Cheer the fuck up. Don’t embarrass me.
“I’ve got to hand it to you, Thomas,” he went on. “When Raaz here first told me about your islands, I had my doubts. But now I see it in action. Well, it’s delicious. Absolutely delicious.”
Thomas Engel spun his chair around, putting his back to the enormous bank of monitor screens – twelve in total – each showing a different part of the island. “I’m glad you like it,” he purred, steepling his fingers under his heavy-set chin. “Of course, with the presence of our special guests, and the enormity of the purse, it makes this year’s hunt even more exciting. It’s you we have to thank for orchestrating this.”
Caesar slapped his large hand on Raaz’s knee. “It’s this one you have to thank,” he said. “Raaz was the one who captured those stupid girls.”
Engel smiled dismissively at Raaz before turning back to Caesar. “Stupid girls. I like that. Regardless, getting them here was a real triumph. I don’t want to blow my own trumpet but this year’s guest list – both in terms of the hunters and prey – is one of the best we’ve ever had on the island. And tomorrow we have the closing ceremony. It’s going to be wondrous.”
“Closing ceremony?” Caesar enquired. “Intriguing.”
Engel flicked up his eyebrows as a lascivious grin spread across his face. “Oh yes. The closing ceremony for each hunt is a spectacle to behold. You wait and see.” Back to Raaz now. “And how are you finding your accommodation on the island? Settling in okay?”
“It’s fine,” Raaz hissed, for which Caesar gave her a sharp jab in her ribs with his elbow to remind her of her manners. “Thank you.”
“I put you in the Marina Suite especially,” Engel told her. “I find the ladies who visit my island have a real affinity for that room.”
“Is that so?” Raaz sneered. “Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve disabled all the recording devices.”
Engel’s eyes widened.
Caesar sat upright, quickly turning to his tech-guru. “Recording devices? Surely a misunderstanding on your part, Raaz.”
She didn’t look at him. “The camera in the bathroom was hard to disable. But I managed it.”
“Now, now,” Caesar said. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’re guests here, Raaz. I’m sure Mr Engel has valid reasons for having such equipment in place. Security measures and all that jazz.” He smiled at his host. An air of calm on the surface whilst his brain turned over ten to the dozen. Raaz Terabyte was a loyal worker and her tech-skills invaluable, but if she messed this up for them he’d crucify her. Literally. Nail her to the damn door. He hadn’t worked his fingers to the bone for her to ruin it because of ridiculous feminist pride. Annihilation Pest Control was arguably the finest and most exclusive assassin network in the world, and here he was rubbing shoulders with the likes of Thomas Engel, for Christ’s sake. He’d hit the big time, and he wasn’t going back. Not for anyone.
He gritted his teeth. Casting a big shit-eater around the room.
We cool? We’re cool.
Thankfully, Raaz’s outburst had only amused Engel. He closed his eyes over a supercilious smile before clearing his throat.
“Sure, I have valid reasons. If you count a healthy dose of voyeurism as valid. Which of course I do.” He glared at Raaz. “But I apologise if I overstepped the mark. Just a bit of fun. I’m actually impressed you found the devices. Not to mention disabling them.”
Raaz didn’t respond. Caesar watched her out of the corner of his eye, willing her to stay quiet. They were so bloody close.
“Fine,” Raaz said. “No harm done. I suppose.”
Caesar’s shoulders dropped. “Wonderful,” he bellowed, clasping his hands together. “Just a bit of fun. No harm done.”
He got to his feet and moved over to the side of the room where a table was set up with an extensive array of liquor and wine. He reached for the already-open bottle of Cristal and glugged out a large glassful. He saw Engel watching and held up the bottle.
“Not for me, thank you, Mr Caesar,” he said. “I don’t drink whilst the hunts are in session. Prefer to keep a clear head.”
“Yes. Quite wise,” Caesar replied, feeling a familiar sensation stir in his trousers. Thomas Engel had a way of looking at you. Made you feel like the most important person in the room. It was there in the slight tilt of his handsome, half-German, half-American face. There in the way he nodded along to what you were saying, showing real concern, real interest. Not to mention those sparkling blue eyes that held your gaze just the right amount, and that just-sincere-enough smile. Coming from someone else, you’d be forgiven for thinking it was nothing but a carefully constructed pose. After all, this kind of behaviour was covered chapter one in any book on presence, on charm, on how to be charismatic like Clinton and Clooney. But with Engel it was different. For real.
Caesar turned his attention to the bank of monitors as a familiar face flashed up on the screen, top left.
“Bastard bloody Christ. There she is.”
He moved closer to the screen, squinting at the grainy footage of his old protégé and (yes, say it as is) friend, Acid Vanilla. She was making her way across a small stretch of water accompanied by a man and woman. The man he didn’t recognise, but the small woman with the thick-framed glasses was unmistakeably Spook Horowitz. The sight of her, along with Acid, sent a hot ripple of rage shooting up his spine. They wouldn’t get away this time.
“Don’t worry,” Engel said, sensing Caesar’s ire. “They won’t last much longer. Why don’t we move into my main viewing room? We can watch their imminent demise in a more luxurious setting.”
“Sounds ideal,” he replied, annoyed with himself for being so pliable, but unable to argue with Engel’s stark white smile. “But tell me,” he added, genuinely curious, “where is the guest of honour? I assumed he would have arrived by now. Is he not joining us?”
Engel brushed a piece of invisible lint from the sleeve of his shirt. “Oh, did I not say? He arrived yesterday.”
“Oh?” Caesar frowned. “Then I assumed he’d be watching the proceedings with us.”
“He’s doing more than that,” Engel replied, getting to his feet and gesturing for Caesar to lead the way. “Let’s just say he wanted a more hands-on experience this year. He’s actually out there on the island. Hunting. Wants to take down those two – what was it – ‘stupid girls’ himself.”
“I see,” Caesar cooed. “Well, good luck to him.”
“Luck?” Engel snapped, the charm slipping for an instant. “He doesn’t need luck, Mr Caesar. We don’t leave anything to chance here on the island. It might be today, might be tomorrow – might even be as part of the closing ceremony, wouldn’t that be a treat – but mark my words, Acid Vanilla will die. As will Spook Horowitz and the rest of the pathetic vermin crawling about my island.” Engel pressed a button on the wall and the door slid open. “You see, this is my hunt, Mr Caesar. My island, my rules. And as you know, the house always wins.”
Fifteen
Whoever had likened tropical islands to paradise clearly didn’t wear glasses, Spook thought, as she pushed the thick frames back up her sweaty nose for the fifth time in as many minutes. The afternoon sun was relentless. The UV rays like hot daggers stabbing her already sunburnt skin.
Still they kept on, having already walked for many miles, Spook and Acid traipsing along wearily behind Will Foster’s gangly frame. Over rocky terrain and swampy ground they went, through dense rainforests oppressive in their humidity. And all this to a soundtrack of a million exotic creatures vying for attention. The song of the jungle. It actually reminded Spook of a relaxation CD a fellow MIT student had recommended whilst studying for her finals. Rainforest Melodies. Something like that. The gentle sounds of chirping insects, windchimes and babbling streams was supposed to aide rest and boost mental clarity. Unfortunately, the extra soundscapes on offer today (claxons, human screams, the terrifying crack of distant gunfire, getting closer all the time) negated any c
alming ambience that may have been found. Tropical paradise? Not so much.
“Will. Wait,” Acid called out as they reached the edge of the jungle and he disappeared between two leafy banana trees. “Where are you taking us?”
The lanky hacker turned, a wide grin on his face, all teeth and dimples. “You’ll see. We’re nearly there. Trust me.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Spook saw Acid raise the crossbow a touch.
“Hey,” she whispered, shooting her a look. “He’s one of us.”
“Is he?” Acid snarled out the corner of her mouth, still eyeballing Will. “We don’t know this guy from Adam. So let’s step careful.”
“Come on, Acid, you’ve got to trust people a little bit. Will’s one of us. You can see that.”
“Excuse me,” Acid spat, but with the hint of a smirk tickling the corner of her mouth. “One of you, maybe.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Spook shrugged. “We’re both nerds. I get it. So trust him. He wants to show us something important, so let’s keep going.”
Will held his arms out, watching the exchange with a bemused look on his face. “It’s through here. Couple of hundred feet along this path, and we’ll be there.”
“We’ll be where?” Acid tried again.
“You’ll see.” He set off, gambolling through the trees with his gangly arms swinging at his sides. Spook stifled a snicker as Acid silently seethed next to her.
“Come on,” she said, setting off after Will. “Let’s see.” She spun around, walking backwards so she could watch Acid, who’s face morphed from twisted fury to something closer to acceptance. Playing it cool.
“Fine,” she spat, marching past Spook into the gloom of the trees. “But if this is a trap, don’t expect me to save you.”
“Aww, come off it,” Spook yelled, skipping along behind her, feeling brave for once. “Not like you to be so timid.”
“I am not timid,” Acid told her. “I’ve just got a lot going on in my head right now. But sure, do your usual disassociation act, pretend everything’s cool.”
Spook’s face sagged. “I wasn’t. I just thought…”
“No, Spook. You didn’t think. Because you never do. Which is why we’re in this bloody mess.” She stopped walking, one hand on her hip. Those intense eyes like laser beams, burning into Spook’s soul. “I’m sorry if I’m taking this seriously for once, kid. But I’m not feeling too special. And I’ll be honest with you, right now I don’t fancy our chances.”
Spook gazed in front of her as Will beckoned them close. “Sorry,” was all she managed. “I’ll keep my head in check from now on.”
“That’s all I ask.” Acid let out a deep sigh before setting off to catch up with Will.
Spook remained where she was, trying her best to ground herself. She’d been on the receiving end of Acid’s agitated moods before, of course. Yet most of the time it was that same manic, bipolar energy that made her who she was. She’d explained to Spook on more than one occasion how, honed correctly, her condition felt almost like a super-power. But then, Spook also understood being Acid Vanilla every single second of every single day was a whole lot to deal with. If they ever got off this horrific island she’d be a better friend, she told herself. Told the heavens too. So please, God, help them get off this terrible island.
She caught up with Acid and Will around the next bend standing and looking at a small wooden building with a flat wooden roof about the size of a family garage. The entire unit was painted green to fit in with the surroundings and, indeed, passing by even fifty feet away you might miss it through the tree cover.
“Here we are,” Will announced proudly.
“What is that?” Acid asked.
“Our way out of here,” he said. “Look, see.”
The three of them made their way over to the strange building and Will guided them around to the far side where a metal door lay slightly ajar. A large swing lock with a padlock still attached hung from the wall.
“Took me all morning to break in.” Will opened the door and held it for Acid and Spook to enter. “It’s a control room. For the entire island.”
They stepped inside and Will shut the door, plunging the room into darkness but for the light from three large monitor screens attached to the wall.
“Woah,” Spook whispered. “Good find, dude.”
“I know, right?” Will moved into the middle of the cabin, giving the tour. “We got the monitors here, as you can see, complete with control unit. From what I can see they’ve got cameras all over the island. Plus over in that corner, we got food supplies, bottled water, that sort of shit.”
“Weapons?” Acid asked. “Guns?”
Will drew his lips back over his teeth. “Afraid not. There’s a flare gun, but that’s all. But I’m thinking we might not need them.”
Acid shuffled over and grabbed up a bottle of water. She drank it down in one go before passing a bottle to Spook while Will explained.
“The system’s connected to a single server in the resort complex. I reckon I can get in and get a message out to the world. Tell them what’s going on.”
“Why haven’t you already done that?” Acid snapped.
“I was working on it. But I had one eye on the camera feeds. Some hunters were approaching so I had to make a run for it. I already had a location on the two of you and I figured if I found you, together we could come back and get this done. You keep watch while I do the necessary.”
“Oh my god! Yes!” Spook yelled. Then, quieter, after Acid and Will had shushed her. “Can I help? What are we looking at?”
She leaned on the control desk, squinting at the monitors. The two in the middle showed camera feeds from the island, changing location every ten seconds. She watched the grainy footage with an air of detachment, people running around, men with guns. If she stopped and thought about what was going on she’d choke, so she tried not to. Instead she kept her analyst head on, focusing on what she could do. So, it was the third monitor that interested her, the one which Will had already commandeered. He opened up a terminal window and began typing out lines of code.
“Ah, I see what you’re doing. Good shout,” she said, trying not to sound too impressed by Will’s coding skills. He was writing a rudimentary network enumeration of the remote server. What she would have done.
“Yeah. Before I got so rudely disturbed, I found a flaw in the applications set-up,” he replied, not looking up from the keyboard. “Whoever built the system here was old-school. Plan is to launch an exploit and land me some code execution.”
Spook pursed her lips. “Of course. With server misconfiguration issues we can easily get access.”
“Jesus Christ, you two.” Acid sighed from a few feet away. “Calm down with the sexy talk, will you? You’re getting me all hot and bothered.”
Spook gave Will a she’s-always-like-this look. “Acid doesn’t like me talking code.”
He shot her a conspiring wink and set the program running, before turning around to Acid. “All this means is it’s pretty viable we can get into their server and send a message. Tell the FBI, or whoever, where we are. What these asshats are up to.”
“Why didn’t you say that?” Acid sniffed. “How long will it take?”
“Not long. Fifteen minutes maybe.” Will moved over to the middle screen, dragging the keyboard in front of him. “But look what else I found.”
Spook positioned herself next to Acid as Will shut down a camera feed and opened up a new window. Clicking on a file, he twisted around to watch the women’s faces as the document opened up on the screen.
“Bloody hell,” Acid muttered
“Shit,” Spook added.
The document showed a series of headshot photographs with a brief paragraph beside each one. Spook counted eight people in total. Most were in colour, but some had been greyed out, the word DECEASED written in bold red font over the image. Spook scanned down the list, her eyes falling on the photo of herself and then Acid, one above the other.
She scanned the write-up.
Spook Horowitz. American. Age: 27
This meddling hacker is responsible for the brutal and unwarranted demise of Kent Clarkson and Sinclair Whitman. She is clever but weak and should pose no problem to any of our guests this weekend. However, do not underestimate her. She often travels with another of our targets, Acid Vanilla. The two together should be deemed dangerous, which is why they command the biggest score for this year’s hunt at 50,000 points per head. Bag them both, and you’ll be well on your way to this year’s crown. *Please note, as always there is a double-points bonus for any target’s inclusion in the closing ceremony*
Spook shivered, the sweat on her neck turning cold. She looked from Will to Acid. “Closing ceremony? What’s that?”
“No idea,” Acid mumbled, squinting at her own write-up. “‘Once the deadliest female assassin in the world, now merely a sorry embarrassment that should be put out of her misery at the earliest convenience.’ Caesar wrote that. Got him all over it. The hideous shit.”
“At least we’re the highest scoring targets,” Spook offered. “Someone must still think you’re pretty dangerous.”
But the description had hurt, Spook could tell. And with that hurt came a renewed fire. It was evident in the twist of Acid’s mouth. The look in her eyes. She wasn’t going to let Caesar get away with that.
Sorry embarrassment? Not likely.
Spook smiled, feeling a little taller, a little braver. One of the things she found most exciting about being in the presence of this remarkable, scary, messed-up woman, when she got fired up, she really got fired up. Spook had endured a rather mundane existence before getting herself caught up in a global conspiracy and meeting Acid Vanilla, but if she was in any kind of scrape she knew, with Acid by her side, she had more than a fighting chance.
Turning her attention back to the screen, Spook surveyed the greyed-out photos, her eyes falling on the face of Grace Philips. Poor woman. She had a family, a husband at least, and she died here, alone, scared, on a strange island, and for what? So some evil prick could bag himself fifteen thousand points.
The Acid Vanilla Series Page 58