Chapter Twenty-One

Mendoza would miss Mrs. Megel’s pancakes. She made them every morning; and every morning Mendoza would eat a giant stack of them, covered with melted butter and maple syrup. She would beam at him as he ate, happy to have someone eating her pancakes again.

In return, he’d have to listen to her talk; and she was as good at talking as she was at making pancakes. Mendoza figured since she normally had no one to converse with, she was making up for lost talking. She never stopped. Never. And most of the time Mendoza had no idea what she was going on about. But that was okay. Somehow, he found the constant chatter comforting. Her voice was raspy and surprisingly deep, and she would punctuate certain sentences with a raucous, gravelly cackle. Goolardo would engage with her, but Mendoza just listened and nodded and ate pancake after pancake after pancake.

“My boys used to love my blueberry pancakes. Every Sunday morning I’d make them blueberry pancakes with blueberry syrup. And bacon. They loved bacon. I never had bacon growing up. My mother’s father was Orthodox and she considered it “treyf.”

“Treyf?” Goolardo asked.

“Unclean. Not kosher. Jews of mother’s generation did not eat pig. I didn’t either until I met Murray. Murray corrupted me in more ways than one.” She threw her head back and cackled. “More pancakes, Iggy?”

Mendoza nodded.

Mrs. Megel insisted on knowing their given names and, much to Mendoza’s surprise, Goolardo spilled the beans. Mendoza was named after his mother’s father, Ignacio. As a kid, his friends called him Nacho, but Mrs. Megel dubbed him Iggy. As Goolardo’s given name was Francisco, she decided to call him Frankie. Frankie and Iggy. Goolardo seemed good with that. After all, they were in hiding he said and it was better she didn’t use their real names.

She dropped two more blueberry pancakes on Mendoza’s plate. “I was a virgin when I met Murray, both to pork and porking and he taught me the glories of both. He introduced me to barbeque. Baby back ribs. Oh, my God. Before our first trip to Vegas, a shrimp had never passed my lips. We hit the seafood buffet at Caesar’s and it was magnificent. Jumbo shrimp. Lobster. Crab. Oysters. Clams. We played some slots. A little blackjack. Saw a show. Over the years we saw all the greats. Wayne Newton. Charo. Seigfried and Roy. Let me tell you, my Murray? He knew how to live.” She teared up and turned away. “Sorry. What can I say? I miss the man. Who wants more bacon?”

Flynn opened his eyes and found himself in a darkened room. His legs and arms were trussed securely to a chair with twine and wire and gaffer tape. The binds were so tight, he couldn’t feel his feet. He had no idea where was or how he got there. A dull pain pounded behind his eyes and the open gash on his scalp stung and throbbed. He probably had a concussion, and that cut was likely infected. Tape covered his mouth and his nose was congested with dried blood, making breathing difficult. At least he was still alive. The question was why?

How could he let Mendoza get the drop on him like that? He still didn’t know who those other attackers were. Until Mendoza murdered them, he thought they were Goolardo’s men. Apparently, they worked for Belenki. By now Wendy was at some black site being interrogated. Waterboarded. Sleep deprived. Forced to stand in submission positions.

All the enhanced interrogation techniques and tricks of the trade would be used to break her. And what about Sancho and Bettina? Were they even still alive? As long as Flynn was breathing, he still had a chance to escape. He’d survived worse than this many times. Every deathtrap imaginable. From alligator pits and shark tanks to an industrial laser and hordes of ninjas.

He just had to stay calm, cool, and focused.

A bit of light spilled under the door. As his eyes adjusted, he surveyed the surroundings. He saw what looked like a bed shaped like a race car. A beat-up dresser. Shelves lined with children’s books and karate trophies. Posters of Bruce Lee, Jackie Chan, and Jean Claude van Damme lined the walls.

Muffled voices filtered through from another part of the building. One sounded like Goolardo. Another sounded like Mendoza. There was a third man with a deep, raspy voice. Flynn couldn’t hear exactly what they were saying, but that third one would explode in maniacal laughter every now and then. The sound of that cackle chilled him.

Flynn sat in the dark for what seemed like hours before he heard footsteps approach the door. It opened. The light from the hallway initially blinded him.

“Looks like Mr. Flynn is finally with us again.” Goolardo stepped closer to examine the cut on Flynn’s forehead. “I was afraid Mendoza hit you too hard. I worried I wouldn’t have the opportunity to watch you die with my own eyes. But here you are, still alive if not exactly kicking.” He ripped the gaffer tape off Flynn’s face and took some of his skin and beard stubble along with it.

Flynn didn’t make a sound even though it hurt like a bastard. He wouldn’t give Goolardo the satisfaction. Mendoza stood just behind him next to a short, stout seventy-something lady with dyed red hair and purple plastic glasses.

“I see you brought someone to torture me. Is that your mother?”

Goolardo laughed. “This is Mrs. Megel. Mrs. Megel, meet James.”

“Frankie tells me you’re not a very nice person.”

“That’s because Frankie is not a very nice person,” Flynn retorted.

“I beg to differ. I find him to be extremely pleasant and polite. Iggy is not as loquacious, but that’s only because he’s shy. A big, shy Teddy bear like my youngest. Like my Sethy. But he’s a good-hearted soul who takes my trash cans down to the curb every Tuesday.”

“They are using you, Mrs. Megel and I’m afraid they may have pulled the wool over your eyes.”

“I think that’s exactly what you’re trying to do, sir, but I’m a people person and I can tell when someone has a good heart. These are good boys and I trust them. You? Not so much.”

“Do not listen to these men, Mrs. Megel. They are escaped convicts and they are wanted by the authorities. Believe me, mum, you are in grave danger.”

“Frankie told me how you framed him. How you turned the world against them. My Murray had problems with the government as well. The I.R.S. went after him. Hounded him into an early grave. I won’t see that happen to these boys.” She smiled up at Goolardo. “I made you some tuna fish sandwiches for the road. Would you like some coffee in a thermos?”

“That would be wonderful, Mrs. Megel. By the way, would you happen to have a shovel we can borrow.”

“I do. Let me go get it for you.”

Flynn watched her teeter off. He looked up at Goolardo. “Are we taking a trip?”

“We are indeed.”

The boot of Murray Megel’s Buick Le Sabre was both spacious and hot as hades. Flynn worked to free himself, but his binds held tight. A tiny amount of light made it through the edges of the trunk, but for the most part Flynn remained in the dark. Sweat dripped into his eyes and he blinked to stop the burning. Where are they taking me?

He estimated an hour had passed since they took to the highway. Flynn listened intently—just road noise. They could be headed in any direction.

Eventually, they pulled off the motorway and the roar of traffic receded. This road was less smooth, and Flynn bounced when they hit the occasional pothole. Then they went off-road and the ride grew a lot rougher. All the rocks and ruts knocked him around. Flynn took a beating, banging his head multiple times on the lid of the boot. When they finally stopped and Mendoza pulled Flynn out, he was in no condition to fight.

The blazing sun blinded James. The temperature had to be north of 110 degrees. At least there was a breeze. The air smelled clean and fragrant with the sweet aroma of high desert sage. From the look of the dramatic rock formations a distance away, Flynn surmised they were in Vasquez Rocks State Park north of Los Angeles. They obviously planned to kill and bury him here.

Flynn lay in the dirt as Mendoza drew a huge blade from a sheath on his belt. He lifted Flynn’s legs and cut the binding from his ankles. Flynn weakly kicked at Mendoza, missing by a mile. The goon roughly pulled Flynn to his feet and pushed him forward. He immediately fell face down in the dirt.

Mendoza raised him up again, but this time held onto his arm as he pulled him along. The lack of blood flow from the binds had caused Flynn’s feet to fall asleep. He could barely walk they were so numb. As the feeling slowly came back, they tingled with pins and needles.

Goolardo led them up a crude path through the brush. Mendoza dragged Flynn along after him. In his other hand, Mendoza held Mrs. Megel’s shovel.

They passed juniper bushes and buckwheat, yucca, scrub oak and manzanita. If it wasn’t so bloody hot, and they weren’t leading him to his death, Flynn might have enjoyed the scenery. As it was, he struggled to stay upright. Running away was an impossibility. They were miles from anywhere and he had no water. At this point, death would be a welcome relief.

“Why not just shoot me here and save us all the walk in this bloody heat?” Flynn asked.

“Because we want to bury you off the beaten path. It wouldn’t do to have your body found too soon,” Goolardo said.

“Well, I’ve gone far enough. If you want to bury me off the beaten path then you’ll have to carry me.”

“Fine. We’ll cut off your hands and head and let the coyotes take the rest of you.”

“So, this is how the world ends,” Flynn muttered

“How your world ends, Mr. Flynn.”

“Yes, you’ll have your revenge, but there will be no world left for you to conquer. Not after Belenki launches the last of his nuclear devices and detonates them in the upper atmosphere.”

“What are you saying?” Goolardo eyed him warily.

“He intends to fry every electrical circuit on Earth with a high-intensity burst of electromagnetic energy. His plan is to erase every megabyte that ever existed and wipe out what he believes is a self-aware AI bent on the total destruction of the human race.”

Goolardo raised an eyebrow. “This is a whole new level of crazy for you.”

“Belenki’s the paranoid sociopath in this scenario, not me. Your man Mendoza saw Belenki’s mercenaries. He saw them take the evidence and the whistleblower who found it. Why do you think Belenki’s men wanted her?”

“Belenki is a multibillionaire. Why would he purposely destroy everything he has?”

“Because he believes if he doesn’t act, it will all be destroyed anyway. He wants to save humanity and is operating from some misguided sense of altruism. He believes he’s a hero as do all mad villains.”

“As do you,” Goolardo said.

“And you,” Flynn said with a smile. “But Belenki’s cure is worse than the disease. There is no proof that this AI wants to destroy humanity. It only wants to destroy him. He is the one who threatens it.”

“So, you believe this self-aware AI is actually real?”

“I know it is. I’ve seen what it can do.”

Goolardo drew his weapon and aimed the barrel at Flynn’s head. “Enough.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“No. I’m not buying into another one of your paranoid delusions. You are out of your mind, Mr. Flynn. It’s time to put an end to this foolishness.”

“But what if I’m right?”

“You’re not.”

“But what if I am?”

“Stop it!”

“I know there’s some small part of you that wonders if what I say is true.”

“Caralho!” Goolardo tried to squeeze the trigger, but couldn’t do it. He couldn’t move it that fraction of inch necessary to propel a bullet into Flynn’s brain. “Puta que pariu!”

Mendoza let Flynn go, dropped the shovel, and pulled his own weapon. A .357 Magnum Colt Python with a six-inch barrel. As big as the pistol was, it seemed small in Mendoza’s massive paw. He aimed the weapon at Flynn.

“I can do it. Let me do it,” Mendoza said.

Goolardo turned his anger towards Mendoza. “If I wanted you to do it, I would have asked you to.”

“All he has ever done is lie to you!”

“And he will die when I say so, but no sooner.” Goolardo aimed his weapon at Mendoza’s giant cabeza and Flynn wondered for a moment if they would solve his problem by shooting each other. But Mendoza had no anger in his eyes. He looked hurt.

“Why do you always believe him and not me?” Mendoza wanted to know.

“I don’t and don’t be such a baby. What if what he’s saying is true? We would be cutting off our nose to spite our face.”

“It’s not true,” Mendoza muttered.

“It is true.” Flynn stepped between them. “And if we can find Wendy, I can prove it.”