Revolution (35 page)

    Sinbad’s brief rest seemed to have recharged him. He used his superior strength to push Peter back when their swords were locked. Peter had no choice but to retreat toward the water. The Roman short swords clanged together in a flurry of blows, shooting out white-hot sparks. Peter guessed that he was approaching the edge of the moat. A few more steps and he would be in the water.

    I have to act now
or I’m finished
.

    Rayne stood his ground as Sinbad fired off a barrage of heavy blows to his sword and shield. He brought his right leg back to the edge of the moat and felt water lapping at his heel. He balanced himself on his right leg and twisted his body around to make it look like he was off-balance. At that moment, he knew what he had to do.

    Sinbad seized the opportunity to lunge at him with some heavy blows. Rayne parried and sidestepped, allowing Sinbad room to charge forward. Rayne initiated his ultimate strategy; he moved into Sinbad’s blind spot.

    When Sinbad reached the edge of the water, Rayne launched his attack. He put all his remaining energy into a flurry of blows meant to make Sinbad lose his balance. Sinbad had difficulty seeing his opponent because Rayne kept moving in the direction of his bad eye. Sinbad swung his sword wildly at Peter’s blurry image and teetered at the brink of the water. Rayne went after his shield, smashing it with all his might.

    Sinbad lost his balance and tumbled waist-high into the water. Rayne was contemplating going in after him until he saw something skim across the water’s surface. It looked like a half-submerged green log with sharp ridges along its top, darting across the water toward Sinbad. He decided not to go in the water.

    Sinbad screamed as the green object struck him, clamping massive jaws into his muscular left forearm. He swung his short sword at the crocodile, but the blade only rebounded from the creature’s scaly back. The crocodile launched an offensive, using its jaws to pull Sinbad under the water. It fell on top of him with all its formidable weight, pinning him to the ground beneath the water.

    Peter shuddered when he saw blood soaking the water around the crocodile’s thrashing body. He caught a quick glimpse of a human leg breaking the surface and then the water became red. Glancing to the right and left, he spotted more of the “green logs” shooting like torpedoes toward the bloody turmoil in the water. The crocodiles converged on the scene of the slaughter, fighting each other to get to the remaining bloody scraps.

   
Sorry, old friend. It was you or me.

    Rayne turned away from the sickening sight and stumbled toward the center of the battle circle. He was dimly aware of the announcer shouting something over the loudspeakers, but he felt dizzy and weak. When he reached what he estimated to be the center of the circle, farthest away from the encircling waters, he sat down and tossed his sword and shield away. Now that he had a moment to rest, he listened to the stadium loudspeakers

    “- proven himself to be quite a formidable contestant! We look forward to seeing him in the third round!” the loudspeakers announced.

    Rayne heard the familiar metallic grinding sound that presaged the forming of the moat and saw thin metal panels sliding back over the water. He heard the panels clang shut when they struck the edge of the circle.

    He was dimly aware of armored forms converging around him. Looking up, he saw a Roman centurion reaching down to give him a hand up. Peter took the man’s armored-gloved hand and stood. The noise from the stands was almost deafening. He followed the fake Roman guards over to the Imperial Box, repeating his previous salute before bowing low to the ground. The centurions pulled him to his feet when he looked like he wasn’t going to stand back up and dragged him across the field toward his cage. Stumbling along with them, Peter relinquished his sword and shield when they asked for it.

    Rayne found himself back in the familiar cell with his wide-eyed cellmate. He ignored the man’s incredulous stare as he trudged across the floor and sat down, leaning against the concrete wall. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine he was someplace else. He tried to ignore the annoying grinding noise of the cage bars being lowered over the arena entrance.

   
Well, at least I made it to round three. Maybe I can actually win this thing. I wonder who else is left?

    As if in answer to his question, the cage’s iron door rushed open and a Shock Trooper stepped through.

    “Mr. Rayne?” the guard asked through his metallic voice filter.

    “That’s me,” Rayne replied, wondering what this guard’s sudden appearance meant.

    “Come with me,” the guard commanded.

    Rayne didn’t reply, but he stood reluctantly and walked over to the guard.

    “Walk,” the guard said, pointing down the jail corridor.

     Rayne did as he was told. He walked forward. The guard fell into step behind him as they moved down the hallway.

    “Go right,” the guard instructed as they arrived at a four-way intersection. Rayne took a right. They traveled down a long, narrow corridor with no apparent end in sight.

   
Where are they taking me now?

    Rayne couldn’t figure out how the sudden appearance of the guard figured into the game show.

   
I’ve made it to round three, haven’t I? Surely, the next round didn’t start this fast. I haven’t even recovered from my last fight yet.

    “Take this next left,” the guard said as they traveled down the corridor.

    “Sure, no problem,” Peter said. The fact that he couldn’t see the Trooper behind him, but could hear his heavy boots striking the floor, was making him uneasy.

   
Where are they taking me? Have I won a special prize for being a good fighter? Are they going to interview me on national television? Maybe ask me about my fighting techniques?

    “Take a right here,” the guard said.

    Rayne took a right. They walked down a short corridor until they reached an elevator.

    “Get in,” the guard commanded.

    Peter stepped in the elevator without comment. The guard motioned for him to stand on one side, while he stood on the other next to the control panel. Peter guessed the guard was taking him to the announcer’s box to be interviewed for national television. He didn’t mind the prospect. The idea of a computer nerd like him becoming famous because of his battle skills appealed to his sense of irony.

   
I’ll bet their ratings go up after the show I gave them
.
That last fight couldn’t have been any more dramatic.

Chapter 27

    The guard pressed a button for an unknown floor and the elevator ascended. Rayne was surprised when the guard reached up and lifted off his helmet. He held the helmet by his side like a relaxed motorcycle rider. Peter found it hard to believe that the guard actually looked like a normal human being; he was in his mid-twenties, had short blond hair, a moderate tan, and clear blue eyes.

    “Listen to me very carefully,” the guard said, glaring at him. “We are traveling up to the ninety-eighth floor of the Frump Presidential Tower in New Washington. You must follow my lead and do exactly as I say.”

    Rayne’s eyes widened with surprise.

    What’s this guy talking about
?

    Rayne was having trouble adjusting from his original idea that he was going to be interviewed on national television, to having a one-on-one conversation with the helmet-less guard. The blond-haired guard seemed to realize Rayne was having trouble adapting to the situation.

    “I’m with the rebels. Campion sent me,” the guard explained.

    “Campion sent you?” Peter asked, raising his eyebrows.

    “We don’t have time to discuss it. I was assigned to work undercover as a guard in the Frump Sports Stadium. Now, I’m breaking you out,” the guard said.

    “Why are we going to the ninety-eighth floor of the Presidential Tower?” Rayne asked, perplexed.

    “We’re changing your mission. From now on, you’re going to work as an undercover operative.”

    
Undercover operative? What’s this guy talking about
?

    Peter felt dizzy as the elevator continued its ascent. The guard reached into a leather pouch on his police belt and pulled out folded papers.

    “Take these,” he said, handing the papers to Rayne. “Open this one,” He indicated the top paper.

     Peter opened it up and found a full-body photograph of an unknown man wearing a suit.

    “You are going to be this man,” the guard stated, pointing to a photograph of a man in his mid-thirties who looked to be about Rayne’s weight and height.

    In fact, he could have been Rayne’s brother. He had the same brown eyes, brown hair, and a similar facial structure. The only major differences were the person in the photograph wore gold, wire-rimmed glasses and a gray business suit, while Rayne had a bloody wound on his shoulder and wore the tattered remains of his dress shirt.

    “Don’t bother studying them,” the guard instructed as Peter unfolded the papers and started going through them. “Put them away. You need to know the immediate plan.”

    “All right,” Rayne said, refolding the papers and photograph. He placed them in his pants pocket.

    “I need you to follow my lead. You saw the guy in the photograph. His name is Malcom Getty, son of billionaire industrialist Connor P. Getty. Connor Getty has been having health problems, so he sent his son for his yearly meeting with the President. They’ve never met before. In fact, this is his first major governmental assignment with the company,” the guard explained, pausing as the elevator came to a stop on the ninety-eighth floor. The guard pushed the elevator’s hold button and continued his narration.

    “According to our information, Mr. Getty is flying out from Los Angeles, California to New Washington today. He should be arriving at his suite in the Frump Tower in the next several hours. You will be there waiting for him.”

    “Waiting for him?” Rayne repeated. He felt his head swimming.

   
Just when I got used to the idea of fighting and possibly being killed in the arena, the situation has taken a one hundred eighty-degree turn. Now, this guy, who I’ve never met before in my life, is telling me to impersonate some guy in a photograph. It doesn’t make any sense.

    “You will wait for him in his suite on the ninety-eighth floor. When he arrives, you will take him out,” the guard said.

    “Take him out?” Peter asked.

    “Kill him and take his place.”

    “Kill him?”

    “Yes, with this,” the guard said, reaching down to his side holster and taking out his sidearm. He took a thin, black metal tube from another leather pouch on his belt and screwed it onto the top of the gun. “Silencer,” he explained. “It should be no problem taking him out. Take it.” The guard handed Rayne the pistol.

    Peter took it, looking down at the weapon in his hand as if he couldn’t believe it was real.

    “Shove it in the back of your pants,” the guard said.

    Rayne did as instructed.

    “Now, I’m going to check to make sure the coast is clear. We’re going to exit the elevator, take a left, and walk straight down the hall to suite number 908. You will walk in front of me, like a prisoner, in case we run into anybody. Got it?” the guard asked.

    “Okay. Got it,” Rayne said.

    “Good,” the guard said, taking his finger off the elevator hold button. He stuck his head out of the elevator, looking in both directions. “The coast is clear. Go.”

    Rayne made sure the silenced pistol was secure in the back of his pants as he left the elevator. They walked a short way down the hall before the guard spoke to him again.

    “It’s this next one on the right. Stand beside me while I open it.”

    Rayne watched the guard run his wrist across the door’s scanner. A blinking red light on the door’s handle changed to green. The guard pushed the door open, pulling Rayne inside by the arm.

    “Hide someplace and lay low for awhile. Getty will be here some time in the next several hours. Be patient. Read the note I gave to you. It’s written by Campion. When Mr. Getty gets here, don’t hesitate. Do what you have to do.”

    “What do I do after I kill him?” Rayne asked.

    “Campion’s note will send you in the right direction. It’s a basic infiltration mission. This is Malcom Getty’s first governmental business meeting and his first visit to New Washington, so he’s not known to any of the island’s residents. This is the perfect opportunity for you to take his place. You have to figure out the rest on your own. I have to go.”