Copyright© 2010 by Michael Wolfam
"Boss, boss! You gotta check out the security system!" A breathless guard raced into Mitch's office. "She's here! That f$%king Driscol bitch is here!"
Mitch started to correct the guard's foul language, but decided to flip on the security system instead. He dug the remote out of the burled walnut desk and flipped on the large flatpanel television. Mitch rapidly flipped through the different camera views until he found the angle he was looking for. The security camera facing out of the front of the mine showed a strange sight. Filling the view was the exposed underside of a dangling vehicle. A sudden gust of wind twisted it about.
The evil-looking shark's teeth swung into view, and the large vehicle dropped to the ground like a spider descending a silken, red line. As the hood lowered into view, Mitch's heart skipped a beat when he saw the longhorn skull, framed by a large triangle. The crossbones and eye patch were an interesting touch, he thought.
"Where's Chin-Hae?" Mitch demanded.
"He's dead, sir. We were watching the cameras from inside the control room, and suddenly, they were just dead. Chin-Hae fired at the sky, but that's all we saw until this thing dropped down."
"My goddaughter is certainly tenacious," Mitch said as he stroked his chin thoughtfully. In the monitor, Liv and Finn were creeping up to the large, metal door that guarded the entrance to the mine.
"What do you want us to do, boss?" the guard asked nervously.
Mitch turned and put his hands behind his back. "What's your name, son?"
"Tony, sir," the man replied meekly.
"Well, Tony," Mitch said with disdain in his voice. "Congratulations. You're the new head of security. You figure out how to get rid of them. Do I make myself clear? There will be a big bonus in it for you, if you bring me the journal I know she is carrying. I really don't care how you do it."
"Yes, boss. I'll take care of it. You can count on me." The man's nervousness disappeared, replaced by a sense of purpose. Tony had grown used to being the low man on the totem pole. The thought of all the power at his disposal gripped his brain, like the tentacles of a blood-sucking, vampire squid. Tony was the smallest man in the unit, but now his comrades, who had endlessly made fun of his stature, would be forced to obey his commands.
"I'm going to check on our prisoner," Mitch said as he stared at the monitor. "You better make sure those two don't make it through the front door unless they're in a body bag."
Tony saluted and raced out the door. He gulped nervously as he dashed through the fortress carved into the mountain. Being Head of Security was turning into a very temporary position.
Mitch reached into the hidden compartment of his desk and retrieved a Colt M1911A pistol. He became lost in thought as he examined its checkered, cristobal wood grips. A longhorn skull and triangle were expertly carved into the black wood. "How ironic, Jack." Mitch chambered a .45 caliber round. "The gun you gave me for saving your life in Panama is the one I'm gonna use to kill your mom and daughter." Mitch rose from the comfortable, executive office chair and retrieved a brown leather holster from a shelf on the other side of the room. He attached the holster to his belt and inserted the 1911. He took one last look around the office and headed for the prisoner.
"Well hello, Marcy. I trust you've been enjoying your stay." Mitch plopped himself down on a hard, metal chair. Across the table, Grannie shot him a look that would have sent lesser men running. "That was a pretty brave thing. Marching into the rehab center with that shotgun. Oh wait, did I say brave? I meant stupid."
"I'm just sorry I missed," she snapped. "Why don't we try it again? I bet this time I'll do a lot better."
"Tempting, but no. Do you know why I'm here?" His quiet voice was filled with malice.
"I sure do. I've been asking to see the manager for over an hour now. The service is lousy, and the accommodations are not what I saw in the brochure. I definitely won't recommend this place to any of my friends, unless I get some freebies. You can start by un-handcuffing me from this chair and giving back my shotgun. It's just sitting right over there." Grannie nodded toward the other end of the table.
"Feisty to the end. You really are a delight," Mitch chuckled. "By the way, that was my idea ... leaving your shotgun just out of reach. We also put your granddaughter's submachine guns there, just to torment you. My Head of Security wanted to leave them loaded, but I know you Driscols too well. Even if you managed to escape and grab one, you wouldn't find any bullets."
"Well, then what's the harm in giving it to me?" Grannie asked sweetly.