"I don't want to hear any excuses, young man."
"But it wasn't -"
"Do you want to try for being grounded for another day? Because I can definitely go for that," Carey said, hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. "You. Room. Now." Zack was about to protest one last time but his eyes noticed the pulsing vein over his mother's right eye. No, this was not a time to try to push his luck. She was barely hanging onto being mad and one more peep from him would probably push her over into the realm of being furious.
Zack sighed and turned on his heels. He'd accept the punishment, even though this time he really didn't deserve it, and be done with it. He walked like a man condemned to the gallows, stopping only slightly while in the doorway to look back at his mother. She twirled her finger in a gesture that clearly meant close the door already, buster.
He flopped down on his bed and looked at everything he wasn't allowed to play with while he was being punished. There was the radio beside his bed, the stack of comic books beneath a plate with a half-eaten piece of pizza on it, an assortment of baseballs and basketballs...It all just mocked him. Zack crossed his arms tightly over his chest and closed his eyes...
...and opened his mind's eye.
Zack watched as the numbers on the elevator slowly spun up to 23 and felt the momentary no-gravity churn in his stomach as the car came to a halt. He was led down a dark corridor by two large goons with awful haircuts and ridiculously bad Russian accents. He tried to struggle but with his hands tied together behind his back and their ape-like paws digging into his shoulders he couldn't do much except walk where they pushed him.
"You very brave or very stupid, Mr. Smith," one of the goons said as he pushed hard enough to nearly make Zack stumble.
"Or, I should say 'Mr. Zachary Martin, OSA agent'." Zack turned his head enough to see the man smiling down at him. "Yes, we know. We know all about Mr. Martin's exploits in Europe."
Zack turned his head back to the hallway in front of him and set his mind to working. If they know who I am they probably know what I'm doing here. And if they know that, they probably know enough to find my family back home. I've got to get out of here. Jeez, this guy reeks of vodka, what'd he do, bathe in it?
"Get in cell, Agent Martin."
The goon tried to shove Zack through the narrow door but Zack dodged to the side just enough to hit against the wall instead. "Oomph," he moaned as he saw stars dance across his field of vision. He nearly squirmed away but the second, and probably stupider goon in his opinion, grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked him back.
"Ivan, help get him in cell!" Zack was fighting for all he was worth but it was a lost cause. With no arms to use and being outweighed by at least a combined 400 pounds he was no match for the two men and was sent sprawling into the small room. His head rang as it smacked into the hard tile.
"We keep you here until boss arrive, little spy. Then we shall, how you say in American? Interrogate you for secrets." Both men grinned at him, dark and evil smiles, and shut the door.
As soon as Zack heard their thunderous footsteps retreat down the hall he struggled to his knees and surveyed the room. Probably a janitor's room that doubled as a holding cell, he figured as he looked over the mop buckets and cleaning supplies in the pale light. Zack got to his feet and backed himself toward the door and twisted the knob in the hopes that the two fools had forgotten to lock it. No dice.
Zack set about finding a light switch to better see his surroundings and found one. He flicked it on with his tongue and nearly gagged at whatever was on the small switch. "Blech!" he said as he spit onto the floor. Now he had to get his hands free if he was going to have any chance of escape from this hotel and get out of here.
Zack squatted back down and fished two fingers into his shoe. "Where is it...C'mon, where'd you go?" He whispered to himself as he finally found the small device his brother had made and he'd slipped into his Nikes before he tried to infiltrate this place. "I'll never call Cody a nerd again after this," he said as he clumsily thumbed a small trigger on the piece of plastic. His ears were greeted with a small hiss and he carefully rotated his hand enough so that the little flame would burn through the cords binding his wrists. The device didn't hold that much fuel so he had to move quickly.
A few seconds later the little torch was starting to sputter but it held out just long enough for Zack to get his hands free. He stuck it back in his pocket and massaged some feeling back into his wrists. Zack then proceeded to thank whoever was responsible for allowing the two stupidest guards in Russia to catch him and not frisk him before they tossed him in this dank cell. Now to get out of here...
He pulled his government-issue phone (complete with cool new ringtones and a Red Sox screensaver) from inside his jacket and frowned as he saw no bars on the display. "All-over coverage my--" Zack was interrupted by a noise coming from down the hall. Probably Tiny and his buddy bringing me my last meal, he thought as he flipped the phone closed, an escape plan already having formed in his mind.
Zack put the phone in the back pocket of his jeans and quickly buttoned up his jacket. Cody would kill him for what he was about to do since it would surely totally screw all the little enhancements he'd stitched into the fabric but a spy had to do what a spy had to do. He grabbed a bottle of floor soap from a shelf and squirted a generous amount on the floor of his cell and a similar amount to the back of his jacket. Finishing his plan, he kicked the burnt rope out of sight and sat on his knees, calf muscles ready to spring, hands behind his back.
"Little boy, we bring you to boss now," Tiny called out as he reached the door. "Do not be trying any funny things." The knob jiggled and turned and Zack suddenly realized he'd not doused the light before he sat down. No time for that now, he determined, and settled back to wait for the perfect moment.
The door swung creakily open and there they were, Ivan and Tiny, both looking extremely pleased with themselves. "Up, little spy, up." Ivan said, motioning to him.
"I can't. I think you broke my leg when you threw me in here," Zack replied, adding a wince of pain to his face.
"I carry you then, like mother cat carries kitten." Ivan took a step into the room holding his oversized hand out to grab Zack, his foot landing just beside Zack's slick puddle. He let Ivan take one more wide step into the room and then whirled into action. He was on the tips of his toes in a split second and uncoiled like a spring, diving across the short distance between himself and the two goons. Zack hit the floor in the middle of the puddle and slid on his belly completely through Ivan's legs and out into the hall.
"Hey!" Ivan called out and Zack turned his head just enough to see the big man slip and fall to the ground with a boom, bottles and mop heads flying everywhere.
"Come here!" Tiny yelled as he lunged at Zack. One of his hands caught Zack's coat but thanks to the soap didn't hang on for very long. He gave Tiny as hard a shove as he could manage and couldn't help but grin as he quickly joined his comrade on the ground. Both men started yelling something in Russian but Zack had an idea that they weren't asking him over for dinner.
"Catch ya' later, losers," Zack said as he closed the door on the two men. It wouldn't hold the two of them for long but it might buy him a few extra seconds. He attempted to straighten his jacket but decided that it was a lost cause. Walking around with soap bubbles all over the front of him would cause more suspicion than he'd already garner so he dropped it in the nearest garbage can. He'd make it up to Cody somehow, he promised himself.
He made his way back through the hallway he'd previously been forced down and stopped to formulate a plan. He didn't have much time, that much was certain. The elevators were most likely out of the question as well. It wouldn't do for him to be trapped in them if the bad guys discovered he'd escaped before he made it all the way down from his 23rd floor prison cell. The stairs then!
Zack dashed around the corner, hoping that the sign he was following translated to 'stairs' and not something else entirely. His luck held out and he came to a set of double doors and crashed through them headlong. His little feet flew down the steps at top speed and he swung himself over the turn-about and landed halfway down on the next flight. Under normal situations this would be a BLAST! he said quickly as he descended another two flights in rapid succession.
He'd come down eight flights and was just about to make it nine when he heard a bunch of commotion from further down the stairwell. He poked his head over the railing and saw a handful of rather angry looking men coming up his way. Zack's luck chose that moment to falter as one of them just happened to glance up and catch a glimpse of his hair as he ducked back down behind the stairs.
Something loud and angry was yelled up his way and Zack quickly turned around and headed back up a half-flight to the nearest door. He dashed through it, the sounds of many feet much closer than he'd have liked. He skidded to a halt and rapidly looked both ways in hopes of finding something that would help him get out of here. He didn't find much, just long hallways on each side dotted with doors every so often. "Great."
Zack set off to his left at a dead run, slowing just long enough to try the handles as he passed. Naturally they were all locked and looked sufficiently sturdy to keep him from barging through them. "Great," he repeated as he gave up any hopes of finding an unlocked door. From behind he heard a loud bang and turned to see the stairwell doors fly open and the men pour out, looking for him.
"Down there!" he heard yelled and Zack picked up his pace. Only one chance left, he thought as he started unfastening his belt. He unlooped it and stretched it out in his hands.
"Cody, if this works like you said it would..." he said as he dashed directly at the large stained glass window at the end of the hallway. Zack started to twirl the belt around his head like a lasso as he ran and let the buckle end of it fly a few steps from the window. He the fabric stretched many times its normal length and he heard the metal hit the decorative grillwork beneath the glass and hoped that everything worked.
He jumped, one hand shielding his face and the other holding on to the belt for dear life, and crashed through the glass with an incredible noise. He shot over the side of the building with a Tarzan-like scream and began plummeting outward to the ground, only to be snapped back towards the building by the elasticity of the belt. His momentum carried him closer to the building at tremendous speed and if it weren't for a brisk wind blowing him to his right, he'd have smacked directly into the brickwork. Thankfully he was pushed just far enough so he instead smashed through another window, this time into a room.
Zack rolled suavely to his feet, brushing the broken glass from his clothes and straightening his bow tie. He looked up and saw a stunningly beautiful blond woman sitting on a couch not five feet from where he made his dramatic entrance. "Hello, sweet thang," he said, not being able to stop himself from giving her a small whistle.
"Who are you?" the woman asked in English. English English, he noted, not that broken speech he'd grown used to hearing here in Russia. She looked slightly surprised but not really scared. Maybe spies crash through her windows all the time, he thought and grinned.
"Martin. Zack Martin," he told her as he gave her a low bow.
"Do you always break through a girl's window, Mr. Martin?" She asked as she moved her robe slightly.
"Break them? Sometimes. Break through them? No, this is a first for me."
She regarded him silently for a moment. "Would you care for a drink, Mr. Martin?" The woman crossed the room and began filling two rocks glasses with ice and Sprite."
"Seems I don't have much of a choice now, do I?" He said with a practiced smile. "I'd love to have a drink." She handed him the bubbly glass.
"Bottoms up!" Zack toasted and knocked back the entire thing in one shot, grimacing slightly as the bubbles burned his nose. "Imported?" The woman nodded that it was. "That must have cost a fortune over here."
"I only drink the finest, Mr. Martin," she said as she sipped hers.
"Only the finest for the finest, I'd say," Zack told her as he set his glass down on the small bar. "As much as I'd love to spend the evening discussing your broken window and how I could make it up to you, I've got to get out of here." The woman set her own glass down and approached Zack.
"Then take this with you," she said as she kissed him sweetly. "May the luck of the Fitzpatricks keep you safe on your journey." Zack blushed despite his best effort not to. He moved over to the small table by the phone and scribbled on the notepad for a brief moment.
"If you ever make it to Boston, Ms. Fitzpatrick," he said as he ripped the paper from the pad and handed it to her, "look me up." She slipped it inside the front of her robe. She nodded coyly and gave him a small smile.
"Thank you for your hospitality, ma'am," he said as he stepped away from her, eyes on his feet as he went, too embarrassed to look her in the face. They didn't spend much time in training for situations like this.
"Take care, Mr. Martin," she said softly as he opened her door. Zack nodded back at her as he left, unable to form any words. He leaned against the outside of the door and exhaled the breath it felt like he'd been holding for years. Shaking his head, he took off again.
The stairs were out now; they'd be waiting for him for sure. Another window escape was out since his belt was still hanging somewhere two floors above him. He wracked his brain before it came to him. Zack dashed off again. He'd just rounded a corner and stopped dead in his tracks as he heard Ivan's voice. "Get little spy!" the brute of a man said as he pointed this fat finger at Zack.
"Scratch that idea," Zack said as he made his way back the way he came. Diving out the window again was looking better and better all the time. He ducked around a corner and passed another door and grabbed the knob, hoping against hope that he might be able to steal enough time to think of something. Luck seemed to be back on his side as door opened immediately.
He shut it quietly behind himself and looked around. A maid's room! This might just work out after all! he thought as he searched. "Bingo!" The laundry chute! Zack shoved a large basket piled full of dirty sheets out of his way and looked down the dark tunnel. "Nothing to it, Zack," he said to psyche himself up as he rocked back and forth on his toes. He rubbed his hands together and dove in.
If he thought the leap through the window was fun yet terrifying, this was more of both. He couldn't see an inch in front of his face and he was shooting down fast enough to slick his hair back against his head. As much as he tried to fight it he couldn't help but scream as he finally saw a spot of light somewhere far below him. Please oh please let there be something soft down there or else this is going to be a very short trip!
The light grew larger and brighter at incredible speed and Zack closed his eyes and hoped for the best. He came out of the end of the chute and flew another few feet and crashed landed right in a middle of a basket of blankets and sheets.
"Awesome awesome awesome!" he said as he tried to climb out, one hand thrown lazily over the edge. Zack got his bearings and tossed himself over the side in a heap. Gotta move, Zack, gotta move! He picked himself up, nearly tripping over a rogue blanket, and moved on.
He left the laundry room quickly behind him and passed through a number of service corridors before finding himself in a large kitchen. Where you found kitchens, you usually found outside doors!
"I knew I'd find you, Mr. Martin," a voice called out from somewhere behind the giant stoves and refrigerators.
"Moseby," Zack said in a calm and very not surprised voice.
"You're not as clever as you would like to think," Mr. Martin.
"Wrong as always, Moseby. I'm at least twice as cleverer as you think I think I am."
"We shall see, Mr. Martin, we shall see." Zack still hadn't caught a glimpse of the man yet, but he knew that Moseby, or Mad Marion as he'd been dubbed by the Feds, was stalking him.
"We can end this little game now, Zack. May I call you Zack? Good," he said without waiting for an answer. "You can give me the top secret information you are carrying and walk out of here."
"Yeah, right! Like you'd do that." Zack said as he tried to figure out exactly where Moseby was hiding.
"I might," the voice said but Zack knew better. You don't get to be called Mad Marion for keeping your promises to super-spies. "Last chance, Zack."
"I think I'm gonna have to say no on that one, Moseby." Zack had spent the time of the short exchange working his way towards the far end of the room and had made it as far as one of the dessert makers' stations when everything happened at once.
"Very well" reached his ears and almost before he knew it, Moseby was nearly on him with a raised rolling pin. Zack instinctively ducked backwards and grabbed a small bowl of flour and flung it in Moseby's direction. A loud sneeze told him that he'd hit his target.
Mad Marion started swinging wildly through the white cloud and Zack, backing out of his reach, looked for anything to help him. He spotted a large old-fashioned mixer and slowly made his way in its direction. As he passed the power switch he ducked another crazy overhanded swing and reached in for Moseby's tie.
Moseby yelled as he was pulled forward and tried to fight as Zack deftly threaded the tie between the large beaters. "Don't. You. Dare!" he screamed and Zack grinned as he flipped the switch. It only stayed on for a few seconds before it was tangled up but that was long enough to thoroughly ensnare Moseby.
The enraged man flailed his arms about, trying to alternately pull himself free and take off his tie. Zack slid a hand in Moseby's jacket pocket and pulled out a set of car keys and dangled them in front of his face.
"Looks like I win again, Mad Marion!" Zack said as he scampered away.
"Come back here!" Moseby said defeatedly as he gave up trying to extricate himself from the mixer. "Ivan! Victor!"
Zack ran out the back door and into the parking lot. If he knew Moseby's type, he'd have the flashiest, shiniest car in the lot. Probably red, too. Hopefully a convertible. There it was, parked far off by itself and immaculately polished, even the hubcaps shone brightly in the moonlight. And yes, a convertible. Zack wasn't surprised. He approached the car and zapped off the alarm and got in.
"What the? What is wrong with these people over here? Three pedals in their cars, toilets that shoot water in your face if you're not fast enough when you flush...sheesh!" He jammed the key in the ignition and turned it, the car sputtered to life, gave a small shudder and died. "Moseby has a shiny clunker?" he said in disbelief as he tried again, stomping the various pedals.
This time the engine roared to life and the car shook with power. "That's so much better!" Zack yelled over the roar of the engine. It took a moment or two but Zack figured out the working of a manual transmission with just enough time to spare to wave to his new friends Tiny and Ivan as they came out the side door and thundered across the parking lot after him.
"Hasto la visto, babies!" Zack cackled into the mirror as he laid twin strips of rubber down the dark highway, dropping the top and letting the wind blow his hair any which way it wanted...
..."Zack? Zack!" he was brought back to reality by Cody's voice calling his name.
"Huh?" Zack was slightly disoriented as he turned to the doorway and saw his brother.
"Mom said to tell you that you can come out now. She said she probably overreacted a little." Zack pushed his wind-blown hair back into place and got up from his bed. "That's alright. I had business to take care of anyway." He coolly walked out of the bedroom and into living room, leaving Cody with a very perplexed look on his face.
fin
Alright...first things first...after I reread the story a few times for flow and grammar, I decided that Ivan and Tiny both sounded exactly like Jumba from Lilo and Stitch. Not exactly a Russian accent, but it fit perfectly. It is Zack's daydream after all and I doubt he's heard much Russian! This might end up being part of a continuing series of Zack's daydreams but I'm not entirely sure yet.
I know I keep saying that I have fun writing these stories, and I really do, but this tops them all so far. Maybe three hours all together and it just poured out onto the keyboard. So, I hope you liked this as much as I did!