Shooting Eros - The Emuna Chronicles: Complete Boxset: Books 1 - 3

by Benjamin Laskin

  “Now take off your belt and hand it to me… Okay, first off, see here, at the base of the buckle is a flap. We lift it, grab this little knot, pull, and voila.”

  Out came a 15-foot rope of what looked like braided, heavyweight fishing line, but was in fact hair woven from yetzer manes. He began to demonstrate some of its possible functions.

  “We got a whip, a lasso, a choker, or a noose. Next, the buckle. It’s made from ivory, so the metal detectors won’t pick it up. Click here,” he demonstrated, “and the buckle dislodges from the belt with a nifty two-inch emerald blade. It’s a knife, or,” he turned and whipped it, nailing a nearby tree, “a shuriken.”

  “Nice!”

  “The belt itself can also be used as a weapon. You can flail it like this,” he demonstrated, “and the buckle can be deadly. Or you can wrap it around an opponent’s neck. Now, your pants.”

  I looked down but I didn’t see anything special, other than instead of zippers like my usual uniform, the cargo pockets had Velcro-like flaps.

  Volk grabbed one of the flaps and lifted it. “The flap is really two pieces of material, also kept together with an ancient version of Velcro, solidified tar and crushed thistle. See…? Inside the flaps we will stash packets of fire dust, and in the others, demon darts.”

  “What do we use to blow the darts?”

  “A bamboo straw.” Volk pulled on the inner seam of the pants, opening another small hiding space long enough for a thin straw. “At the cuff of your pants are draw strings. These pull out into ten-foot strings like that in your belt. Try it.”

  I bent and gave one of the drawstrings a pull. It uncoiled easily and I began to whip it around, ending by snapping some twigs off a nearby tree.

  “Neat,” I said. “What else?”

  “The patches on your knees tear off and can be used as explosives. All you have to do is fold them and stick them wherever you want.”

  “Isn’t there a chance they’d blow up on us while we’re wearing them?”

  “No, the chemicals on both sides have to touch. As long as they are flat on your knees they won’t interact. Once you roll them, however, you only have five seconds before the patch explodes. And it’s a big explosion, so scram far and fast. If you need a really big bang, slap two patches together, and run like the wind.”

  “And my shirt?” I said. “These black buttons are mini grenades, right?”

  “No, Kohai. They are buttons.”

  “Oh…”

  “But the elbow patches work the same way as those on your knees.”

  “The vest?”

  “Woven inside of it is a special crushed quartz mesh. Very flexible and lightweight. Undetectable, unless they cut it open. It’ll stop some firearms, but don’t bet your life on it. Rolled up it makes a decent club. Wrap it around your forearm and hand its like a pair of brass knuckles. Inside there are more places to hide darts and fire dust.”

  “This is all very cool, Captain, but is it enough to take on a fully-equipped squad of Anteros soldiers, to say nothing of a yetzer?”

  “No, but it’s the best we can do. Hopefully, with surprise on our side, it will buy us enough time to get our hands on some real firepower.”

  “Who made all of this stuff?” I asked. “Where did it come from?”

  “Before the war we had our own team of engineers, like the Academy. Only our engineers—artisans, really—didn’t make guns and high-tech gadgets. They made crystal demon daggers, swords, bows and arrows, emerald and fire dust, and most of the rest of the weapons you have been training with. It was a little cottage industry. The Academy knew nothing about it. The lightning whip was one of their first inventions. Sadly, these holy artisans were all killed during the war. A great loss. Oh, hold on. I forgot something…”

  Captain Volk went back into the shed and returned with a black beret in his hand. He slapped it on my head.

  “What does this do?”

  “Punch out the middle and the rim is a ruby-edged, razor sharp, ceramic throwing ring. Careful how you grab it. With a little practice, you should be able to decapitate a yetzer at twenty yards. See…”

  Volk snatched my beret, punched out the center, and whipped the rim of the hat towards a nearby tree, slicing a two-inch thick branch clean through.

  “Whoa,” Virgil exclaimed as he came walking up. “Nice throw, Captain Volk!” He appraised my new uniform. “Look at you, fancy pants. What’s going on?”

  “Virgil,” Volk said, “what are the others up to?”

  “I left them with Grace and Commander Sett.”

  “Grace?”

  “Yes, Sir. Bad news. It seems that Academy Homeland Security is suspicious. They paid a visit to Grace’s office and confiscated her files. Captain Perseus is leading the investigation.”

  “Perseus? I thought he had gone AWOL.”

  “Apparently he’s back. He had some excuse for his absence. It gets worse. Grace has more about it. And Commander Sett wants to see you. Something about Cyrus and weapons.”

  Volk said, “All right. Kohai, fill Virgil in. You guys got the morning to acquaint yourself with this stuff, and the afternoon to teach the recruits.”

  “Yes, Sir!” I said.

  11

  Rainbow’s End

  “Can I help you?” said a tall, gaunt woman of forty, an impatient edge in her voice. She had short, frizzy, sandy hair and wore over-sized glasses with malachite-green frames and a white chef’s uniform. The woman was clearly in the midst of a very busy day. Rainbow Catering had its biggest job of its lifetime ahead of it, and there was much to be done.

  Malkah smiled brightly. “Yes, I’m looking for Jean.”

  “I’m Jean.”

  “Hi, I’m Malkah Stern. We spoke on the phone.”

  Jean Palmieri glanced at her watch. “Shit, where did the morning go? Anyway, you’re right on time. That’s good. Follow me, please.”

  Malkah made her way around the counter and trailed behind the woman through the large kitchen where a crew of six was busy at work, and then into Ms. Palmieri’s office. On the wall behind her desk was the catering service’s logo, a large rainbow arching over the words, “Eat a Rainbow.”

  Jean Palmieri took a seat at her desk and pulled an application and a pen out of her draw and placed them before Malkah.

  “Have you ever worked a catering job?” the woman asked.

  “Some small affairs, yes.”

  “Uh-huh. I was told you have a lot of experience as a waitress, is that right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Jean.” She didn’t smile. Ma’am made her feel old. “How do you know Professor Matterson? Are you a student of his?”

  “He’s engaged to my cousin.”

  “Lucky her. In addition to being brilliant, he’s also a very generous man.”

  Malkah nodded. “He cares.”

  “Indeed,” Jean said. “Do you know much about the job ahead of us?”

  “I understand that it is at the home of a very important person, and that he is hosting some sort of party.”

  The woman allowed the slip of a patronizing chuckle. “It’s much more than that, dear. Have you ever heard of Alexander Rosso?”

  “Um, a baseball player?”

  Jean snorted, galled by Malkah’s ditzy ignorance. “No, not a baseball player. You ought to know that he is one of the wealthiest, most influential people on the planet.”

  “Really?” Malkah enthused.

  Jean nodded with closed eyes, giving her answer an air of solemnity. “It’s not a party. It’s a summit, like the G20, only lower profile, for obvious reasons.”

  “Obvious reasons?”

  “You really are a simpleton, aren’t you?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Malkah said, taking no offense. “But I promise not to let that interfere with doing my job.”

  “Such summits can be a magnate for troublemakers, even terrorists,” Jean explained. “But we won’t have to worry about that. Mr. Rosso’s estate is
remote, and there will be a very high degree of security around it. What kind of restaurant were you employed at?”

  “A kosher deli.”

  “Those still exist?” Jean Palmieri said, not bothering to conceal her derision. “Yes, well, we are talking about a much classier clientele.”

  Ms. Palmieri pushed her glasses to the edge of her nose and gave Malkah an inspecting eye.

  “You are certainly pretty enough. Professor Matterson did not exaggerate about that. Deli etiquette will not pass, so after we finish here I will have Charles instruct you on the dos and don’ts. There will be guests from around the world there—European aristocrats and Arab sheiks, prominent bankers and hedge fund managers, distinguished politicians and industrialists, powerful union bosses, UN officials, influential NGO people and activists of every stripe. We want to avoid all the faux pas we can. This is a very important job and could lead to big things, so we must make the best impression possible.”

  “Absolutely,” Malkah said.

  “Good. The summit runs for five days, and you’ll be putting in eighteen-hour days. If you have any plans, cancel them.”

  “Yes, ma’am…Jean.”

  “We have three Rainbow vans plus two others that we will be outsourcing, and they will be running back and forth between here and Mr. Rosso’s estate. It’s going to be very difficult, so no complaining.”

  “I understand.”

  “No tardiness. Things must run like clockwork. Everything is on a tight schedule.”

  Malkah nodded. “You can count on me.”

  “Good. Now fill out your application for tax purposes, and when you’re done, I’ll introduce you to Charles and the others. I’d appreciate it if you could stick around and help out here and get the hang of how things are done.”

  “Whatever you need,” Malkah said. “I’m very grateful for this opportunity. I promise to do my best.”

  “I’m sure you will,” Jean said. “Any questions?”

  Malkah pointed to the company’s logo behind her new boss. “Why eat a rainbow?”

  “We pride ourselves on our high quality, healthy cuisine. The colors of the rainbow symbolize the colors of the food spectrum that make up a healthy diet. If you eat a rainbow every day, you will live to a hundred and twenty.”

  “Clever!” Malkah exclaimed, belying her incredulity as she took in the cadaverous figure in front of her—the dark, sunken eyes, brittle hair, and waxy, wan complexion. She wondered if that is what awaited at the end of such a rainbow.

  12

  Mission Implausible

  Cyrus unrolled a detailed blueprint of Alexander Rosso’s estate onto Gideon’s kitchen table.

  “Where the hell did you get this?” Gideon asked.

  “I made it.”

  “What do you mean you made it? You can’t make a blueprint of something no one has ever seen.”

  “Now you tell me,” Cyrus said drolly.

  “Seriously, how’d you come by these plans? I’ve looked all over for them. The place was built over a hundred years ago.”

  “A hundred and forty-two years ago. Remodeled and upgraded eight times since.”

  “Whatever. The point is no blueprints of any kind are anywhere to be had. I checked. Somehow Rosso made sure they were all kept out of the hands of government offices and computers.”

  “That’s right. Rosso retrieved them and stored them in the back of his office.”

  “Then what are we looking at?”

  “An exact replica of the latest set of prints. I used the software at the construction site I work at and drew them by memory.”

  “You saw them before?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

  Because the architects and contractors were just one degree of separation from Rosso, Cyrus was able to access everything they had ever seen or done. He could picture the plans with perfect clarity, and because he held the experience and knowledge of hundreds of architects, draftsmen, engineers, and contractors in his mind, he was able to draw them up with exact precision.

  “Manner of speaking my ass. I don’t think even a photographic memory could reproduce these.”

  Cyrus shrugged.

  Gideon rolled his eyes and took a closer look. From what he knew of his covert observations, the plans he was looking at certainly matched the exterior of what he had seen. “And you say this is how it looks on the inside?”

  “As of a year and a half ago. I can’t guarantee that the furniture and other home decorating details are the same. But in general, this is what we’ll be seeing.”

  “As long as we know where the rooms lead, the halls, closets, and so on,” Gideon said. “Where is Rosso’s office?”

  Cyrus pointed. “Here.”

  “Look at that,” Gideon said, impressed, “you even got the secret room behind the bookcase. And the kitchen?”

  “There are three kitchens. Here, here, and here. But this is the biggest one. It’s closest to the loading dock. The main presentations will probably be held in the auditorium.” He tapped the blueprint. “Here. And my hunch is that smaller meetings and lectures will be held in these rooms, here and here, and possibly in some of the bigger cottages on the grounds.”

  “The place is huge,” Gideon remarked. “It’s like a resort hotel.”

  “Originally, it was. It was a regular meeting ground for the Northeastern blue bloods and hoity-toity of the day. But we only have to find one man and one room.”

  “And when we find him?”

  “You will take the evidence, and I will kill him,” Cyrus said, businesslike.

  Gideon shook his head. “This is not your battle, Cyrus. It’s mine.”

  “It is everyone’s battle. Besides, you and Malkah are too important. You two can’t be spending the rest of your lives on the run. Leave the running to me, if it comes to that.”

  “What do you mean ‘too important?’ We are no more important than you. In fact, considering your remarkable talents, I’d say you’re the more important. Do you have any idea what the government would put you through if they discovered what you are capable of? Your mind, your abilities? Not to mention your history, or rather lack of a history?”

  “You let me worry about that.”

  Gideon stared at him in wonder. “Come on, Cyrus, who the hell are you, really?”

  “Just a man.”

  “Right,” Gideon snorted, “a man with no past, no passport or ID, no fingerprints, not even a face that shows up in the world’s best facial recognition system. Yeah, that’s right. I checked. You seem to know every damn detail about everyone and everything, could probably win a gold medal in an Olympic decathlon, and kick the ass of the best commandoes I ever knew. You show up one day, literally out of thin air, with your ass stuck in a basketball hoop, claim amnesia—which I don’t buy for a second—and you say you’re just a man?”

  “A flesh and blood human being just like you, my friend.”

  “I know you’re a human being, smartass. What I don’t know is how you came to be such an exceptional one.”

  “I’ve known others far more exceptional than I.”

  “Don’t change the subject. You don’t trust me?”

  “I trust you. I simply don’t have an answer for you. God has been kind to me. What can I say?”

  “He’s been good to me too,” Gideon retorted. “Better than I deserve, that’s for damn sure, but even God doesn’t load up an individual with the kind of brain power and talent that you possess.”

  “In the grand scheme of things brains and talent are way overrated.”

  Gideon muttered to himself and then said, “Fine. Have it your way. But tell me something, have you ever been tortured?”

  “Does human stupidity count?”

  Gideon didn’t laugh. “Because if we’re caught, you will be, and they’ll get the truth out of you.”

  “Yeah?” Cyrus said. “Then let’s get back to work so that we need never find out.”

  Gideon gave Cyrus
a quizzical, scrutinizing look, and then shook his head. “Weapons,” he said. “What do you want to do about weapons?”

  Cyrus stood, walked to the coat stand by the door, and slipped on his leather duster trench coat.

  “Where are you going?” Gideon asked. “What did I say?”

  Cyrus returned to the table and opened his duster. Inside was a gallery of weapons: throwing stars, knives, a whip, a pair of brass knuckles, a bola, a slingshot, a tomahawk, a Japanese Manriki-gusari chain, a blackjack, a blowgun, and a pair of nunchucks.

  Gideon bust out laughing. “What do you wear in summer?”

  “Very loose boxers.”

  “Do you really know how to use all that stuff? Wait, stupid question. You’re Cyrus. But, my friend, get real. If we run into trouble, they are going to have guns.”

  “So?”

  “Those toys are no match for a SIG Sauer, or even a BB gun.”

  “In your hands maybe,” Cyrus said.

  “Where did you get that junk anyway? It’s all outlawed.”

  “I made most of it myself. My company has a workshop on site. What I couldn’t make I created in the middle of the night using the company’s excellent 3D printer. I managed to locate some weapon collectors and to convince them to allow me to replicate their pieces, or parts from them.”

  “I’d feel a lot safer if you had my back with a Glock. Let me lend you one of mine.”

  “If it makes you feel better,” Cyrus said. “So, have you worked out how we’re getting in in the first place?”

  “No, but Malkah did.”

  “Malkah?”

  Gideon smiled proudly. “She’s something, that one. As you know she got a job with the caterer. That’s why she’s not here. They are working around the clock to prepare for their big gig. Anyway, she told me that the company has three vans, but they found they need two more because of the size of the job. They have outsourced to another caterer. That’s where we come in.”

  Cyrus said, “We hijack the vans, ditch the drivers, and cruise right through as part of the catering team. Malkah’s people won’t know what the others look like. It keeps Malkah out of it and provides less of us to trace.”