by Josie Brown
Gasping, I grasp at anything, and come up with a chopstick.
When I jab his eye, he howls and backs off. He hesitates only a second before yanking it out. A torrent of blood pours forth. I’m a mother of two tweens who play sports like kamikazes and their little sister does anything they say on a dare, so granted, I’m no stranger to blood, but this has my lunch climbing into my throat.
King Kong has me cornered in front of the door to the vodka freezer. He’s only six feet away and rushing right at me when I throw my last weapon—the chef’s Blue Steel Ao-ko Mioroshi Namiuchi knife.
The good news: as it hits his chest, it stops his forward momentum.
The bad news: when he falls over, it’s forward—and on top of me.
Even worse news: As I fall backward with him on top of me, the force of our weight pushes open the door to the freezer and propels me into it—
And clicks shut behind me.
I try shoving the door, but it won’t open. King Kong’s body is, quite literally, a dead weight blocking my only way out.
My situation is dire. I’m naked, I’m freezing, and for once I’m in no mood for a vodka martini.
Despite the fact that the glass wall between me and the dining suite is tempered and thick, I pray I can penetrate it somehow. Shivering, I stalk the room, looking for a way out of my predicament.
My eyes scan the backlit vodka case. Like the antique gold Russo-Baltique, all of the bottles in Hong Li’s personal stash are works of art. Belvedere’s bottle is encased in a glass bear. The Diva bottle is especially stunning: a clear cylinder with a tube of precious gems in the center.
But neither of those will give me what I need: freedom.
However, a bottle encrusted with diamonds may just do the trick.
There are several here. Oval Vodka’s bottle is covered in them, but unfortunately its shape plays off its name. The cask-like Alizé Vodka bottle is studded with pink crystals. I slam it against the edge of the table, and most of the crystals fall to the floor, so that’s of no help.
The next bottle I grab—a brand called Iordanov—is so embellished with diamonds that it glistens in the light. Holding it by its long neck, I once again whack the center table with all my might.
I’m left holding a piece of very expensive glass still encrusted with diamond crystals, where it counts most: around its jagged end.
By now the cold is getting to me. I can barely feel my fingers or toes, and my muscles ache. I drop to my knees against the wall with my homemade glasscutter, which I hold tightly as I etch a square in the glass. Here’s hoping it’s large enough for me to fit through, and that it’s not just the size I wish I were. (Note to self: pinch that inch, then get rid of it for good.)
I don’t have much strength, but still, I kick at the etched square. I hear it give way—
Then I pass out.
In my dream, I’m treading water in a steaming lake. My children Mary, Jeff, and Trisha paddle toward me. They welcome me with warm kisses, then they swim just out of reach. I shout for them to wait for me. Try as I might, I can’t move my hands or feet to follow, but rather I bob and float, dead-man style, with my head just slightly above the water line. Their way of cajoling me to follow is to promise to bring home great grades and be the best-behaved students in their classrooms this year.
In the distance, Jack shouts at me, too. It’s hard to make out what he’s saying because my teeth are chattering and the hot water is running, but it’s something to the effect of Abu she’s coming to, so turn the heat all the way up in the bedroom and Donna can you hear me and Tell Arnie to stay on Li’s tail and Donna, I love you, please don’t die on me.
“I won’t, I promise. I love you, too, Jack.” Did I say that out loud? Am I smiling? If not, then why do my lips hurt so much?
He must have heard me because I feel him slapping my face as he lifts me out of this nice warm bath. Still, I push his hand away because the air is chilly. But he picks me up anyway, and I’m too weak to fight him off. The next thing I feel are his hot tears on my cheek. My own tears glaze my eyes, but at least they no longer sting.
As he kisses them off my face, one of my eyelids flutters open, and I’m staring into the deep green eyes of the love of my life. There is so much I want to say—that I’m glad he got to me in time. That I never doubted he would.
And that I will never leave him, ever, even if it means haunting him for the rest of his life.
But of course, he knows this—which, is why, when I mutter, “What took you so long?” he covers his sigh of relief with a laugh.
He swaddles me in a large terry robe and lays me on the bed. “Taking down the guards was the easy part. It was the damn steel door that took a bit of finagling. We finally cut it open with one of Arnie’s new toys—a laser taser. It cut through the freezer wall, too. Good thing, because we never could have moved Li’s behemoth of a bodyguard.” He warms my fingers between his hands, then kisses each, gently.
“No mission is ever simple.” I lick my lips into a smile. I wonder if they’re still blue. "Jack, do we still have a lead on the statue?”
“Yes, but we’ve got some ground to cover. It took us almost an hour to relieve Li’s guards of their duty, shall we say. In the meantime, Arnie followed Li and the box. It’s been loaded onto an Amtrak Coast Starlight, along with the rest of the terra-cotta soldiers from the Asian Art Museum. They’re already on their way to the Getty, for POTUS’s private reception with Xi Jinping.”
I slide off the bed. When I try to stand up, my legs fold under me, like a newborn colt’s.
Jack grabs me by the waist. “Steady, doll. Seriously, Donna, maybe you should sit this one out.”
I shake my head. “Are you kidding? And miss my chance to save POTUS’s reputation? No way. Besides, who looks more fetching in chest candy, you or me?”
“At this point, anything you wear—including a robe—would be an improvement.”
Point well taken. I tie the robe demurely around my waist. “You need me to positively ID Li, and anyone else who may be obstructing the mission. We both know that. However, after what I’ve been through, I’ll be glad to let you do the heavy lifting.”
He shrugs. “My thoughts exactly.” He tosses me a black bodysuit, along with a wig, glasses, and a jacket. “If we hurry, we can catch the train before it reaches Oxnard.”
Not the most romantic invitation, but hey, I’ve had worse.
Apparently when Jack said we were to “catch the train,” he really meant it. Acme’s pilot, George Taylor, flies us into Oxnard Airport. From there, Abu drives us about thirteen miles north—on the portion of US 1 that is called Old Rincon Highway, which runs parallel to the elevated tracks, a place where the two are separated by just fifty feet.
Finally we veer into a small underpass just below the tracks.
Jack looks at his watch. “The train should be coming through in another ten minutes. It’s only going about twenty-three miles an hour. At that speed, we’ll hoist ourselves onto the car easily by shooting these guns,”—he pulls out an odd looking pistol—“which hold a retractable magnet tether, attached to your vest. Once you reel in the tether, the force of the magnetic suctions on your hand and foot gear will keep us on the car until we can reach the back door. Then you’ll break the lock with your laser taser, find the right statue, and grab the thumb drive. You’ll replace it with this one”—he tosses me a black thumb drive, and pockets an identical one—“which is filled with enough believable disinformation to satisfy our Chinese friends. Abu will shadow alongside, in the van, for as long as he’s got blacktop—at the most, five miles. But then the road disappears and the tracks are hugging a cliff along the Pacific. The next stop is Oxnard, so worst case scenario, we hang on until then.”
I give him a thumbs-up. “I get it—a fast in-and-out.”
He nods. “Abu will pick us up.” He tosses a duffle bag at me. “You’ll find infrared goggles in here, as well as a vest, and magnet-laced gloves and shoes. To sec
ure them, twist slightly to the right. To release, press down and lift up, gently.”
I snap the locks on my right shoe then I test the magnet on the van’s metal floor. Yep, it holds tight as a gnat’s arse. “Do we know which car holds the statue?”
“Arnie saw them being loaded into the last three cars,” Abu explains. “Unfortunately, he doesn’t know exactly which one holds the Duran statue. Li is on the train, too, with a lady friend. They are in the very last passenger car, which is private, and apparently owned by a Chinese conglomerate. It was hooked onto the train at the very last minute. Arnie has changed into an Amtrak purser’s uniform, in case something goes wrong and we need an ‘official escort’ out of there.”
I nod. “So, we’ll have to check all three cars for it?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Hopefully, it will still be in its black box, so that we can find it quickly and jump off before it reaches its next stop, the Oxnard Amtrak station,” Jack continues. “We’ve got less than five miles of track to pull this off. Otherwise, we lose our ride back to the plane because the road disappears completely where the track runs along a cliff beside the ocean, before going inland and adjacent to the Pacific Coast Highway.”
“Then we should split up,” I suggest. “Each of us should take a car. If it isn’t in either, the one who finishes first can hit the third car.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Now that we’re suited up, Jack and I position ourselves in the bushes closest to the track.
“Five minutes to show time,” Abu murmurs into our ear buds. In fact, we can hear the train’s whistle off in the distance.
A minute later we spot its headlight. I’m relieved to see that Jack is right and it’s practically crawling down the track.
We wait as the passenger cars roll by. Finally we count off those containing cargo berths. The last car, just beyond, is the observation deck, which is painted in bright yellow. When the last three cargo berths are just a few seconds from us, Jack touches my arm. “You take the last, and I’ll take the middle, okay? We’ll rock-paper-scissor for the first. On three, okay? One, two … three!”
He shoots his magnet tether onto the side of middle of the three cars. When I do the same with the last one, I find myself being propelled through the air, like a spider on a wind-whipped tendril of its web.
I land on all fours on the side of the designated car. I reel in the tether and tuck the tether gun into my belt. Then I crawl slowly toward the back of the car, where I’ll use the laser taser to cut through the lock on the door.
Quickly, I dart through the rows of the cargo’s hull, searching for the black box, but it’s not here. Through my video lenses, Abu is double-checking the faces on all the terra-cotta statues, just to make sure I haven’t missed it somehow, but no.
“Dead end,” I shout.
“I’ve come up empty-handed, too,” Jack says. “Since I’m closer, I’m on my way to the next car. Get your exit strategy in place.”
I wait and listen for what I hope will be his imminent success. Jack’s off-key humming of Keith Urban’s We Were Us is supposed to mask the exertion and strain of crawling, carefully and slowly, from one car to the next. If I could, I’d cover my ears because yes, he is that bad. As it is, I’m hanging by a thread, ready to jump from my car.
“Step on it,” Abu warns him.
“I hear you,” Jack insists. “Okay, I’m in … and … no go.”
“Then he has it in the observation car with him. I’m closer, so I’m going to get it.”
“I’m right behind you,” Jack says.
“I’ll be out in a jiffy. Just get ready to jump.”
“I like your bravado.” Jack is joking. The concern in his voice is heard loud and clear, thanks to the echo inside the cargo area.
I know just how he feels.
The call girl is a screamer.
Works for me. She’s so loud that I can pick the lock of the observation car without them suspecting anything.
And there’s the object of my affection: the black lacquer box. Thank goodness it’s in the front of the suite, as opposed to through the arched doorway of the car’s bedroom compartment.
The woman has her back to me. As she tightens up on Professor Li, her thighs rise and fall in sync with the rocking train. His eyes are closed and his lips are pursed, as if he’s willing himself to hold out as long as possible.
You’re paying by the mile, so show her who’s boss, dude.
Silent as a ghost, I make my way over to the box. Where was the lever again? Oh yeah, on the right side. I pull it and the doors open, and the statue rolls forward.
I slip my hand under the statue’s right armpit and press it gently. Voilà, a tiny panel falls in. I slip my hand into it and pull out the thumb drive and put the fake one in its place.
I’ve just slipped our precious intel into a tiny inside pocket on the back of my jacket when the call girl asks, “Hey, where did she come from?”
I look up to see them both staring at me. Li’s eyes narrow as he realizes what I’ve just done. On the other hand, the call girl shakes her head angrily. “My service didn’t say anything about a three-way! That’ll cost you extra.”
He answers her with a slap that sends her reeling backward on the bed. It takes him only a second to flip her over. A set of handcuffs appear, seemingly out of nowhere. Wrenching her arms behind her back, he cuffs her wrists together.
“Hey, no one said anything about rough stuff!” Now that she’s face down, her pout is muffled by a pillow. “I’m not complaining. I’m just saying I’ll have to add it to your tab.”
Li isn’t listening to her. He’s already on his way to me, gun in hand.
I dodge his bullet, which ricochets off the suite’s metal wall and slams into a lamp, shattering its base. One of the larger shards flies toward him, nicking him in the neck. He curses in pain. Instinctively, he raises his left hand to staunch the bleeding.
That gives me all the time I need to hit him with a crescent kick, which knocks the gun out of his right hand. It skitters out the open door.
I’ve gotten as far as the threshold when he tackles me. Despite being face down, I kick furiously.
One of my feet must have hit the mark because he curses me, but still he doesn’t let go. Instead, he drags me to the open door. While one hand holds me in a chokehold, the other roams over my body, in search of the pocket that holds the thumb drive. It stops over my left breast, which he squeezes with a smile.
Copping a feel—again?
Totally unacceptable.
I bend my knee to give him a sharp back kick, with my heel, to his groin.
As he doubles over, I knock him out the door.
His scream echoes for several moments. When it’s not followed by the usual thud that accompanies bone meeting metal, I look out the door to see why not.
By now, the train is hugging the edge of the cliff that runs high above the Pacific Ocean. There is no beach, just surf slamming rocks.
The sun has already dipped below the horizon, but there is still enough light for me to see Professor Li’s broken body, bobbing in the surf like a buoy.
“Beautiful sunset, isn’t it?”
Jack is gazing down at me from the roof.
I smile up at him. “Always is, this time of year.”
By the time he has climbed down the rooftop ladder, Li’s body has slipped under the choppy surf for the very last time.
The call girl shouts, “Hey, where’s the party?”
Jack raises a brow. “Want to introduce me to your friend?”
“Not really,” I mutter. Still, I walk over and snap open her cufflinks. “So sorry, but all the fun and games are over. Our host has been permanently detained.”
She shrugs as she rubs her wrist. “That’ll be an extra thou, for the rough stuff.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
She gives me a look that implies I’m sorely out of touch with the demands for her stock in trade.
/> No, I’m just sore. I’ve been frozen, slammed up against a moving train, and almost choked to death.
I dismiss her with a wave of my hand. “Just put it on his tab, he won’t mind.”
She’s not hearing it. “Sorry, cash only,” she growls.
The last thing I need is a witness who can ID me. I peel out the right amount of C-notes and toss them her way.
Through my ear bud, I hear Abu and Arnie laughing raucously.
Jack murmurs, “Boy oh, boy. I can’t wait to see Ryan’s reaction to Donna’s petty cash receipt.”
Believe me, I wish I got paid extra for the rough stuff, too.
Maybe I’m in the wrong business.
Chapter 2
Your Tax Dollars at Work!
There is nothing so gratifying to a voter than to actually see public works projects in progress. Roads, bridges, schools, libraries, parks, planes, tanks, bombs, drones and an NSA hacker or two (or three, or three thousand) are just some of the wonderful things your government purchases with your tax dollars!
Whereas state, county, and municipal ballot measures allow you to vote on whether to proceed with public works projects, wouldn’t it be great if you actually chose how and where your tax dollars were spent on national programs?
At the next town hall meeting, go ahead and invite your Congressperson to sponsor such a bill. To encourage him to do so, collect a few hundred signatures of your nearest and dearest friends and neighbors, who feel as you do about the issue.
Then watch as he nods and smiles benignly—
Only to do nothing about it, unless you’ve tucked a thousand dollars per person, into the envelope with your petition.
Those are the true dollars at work.
Hey, he’s also the guy who gives the gun lobby free reign, right? They say karma is a bitch. Maybe someday he’ll be her bitch.
