling sulfur-scented air, and stopped at the corner of Morton’s property. He turned into the neighbor’s yard and ran along the hedge, looking for a break in the foliage. In the dark, it was hard to tell. He glanced at the neighbor’s house but didn’t see anyone rousing to check on him. The temperature seemed to drop by a degree with each step.

  Paul found a low spot in the hedge and scrambled over, something he wouldn’t have had the agility to do six months ago. The landscaping was minimal, so he hurried across the grass toward a lighted room at the back of the house. As he neared, he hugged up against the brick wall and sidestepped to the window, grateful the exterior wasn’t surrounded with shrubs.

  He peered in the window but it was covered with vertical blinds. Glimpses of flesh-toned movement gave the sense of two people in the room. Camille’s laugh bubbled up from the moving mass and it crushed him. She was in Thaddeus Morton’s bedroom! Paul sprinted to his car, climbed in, and fought back sobs.

  The anguish passed, replaced by calm calculation. If she was screwing the commissioner, he’d shoot them both. Paul wished he’d brought his gun. The thought surprised him, but it hung there, waiting for further consideration. Could he do it? Paul shook his head. No, he couldn’t kill Camille, no matter what she did. He loved her too much. But he had worked long and hard to earn her attention and he wasn’t giving up yet.

  The solution seemed simple. If he killed the commissioner, Camille wouldn’t have to screw Morton to get the job she wanted. It would be hers for the taking. He could arrange for that too. Getting rid of Morton would also guarantee that the prick never fucked his girlfriend again. Paul almost laughed at the beauty of it. Shooting Morton would be so much easier than trying to get him fired.

  Paul started the car, feeling empowered. He vowed that from now on, he would control his destiny rather than let shit happen to him.

  Chapter 33

  Paul stared at the digital calendar in frustration. The commissioner’s schedule indicated he would be on vacation the week before the Gauntlet. Morton’s April 30 date said: Leaving for Eugene. Someone tapped on Paul’s door and he quickly closed the private calendar he’d hacked into.

  His co-worker Marlie stepped into his office. “Hey, Paul. The payroll software for HHS employees is no longer calculating social security taxes. Can you take a look at it?”

  “I will.” He waited for her to leave.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Good. Thanks.” Her voice was timid, as if he’d just yelled at her. Paul didn’t think he had, but he wasn’t sure. He just wasn’t feeling chatty. He looked at his screen clock: 3:32. He probably had time to investigate and fix her little problem before leaving for the day.

  While running maintenance on the payroll software, Paul plotted his plan of action. The commissioner’s trip to Eugene was actually a good thing. Oregon cops would briefly investigate Morton’s death and that would be the end of it. No one would ever connect a random homicide in Eugene with hacked message accounts and fired federal employees in Washington D.C. The setup was perfect. All he had to do was buy a ticket and get out there before he missed his opportunity. The flight would be expensive, but he had a couple thousand left over from his last arrangement. He could leave sometime Friday and be back Sunday night. No one would ever know he was gone.

  On Thursday evening, Paul packed a small carryon bag and a suitcase full of clothes he wouldn’t wear. He just needed a checked bag in which to stow his weapons. He anguished over whether he should take his wig and mustache. He wanted to hide his appe
arance when he went to the commissioner’s house, but what if a screener searched his bag and found the wig?

  Paul laughed. He never thought he would see the day when he was more worried about traveling with a wig than a gun. But disguises indicated a plan to deceive and might prompt airport screeners to ask questions. He would simply claim he was performing in a play and it was part of his costume. He shook his head at his paranoia and went to the bathroom to grab a toothbrush and a few other things. He threw his last bottle of MetaboSlim in the bag. He would need its energy and confidence through the weekend. After that, he’d cut back and get off the stuff. His gums had been bleeding lately, and he worried it might be connected.

  Camille had noticed the bleeding and his quietness, but he’d reassured her everything was all right. Paul hadn’t confronted her about her tryst with Morton, even when she gave him a semi-naked photo of the commissioner and said she’d spied on him to get it. Paul couldn’t risk losing her now when he was so close to making her happy.

  After traveling for twelve hours, including two transfers, he landed in Portland, Oregon late Friday afternoon. Walking out of the airport, a gust of warm dry air caressed his skin. Paul breathed a sigh of relief to be away from the searing heat and humidity of the capital. He rented a car and drove two hours to Eugene, then checked into a cheap motel on Highway 99. In the musty room, he lay down and slept for ten hours.

  The next morning, the rental car’s GPS took him up City View to Ridgemont, where he parked near the end of a long driveway. He checked his iCom: 10:17. The upscale neighborhood was sprawled on the side of a steep hill, thick with fir trees. In a different frame of mind, Paul might have enjoyed the change of pace from flat D.C., but this morning he was tightly focused. He took the Glock out of his travel bag, loaded it, and screwed on the silencer. The lesson he’d taken at the shooting range after buying supplies had taught him enough to carry out his plan. He checked his wig and mustache in the rearview mirror and they still looked fine.