Gary Ponzo - A Touch of Deceit

Nick felt uncomfortable on so many levels. He placed one foot in front of the other and balanced his step like a cat burglar. The first door on the right was closed and he opened it slowly, gun first. The room was just as banal as the rest of the house. A small bed was neatly made and the dresser showed off a display of swimming trophies. Nick suspected the place was inhabited by KSF soldiers and the decor disturbed him.

He opened a dresser drawer and saw children’s clothes, Batman underwear, and Snoopy tee shirts. He thought he heard a noise, but when he peeked out of the room, there was nothing.

He silently crept down the corridor to the next bedroom. This time the door was open and he saw a much larger room with a big bed. The room had the clinical feel of a hotel room right after the maid’s visit.

Nick was beginning to think they had bad information, when he opened the closet door and froze. Stacked up past eye level was a row of surveillance monitors. Each one captured a different section of the exterior of the house. When he examined the monitor that was aimed in the direction of his car, he realized that he was parked too far away to be able to tell if it was occupied. His mind raced with all kinds of wishful thoughts. Maybe they got lucky and went unnoticed.

Nick moved closer to the monitor and saw a green button with the symbol of a magnifying glass stamped in the middle of it. He pushed the button and was startled to see his car zoom into view. It became so large, so quickly, that Nick withdrew his finger before it had even reached its maximum capability. Nick blinked. He stared at the close-up and was able to distinguish a crevice in the headrest of the passenger seat. What bothered him the most was that his car seemed to be centered in the camera lens.

Suddenly, he felt it get warmer in the house. He’d seen enough and he wanted out. Before he could turn to leave, a male voice said, “Drop the weapon.”

Nick didn’t move. He wondered how many there were, when a second voice said, “So nice of you to join us, Mr. Bracco.”

Nick turned to see a young man pointing an automatic machine gun at him. The second man was older and a bit plump. He didn’t fit the description of a KSF soldier, yet the way he stood, weaponless, casual, Nick could tell he was in charge. Nick dropped his pistol on the bed. A rush of adrenalin shot up the back of Nick’s neck. He knew then that not only was he dead, but there was a good chance his death might be preceded by a considerable amount of pain. Nick wanted to tell him that the place was surrounded, that the FBI had an entire battalion of agents training their weapons on the hideout. He couldn’t say a word.

“It’s just the two of you isn’t it, Mr. Bracco?” the man asked.

Nick stood motionless. His heart pounded fiercely, every labored breath a miserable prelude to death. The blood left his brain and he wobbled on numb legs.

Two more soldiers appeared in the doorway. One of them said, “The other one must’ve ran out the back door. The coward.”

The old man seemed skeptical. “Did you see him leave?”

“No,” the man said. “But the door was left open.”

The old man looked at Nick. “Is your partner still in the house?”

Nick heard the question, just barely. He nodded. There was something about the man’s eyes that caught Nick’s attention. Could it be?

The man with the machine gun scoffed at the response. “I wouldn’t believe him. He is just trying to save his life.”

The old man looked at his watch. “We don’t have time to play games, Mr. Bracco. Tell us where your partner is and I’ll promise you a quick death.”

Nick gasped for air, wondering how many seconds he had left. A surge of blood hit his brain and he remembered something important. “He’s in the kitchen.”

“Good,” the old man said.

“We’ve searched the kitchen,” one of the soldiers said. “He is not there.”

Again the old man peeked at his wrist. He pointed to one of the soldiers in the doorway and said, “You go with Nhikad here and take Mr. Bracco to the kitchen. You will find his partner there. Use Mr. Bracco to lure him out and kill both of them. Then get out of here quickly and meet us at the other location.”

The old man gestured to the other soldier and said, “Let’s go, we must leave now.”

As Nick began his death march to the kitchen, he heard a door close behind him, then a car start up and leave. When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw both of the soldiers with their weapons pointed at him. The lead one still held the machine gun tight to his chest and he shoved Nick with it.

Nick realized that the second soldier was merely a kid. In just a flash of eye contact, the kid seemed to stiffen. He appeared more afraid of Nick, and Nick was weaponless and outnumbered.

Somehow this awareness gave Nick a glimmer of hope and it made him even more nervous. He actually had a slim chance of surviving and began to tremble.

When they entered the kitchen, Machine Gun grabbed Nick around the neck and jabbed the weapon into the base of his skull, using Nick as a shield. “Now where is he?”

Nick searched the small room and found what he was looking for. Two metal racks were standing between the refrigerator and the adjoining cabinet. He knew he couldn’t afford to hesitate. He pointed to the refrigerator, “He’s in there.”

Machine Gun sneered. “You’re a bad liar.”

Nick stretched his eyes to the right and noticed something peculiar about the second soldier. He was backpedaling, frantically searching the room, as if he expected Matt to come flying out of a cabinet.

Speaking to the skittish soldier, Nick said, “If you two don’t believe me, open it and find out.”

The man simply shook his head.

Machine Gun gave Nick a shove and crouched into a combat position. “You open it.”

Nick deliberately stepped in front of the refrigerator, keeping his eyes trained on Machine Gun. But his peripheral view was on the more important component. The retreating accomplice.

“I’m losing my patience,” Machine Gun said. “Open the refrigerator.”

Nick knew he had stretched his luck to the limit. He placed his hand on the refrigerator door and gave it a concise tug, allowing it to open no more than an inch. The interior light did not come on and Nick anxiously searched for a sign. Machine Gun was directly behind him now and he heard him say, “All the way.”

Finally, Nick could barely make out the tip of a blue piece of metal about naval high. Without opening the door any further, Nick stepped to the side as if he needed the room to pull open the door the rest of the way. Machine Gun was a second too late. Nick watched in amazement as the bullet penetrated directly into the center of the soldier’s forehead. For a disgustingly awkward moment, Machine Gun appeared to develop a third eye, then he dropped hard onto the linoleum floor. Nick was diving and rolling across the floor as a defensive maneuver, but it was unnecessary. The second soldier had already fled the kitchen and was on his way out the door.

Nick chased after the man for a couple of steps, then remembered that he was weaponless. He turned to see Matt McColm sitting in the open refrigerator in a curled position, knees to his chest, and a small light bulb clenched between his teeth. Matt delicately stretched one arm out of the confined space, then the other. He rolled forward and made a controlled fall onto the floor, his legs still wound into a tight knot. He spit out the light bulb and began the process of stretching his legs. “Just like Hartford,” Matt said.

Nick’s hands were shaking uncontrollably. “How did you know?” he asked.

“I heard the voices. I figured I’d use the element of surprise.”