Whispers: The Reincarnation Series (Book 2)

by R. E. Rowe

  “Good. You must get to him before General does?”

  “That’s what I’m hoping to do.”

  “Who is this last enforcer?” I ask Bree. “Do we know him from prior lives?”

  “Only from a distance. The cloud memory archive indicates his name was Thomas during his previous lifetime. During that lifetime, his biological father, Wesley, died before Thomas could be activated.”

  Bree pauses and quickly clears her throat. “Sadly, this lifetime the boy's father also died before he could be activated.

  “And what is this boy's name?”

  “Reizo Rush.”

  chapter twelve

  As I walk down the psychiatric hospital's front stairs, I notice Mack's assistant Richard leaning awkwardly on a black sedan idling in front of the hospital. “Good morning, Reizo.”

  “Hey.” I climb in and throw my backpack onto the back seat.

  “It’s about time,” Honesti says. “What took so long, Reizo?”

  “Yeah, where we going now?” Bouncer asks.

  I ignore them.

  Richard closes the door and gets in the driver’s seat.

  “Your mother told me you had a nice visit with her last night.”

  “You met her?”

  “Of course. I met with her after your visit . . . Mack wanted me to tell you I also talked to her about the new job he has arranged,” he says. “Delightful woman, your mother.”

  I gaze out the window without focusing. “Thanks.”

  “When I drove her to the airport, I reassured her you are in good hands.”

  “Good hands?” Bouncer asks.

  “It’s probably smart to go slow until you trust these people,” Honesti says.

  Bouncer and Honesti continue talking back and forth.

  Their conversation in my head causes my pulse to surge. I lean forward and raise my voice. “Did you tell her someone tried to kill me? Did you tell her I’m going on an international road trip? Did you tell her my dad was murdered?”

  Richard clears his throat. “Of course not, sir.”

  Bouncer imitates him.

  “Stop it,” Honesti says.

  “I didn’t think so,” I mumble, sitting back to gaze out the window at nothing specific.

  The ride to the airport doesn’t take long. I’m pissed, but mostly freaked. I focus on my feelings about Aimee and tune out Honesti and Bouncer.

  Why is Aimee silent?

  Soon, Richard passes through a gated entrance onto the airport tarmac. He stops the car near a massive jet with its engines idling. The thing is freaking huge. It’s as big as a jumbo jet.

  Richard notices me staring. “It’s Mack’s international business plane. An office with wings, really.”

  “You’re going on a road trip?” Honesti asks.

  “This will be fun, brother man,” Bouncer says. “If you’re lucky.”

  I quickly make my way through the jumbo jet’s door and notice six men and two women dressed in familiar gray suits and sunglasses busily preparing for the flight. The interior of the plane resembles Mack’s basement office. Rows of leather seats populate one side of the jet in front of a bar area, near restrooms at the rear of the plane. A large wood conference table takes up the other side of the plane. It’s the strangest looking passenger plane ever. It looks closer to the Air Force One jet I’d seen in movies.

  “Welcome aboard,” Mack says in a deep voice. He stands near the open cockpit door rubbing at his cleft chin. “Take a seat and get comfortable. We’ll be flying all night.”

  I sit down with a thud and toss my backpack on the seat across from me. Mack sits in the seat next to me.

  “I nearly died,” I whisper, my voice slowly rising. “The bus exploded!” I finally scream at him. “Do any of you get that?”

  “You tell him!” Bouncer shouts. “Louder!”

  Four gray suits rush to our row pressing in radio earplugs as if they were all receiving a broadcast.

  Mack holds up one hand and clears his throat. “Yes, we know,” he says with a soft voice. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “Try to relax, Reizo, please,” Honesti pleads.

  “The council won’t let us tell you anything yet,” Bouncer says.

  “Shhh. Don’t tell him about the council,” Honesti says. “Listen to Mack for now. You really have no choice.”

  “The council?” I shout. “Listen to Mack? Are you kidding?”

  A lady in a gray suit walking down the aisle stops when she hears me. “Excuse me, sir? Is everything okay?”

  I wave her off. “Nothing. Nothing.”

  She gives me the typical “he’s crazy” look and walks away.

  “Close your eyes,” Honesti says.

  “I want to talk to Aimee,” I say. “You understand that? Get her. Tell her I want to talk with her. Aimee!”

  Mack waves off more gray-suited guys coming toward us. They quickly do an about-face and return to what they were doing.

  I glare at Mack. “People died. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  “It was so sad,” Honesti says.

  “Boo hoo. Such a bummer,” Bouncer says.

  “Of course. I’m sorry. I understand you’re upset.” Mack says. “Really I do. But we need your help.”

  “I still have no idea what you’re talking about. My help? Why me?”

  He pulls out a flat, pocket-sized book. “Here’s your account, it’s Swiss. Don’t lose the info. You should try to memorize the number, and then get rid of the book.”

  I look inside. When I see the balance, my eyes go wide. One million US dollars?

  “Damn that’s a lot of cash,” Bouncer says. “I don’t know. Part of me likes this guy a lot more now.”

  Mack grins. “A deposit. I expect it to double once we secure the red beryl in Malta.”

  “Ah, red beryl,” Honesti says. “They’re going to retrieve red beryl. That makes sense, I think.”

  I again stare at the gold bracelet on Mack’s forearm. It matches Richard’s bracelet. The gold has red pieces mounted in it like the massive rock in his office.

  “Yes, Reiz, my bracelet has fragments in it. The bracelet is fused with my forearm bone. You probably noticed Richard has one too.”

  Mack touches the bracelet on his arm. “It’s entangled with my DNA.” He takes an old wooden box out from under his chair and retrieves a bracelet just like his.

  He polishes the bracelet and hands it to me. “This one is yours. It was your father’s bracelet. Once we return to the States, we’ll have it implanted in your arm and fully activated.”

  My dad’s bracelet? I take it in my hand as if it was part of him.

  “It’s gross when they attach it,” Bouncer says.

  “I’d have to agree,” Honesti says.

  “Into my arm? Are you kidding?” Hell no. Even if it was Dad’s, no way that’s ever going to happen.

  “We’ll talk about it later,” Mack says. “Welcome to the team.”

  “What team?”

  “Get some shut eye, kid,” he says. “The flight will be a long one and we’ll be busy once we arrive.” He opens up a newspaper.

  We abruptly accelerate and in less than ten seconds, we’re in the air. I can’t stop staring at the shimmering bracelet on his arm. I have to admit, it does look cool.

  Before long, Richard approaches Mack. “The aircraft is ready for you, sir.”

  “Right.” He turns to me and winks. “See you when we land, Reizo. I have a plane to fly.” Mack disappears into the cockpit.

  Bouncer and Honesti carry on about the dangers of Mack flying the plane.

  I grab Richard’s wrist and push up his long shirtsleeve until I see the gold bracelet implanted into his forearm. “Would you please tell me—”

  “Tell you what, sir?”

  I continue. “Who is Carmina and why is she trying to kill me?”

  “All in good time, sir. Get some rest.”

  “You’re not going to tell me? Is that it?
”

  “Please. Get some rest. All your questions will be answered soon enough. You’ll have to trusts us.” Richard walks to the back of the plane.

  Trust? That’s what he calls trust? I want to throw something at the cockpit door, but I glance down at the bank account balance and sit back. It’s pointless to keep pushing.

  A lady in a gray suit presses a button causing a flat panel to lower from the ceiling. “This has all the movie channels.” She points to a control panel built into the armrest and walks off in a hurry.

  I add the bracelet to my backpack and force myself to shut out the argument Bouncer and Honesti are still having about Mack flying the plane.

  As if they could actually stop him.

  chapter thirteen

  Hellas, Greece. Andros, Syros, Milos, Tinos. Like notes in a bottle, my memories float around me. Lifetimes in the Cyclades Islands are among my most cherished, crossroads of an ancient world. Art. Music. The sciences. And love. The deep blue Aegean Sea flows between the islands of the Mediterranean. For centuries, these waters helped to spread trade and culture.

  Returning to this place brings back memories of a simpler life. One filled with discovery and exploration, love and romance. Then unrest swelled as egos battled for control. War came. Suffering followed.

  “Are you okay?” Chien asks from the pilot seat of the Osprey. “You seem distracted today.”

  Chien seems to know how I feel even before I do.

  “I’m fine,” I say. “I’m just sad. I wish there was another way to change General’s rules. It would have been easier if he had listened to me. That’s all. Making souls work out issues during a lifetime as if each incarnation were an oblivious avatar in a first-person video game. I suppose coming to this place reminds me of what could have been years ago. I miss the early days.”

  “I do too. But we’ve taken action because General refuses to listen.”

  I agree. “General doesn’t care about souls. He only cares about rules, no matter the suffering they cause.”

  “True,” Chien says. “It’s time the system is overhauled.”

  “Free will ruins everything when there are no immediate consequences, one human causing another to suffer and getting away with it, infecting innocent souls. So much wasted time trying to remember lessons learned in previous lifetimes. Each soul asking the same questions every lifetime: Is there life after death? Who am I? What is my purpose? The first twenty years are wasted, and then more years wasted learning the same lessons about love, loss, and tragedy. Forgetting previous lifetimes at birth. Remembering only after death. It’s an endless cycle of relearning. A complete waste.”

  Chien flies the plane silently as I continue my rant. He’s always been a wonderful listener. “How ridiculous. Does General believe souls would become bored if they remembered previous lifetimes? Would souls question General’s rules?”

  Chien pushes a button on the control panel and nods. “General is all about control. We helplessly followed his directions until your team became strong enough and smart enough to hack his system.”

  I gaze from the Osprey’s co-pilot seat to my private island nestled in the middle of two-hundred-and-twenty Greek islands making up the Cyclades. An island of rocky hills, sandy shoreline, and overgrown vegetation wouldn’t appeal to most, but to me it is home.

  As Chien approaches the runway, I think about the days when primitive wooden ships were the only way to get around. Everything was slower back in those days. Pure.

  We touch down with a hop, and then taxi to a grouping of camouflaged hangars built above my underground bunker. The eye in the sky sees only a rough landscape and a few old hangars on my island. Built under the hangars is another high-tech command center, providing me quick access to Europe, Africa, and the Middle East.

  “I will monitor activities from here while Bree gets into position.”

  “She has never failed you,” Chien says.

  “True. I’m counting on it.”

  “Our next priority is to convince the remaining enforcers that we offer improved rules and a better way of life for the masses,” says Chien. He glances down at his cell phone when it vibrates. “Ah. I have news.”

  “Oh? What is it?”

  “An encrypted text from Alex. Bree has made contact with Daniela. Shall they bring the enforcers to you?”

  “No. I have told them already. Bree is only to talk with Daniela about joining us. She’ll convince them to come here using their own free will.”

  “What if Daniela doesn’t wish to join us?”

  “Oh, but she must.”

  chapter fourteen

  Dark. Drifting. Peaceful. Tapping . . . more tapping . . . on my shoulder?

  I jump when I see Richard's face a foot away from mine. “What the hell?”

  “Sorry to wake you,” Richard says. “We’ve arrived. Mack has already left the plane. A business meeting, I’m afraid. He’ll meet you for dinner.”

  I yawn and feel my joints crack as I stretch. “What time is it?”

  “3:00 p.m. local time,” Richard says. “Come with me.”

  “Rise and shine,” Honesti says.

  “Sleeping beauty isn’t such a beauty, if you ask me,” Bouncer says.

  I put on my backpack and follow him down the jet’s stair ramp onto the tarmac.

  The landscape beyond the runway is flat with areas of green grass and patches of yellow flowers in front of white plaster buildings. Nearby, two jets idle and another taxies in a high-pitched whine. It’s crazy loud and smells worse than a truck stop.

  I cover my ears to take the edge off. Ick. Hot. Humid. My back is damp and sticky, but it doesn’t seem to bother Richard as I follow him to another waiting sedan and climb into it.

  “Keep that stupid gold thing off your arm,” Bouncer says.

  “He’s right,” Honesti says.

  “Now where?” I ask.

  “About a half-hour drive to the hotel,” Honesti says.

  “He wasn’t asking you,” Bouncer says.

  “Oh,” Honesti says.

  “Excuse me?” Richard asks.

  I shake my head. “Sorry, nothing.”

  “Right. It will take a little over thirty minutes to get to the hotel. Nice place on the seashore,” he replies. “You can shower, and then relax until dinner.”

  “You put on that bracelet and it’ll block us out,” Honesti says.

  I smile. “Really?”

  “Sir?”

  “Um, thanks,” I say to Richard. “Sounds good.”

  Malta doesn’t smell like a tropical island. It doesn’t look like one either. The busy roads are asphalt lined with guardrails. In some places, short, white block walls line the road in front of old brick buildings.

  As we arrive at the hotel, I catch a glimpse of the ocean and feel a cool breeze. Malta suddenly feels like an island. A calm blue ocean with no waves stretches out to the horizon.

  The hotel is six stories with peach-colored, stacked-stone walls. Palm trees and large leaf bushes with well-groomed red flowers mark the entrance. Its lobby is a huge open area with tan leather chairs and glass tables. Leafy plants in oversized pots make the inside look more tropical than the outside while fans rotate slowly, circulating humid air. Five hosts in black suits check in guests at a long, dark wood reception desk.

  A boy about my age approaches in a pressed black suit with gold buttons up to his chin. He’s wearing a funny black hat. “Good afternoon, signore,” he says with a slight Italian accent. “May I take your backpack to your room?”

  “No, thanks. I got it.”

  “Very well,” he says. “Follow me, per favore.”

  “Be ready at 8:00 p.m. sharp,” Richard says loudly.

  I look at the clock on the wall. “What time is it back home?” I call out to Richard.

  “Six-thirty a.m.,” Honesti says.

  “Will you stop it?” Bouncer asks. “He’s still not asking you.”

  “Oh, sorry,” Honesti says.
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  “Nine hours behind us,” Richard says on his way to reception. He waves when I enter the elevator with the bellboy.

  When the bellboy opens my room door, I freeze. “There must be a mistake. This can’t be my room.”

  He smiles. “No mistakes, signore. This room is yours. One of our largest suites.”

  The room is as large as a one-story house, its tan walls holding gold-framed pictures. A large wooden dresser and a matching desk sit near a sliding door with an ocean view.

  He holds out an arm. “After you, please.”

  I reluctantly walk into the room.

  “Score!” Bouncer shouts.

  “Very nice,” Honesti says. “Nothing but the best for Reizo. You go boy.”

  “The main bedroom is in there, a sitting room is there, bathroom there, and a balcony is outside,” the bellboy says, pointing.

  “He’d be great on a game show,” Bouncer says.

  “Oh, stop. He’s just doing his job,” Honesti says.

  “Pay the man,” Bouncer adds.

  I fish around in my backpack for change, but I already know I don’t have any since I gave it all to the bus driver. “Sorry, but—”

  “Nessun problema, signore,” he says.

  I twist my head. “Huh?”

  “Sorry, signore. I mean to say, Mr. Richard has taken care of everything. If you need assistance, press *1 on your phone,” he says. “Can I help you with anything else?”

  “No, thanks. I’m good.”

  “Buono. Have a blessed evening.”

  “What a nice young man,” Honesti says.

  “Really? More like a brown-noser if you ask me,” Bouncer says.

  A flat screen bigger than I’ve ever seen is mounted directly across from a king-sized bed. I saunter onto the balcony and gaze four stories below at a curvy blue pool surrounded by a white patio. I figure it’s about the size of six normal pools.

  I sit on a white rattan lounge chair and glance over my shoulder at the desk clock inside the room, imagining the setting sun is a big orange beach ball suspended just above the horizon. “I wonder—”

  “Do it,” Bouncer says. “Call your mom.”

  “You better not,” Honesti says. “She can’t know you’re in Malta.”