by C E Johnson
Rivulets of water ran off her face, but the liquid did little to cleanse her of her perceived deficiencies as a leader. She tried to distract her mind from the faces of her dead comrades, attempting to again think about Hadrian, her commander. I wonder when he’ll inform the families of the death of their loved ones. Grief threatened to overwhelm her heavy heart, but she didn’t shirk her responsibilities. She didn’t leave the area until the first rays of morning fell on the Whayne’s house. As the sun warmed her skin and her heart, she vowed to track down the person responsible for the death of her agents and to find out why Emily Whayne was so important.
* * * Droth * * *
Droth sat in incredulous silence, studying the scene before him.
“More agents are arriving,” Marcus warned while pointing at a convoy of approaching vehicles.
Droth nodded. He knew it was time to depart. His body stiffened into a knot of growing pain, not only from his magus-drain, but also from his supreme failure on such a seemingly easy task. The rain was soaking him to the bone. Reluctantly, he drove his rental car away from the battlefield in the dark. Shaking his head from side to side, he wallowed in his building disappointment and disgust. He hadn’t lost many battles in his life.
“The girl’s home will be off limits to our teams for quite a while,” Marcus said. “Can they track this to us?”
Droth’s mind was going numb, but he forced himself to analyze the situation. “I used a prepaid cell phone. The car is rented under a false name. We should be safe.” Droth cursed his fiasco, but he would find another way. He wasn’t going to give up.
CHAPTER 12
Malachi
Hadrian’s driver was taking him down Constitution Avenue. His body felt callous and detached. He hated talking with the families of the dead, but he would never put that job on one of his lieutenants. He made the call for action, so it was his duty to discuss the events of an agent’s death with their loved ones. At least the job was now done. His phone vibrated in his pocket. Glancing at the caller identification before he answered it, his heart skipped a beat. “What’s going on, Dys?”
“Andrew Dalton has disappeared.” She sounded tired.
“Disappeared?” Hadrian could scarcely believe that could happen.
“I still have Emily Wayne under our surveillance, but he evaporated while our attention was focused on her.” Dysis’ voice was edged with guilt and concern.
Hadrian took a slow, deep breath to settle his anger which wanted to lash out with a vengeance. He strove to be kind and gentle with his response, not ferocious. Dysis was skilled and loyal, and he found himself enjoying her company more and more lately. He didn’t want to damage their relationship with thoughtless remarks. “You’re doing a good job. Dalton often disappears. Just try and relocate him as quickly as you can.”
“Do you still want him picked up when I find him?” she asked meekly.
“Definitely. I’m ready to interrogate him. No more games.”
“What about the girl?” There was a faint tremor in Dysis’ voice. She was tough, but Hadrian could hear a mothering instinct in his lieutenant.
“Don’t pick her up yet, but if Droth decides to come for her again, I want your agents to be more prepared. I don’t want her injured in any crossfire.”
“Okay,” Dysis answered. Hadrian could hear the pain underneath the surface. Usually Dysis was hard as stone, but there was a softness she was showing lately. Instead of being irritated with her, he found himself attracted to the polar opposites within her.
“Dys, you’re an incredible leader and warrior. Don’t second guess yourself.” Hadrian ended their conversation. He pulled down a car mirror and looked at his reflection. He was a middle-aged man of above average height, stocky, and bald. He was in excellent shape, but he wondered if Dysis could be attracted to his unusual physique. His body was riddled with war wounds and scars. His ears were misshapen remnants of their former selves, and his arms and legs were masses of scars from countless insults. He sighed, I’ll just have to wait and see what happens. He put the mirror back up and looked at the White House coming into view. Hadrian was scheduled to meet with the President of the United States, and President Hughes was supposed to have his son, Malachi, along.
“Right this way, sir,” an aide to the President greeted Hadrian and guided him to a private office.
“Hadrian Simara, good to see you again,” the President said warmly as he arose from a wooden table with a large eagle carved into the front face, wings unfurled. Hadrian thought the bird appeared uncomfortable amongst all the grandeur surrounding it.
Hadrian shook hands. “You wanted to see me, Mr. President?”
“Yes, how’s that dog of yours?” The President always started with small talk, but Hadrian knew he would get down to brass tacks rapidly.
“Duke is fine, sir, guarding my home right now.” Hadrian forced a smile on his face, waiting for the substance of their talk to surface.
The President wore a long frown as he sat down. “I wanted to talk privately with you about two items. First, there’s a concern I have with a terrorist cell in the Middle East. I want you to infiltrate the group with your best agents to find out their agenda. CIA thinks they want to bring a bomb to the United States but can’t penetrate their network. I’ve decided to put my best asset on this case to discover what they’re up to.” The President pointed to Hadrian.
Hadrian inclined his head. “I’m honored, sir. I’ll send in a close personal friend of mine, code name Tebah. He’s never failed me on a mission.”
The President nodded, “Please sit down. There’s one other concern I have.”
Hadrian sat. “What’s your other concern?”
The President turned to look out the large window behind his desk. “There’s something going on with my son. He’s the one who brought this terrorist cell to my attention.”
“Your son found a terrorist cell?” Hadrian couldn’t wait to hear this explanation.
The President gave him a nod. “Everything he told me about the cell has been true. I’ve been investigating the boy’s predictions, and time and time again, his predictions are based in truth.”
Hadrian was fascinated. “What exactly are his talents?” he asked slowly.
“He can predict things,” the President answered, running his hand through his thin dark hair while leaning back in his chair. “The boy says he can talk to the dead and they are giving him this information.”
Hadrian tried to keep his expression stoic, but inside his heart was beginning to beat excitedly. “Where are the dead people that he talks to from?” Hadrian asked.
The President turned to look at Hadrian with a raised brow. “That’s an interesting question. Malachi says they’re from a spirit land called Ater.” The President gave a shake of his head. “It sounds so far-fetched that I don’t know what to believe.”
Hadrian could barely conceal his building fascination. His pulse was running wild as he tried to remain calm and appear unbelieving of the President’s words. Burning with curiosity, he spoke in a slow, steady voice, “What would you like me to do? Is he here today?”
“He’s playing up in the attic,” the President said unenthusiastically. “I’ll introduce you to him another day.” The President paused for a moment, looking as if he was debating whether to say more, then he continued. “Hadrian, my son’s telling me that several of the wraith-spirits revealing information to him about the terrorist cell were once magicians. He says he’s discovered that he is also a magician. Have you ever heard of someone who claims they’re a magician?”
Hadrian stared at the President and lied. “I haven’t ever met a magician, sir.”
“I haven’t either,” the President said quietly. President Hughes rubbed his temples where his hair had receded. “I want you to focus all your resources on bringing anyone with potential psychic abilities to me. See if you can find any other magicians on this strange planet of ours. You know I’ve restarted the Stargate
Project that ran under the CIA at Fort Meade in the past. My Stargate Project is being heavily advertised, and I might bring in someone on my own, but see what you can do. I just want you to find others like Malachi. In the process, maybe I’ll find him some friends, other people who have talents. And perhaps, we can use their talents for the good of the United States.”
“Do you have a picture of your son? I haven’t seen him in quite a while.” Hadrian swallowed hard, his throat was dry.
The President stood, went to a bookcase behind him, retrieved a picture, and handed it to Hadrian. Hadrian studied the picture, focusing on Malachi’s exposed, pointed ear. His heart was now hammering in his chest, so loud he could barely concentrate. “Handsome little man,” he whispered. He stood slowly, knowing the meeting was over. “I’ve always had a talent for finding the truth. If magicians exist, I’ll bring one to you.”
The President pointed to a file on his desk. “I read the report on your latest investigation. Do you think the young girl, Emily Whayne, has any special powers? I heard you lost several agents while protecting her.”
Hadrian was impressed that the President was aware of his current missions. Blacksky was contract to the CIA, not under official review. “I’m not certain,” Hadrian answered haltingly. “I’ll let you know soon. I have my best teams watching her.”
CHAPTER 13
Cards
In the early morning, Emily performed her tai chi as the sun peaked above the horizon, giving the world a shiny, rich, shimmering golden glow, as rich as an aura. Her ki had been going crazy all night, and she’d slept horribly. What’s going on? she wondered to Xena in frustration while seeking an inner calm within her routine on the cool grass in her front yard.
I slept soundly after our swim at the lake, Xena answered guiltily. I’m not sure.
Jean backed the family minivan out of the garage and Emily reluctantly stopped her routine, put Xena in the house, and entered the vehicle. She enjoyed attending her dojo and hoped within she could discover the mental peace that she was finding so elusive. She trained with Sensei Tseng in a large multi-use gym. Oliver had no family and put all his time into the formation of his school. He observed the strengths of each of his students and customized movements to perfectly complement their body types, agility, and skill levels. For Emily, he blended many forms of fighting, even integrating components of gymnastics that she had used against Delores. Additionally, he was an expert with the staff and taught advanced techniques with this weapon, including proper positioning and distancing from opponents. The staff attracted Emily because it demanded greater concentration and intensity in her training.
Entering her dojo, she found Sensei Tseng shirtless, perspiration dripping from his sinewy muscles as he was practicing his roundhouse kick. Emily’s ki was silent on the drive, but she could now sense a low throb, warning her of potential danger in the area.
Are you sure you want to do this lesson? Xena asked from her location in Emily’s home.
I do, but I wish you were with me, Emily answered. Warily, she tried to track down the warnings to no avail. She went to her Sensei and bowed.
“Have you recovered from your injuries against Delores?” Oliver asked with a touch of concern in his usually emotionless voice.
Emily hoped he wasn’t disappointed in her loss. “I’m healed, ready to learn something that will help me in my next match.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” He pointed toward the mat where Anna was standing with her hands on her hips.
“Didn’t know if you were going to make it, Lazy Bones,” Anna teased.
“I thought I better get over here to teach you something,” Emily quipped back. The two girls began to spar with staves over the next hour. The rise and fall of the blows created a type of a music, and Emily caught herself listening to the sharp experimental notes that they were composing. Master Tseng paced the mat, observing intently and barking continual orders like a merciless drill-master.
Anna connected on several strikes that Emily normally would have blocked. “You seem a little off today,” she taunted. “I know I’m skilled, but I’m not usually this good. What’s wrong?”
“I didn’t sleep well last night.” Emily spoke in an overly dramatic baby voice. She gave Anna her best ‘pout face,’ and stuck out her lower lip.
“Wimp,” Anna scoffed.
“Loser,” Emily shot back, reinforcing her words with a sharp strike to Anna’s leg. She couldn’t help kidding with her friend. This routine felt comfortable, and despite the physical toll, she was enjoying herself.
“Emily, enough!” Master Tseng spoke with disapproval as Anna scored another hit. “Emily, go work on your double front layout. Anna is getting overconfident with your weak efforts.” He somehow used his foot to launch a staff into the air, which he then caught like a circus performer. He advanced with stony facial expressions to spar with Anna, rapidly scoring a hit, his motions smooth as stone, fast as lighting.
Emily snorted in amusement, but her contented smile fell from her face as she began to work on her floor routine over the next hour. Her sore muscles mixed with a steadfast resolve for perfection. Although she was nailing her sequences while feeling more limber than usual, her concentration on her movements was distracted by her ki. She noticed two curious men who glanced at her from the front window of the building as they walked by. However, as quickly as they had appeared, they faded away. Emily became absorbed in her own efforts and she lost track of time until her mother called to her, “Time for your last swim meet of the summer.”
“She should be doing extra training here instead of swimming.” Master Tseng pursed his lips and fixed Emily’s mother with an expressionless stare, a stony statue of muscle coated in a layer of sweat.
Jean gave a nervous laugh, shifting her feet uncomfortably. “I’ll have her back before you know it.”
Anna waved goodbye while calling out, “Good luck. I’ll come watch later.” Emily watched Anna make a swipe at her distracted sensei, who effortlessly blocked the attempt, scoffing at Anna as he swept his staff through the air to connect with her arm. Anna let out a muffled gasp of pain.
“How was it?” Jean pushed Emily’s sweaty hair behind her ear while glancing back at the gym. “That man always scares the dickens out of me.”
“He’s fine once you get to know him.” Emily laughed good-naturedly at her mother’s feelings, because she could completely understand her discomfort. “I basically got the tar beat out of me by Anna,” Emily laughed again, this time at herself.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll beat someone in the water,” her mother said while giving her an encouraging smile. The meet was held in a suburb a short drive away. Emily was competing in two relays, breaststroke, freestyle, and butterfly. “Good luck,” her mother gave Emily a quick hug in the comforting way only mothers can accurately perform. Jean headed toward the bleachers to get some food and watch the meet while Emily approached the area for swimmers. The teams were arranged in clusters around the pool with each team’s swimsuit colors and matching T-shirts looking like different battalions marking out their areas before a war. Emily saw the red, white, and blue of her Sharks team and walked over to where Elizabeth was waiting with a heat sheet which showed their events and lane assignments.
Coach Palin put them in opposite events whenever possible because Emily and Elizabeth were the best swimmers in their age group and separate victories gave the squad higher point totals. Coach Palin didn’t have a large number of swimmers, but he had great quality swimmers spaced out fairly evenly through the varied ages.
“Any residual brain-ache?” Elizabeth asked. Her golden hair was pulled back in a bun, a style that was helpful when pulling on a swim cap. There was an amusing mixture of concern and tease in her voice.
“Back to normal,” Emily countered with a smile. “No more Delores-type headaches at all.” She could hear a faint wheeze on Elizabeth’s breath, and she worried about her friend, “How’s your breathing?”
“Fine,” Elizabeth answered as she set down the heat sheet. “Did you bring the cards?”
“Of course.” Emily dramatically pulled out a deck of cards from her own bag, resplendent with pictures of dragons on the non-playing surface.
Elizabeth turned her face to the sky, spread her arms wide, and yelled to the heavens, “Tell me a prophecy, my oracle!”
Card games were a popular pastime while they waited for their events. Early on the girls played competition games like War and Fish, but they tired of these games once they discovered Emily had an uncanny knack of telling the truth when she turned the cards. Thereafter, Emily was elevated to the honored position of the official fortune-teller for the thirteen and fourteen-year-old girls. Emily made four columns with only the ace of each suit at the top of each column. She then made a show of shuffling the remaining cards like a dealer in Las Vegas. “Shall we begin?” Emily asked in a haunting tone.
Elizabeth giggled happily. “Today we will tell your future, Emily Whayne. For your first prophecy, which boy will you next kiss?” Caroline and Marie, two of the other girls in the tent heard the kissing question and came over to watch with wide smiles. Emily labeled the ace of hearts, Luke; the ace of spades, the older swimmer, Conrad; the ace of diamonds, her sensei, Oliver Tseng. To the mock-horrified moans of the assembled girls, she made the last ace, the ace of clubs Coach Palin. She then began to lay down cards from the shuffled deck until the suit of a card she laid down matched an ace at the top. This would signify a match and would answer the question. The jack of hearts was eventually turned under the ace of hearts column showing a match for Luke. The girls all started laughing and teasing Emily, but she didn’t mind that match at all. She fully recognized the magus involved in her prophecies, easily identifying the faint blue magic employed as she turned the cards.