CYOA: Thomas Asby and the Minimal Mastermind (Volume 1, Chapter 3)

Last Week’s Winning Choice:

Convince Derblint to betray Fitzgerald

Chapter 3

       After a few minutes of back-and-forth slaps to Deacon Derblint’s already battered face, Thomas Asby finally aroused his senseless captive. Derblint’s eyes flittered across every imaginable axis before Asby snapped his fingers and stabilized them. Derblint showed fear for a split-second before his brow furrowed in anger and he spit in Asby’s face; Asby sighed, wiped the saliva from the bridge of his nose and began rubbing it all over Derblint’s face.

       “Argh you asshole!” Derblint choked as his face became the cake and the spittle the icing.

      “Shut up, Derblint,” Asby said. He disgustedly shook off his hand as he grabbed another chair, pulling it next to the one that Derblint was tied to.

       “I won’t tell you anything,” Derblint said between deep breaths.

       “Well we both know that’s a lie,” Asby said, and as he did so he looked straight into Derblint’s mud-brown eyes.

       “Wh-what makes you say that?” Derblint stammered.

       “Well I’ve read your file, Derblint, and I don’t think you’re as bad a cat as you make yourself out to be.”

       “Nice try, doc. Not working on–”

       “You grew up in a small town: Minnetonka, Minnesota,” Asby cut him off. “You lived quite happily with both of your parents, no divorce or separation to speak of. At Minnesota State you studied to be a veterinarian with a minor in dentistry. You came home after college and lived there for a few years, at least until your father and mother died.” Derblint’s upper lip began to quiver. “This led you to attempt suicide. When you didn’t succeed you hitchhiked to California, where you met Fitz–”

       “Shut up,” Derblint interjected, but it was more feeble than vitriolic.

       Asby raised his eyebrows. “Don’t like hearing his name? What happened to that small-town kid who dreamed of being a veterinarian? Who came home after college to spend more time with his close-knit family? Who loved his parents so much that he couldn’t imagine living in this world without them?”

       “Stop.” Derblint had his eyes squeezed shut and was shaking his head. “Please stop.”

       “You’re a good person, Deacon.” The mention of his first name caused Derblint to open his eyes and look into Asby’s. “Your parents wouldn’t like the person you’ve become. You can leave all of this behind you, the government can protect you. You can become the vet – nay, the person – you always wanted to be. I’m not lying to you,” Asby emphasized.

* * *

       Asby pulled into long-term parking at McCarran International Airport later that night. He had left Los Angeles and begun driving to Las Vegas at 7:30 PM; four-and-a-half hours later – the clock in his Camry read two minutes past midnight – he had arrived. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of paper on which he had scribbled the information that Derblint provided:

       “McCarran Int: Priv. Hangar X, 1 AM”

       Asby folded up the paper, slid it into the breast pocket of his tuxedo, and stepped out of his car. He strode quickly from the parking lot in the direction of the hangars set apart from the main terminal. A fence topped with barbed wire soon blocked Asby from continuing onto the runway. Asby reached for the B.I.A.-issued belt strapped around his waist and unsheathed his wire cutters. He snipped himself out a man-sized hole, threw the residue to the side, and crawled his way onto the airport’s runways.

       A quick trot across the airfield later and Asby was creaking open a backdoor to Hangar X. Once inside he ducked behind a jumbled stack of airplane food boxes and peeked his head out to watch the proceedings in the hangar.

       A glossy private jet was sitting in the middle of the expanse, a blue-carpeted stairway extended to begin accepting passengers onboard. There were four men visible to Asby: one bodyguard standing at the top of the stairwell; two bodyguards standing by the wheels of the plane; and between them standing Fitzgerald, all four feet of him. Fitzgerald was visibly distressed and shouting angrily at his accomplices.

       “I DON’T CARE WHY! HE SHOULD BE HERE!”

       “Deacon’s never on time, sir,” one bodyguard was pleading.

       Fitzgerald stopped hopping around in anguish, took a few breaths, and smoothed out his miniature suit.

       “It’s okay. Breatheeeee. It’s okay. I was done with that fool anyway. I’ll just make sure to dispose of him when I return.” He motioned to his bodyguards. “Let’s get on the plane.”

       Asby stiffened as the three men ascended the stairwell into the body of the aircraft; he hadn’t come up with any sort of plan yet. He could risk being spotted and board the flight as well – the stairs had not been lifted yet – or try something more hands-off. Blowing up the plane could work, seeing as he had done explosives work before. Yet his knowledge wasn’t extensive and had not been used for quite a while. There was a chance he could blow all of them up, himself included, or nobody at all.

What should Thomas Asby do next?

- Board the plane, risking exposure but getting Asby up close and personal with Fitzgerald.

- Rig an explosive, though Asby could blow himself up or nobody at all

Vote for your choice in the poll on the right, and check in next Monday for the next installment of Thomas Asby and the Minimal Mastermind!