The moment the dart hits Marco, he looks down at it, as if not understanding what just happened. When his mind catches up, he tries to grab the cylinder, but it’s already too late and a moment later he joins his friend on the floor.
I lower my weapons and walk over to them.
“What did…you…do…to us?” Marco asks, his words coming out in a labored staccato.
What I’ve done is inject them with something we call the little helper. Unlike Beta-Somnol, which would knock out Marco and Blaine for hours, the little helper puts them in a state of paralysis without causing unconsciousness. The length of time this lasts depends on the dose. In their case, they should be able to move their fingers and toes in about six hours. The rest will come back slowly after that.
I pluck out the darts, then walk back to the maintenance closet where I left my bag. Both men try to shout to me, but it’s more of a panicked whisper. Though the little helper does not prevent victims from talking, it does weaken the ability to put any force into a voice.
After putting the guns and used darts in the bag, I walk down the other hallway, out of earshot from my new friends, and say into my comm, “They’re down. How we looking outside?”
“Nice and quiet,” Jar says.
“Give me a few minutes to get them in place before you make the call.”
“Just say the word.”
I have to smile. Just say the word is not a phrase Jar would have used even six months ago.
When we’d come up with the plan for tonight, my biggest concern was moving the drugged bodies. But in the hour I spent waiting for Marco and Blaine to arrive, I did a little poking around and discovered a furniture dolly in the storage room.
I maneuver Blaine onto it first. He’s the larger of the two, and I always like getting difficult things out of the way first. I tie him down with a couple of bungee cords that were also in the storage room. It’s not that he might put up a fight; I only want to avoid him accidentally rolling off and forcing me to load his ass back on. I then transport him, his bag, and my bag to the Camelot banquet hall.
His eyes dart back and forth the entire trip, his breaths coming in panicked bursts. Occasionally he whispers to himself things like, “What am…” and “I need…” and “How can I…” Never once do I hear a full thought.
The Camelot room is lit only by the dim glow from one of the outside floodlights, seeping through a row of high windows along the north wall. Except for the two chairs sitting next to each other near the dance floor, the room is empty. I have a feeling the chairs are normally used by a bride and groom, as they are large and heavy wooden things, adorned with carvings of horses and knights and dragons. I place Blaine in the one on the left, setting his forearms on the chair’s arms.
Marco is more talkative on his trip. He starts off with threats like “You’re…making a big…mistake,” and “You’re going…to pay…big…for this.” But as we’re wheeling down the hallway, his tactic changes. “If you let…us…go now, we’ll…leave…this place…alone.” Then, “Hey…you need…anything? TV? Computer? I can…get…you whatever you…want…if you…look…the other way.”
When we enter the Camelot room, he changes from bargaining with me to asking, “What are you…bringing us…in here…for?” and “What are you…going…to do…to us?”
I put him in the second chair, then return to the hallway, close the door, and toggle on my comm.
“Ready to go here,” I say.
“Any problems?” Jar asks.
“Not a one.”
“I’ll make the call.”
“Copy.”
Inside the room, I can hear Marco and Blaine talking, their tones desperate. When I walk back in, they immediately shut up.
I open my bag, which is sitting on the floor behind the chairs, and extract twelve heavy-duty zip ties and a roll of duct tape.
“What’s that…for?” Marco asks as I step back where they can see me.
I set the tape and all but four of the ties in his lap. It’s as good a table as any. I zip-tie each of his wrists to an arm of the chair, and then do the same with his ankles to the chair’s legs. Four more ties and Blaine’s also secured in place.
I use a few more ties on their arms, closer to their elbows, then grab the tape. Once again, I start with Marco, wrapping the tape around his chest to secure him to the back of the chair, and then do the same to Blaine.
Taking a step back, I examine my handiwork.
The tape is overkill but I knew that going in. It’s more for show than anything else, a kind of psychological weapon meant to convey to Marco and Blaine how really screwed they are. And by the looks on their faces, it’s working.
After putting the roll of tape away, I carry my bag over to the door, where I can pick it up on my way out. From a covered recess built into the wall near the exit, I remove a remote controller and walk back to the chairs.
“Look, we didn’t mean…anything,” Marco said, exerting a bit more control over his voice now. “We were just going…to take a…look around, that’s all. We…shouldn’t have come. We’re sorry…all right? Come on…please. Just…let us go.”
“Why can’t I move…my arms?” Blaine asks. “What…did you do to me?”
I turn my back to them and push one of the buttons on the remote.
A motor hums to life.
“What the hell…is…is that?” Marco asks.
In answer to his question, a large screen begins descending from the ceiling. Once it stops, it hangs four meters in front of them.
Another push of the remote and a projector
