Max Arena (13 page)

President
Bartholomew dragged his stare away from Max and found the Arab
coming over to him. Peter adjusted his stance and Max noticed in
the background, a cohort of soldiers shifted the aims of their
machine guns to the robed newcomer.

‘We’ve met
before?’ the President asked, none too kindly.

‘Only over the
phone,’ the Arab replied, ‘when your F-22 Raptor crashed in our
central desert last February.’

‘How did you
know about that?’ the President quipped back.

‘Because the
central desert is the ancestral home to my people, the Balasti
Bedouin. It also narrowly missed crashing into my desert
palace.’

The President
baulked. ‘Your palace...?’ the President vaguely repeated.

‘I am Abdullah
bin Mohammed bin Salahuddin, ruler and Sheikh of the Emirate of
Balasti,’ the Arab said patiently, bowing his head slightly. ‘At
your service.’

The President
baulked again. All eyes settled on him and he knew it as he flicked
a sideways glance at Joe.

‘Good to meet
you in person,’ the President finally said, methodically extending
his own hand, which Sheikh Abdullah warmly accepted. ‘Funny seeing
you here?’

Sheikh Abdullah
smiled and lowered his gaze slightly. ‘It is I who am honoured to
meet you in person,’ he said smoothly. ‘You have displayed
tremendous wisdom and leadership in your relatively short time in
office. As for my presence here, I too have surprised our good
friend Joe by arriving unannounced late yesterday evening for the
same purpose as you. Mister Dyson has garnered enormous interest
and I came offering my help and resources to assist Joseph in
preparing Mister Dyson for the ordeal ahead. After all, as you have
so delicately pointed out, Mister Dyson holds the fate of us all in
his hands and if I can humbly help in any way, that is the least I
and my people can do. No doubt your intentions are equal?’

The President
held his tongue and cast another sideways glance to Joe. The Prime
Minister said nothing and merely returned the look, a half smile on
his lips.

‘Yes,’ the
President finally answered. ‘I’m here to help, but I mean it when I
say I want some answers.’ President Bartholomew then turned to face
Max and continued. ‘I need to be convinced that this fellah is
capable of fighting off whatever God-awful aliens come down into
that arena. I’ve got the finest soldiers in the world cooling their
heels back in the states that could probably beat this guy hands
down, so before I leave, he’s going to have to prove he’s got what
it takes.’

Max stood
impassive, his blue eyes bright and hard.

‘Then may I
boldly make a suggestion, Mister President?’ Sheikh Abdullah asked,
his tone soft.

Joe turned to
look at the Arab, his smile fading and the corners of his eyes
creasing slightly.

‘What?’
President Bartholomew virtually barked.

‘We have just
witnessed Mister Dyson’s physical prowess in completing the
obstacle course behind you and though I can honestly say it was
highly impressive, I too share your concerns about his combat
ability.’

‘What do you
suggest?’ President Bartholomew said, his eyes narrowing as he
shifted his attention to the Arab.

‘Select the
finest fifteen of your soldiers and secret service that are with
you here,’ Sheikh Abdullah replied, fluidly raising his right hand
towards the fanned out US Army personnel, ‘and let us pit Mister
Dyson against them in a challenge?’

The President
looked from Sheikh Abdullah to Joe whose half smile had returned to
accompany his nodding head. President Bartholomew then turned and
looked at his own men. After a few seconds of thought, he turned
back.

‘You’re on,’ he
said. Then turning to Max. ‘You start at the far end of the course
and you have to get to this end by going through all my boys who
will be spaced out in twos and threes. Anyone puts you on the
ground, you lose. Anyone you put on the ground is out. Got it?’

‘Yes,’ Max
firmly replied.

‘You’ve got ten
minutes to get your butt up on the starting line,’ President
Bartholomew shot back before turning to walk back towards his
helicopters.

‘You need to
know,’ Max started to say, bringing the President up short to half
turn around and look back, ‘fifteen’s not enough men.’

The President
gave Max a long cold stare before turning away and walking back to
his helicopter, calling his ranking officer across to join him.

Max turned to
look at Elsa. ‘Stay close to Peter,’ he said. ‘This is all still
pretty hairy and I don’t trust this bloke one bit, President or
not.’

Kris stepped
around Elsa and said, ‘You sure about this, Max? You’re fit and
all, but these blokes are trained soldiers. You really think you
can take down fifteen of them on your own?’

The rich,
rolling tones of Sheikh Abdullah sounded, drawing Kris’ attention
towards him. ‘I saw smartphone footage of Max bringing down more
than twice that number of aliens only a few days ago,’ he said,
‘and they were far more vicious than any of these soldiers.’

‘It’s a clever
play, your Highness,’ Joe added, his smile now fully borne. ‘You
gave Bartholomew exactly what he wants knowing full well that Max
will best his men. You used his confidence against him.’

‘I did nothing
that you were not already thinking, Joe,’ Sheikh Abdullah said, a
faint smile also lifting his cheekbones. ‘It was just that as
usual, my mouth spoke too quickly.’

‘Everyone,’ Joe
said, ‘I would like to introduce his royal highness, Sheikh
Abdullah of Balasti. He is here as my guest and I assure you all
that you can trust him as equally as you trust me, if not more
so.’

Sheikh Abdullah
stepped back a pace and bowed.

‘He is also,’
Joe continued, ‘the most eloquent man I know and possesses an
intellect second to none. I am proud to call him my friend and as I
will explain later, he is here to help.’ Joe then turned to Peter.
‘I apologise for not telling you earlier, Peter. You deserved to
know.’

‘If it’s
you
vouching for him, sir,’ Peter replied, ‘then he’s a
friend of mine too.’

Joe nodded to
Peter and turned back to Sheikh Abdullah. ‘Come, my friend. Let’s
leave the real world experts to their work, while we politicians
and diplomats play our games. We have a President to wrangle and I
don’t fancy doing it on my own.’

Sheikh Abdullah
bore a full smile now too and allowed Joe to lead him off towards
President Bartholomew’s black hawks.

‘What are all
those men doing taking their shirts off, Daddy?’ Millie asked,
poking her head around his waist.

Max turned to
look and found several of the President’s soldiers and two of his
secret service personnel disrobing to bare torsos and breaking up
into pairs and threes, spaced along the length of the one hundred
metre course Max had just completed.

‘You better get
up the other end,’ Elsa said to Max. ‘You don’t want to keep the
President of the United States waiting.’

Max turned back
to his wife and said, ‘I won’t be long and stay close to Peter.’ He
then flicked a gaze across to his chief of security. ‘You got them,
mate?’

‘You never have
to ask me that,’ Peter replied, an edge in his tone. ‘If I don’t
have them, I’m already dead.’

Max nodded
silently and then looked down to tussle the hair on both his kids
heads. ‘Stay with Mummy, you two. Okay?’

‘Where are you
going?’ Jason asked, looking up and squinting at his father.

Max turned
around and said, ‘Through those fifteen blokes.’

Kris smiled and
watched him stride off. Two minutes later, Max stood at the head of
the course, looking down the length of it, all fifteen of his
opponents’ gazes glued on him. Kris held her fingers poised over
the stopwatch button of her watch. If she thought she could record
this with her smart phone and put it on YouTube, she would, but
something about national security made her think against it.

‘When I pull
the trigger,’ shouted the highest ranking US soldier, ‘you’re
away!’

Max nodded.

‘Ten bucks says
he doesn’t get past halfway,’ President Bartholomew said
rhetorically to anyone in earshot, including Joe and Sheikh
Abdullah, both of whom ignored the comment.

Max tensed as
he bored his gaze into the eyes of the first pair of soldiers ten
metres in front of him. They were both big men and were clearly
used to fighting for a living, Special Forces tattoos sporting on
their upper arms. The gunshot cracked and Max launched.

Driving forward
at the left side man, Max hit him square in the midriff with his
left shoulder and instantly lifted him off the ground, the wind
knocked out of the man’s lungs. At the same time, the other man
came at his right side, but Max shot out his right hand, palm open
and smacked him hard on the chest, sending him stumbling away to
trip over his own heels and onto the ground. Max then drove upwards
with his legs and hefted the still winded man on his shoulder up
and overhead, so he held him like a common barbell, face up to the
sky.

‘Holy Moses,’
the ranking US soldier muttered.

Similar
comments mumbled their way around the lips of the surrounding
onlookers as disbelief rippled outwards. Everyone stood transfixed,
except for Millie and Jason whose shrill cheers broke the strangled
silence all around. President Bartholomew stood stony faced, a
scowl threatening to cloud his features. Joe and Sheikh Abdullah
also remained unmoved, their eyes drinking in the vision.

Like a colossus
with the now struggling soldier still held overhead like a sack of
potatoes, Max looked up to face the next group of three soldiers in
his path. Striding forward, he sized them up. They attempted to
split and encircle him, but Max responded first. Driving all the
way up through his legs, Max physically hurled the overhead man at
the nearest soldier in front of him and sent both of them flailing
to the grass. Immediately Max felt a forearm grip around his neck
from behind. The other man remaining on his feet came straight at
him and threw a right jab at his face. In one movement, Max bent at
the waist and used his torso to lever the man behind him off the
ground while thrusting his left hand up in front to catch the
incoming jab and grip the fist in his own. The soldier behind the
punch frowned and tried to pull his hand away, but failed, as Max’s
grip held like a steel claw. Max then suddenly released the man’s
fist, pivoted on his toes and spun to the right, bending over
further as he did. The legs of the man on his back swung outwards
like the blades of a helicopter, collecting his comrade at knee
level, scything his own legs out from under him.

Max then
gripped the wrists of the man on his back and slowly, brutishly,
pulled them away from each other, until he wore the man on his back
like a cloak. Pivoting again, Max spun and released the man’s
wrists, sending him flying to the turf.

‘That’s five
down,’ Elsa said. ‘Ten to go.’

‘And he’s only
thirty seconds in,’ Kris added.

‘Go, Daddy!’
Millie squealed.

Max turned and
found five soldiers charging at him, the next pair and group of
three having combined forces. Bending over, he held both arms out
wide and launched forward too. Aiming for two of the soldiers in
the middle of the line of five, he smashed headlong into them,
violently barrelling both of them over to lie sprawled and unmoving
on the grass. Planting his right foot, he crouched and turned to
look up at the other three men coming back at him. Driving forward
and up, Max caught the first man high on the chest with his left
hand, lifting him off his feet, his legs still running in mid air.
Carrying his own momentum forward, Max then redirected the man’s
bulk downwards to smash him flat on his back, another man out.

A blow to his
ribs sent Max staggering backwards, the full blown kick in the
stomach hitting the mark. His peripheral vision glimpsed a punch
coming in from the other side and he cricked his neck just slightly
to the side to let the blow graze his left cheek. One more backward
step was all he needed and Max was back on the offensive.

The owner of
the kick was still coming at him, this time with a roundhouse
version. The man’s boot swung up towards Max’s face, but he ducked
beneath it and simultaneously spun one eighty degrees. He then
again drove upwards, but backwards this time into the body of the
other man coming in from the left. The manoeuvre picked the soldier
up off the ground and Max ran backwards with him flailing on his
back like a live bearskin cloak. Max then snapped upright and
pushed upwards with his legs, flinging his own arms high and
straight into a backward flip. The soldier slipped off his frame
and crashed to the ground while Max sailed over him, his legs
flipping overhead until they planted back on the turf, his backward
somersault complete.

Max looked up
and found the last soldier bearing down on him. The soldier leapt
high and shot his right foot out, his boot headed for Max’s nose.
Without flinching, Max calmly stepped to the left, let the blow
sail past and reached up to grab the airborne man by the nearest
arm. Pulling downward, he smashed the soldier into the ground,
hard.

Not a single
voice broke the silence, except Millie’s and Jason’s. They were
going nuts. President Bartholomew now wore a deeply entrenched
scowl, while Joe and Sheikh Abdullah spared a quick glance to each
other with raised eyebrows.

‘Just over a
minute gone,’ Kris said.

‘He can do back
flips...?’ Elsa said vaguely.

Max
straightened and looked down the remaining length of the course.
The final five soldiers all stood shoulder to shoulder in a line.
Slowly, they started to spread out and approach, the flanks of the
line advancing a little faster to encircle Max. He let them.