The Gauntlet Assassin (3 page)

Chapter 3

Eight months earlier: Thurs., Oct. 13, 2022, Washington D.C.

Paul Madsen was eating lunch at his desk when his NetCom made a small burping noise and his supervisor’s face appeared in the bottom corner.

“Come into my office, please.” Stacia Palmer closed off with no further comment.

Paul dropped his sandwich, muttered his displeasure, and hurried down the hall. Stacia headed the Personnel and Payroll Management Office, which had been formed after dozens of federal departments had been eliminated in the massive budget cuts of 2017.

Paul stepped into her corner office, blinking at the sun streaming in from two sides. He always kept his blinds closed, so the brightness made his eyes water. “Yes?” He sat down, hoping she didn’t think his tears were a sign of weakness.

“I have a major assignment for you, but it must be handled quickly and discreetly. Can I count on you?”

“Of course.” Paul hated the way she always needed verbal acquiescence. Wasn’t it enough that she was his boss?

“I need a database of personnel replacements completed by the end of the month.” Stacia tapped her dark acrylic nail on a stack of memos. “Everyone at Level C and higher has been instructed to submit three names and resumés. I need you to set up the database and pull all the information together.”

“That’s 352 people. With three replacements each, it’s 1,056 entries. Not to mention the number of fields for each entry.”

“Your ability to do math in your head while you talk is a little creepy.”

Paul’s hands tightened into fists in his lap. He’d been called a lot of names in his childhood—nerd, geek, orphan, momma’s boy—but never creepy. “Three weeks is not enough time.” He held his facial muscles rigid and stared with emotionless eyes. He couldn’t let Stacia see his anger. Not in the new mean-lean government environment.

“Callahan wants it done now. Another situation like the Zantra virus outbreak will kill her chances of re-election. Disaster response is the new measure of a presidency.”

Paul had to turn away from her intense eyes and BioGel-plumped face. They both knew he would be at his desk until eight every night to accomplish the task in such a short time. His pay deposit would not include a bonus. Federal and state governments had been in a financial crisis for more than a decade and he hadn’t seen a raise in six years. Considering that the federal government was a fraction of its former size, he felt lucky to still have a job.

“You can put everything else aside,” Stacia added. “Camille will take care of any maintenance requests in the interim.”

His unsaid comments tasted less bitter as he visualized his stunning co-worker, who would have to consult with him more often while he created the database. Every minute with Camille would be worth an hour of unpaid overtime. “I’ll get started right away.”

“You’ll have to sign this privacy agreement first. All of the information in the files is highly confidential, and you risk your job if you discuss the data with anyone, including your co-workers.” Stacia pushed a piece of paper across the desk. The text was three paragraphs long. Thickly worded legalese was no longer the norm. The president wanted all government memos geared at an eighth-grade reading level. Paul scanned the agreement and signed. What else could he do?

Stacia scooped it up with shiny purple nails and tucked it into the folder she held. “Read the specs first.” She dismissed him with a nod.

Back in his office, Paul tossed his half-eaten meal, took out his Dock, and opened a tai chi program. He watched the instructor’s soothing movements on the screen until he felt calm again. No one used the fed’s computers to get online for personal reasons anymore. It was a violation and too many people wanted their jobs and their med cards.

When his lunch hour was over, he read the memo, intrigued by the specifications. The president wanted not only the names and work history for the top three candidates for each Level C position, but a summary of their personal lives as well. Children, pets, political affiliation, charities they contributed to, and much more. Even more interesting, she wanted the information in a second tier, a subfile, accessible only to those who logged in with a specific code.

A shiver of excitement pulsed through Paul’s veins.
The details he would be privy to, the secrets he would learn and store in his high-functioning memory.
The lost personal time meant nothing compared to the insider information. Others would have access to the file, but no one would know it like he did. Who had time to read all the data except the file creator?

Paul mapped out how he would overwrite the system code to give him permanent access. His mind-numbing job had just become bearable. He felt disturbingly grateful to the rogue virus that had killed thirty-six employees at various levels of the federal government. Twelve people in the White House had died after the outbreak at the summit, and twenty-four administrators had succumbed in secondary infections. Consequently, the government had been in disarray for weeks, and now the president wanted to ensure that if anything—tornado, anthrax, or terrorist bomb—wiped out a chunk of employees, qualified people were lined up and ready to step in. Some departments already had unofficial replacement lists, but this would be the first time all those candidates were in one file. Paul thought it might be the first smart thing the president had done, which meant it wasn’t Callahan’s idea.

He opened his messages to see that submissions were pouring in. The chief of staff had already sent his replacements. Paul knew he should build the database first, but he couldn’t resist opening the file. He was surprised to see a woman as one of the picks. The president typically surrounded herself with men. Paul ignored Kelly Bascome’s resumé because he was familiar with her career and scanned her personal file instead. He learned that she owned several guns, had two Great Danes, and had once danced with a ballet troupe in upstate New York. Now that he had focused on it, the information would be with him for years, accessible simply by recalling this moment. His memory was exceptional, a quality he kept to himself. If Stacia knew he could memorize details that easily, she would have never given him this assignment.

He’d learned to hide his gift at an early age. By the time he was twelve, his foster mother had become uncomfortable with his ability to remember conversations exactly as they had occurred. It left her little room to revise and augment her past statements. The last thing he’d wanted was for her to stop talking to him. He loved the gossip, the adult talk she’d always shared as if he were one of her girlfriends. After years of bouncing from one crowded foster home to another, coming to live with Isabel had been like setting foot ashore after a long stormy boat ride. So he hadn’t corrected her when she misspoke or remembered things differently than he did. Eventually, he’d learned to keep his memory from classmates as well. They had been drawn to attractive people who also happened to be smart, but they resented homely kids like him who did better on tests.

Paul opened a template and starting modifying the code for the new database. Deep into his task, a knock at his door surprised him. He looked up to see Camille coming into his office.

“I hear Stacia gave you the replacement database gig. I’m so jealous.”

Paul popped out of his chair and gave her his best closed-mouth smile. At five-eight, Camille was nearly his height, but that was all they had in common. She was blonde, lean, and beautiful and had flawless teeth. He was thick in the middle with dull brown hair, a big nose, and spaces between his teeth.

“Stacia wants it done in three weeks. Be glad you didn’t get the assignment.” Paul gestured for Camille to sit.

“Still, having access to that information is awesome.” Camille flashed him another smile. Paul’s heart leapt against his ribcage. The goddess was being friendly.

She slipped into the visitor’s chair so Paul sat too. “Stacia says you’ll take over some of my duties while I work on this project. I’m sorry about that.”

“I’m glad to help. If you need any assistance entering the information, let me know.”

“Thanks.” Paul wondered where the conversation was going. Camille had never offered to help him before. “I had to sign a confidentiality agreement, so I’m not allowed to discuss the data.”

She looked disappointed. “I sure would like to know who’s on the short list for employment commissioner. That would be an ideal job for me.”

“You would be great for it,” Paul said. “You have the right background and you’d be excellent as a commentator on the Gauntlet.” The audience would love her, he thought. Her face was a work of art and she was hard to look away from. He couldn’t believe Camille was thirty-three—and still single.

“You think so?” She gave him a tiny wink.

Paul felt a surge of pleasure, followed by an inkling of possibility. Was she flattered by his compliment? And possibly interested in him? “I’ve met the commissioner,” he offered casually.

Camille leaned forward, giving him a whiff of her tropical shampoo. “How well do you know Mr. Morton?”

“I met him at a fundraiser for Transitions. We’re both heavily involved with the charity.” Paul had volunteered with the foundation in his twenties when he realized most foster kids had nowhere to go when they aged out of the system. He’d been lucky to have Isabel’s support.

“Do you have any actual influence with the commissioner?” Camille asked.

Paul felt his cheeks grow warm. “I don’t know. I might.” On some level, he understood that Camille was mostly interested in what he could do for her, but he’d wanted her for so long, he would take any opening. “Maybe I’ll suggest you to him for his replacement list.”

“That would be fantastic.” She gave him a hundred-watt smile and his heart melted.

Paul struggled for the courage to say something, anything, to prolong the moment. Finally, he blurted out, “We could have dinner after work sometime and talk about how to beef up your resumé.”

Her smile faded and he watched her formulate her next words.

“I’m seeing someone now, Paul, so dinner may be not a good idea. But we could take a coffee break together at the Kiva tomorrow. I’ll bring my resumé.” She stood and smiled. “See you then.”

“Definitely.” Crushed by the news that she was dating, Paul told himself to forget it. He would never be in Camille’s league. He simply wasn’t attractive enough. His nose was too big, his hair was too thin, and his chin was nonexistent. He’d had one girlfriend in his life, briefly, and she’d been on the rebound. Once Nina had regained her self-confidence, she’d dumped him for a good-looking bartender. Paul had not dated in the five years since.

But you have power now.
The thought made him sit up straighter as he stared at the database. He might not end up with Camille, but he vowed to make the most of the opportunity he’d been given.

Chapter 4

Sun., May 7, 8:17 p.m.

Lara’s flight landed at Dulles Airport just as the sun was setting. It was her first—and likely only—visit to the Washington D.C. area, and she hoped to take the metro into the capital after the contest to see the historic monuments. If not for the Gauntlet, which had paid for the coach airline ticket, she might never have made the trip. Her last venture had been to Alaska years ago to attend her brother’s funeral. At the service, she’d seen her parents for the first time in twenty-five years, and they’d been as ignorant and judgmental as she remembered them.

She picked up her checked bag and headed for the nearest restroom, feeling a headache coming on from the long day of travel. Inside a stall, she retrieved her 9-millimeter from her suitcase and strapped it on under her shirt. A wave of comfort rolled over her the moment she felt the weapon against her side. The gun was her equalizer. No matter how hard she worked out or how fast her hands were, the world was still full of assholes, most of them bigger than her and many carrying weapons of their own.

As Lara walked out of the airport, the excitement of being in a new place put a little energy back into her step. It was good to get the hell out of Eugene and see another part of the country. She stood near the Georgetown Limo Services sign, as instructed, and sent a message on her iCom. Breathing in the exhaust-heavy air of the shuttle buses, her excitement waned a little. Twenty minutes later, a private car arrived, another luxury she’d never experienced. The driver, a young man with mahogany skin, took her suitcase and put it in the trunk, but Lara clung to her shoulder bag, her survival kit. As a detective and a paramedic, she’d learned to carry a lot of little necessities, including a mini-flashlight, a small roll of duct tape, and an Epi pen.

Darkness fell quickly as they drove and Lara tried to take in what she could of the countryside. They headed west through suburbia toward the capital. AmGo had built the huge Gauntlet arena on the site where the Ronald Reagan airport had once stood. It was prime real estate, but nobody was building homes or offices anymore.

“I need to stop somewhere to buy a blender,” she told the driver.

“Is that a new energy drink?” He looked at her in the rearview mirror.

“It’s a small kitchen appliance, like a juicer.”

“Oh yeah, my mother had one of those.”

Didn’t anyone use them anymore? Lara refused to let his comment make her feel old.

Forty minutes later, they exited the parkway and traveled along a wide, elevated, and mostly empty road that had once led to the airport. Soon, they passed under a new silver-and-white arch with the word
AmGo
illuminated at the top. A tremor ran up Lara’s spine. She was finally here at the Gauntlet, a constructed world where she would be tested to her limit. The driver stopped in front of a small, elegant hotel. Lara’s understanding was that the Gauntlet Suites had been reserved for contestants and media people that week. For the rest of the year, the hotel attracted tourists who paid to visit the arena when it was not in use. The stadium where the Battle took place, the one phase of the contest that wealthy viewers could watch in person, was occasionally rented out for concerts and other events. AmGo had made a long-term investment in the property.