The Gauntlet Assassin (10 page)

His anxiety mounted all the way across town. Rain fell in gusty deluges against his windshield, and there was so little traffic he felt conspicuous to be on the road. As soon as he entered the Crestwood neighborhood, a calm sense of determination settled over him. He could do this. He parked on the street near Janel’s house, eyeing her five-year-old Tiguan in the driveway. The neighborhood was so dark and quiet, Paul didn’t bother pulling on his wig. The rain slacked off, giving him further confidence. He called on his long-dead brother for courage and bolted from the car. His plan was to move fast and get it over with, rather than worrying about being quiet or sneaky.

He hurried down the sidewalk and squatted near the Tiguan’s back left tire. After removing the cap, Paul pressed the screwdriver against the stem and let out most of the air. He stepped quickly to the other back tire and sabotaged it as well. He didn’t want Janel to simply throw on a spare and be on her way to work. She needed to be late. She was already on the edge for missing too many workdays and coming in tardy too often. One more late day, plus the sexually-implicit text to her boss would likely put an end to her federal employment. Paul still had to push Rathmore to the top of the hiring process, but he had an idea for that too.

A dog barked loudly next door, startling him. He jumped to his feet and sprinted for his car, even though he’d coached himself not to run because it looked suspicious. As he climbed in, someone yelled at the dog to be quiet. Paul started his car and drove away, thinking he should find a way to help Janel after she got fired.

Chapter 11

“Did you hear?” Camille said, sliding into Paul’s office. “Janel Roberts, the director of planning at HHS, resigned Friday.” His co-worker took a seat and Paul lost sight of her long legs.

His plan had worked!
“That’s surprising. Do you know what happened?”

“I don’t, but the rumor is that she’s missed a lot of work.”

“Nobody gets away with that kind of stuff anymore.” Paul shook his head and pushed aside his guilt. Janel would have been fired eventually anyway.

“I wonder who’s on her replacement list.” Camille leaned across his desk like a conspirator.

“You know I can’t tell you.”

She made a face. “That’s okay. We’ll know soon. That’s the one good thing about working in personnel. We get the scoop first.”

“Sometimes it feels like too much information.”

“There’s no such thing.” Camille shook her head playfully and stood. “I wanted to let you know I finished the monthly file purge.”

“Thanks.” Paul wondered if it was too soon to suggest another date. He stood, hoping to find the courage. “How was your weekend?”

“Lovely.” She started to leave, then turned back. “Have you lost weight?”

Paul tried not to beam. “About ten pounds.”

“It looks good.”

“Thanks.” He shifted on his feet. “Would you like to go out for lunch someday this week?” His voiced sounded a little panicked even to him.

“Let me check my schedule.” She smiled and left.

Paul didn’t know what to think. Camille had come into his office for no apparent reason and paid him a compliment, so he was encouraged. But did she really have to check her schedule? Or was she blowing him off?

After work, Paul picked up a second prepaid iCom from a different vendor in the same park. On the bus ride home, he sent a brief text to Rathmore:
The position is open. I want the rest of the money by next Tuesday.

He didn’t hear from Rathmore until late the next night. He’d spent the evening reading a new crime fiction novel, but he’d been distracted and worried that neither Camille nor Rathmore had responded to him. At nine he put down his Dock and turned on the big screen for his hour a day of video programming. Isabel always said that any more than that would ruin a person’s mind.

The prepaid iCom beeped and he snatched it up. The text from Rathmore was as brief as the one Paul had sent him:
Not until the job is mine.

Paul keyed back:
That wasn’t the agreement. I guaranteed the opening and that you would be interviewed. Did they call you?

Rathmore responded:
Yes, but I’m not paying the rest until I get hired.

Damn!
Paul debated his next move. What leverage did he have? For starters, he knew who Rathmore was and where to find him. He also knew how to get people fired. Adrenaline surged into his chest at the thought. He had power. Paul keyed back:
I can also ensure that you’re NOT hired.

He paced the house, waiting for Rathmore to respond. After thirty minutes of distress, Paul settled down to watch a few talk shows in his queue, then got ready for bed. What if Rathmore never paid him the rest of the money? Paul decided he would go ahead with the surgery. He’d pay up front with the cash he had and put the rest on credit. He might also spend some time in the database, looking for another matchup between a vulnerable Level C employee and an ambitious climber.

He stayed after work the next day to take another look at the personal information for the other two candidates in line for Janel Roberts’ old job. There had to be a way to help Rathmore secure the position and guarantee the additional ten grand. He really needed it. Paul decided if everything went well with this arrangement, he’d set up another one and get a chin implant too. He hated the way his face disappeared under his mouth.

If he had any money left over, he’d get some caps too. Women liked straight, white teeth, and he was tired of smiling with his mouth closed. He worried Camille thought he was too somber. Paul knew if given the chance, he could be a fun-loving guy. He’d mentioned the commissioner to Camille that afternoon and she’d agreed to have lunch on Friday. She’d suggested a restaurant a few blocks from their building, saying she had an errand to run on the way and would meet him there. He worried at first she didn’t want to be seen leaving with him, then he remembered Camille always ran errands on her lunch hour.

Paul opened the database and pulled up everything he could on Trevor Jamison. The candidate was already employed by HHS, so Paul also had access to his performance reviews, which, to his dismay, were stellar. Paul stared at the digital photo in the corner of the resumé. The man was ridiculously handsome.
How to sabotage him?
Paul considered the simplicity of letting the air out of Jamison’s tires and making him late to the interview, but he soon realized the difficulty. The interview would take place in the HHS office on Independence Avenue and Jamison already worked in the building.

Could he alter the man’s records in some way? Of course he could. A chill crawled up Paul’s spine. He’d never considered anything so devious. The change would be temporary, Paul told himself. He’d put a few minor glitches in Jamison’s performance reviews, then change them back later. It was no guarantee Rathmore would get the job, but Paul felt like he had to do something.

The second candidate, Ashley Summers, had an impressive resumé and currently worked for JB Pharma in its community health division. Would she even consider the position? Paul wondered. Pharma companies paid well and offered high-end med cards. Paul predicted Ms. Summers would interview for the position and use it as leverage to squeeze more money or stock options out of her employer. He scratched her off his mental list for the moment.

After work, Paul took a walk and sent another text to Rathmore:
I’ve done what I can. The position is yours if you don’t blow the interview. I’ll send instructions for the drop later. Have the money ready by Tuesday.

On the way home, he thought about their pending transaction, hoping to come up with a better, more foolproof idea, but creativity had never been his strong suit, despite all the fiction he read. He finally decided to use a plan similar to the first one because it had worked well. Or mostly, anyway. This time he would insist on a sturdy plastic bag that didn’t smell like food. Paul also chose a small restaurant for the meet. After the incident with the dog, he was reluctant to conduct the mission outside. Changing it up was safer.

He sent the information to Rathmore and hoped for the best.

Back in his apartment, he tried to put it all out of his mind. He spent an hour surfing the net, looking at cosmetic procedures. Nose jobs, eyebrow lifts, cheek implants, chin extensions. They could do almost anything to improve a face. Mesmerized by the before-and-after photos, Paul kept clicking and staring at the complete makeovers. He touched the space between his teeth and vowed to get some caps.

As he got ready for bed, he stared in the mirror and tried to visualize himself with a stronger chin. Why not? Everything seemed possible now. He heard the prepaid iCom beep and checked the message. Rathmore said simply:
I’ll be there.

Chapter 12

Mon., May 8, 2:14 p.m.

Wet and exhausted, Lara stood in front of the cameras and couldn’t stop smiling. She’d won her first round! She would move forward to the Puzzle. The adrenaline kept coming and she could barely focus on the director’s voice.

“Forty-two-year-old Lara Evans of Oregon has won the first round of the Challenge, beating twenty-four-year-old Kirsten Dornberg of Florida. Lara’s official time is 59 minutes and 12.5 seconds.”

Lara looked at the big digital clock with pulsing red numbers. Could that be right? She felt like she’d been in the tunnels for hours. She tried to remember the competitors’ times from last year, then realized it didn’t matter. The Challenge was different every year.

“You were in trouble for a minute on the elevated maze,” Minda said, her voice breathy. “How did you manage to catch yourself and get back up? That looked impossible.”

“Some of it was luck, but years of martial arts training have honed my reflexes and taught me to go into the fall. So I pushed myself to the beam, rather than lose my balance.” Lara flashed back on the moment, but it was a blur. “Getting up was a slow and careful process. It wasn’t something I could have ever practiced for.”

“No one expected you to win your round of the Challenge, so the analysts and bookies are scrambling. I hear the odds against you have dropped to seventeen to one.” Minda shoved the mic at Lara, as though she’d asked a question.

“The odds have always been against me and I’ve never let it stop me. I think the viewers tested me and I earned their support.”

“You definitely did. After Kirsten grabbed you underwater, the viewers brought the wall down to give you a break. Do you think you could have won without that?”

“We’ll never know.” Lara wanted to remind the director that she’d beat Kirsten in the elevated maze and in the tunnel, but it was better to be gracious. “It was an intense race and Kirsten was a formidable competitor.”

“You have a day and a half before your next event. How do you plan to spend your time?”

“I hope to get permission to leave the arena and see a little of the capital. This is my first visit to D.C.”

Lara saw one of the cameramen swing his focus behind her. Kirsten must have finally come out of the water pit and through the door. Lara resisted looking back.

“Congratulations again.” Minda grabbed Lara’s hand and shoved her arm into the air like a prizefighter. She hoped the viewers were cheering for her in their homes. She would need their popularity points in every phase, especially the final vote. After a moment, Minda nudged her to step aside. It was Kirsten’s last turn to chat up the viewers before heading home. As Lara walked away, pain flooded her legs, but the smile stayed on her face.

She trudged down the wide hallway that circled the arena and passed a technician at a control panel, but no one else. The media only had access to the main lobby area. Lara hoped to find a way out of the building that would allow her to bypass the lobby where many of the contestants hung out. On some level, she wanted their congratulations, yet she’d been a loner for so long, it was habit to avoid social encounters, especially groups.

The gray hallway went on forever, with occasional overhead doors for machinery and a few regular doors for people. Eventually, the hall hooked left and fifty yards later, Lara pushed through double doors into the common area where she’d started. The room held groups of soft chairs, a small cafeteria, and a few NetCom stations that had blocked access to the Gauntlet program and all social media sites. The organizers did their best to keep the participants from learning any details about the arenas before they competed.

A group of contestants swarmed her, offering their congratulations. They slapped her shoulders and gave her high fives, their mouths smiling but their eyes distant, calculating. Even though they couldn’t watch the events, they could see the scoreboards, which were updated constantly.

Jason Copeland gave her a friendly punch to the shoulder. “You kicked ass, old woman.”

Lara fought the urge to put a fist into his solar plexus. “I hear you wanted to go against me in the Challenge, looking for easy points. Seems a little cowardly.”

He grinned. “We’re all here to win, one way or another.”

Aware of the cameras everywhere, Lara grinned back. “Maybe you’ll get a chance against me in the Battle.”

A man with coppery skin and a black ponytail stepped closer. “I’m Makil Johnson, from Georgia. A group of us who don’t compete until tomorrow are having dinner off site. Would you like to join us?”

Still aware of the cameras, Lara reluctantly said, “Sure. Thanks for asking.” She’d beg out of it later. “Do you have a chaperone?” Contestants could only leave the arena and hotel area in groups, and they had to take a chaperone to ensure no one watched the broadcast version of the competition.

Makil nodded. “We’re all set to meet at seven in the hotel lobby.”

“I’ll see you then. You’ll have to excuse me for now. I need to rest for a while.”

“You earned it.” He gave her a nod of approval.

After a hot shower and a small protein and vegetable shake, Lara lay down. Her body was exhausted but she didn’t sleep well even at night, so she would only meditate for a while, then get back up. After a few minutes, the desk NetCom beeped. Lara grudgingly got up to check it. The corner app flashed
Video Message
.