Sleight of Hand: Book Three: The Weir Chronicles

by Sue Duff

  Aggravated that he couldn’t make out sounds over the engines, Ian relied on shadows and changes in light before turning corners or stepping through open doorways. He hung back when they reached the hall leading to the cafeteria and crouched down under a stairwell.

  Their intel indicated twenty-two passengers and twelve crew members. Ian was operating on the belief that they were all Eve’s. He looked at Marcus and gave him three fingers to the brow, then pointed them down the hall and tilted them to the left, indicating where the mess hall door was located. Marcus nodded.

  The cafeteria door opened and two men stepped out, laughing. One rubbed his stomach, and the other pried his teeth with a toothpick. They shut the door and headed in the opposite direction.

  Ian waited until they disappeared around a far corner, then stood and headed for the mess hall door. He bent close, listening, but other than some laughter, he couldn’t hear anything. Ian eased the handle and pushed with his hip, counting on the engine noise to drown the opening door.

  A loud metallic scrape dashed their element of surprise. He bumped the door wide and walked in like he belonged there.

  Three rows of rectangular tables sat end to end with attached benches like picnic tables. Ian counted nine people sitting on either side. No one looked up when he entered the room, otherwise engaged in their food or conversations next to each other.

  A man wearing a long white apron with a tight-fitting knit cap walked in carrying a large pot and ladle. He headed for the nearest man, but came up short when he spied Ian. “Attention, Heir on deck!”

  Everyone seated at the tables looked up or over their shoulders, rose, and stood at attention.

  At the head of the tables, a middle-aged man in a navel uniform pushed his chair back and bowed with a fist to his chest. “Heir, we are honored by your presence.” The others turned toward Ian and as one, lowered their gaze with fists to their chests.

  Stunned, Ian didn’t move. Marcus and Tara pushed in behind him. “At ease,” the old general said from behind. The group sat back down and returned to their meal.

  “He’s not here,” Marcus said under his breath. Ian scanned the faces for Vael. No one looked familiar.

  The officer remained standing. “Would you like to join us? Tonight’s meal is superb.”

  “Better hurry,” the cook said. “This is the last sitting before I clean up the kitchen for the night.”

  “You know who we are?” Marcus asked.

  “Yes, General. We are all Pur Weir,” the officer said. “Although your presence is unexpected, you are welcome. I am Captain of the Sigrar Twal.” He waved a finger and those closest to him grabbed their plates and relocated to the end of the table, making room for three guests. “Please join us. I imagine you are hungry.”

  A few stole glances in Ian’s direction. He walked over and took a seat next to the captain. The cook left and returned with three fresh plates and silverware. Marcus and Tara sat down across from Ian.

  “My son,” Marcus said.

  “He ate at the first sitting. He often plays billiards in the rec room after dinner,” the captain said.

  Ian stared at Marcus. “We’re searching for a friend of mine. His name’s Patrick,” Ian said. At the mention of the name, the man next to Ian stiffened. He got up and grabbed his half-eaten plate of food, handed it to the cook, then left, closing the mess hall door behind him. A few others around the table exchanged uneasy glances. In spite of the casual welcome, Ian remained on the alert. Something wasn’t right.

  “He is not on board,” the captain said. “I’m afraid you made the trip in vain.

  “I don’t suppose you could get me in touch with him,” Ian said.

  The man shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

  “Then why don’t you put us in touch with Eve,” Marcus said. “We have a lot of questions.”

  Tara raised her fork and sniffed at the chunk of meat.

  The captain gave her a casual smile. “Our chef has a reputation for using a wide variety of culinary spices, but I assure you, poison is not among them.”

  “Unless you’re a rat!” the cook shouted while wiping down his kitchen.

  “I need to talk to my son,” Marcus said.

  “Britta, please escort the general to the rec room,” the captain said. A young woman no older than Tara rose and stepped away from the table. “Clear the room when you arrive and give them some privacy,” the captain added.

  Marcus and Tara stood. When Ian didn’t, they paused.

  “I’m going to stay,” Ian said. “Go, talk to Vael.” Marcus left, but Tara sat back down. Ian dug into his meal. “Will you answer my questions?” he asked.

  “I doubt that I have the answers you’ve come for,” the captain replied.

  Tara stopped chewing. “Do you know who Eve is?”

  “She guards her anonymity with an iron fist,” the captain responded.

  “That’s not an answer,” Tara said.

  “It’s the only one we’re going to get.” Ian took a swig from his water glass. “Where are you headed?”

  “You obviously found us through our manifest. So you must know that we’re traveling to Barcelona.” The captain pushed his emptied plate away and settled back in his chair.

  Ian stirred his food around with his fork while weighing their options. “This is delicious.”

  “I’m glad you dropped by,” the captain said like they were long-lost friends.

  Tara leaned her elbows on the table and stared at Ian with impatience. This wasn’t getting them anywhere. If he could believe the captain, Patrick wasn’t here. Neither was Eve. Ian tuned into the beat of the captain’s heart. The man was as cool as an iceberg. If he knew anything that would get them one step closer to Patrick or Eve, they’d have to use force.

  Ian set his fork down and pushed his plate to the side. “Can you at least tell me that Patrick’s okay?”

  “He’s being treated well,” the captain said with more sympathy than Ian had expected.

  “Why was he taken?” Tara asked.

  “I am not cleared to respond to that,” the captain said. “But I can assure you that there’s no reason to fear for him.”

  “The Primary is searching for Eve,” Ian said.

  “The Primary is often searching for her,” he countered.

  “This time it may be different. Last night, he slaughtered an entire factory of personnel to send her a message.”

  The captain’s heartbeat picked up speed, but Ian had to give the man credit, his poker-plastered expression never changed. Ian needed him to be unnerved and to understand that following protocol was not in anyone’s favor.

  “If he catches up to Eve, my friend will be caught in the crossfire,” Ian said. “I am desperate to find him before it’s too late.”

  “Eve will already be taking precautions,” the captain said as his heartbeat returned to normal. “You do not have anything to worry about.” He got the cook’s attention. “Pie anyone? You can have it warmed up, even a la mode if you prefer. It’s made from cherries grown on Mount Rainier.” He licked his lips. “Scrumptious!”

  A crimson strobe lit up the room at the same time a screeching alarm sounded. An announcement for all hands on deck came from a loudspeaker.

  “What’s wrong?” Tara asked, bolting to her feet along with everyone else at the table. She withdrew her handgun from beneath her jacket. It occurred to Ian that the captain never had them frisked. A testament to his arrogance, or trust?

  “To your stations,” the captain ordered his crew. He stepped to a console on the wall and pressed a button. “Captain, here. What’s the emergency?”

  “Incoming,” the woman stated in a clear and calm voice.

  “Ship or aircraft?” he asked.

  Static crackled. “Black Hawk helicopters, sir. Radar is picking up five.”

  Tara and Ian looked at each other. The Primary had found the Sigrar Twal.

  {46}

  Ian and Tara followed t
he captain down the hallway, stepping through one doorway after another, and then up two flights of stairs to the ship’s bridge.

  From the outside, the freighter appeared rusted and unkempt, yet the accommodations and instrumentation inside its walls were state of the art.

  A man in greasy overalls and a scruffy beard stiffened at attention. “Captain on the bridge!” His shock when Ian followed stole the man’s voice for a second. “And, Pur Heir.”

  “ETA?” the captain asked.

  “Three minutes, sir.” The woman never lifted her face from the radar screen.

  “Are you equipped with weapons?” Ian asked.

  The captain turned to Ian. “Sire, I recommend that you and your party shyft home immediately.”

  “I’m not deserting you,” Ian said.

  “Drion Marcus is still below with his son,” Tara added.

  “Permission to enter the bridge,” Marcus said from the doorway.

  “Permission granted,” the captain said.

  Marcus stepped in with Vael close behind.

  “Please, this is our battle, not yours, General,” the captain said. “As one commanding officer to another, I am ordering you off my ship.”

  “Not a chance in hell,” Marcus said. “They wouldn’t dare attack if it’s made known that the Heir and a member of the Syndrion are on board.”

  Ian didn’t share Marcus’s optimism. “If there’s trouble, you’re coming with us,” Ian said to Vael.

  “Hell no!” he said. “I’m with them.”

  “Let me talk to them. This debate may be premature,” Marcus shouted over the alarm.

  A dark mass skirted across the row of windows, followed by two more helicopters. Their thumping blades rattled the windows with such tremendous force that Ian was shocked the glass didn’t shatter.

  “That’s three,” the captain yelled.

  “Two are hovering at a distance, sir,” the radar operator said.

  “You can’t afford to be found on board,” the captain said. “Sire, I must insist that you and the others go.”

  Ian grabbed Marcus’s arm and pulled him to the side. “Marcus, if you’re not on the Primary’s hit list, you will be if you’re found on a rebel ship in the middle of the Atlantic.”

  “Rebels or not, these people are Pur Weir. I won’t leave them to the same fate as the factory workers.” Marcus regarded his son. “Vael told me things, Ian. The Primary has secrets. You and I need to talk.”

  “I’ll confront them,” Ian said. “You stay hidden. I’m not losing you, too. If things turn south, promise me you’ll shyft Tara and Vael to the estate.”

  The old general nodded.

  “Ian, you’re not facing them alone,” Tara said.

  “You’re at risk as much as Drion Marcus,” Ian said. “They weren’t surprised to see me in Wales. My presence isn’t going to escalate things. Stay here, out of sight.” Ian left the bridge and hurried downstairs. Once his feet touched the main deck, he took off, drawing them away from the bridge, while his thoughts searched frantically for the words to make this go away.

  Storm clouds blew a gale over the deck. Waves struck the side of the Sigrar Twal. Sitting high in the water with her nearly empty hull, she rocked violently as Ian struggled to get his fears under control.

  He reached the helicopter pad and waved his arms, shouting up at the circling force. One copter veered close and hovered about twenty feet off the deck. Ian planted his feet and stood facing it. The side door slid open and Falcon crouched low, looking at Ian. A moment later, the guard stood, signaled, and they lowered the helicopter onto the deck.

  The blades revved down but did not shut off.

  Falcon approached Ian with an automatic weapon slung over his shoulder. “You were ordered to remain at your estate, Sire.”

  “I rarely do what I’m told,” Ian shouted over the helicopter’s engine. “Eve is not here. They’re a Pur Weir merchant ship and presently have no cargo of value. There’s no reason for the Primary to take his frustrations out on innocent people.”

  “We were ordered to search the ship. That’s what we intend to do.” He lifted his gun like it was his calling card. “If they have nothing to hide, why interfere?”

  “Because I don’t approve of your methods.” If the Primary was in one of the helicopters, he was staying out of it. They do his dirty work and he keeps his hands clean, Ian thought. “Where’s the Primary? I demand to address this with him.”

  “He is meeting with the Syndrion.”

  Marcus hadn’t been summoned. If Falcon was telling the truth, the old general was deliberately omitted from the meeting. Ian’s chaotic thoughts crashed against a solid wall. They carried weapons. The general was a shyftor.

  Ian turned and shyfted onto the bridge, but a wall of energy stopped him cold and he catapulted down the outside metal staircase. Ian landed hard on the upper deck.

  Someone on the bridge had a jam.

  Ian rushed up the stairs to the sound of gunfire and screams. He threw open the door and was met with a thick cloud of metallic air.

  The elite guard’s weapons were turned on the room, slaughtering the captain and his crew. Tara and Marcus were constrained to the side, struggling against their captors. Tara screamed at the carnage.

  Ian burst into the room and tackled the closest guard. His bullets rose upward as the gun slipped from his grasp, and the guard fell into the gunman next to him.

  Searing heat pierced Ian’s side. His legs buckled beneath him and he slumped to the floor.

  “You idiots! The Heir’s been shot!” Falcon shouted from the open doorway.

  “It must have been a ricochet,” someone said.

  They rolled Ian to his side. Tara fell to her knees and pressed her hand against the wound. “Stand back, you bastards!” She fought them off like a mother tiger. Her tears dripped on Ian’s cheek and she sobbed while pressing down hard against his wound.

  “Breathe!” Marcus cried while compressing Vael’s bloody chest. He bent down and listened, and then continued his efforts to resuscitate his son.

  Blood splattered the consoles and walls like a Pollock painting. Bodies with staring, lifeless eyes littered the floor. The captain’s among them. “They were Pur. Our own people,” Ian groaned.

  “With allegiance to someone other than you,” Falcon hissed.

  The flyby wasn’t a show of strength. It was to give their shyftors a visual location and a chance to match the speed of the ship, enabling them to appear on the bridge. While Ian was out on deck trying to ease the situation, they’d taken it from behind. He had cautioned the captain not to use force. He’d fed right into their hands.

  Komodo grabbed Marcus’s arm, but he pulled away and pressed down on Vael’s chest wound. “Get a medic in here!” Marcus screamed.

  “We’re to take you to the Primary,” Komodo said.

  “No,” Ian moaned and tried to get up, but blistering spikes shut his body down. “Drion Marcus was here to protect me,” Ian said, but his plea came out in a whimper.

  “We’ve been ordered to take him into custody,” Falcon said from behind Ian.

  Ian fought the looming darkness, but despair engulfed him and drew him into an abyss. This time, the rebel’s blood was on his hands.

  {47}

  A finger against his forehead woke Ian from his dreamless sleep. Dr. Mac leaned over him with a core thermometer pressed to his chest.

  “He’s awake. Now give me some space and let me examine my patient!”

  Falcon stepped back and took a stoic stance next to the bedroom wall.

  “You’re home,” Dr. Mac said, shaking out his thermometer. “They brought me to the ship. I had to do surgery and remove the bullet before they could shyft you home and get you in your boost. The storm your condition elicited, made for a tricky surgery.”

  “You saw,” Ian sputtered. It came out raspy, fretful.

  Dr. Mac gave him a solemn nod.

  “Vael?” Ian asked.


  “He’s not yet out of danger.”

  Ian closed his eyes. So much blood. “How long?”

  “You’ve been in your boost two days. You’re not completely healed, but close. I want you to take it easy and eat what Milo fixes you.” Dr. Mac turned and glared at Falcon. “Really, do you have to suffocate us both! Give the Heir some space. Does it look like he’s going anywhere?”

  Falcon stared at Dr. Mac with something short of contempt, then walked to the doorway and stood just outside the bedroom with the door wide open.

  Dr. Mac laid a gentle hand on Ian’s shoulder. “What were you thinking, my boy. Getting in the middle of this war?”

  “It’s like trying to put out a raging wildfire by myself.” Ian kept an eye toward the hall. “But things came crashing down around me. People were slaughtered because of me.”

  “You must stop acting like you can take the world on by yourself. This is a hell of a lot bigger than you,” Dr. Mac barked, but then paused and softened his voice. “You’re not alone.” Dr. Mac pulled back the covers and lifted the edge of the bandage. He pressed his fingertips next to the healing wound and ripped off the bandage. Ian winced at the momentary sting. Dr. Mac handed him his cell phone. “Get rid of this,” the old doctor hissed under his breath.

  Ian closed his eyes at his blunder. It was how the Primary knew where to send his guards. The tracking chip in his cell phone had led the way.

  He grabbed Dr. Mac’s arm and met his gaze, counting on the look in his eyes to convey how sorry he was that he had doubted him. He’d gotten Marcus arrested. Like hell he’d put Dr. Mac in more danger than he already was. “I give up. I won’t get anyone else killed. The Primary and his hit squad can do their dirty work without me,” Ian said loud enough to ensure that Falcon would relay Ian’s message.

  “I’m glad you’ve come to your senses.” Dr. Mac cleared his throat and tilted his head toward the bathroom. “When you’re strong enough, get cleaned up.” He packed the last few instruments in his bag and latched it. “There’s nothing else I can do. The rest is up to you.” Dr. Mac’s bent back straightened. “Now, your sorry bum has kept my other patients waiting long enough.” He walked out of the room. “Next time, make an appointment before you step in front of a bullet!”