Sleeper's Run

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The two Marines enter the room flanking the door as a DSS agent walks in. He looks at the empty cup of coffee on the table and throws it in the trash before freeing my hands.

"Hands on the table," he says, standing behind me.

I oblige and he gives a signal to one of the guards to open the door. Bowen, Blake and a man who I assume to be the ambassador enter the room and stand on the other side of the table.

"Mr. Caine, I'm Ambassador Samuel Robertson. I have spoken with Vice President Ramos and he has agreed to keep your whereabouts secret from the public until you're safe and secure in a military prison. In the next hour, you'll be handed to officers from the DISIP and discreetly taken to La Carlota airport, where an army detachment will fly you to your destination. Do you have any questions?"

"No."

"Mr. Bowen," the ambassador says.

The attorney places a typed confession and a pen in front of me. I browse through it quickly and sign it. The DSS agent reminds me to keep my hands flat on the table. Bowen takes the document and gives it to the ambassador.

"You have done the right thing, Mr. Caine," Robertson says.

The DSS agent cuffs my right hand, when the sound of my foot crushing the second plastic cup of coffee under the table draws his attention to the floor. I twist the agent's wrist slamming his head on the table and taking his gun. The second it takes the Marines to draw their weapons is enough for me to get behind the DSS agent and use him as a shield.

"Don't move!" I say as I point the gun at my hostage, who holds his broken wrist against his chest. A trail of blood drips down his face from a gash on his forehead. "Put the guns on the table."

"Do what he says!" Robertson says.

The two Marines obey.

I collect the weapons and make everyone drop their cell phones and microphones in the trash bin, except the ambassador's, which I take with me. I order everyone to lie face down on the floor with their hands behind their heads. Then I take my things from Bowen's briefcase and use my lighter to burn my confession. I drop it in the trash bin creating a bonfire that starts melting the gadgets inside.

"I'll kill anyone who steps out of this room," I say as I trade the DSS agent for the ambassador as a hostage, and pocket the handcuffs.

"Whatever you think you're doing, I assure you, it's not going to work," Blake says.

"Mr. Caine, I know you're desperate, but..." Robertson says.

"Then you know it's better not to fuck with me," I say as I push him out of the conference room.

There's no one in the hallway. I hit the fire alarm with the butt of my gun.

"You're going to take me to your car," I whisper to the ambassador. "Give me away, and I'll start shooting."

Robertson is so nervous he wouldn't dare call my bluff. I walk close behind him with the gun inside my jacket. People are peeking out from their offices trying to find out why the fire alarm has gone off.

"It's OK, just follow the drill. Go on," Robertson says to them.

The embassy personnel start to evacuate the building in an orderly fashion. The place has been in such a tense state that they follow procedure, afraid that the embassy has been attacked.

We mingle with the crowd before taking the elevator to the garage. Luckily, no one bothers to tell the ambassador about proper evacuation procedure. When we arrive at the parking lot, the embassy's security has been alerted about my escape and they surround us.

"Back off!" I say as I grab the ambassador and point the gun to his head. The men oblige. "Put your guns down!"

"Just do what he says!" Robertson says.

The guards comply.

"Open the front gate," I say to the guards as I sit behind the Ambassador in his BMW.

"Do it!" Robertson says.

The embassy's staff is gathered outside and is hiding from the rain under hundreds of umbrellas. They watch in confusion as a single car drives slowly out of the garage toward the gate. The crowd protesting outside becomes hostile immediately, even though conditions are such that there's no way they can see us inside. The fact that a tinted diplomatic car is leaving the embassy is reason enough to incur their anger.

"Turn the high beams on and don't stop for anything," I say as I hide in the backseat.

Robertson drives nervously through the crowd as he blasts the horn. I feel as if my heart is about to jump out of my chest. I can listen to the rabble banging on the windows and hitting the car's body a meager few inches away from me. After what seems like an eternity, the ambassador lets out a big sigh and the car starts gaining speed. We're through the mob.

"The whole country is like this," Robertson says. "How long do you think you can survive out there?"

"Longer than in the hands of the authorities," I say sitting up. "Make a left and follow this road all the way down the hill."

"Where are we going?" says Robertson, looking at me through the rearview mirror.

"You'll see soon enough," I say and make sure no one is following us. "I don't expect anyone to believe me, but someone else planned this assassination and used me as an unwitting triggerman."

"Then let me help you," he says, attempting sincerity.

"You know, for a politician, you're a shitty liar. But don't worry, you'll have your chance to help, Mr. Ambassador."