One Rule - No Surrender, page 14
part #2 of One Rule Series
The nearest elevator's ascent light was on. Damn. In the few seconds of messing with the woman someone had gotten into the elevator. Thalma backed away from the doors, her finger hovering over the trigger buttons on the small red transmitter box. Press the buttons together and both elevators would blow, killing whoever was in the elevator. Killing people, however, was not on today's menu. She'd need to solve this problem less explosively.
Thalma slipped the transmitter in her pack's side pocket and slid out the tranquilizer handgun and a canister of sticky foam. Thalma headed to the nearby restrooms, maybe thirty feet from the elevator. The woman's door was open. She backed halfway inside bathroom, canister and tranquilizer revolver at ready.
The elevator doors wheezed open, and two burly men stepped out with guns drawn. Thalma shot tranquilizer darts into both, ducking back as the men returned fire. She heard their footsteps slow to a shuffle. A pistol in one shaky hand extended into view. She snatched the pistol from the hand and jumped out, slamming the guard into his equally unsteady companion, who both flopped to the floor. She disarmed the second tranquilizer dart victim and kicked his handgun into the restroom.
More footfalls drew her eyes down the hallway, where four more guards emerged from the first elevator 100 feet distant and headed her way.
The men spotted her standing over their comrades and opened fire. Bullets thwacked the drinking fountain and wall near her head as she jumped back into the restroom.
She unslung her pack, grabbing a pepper flash grenade to complement the sticky foam canister already in her left hand. She popped the lever on the sticky foam canister and reached out from the doorway just far enough to fling it at the charging men. It rattled along the floor, exploding near their feet. A thick fibrous net of polymeric resin latched onto the men's legs and bodies like angry octopus tentacles. Two of the men tripped and went down - two others had their arms stuck together, stumbling an awkward, circling dance. Thalma followed with a high toss of the CS-pepper canister, which burst into a red mist over their heads that had most of them clawing their eyes.
She dug out the C4 detonator. A quick calculation – six known security guards, six accounted for, too soon for others to be on their way – and retreating once more into the bathroom, pressed the buttons twice in quick succession.
The explosions were more of a deep kettle drum rumble than an ear-splitting blast – much of the sound absorbed by the steel doors, which she could see were blown outward but not free of their moorings. She watched the elevator car sink from view as the ruptured hydraulics bled out.
On the other end of the hall the four guards were picking themselves off the floor from the explosion and still struggling to shake off the effects of the sticky foam and the CS-pepper mist.
"Drop your weapons and kick them away from you!" Thalma shouted. "Then lie down on your stomachs and clasp your hands behind your necks!"
The men squinted at her – through their inflamed eyes she probably looked like a fuzzy apparition near the restroom doors – and glanced at each other. They couldn't be sure how many people they were up against, but they had to believe they'd just walked into a well-armed hornet's nest.
"What do you want?" one of them called out hoarsely. "Who are you?"
"I'm going to count to three," Thalma called back. "Unless you want more of what you just got, you'll do what I said."
Not likely they'd give in that easily, but worth the shot. She readied the last canisters of pepper-CS and sticky foam. That second one-two punch ought to distract them enough to get close for a tranquilizer shot.
But damned if the four men didn't kneel and drop down on their chests, sliding their handguns away on the floor before curling their hands behind their backs. Of course when they saw that she, or rather he – her self-image was still pretty shaky – was alone, they'd start thinking insurrection. The key was reducing their time for revolutionary thoughts.
Thalma sprinted toward them, canisters in one hand and the tranq revolver in her other. Her solitary run was making them both nervous and adventurous – their eyes darting from their handguns to each other – but when the first man made a move to lunge for his weapon, it was too little too late: she was there, shooting him and his still-prone companions. They stood up, clawing at the mini-hypodermic cartridges, but then slumped back to the floor, their motions growing feebler by the moment.
Thalma moved past them to Room 72.
"How's it going?" she shouted into the door.
"It's going." Maggie's muffled voice carried through the steel door. "Hard to concentrate with all the racket out there."
"Sorry. I'll try to keep it down." Thalma watched the last four guards lapse into unconsciousness. "I'm guessing they alerted someone on the outside. We might have only a few more minutes before the real troops show up, though they won't find it easy to get up here."
"Good to know. I'm maybe five or six minutes out. Glad you're okay, by the way."
Thalma felt the LSD buzz fading. She didn't have enough experience to know the exact moment to re-dose herself, but the pill had a longer lag-time than her former powder, so right about now seemed good. Thalma opened the flap on her front pocket and dug out another pill.
Now it was an all-too familiar case of "hurry up and wait."
Thalma's first clue that the second dose of LSD-35 was starting to kick in was a wave of well-being washing away her impatience and sense of vulnerability. Suddenly, there was no question they'd succeed. She could already taste their self-congratulatory post-mission toasts. One of the government's most trusted institutions might be suppressing information that affected the health of millions, and yet everything seemed right in the world.
Then strange, muted voices rose from the bowels of the building, like the murmurings of ghosts. The stairwell door at the other end which she'd liquid-steeled started to shine a bright vermillion red, as if it were being heated by a blow torch. The murmuring grew into distinct voices and then words. Thalma's well-being burned away like a moth to the flame. She thumped the door.
"Maggie, we need to go – "
The door flew open and Maggie stood before her, smiling and breathless.
"Done!"
"Their reinforcements are here! Coming up the other stairway!"
They sprinted to the near end of the hall, banged through the stairwell door, and bounded up the stairs. Thalma heard footsteps on the stairs directly below.
"Too slow," she said, grabbing her startled companion by the waist in mid-stride. "Hold on!"
They rocketed straight up, the stairs flying by in a blur. Thalma ignored Maggie's gasp and her clawing hands as they soared up to the top landing. Doors slamming and shouts echoed up from below. Maggie and Thalma burst through the final door out onto the roof.
They managed one elated breath of freedom before a helicopter chattered in from the south and speared them with a searchlight. Thalma resisted the urge to launch. Her flying was not something she wanted anyone to see, except as a dire resort.
"Run with me!"
They sprinted straight for the north edge of the roof. Maggie dragged her heels as Thalma tightened her grip on her wrist.
"Jump!"
"Oh hell no," Maggie cried.
"Trust me! I'll catch you!"
The searchlight followed them a few steps behind but caught up just as they reached the edge and plummeted into the night. Maggie's wail lasted until Thalma swooped in and scooped her up, her muscular legs curling around Maggie's body and her arms under Maggie's arms. Then a powerful surge of acceleration straightened them both out and carried them beyond the helicopter's searchlight out over the woods north of the CDC complex. They buzzed the treetops at twice freeway speed.
"Our car?" Maggie shouted over the wind.
"Later. I'm making this an express flight."
Thalma wanted to put distance between them and the helicopter fast. She was not certain at all that if it got them in its sights that she could out-fly it. Her best estimate on her top speed flying alone was around 200 miles per hour. Carrying Maggie, it might be half that.
A backward glance showed the helicopter rapidly diminishing as it circled the CDC Headquarters Building, no doubt searching for bodies. Thalma had no idea how they'd explain their disappearance or the evening's festivities.
Growing more and more disoriented – her LSD-fueled powers did not include onboard navigation – Thalma was grateful to encounter the freeway they'd taken there. She followed it north toward the Ritz-Carlton, concentrating on marshaling her last shreds of buoyancy as they cruised in to the hotel's parking lot. Unable to stay airborne any longer, Thalma landed in a stumbling run in a grass strip across the street from the hotel.
Thalma let go of Maggie, who sprawled in grass and released a long, barking laugh that reminded Thalma of a seal.
"Oh my God! That was fucking unreal!"
Maggie accepted Thalma's hand and hauled herself up. But instead of backing off she threw her arms around her and kissed her hard on the lips.
"My hero," she said.
Thalma resisted her first impulse to rip Maggie's arms from her waist – a possibly injurious overreaction – but as she considered lesser options her now-male body had a response of its own.
"Make that my big hero," Maggie giggled.
She rose on her toes to kiss Thalma again. Thalma jerked her head back and stripped the younger woman's arms from her waist with enough force to draw a protesting "ouch."
"I'm in a relationship," said Thalma. "And we should get inside."
In the elevator, Maggie stood on the opposite side of the elevator, arms folded, glaring at the control panel for most of the ten floors up to their rooms.
"I'm sorry," she said, three floors short of their destination. "I can be pretty impulsive sometimes – especially when dodging death."
"I thought you were gay."
Maggie made a disdainful puffing noise. "It's a preference, not a life-sentence. Anyway, you're so pretty..." She cut herself off with a head-shake. "The truth is, you remind me of her. Thalma. Someone I happen to have a big crush on."
Thalma shot her a startled look. The elevator doors opened on the tenth floor. They headed down the hall to their rooms.
"You know what they say about facing death," Maggie said. "It makes you horny."
"You weren't facing death. They were shooting at me."
"True. But if they got past you..."
They paused at Thalma's door, a couple of rooms up from Maggie's.
"What happened out there, anyway?" Maggie asked. "What did you do with that girl?"
"I took her to the far stairwell," said Thalma. "Some security guards were coming, and I let her go on the stairs and sealed the door with Instasteel. I wasn't able to blow the elevators in time to stop the sixth-floor security force from coming up. I used Murphy's toys to subdue them."
Maggie nodded, leaning one arm against the room door. "Look, Mark, I am way too keyed up to sleep. Any interest in having a drink or two to unwind? Maybe check out what's on the stick I uploaded the CDC files onto? No funny stuff, I promise."
Thalma hesitated. She couldn't deny liking Maggie and being in her debt, but Maggie's confession about having a crush on her – on Thalma – was doing a number on her mind. Still, it wasn't as if Maggie could force herself on her, and she doubted she was anywhere near sleep herself. Checking out the CDC data over a couple of drinks sounded good.
Maggie was smiling at her. "I can practically count the gears whirring in your head."
Thalma gave her a grudging smile. "Okay. I wouldn't mind looking at those files."
"Let me grab my computer. I need to send an encrypted version to Murphy, too."
When she returned, they helped themselves to beer, nuts, and some yogurt from the mini-fridge/bar and set up shop at the living room dining table looking out on the city. Maggie inserted the stick into her computer.
"A girl could get used to this kind of place," she said, eyeing the room. "I wonder if Murphy always has his people stay in hotels like this."
Thalma gazed out at the city, watching the psychedelic display of street and building lights slowly lose their luster with her diminishing high and the approach of sunrise.
"I've never been in actual combat – never had anyone try to kill me," said Maggie. "Not until the Aryan Nation goons attacked Louis."
"You did really well considering that was your first time."
"Well, I've had lots of training. But it's not the same – I mean, I'm sure you know that. I had an ex-Special Forces instructor. He told me you learn a lot about yourself when you fight for real."
"What did you learn about yourself?"
"I don't look good with blood on me. I guess I'm a summer."
She laughed, and Thalma gave her a tolerant smile.
"Here we go."
Maggie withdrew the stick from her laptop, placing it carefully in a slim but solid-looking plastic container. She slid the computer between them. Thalma skimmed the first page, which was a very technical-sounding summary of a vaccination trial. The next several pages were more of the same.
"I think this just might be the sleep-aid I need," she said. "One more page and I'd be out. Do you see anything earthshaking?"
"I doubt any non-expert could see anything skimming a few pages. The devil would lie in the details and knowing how to read them."
"And it looks like there's a lot of fucking details, if not a devil or two." Maggie sat back from the laptop, rubbing her eyes. "Anyway, it's been sent to Murphy's address. We can hand-deliver the memory stick to him tomorrow."
They both drank their beers and watched the sun inch over the horizon through the living room window.
"I suppose I'd be too nosy if I asked about your relationship?"
Thalma didn't meet her curious eyes, preferring the brightening cityscape below. Her first thought was to shut the conversation down, but if they actually were going to spend some time together some personal conversation would be almost unavoidable. Maybe it would be best to nip any possible relationship flower in the bud.
"What do you want to know?" Thalma asked.
"Just the basics. You know, how long it's been going on, whether it's a boy or a girl – and what he or she is like?"
Thalma released an inner sigh. She utterly loathed "touchie-feelie" subjects, even with the most simpatico people. Not that she'd ever known many simpatico people. She'd spent most of her life religiously protecting her secrets – a lesson her mom had painstakingly instilled in her. But living a solitary life and keeping everything from prying eyes was an arduous and full-time job that took a toll in the long-run. Meeting Louis had made that painfully clear as she'd fought the urge to rip her heart open to him from the start.
"It's been going on for a while," she said. "Not long. But I do love – " She stopped herself.
"Him? Her?"
"Is there something about me that suggests I'm gay? Or are you being politically correct?"
"Both?" Maggie grinned. "As I said, there is something kinda feminine about you, no offense. But one thing I've learned is that it's almost impossible to be sure. People are strange, you know?"
You have no clue how strange some people are.
"Would it sound strange if I said I like men, but I'm straight?"
Thalma expected Maggie to laugh it off, but instead the younger woman's brow furrowed and she nodded sympathetically.
"That's so weird," she murmured. "Because that's how I feel a lot of the time. I'm a straight guy in a girl's body, like Madonna's a gay dude in a woman's body, you know?"
Thalma offered her a feeble smile. "I hadn't heard that about Madonna."
"So are you being straight with me, forgive the pun?"
Thalma's smile faded like the darkness outside the window.
"It's complicated," she said.
Chapter 10
THALMA PICKED UP SOCRATES and Plato the next afternoon. Murphy had communicated the glad tidings that the feds and Tahoe police were not actively monitoring her or her place, and had no current plans for any further raids. The DHS and FBI had looked into "Mark Matheson" – starting with a scan of his driver's license they'd performed after filching it from his wallet during the search – and had been unable to trace him to Thalma Engstrom or anything else untoward. Sheriff Martson had returned to South Dakota. Good news all around.
Thalma breathed a bit easier as she found the dogs in good health though lonely for human companionship. Socrates was well-acquainted with stints alone, but Plato's past was uncertain. Still, they were both in one piece – no signs of any altercations – and Plato did show some reserved affection by bumping Thalma with his leonine head when he first showed up.
Back home, she took the dogs for a run and horsed around with them in the yard, happy to be away from Maggie and her persistent questions and the unwanted hormones her presence roused in Mark's body. Murphy had assured her that Louis was in good hands and doing well and while desperate to return to normal life was accepting of what had to be done.
With Murphy occupied in a conference with the billionaire Maxwell Brunner, evaluating the CDC files and deciding how to proceed – and the Aryan Nation threat apparently quiescent - Thalma enjoyed a small slice of normal life, however compromised by Louis's absence.
But as Mark, normal was getting difficult to define. She was coming up on five days as Mark, which was a personal record in the fourteen years of her post-Zeb Marion era. The longest she'd gone as Mark since that relationship had been four days during a road trip to Canada seven years ago. After nearly losing herself during her weeks as Mark with her former flame, Zeb, she'd made a vow to limit her Mark periods to a few days at the most. There might not be an exact cut-off time for losing her soul, but the longer she was Mark the more she started thinking like a guy.
Today she woke up wanting to watch football. Fortunately, it wasn't football season. Worse, she liked the idea of playing football. Unlike Thalma, Mark enjoyed team sports. As she ran with the dogs Thalma found herself wondering if there was a pickup basketball league in Tahoe. Stop. But couldn't Mark play within himself? No. You'd forget yourself for one second driving in for a lay-up and send someone to the hospital. Full stop. Unless the D.C. superhero league was in town, s/he was out of luck.
