The CIA Shit
Glennon
She stood in Triumph’s control booth, waiting. Her feet were shoulder-width apart, hands hanging down at her sides, her eyes riveted to the monitors that were never turned off.
Two men stepped into the frame at the front door, and one was tapping keys on his phone.
A muffled ding came from her pants pocket.
Extracting the device, she looked dispassionately at the text. A photo—Francesca in Tripoli’s arms, safe.
A smiling Guillermo looked up into the camera above the door, his white teeth brilliant against his skin, even in black and white.
He puckered his lips and blew her a kiss.
Asshole.
Cesar put his phone away and replaced it with the bracelet they’d cut off Francesca’s wrist. Holding it up to the door, he was then able to enter the code, and the front door opened, allowing them and two additional men to pass inside and close the door behind them.
Time to pay the piper.
When she’d been in here two nights ago, Triumph had never gotten a chance to show her anything because they’d gotten distracted.
Being a CIA agent, however, she had wonderful memory skills, and from the short time she’d been alone in the booth, she had a basic knowledge of the layout of the sound and light boards in front of her.
They didn’t turn off the main power, machines, or monitors, so it had been easy to use the computer to put the club in operation mode.
The four men stepped into the lobby. She’d already prepared them for which way to go.
The lighting beyond the entrance was dimmed, but some of it winked and moved, as it normally would when guests were here.
The music played at its preset volume, which seemed far too loud with no one but the cat and her mice in the maze.
If things weren’t so grim, she would have enjoyed the way the situation matched the club’s labyrinth and illusion.
She didn’t expect to leave the club.
But she didn’t plan for Cesar or Guillermo to leave either.
The two foot soldiers she couldn’t care less about.
There were omnidirectional microphones throughout the club, placed there so Triumph and his staff could communicate while making repairs or installations, and they didn’t have to try to talk to each other over phones when their hands were needed for other things.
Even though the music played throughout the club, she could hear the click of Guillermo’s designer dress shoes on the flooring.
The steps were slow and measured, as if the person moving had all the time in the world.
He’d quickly discover that was incorrect.
Guillermo stood in the main aisle, near the heart of the labyrinth, looking all around him. With a flick of his head, he sent each of the men with him in a different direction.
Not surprising. It would have been nice if they had stayed together, but she’d planned for this option.
“Gigi.” Guillermo. He made a tsking noise. “Why are you hiding, corazón? Makes me think you don’t want to see me.”
Her advantage over him was slim at best. She had one night in the club. He had none. She needed to lure them further into the club where she could pick them off one by one.
Finally, she moved. She leaned over the console and, with one finger, slid the volume lever to its maximum setting.
A cacophony hit them all.
The slightly tinny, never-ending, iconic carousel tune.
Eighties hair-band music poured from the speakers in the arcade.
Dance music leaked out of the big tent and into the far end of the arcade.
Voice-overs of the carnival barker looped to the nonexistent audiences.
She pushed another button, and the prerecorded announcements from the mini-stages and entranceway overlapped each other, creating a harsh dissonance with the music playing.
A second button caused the strobe lights in the long straightaway of the labyrinth to flicker on and off as the projectors threw spatial illusions against the walls, floors, and ceilings.
Satisfied that she’d done what she could, she slipped through the doorway of the control room and down the railing of its staircase to the main floor.
She stood at the foot of the stairs and contemplated her choices.
There were several directions she could go, none of them better or worse than the rest.
Weapon drawn, safety off, she selected the path at the two o’clock position, following it into the hub of the labyrinth.
Whether it was providence, fate, destiny, or sheer dumb luck, within the first two turns of the path, she came across the first goon. He’d managed to end up in the long, dead-end tunnel, temporarily disoriented by the swirling lights. He was so focused on that he never saw her.
One shot rang out loud and echoed throughout the club, reverberating over the music and sounds. It would attract the others, but the echoing off the walls would distort her placement somewhat. Still, she needed to not get caught here when they found their buddy.
She slunk along the wall until she got back to the main junction.
Here, at the hub, were some of the doors that led to the practical rooms for performances and bars, but most led to dead ends or circled back to a different entrance of the hub.
There were even dead ends in this smaller portion that forced patrons to backtrack and choose a different path.
She ran into goon number two in the contortionist’s space.
He was slightly more aware of his surroundings than goon number one.
He was looking under the black curtain skirt of the small circular stage when he caught her movement at the entrance of the room.
He brought his gun up into position to take a shot at her, but she was faster, and he dropped face-first onto the small stage at the center of the room.
Halfway there.
When she ducked back into the labyrinth, she had to choose. Go back the way she came, or try another path? She chose the second option, hoping to cut over to the arcade, a space that was much more open, and she could see Guillermo and Cesar better when they found her.
Unfortunately, it didn’t happen quite as she hoped. The labyrinth did its job too well, and as she came around a blind corner, she ran smack into Cesar.
Fuck her to the end of next month.
She fought him as best she could, but he had over a foot and over a hundred pounds on her.
He slammed her hand against the wall, and her gun went flying.
Her gasp of pain, a wrist that was probably cracked, maybe even broken, gave him the opening to deliver a punch to her stomach, knocking all the wind out of her.
She collapsed on all fours to the ground.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Guillermo’s silhouette standing at a distant turn of the maze. Gun in hand, arms hanging loose at his sides, he showed no concern over the loud noises, flashing lights, and myriad of hallways.
Meanwhile, Cesar stood over her as she tried to regain her breath. Why didn’t he finish her? Why stand there and give her a chance to gather her wits and strength, and to retaliate?
Because recovering would take her more time than it took for Guillermo to walk to her, and her ex-lover wanted to pull the trigger.
This was truly it. The final showdown. She’d been chased across half of South America, into the Darién Gap, across the Gulf of Mexico, and all the way to San Antonio, only for it all to end here in a nightclub. It just wasn’t fair.
Still gasping like a fish out of water, her injured hand clutching her chest, she struggled to clear her brain. She had only seconds to save her life. Head down, hair hanging over her face, she peered through the strands to see what options she had.
Steps echoed in slow motion. Her vision was hazy, and her attempts to inhale and exhale rattled in her ears. It hurt. It hurt so bad! She was seconds from lying down and letting whatever happened happen.
A montage of images flashed before her eyes.
Triumph sitting on the bed in Argentina, holding her hand while Demon removed the bullet.
Triumph staring out the rear window of the truck bed as he described beautiful, young Tilly when he first knew her.
Triumph with her in a tiny bed in Colombia as she shattered in his arms.
Triumph standing on the riverbank, tying back his hair in his bandana.
Triumph handing over his cuff to the girl in the gap.
Triumph waking her up to make her his.
In every flash, his smile broke her heart. Blue eyes sparkling, glimpses of his dimples as deep grooves when he laughed, his perfect little-boy smile, so full of charm and mischief.
The montage shifted. Instead of stagnant photo images of moments, this one moved. It showed Triumph hovering over her in the bed when he gave her rule number one. Then, he’d ordered her not to move. Not this time.
“Move, Glennon. Get up and move. Run. You need to survive. Whatever it takes, little spy.”
Where the energy came from, she had no idea, but her vision and lungs were suddenly clear.
Without thinking, she gathered her feet underneath her, and like a sprinter off the blocks, she lunged along the floor into an open archway. Her first steps were shaky and unbalanced, but it was enough.
Guillermo and Cesar could have ended it right there. However, because they wanted to play with their food before catching and eating it, they had allowed her just enough time to get her head straight and enough wind behind her to recover.
Steel was right. His brother was beyond stupid.
Now, where to? She no longer had a weapon, so it was all wits and surprise from here. Her best option was to escape the building. Out there, she could lose herself in the crowds. There she could find a weapon.
She took a precious moment to consider her options.
To her left, it was a straight shot to the Magic House, a vast room with nowhere to hide except behind the bar and the various rows of heavy leather couches. They’d be able to mow her down quickly.