The Destroyed

CHAPTER 36

FRIDAY, MAY 12 th, 2006 8:17 PM LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

Mila’s life since becoming a courier had been an eventful one. Sure, the majority of jobs were easy, just like handling a package for FedEx, but on occasion, she’d find herself in situations that were not what anyone would consider safe.

Twice she had traveled to Baghdad, where she faced constant threats from car bombs and insurgents. Then there was the trip into Rocinha, one of Rio de Janeiro’s infamous favelas, where she’d had a gun pointed at her four times. There were other trips that also left their marks on her, but none until now had ever come close to destroying her.

This time, as she huddled in the darkened room two floors beneath the casino, she felt a level of fear unlike any she’d ever experienced. Before it had always been about getting caught in situations due to her location. It had never been about her.

Now it was.

There was an assassin in this very city, here for one reason only. To kill her.

She had no idea how often assassins failed at their missions, but she guessed the percentage had to be infinitesimal. If Julien and Quinn hadn’t intercepted her, her chances of living until the end of the day would have been zero, but the threat wasn’t over. While her odds of survival had increased, she was unwilling to believe they had come even close to tipping in her favor.

It hadn’t occurred to her until after Quinn had dropped her off that she should have asked for a weapon. Not that she could have done much with it the way her hands were shaking, but at least it would have given her a small sense of security.

When she’d entered the room, she had found a box just inside the door that contained a bottle of water, a flashlight, and a cell phone. She knew better than to make any calls. The phone’s only purpose would be if Julien or Quinn needed to contact her. As for the flashlight, she’d only used it to find a place to sit. After that, she turned it off to save the battery.

The room was not large. There were built-in shelves along the two sides, and several pipes traversing the back. She had tucked herself between a couple of pipes, and drawn her knees up to her chest.

She wasn’t sure how long she had been there. She thought about checking the time on the phone, but what did it matter? Her life was moment by moment now. Each second that passed was like the second before, forever repeating.

Though she could see nothing in the darkness, she closed her eyes and tried to set her mind adrift. A memory filled the void. She was young, maybe five or six. Beside her stood her father, his hand holding hers as they crossed a road. When she looked up at him, he smiled. His lips moved, and she remembered what he said.

“Always look both ways, sweetie. You don’t want to get hurt, do you?”

No, Daddy, I don’t.

Once they reached the other side, her father and the street faded away, and the hell of the real world pushed back in.

She tried to recall it, but the memory was full of holes this time, and when she looked up at her dad’s face, it refused to come into focus.

Again it faded, and again she tried to bring it back, but this time it wouldn’t come at all.

The handle on the door rattled.

She pushed back against the wall, and tried to turn on the flashlight, but it slipped from her grasp and fell on the floor.

As the door opened, she steeled herself for the inevitable.

“Thank God! I was sure for some reason you had not made it.”

Julien!

She jumped to her feet and ran to him. He encircled her with his large arms, enveloping her in a hug that she’d started to think she’d never experience again. Far sooner than she wanted, he took a step back.

“Come,” he said. “We have to go.”

He grabbed her hand and led her out of the room.

“Where?”

“South.”

“And then?”

“That is something we’ll worry about later. Right now, let’s just concentrate on getting you out of here.”

He guided her through a different door than the one she’d used to enter the sub-basement, and into a stairwell that took them all the way up to ground level. As they exited, the sounds of bells and bongs and music and voices flooded over them.

“Stay right next to me,” Julien told her. “We’ll go through the casino, and out the other side, then use the pedestrian bridge to cross the street. I have a car over there.”

Without waiting for her to respond, he began walking.

The air in the casino was ripe with cigarette smoke. Mila had to blink several times to keep her eyes from stinging. Rows and rows of slot machines ringed the gambling area. Beyond, radiating out from a central circular bar, were the table games. While there were plenty of open stools at the slots, most of the tables were filled with people enjoying another Friday night in Sin City.

Once more, Mila’s training kicked in, and she donned the personality of someone who belonged there. Julien, too, was acting the part-laughing, exchanging a few quick observations, and generally looking like he was trying to decide which game to attempt first. But both were also scanning the crowd, looking for threats.

“Let’s eat first, oui?” Julien said, his voice light. “Then I’d like to maybe try a little blackjack.”

Mila frowned. “You always lose at blackjack.” While it was part of her act, it was also the truth.

“I’m feeling very lucky today.”

A laugh passed over her lips. “Like I haven’t heard that before.”

She expected him to come back with a witty retort, but instead his grip on her hand tightened. She glanced at him. He was looking toward the front of the casino, so she followed his gaze.

The room was actually a few stories high. At the front, a second level, reached by an escalator from the casino floor, ran partially around the edge. She could see a few stores up there, mostly places to get something to eat.

“What is it?” she asked.

He stared for a moment longer, then whipped her around and started walking quickly back in the direction they’d come. “Hurry. Hurry.”

“What? What did you see?”

“The spotter,” he whispered. “The one who tried to follow you from the airport.”

It suddenly felt as if her whole body was pulling in on itself. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” He glanced over his shoulder. “ Merde! ”

Mila started to turn, but Julien yanked on her arm, pulling her forward.

“He’s seen us,” he said.

“No.”

“Come. We’ll go back downstairs. It will be safe there.”

They hurried through the casino back to the hidden door. Once inside the stairwell, they dropped all pretense that nothing was wrong, and raced to the bottom level.

Mila exited the stairwell first, and paused just beyond the door, not remembering which way to go.

“To the right!” Julien yelled.

As she turned, he moved past her, and led her to the safe room.

“Get in,” he said, after he opened the door.

She scooted by him, but when he didn’t join her, she said, “Julien?”

“Just stay quiet. I’m going to go check.”

“No. Stay here with me.”

“I’ll be right back.”

He shut the door, not letting her say anything else. She stared after him for a second, then settled on the floor. The flashlight she’d dropped earlier was lying nearby as if it had been waiting for her return. She picked it up, thinking it wasn’t exactly the best weapon in the world, but it was all she had.

Later, Julien told her what had happened after he left.

He’d headed straight for the stairwell, then propped open the door and stood at the bottom, listening for anyone who might be coming down. For the first couple of minutes, there was nothing, then he heard the door at the top open.

Given the hundreds, or perhaps thousands, of employees working at the hotel at that very moment, there was no way to know for sure who it might’ve been, but this particular set of stairs was supposed to be seldom used.

He slipped inside, and quietly shut the door behind him.

There were footsteps heading down. A single pair. If it were an employee, Julien would have expected to hear either the rapid clomps of someone in a hurry, or the leisurely yet purposeful taps of a person trying to waste a little time between tasks.

These steps were light, with no rhythm to them at all.

Step. Stop. Step-step. Stop. Step. Step. Step. Stop.

When the footsteps reached the landing for the first basement level, they paused. For a long moment, nothing happened, then the door opened. Noise from the considerably more active floor leaked into the stairwell for about five seconds before being cut off by the door closing again.

Steps once more. Heading toward the bottom now. As soon as they reached the midway landing, the person would be able to see Julien.

Careful not to make a sound, Julien let himself back out into the lower basement, then concealed himself around the side of a humming metal container that was riveted to the floor. Keeping as close to the front end as possible, he listened for the door.

Though he heard nothing, he suddenly had the sense he was no longer alone. Whoever had been in the stairwell had come into the basement without making a sound.

But where were they? Just inside the door? Already moving off? Where?

Merde!

Merde, merde, merde, merde, merde!

Reluctantly, he leaned forward to take a look.

The spotter was there, all right. Only he wasn’t just inside the door, or walking away. He was standing three feet on the other side of the metal box, looking right at Julien.

Julien pulled his head back as the man’s fist flew out. It glanced off the top of his ear but did no real damage.

There was no exit behind him, just a narrow space hemmed in by the metal containers. Heading in that direction would surely get him killed. He held his position until he caught the first glimpse of movement, then he rushed forward, charging like a bull.

The spotter tried to get out of the way, but Julien caught him in the ribs, lifting him off his feet and slamming him against the wall. More times than not, that would have been all it took. Julien’s bulk and strength rendered most of his opponents useless.

To his dismay, the spotter was not one of those people. Even as the man’s body was being smashed between the wall and Julien’s shoulder, he grabbed Julien’s long hair and pulled it back as hard as he could. With a groan, Julien was forced to tilt his head back just enough so that the spotter could whack Julien in the cheek.

As Julien twisted away in pain, the man pushed in the other direction and broke free.

Julien reached out, trying to grab the back of the spotter’s shirt, but missed. The man ran down the narrow hallway, and Julien took off after him. The guy was smaller and quicker on his feet, so the gap between them increased.

Desperate, Julien burst forward, attempting to regain lost ground. When he reached a point only a few feet back, he grasped at the man again, this time latching on to the guy’s shirt.

As the spotter tried to turn down an intersecting corridor, Julien yanked on his shirt, pulling him backward.

Chaos took over as the two men collided, their feet tangling together. With a loud thud, they crashed to the floor.

Since Julien was on the bottom, he hit hardest, his head bouncing off the concrete. In a daze, he barely felt it when the spotter hit him in the head.

The second hit, he didn’t feel at all.