Agent Blaze- Thunderhead

by A G Stevens

  “We discussed this,” Savant reminded him. “You’re not to make the switch during the assessment.”

  “If it’s my cleanest opportunity, then that’s when I’ll do it,” Blaze insisted.

  “You can’t—”

  “The House hired him for his expertise,” Zed told Savant. “This is where the rubber meets the road.”

  Savant breathed heavily, but she didn’t protest.

  Blaze smirked. “Barring any unforeseen circumstances, I should be able to make the switch without needing Zed’s tech.”

  “I just stuck up for you, friend,” Zed said.

  “I know, but—”

  “Number one,” Zed informed him, “you will always need my tech. My tech is what makes you invisible, inaudible, and undetectable. It also helps you see from a distance, hear around corners, and blow things up at just the right moment.”

  “No offense intended, Zed,” Blaze apologized sincerely.

  “Well, incredible offense taken. And—”

  “Number two,” Savant continued, “do you really believe Parrick is going to allow you unfettered access to his most prized possessions? You’ll be performing your assessment under the strictest of security, undoubtedly; it’s how the man works at all times. You’ll have little opportunity to touch the items, let alone remove one and replace it with a replica.”

  Blaze would be prepared for anything, but Savant’s point was well taken. “If that opportunity slips away, I’ll find another. I’ll take whatever chance I get to make the switch without being noticed.” Several more people flowed onto the beach. Blaze was suddenly eager to mill about the property to see what else he could learn about Nicholas Parrick. And a drink or two wouldn’t hurt the situation, he reasoned. He was, after all, in paradise, if only for the weekend. “Heading out to do a little reconnaissance now.”

  “You’re looking at hot women on the beach, aren’t you?” Zed asked.

  “Are you sure you can’t see what I’m seeing, Zed? Because you’re pretty dead-on.”

  “I just know what I’d do if I were on a beach with the stunning rich folk and had the chance to mingle as a single. I can only imagine you’ll do the same, only smoother, and without falling into the buffet.”

  “Well, then.”

  “Your mingling must only serve the purpose of deepening your cover, Derek,” Savant reminded him. “You’re not there to revel. If you’re to cast an illusion as one of the guests, you need to appear as if you’re one of them, but you must remember that Liam Keller is on a business trip. And Derek Blaze is on a mission. And neither is on vacation.”

  “Parrick insisted I sample the goods on his island,” Blaze said, smirking. “What kind of guest would I be if I didn’t take him up on his offer?”

  “And what kind of spy would you be if you indulged more than you should?” Savant reminded him.

  “A happy one?” Zed asked.

  “That is correct,” Blaze said. Then he signed off, and he turned off the shower and the sink before knocking on his door to let Parrick’s guards escort him to the beach.

  S I X

  Nicholas Parrick was nothing if not extravagant. If Derek Blaze hadn’t known that before arriving on the island, he certainly learned it when he saw the treasure room. But the accommodations provided on the beachfront for the pre-gala party took indulgence to new heights. There were banquet tables spread with tropical fare the likes of which Blaze had never seen before; three whole boars roasting on spits over open fires that added to the Caribbean heat, arrangements of fresh fruit the size and shape of miniature palm trees, tropical dishes lining a buffet that circled the pergola stationed at the center of the beach. A bevy of bartenders wandered through the small but growing crowed, pushing liquor carts from guest to guest and crafting anything they asked for. There were figures unaffiliated with Parrick’s business milling about as well—“flesh-pressers,” Blaze dubbed them: pretty people for hire meant to make mingling easier by connecting small groups of people with icebreaker conversation. They may have seemed natural and at ease as they moved, but he noticed their vacuous smiles and their hovering above the crowd rather than being a genuine part of it. They were of no consequence to his mission, just a piece of the greater assessment he was making of the scene, but he noticed them just the same. If ever there were a moment for a spy to drop his heightened awareness in favor of existing in the moment, a party like this in a setting like Thane Island would be it.

  A steel drum band filled the air with music to match the scents and sights, and a DJ’s table was set up for when the festivities extended into the nighttime hours. And, unsurprisingly, everyone in attendance looked exceedingly wealthy, well-put together, tanned beyond reason, and either personally trained or surgically enhanced. It was a far more artificial crowed than Blaze was used to, and it reminded him why he was only a guest in this world, sent in to steal its treasures without being discovered—a clever thief because the occasion called for it. It was how he’d manufactured his life, to be a drop of ink in a glass of water: present but spread thin enough to become invisible.

  It would take a lot for me to get used to this level of glamour, he thought.

  His prior debriefing on this highly glamorous crowd hadn’t made them three-dimensional to him like they were now. He drifted from group to group, aware that security was stationed all about. And of course they were; this may have been paradise, but it remained highly secured at all times. He tried to look unaware as he listened intently to the chatter about investment opportunities and conversion rates, yachts and mansions, business and extravagance. He smiled and nodded politely, fitting the part of the unassuming guest while on the lookout for intel that might give him insight into Parrick’s outward dealings with these people. If there was one thing he’d learned in his time as a freelancer, it was that collateral information was in abundance in these situations, to be gathered for future missions. He could catalog data this way and draw on it at will. He could also use it as leverage if the situation called for it, which was always a handy tool to keep in his kit. And if it benefited him as much as it did the House to build a profile like this, then so much the better.

  He circled back around to the banquet table and gathered a plate of exotic selections, then found a wandering bartender and had her mix up a pitch-perfect negroni, his drink of preference. “It’s not an easy trick to pull off,” he said, more in Blaze mode than Keller. “You need balance...attention to detail...precision.”

  He watched as the woman’s fluid hands tipped the bottles between two fingers—a shake of gin, a wiggle of vermouth, then three splashes of bitters and a spritz of orange essence. “You mean, like this?” She slid a shining metallic spear into a curl of orange rind and floated it along the edge of the glass.

  Blaze whistled and raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Just like that, in fact.”

  “Interesting drink,” said one of the guests as he passed.

  Blaze winked at the bartender, taking far too great a risk of blowing his cover, but feeling like it was a chance worth taking. “Interesting maker, too,” he said.

  She smiled. “Remember that when you calculate your tip.”

  Blaze scrunched his eye. “You do take plastic, don’t you? I’m not a cash-carrier.”

  The bartender didn’t miss a beat. She pulled a tablet from beneath her cart and readied a receipt for tip only. “Of course. We’re not animals here.”

  Blaze laughed, selected his amount, and signed with a swoosh of his fingertip. “Isn’t the twenty-first century astounding?”

  The bartender checked the screen. “Okay...that’s a little too generous.”

  Blaze sipped his drink and let the warmth seep into his chest. “Not at all. This is a perfect negroni...for that, there’s no such thing as too generous.”

  “Well, when you finish that one,” she said, “you come find me, and I’ll make you another just like it.”

  Blaze raised his glass to the woman as she smiled and pushed her cart along t
o the next guest. “Maybe I could get used this after all.”

  He wandered through the reception, cutting a serpentine path as he listened in and made notes in his head (insider trading—interesting...involved in highly criminal trade activity—duly noted...screwing over his business partners in a way that could land him in prison—let’s remember that) until he reached a seemingly endless row of chaise loungers positioned along the edge of the beach, facing the breathtakingly turquoise ocean. He smiled, remembering yet again how different this environment was from the one he was used to. How lacking in grit and urban turbulence, how overflowing with lush, natural wonder it was.

  He turned one of the chairs back toward the party and took a seat. His eyes quickly found Helene Parrick, standing at the DJ’s table, arms folded and brow creased. Her assistant Gabrielle was standing next to her, looking by turns troubled and defiant. Blaze zeroed in on their mouths, trying to discern the kernel of their conversation as they spoke. It appeared that this poor woman had once again failed her employer, and Helene was lighting into her for whatever shortcoming, whatever mistake she’d made this time. She can’t catch a break, he thought. Helene’s demeanor became even more insistent, angrier as he watched, undetected. She pointed toward the compound, her expression becoming exaggerated as she issued her demands. Gabrielle seemed to finally have had enough; she turned and faced Helene, hands on hips, and though Blaze couldn’t hear what was being said, he knew she was giving as good as she was getting.

  Then Helene raised a hand and delivered a bracing slap to Gabrielle’s cheek. Gabrielle pulled back, stunned, then rested her hand against her stinging face. Blaze sat up straighter and watched as Gabrielle stormed away from the woman she worked for. Helene picked up her glass and took a good, long drink from it. Then she walked from the table, and in a second her expression had turned light, convivial, and falsely blithe as she mingled with her guests as if nothing had happened.

  Couldn’t be just another forgotten task like the one earlier, Blaze noted silently. It’s time to meet Gabrielle.

  He stood and quickly made his way in the direction where Gabrielle had disappeared to. He found her leaning against an exterior wall, shaded by fan palms. She was grimacing, quite possibly on the verge of tears, but holding them back. He waited for her to notice, but she was too caught up in her own thoughts to pay attention to anything else. “I saw what she did to you,” Blaze said gently. “There’s no reason to take abuse from someone you work for, physical or otherwise.”

  Gabrielle looked up. “Mr. Keller...is that your name?” she asked.

  Blaze smiled, trying to be reassuring. “You can call me Liam.”

  “Well, Liam,” she told him. “You don’t know the Parricks. And you don’t know me. And who I let abuse me and the reasons I do that are mine to justify. Okay?”

  Blaze hadn’t considered that. He also hadn’t expected her to be quite so sharp about it. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ve overstepped.”

  He turned to make his way back toward the party, but Gabrielle spoke again and stopped him where he was. “Why would you worry about someone you don’t even know?” she said. “Most of these people treat their help worse than Helene treats me. It’s part of the job. Part of their world.”

  “First of all,” Blaze said, turning again to face her, “you aren’t ‘the help.’ You’re a human being who deserves to be treated with consideration and respect by the people you work for. Not only should you expect it, you should insist on it. And secondly, if this is common treatment for a personal assistant, then maybe it’s time to consider another line of work altogether.”

  Gabrielle’s gaze changed into something more communicative than she meant it to. “You’ve been on the island for two hours. You have no idea how complicated things are here.”

  “I hesitate to ask exactly how much trouble there is in paradise,” he said.

  “Then don’t,” Gabrielle told him. “Don’t ask me anything. Just go back to the party and mingle with the millionaires and billionaires and do your insurance work and go home to your real life, and be happy you’re not caught up in this machine any further than you need to be.”

  Blaze knew she was telling him something about the inner workings of the Parricks’ world. Rather than just cataloging this information, he decided to act on it. “Are you in some sort of danger?” he asked.

  Gabrielle hardened. “I can handle myself.”

  “That isn’t an answer,” Blaze insisted.

  Gabrielle didn’t budge. “It’s all you’re going to get.”

  Blaze realized that this wasn’t his fight. It wasn’t part of his mission, and he wasn’t the cavalry. He didn’t need the distraction.

  But protecting people was part of his personality.

  What drove him to do what he did.

  “I understand,” Blaze told her, not wanting to push. “If you change your mind and decide you’re ready to make a change, call me.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card with Davenport-Frasier’s logo on it, and Liam Keller’s office information. The phone number was a cypher, but for the sake of consistency and completion, the House had created an actual line for it to ring. It would ping Blaze’s phone, which was back at the House for safe keeping. But he would get the message when he returned.

  “You think you can help me?” she asked.

  “Let’s just say I know how to make things different for people when they need change,” Blaze assured her.

  Gabrielle took the card, but remained incredulous. “But you’re an insurance agent.”

  “Protecting things is our business.”

  There was anger in Gabrielle’s eye. “You shouldn’t speak of things you don’t know about. And you shouldn’t get involved in things that don’t concern you.”

  “Actually, on a personal level,” Blaze said, “getting involved is something of a specialty for me.”

  Gabrielle scoffed, and Blaze recognized it as the sound of someone who thought she was being hit on. “Okay. I see where this is going. Thank you, Mr. Keller. You’re a real...gentleman.”

  Blaze remained in character. “I didn’t mean that like it sounded.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t,” Gabrielle assured him.

  “I’m sorry. Just wanting to help, if I can.”

  She flicked the card and smiled falsely. “Well, I’ll be sure to keep this in case I need it.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Blaze replied.

  A shadow swept across his shoulder, and Dawes was suddenly behind him. “There you are, Mr. Keller. You wandered away from me for a second.”

  “I wasn’t with you to begin with,” Blaze told him.

  “But you were within sight,” Dawes explained, as if there were rules to be followed. “And then...you weren’t.”

  “Is that not allowed?” Blaze asked, a bit too sharply. “Being out of your sight during the party?”

  Dawes smiled and tried to soften the message. “Mr. Parrick asked that I make sure you have a good time. I’m here to do just that.”

  Blaze got the hint: he was to be kept within arm’s reach at all times. It made sense; someone as private as Parrick would want to keep close tabs on newcomers to his island sanctum, even if the modest insurance agent like the one Blaze was posing as. “Thank you,” he said, dialing in his best Liam Keller and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I was just heading back to the pool for another one of these.” He shook his glass, then gave Gabrielle one last sympathetic look before returning to the party, knowing he would likely never hear from her. “Take care.”

  He wandered back toward the action with Dawes at his elbow. It was another opportunity to learn about the inner workings of the Parrick operation, to hunt for crumbs that might help him figure a way to the treasure room should his plan to make the switch during the insurance assessment go awry. And now that he’d seen Helene and Gabrielle’s interactions, he was eager to know more about these casually violent people and their far-too-we
althy lifestyle. “She seemed terribly upset, didn’t she?”

  Dawes continued walking. “She’ll be fine. She’s a very resilient young woman.”

  “It may not be my place, but does Mrs. Parrick treat all of her employees like that?”

  “Like what, Liam?” Dawes asked.

  “Like they’re not worthy of respect.”

  Dawes bristled. “It isn’t my place to comment on how the Parricks treat their workers. They treat me like an asset, and that’s really all I need to know.”

  “Oh, certainly,” Blaze demurred. “I understand the dynamic of respect for your higher-ups. And I realize that Nick is very careful with who he lets into his world. I would imagine it’s difficult to keep out dangerous elements where a man of his stature is concerned.”

  “Everyone is considered a threat, until they’re proven not to be.” Dawes was deathly serious as he said it, even as a smile crossed his face.

  “And protecting the artifacts in the treasure room is a full-time job, undoubtedly.” Blaze wouldn’t relent.

  “Is there a particular reason why you’re interested in how Mr. Parrick’s security works?” Dawes asked pointedly. “Are you to be perceived as a threat?”

  Very nice, Blaze thought. You’re angering the gorilla with the gun. How do you expect to get out of this, exactly?

  “As part of the assessment, it’s my duty to ensure that the pieces are well-protected,” Blaze explained. “There would be no reason to insure them if they were just strewn along the beach, would there?” He pushed his glasses up again. “I need to detail their containment, their presentation, and their preservation, as well as the level to which their protection is undertaken. I would be remiss to do otherwise.”

  Dawes seemed to be searching Blaze’s eyes for signs of deception. “Of course, Mr. Keller,” he said, finally loosening his stance. “I didn’t mean to question your integrity or your responsibilities.”

  Blaze breathed easier. “No need to apologize,” he said. “You’re just doing your job, as I’m doing mine.”