Book 2: Operation Detour

Episode 8

© by William Arthur Holmes

Move On, Don’t Look Back

Riva turns down an alleyway, dodging people, monkeys, dogs, cats and trash cans. “Seeing you thrown in jail,” she says, “that’s when I decided I just can’t do this anymore. I cannot do that to another human being.”

I nod again in appreciation.

“But these people I work for, Dobie... You cannot simply quit a job like this. No one gets out alive.”

“Oh, come on,” I try to stay positive. “We’ll think of something.”

Looking over in surprise, she says, “We?”

“Despite everything...” I surprise myself, saying, “sure. Why not? Yes, you ruined my life. Yes, I should probably get a few thousand miles away from you. But, the damage is done. No point crying over spilled milk. Or, in my case, a lost job, girlfriend and fake disease.”

“You are quite forgiving, aren’t you?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” I said. “I am incredibly pissed at you. I am just dealing with it. ‘Move on, don’t look back,’ and all that. Besides, I don’t want you to take away my unlimited credit card.”

She smiles. I think she is starting to like me... a little.

“I might still have to kill you, of course,” she says. I hope she’s joking. “But will try not to.”

“That’s all a guy can ask for. I’ll try and do the same.”

It is her turn to wonder if I’m joking.

The Next Day

I am back at the Kuala Lumpur airport, picking up my carry-on bags to board the plane, when a small European man with thick, curly brown hair approaches me. It is almost a pompadour, his hair is so tall, but he simply has a lot of it.

“You are American, yes?” the man speaks in a vaguely Germanic accent.

“How’d you know!?”

“Anyone can spot an American a mile away.”

“Congratulations.”

~ ~ ~

Riva is watching from a nearby bar. Trying to, at least. It is difficult with men constantly offering her drinks. She is dressed casually, trying to blend in with her Capri pants, a simple knit shirt, cricket cap with a local team logo she found in the airport, and her hair pulled back into a ponytail. It does not help. She is still an attractive female alone in a bar.

“I’ve got a two hour layover, honey,” one man says boldly as he approaches her table. “I could lay you over for most that time. Whaddaya say?”

“Not the entire time?” she sneers. “No thanks.”

Not taking the hint, he sits down next to her. “I have always wanted to have sex in public. How about it? Right here, right now in front of everybody!”

Without missing a beat, she says, “Go ahead... with yourself.”

“I meant with you.”

“I know what you meant, jackass,” she replies. “But seriously, fuck off.”

She is tempted to use the chloroform-soaked rag in her pocket on him, but there is no time.

The man walks dejectedly toward the men’s room to, presumably, do exactly what she suggested.

Returning her attention to the short man with tall hair now speaking to Dobie, he looks familiar but is too far away to be sure. She leaves her table and closes the distance between them while, hopefully, not drawing attention to herself.

An electric cart ferrying anyone who might need a lift comes up from behind her. On her right, a maintenance man exits a storage room. She removes her cap and props the storage room door open with the cap before it shuts. The man never notices and hops onto the passing cart.

~ ~ ~

“I’m about to board,” I tell the annoying man. “What do you want?”

“I want you.”

“I’m flattered, but...”

The man pulls my hands behind my back and, in one fluid motion, handcuffs me.

“Hey, what the...?!”

“You are under arrest, Mr. Pokorny.”

“On whose authority? I’ve got friends in high places.”

“Not anymore,” he informs me happily. “Your charmed life is… no longer charmed.”

“Charmed life? You kidding?! How do you know my name?”

~ ~ ~

Creeping closer, Riva recognizes the man with the big hair. It is Ludwig, of all people, her trainer from the agency. She half-expected Serge himself.

Seeing Ludwig reminds her of the most useful advice he ever gave her: “Your target is weakest when he thinks he is strongest – while overpowering someone… or relieving himself.”

Riva takes Ludwig’s advice and trips him from behind just as the handcuffs go on Dobie. She grabs the latter by the shirt and pulls him on top of her former trainer. Using Dobie’s weight to hold Ludwig down, she calf-ropes him with plastic tie-wrap handcuffs.

Smiling through heavy breaths, she says, “Lulu! Small world!”

~ ~ ~

To me, she explains, “We used to call him Lulu because his name is Ludwig and he’s from Luxembourg. Get it? Right, Lulu?”

Ludwig has no response. While frisking him, she finds and pockets his plastic gun and knife – both fully functional and deadly – then places that chloroform rag over his nose and mouth.

She drags him, unconscious, to the storage room. People notice, but none dare speak.

I am still in handcuffs, like a criminal, but follow them into the storage room. There, I protest, “Hey, can you uncuff me? These hurt.”

“There might be more people like Lulu on the way,” she says. “I need to deal with them. No offense, but you would just get in the way. This storage room is a good hiding place. Just stay here!”

She props the unconscious Ludwig against the shelves and ties him to it with more plastic tie-wraps. On her way out, she says to me, “Wait here.”

“I’m handcuffed,” I snap at her. “Where am I gonna go?”

“Sorry!” she says as the door closes behind her. Nodding at Ludwig, she says to me, “At least you can move around.”

First thing I do after she leaves is to try and open the door. It’s locked. There’s a badge-swipe device next to the knob, but I have no badge. Who makes a storage room lock from the inside?

~ ~ ~

A moment later, Ludwig awakens and immediately realizes his situation. He struggles to free himself, barely noticing me, until accepting that he will not break loose on his own.

He gives me a hopeful look.

“Don’t look at me,” I say. “I’m handcuffed and locked in here, too.”

“Yes, but at least you can move around.”

That was the same thing Riva said. I’m so paranoid at this point, I wonder if they are in this together somehow. Not that it makes any sense, it just makes me wonder.

I’m busy looking for a security badge, or at least something to cut these handcuffs with, when he starts telling me a story. I don’t know why.

“This Riva girl,” he explains, “is training to be what we call a ‘retribution specialist.’”

I have no response, but am listening, wondering what this has to do with me. As far as I know, I’ve never done anything to deserve “retribution.”

“Her assignment,” he continues, “was to take an ‘average Joe’ – you – ruin his life and turn him into a terrorist, or whatever we found useful, just to see if she could do it. It was a test. If successful, she could progress to ruining the lives of rival business leaders, local authorities and politicians. From there, maybe national leaders, even entire countries. Standard training.”

I’m rummaging around, looking for something sharp, when I ask, “So, I’m like her little lab rat? Nice! But, why did she want that particular factory blown up?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. To give one of our clients a competitive edge, possibly. Pretty standard stuff. Besides, it’s just good for business.”

“Good, how?”

“Violence, terrorism, chaos, mayhem. It’s what we do!” Ludwig sounds like a salesman. An evil salesman. “Officially, we protect our clients and count entire countries among our clientele.”

“The old protection racket!”

“Yes, but much more sophisticated. We are world leaders!”

“That might explain what’s wrong with the world.”

Laughing, he adds, “We ensure that the military-security industry has enemies to fight.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“You are going to die. The least I can do is tell you why.”

“Oh, that,” I say, laughing. “Turns out I’m not dying, after all. It was just a joke. Riva is such a kidder.”

He stares at me. “I don’t know about that, but you should know that Riva will kill you. I cannot blame her. She is desperate. She went from star agent-in-training to rogue agent, all in one week. It happens. Sad, really.

“But, do not worry. I am going to take you back to the States where you will stand trial for grand theft auto, and whatever else we have on you. With me, you will live. With Riva, make no mistake, she will kill us both if possible. So, could you please cut these handcuffs off me so that I might break us out of here?”

“The door is key-card secured,” I tell him. “How will you open it?”

“With a credit card between the door jamb and knob,” he says with a smile. I’m kicking myself for not thinking of it, but say nothing. When I start moving back toward the front of the room, he says, “Please hurry! Riva is likely to...”

Before he can finish, Riva returns and closes the door behind her.

“Speak of the devil!” says Ludwig.

“’Riva is likely to...’ what, Lulu?” she draws her weapon.

“I was just telling Al here...” says Ludwig, “may I call you Al?”

“Sure. Just don’t sing.”

“I was telling Albert here...”

“His name is Dobie,” Riva corrects him. “Where did you get Albert?”

“I was just telling whats-his-name what a lovely, sensible girl you are, and that you will likely demonstrate that by releasing me and coming back home.”

By this time, I have returned to the front of the room, but — because of how the room is arranged — I am standing closer to Ludwig than to Riva.

“Not gonna happen, Ludwig,” Riva says, aiming her gun between the two of us. “I cannot decide which one of you to shoot, though.”

“I was just telling Alouicius here,” Ludwig giggles nervously, “that you would kill him. So, go ahead. I gave him ample time to make peace with that.”

~ ~ ~

Without further hesitation, Riva fires two shots into the chest. Dead. Simple as that. Situation taken care of. She would have shot him in the head, but always liked his face and did not want to ruin it. Silly, she knows, but the end result is the same. Ludwig is dead.

~ ~ ~

I am speechless. This woman is a cold-blooded killer.

She holsters her gun, pulls a knife, and comes toward me. There is nothing to stop her from killing me next. And, for some reason, she wants to end me with a knife, not a gun.

She takes hold of my arm with one hand while cutting through the zip-ties with the other. To my great relief, I am free again, though my heart does not stop racing for the next several minutes.

Seeing the blood spatter on my clothes, she says in an almost motherly tone, “We must get you out of those clothes!”

“I thought you’d never ask,” I joke.

“I’ve got a knife in my hand,” she deadpans, “and just killed a man in front of you, and you are thinking about sex?”

I shrug. “You’re right, though, I will need a new shirt. I think I saw something earlier in the back of the room. Some sort of maintenance uniform.”

I go back there, rummage around some more, and shout out, “Found something!”

“Is it clean?” she asks as she makes her way toward me.

“Looks like it.” I hold up a jumpsuit. “Might be a little small.” It is several sizes too small, but there is nothing else. “I guess I can cut it in half and make a shirt out of it.”

As she joins me in back, I remove my shirt and give her my best shirtless, male model pose. She scoffs and returns to the front of the room.

I squeeze into my new shirt, looking like a moron, and follow her out of the storage room. We leave Ludwig’s body for the maintenance crew to discover.