The Gauntlet Assassin (17 page)

“I like your determination. I hope it serves you well in the next phase. Are you ready for the Puzzle?”

“Let’s do it.”

Minda turned and waited for the cameramen to come around front, then they all moved through the double doors into a giant high-walled arena made of the same plastic-metal blend. The space contained three, twelve-by-twelve, cube-shaped rooms, each with an elevator-style door operated by a keypad code to the right.

“Please leave your bag with Serena and step into the scanner,” Minda instructed.

Lara did as instructed. The machine was similar to those used in airports and ensured that no one entered the puzzle with tools sewn into their clothing. She waited for the beep and walked back to Minda. The cameras followed her every move.

“Lara Evans is about to enter the Puzzle,” Minda said to the viewers. “Which room has she been assigned?”

An electronic scoreboard on the wall flashed a red neon
B
.

“Room B it is.” Minda gestured and they moved toward the middle cube. With a few clicks on the keypad, the director opened the door. “The timer starts when the door closes. If you don’t get out in fifteen minutes, we’ll open the door for you. If you want to exit before that, simply say to the camera: ‘Exit, please.’ Of course, if you make that choice, you’ll be booted from the Gauntlet. Please do not touch the camera above the door, or you’ll be disqualified for that too. Ready?”

“Yes.”

“Good luck.” Minda stepped aside.

Lara squared her shoulders, grinned for the fans, and strode into the bright white cube. The electronic pocket door slammed closed behind her. She stopped and took in the room’s details with a sweeping glance of her trained eyes: solid walls made of the same electroplast as the outer arena. No busting through sheetrock to get out. Light came from a recessed narrow perimeter along the edges of the ceiling, but otherwise the ceiling looked blank as well. The walls were completely bare except for a single electrical outlet to her right.

Had it been present in any of last year’s Puzzles?

A small metal table and plain wooden stool occupied the middle of the room. The table held an assortment of items, but nothing that would plug into the wall socket.

Lara spun and examined the door. A small wave of panic rose in her throat. There was nothing on the wall this year! No key mechanism, no coded fingerpad. In past Puzzles, contestants had used the provided items to create keys that would unlock the door.
Crap
. They’d made it harder.

She ran to the door and tapped along the perimeter, just in case appearances were deceptive. No luck. She spun back and took five strides to the table. Her heart sank as she inventoried her tools: a short piece of thin nylon cord, a straw hat, a tube of chapstick, a tube of superglue, a bar of soap, a stick of gum, a clump of steel wool, and a room key card.

Oh hell
.

For a moment her mind went blank, the stress and fatigue of the last few days making her feel overwhelmed. Lara forced herself to focus, looking at each item and determining its properties. The glue and gum each had sticking power, but what was she supposed to stick together? The soap and the chapstick could be molded, but into what? The hat made no sense at all, simply a distraction. Lara decided to approach the Puzzle backward. The door was electrical and would only open by triggering an electrical mechanism. She glanced at the wall socket. Was she supposed to stick something in there? It couldn’t be that simple. Past Puzzles had required using multiple items.

The recessed florescent lights were the only other things that were electrical. Should she break through their thin plastic barrier, looking for a switch? That would require putting the stool on the table and dragging the combination around the perimeter of the room until she found the switch. There wasn’t a switch, she told herself. That went against the nature of the Puzzle. Lara hurried to the wall with the outlet and began to scan up and down. She moved quickly around the room, scanning for small bumps, recessions, anything. The walls were perfectly smooth.

She ran her eyes across the ceiling and stopped directly in the middle. A faint circle about four inches in diameter was visible in the vast unbroken white. What could it be? A recessed ceiling sprinkler? Why would a Puzzle room need a sprinkler? The only thing that triggered a sprinkler was heat from a fire.

Four minutes had likely passed. If she wanted to win this, she had to take a chance and get out in the next two minutes.

It was time to start a fire.

She grabbed the superglue and dumped it on the brim of the straw hat. With her free hand, she picked up the hat and the baseball-sized wad of steel wool and ran for the electrical outlet.

Crap!
She still had to get the cover plate off. She set down her items, ran back to the table, and snatched up the hard plastic credit-type card.

Kneeling on the floor in front of the outlet, she used the corner of the card to loosen the tiny flat-head screws and pull off the electrical cover. Lara grabbed the double socket mechanism and tugged it gently away from the wall, where it was still attached by electrical wiring. She begged the universe not to shock her and yanked the wires free from the outlet.

Letting out the breath she’d been holding, Lara grabbed the steel wool and shoved the two metal ends of the wiring into the wool, forcing them to touch. A tiny spark lit the fine gray threads on fire.
Yes!

Lara pressed the burning wool ball against the brim of the superglue-soaked hat. It ignited in a foul-smelling flame. Now she needed to keep it burning long enough to set off the sprinkler. She hurried to the table, and with her free hand, hoisted the stool onto the surface.

Burning hat in one hand, Lara jumped up on the table, aware of the viewers watching her for the first time since she’d entered the cube. Yes, it was awkward and weird, but she was getting out. She climbed on the stool and her weight made it slide toward the edge. She eased off and tried again, moving more carefully.

She climbed to the seat of the stool and kneeled on the flat surface. She held the burning stinking hat to the faint circle in the ceiling. A weird laugh escaped her throat. If she was wrong, not only would she look ridiculous to the viewers, but she might catch the stool on fire and have to be rescued from the room.

Before she could regret her actions, the circle popped out of the ceiling and a chrome sprinkler head dropped down. Water sprayed out, soaking her face and dampening the flame on the hat. For a moment, she froze, getting wet and feeling stupid.

Behind her, the door zipped open.

“Yes!”

Lara slid down from the stool, jumped off the table, and charged out of the cube. Minda and her crew were exactly where she’d left them, watching the live feed from the room and giving a running commentary for the viewers.

Lara glanced up at the scoreboard for her time: 5:36!

Chapter 20

Four and a half months earlier: Wed., Jan. 18

After Isabel’s funeral service, Paul went in to work because he couldn’t bear to be alone in his apartment for another minute. His safety net was gone, but he vowed to toughen up and become his own support system. As he neared his office, Camille greeted him in the hallway with a hug. Paul was so overwhelmed by her comfort and the full-body contact he nearly started to cry. Had anyone but Isabel ever hugged him?

Camille stepped back. “You should have taken the day off.”

“I’m fine. But thank you. My foster mother was my best friend and I’ll miss her.”

“You’ve got me as a friend.” Camille smiled and went into her office.

Paul decided it was time to ask her out on a real dinner date.
Would it seem like a sympathy move?
In some ways it was, but he could live with that. He would ask her later that afternoon.

The day passed quickly and Paul worked through his lunch hour to make up some of the time he’d missed recently. He took a MetaboSlim and drank a can of V8, his new lunch program until he lost another fifteen pounds.

Around four, Camille came to his office to ask about a procedure for new employees. He wondered why she hadn’t just sent a message. That’s what everyone else did. Nobody walked around the office unless they had to. Was she coming on to him? Paul could barely concentrate on her question. It was time to ask her out.

Paul stood, wanting to look her in the eye. “Will you have dinner with me tomorrow? I know it’s last minute, and it doesn’t have to be tomorrow, but I’d like to spend more time with you.” Paul kicked himself for not keeping it simple.

She bit her lip, thinking. “I have plans for tomorrow, but next Friday, I’m having dinner with some friends at Perry’s and you’re welcome to join us. We have room in the reservation.”

“I’d love to. What time?”

“Seven-thirty. Shall we carpool?”

“Sure.” Paul’s heart hammered with excitement. “Shall I pick you up?”

“I’d rather drive, if that’s okay.”

“Sure. I’m in the Potomac Towers. Number 37.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Paul watched her walk out, too excited to even think about her gorgeous butt. He had a real date! He wished it would be just the two of them, but it was still a step forward. Camille was taking it slow and he didn’t blame her. He was still a work in progress. Paul touched his nose reflexively. The swelling was gone and he could finally see his new normal. Plus he was down fifteen pounds and had an appointment to have his front teeth capped next week.

He’d never been to the restaurant she’d mentioned so he keyed it into the AmGo search engine. The sushi menu disappointed him and the prices were startling. Could he afford to date Camille? How did she afford such restaurants on her salary?

His iCom beeped, but Paul didn’t recognize the number. Maybe it was his mother’s lawyer. “Hello?”

“This is Liz Jung, from George Howard Hospital’s business office. I’d like to talk to you about Isabel Turner’s hospital bill. I understand you are her only relative.”

So
now
the hospital considered him a
relative
. Paul fumed at the hypocrisy. “She has a sister in Florida.”

“The nursing home says she has dementia and is unable to communicate.”

“What do you want?” This woman seemed to bring out the worst in him.

“We’d like to know how you plan to take care of the invoice. Her insurance company has already been billed, so what’s left is her responsibility.”

“How much is it?”

“The total is $23, 658.” She didn’t even pause.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t pay that. Also, Isabel was my foster mother. We’re not technically related, as her doctor pointed out to me.” Paul hung up, surprised by his assertiveness. It was unlike him. He attributed it to his new self-esteem, and maybe the diet pills too. They made him feel energetic and confident.

His euphoria suddenly vanished. Isabel would not have wanted to leave a debt. She would find it shameful and be disappointed in him. Paul decided he would make small payments to the hospital when he could.

After work when the office had cleared out, Paul opened Robert Morales’ file and his list of replacements, two men and one woman. Paul wondered if the C-Level employees had been under any pressure to be gender-neutral in their lists. He read through the personal information for each replacement and didn’t find anything that made one candidate seem like a better target than the others. Yet the position at the Department of Energy was prime. It not only came with a high-end med card, it also held power. Energy companies vied for the attention and favor of the department inspectors. That’s how Morales had ended up under investigation. Those who could walk the fine line between lobbying and accepting bribes benefitted greatly from working at the DOE.

Paul considered contacting all three replacements. He could present the offer as though it were an auction to see who would pay the most. Maybe he could bring in enough cash to pay for the chin implant and Isabel’s hospital bill.

With their names, personal history, and contact information locked into his memory, Paul turned off his NetCom and headed out. He bought another cheap prepaid iCom from a street vendor and caught a bus.

At home, he warmed a large can of soup, took another MetaboSlim, and sat down at the NetCom. He was too worked up to read and felt eager to start his second mission. He’d become obsessed with getting a chin implant as soon as possible. Having a sex life some day depended on it. Paul composed his thoughts first, then keyed his message into a text file, so he could read it out loud and make modifications.

After ten minutes and several cuts, he’d refined the message to say:
I thought you would be interested to know that an important C-Level position may come open soon in the Department of Energy. If you could be guaranteed the job, what would it be worth to you? For the right price, I can arrange it.

Paul grabbed the prepaid device and pulled on a heavy coat. Lilly ran up to him, excited to go out.

“It’s too cold, sweetie. You don’t like the snow, remember?”

She whined when he left and Paul felt guilty. Dark clouds covered the sky and threatened more snow. Eight inches had piled up the night before, but at least it hadn’t frozen over yet. Not wanting to conduct the arrangements from his apartment, he walked a mile to an empty park and sat on a bench. He was fairly certain law enforcement could track approximate locations of where messages were sent from, so he shivered in the cold wind to be safe.

He keyed in the number for his first target, James Olbert, and spoke his message. Paul said, “Send text,” then did the same for the next two: Karina Simmons and Marus Dalks.

On the walk home, his iCom beeped and Paul was surprised to see Karina Simmons had responded to him already. He hadn’t expected to hear from her at all. He tapped open the message:
I’m interested. Can you give me a guideline for how much money you want? How can you guarantee the position?

Snow started falling so Paul hurried indoors to a nearby cafe and found a booth in the corner. “Green tea, if you have it,” he said to the waitress.