Lethal Circuit by Lars Guignard

field of vision now, his thin nose and coal black eyes boring into him from above.
    “Me too,” Chen said. “I am curious.”
    As the hydraulic press lowered, Michael’s cheek suddenly stung as a drop of molten plastic hit it from above. It was now readily apparent that regardless of whether Michael could move or not, he’d have to do something if he wanted out of there alive. It didn’t matter that they’d break his neck if he moved; they’d mash his head with a hydraulic press if he didn’t.
    “I came here,” Michael said, “to find my father.”
    “Your father?” Chen said, leaning closer.
    “What about him?”
    “You tell me, American.”
    And Michael stole his moment. Kicking out with his outer leg despite the pressure on his throat, he arced his right leg around in a solid rotation, knowing that if he didn’t drop Chen he was done for. He felt the top of his foot connect with Chen’s calf and was able to follow through, sweeping him to the concrete below. Michael heard a scream and he knew the sweep had achieved what he’d hoped. Most people don’t know how to fall. The natural inclination is put your hand out to break the fall, but the inclination is wrong. If you take the full force of your body weight on your hand instead of rolling and spreading the force across your entire body, you’re more than likely to break your wrist, which given Chen’s scream, Michael assumed had happened. But it wasn’t over yet. He’d need to get Chen firmly under control if he was going to have any leverage with the two thugs holding him down. Fortunately, Chen fell right into the sweet spot. And even though the thugs were now hammering down on the bar hard, Michael was able to pin Chen’s neck between his foot and the floor in an improvised hold.  
    “Let me go or I’ll snap his neck.”
    The hydraulic press continued its slow descent, Michael increasing the pressure on Chen’s neck.
    “Do it. Now.”
    One of the goons hit the stop button on the press and the hydraulic piston came to a standstill, the mold an inch above Michael’s ear. But the bar was still there, holding him in place. Michael leaned down harder on Chen’s throat, Chen finally letting out a wheezing gasp.
    “Off.”
    The two goons warily removed the bar allowing Michael to pull his head off the molding machine.
    “Now, move over there,” Michael commanded.
    The goons backed away.
    “Not so fast.”
    Michael wasn’t sure where the voice had come from, but he knew it wasn’t Chen’s. It didn’t come from the blue-suited goons either, whose arms were now extended out at either side as if to demonstrate that they were unarmed. No, the voice belonged to someone else entirely. Kate.
    “Let him go, Michael.”
    Kate’s words were steady, her semi-automatic pistol squarely covering the five of them. Chen moaned and Michael increased the pressure on his throat reflexively.
    “The bastard tried to kill me.”
    “I said let him go.”
    Eyeing Kate’s weapon warily, Michael eased up on his foot, relieving the pressure on Chen’s windpipe. All was quiet for a long moment, Kate breathing coolly, expertly controlling the situation. Then, she aimed the pistol squarely between Michael’s eyes and twisted the corners of her mouth up into an ironic smile.
    “It’s time you and I had a talk,” she said.

9

    K ATE HELD THE gun to the small of Michael’s back, just below the Cordura bottom of his climbing pack. She had held it there while she locked Chen and his men on the factory floor and she held it there for the long silent cab ride back to the city. Being held at gunpoint wasn’t a feeling you got used to, Michael thought, but he didn’t feel as hopeless as he had as a seventeen-year-old boy back in Peru. Michael felt somehow more in control of the situation. Stronger. He reasoned that if Kate intended to shoot him, she would have done it had already. No, she was after something more.
    The cab pulled off the street and Kate led him