A package that ended up in his care. He went to refill his half-empty glass of gold and found the bottle to be dry. He sighed.
The screen image dissolved slowly to be replaced by a long string of numbers. An algorithm. Behind the numbers was an enlarged depiction of the emoticon that led him here, the one that had been covering Chisholme’s face, except this time it was surrounded by a yellow circle with a diagonal slash running through it.
Dent understood now.
This was the key. To the back door. To the most secure facility in California. With that, Dent could bypass every electrical and a majority of the mechanical defenses of his target. If he wanted to resecure his package, to save the girl, all he would have to deal with was the human factor, human defenses.
And humans were flawed. Humans made the irrational rational. They tried to control chaos.
They had emotions.
Dent scooted back on the bed. He piled the plush pillows up behind him and propped himself up into a comfortable position. He placed the stained book — one of his favorites — on his lap and scrolled through his EB, looking for a movie. He found a classic. Well, technically it wasn’t a classic, it was produced in 1990, but he still thought of it a classic. He settled back and started it. He was a bit eager so he skipped ahead to where the lawyer was asking an elder Billy “The Kid”, played by Estevez, if he’d any scars to prove his identity in a court of law in order to receive a pardon granted him when he was younger.
Dent took a sip, put a hand on the book in his lap, and leaned back and smiled. He’d enjoy it while it lasted, for tomorrow he would wake up himself again. Tomorrow he would probably hurt, kill, and maim. A contract of his own designs. Tomorrow he would complete his mission.
But tonight ….
XVI
Downtown L.A.
Total trip here had taken him one hour and thirty-six minutes, including a stop-off at a rented house in Glendora to pick up more essentials and shower again. The familiar stench as his body excreted last night’s poison through his pores could not be completely scrubbed away. The effects were gone, but his new mission was in play. His new contract.
No contingency plans this time. It was either succeed or fail.
He parked in a twenty-eight-dollar half-day garage. It took him an extra twenty minutes to find one nearer to his objective. There were digital signs that proclaimed empty lots closer to the facility but these were strictly forty-dollar full-day spots. He should only be parked for two hours, three at the most. A full-day’s fee was unnecessary.
He started his walk.
He had his backpack on, essentials inside. He wore what he considered to be casual-professional clothing — a solid purple long-sleeved button-up and black slacks. Over this he had thrown on a grey-and-black Dickies jacket to hide the Glocks holstered at his sides. Black work boots completed the dress code for this mission. The entire outfit cost him less than a hundred dollars. It was unnecessary to spend much more on fabric that would probably be torn, punctured, burned, or stained various hues of red. And then there was the long, zippered sports bag he had slung over his right shoulder, weighing him down.
There was a benefit to being in Southern California. Dent didn’t understand the nuances, the social norms, of everyday life, but here, in SoCal, that actually seemed to be the norm. Here he was, dressed in what he believed to be casual-professional, but with a workman’s jacket and a heavy bag along with a loaded backpack. He knew he looked out of place, and yet, not more than a quick glance was directed his way from the throngs of people walking the streets.
He made his destination, a large thirty-storied building that had glass walls surrounding the lobby. He walked in through the well-oiled glass-and-metal door. The lobby was full of bystanders going about their day. Innocents. Non-hostiles. In the four corners, sunglasses over their eyes, were concealed weapons in grey suits. A father was chasing after a young boy and girl while attempting to keep an eye on an occupied stroller at the same time. There was one visible hired security guard, company logo emblazoned on his chest and just below his shoulders, standing next to the main information kiosk at the back of the lobby, just to the right of the hallway of elevator banks. The security guard had Taser, pepper spray, a collapsible baton, and other tools of his trade on a heavy belt at his waist. He was busy talking to a young woman in a light green dress seated behind the kiosk, which had a backlit glass display of the various businesses that occupied the various floors of the building.
Dent walked further into the lobby, stopping to the left of a large indoor fountain. Water trickled down expanding concentric circles of dark, gold-and-silver flecked stone. The outer edge of the fountain was knee-high, probably intended to keep young children from falling in or grasping at the small copper and silver coins beneath the shallow, lapping water. The lip also served a perfect height for him to place his oversized sports bag and backpack.
Two of the four Grey Suits had their hidden eyes directed his way. Mid-afternoon sun streamed in through the glass walls. He unzipped his bag. Now all four Grey Suits angled their bodies his way. Three were right-handed, one left, gauging by the slightly bent elbows of those arms. He looked ahead, to the elevator banks. Four more concealed weapons in grey suits, not looking his way. A dozen obvious cameras in the lobby area. Sixteen more, he knew, unobvious cameras were placed strategically around the busy lobby, as well.
He pulled back the right sleeve of his jacket, and then the unbuttoned sleeve of his dress shirt was next, revealing his EB strapped to the inside of his forearm.
Cameras first, to hinder a quick and appropriate response.
He touched an icon on the screen of his EB. A dozen pinpoints of red light beneath a dozen obvious cameras winked out. The hidden cameras stopped transmitting, as well.
Next the primary lights.
He tapped his EB again. The lobby lights went out, its inhabitants resorted to having to use natural sunlight, just as the rest of the lights throughout the building went out. It wasn’t immediately noticed by those going about their daily business until someone noticed the information desk’s backlit display of business names and floors went dark.
But the Suits weren’t as slow on the uptake.
Dent removed his jacket, placed it on the fountain’s lip, and spread open his large bag. He came up with a 12-gauge Mossberg. His first blast to the right sent a Grey Suit crashing through the corner of the building, where glass met glass, onto the light-brown brick walkway that ran around the outside of the building. He did not get back up.
The lobby instantly changed from controlled chaos to simply chaos. People began screaming and the lobby devolved into a mass of erratic behavior. High-pitched screams overpowered whispered words to various gods. There was no return fire as of yet.
As expected. As planned for.
Most people would assume that there would be a far better chance of success of infiltration during the late evening or night hours. There would be less people caught in the cross fire, and it would be easier to sneak one’s way in. But Dent cared for neither of those things.
People would get hurt, but they would also make a normal person armed with a deadly weapon think twice about firing into a crowd of non-hostiles. That ensured a lower probability of Dent being fired upon. As for sneaking in under the cover of darkness … well, Dent was going for the more direct approach. Plus, they knew he would be coming, but it was likely they had not planned on him coming during the busiest time of day.
He peppered the information kiosk with two shotgun blasts, exploding glass and splintering wood and dropping attendants behind the desk as they sought cover. The remaining Grey Suit to the right took a shot. It went wide. Dent picked up his second shotgun from the unzipped bag, aimed, and dropped that Suit. Ahead, the four men from the elevator detail formed a human wall at the hallway’s entrance, guns aimed his way. The lobby was a rising crescendo of voices and increased movement. The elevator men did not fire, though they prepared to.
&nb
sp; Paint and plaster rained down from the front of the hall of elevator banks as Dent blasted into the wall above it.
Dent dropped the first shotgun and pulled out the Glock holstered at his left side with his right hand. He swiveled his remaining shotgun to the left, aimed between two non-hostiles running for the door, and pulled the trigger. Both men dived to the floor. The Suits along the left side of the lobby dived as well. One Suit managed to squeeze off a round of return fire and Dent felt it speed by to the left of his face.
He dropped the second shotgun, gripped his gun in both hands, and fired. His first shot missed, but his second took the man who’d fired just above his chest, where neck met torso. The other Grey Suit fired and Dent felt pain rip through his left thigh. The lobby was rapidly emptying, making it easier for the Suit and elevator men to fire at him. He was forced to drop to the floor as two flashes from the elevator men sent metal rounds his way. They shattered the front wall of glass behind him. He returned fire, two shots, and one man dropped dead. The remaining Grey Suit sidled over to the elevators and took another shot at Dent. It went high. The men firing at him were being careful, trying to minimize casualties.
That was their mistake.
XVII
Kasumi looked around her new room. There was a small TV mounted high in one corner and she doubted that it even had cable. There was a small bathroom off to one side, a medical style bed on raised metal supports on the other, and a print of a painting above the bed. If she had to guess, it was a Van Gogh and probably titled something like Lilies or Plants in a Pond. She never was much of an art person. Maybe when she got older she’d get into art, but for now it was just a painting that looked like some of her friends could do a better job at making it more realistic. And, along with an empty dresser, that described her new room. Her new prison. Because that was what she now knew she was in. She’d been whisked away from the prison her mother had put her in and thrown into another prison, except this one was less … comforting.
She had no phone, no EB, no nothing.
She walked over to one of the huge windows and stared at all the glass and metal buildings around her. Bright light reflected off everything, it seemed, making it feel like she was closer to the sun than ever. She caught sight of a few birds flying below her, lazily flapping their wings and gliding effortlessly on the warm wind, not a care in the world. Lucky, lucky birds.
She sighed.
She knew she was special. She’d noticed it when she was younger. She at first thought she was normal, that everybody else was just like her. But recently, when her specialness started to affect people around her, she realized that it was a special specialness. That was when her mother started isolating her, securing her away from her friends and a normal life. Her friends with smiles were replaced with doctors with needles, social life reduced to rooms full of psychiatrists and clipboards full of pointless questions. Her entire life had been confined to the building in which her mother worked, and still her mother treated her less like a daughter and more like a pet monkey.
She lightly pounded her forehead into the thick glass. Thu-dunk … thu-dunk … thu-dunk.
She pushed away from the window to sit on the side of the bed, her vision blurry, but she was definitely not crying. She was thirteen. A woman now. She knew she was supposed to control her emotions but, but ….
She pummeled the bed with her closed fists.
When Mister Professor Fischer had started freaking out after getting that email, she started to freak out too. She’d tried talking to him, but he’d ignored her, or when he did answer her, it was with confusing explanations and theories that sounded more like he was talking to his computers than to her. And when he started to record himself she knew something was wrong. She had wanted to run but had no idea where she could go. And if she left how would Dent find her? Save her? He’d found her before and he could find her again, but only if she played it smart.
Mister Professor Fischer had finished his recording and turned to her, his face all sweaty and his eyes all crazy. She’d asked him about Dent and he’d said that they would see him later. She knew he’d been lying, or at least he had no clue what was true or not in his own mind. She’d decided she didn’t want to leave, but the man rambled on about it being okay and practically scooped her up and dragged her out of the computer room. She’d been so shocked at his sudden actions that she hadn’t been able to grab her purse, her only personal possession in the world. And she felt terrible now for stealing Dent’s book. She wouldn’t be able to return it to him. She could only hope that he wouldn’t be mad.
But then again, it was Dent. He probably wouldn’t care.
The ride over to the building, she was now trapped in, was scarier than any movie she’d watched. Car chases on the big screen are fun to watch, but when you’re actually in a car that’s speeding through traffic like it was a video game, it’s a whole different story. She could still feel where the seat belt kept digging into her shoulder and she’d practically lost her nails as she held on for dear life to anything she could grab hold of.
The men that had met them at the back entrance to the building had been wearing those things Mister Professor Fischer had called eBlockers and they pulled her roughly out of the car. One of the men took then her place in the car and she heard him tell the Professor to drive into an underground parking lot. That was the last she saw of him. She didn’t think he would ever leave the garage again.
The man she had been taken to was old, probably her mother’s age, and as he’d stared down at her with his grey eyes, she thought she knew him from somewhere. But the way he had been staring at her, like she was a present on his birthday, made her shudder and look away. The only thing he’d said to her was something about how the money he’d make from studying her had better be worth the trouble she’d caused. And so, she had decided to cause even more trouble.
She lunged at him.
In the movies most girls scratched and clawed and pulled hair. In the movies most girls were harmless. This wasn’t the movies, and she wasn’t harmless. She’d pretended she was Dent and sent her right fist into the old man’s stomach.
That had earned her a slap as the man yelled at the other men around her. Hands grabbed her and she felt a familiar pinch on her left thigh. Whatever was in the syringe knocked her out, but wasn’t strong enough to wipe the smile off her face as she saw the anger on the old man’s face before her vision faded away.
And when she woke up, she was here, locked away in this tower like Rapunzel, a prisoner of the evil man named Chisholme. Except she didn’t have long hair to help her escape. But unlike Rapunzel, Kasumi had something better than hair.
She had Dent.
Dent had kidnapped her from her mother’s building, he could do the same thing now. He wouldn’t leave her here. She just knew it. Her mother had treated her as a puzzle and now Chisholme would treat her as an animal. Dent rescued her before, he’d do it again. She knew he’d been paid to steal her but things changed at the airport. They wanted to kill him and he wanted to protect her. He wouldn’t fail.
It wasn’t about money anymore for Dent, she had to believe. There was something more to the man, she could feel it. He needed her as much as she needed him. If he could keep her away from people like her mother and Chisholme, then she could teach him how to be less … boring.
And then her gut warned her something was happening.
Something big.
She slipped off the bed and looked to the metal door to her prison.
Gut feeling, woman’s intuition, call it what you want, but she knew.
Dent was coming.
And Kasumi smiled.
XVIII
Dent gained his feet again and squeezed his right index finger. Another elevator man went down, didn’t get back up. Dent walked forward. Soon there would be no human barricades running around, leaving Dent exposed and open to a well-aimed firearm.
A child was crouched down near him, the girl from earlier that
had managed to outrun her father. He holstered his left gun and she screamed as he approached and tried to run, but Dent was quicker than her father had been. He grabbed her with his left hand and arm and hoisted her up to his chest. She squirmed and struggled as he walked forward again.
The three men with guns stopped firing. Their eyes darted left and right. Unsure. A sign of weakness. One looked down, to Dent’s exposed shins. Dent sent a bullet into his forehead, stopping that train of thought.
Two men, now.
The elevator man yelled, “Stop! I will fire!”
Dent knew there was a low probability of that occurring.
The two men stood between Dent and his goal. He raised the barrel of his gun to the squirming girl’s head and continued walking toward the elevators.
The Suit cursed loudly and then shouted, “Stand down!” He was speaking to his comrade. He patted the air before him with his empty right hand and the other gunman complied, lowering his weapon.
Dent took the gun from the girl’s temple and waved the barrel to the left. The two men scooted that way. Dent walked by, keeping the shield between them. He worked his way to the first set of elevator doors and used the back of his right elbow to call the elevator to him. The button beeped and lit up. The elevator banks were on a separate power circuit and still in operation.
Two short dings and Dent back-stepped into the waiting elevator. He planned on taking the still squirming shield up with him, as it would prove highly effective if he ran into more armed men.
Suddenly, there was a quick flash. He shook his head.
Another flash, and he knew now it was in his mind. He felt a peculiar sensation wash though his brain. He couldn’t place what it was. It was a sensation he knew was familiar but at the same time somehow foreign. He had no explanation for what he’d felt and it … worried him.
He shook his head, trying to focus on the mission, but something had changed.
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