The Gauntlet Assassin (6 page)

Chapter 6

Mon., May 8

Lara woke to the sound of beeping. Disoriented at first, she sat up and grabbed her 9-millimeter off the nightstand. The hotel room came into focus and she remembered where she was. The beep was her six o’clock wake-up alarm from her iCom.

She heard her roommate moving around, so she put her weapon in the nightstand drawer and pushed out of bed. After splashing cold water on her face, Lara did thirty pushups and thirty crunches on the carpeted floor. Any other day, she would have completed a vigorous kickboxing workout as well or taken a ten-mile run, but the competition began this afternoon and she needed to save her physical energy. At forty-two, she was the oldest contestant, but she was also in excellent physical condition. She counted on her quick reflexes and ability to think ahead to give her an edge. The combination had served her well as a police officer…except that one time.

Out in the shared area, Lara sat at the small table and cut up one of the peaches she’d purchased. She tossed it in the blender with two tablespoons of whey protein, a teaspoon of flax seed, and a cup of yogurt. She’d forgotten to bring cinnamon for flavor.

At the sound of the blender, Kirsten rushed out of her bedroom. “What are you doing?”

“Making breakfast.” Lara poured her meal into a glass and drank half.

“You know we can order room service?”

“Go ahead.” Lara was shamefully pleased to see Kirsten was not as pretty without makeup. As she finished her meal, she remembered the cameras.
Crap
. Would the footage editors show her weird food habits to the viewers? Would they be amused or disgusted? Lara had stopped caring about what most people thought of her long ago, and it was unnatural for her to play to an audience. Thank goodness, the viewers only counted for a portion of the total outcome.

She headed for the shower. Orientation started in less than two hours and she still needed her daily fix of online news.

Outside the hotel, Lara waited with a group of contestants for the shuttle to arrive. She pulled on dark glasses against the bright sun and felt a layer of sweat form on her skin. Across the road stood a small grocery store/pharmacy. In the distance to the right, brown fields and chunks of old tarmac surrounded the massive arena buildings, with the Potomac River on one side of the property and greener suburbs on the other.

The shuttle arrived and Lara boarded it, even though the arena was only a half mile away. Her digital instructions that morning had told her to take the shuttle and she complied, not wanting to get herself in further trouble. Other contestants boarded, wearing bright smiles and carrying shoulder bags but saying little. The first round of competition, the Challenge, was the toughest, and half of them would go home by the end of the next day.

They passed through giant iron gates and Lara had the sense that her life was about to change.

Her first stop was the orientation room, which looked like a campus lecture hall with a sloped floor and flip-down seating. Lara grabbed a spot near the back on the end of a row, one of her reasons for arriving early. She hated being trapped in a crowd and needed access to the exits. Remembering the hotel clerk’s revelation that a man had called and asked about her, Lara scanned the room, looking for someone out of place. Attractive contestants filed in, wearing snug athletic clothing over shapely bodies. Media people carrying cameras or Docks stood around the perimeter, occasionally stopping a contestant for a quick interview.

A young female newscaster spotted her and strode over. “I’m Jessie Stark from CNC Broadcasting,” she said, motioning the cameraman to move in. “Are you Lara Evans?” The petit redhead shoved a mic toward Lara’s face.

“Yes, and I’m proud to represent Oregon.”

“How does it feel to be the oldest contestant here today?”

Lara had prepared for the question, but it still stung. “I don’t think about it very much. I’m as physically fit as anyone here, and I’ve trained for this event for two years. I’m ready to compete.”

“What did you do for training?”

“Daily runs and workouts with various types of hand-to-hand combat, simulated war games to heighten my reflexes, water workouts once a week with weights—”

Jessie cut her off. “What about the Puzzle?”

“There’s not much I could do to train for it. I can only hope that thirteen years in law enforcement and seven as a paramedic prepared me somewhat.” The second phase of the competition tested the participants’ ability to quickly analyze a situation and solve a problem. It guaranteed that physical strength alone was not enough to win the overall competition. Most states gave their applicants an IQ test before letting them enter the finals.

“The analysts put your chance of winning at fifty to one. What do you say to that?” Jessie looked a little smug.

“I know the odds are against me, but sometimes the underdog will surprise you.” Lara recalled the time she’d chased down a plane on a runway to stop a murderer, but she kept it to herself. She was uncomfortable with the interview and wanted it to be over.

“Which competitor are you hoping to be paired with in the Challenge?”

Lara had given this some thought, but she couldn’t share her reasons. “At this level of physical fitness, it doesn’t matter. Every contestant will be equally hard to beat.”

“Jason Copeland of Illinois said he wanted to compete against you in the first round. He says at forty-two, you’re the weakest link.”

Lara gave a bright smile. “He must not be very confident.”
The two-faced prick.

Jessie leaned forward and her voice softened. “Some pundits say you might draw sympathy from older viewers and survive the Challenge only because of that. How do you feel about the sympathy vote?”

Lara bit her tongue to keep from saying
bullshit
. “That’s nonsense. Viewer demographics are skewed young and are definitely not in my favor.”

Jessie spotted the Adonis-like competitor from Texas and clicked off the mic. “Thanks for your time.” She signaled her cameraman and rushed after her next sound bite.

Lara took long slow breaths to center herself. She couldn’t let anything personal or emotional distract her from competing at her best. She wished she knew what was in store for her beyond the elevated maze. The competition was different every year to keep states from copying the Gauntlet for their regional tryouts. The organizers wanted each phase to be a surprise for the participants and the viewers. That element kept the pay-per-view money coming.

At ten o’clock, the employment commissioner strode onto the stage. Sizable and handsome in a charcoal suit, he seemed like a different man from the one she’d found on the floor two days ago, clad in black leather and bleeding from his shoulder. Lara couldn’t detect any sign he was favoring a gunshot wound. He must have injected a numbing agent around the wound before making the public appearance.

The commissioner leaned into the mic. “Welcome, everyone, to the Gauntlet, now in its third year. Congratulations to each of you for being the best in your state. The grant-money prize is bigger than ever this year, thanks to our co-sponsor, AmGo, which plans to build a distribution center in the winner’s hometown.”

The crowd interrupted with applause. Thaddeus Morton smiled for the viewers, showing perfect white teeth, and waited for the noise to settle down. “We’ve designed a whole new set of scenarios that we think will be both challenging and fun.”

Lara suppressed a grunt. Fun for the viewers. For the contestants, the rounds were carefully planned versions of hell.

The commissioner continued. “In the new spirit of national unity, we’ve added a teamwork component to the first section of the Challenge. To enter the main arena where you will compete against each other, you and your opponent must first work together. You’ll be given only five minutes to realize your challenge and work as a team to unlock the door. If you fail to enter the arena in the time given, neither contestant will earn any points for the Challenge, but the person who completes the courses first will proceed in the competition.”

Groans filled the auditorium. Lara tried to visualize what they had in mind by teamwork and who she would be paired with. She hoped it was a woman, thinking a female might be more cooperative, but quickly realized it didn’t matter. Everyone in the room would do whatever it took to earn points. For each of the five phases, the viewers could award up to 25 popularity points in addition to the 50 given automatically to the winner of the phase. In the end, the points determined which contestant went home with the grand prize.

“You won’t know your time slot or competitor until a half hour before your turn at the Challenge. The pairings will be announced every hour and a half.” Morton pointed to a four-foot digital screen hanging near the main entrance. “The start times and pairings will be posted throughout the arena. If you go back to your hotel room, please check your iComs regularly.” In a less friendly tone, he added, “As you already know, anyone caught watching the streaming feed of the contest will be immediately disqualified.”

People from around the world would watch the daily coverage of the Gauntlet, but Lara wouldn’t see any of the events until it was over. Blocking the competitors from viewing was a level of fairness that kept the last contestants in each round from having an advantage by knowing what to expect. The rounds were timed and each contestant went into the arena with the same knowledge.

Lara shifted in her chair, feeling impatient. Waiting to compete was how most of her time here would be spent. She planned to read nonfiction on her Dock and watch breaking news. She would interact with the other contestants just enough to keep the viewers happy.

The commissioner went over a few new rules and outlined specifics of how the grant money would be awarded. Near the end, he said, “The Challenge begins this afternoon at one, Eastern Standard Time, with Kirsten Dornberg of Florida and Lara Evans of Oregon.”

Lara’s heart missed a beat at the sound of her name. She and her roommate were scheduled first and it wasn’t likely a coincidence. Was the director trying to flush them out early or capitalize on their little squabble in the hotel room? Lara decided it didn’t matter. She was excited to compete early. Waiting was not her strong suit. She was also pleased to be paired with Kirsten. She’d asked the commissioner to set her up with someone tall because shorter contestants performed better when balance was required. Had he followed through or had Minda made the decision after reprimanding her and Kirsten? Either way, Lara planned to beat the Amazon woman fairly.

Pulsing with energy from not working out yet, Lara was eager to get going. She glanced toward the exit, wondering if she could leave, even though Morton was still speaking. A blond, medium-sized man stood near the door, intently watching the commissioner. Was that Bremmer, the overheated boyfriend who’d shot at her? It sure looked like him. What was he doing here? Was he keeping an eye on his lover… or had he followed her and asked about her at the hotel?

Lara jumped from her seat and strode toward the man, thinking she would drag him out of the room and confront him. He saw her coming and a look of recognition flashed on his face. The man bolted as Lara heard her named called again and had to turn back.

Chapter 7

Six and a half months earlier: Tues, Nov. 15

Paul woke from a heart-pounding dream, realized today was the money drop, and broke into a sweat. He’d never experienced this kind of anxiety before. His sedate, predictable life had disappeared.

Determined to calm his escalating pulse, Paul emptied his mind and began his morning routine. While he brewed a pot of jasmine green tea, he took Lilly out for her morning pee. When he got back, he carried his mug and his Dock to the chair by the big window and read selective sections of the
Wall Street Journal
. Usually he would search the internet for a new charity, but today he felt impatient, so he went to the Transitions website and quickly donated ten dollars. He’d begun the daily routine of contributing when he landed his federal job. He knew he was lucky, and starting his day by sharing with those less fortunate kept him from feeling guilty when he read the news.

He set his Dock on the table by the door, plugged his VEx device into his NetCom, and positioned himself on the area rug for his morning workout. He pulled the VEx cap over his head, set the timer for twenty minutes, then began a series of movements that somehow managed to make his heart rate escalate without him breaking a sweat. The best thing anyone had ever invented.

Afterward, he forced himself to complete fifty stomach crunches, hating every single one. Lilly watched and gave an occasional sympathetic whimper as he grunted his way through them. They hurt a little less today, but it was only because he was distracted by the events ahead.

After work he would pick up ten grand in cash from Alan Rathmore. Paul had planned the exchange carefully so they would not meet face to face, but he was keenly aware that things could still go wrong. He did twenty pushups, a new addition to his workout, then showered and ate his usual oatmeal and fruit for breakfast.

He’d loaded his backpack the night before with jogging pants, a t-shirt, a fake mustache, and a wig with collar-length blond hair. He always wore black athletic shoes, so they would serve him for both work and the mission afterward. He grabbed his Dock, slipped it into the outer pocket of the backpack, and hurried downstairs to catch the bus.

The morning went quickly as Paul immersed himself in writing code to fix a glitch in the federal compensation software. But the afternoon dragged, and Paul found himself watching the clock and thinking of leaving early for the first time since the flu outbreak in 2019.

A knock on his door brought welcome relief. “Come in.”

Camille stepped into his office, every curve in her body accentuated by a tight-fitting, one-piece pantsuit. The black and blonde combo nearly gave him an erection.

“Hey, Paul. I can’t get into the pay-grade file and I need your help.”