by Sam Powers
Brennan was almost up the steps when the wall opened to a top railing. Just beyond it, a man was crouched behind a row of chairs, bracing a rifle on the top of the seat ahead of him. He closed on the man quickly, taking him in a sleeper hold from behind, the gun collapsing backwards onto the man’s lap. He was local and smaller, and wiry strong. He tried to pry Brennan’s forearm and bicep from around his neck, but his air was efficiently cut off, and he slumped down unconscious.
The American bound the man’s hands and feet with restraint ties, then slapped a strip of duct tape over his mouth. Then he took up the rifle, letting the unconscious man slump to the floor, and peered through the scope.
He saw Amanda almost immediately, her curves pushing the dress better than Paris Fashion Week, a smug look on her face. He followed her gaze down toward the theatre floor. The four-foot raised walls above it sat just below the first row, he’d noticed. A tall man in a black suit, younger, glasses, was holding someone’s jacket…
Walter. Goddamn it, Walter. The present series of options is not helping. If he shot the guard, he knew, Walter would tumble head-first into the pit… unless he was lucky, and the guy held onto Walter’s jacket for a few seconds, in which case he might stumble or fall backwards and drag Walter OUT of the pit.
If he completed the mission first and shot Amanda… the guard would let Walter go and he’d be in the pit.
Even if he shot the guard and Walter didn’t fall, there was a second guard, right there. Does he return fire at me, or does he push Walter in on Amanda’s command, as she’ll expect to be the real target, and will want a distraction?
Too many options. Too many potential outcomes, most of them not good. He swung the crosshairs down to the two crocs at the base of the wall. Would a bullet even get through those hides? He didn’t want to hurt an animal, but if the alternative was Walter becoming lunch…
His only option was the guard’s fifty-fifty possibility of hanging on. He lined the man up and squeezed the trigger smoothly and firmly.
***
“It’s Howard,” Lang said, answering her question finally. He had to keep bullshitting her, give Brennan a chance to work.
“Howard what? Come on, now, big fella. You really don’t want Nico here to get finger fatigue.”
“Howard Stark,” he said. The odds she’d ever read Iron Man seemed slim. “I work for the Department of Homeland Security. It’s a new branch set up…”
“After the Nine-Eleven attacks, yes, I recall.”
“Your operation is considered an ongoing danger to U.S. national security.”
Her eyebrows drifted north at that. “Really? We barely touch the U.S. market. Or is this some favor you’re doing for a partner nation. Say… France, perhaps?”
She’d obviously never handled interrogation before, for all her cruelty, Lang decided. Volunteering lies that she’d find convincing was playing into his hands. “Perhaps,” he said. “You move an awful lot of product through their ports; what did you expect? Free rein?
“Good point, I suppose. What was your mission objective? What was Joe Brennan doing helping you?”
Before he could answer, they both heard the ‘thup’ of the bullet finding its target, the guard collapsing, a spray of blood exiting his skull on the far side, along with the bullet fragment. He let go and Lang staggered, trying to keep his balance on one leg, his weight taking his body over the rail. The second guard, a Bruce Lee haircut with gold-rimmed aviators, went for his pistol and turned, looking for the source, only to be cut down by the second bullet. Amanda sprinted for cover behind the nearest column.
Lang went headfirst over the wall, trying to grasp out, turning in mid-fall, his fingers finding the rail, clinging on for dear life. He hung there, suspended by one arm, trying to reach up with the other. Brennan rose and sprinted the length of the building, drawing the nine-millimeter pistol in stride as the two other guards opened fire.
He unloaded most of the clip, needing cover to help Walter, both men diving out of the line of fire as their boss scurried to safety. Lang’s fingers were slipping on the rail, the biggest of the crocs waddling between the other two, pushing off the ground, loud snaps at his heels, a moment of surging adrenaline helping him lift his feet just in time to avoid losing them.
Brennan grabbed him by the wrist, the two guards popping out from behind the far columns to fire off quick volleys. He pulled backward with all his might, using his foot to push off the lip of the wall, Walter’s other hand managing to grasp the rail, Brennan swinging him from one side to the next until he had enough momentum to pull his left leg up and over.
“You okay!?” Brennan yelled over the sound of the shots.
Lang looked up just in time to see Amanda loom over his friend, then shove him hard from behind, Brennan going headfirst over the wall, with no chance to grab anything that might save him.
CHAPTER 14
Brennan flipped head over heels, looking down at the last second as his feet plunged toward the giant, outstretched jaws, rows of teeth glistening.
He kicked his feet apart, his only option to try to land hard with each foot on alternate sides of its mouth, stay low and push with all his might, his leg muscles straining as he used the combination of thigh strength and downward force to push the jaws apart, holding them open.
But it was only his falling weight that allowed it. Immediately he could feel the animal effortlessly pushing his jaw closed and Brennan’s legs back together; he bent at the knees and pushed off, backwards, using the animal’s mouth as a springboard, the jaws snapping together a split second after he cleared them. He hoped to God there wasn’t another croc behind them. His back slammed into the soft mud of the auditorium and he rolled over quickly, springing to his feet even as the crocs wheeled around with uncanny speed. Brennan sprinted for the far wall, running straight up it like a baseball outfielder trying to steal a homer, his hands grasping for the top of the twelve-foot barrier.
The bullet ricocheted just inches from his hand and Brennan instinctively let go. The other two guards weren’t going to make it so easy.
He turned. The crocs were cautiously waddling across the amphitheater floor, trying to decide what to make of him other than lunch. In the building’s southwest corner, Amanda appeared to be running out the side door, toward the stairs. Walter was up on one knee, opening fire on the other three men. The moment of cover was all he needed. Brennan ran toward the crocodiles and they took a cautious step backwards, but just for a second. He turned and sprinted back toward the wall and up, catching the lip and pulling himself over.
One of the guards went down twelve feet ahead of him, his partner having turned to shoot back at Walter. Brennan caught the man from behind, one forearm applying maximum pressure to the back of the man’s neck, acting as a bar as his other hand yanked the man’s head sideways furiously, his neck snapping. The man in the grey suit tried to run for the far exit, but Lang stood up, walking as he fired, emptying the clip, the last three shots taking him down.
Brennan ignored his colleague and sprinted for the back stairs. He could see her from the top landing, running toward the back of the park. The gunshots had prompted calls, and he could hear sirens in the distance. He slid down the rail on his backside to the second tier then hopped over it, landing on the soft verge of the footpath and rolling to his feet. His steps flew across the asphalt, closing the distance between them. If she had a back exit set up, she could be gone and disappear quickly, and it was her city.
He crossed the footbridge, aware she could have gone off the path and into the foliage on either side, banking that she wouldn’t risk the nasty surprises other parts of the farm held in store. The path was visible almost to the back wall, but he couldn’t see her anywhere. She had to be hiding behind something… He turned back toward the footbridge just as she stepped out of the overgrown brush, swinging a sturdy log the size of a rolled-up magazine, the blow catching him square in the temple, stunning him.
Brennan tripped
over his own feet and fell backwards, his gun flying from his hand, coming to rest a few feet away. He rolled in the direction to grab it… but Amanda was a step faster. She retrieved the weapon as he turned and stood over him, the gun pointed at his head, the footbridge looming behind her. For the barest of seconds, he held out hope Walter would come jogging over it… but there was no sign of him yet.
“Ah, Joe…” Amanda said, shaking her head. “Why couldn’t you have just stayed in Pattaya, pretty and dumb?”
“Sorry to spoil your plans.”
“Spoil…?” she smiled. “The man your friend shot back there as I was making my departure was my number one competitor for most of the real estate between here and the docks. I imagine with only his wife to deal with, prying it loose just became a lot easier. And once I shoot you and your friend, I’ll be the heroic local girl who stopped the two crazy American gangsters.”
“You won’t get away with any of this. We have people who will come looking for answers. Besides… what good is some shanty slum out in the Bangkok suburbs to a family as rich as yours?”
“As I told your friend Mr. Spencer, it’s all in what you make of it. The value of the land to develop is much more than we’ll ever have to pay, and it gives us unassailable access to the docks. Once this deal is complete, ‘I’ll be the most powerful woman in Thailand.”
‘That’s all it’s about for you, winning some race for the most money?”
She shrugged. “Really, what else is there? It’s like that most American of expressions, Joe: life’s a bitch… and then you die.”
Her finger squeezed the trigger… and the gun jammed. “Fuck!” she yelled, yanking at it. Brennan rose to his feet, a momentary sensation of amusement at her plight settling in. But she hadn’t given up, flinging the pistol at him, the butt end catching him square in the forehead as she sprinted back in the other direction.
He shook it off and found the pistol. She’d locked the safety with it cocked. He undid the safety and ran after her, following the path back past the amphitheater. There were sirens from the front of the building, suggesting the police had arrived. He followed the path, trying to keep an eye out for another ambush.
She’d run into a dead-end, enclosed on either side by cages, like an exercise yard of some sort.
The path led Brennan into the same enclosure. He looked around, realizing she’d trapped herself. She had to be in there, somewhere. And she didn’t have a weapon anymore.
He studied the area; the ground was covered in old straw. There were a couple of big rocks, and a water hole, all artificial.
Was she hiding under water? He strolled over to the small pond, but there were no bubbles and nothing had broken the thin film of moldy green debris that floated on the surface tension. He peeked into each of the cages in turn. A lion, sleeping. A pair of hippos. Suicidal to hide in there. A tiger lying serene, looking sedate. He remembered reading that the park drugged him so that people could take pictures beside the animal as it lay in a stupor. A bear, undernourished…
Wait a second.
He went back one cage to the tiger. In the back corner, a large fake rock was available for the cat to lay upon. The toes of a pair of sensible black pumps stuck out from behind it.
“You got into a cage with a tiger to avoid me? I suppose I should be flattered. How did you manage that, by the way?”
She rose from her hiding place.
“I have the key. I rented the place for the day. Comes with a master.”
“The question remains: you’re more worried about me than a thousand-pound, undernourished tiger?
“He’s drugged for pictures, so I’ll take my chances. You, on the other hand, are going to kill me if I come out. But the police will be here any second…”
“I can shoot you through the bars; you realize that, right?”
“And then you have to explain why an American has killed multiple people, and why he tried to kill the well-respected CEO of a huge Thai corporation. How do you think that’s going to go for you, Joe?”
He tried to quickly line her up in the gun’s sights, but she ducked down behind the rock. And then he smiled and had a think, crossing his arms and giving the tiger a good, hard stare. It was underweight, no doubt. Sleepy even.
Brennan took the pistol and ran its butt end over the bars, rattling them loudly, metal on metal. The tiger stirred and sat up, looking around, irritated. It licked its tired chops with a tired tongue, then it sniffed the air.
Something had its attention.
“He doesn’t look that drugged to me,” Brennan said. “More like he’s recovering after too many rough nights… or all the doses he’s received to date. Now, if there wasn’t a food source near, he probably wouldn’t care, he’s so used to people. But that bullet wound in your shoulder is pretty recent. I’m betting there’s fresh blood on the other side of that dressing.”
The tiger sniffed the air some more, clearly attentive, following the scent. It rose to its feet and began to turn toward her.
Amanda looked out from behind the rock. “He’s… Oh. Oh… shit. He’s awake.”
“No one is working today, remember? You rented the whole place. So nobody was here to give our man Tony his dope. A big animal like that, they have to inject it every day.”
The tiger began to amble toward the back corner of the room. “Oh! Joe, please… Please, distract it or something! Shoot it! Please, Joe, he’s really close and he looks… he looks really hungry!” Her voice began to rise to a panicked pitch. “Joe, I’m begging you… he’s only a few feet away… please…
She was right, the police would be along soon, he thought, but it wasn’t going to be in time. Not for her. “I’ll tell you what: I’m sure you’ve got one of those little flip phones in your pocket. Call Larry Nguyen’s family, ask them to come bail you out.” He turned and began to walk away.
“Joe! Joe, please, I… I love you, Joe. You must have sense that in Pattaya. I…Joe!”
He stepped off the path and into the deeper foliage, cover from the police until he could reach the back wall. He hoped Walter had gotten out in time.
Then she began screaming, the tiger roaring as it attacked, the sound of its jaws snapping home as it bit into her.
By the time he climbed over the back wall and into the anonymity of the humble neighborhood two minutes later, she had stopped screaming.
EPILOGUE
MIDDLEPORT, New York
He’d been back for a week, and Fall was in the air as Brennan lined up another log to split. He was using the big, flat tree stump in the backyard of the family home, getting enough cut firewood together for the coming winter to maximize use of the old stove.
He’d gotten out of Bangkok as soon as the job was done, knowing full well he couldn’t make Walter’s life any easier. If he’d been picked up, it would take diplomacy to get him released without being charged. If he wanted to get in touch, he obviously had Brennan’s files from the SEALs, so he knew where to find him.
He split the log with a single strong whack, then picked up both pieces and dropped them on the pile to the stump’s right. Then he found another log and repeated the process. Maybe if he hit enough of them, he reasoned, he’d stop feeling so goddamned angry about Larry Nguyen’s death, and Walter using him, and Amanda using him.
Ellen McLean, his best friend Callum’s wife, had called to make sure he was okay. She wanted to come up from Virginia and visit but he didn’t’ feel up to it. Callum was on duty overseas. Mike Bernard had made some calls and he had an offer to train private security down in Louisiana. But he didn’t need the money and the work didn’t interest him. Not much did, except for the growing feeling of unease at being at home, and in peace.
He stopped chopping for a second, breathing the cool air, trying to be present in the moment and appreciate it, like the navy headshrinkers had counselled.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
Brennan turned quickly. Walter Lang looked abut the same, excep
t he had a heavier coat on. “You’re alive.”
“I am. I take it that’s a good thing?” The older man strolled over, hands in pockets.
Brennan wasn’t sure how to take his presence. He put another log up on the stump and split it. “If you say so. Me? I’m not so sure which way is up anymore.” He pushed the two pieces of splintered wood onto the ground with the axe head.
“It can get like that, coming home,” Lang said. “But after a few years, the silence isn’t oppressive. It no longer feels like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. You can unwind, actually enjoy it.”
“Really?” he placed another log, then split it.
“Really.”
“And should I take you on your word… you know, like when you told me Larry Nguyen wasn’t with the agency?”
“Operational requirement.” Walter knew he didn’t have to explain it any further.
“Fine. What now, Mr. Lang? What do I make of all of this now?”
Lang smiled. They liked his profile back at Langley. He’d gone back in and disobeyed orders, yes, but the outcome had made the gamble worth it. They’d get over the Colonel, and they knew the value of an asset that got the job done.
“Whatever you want, Joe. I told you there’d be a place for you, and there is.”
“Just like that?”
“Pretty much. You’ll still have to do a few months of training, but your skill set is already fairly complete.”
“And then?”
“And then I hear Hong Kong can be nice in the fall. There’s a guy there, though… hell of a dangerous guy. Enslaves women and kids, runs criminal networks, provides documents to terrorists…
“Hong Kong, huh” Brennan buried the hatchet in the top of the stump. “Come inside for a coffee and we’ll talk.
Brennan had no idea what his future held, but he knew one thing as sure as he was breathing: he was good at his job, and the world needed someone batting cleanup.
