So Lee slipped the tracker into a pocket rather than throw it away. Then it was time to scoop up the assassin’s money and the two-way radio, which she turned on. If the mercenaries were sloppy there was the possibility that she could monitor their conversations.
But it soon became apparent that someone could tell that the unit was on. “Pedro? Where the hell are you?” a female voice demanded. And, “What happened?”
Lee turned the radio off rather than run the risk that the mercenaries could track it somehow. Then she dropped the device next to body as she entered the bathroom. After checking to make sure the .38 was dry Lee took the moment required to reload and holster it.
James was ready and waiting as Lee reentered the room. She took her pack off the bed and turned to the door. “Come on . . . Let’s get out of here.”
A preliminary peek confirmed that the hallway was clear. The security people had come and gone by then. Lee led James down the hall to the elevators and, after a short wait, onto a car that took them to the first floor.
Even though it was nearly midnight there were a lot of people in the lobby—and the pair fell into step with a group of businesspeople headed for the Strip. “There are plenty of hotels,” James said. “Let’s turn right. I know that end of town quite well.”
Lee paused long enough to toss the tracker into the bed of a parked pickup truck and nodded. The plan was to find another place to stay, hole up until morning, and get out of town. So they fell in behind a group of teens and were making good time when something slammed into her pack, and shoved her forward. A hand slap? No . . . A bullet! Fired from a silenced weapon up high and to the rear somewhere. “Sniper!” Lee yelled. “Run!”
“We’ll head for the Trump International!” James replied. “It’s up ahead.”
The hotel was hard to miss. Lee figured it was at least sixty stories tall and large enough to have a thousand rooms. But it was the building’s gold glass skin that made it memorable and reflected light from all around. Random sections of the exterior were missing, making the outside look like a black-and-gold checkerboard. And deep within some of the black rectangles, flickering lights could be seen. “What about the people who live in there?” she wanted to know. “How will they react?”
But James couldn’t hear her. He was leading the way and zigzagging back and forth to foil the sniper. There was a cyclone fence around the tower—but it was riddled with holes created by the people who lived there. Lee had to remove her pack in order to follow James through one of them—and then hurried to put it back on.
They followed a well-worn trail through mounds of trash to a huge entrance. Other than the glow produced by a single burn barrel the interior was dark. “Hey!” a male voice shouted. “Hold it right there! Nobody enters my hotel without paying admission.”
“Nobody except me,” James replied, as he fired his pistol. Lee heard somebody cry out and realized that James could see in the dark! There was no other explanation for that kind of shooting. And it made sense. He was a mutant after all . . . One with a talent instead of a disfigurement.
But Lee couldn’t see and was forced to use the flashlight. As the beam of light swept the area ahead Lee saw mutant faces, people dressed in dirty clothes, and piles of garbage. No wonder the Las Vegas Police Department didn’t want to go in and clean the place out.
Lee had no idea of where to go but figured the main hallway was a good bet. So she led James past the empty reception desk and into the gloom. That was when someone said, “Get ’im!” and she heard a growl. The dog came barreling out of the darkness and was almost upon her when Lee shot it. There was a thump as the body hit the floor and a howl of anguish from the shadows.
As Lee continued on she saw that luminescent arrows had been painted onto the floor. Did they lead to a stairway? There was only one way to find out. A can skittered away from Lee’s boot, she heard the muted sound of music, and was forced to use the light again. Bingo! An exit sign.
Lee followed it to a steel fire door, pulled it open, and began the laborious climb. Trash covered the stairs and the walls were coated with layers of squirming graffiti. She’d been operating on adrenaline. And now she was running on empty. A face with one eye peered out from the third-floor doorway as they passed. The mutant pulled back—and the door closed behind him.
Then it was up through an area bordered by bullet-pocked walls, over the remains of a barricade, and onto the fourth-floor landing. Keep going, Lee thought to herself, as they continued to climb. The higher the better. Her lungs were on fire by then, her legs felt as if they were made out of lead, and each step required a conscious effort.
The fifth floor was marked by a sloppy, handwritten “Do Not Enter” sign, and what might have been a gang mark. Then they were on what Lee hoped would be the final stretch. And as she arrived on the sixth floor, the beam from Lee’s flashlight wobbled onto an additional sign: POOL DECK. She paused to catch her breath. James, by contrast, seemed to have enjoyed the climb. “This is high enough,” James said. “I’ll go in first.”
That made sense given his night vision so Lee nodded. So, Glock in hand, she opened the door for him. James went in with the Browning raised—and Lee was ready for a flurry of shots. None came. She followed.
They were in a lobby of sorts, which led through double doors, and out onto the pool deck. There wasn’t much to see other than some forlorn pieces of furniture and the empty pool. Well, a nearly empty pool, since a good deal of garbage had been dumped into it over the years. Still, it did appear that the six-story climb had been sufficient to keep most of the hotel’s rats on the lower levels.
A section of windows had been broken out, but that did nothing to diminish the full impact of the awesome view. The surrounding hotels were lit—and like beacons in a different world. And some of that light glazed the surface of things inside the pool area.
The roar didn’t mean anything to Lee at first until a helicopter appeared outside! They were only six stories up, which meant the aircraft was relatively low, so Lee assumed that the LVMPD was getting into the act. But then the gunship’s nose began to swivel her way. That was when she saw the minigun and knew what would happen next. “In the pool!” she shouted, and made the jump. Layers of trash acted to cushion Lee’s landing as the pilot opened fire and 7.62X5mm rounds blew the remaining windows out and swept the pool deck. Although it seemed to last forever, the assault was actually quite brief. “Shit!” James said, as he made his way to Lee’s side. “Where did that come from?”
“From your loving father,” Lee replied. “The bastards followed us, and they know where we are. These people are the real deal compared to the wannabes that hang around the mansion. And you know what that means.”
James sounded uncertain for the first time. “No, what?”
“They aren’t going to fight their way up from the street,” Lee told him. “They’re going to land on the roof and come down the stairs. And the helicopter will leave before the boys and girls in blue can do anything about it.”
James hadn’t thought of that. “So what can we do?”
“Ambush the bastards,” Lee said. “There can’t be more than six of them given the size of the chopper . . . That’s three apiece.”
“Yeah,” he said happily. “That’s right.”
Lee sighed. “Okay, the pool deck is as good a place as any to take them on. The chopper’s on the roof by now, and since it’s all downhill, we’ll have company soon. Let’s find the doors and block all but one of them.”
“I like it,” James responded brightly. “I’ll nail the bastards as they enter! I can see in the dark, you know.”
“I noticed that,” Lee said dryly. “Come on . . . Let’s climb up out of the pool.”
Once on the pool deck Lee used the flashlight to locate what turned out to be four entrances. One for each side of the building—and one for each locker room. They worked feverishly to drag furniture in front of the doors knowing that the assassins could arrive at any
moment.
Finally, having completed their preparations, the couple took cover. Lee was crouched behind a long, narrow planter, while James knelt next to a thick support column. As soon as three or four assassins were in the area, they’d open fire. Lee would have preferred to let all of the bastards get inside, but knew the group would disperse, and attempt to flank their targets. Something she couldn’t allow.
That was the plan . . . And Lee thought it was a good plan until she heard glass shatter and turned to see dark forms silhouetted against the lights outside! The assassins were smarter than she’d given them credit for. Rather than walk into a possible ambush, they had chosen to rappel down from a higher floor!
Lee was about to shout a warning when James turned toward the windows. There was a loud report, and a muzzle flash marked his location, but his aim was true. One of the black silhouettes jerked and fell out of sight.
In the meantime two killers had entered the pool deck via the open windows and stood with their boots planted on the floor. They were armed with machine pistols, which chattered madly. Bullets pinged all around Lee as she scuttled away. They could see her! And, since the mercs were wearing night-vision gear, she was the only combatant who couldn’t see.
Lee tripped, fell, and rolled. That put her behind the waist-high wall that ran along the northern perimeter of the pool. She went to one knee with the Glock in hand. The laser sight was in place, and Lee fired as the red dot swept onto a body and wobbled there. The assassin flinched and fired in return. He was wearing body armor! Lee made an adjustment and the Glock jumped. His head snapped back. Asshole down.
James was firing again by then, and Lee heard someone scream. Three. Three of them had been eliminated. That meant . . . Lee heard the crunch of broken glass and turned to find an assassin standing behind her! The unlocked door . . . They were coming down the stairs too.
Lee fell sideways as the killer fired. She was momentarily blinded by the flash but triggered three shots anyway. At least one of them must have struck the target because she heard a loud grunt. A leg shot perhaps . . . The Glock went off again at that point and the assassin crumpled.
Bullets. How many bullets remained in the Glock? Six? Or seven? It was important to keep track. Lee heard firing in the background as she crawled to the body, ripped the helmet free, and put it on. Her surroundings had a greenish hue, but now she could see!
Lee turned, careful to stay low, and saw a white flash as James fired. But the killers had surrounded him. And as one assassin hit the floor, the rest pulled their triggers.
Lee heard herself utter a roar of rage as the Glock bucked in her hands, the dot flowed from target to target, and the targets fell in order. Then the weapon clicked empty and the Smith & Wesson came out.
There was silence as Lee got up and made her way over to where James lay. She could tell that he’d been hit at least a dozen times. None of the wounds were lethal by themselves. But James had lost a lot of blood and wasn’t going to make it no matter how many bandages Lee put on him. She knelt at his side. Their eyes met. James tried to smile but produced a grimace instead. “So much for Plan A,” he said. “Time for Plan B. Get the hell out of here, sis . . . Tell Mom . . . Tell her . . .” Then he was gone.
Lee swore. But there was no time to grieve. And, come to think of it, very little reason to do so. Maybe it was his fault and maybe it wasn’t. But her brother had been a shallow, self-centered jerk. Would she let Alala know? Lee would make that decision later on. Her first priority was to escape the hotel.
Lee put the revolver away and took a moment to reload the Glock as she considered her options. She could leave the way she had come in. Or she could slide down one of the ropes still dangling outside the windows. Yes, someone could sever the line from above, but would they? Lee didn’t think so. It would be difficult for an assassin, if any were left, to see who he or she was cutting loose.
The decision seemed to make itself. Lee went over to retrieve her pack from its hiding place, slipped her arms through the straps, and went looking for gloves. That part was easy since all of the assassins were wearing them.
Thus equipped Lee made her way over to the windows. The LAPD had taught her how to fast rope out of a helicopter many years before. Fast roping was different from rappelling in that the rope wasn’t attached to the person via a descender. It was a dangerous maneuver however . . . especially without gloves.
But with gloves on, Lee was able to jump out and grab the thick rope. Her hands and feet served as brakes. It took less than a minute to land next to the building, release the line, and depart. Then all she had to do was slip through a hole in the cyclone fence and step onto the Strip. Sleep. She needed sleep . . . So Lee set off to find it.
The pack was a burden. But by wearing it Lee identified herself as a drifter, a tourist on a budget, or a homeless person. And that meant that the city’s street people saw her as one of their own and were happy to provide advice. That was how Lee found her way to a low-rent motel called the Blue Lagoon. Never mind that the lagoon was a trash-filled hole out front.
All Lee cared about was the fact that a room could be had for fifty nu per night, the sheets were clean, and the steel fire door was strong enough to keep people out. Just to make sure Lee threw both bolts and pushed the rubber stop in under the barrier.
After a quick shower, she got ready for bed, a process that consisted of brushing her teeth and placing handguns on both of the bedside stands. Sleep fell on Lee like a ton of bricks. She slept hard and woke feeling stupid.
It took a moment to orient herself, check the time, and discover that it was nearly noon. Later than she had intended, but still early enough to catch the 3:15 bus to Primm. And like it or not, that was the way she would have to get there.
Lee had the money taken from the hotel assassin but was still running low. Perhaps she should have searched the dead bodies for cash, but the thought hadn’t occurred to her, and it would have taken time. So Lee would have to escape the red zone using the money on hand. And that could be difficult if they were still looking for her. James was dead. Did that mean the contract had been fulfilled? Yes. Maybe. Hopefully. But assumptions could be fatal.
Lee completed her morning routine, got dressed, and shouldered the pack. After leaving her room, she made her way down the long hallway to a shabby office. The night clerk had been replaced by a woman with broad cheekbones, a flat nose, and a pair of dangerous-looking canines. “Good morning, hon . . . What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for a breakfast burrito,” Lee replied, as she placed the keycard on the counter. “And I’m checking out.”
“I would suggest the Mariachi,” the clerk replied. “It’s two blocks south of here. You were in 108. Hold on, hon . . . I have an envelope for you. Someone dropped it by last night.”
Lee figured it was a mistake. She didn’t know anyone in Las Vegas. But when the clerk handed her the envelope Lee saw that her name was written on it! That was scary. “What did this person look like?” Lee wanted to know.
“I wasn’t on duty,” the clerk replied, “so I don’t know.”
Lee thanked the woman and took the envelope outside, where she tore it open. There was a piece of paper within. The words were written in block letters. “PAYBACK IS A BITCH, BITCH. YOURS IS COMING.” The note was signed, Crystal Bye. Crystal Bye? Who the hell was she? A mercenary, that’s who. Lee sighed. There was nothing she could do except be careful. Perhaps a disguise would help. But breakfast was the first priority. She was starving.
So Lee walked the two blocks, entered the restaurant, and chose a booth that would allow her to monitor the front door. Now, after reading the note, everyone looked suspicious. Fortunately, none of the employees or customers tried to shoot her, and the burrito was excellent.
After paying the bill Lee made her way out into bright sunlight and began the walk to the bus station. She stopped every once in a while to check her six but saw no signs of a tail. And that made her feel better. Ab
out halfway to her destination Lee passed a secondhand store, paused, and went back. The place was packed with all sorts of things, including a rack of multicolored burqas. The perfect garment to hide in.
So she bought one, traded the pack for a small roll-around suitcase, and emerged from the store with a very different profile. It was hot by then and even hotter in the burqa. Fortunately the station was only three blocks away, and, when Lee arrived, she was delighted to find that the interior was air-conditioned.
Lee bought a ticket to Primm and took a seat in a corner. There were all sorts of people around her, but they were generally working-class types, many of whom were surrounded by all manner of packages.
The wait was only forty-five minutes long, but it seemed to take forever. Eventually the bus arrived, passengers got in line, and were forced to stand there for ten minutes until they were invited to board. Lee wound up sitting next to a woman who had a wicker cage resting on her lap. There was a rooster inside and it crowed from time to time. Luckily, the trip to Primm would take less than an hour.
Lee put her earbuds in and listened to music until the bus pulled into the town of Jean, where half the passengers got off. She knew it would be more difficult to get at her on the bus, so she remained on board, and felt a sense of relief when it departed ten minutes later. At that point she was only twelve miles away from the border and Pacifica. She was going home.
TEN
LEE WOKE UP in Los Angeles. She was on a bus, curled up on the backseat, where she had fallen asleep an hour earlier. As Lee sat up she realized that the bus was empty. Somehow, she’d managed to sleep through both the driver’s announcements and the commotion the passengers made as they departed. None of them had bothered to wake her. Why?
Because you’re in the city, that’s why, Lee told herself. And for all they know you’re a meth addict, a wino, or a head case. Welcome home.
Redzone Page 17
