White Space Season 1

Thanks.”
    Houser ejected the flash drive, closed his laptop, then placed the flash drive on top of his computer, annoyed that he’d have to wait even longer to see what secrets it held. He took another swig of Diet Coke, figuring all the trouble and anticipation would likely lead to nothing. It was pretty hard to imagine that Heller’s “secrets” were anything more than Grade A looney bin material.
    Houser clicked on the TV for some background noise as he sorted through his thoughts and tried to figure out what he wanted to do. He should get to bed, but wasn’t particularly tired. He thought of the girl working the desk downstairs again, then pictured himself hitting the hotel bar. He’d had a couple of drinks with Jon, but wasn’t even close to feeling inebriated.
    Houser went into the bathroom to take a piss. He was in midstream when he heard the sound of his electronic door lock click.
    What the fuck? Housekeeping? Jon?
    He tried to stop pissing, but couldn’t.
    The door slowly opened and he heard another sound, something bouncing into the room, before the door swung closed.
    Shit.
    Houser raised his zipper, wetting the front of his pants, as he ran back into the room to grab his gun from the table.
    A small grenade was lying on the ground, breathing gray smoke like a dragon.
    Houser held his breath, put his shirt over his nose and mouth to block the harsh smoke, then grabbed the gun and flash drive from the table and ran back outside onto the balcony.
    Houser slid the door shut and saw two men in full black gear with masks storm into his room. One had an AR-15. The other was wielding a pistol equipped with a silencer. Both were looking for him.
    They saw him and fired.
    The glass doors shattered. Houser spun around and leaped over the balcony railing, pushing himself out as far out as he could. He plummeted into the pool below, holding the flash drive and gun as tightly as he could.
    Icy water screamed on his skin. The pool was not heated.
    Fuck, fuck, fuck.
    Houser surfaced, coughing chlorinated water from his lungs, and glanced back up toward the balcony from where he had just jumped. He wouldn’t have long until his attackers were taking aim.
    He put the flash drive in his mouth, then swam as fast as he could toward the closest ledge. He pulled himself up and then out of the pool, his soaking clothes adding what seemed to be 50 pounds to his already bulky frame. Houser slipped the flash drive into his wet pants pocket and then took a quick glance around.
    He cringed, fully expecting to get shot as he ran from the pool, then toward the hotel, getting as close to the wall as he could until he was out of the gunmen’s range.
    Who the hell are these people?
    And are there more?
    Houser ran forward, yanking the gun from its holster as he headed toward the parking lot, eyes scanning the night for any more men in black. Whoever his attackers were, they meant business, and he had little doubt he’d find more of them lurking.
    Houser grabbed his keys from his wet pocket, and made his way toward his rental car.
    A gunman appeared between him and the car, aiming an AR-15 at Houser.
    Houser squeezed two shots, one hitting the man in the chest, knocking him back about a foot and a half. The other landed in his head, sending him to the ground, firing wildly as he died.
    The gunshots had murdered the night’s silence. Eyes would be on the parking lot in seconds.
    Fuck, Fuck!
    If there were others lurking nearby, Houser didn’t yet see them.
    He opened the car door and threw the AR-15 in, then held the pistol in his left hand as he started the car with the key in his right. He threw the car into reverse and gunned the engine, tearing from the lot with a rubber-on-asphalt shriek.
    More gunfire erupted behind him and his back windshield shattered.
    Houser was inches from the road, and took a hard left, racing onto the street.
    The two lane road leading from the hotel was long and narrow, and he hoped no traffic was on the street. Houser had to put as much distance between himself and his pursuers as he could. He had to get away, then call Jon.
    Fuck, I left the phone in my room!
    He could circle back if he had to. He could take these fuckers out. But the phone wasn’t worth going back for.
    A red Toyota appeared in the right lane ahead of him, going 100 miles under the speed limit.
    Shit! Shit! Shit!
    He wanted to weave around the bastard, but there were too many cars in the oncoming traffic lane. Houser