Dire Means (34 page)

The agent finished his brief discussion with the inspector, walked back past Mark’s car, ignoring Mark, and got back into his Buick.

Mark’s car was next. He pulled up to the officer and rolled down his window. The officer leaned in and said, “What’s your business in Santa Monica?”

“I’m visiting a friend,” Mark said, kicking himself for not having an answer ready.

“You’re free to go, sir,” the officer said. He tipped his hat to Mark and gestured for him to continue through the inspection station.

“Thank you,” Mark said, stunned. He pulled his car forward and rolled up his window. “Whew,” he said.

“Don’t celebrate,” Morana said. “Did they stop and inspect the vehicle behind you?”

Mark checked his rearview mirror. The white car not only followed him, but tailgated less than a car length from his bumper. “No, they’re on me!” he shouted.

“Calm down! Do exactly as I say.”

“Fine—just get me out of this,” Mark said. Any urge to argue or lash out at Morana was dwindling. Something Trail Bladers had going for them was proficiency at making people disappear to the complete bafflement of law enforcement. At this moment Mark hoped that Morana could serve up some of their magic for him.

“Drive directly to the ALCO building. Don’t speed and don’t evade the car following you. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

Mark continued north, driving deeper into Santa Monica before he began a series of turns at Morana’s instruction. As he came to within two blocks of the ALCO building, Morana gave Mark his final instruction. “Do not park in the garage. Stop on the street in the red fire zone and run as fast as you can into the building. The agents behind you may exit their vehicle and give chase. Take the stairwell. Run up the stairs until we stop you. It is important that you make it to the sixth floor. If you cannot make it to the sixth floor without being caught, then you will find yourself in their custody, not ours. Do you understand?”

Mark’s fear surged to a new level. He was in decent physical shape for a guy that spent most of his days sitting in front of computers, but he didn’t feel very confident. “So you expect me to outrun both federal agents?”

“For your own sake, you must outrun them. Raphael will be waiting for you on the sixth floor. Follow his instructions. Leave the phone I gave you on the seat. I will disable it when we hang up.”

Mark made his final turn and saw the wide open plaza of the ALCO building. He rolled to a stop in the no-parking fire zone and the agents pulled over behind him. A blue strobe light appeared on their dashboard and red lights began to blink from within the grill. Both the driver and passenger doors opened.

“They’re getting out!” Mark yelled.

“Get out and run. Do it now!” Morana yelled back.

Mark opened his door and ran for the ALCO building’s front doors. He looked over his shoulder and saw the agents chasing him. Their open suit jackets flapped behind them and one of them had his tie flung over his shoulder.

“Stop! FBI!” one of them yelled.

Mark slammed into the glass door, threw it open and then dashed past the security desk to the stairwell. He didn’t look to see if the security guard was Neville—he didn’t care. The guard yelled for him to stop.

In the stairwell, he took the steps two and three at a time. On the second flight he tripped and banged his shin on the metal steps, but his adrenaline numbed the pain. He heard the door open on the first floor followed by male voices shouting at him by name. They demanded that he stop and hollered, “Federal agents!” He slowed when he rounded the last set of stairs that led to the sixth floor. He was winded and his lungs burned. On the next landing, he saw a familiar face—Raphael standing by the sixth floor exit to the stairwell. He wore a blue security guard’s uniform. He motioned for Mark to keep running toward him.

“Raphael, help!” he said. Mark didn’t care if the agents heard him beg. If he had any clout with a Trail Blader, now was the time he wanted to cash in. He ran up the final set of stairs, threw himself into Raphael’s arms, gasping for breath.

Raphael clapped his hand over Mark’s mouth and body-slammed him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. Mark’s eyes widened and he stared up with disbelief and terror as Raphael’s hand stayed clapped over his mouth.

“Shut up,” Raphael said. He pulled his hand off Mark’s mouth to prevent him from passing out. The agents’ footsteps grew louder as they neared. Raphael whipped out handcuffs from his back pocket and flipped Mark to his stomach. Within seconds, Mark was cuffed and Raphael put a knee on Mark’s back as they waited for the agents.

“What are you doing?” Mark wheezed.

“Shut up,” Raphael repeated. He grabbed the back of Mark’s neck and pressed is face to the concrete floor for a moment to show that he was serious.

Agents Jameson and Tills slowed for the last few stairs when they saw that Mark had been detained. They leaned over onto their knees as they panted to recover from their sprint. Agent Tills stood over Mark with his own opened handcuffs in hand.

“Mr. Denny, that’s some parking job you did out there, fella,” he said. Mark didn’t answer, still panting. Agent Jameson walked down half a flight of steps to the first landing and began tapping his ear and fumbling in his suit pocket.

“You building security?” Tills said to Raphael.

“Yes, sir,” Raphael said, smiling at them. He looked down at Mark with the pride of a hunter who had shot his first buck. “Just making my rounds when the lobby called. Right place at the right time, I figure. I opened the door and startled him right off his feet.”

“Let’s get him up,” Tills said. He and Raphael scooped up Mark under his armpits and raised him to his feet.

Jameson came back up the stairs with a coiled white wire hanging out from his collar. “I’ve got no transmission in here—not FM—not anything.”

“Uh, that would be Treico’s fault,” Raphael said. “Treico Plastics on the fifth floor uses sonic waves to mold plastics. They have some strange machinery frequencies and create a huge dead spot from floors four to six. That’s why we only allow them to run the machines after hours. Once you’re two floors away in either direction, your signal will be back.” He smiled at the agents. “By the way, what’d this guy do?” He pointed to Mark.

Tills’s eyes scanned Raphael and his expression showed a dwindling tolerance. He pointed toward the stairwell door for Raphael to leave. “We’ve got him from here. Thank you for your help.”

“My pleasure. Lock his ass up,” Raphael said. He left Mark in the stairwell with the agents, and the door closed.

“So why this building, Mr. Denny?” Jameson said as he turned Mark away from him and patted him down. “Care to tell us why you were in such a rush to get to this building in particular? Or would you prefer to tell us in a more private setting.”

Tills laughed and said, “Save it. Let’s get him out of here.”

They each took one of Mark’s arms and exited the stairwell into the sixth floor foyer. When they turned the corner and entered the elevator lobby, Raphael was there. He held an elevator door open for them.

“Gentlemen, may I offer you a ride?”

Chapter Sixteen

THE ELEVATOR’S INTERIOR had cloth tarps covering the walls, and a plastic tarp lined the floor as if the elevator had been prepped for painting or remodeling.

Mark thought Raphael would step in to join them, but he didn’t. He smiled again, waved, and said, “Have a good ride boys.” The agents seemed annoyed and anxious to be rid of Raphael. One of them repeatedly pressed the L button on the elevator panel.

As the doors slid shut with Mark sandwiched between the two agents, each gripped his upper arm. The handcuffs dug into Mark’s wrists. Each time he wiggled to adjust them, the agents tightened their grips on his arms—as if he might actually escape.

The instant before the doors closed, Raphael winked at Mark.

“Did that security guard just wink at you?” Tills said.

Mark shook his head and looked up at the floor display. The elevator bumped and they felt movement. The illuminated number six went black and the five lit up. Mark’s heart pounded so hard, he wondered if the agents would be able to feel it while holding his arm. The last time the door opened on floor five of the ALCO building, he had stepped into the world of the Trail Bladers.

The elevator halted and the agents stepped forward, positioning Mark a step ahead of them in preparation to exit. The elevator lights blinked off and the elevator went pitch black. “Aww, what the hell,” Jameson said.

“Power outage?” Tills said. He let go of Mark’s arm and Mark heard the sound of him fumbling through his jacket for something. A green glow lit up his chest and face when he pressed a button on his phone.

“You got a signal?” Jameson said.

“Nope, still dead.” The glow turned off.

“Try the cellie again.”

“I am…it’s dead too.” Tills grabbed Mark’s arm again as they stood, thinking over their options in darkness. Mark knew that the darkness was temporary.

“You scared of the dark, Denny? I can feel your heart pounding through your arm,” Jameson said.

“I’m fine,” Mark answered, trying to keep his voice steady. He heard Jameson pressing the elevator buttons, but there was no response.

After thirty seconds of silence in complete darkness, Mark heard the elevator doors open. They felt a rush of cool air, but the open elevator doors did nothing to change the total darkness.

“What the hell is going on?” Jameson said, squeezing tighter on Mark’s arm.

Several red laser dots quivered on Mark’s chest before they slid to the chests and heads of Jameson and Tills. He heard four “pops,” then felt both hands release his arms and two muffled, heavy thuds as the bodies of the agents fell at his feet.

Mark instinctively crouched, almost losing his balance with his hands still cuffed behind him. He trembled and said, “Wait, please wait!” He felt the body of one agent under his right knee. He knew Morana had arranged protection for him, but he didn’t expect his protection to include murder.

He felt strong hands take each of his arms. “Step high, Mr. Denny,” a male voice said. Mark took a high step off the elevator, still in complete darkness as the firm grip of hands on either arm guided him forward. He remembered the padded corridor of his first meeting with the Trail Bladers. As they led him further in, he saw the glow of the familiar entry console. The silhouette of a hand spread on it, and a flash of green light triggered a metallic clunk inside the door.

It swung open and Mark squinted when the bright light of the next room hit him. Two men dressed in red and black Trail Bladers uniforms held each of his arms. They wore what Mark recognized as night vision goggles strapped around their heads.

“We need to hurry, Mr. Denny,” the man on the right said. “Truck’s waiting. That elevator.” He pointed to the freight elevator. The door to the vestibule clicked open again and a woman with the same sort of goggles appeared, carrying a key. She ran up behind Mark, working to remove his handcuffs as they walked.

The freight elevator opened and out rolled two gurneys pushed by two more uniformed Trail Bladers. Each gurney had an empty body bag draped over it, and the Trail Bladers rushed by as they pushed the gurneys toward the vestibule door.

Mark entered the elevator with his escorts and they began their descent to the freight dock. “Mr. Denny, do you suffer from claustrophobia?”

“I haven’t before.”

“Are you afraid of the dark?”

“No. Although it’s a little late for you to ask,” Mark said, cracking a nervous smile.

The Trail Blader didn’t laugh. “Excellent,” he said.

The doors of the elevator opened and Mark looked where the Trail Blader pointed. A Trail Bladers truck sat flush to the edge of the loading dock, its rear doors opened wide. Four more Trail Bladers stood between Mark and the truck. Two of them patted Mark’s back as he passed. “You are okay now. We have you,” one of them said.

A Trail Blader beside the open back door offered Mark help onto the truck. The floor had an open hatch in it the size of a casket.

“Mr. Denny, please get into the bay and make no sound until we remove you,” the Trail Blader said, pointing to the open hatch.

Mark hesitated and checked over his shoulder. The four Trail Bladers stood on the loading dock watching and each leaning slightly forward with urgency. Mark stepped down into the bay and laid down fast. “How long will I have to be in here?” he asked.

“Until we are out of the city. We will remove you as soon as possible. You’ll have plenty of air.”

With that, Mark crossed his arms on his chest. The double doors of the hatch closed over him, enveloping him in complete darkness. The truck’s engine growled to life as it jerked forward, first gear vibrating Mark’s temporary tomb. Between the sound of shifting gears, Mark heard the whine of distant sirens.

Mark shifted, trying to get a more comfortable position. The sound of the engine was much louder from within the bay of the truck than in the rear cabin above the floor. The grinding of the truck’s gears and squeaking of its shocks were amplified. The piercing pop and hiss of the air brakes rang in Mark’s ears. He felt the truck jerk ahead and tilt as it exited the driveway of the ALCO building. He felt as captive as he did protected. He was now a fugitive harbored by criminals.