Similar Pages

Seventeen Days of Gold Chapter 9 I awoke the next morning feeling a tad bit antsy. I knew what I was missing, but decided lying in bed, conjuring up more fantasies was not going to help. I listened to my new CD, dancing the feelings out of me as I went through my morning ablutions. I threw in a few stretching exercises, as I knew today's qualifications were going to keep me off the ice. I brushed my hair, and was just about to see if Apolo was up when he read my thoughts and knocked at my door. He really needed to stop reading my mind, its just getting too weird. I opened the door, still bopping around to the music of Journey and gave Apolo a rather loud "good morning". He laughed at me and I blushed, taking off my headphones. "Sorry about that." I apologized for my loudness. "You already ready already?" "Yeah!" He said, rubbing his hands together. "I've been up for a while. Are you ready yet? I gotta get down there early." He was obviously psyched about today's trials. "Yes, yes, yes." I repeated, zipping a sweatshirt over my t-shirt, concealing my gun. I gathered my hair up into a loose ponytail and grabbed my cell phone. "Let's do this thing." I said finally. We were about to exit my suite when he stopped me. "I almost forgot." He grabbed the collar of my sweatshirt and pulled me into a kiss, breaking away a little too quickly for my tastes. "I needed some of that luck of the Irish." "Don't give me any of that blarney." I laughed. "You don't need luck, but I'll let you have it anyway." Yeah, I'll let you have it all right, I thought. I hoped qualifications would go by quickly. The day dragged on. I watched Apolo from my vantage point across the arena. The other security personnel were scattered at various locations, watching exits, entrances and the ice itself. I shifted uncomfortably from one skate to the other, wishing for a break in the trials to skate off the tension in my calves. Apolo, meanwhile, was having a banner day at qualifications. The crowd was thinner than this morning, for Jimmy Shea and his bobsledding competition was taking place elsewhere this afternoon. I wondered briefly how Jimmy was doing, but quickly went back to studying Apolo as he glided over the ice. I bit my lip as I watched his leg muscles ripple beneath his skinsuit and I found myself drifting off a bit. Even as I reminisced, my subconscious was picking up an irregularity. Like a wolf caught on to a scent, my nostrils flared and my eyes darted about. Suddenly focused, I frowned across the rink at the group, and then glanced around to see if any one else was on the alert. I did not recognize one of the Korean skaters that had come out of the box and was preparing before line-up. No one seemed to be picking up on it yet, so I reached for my two-way to wake them up. I watched as the unknown skater took off his helmet to make an adjustment, then fished something out of it. As soon as I caught his menacing glance at Apolo’s back, I leapt over the wall and plowed across the ice. Like Wayne Gretzky focused on a puck, I bared down toward him and Apolo, ready to bodycheck the Korean into next week. Apolo heard me bark his name, and turned just as the other skater brought down a makeshift plastic knife, aimed at his back, but instead plunging into Apolo’s shoulder. Apolo yelled and I screeched to a halt, as the attacker pulled the knife out of Apolo’s arm and held it at his throat. By this time, the other agents had surrounded us, but all froze the moment the knife touched Apolo’s neck. The small crowd gasped and the other skaters had already scurried back over the wall. Apolo, the knife-wielding attacker, and I were alone, ringed by armed personnel. As if in a movie scene, time had stopped. Blood trickled down Apolo’s left arm, and he squirmed under his assailant's grasp in pain and fear. The frightened look in his eyes hardened my resolve even more toward the perpetrator. I stepped toward them. The attacker tightened his grip and Apolo yelped. Speaking in broken English, he referred to Apolo’s Japanese father and how all American women are whores. He went on about that Americans didn’t care about anything but money, and that we were the ones corrupting the games, and should be kicked out of the Olympics. He figured they could scare us out and get rid of their most potent skating rival in one shot. He seemed to be hyped up on something as well, heightening this already perilous situation. I attempted to talk some sense into him. Think about what he was doing. Was it really worth it, jeopardizing his whole country’s future ability to participate over a couple of bad calls? However, his view of me as just another “American whore” deafened him to anything I said. I was talking more to distract him anyhow, as agents crept toward him from behind and I imperceptibly moved closer. However, at one point, I lost my balance on the skates and the perpetrator caught a glimpse of my gun. He panicked and began shouting. I raised my hands up, and he demanded me to remove my piece and kick it over to him. I did as he asked, only kicking the gun too far across the ice for his reach. As soon as I saw his eyes following the gun, and a gap showed between the knife and Apolo’s neck, I lunged forward and grabbed the attacker’s arm. His wrist was sweaty through the spandex and difficult to hold onto. Since I had a better grip with my right hand, I crossed my left over to buffer the space between the blade and Apolo, and hopefully wrench the knife out of his hand. The assailant jerked his arm suddenly, freeing himself, and pressed the knife hard into my left hand. I clenched my jaw as I felt it slicing into my skin, but tried to block any thoughts of the pain. My face was inches from Apolo’s and I could see his terrified eyes searching for some sign from me. “You'll be okay.” I reassured him quietly. He shook his head. I pressed my right hand against his shoulder to stop some of the bleeding...it didn’t appear as bad as I initially thought. “It’ll be all right.” I said, as he winced at my touch. I wasn’t too sure if I could say the same about my hand. I could feel the blood running down my palm and briefly saw it dripping off the point of the knife onto Apolo’s chest. I was thankful it wasn't a metal blade. Then he pressed harder, voicing a threat to cut right through my hand into Apolo’s throat. “Not on my life.” I growled. Then came the stare down. We locked eyes and silently dared each other. Apolo was slipping, and I pressed myself against him for support, squeezing him between us, hoping to throw the attacker off-balance. My eyes never budged, but around me I could feel the other agents approaching as I hypnotized him. Then I blinked, two rapid blinks, barely perceptible. That was the signal, and swiftly Lieutenant Michaelson brought the butt of his gun down on the assailant‘s head, rendering him unconscious. As he fell back, I held onto Apolo, as his legs gave out from beneath him, and supported him as we both kneeled on the ice, exhausted from the tension. “I got you, darling.” I breathed, as everyone returned to life and clamored about. I shouted over my left shoulder for a towel, handing the knife to a plastic-gloved Agent Morales for evidence collection. Blood trapped in my palm suddenly poured off my hand onto the ice, giving Apolo a start. “Better make that two!” I called then, and an obviously shaken and ashen-faced Yuki tossed over two white towels--of course they had to be white--to me. I held one in my left hand and pressed the other against Apolo’s arm. The pain and fright had drained the color from his face and he seemed disoriented. I placed my toweled hand behind him and jostled him a bit. “Hey, stay with me here.” I said. “It’s all over. And you’re not that bad, see?” I pulled the towel off his arm for him to see that the bleeding had indeed slowed. “It hurts.” He said, licking his lips. “How about your hand?” “It hurts like hell. But I think you would have been in a lot worse shape if I didn’t put it there.” Apolo instinctively rubbed his throat at the mention of that fact. He startled himself again when he pulled his hand away and found blood on it. I reassured him it was from me, although that didn’t seem to help. Cameras were flashing all around us. Still kneeling on the ice, we both glanced around then back at each other as the realization settled in. It was over...everyone in the entire world knew who I was now. How quickly life can turn around. Beyond the pain and fatigue, I felt an overwhelming sadness. I wanted him more now than I ever have. I wanted to hold him tight and take away the fear and the hurt I saw in his eyes. I was tempted to taste his lips one last time, despite the perilous circumstances, when someone spoke from over us. “It’s time to get both of you to emergency.” “Help him.” I ordered, as I stood up. Apolo was reluctant to go ahead without me until I assured him I was right behind him. I pressed the towel between my hands and skated behind him. A terrific fatigue suddenly came over me and I leaned against the wall for support. A Salt Lake police officer helped me outside toward a waiting ambulance, telling me on the way what a great job I did. Only half-hearing her, I didn’t respond, but sat down on the gurney and looked about for Apolo. He was already strapped in and being hoisted into the back of the ambulance.  Somebody located my shoes for me just as my turn came to be placed in the ambulance.  I took the saturated towel off for a moment to examine my palm. The cut looked gruesome, right into the meat of my hand. I flexed my fingers, hoping that there was no nerve damage. It stung like a son of a bitch and started to bleed some more. I replaced the towel and looked back up at the ceiling of the truck, starting to feel sick. Scene music: "My Sacrifice'" by Creed Copyright material TMS2003 Chapter 9, pt. 2 Return to Home Back to Chapter 8, pt. 2   page created with Webpage Designer (NS)