The Scarab (24 page)

The ballroom was as I remembered it, with the huge crystal
chandeliers and elegant woodwork. The room was three times the size of the
banquet hall, but was occupied by only my team, four agents, Ms. Lee and a
camera man in the center of the room. The agents were still searching over the
cameras and lighting gear. Ms. Lee waved, smiling as we came in. “We’re running
a little late. I’m double-parked out front. Just have a seat on the stool here
and let George, our photographer, work his magic. I’ll be back before you know
it.”

We made our way to where we needed
to pose as she hurried toward the far door. Ms. Lee was wearing a black sweater
and slacks, carrying a huge purse with a strap the size of a seat belt. Mom had
a purse like that once, it had a TASER built into the strap, a popular
defensive weapon for single women who traveled alone at night in cities. That
particular model had been recalled in Massachusetts because it often
malfunctioned due to rain or salt air. I guess in New Mexico, they don’t worry
about those things. She took her car security remote out of the purse and
stopped at the door. Having a car here with an alarm meant she was probably a
local; everyone else used a rental or cabs.

I wanted to ask Ms. Lee if I should
clean my makeup off for the picture. Just as I was about to call out her first
name, I stopped in my tracks only a few feet into the room. She was holding the
remote control in her left hand. Her first name was Cassandra. Thinking back to
the movie “The Day of the Jackal,” the word play was obvious—Ca-Lee, Kali.

I must have mouthed the words out
loud, because several of my team mates turned to face me. Ms. Lee stared at me
in open hatred, confirming my suspicions. “Grab her, she’s Kali,” I said
pointing. Time distorted and I couldn’t do anything but watch. Screaming
incoherently, Kali pressed the button on her remote control and there was a
deafening explosion from the ceiling. Josie screamed. Mare threw herself over
her brother and the singer, knocking all three of them to the floor. Whitaker
pushed Nigel out of the way and drew his weapon, too late.

Hours before, Kali had planted
another bomb in the crawl-space where the heavy light fixture was mounted to
the overhead steel beam. I watched in horror as the crystal chandelier became
hundreds of pounds of shrapnel that killed the photographer and one of the
agents immediately. The other agent nearby had his legs pinned and broken by
the falling fixture. Plaster chunks and a thick cloud of dust prevented us from
reaching the victims right away. I pictured the agent helpless and bleeding to
death from countless cuts, the torture Kali had planned for me.

Whitaker’s head had been grazed by
debris, but he was shouting orders and calling for back-up on three channels. “Pull
in the perimeter. She’s making a run through zone two. Get me the bomb squad,
at least four ambulances, and a fire rescue squad!”

Out of all of us, Steve reacted
first, dusting the plaster and glass off, and opening his first aid satchel. “Nigel,
clear me a glass free zone here big enough for two people. Josie, put on a pair
of these sterile gloves. Rip those veils into five centimeter wide strips. We’ll
start with the people who are bleeding the most,” he ordered. Josie remained
stunned for several seconds before mutely nodding.

Mare shouted to the agent at the
door as she grabbed the edge of the heavy chandelier. “Help me move this
wreckage. There are people trapped under here.”

I was useless to help any of them,
but I noticed that Kali had used the confusion to get away. Angry, I chased
after her. When I reached the far doors, they held fast. Pushing as hard as I
could, they only gapped a few centimeters. Kali had co-opted the daily event
easel that normally sat in front of the doors, and shoved its three six-foot
long rods of oak through the metal door handles to the ballroom. We were
trapped! I could see her half way to the front door already, and I didn’t have
time to run around the long way, especially if she had a car out there waiting.
Furious, I shouted, “Whit, she’s getting away!”

As agent Whitaker hurried over, I
watched helpless as one of the back-up police officers approached Kali. Her
face changed immediately. Tears poured down her cheeks, and she pointed back to
the ballroom in hysterics. When the poor cop got close enough, she hit him with
her purse strap and squeezed the on switch. I shouted a warning, but he dropped
like a sack of potatoes anyway. When Whitaker reached my side, I said, “She
barred the door with wooden rods.”

“Back off!” He took a stance,
thumbed the targeting override, and fired several rounds into the stubborn
wood. When he stopped, I threw my good shoulder against the door, and staggered
out into the lobby. Kali had a clear path to the exit with no one barring her
way. Instead of leaving, however, she had liberated the policeman’s weapon and
now unloaded it in my direction.

It happened so fast, I couldn’t
move. The noise was incredible. The stone column beside us splintered under the
hail of bullets. The urn in front of us shattered. I knew exactly what was
about to happen, but I was a bystander at my own execution.

About the same time the first shot
slammed into my chest, Whit tackled me from behind. I couldn’t breathe. The
next shot obliterated my mask, and feathers flew everywhere. I couldn’t see anymore.
Whit took a swarm of bullets for me, but another one still hit my right hip. I
couldn’t form coherent thoughts because of the pain.

Mare shouted, “Police. Drop your
weapon!”

I was gawping like a fish to get
air. My side was soaking wet. Was it from my blood or Whit’s? The stone floor
felt like ice, draining the heat from me.

Since Mare’s gun had been
confiscated as evidence, she was now carrying a heat-seeking automatic like
Whitaker’s. According to the report, Officer Anselm, braced against the door
frame, and placed two rounds in Kali left forearm, shattering the bone. The
second bullet went through the arm into Kali’s lung. The combined force of the
shots slapped her against the floor. Black-and-yellow jacketed officers came
from several directions to swarm over of the ring leader. Thanks to the
ambulances Whitaker had just ordered, Kali didn’t die, but would have some
interesting scars to show her fellow inmates.

Mare rode with me in my ambulance. “But
the game is about to start,” I objected.

“Nigel will take care of it. As
soon as Steve’s free, he’ll help out. I’m not leaving you alone for a second,
young man. You don’t listen,” Mare chided.

My protective vest stopped the
first bullet. The mask had sacrificed itself for the second. After they ripped
open my pants and cleaned off the blood, they found out that Josie’s commlink
had taken the third shot. I had major bruising, possibly even broken bones, but
not a scratch. Mare cried again when she saw. “Ethan, you’re the luckiest man I
know. If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll shoot you myself.”

After getting X-rays, I spent the
most agonizing hour and a half of my life waiting to see a doctor. I dialed our
hotel room on the cell phone every minute until Mare took it away from me. Our
team was making excellent progress and would soon be in Berlin. HEO had
encountered an unexpected delay but still finished first. Porsche finished not
far behind. If the Matsumura team hit the same snag and Mare and I could do a
little aggressive city piloting, we might have a chance for third. I was
climbing the walls, but Mare refused to give the phone back to me.

An FBI agent we hadn’t met before
took our statements while we waited. He found it hard to believe that I
identified Kali on such circumstantial evidence. “Taken separately, I admit
they don’t sound like much, but how many left-handed local female reporters are
there with computer degrees?”

“But how could you have known that
her mother was an AmerInd?” he asked.

The shot the nurse gave me for the
pain was making me sleepy, but I fought it. “I had no idea. But she was the
only reporter in the place who didn’t have a single question for me.”

“So you just blurted out your
suspicion?” he said.

“She was getting away,” I said
lamely.

Finally, a country doctor who
looked older than water paid us a visit. He took one look at my embarrassing
injury and ruled. “Use the wheelchair for a week. Stay in bed. Take the same
pain pills you’re on already. You’ll be okay.”

As Mare pushed my chair out, I said
“Great. You heard him. Back to the hotel!”

The doctor, overhearing me, shouted
down the crowded hall after us. “And no sex!”

Even I blushed.

We borrowed a pair of surgical scrub pants so I could leave
immediately. Putting them on, even with help, was an adventure. Before we could
leave, though, Mare wanted to check in with Reynolds. All the agents from the
hotel were sitting in the hospital waiting area. On our way through, Mare asked
the field supervisor how Whitaker and the other two officers were doing. “Peebles
was dead on arrival. We don’t know if Smith is going to lose the leg or not
yet. It was badly crushed, but he’ll survive because of your brother. The
photographer is still touch and go. Whitaker’s out of surgery and doing fine,
thanks to your quick action. No thanks to your boyfriend, there.”

“Is there anything we can do?
Flowers, explaining to relatives, thanking the agents in person?” I asked.

Reynolds looked disgusted. He
turned and spoke to Mare instead of answering me. “Do me a favor and get him
the Hell out of here. Three of my men got sent to the hospital for him, and I’ve
got twenty reporters down there asking how the Scarab is doing. It’s like
somebody shot the president. I’m not blaming you for how things went sour, but
right now I can’t stand to see his face.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, wheeling me
away, accompanied by a hospital worker. I wanted to protest, but decided to bow
to Miss Anselm’s judgment. She had to work with these guys; I didn’t.

Once in the cab, Mare phoned ahead
to the hotel to request a wheel chair. The first person to greet us in front of
the hotel was Mr. Niven; he was there to oversee delivery. “Sir, you came back.”
He seemed quite shocked, and puzzled.

“I had to. I left my luggage and a
team with a race to finish.”

“But you were shot. They had live
footage on the news. The police said that there had been fatalities, and we all
thought you were one of them,” he explained.

“You know what Samuel Clemens said
about things like that being exaggerated.” Scarab just racked up another return
from the grave.

“Indeed,” he said, recovering some
of his composure.

“We’ll need another room for
tonight, one that’s wheelchair accessible. We’ll let Mr. Anselm use our current
suite. Put it on our tab.”

Niven didn’t bat an eye. “Very
good, sir. Might I suggest taking the service elevator? Barnes will escort you.
It might help you avoid the press.”

“Thank you, Mr. Niven,” I said
sincerely. “Ever consider being a personnel director in a research firm?”

“Too much excitement, sir. But
thank you. The rooms are on the house, as is everything you’ve charged on your
stay here. If there’s anything further you need, do not hesitate to ask.”

Everything? I felt uneasy accepting
his gratitude, however formal. “I should at least pay for some of the damage we
caused. I feel terrible about the urns.”

“Not to worry, sir. They were old
anyway,” he said with a perfectly straight face.

While Mare phoned ahead to our
room, I asked Niven, “When you said everything, did that include the ring?”

He leaned close as he personally
pushed me to the service elevator. “They thought you were dead, sir. It seemed
in poor taste to demand the ring back.”

“I want to pay for the ring.
Otherwise, it wouldn’t be from me, it wouldn’t mean the same thing.”

Niven, being a gentleman, seemed to
understand. “Very good, sir. But the hotel will insist on charging you only our
cost on the item.” We shook on the agreement as the elevator doors closed.

Mare interrupted, still on her
phone. “Bad news, Ethan. Ghedra is being pulled over by European Commonwealth troops at the Berlin border. What do we do? If we pull over, we lose our chance at
third place.”

“Call a fifteen minute time-out
this second!” I shouted so that Steve could here me at the other end. “There
are five players left. We have our vote and two abstentions. All we need is LAS
or Andiron to say yes.”

By the time we reached the room,
Nigel was already stripping off the data gloves and head gear. I felt bad
because none of the equipment had been calibrated for him. Steve met us at the
door. “Only took a few seconds. Good idea. Now we have a breather to plan.” He
gave his sister a hug and asked quietly, “Are you okay?”

She nodded, and handed Steve a copy
of my medical brief. “Can he play? I don’t want to risk his life over this.”

Steve scanned the file and then
looked me over himself. “Lucky.”

I glanced up at Mare. “I know.”

“How do you feel?” Steve asked.

“Like I’ve been kicked twice by a
mule,” I admitted.

Steve shrugged. “I don’t see why
not. We’re only going to be playing about another twenty minutes,” the team
medic ruled. “But then, it’s plenty of bed rest for the rest of the day.”

Josie walked out of Mare’s bedroom,
looking a little worse for the wear. Being in the middle of a war zone had
taken a lot out of her. She was wearing an oversized T-shirt, probably Steve’s,
instead of the top from her costume. Her makeup had been removed, and she spoke
in subdued tones. “He recommends that for all his patients. Personally, what I
need right now is a drink. I still see blood when I close my eyes. How’s
everyone at the hospital doing?”

Mare gave her the optimistic outlook,
neglecting to mention the agent who had died during the helicopter flight to
the emergency room. “Everyone at the hospital should make it. Agent Smith might
not even need a prosthetic to walk. Thanks to your costume and the other
precautions, Ethan was released already.”

“Both the costume and the phone
were ruined. I’ll pay for them, of course,” I apologized.

“The hotel is already covering the
damage. They have very good insurance.” Barefoot, she went to the mini-bar in
the kitchen and mixed herself a prescription. I watched her legs move
hypnotically and almost drifted off before I shook myself awake again. “Anyone
else want a belt?” she offered.

“Not till we cross the finish line,”
said Nigel. “This is exhausting work. I don’t know how you fellows managed with
just the two of you for so long.”

“Don’t listen to him; he’s been
doing a great job. When we first came into Berlin, he did the old JFK schtick. ‘I
am a donut’ and got laughs from everybody. He drives a little more
conservatively than I would, but road construction ended the lane we were in a
while back. If we’d been going full speed, we would have plowed through the
barricade and into the pit,” Steve summarized.

“What about the other players? Mare
hasn’t let me near the race for over half an hour. What delayed HEO?”

“The cops pulled him over for an
inspection. The EU has a set of standards for all vehicles that drive on
European roads. The test gives you a list of everything you need to change
before you’re street-legal,” Steve said.

“We don’t have to obey the laws,” I
said, outraged.

“That’s what the Hicks-Eisner pilot
thought. When they finally did catch him, he got hit with a two-minute penalty.
Now we have the same problem. We could take out the simulated police vehicles
and might keep out of the dragnet for long enough to cross the finish line, but
then we’d have a reputation as cop killers. We didn’t want that, so we decided
to pull over and eat the time,” Steve said.

“What did everyone else do? Seems
to me that everyone would have the same delay,” Mare interjected.

“Porsche, LAS, and BW were from EU
countries. They pre-certified. The Japanese team tried an end-run, taking a
different route, and ended up with an even bigger delay,” Nigel explained. “If
we stop, Andiron and LAS will close with us in five to six minutes. Matsumura
is likely to cross the finish line in that same time frame.”

Mare put her finger on something
that had been bothering me. “Why is it so quiet in here?”

Steve answered. “We found out that
the Ghedra handles a little smoother without the CD playing. Somehow it soaks
computer cycles.”

That was a design problem I had
never considered. The onboard computer adjusted the balance several times a
second, but if it was reading the CD, there would be a brief delay in the
adjustment. I started doing a calculation in my head and drifted off again.
Mare snapped me out of it.

“We need to see the map and get
some background here,” she said.

Nigel handed me a map and narrated
as we looked it over. “Berlin is the largest city in Germany, as well as being
the capitol. They just had their sesquicentennial, the 150 year anniversary
celebration, a huge event. I remember seeing the rebuilt Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church...” Steve tapped his watch, and Nigel shifted gears. “Right. Our goal
is to get from here, near that wooded area on the west end, to the
Sportsforum
on the other side of the Spree River. Our path through the city is designed to
highlight various tourist attractions.”

“Which wooded area? A third of the
map is green.” Mare observed.

“And they’re very serious about
protecting their parks and farm land. No floaters or ground cars in these
areas, only pedestrians, horses, and bicycles on the approved trails,” said
Nigel.

“Don’t tell me, you’ve been there,
too,” I said. “This looks like a straight shot.”

Nigel winced. “Somewhat. The part
of the route near Museum Island goes through the heart of their historic
district. It starts here at the Brandenburg Gate and goes to the Pergammon Museum. The road is normally closed to vehicles, but they’ve opened it for the
race because they want to show off everything they can.”

“Do they have any high-brow type
culture centers?” I asked innocently.

“You can’t swing a dead cat in Berlin without hitting a culture center. Art, music, dance, countless horse statues—you
name it, they’ve got it,” said Steve, a surprising source of insight.

“You’ve been?” Miss Valencia asked.

“Briefly. Marines, America’s ambassadors to the world,” he responded.

“Speak any German?” I asked.

“Just enough to get my face slapped,”
he said, embarrassed.

“Right. That means Mare is the
pilot, and Nigel is the Navigator. I’ll stand by on tactical. You said that the
Japanese team went around. An outer-belt?” I asked my team.

“There isn’t a hover-capable
outer-belt, which isn’t as shocking as it seems at first. Most of the transport
is mass-transit or rail. And that’s how they managed it. From our adventure
earlier, the other teams know how easy it is to ride the rails from one part of
the city to the other. They detoured onto a rail bridge north of the Charlottenburg Palace, and crossed the Spree outside the slow zone. The penalty, detour, and
slowed speeds on the rail have cost them almost ten minutes,” Nigel explained.

I shook my head. “We can’t afford
to take that route, but Mare’s right. If we don’t stop, we have a chance to
beat them. What are our options, though? We don’t want to kill them. Like it or
not, we’re role models now, and we can’t advocate cop killing. If we run, the
pursuit will be on us like white on bread. We can jam the electronic tracking
and lose them in any parking garage.” Mare raised an eyebrow at that.
Reluctantly, I grumbled, “But we don’t want to teach people how to do that
either.” I growled in frustration, watching the time slip away.

Resigning myself to an act of good
citizenship, I asked “How long is the test supposed to take?”

“Ninety to 120 seconds, depending
on how much is wrong. They transmit the whole list.”

“Just shoot me now and get it over
with,” I whined. “Stop forward motion, but keep spinning. I want quick
acceleration out of this place. Make sure to chat pleasantly with the officer,
and mention that Mare is an off-duty investigator. While you’re talking, I’m
going to look at the last series of tests on the laptop. Maybe I can make up
the time somewhere else.”

Before strapping in to the
interface, Mare hugged me. She managed not to hurt my ribs too badly. “I know
that went against every one of your criminal instincts, but it will work out
alright in the end.”

Steve moved the chair out of the
way and I scanned the overhead map of the city. There were only five tests
after this one. The Matsumura team would bypass all but the last three at the
stadium itself. One of those was the final engine wear and endurance rating for
the design. After this cluster of racers crosses the line, they’d probably
switch to time-compression mode again. This whole race would be over in less
than an hour. We’d be done in time for the west coast evening news. There
really wouldn’t be any more surprises after the next ten minutes. After all
those months of effort, I’d end up with honorable mention. I sighed. “I suppose
fourth place is good enough.”

Steve blurted a few colorful
obscenities. “Good enough? Ethan, you came out of nowhere to finish in the top
ten on every ranking that counts. This is your first race. There were people
out there who’ve been in this business since it started who would kill to
finish this well. Fourth is no shame, my friend.”

I put on half a smile for him. “Yeah,
I guess. But we came so close.”

“It’s not over till the fat lady
sings,” Steve reminded me.

“Speaking as a frequent guest
singer at sporting events, I’d thank you to rein in your stereotypes,” Josie
Valencia warned, standing behind her new beau.

“You like reins?” Steve bantered.

“Only if I get to use the riding
crop,” she retorted.

Steve grimaced. “You got me.”

“Not yet,” Josie said wistfully. “But
we’ll see. Anything exciting happening in the next few minutes?”

I shook my head. “No, we go live in
less than five. Then we stop and wait.”

“Good. I’m going to freshen up for
the winners circle pictures,” said Miss Valencia. She gave Steve a peck on the
cheek before twirling and sauntering back to the bedroom.

“Whew,” Steve said. “Good things
come in little packages.”