Star Angel: Dawn of War (Star Angel Book 3)

by David G. McDaniel

  Where are they?

  As Fujito mixed one track into the next she put her coke on the bar and took the tablet from her purse. No new updates from Nani. Their blonde overseer had been keeping them regularly informed.

  No, wait. Something new was coming in. Nani had identified the agent in the club. Only one, as it turned out. It was Drake. The leader of this operation and, ironically, also the guy in charge of the op that failed to capture Jess in Boise. A wave of nerves passed over her, though in truth it didn’t matter who was in the club with them. It could be the President of the United States; that didn’t change what they were there for or how it would go down. They were getting Lorenzo and they were getting away and no one was going to stop them.

  Zac would see to that.

  Nani sent her Drake’s picture again and she made a fresh study of it, glancing up from the tablet discreetly as she did, peering around the multitudes. Smoke drifted, lights flashed, bodies pressed or moved erratically. Pumping this way and that.

  Unless Drake was right in their vicinity it was hopeless. She’d never find him.

  She turned off the tablet and put it back in her purse.

  DJ Fujito was a young, androgynous Japanese, long hair bleached in a few places, combed across half his face, spiked in the back. She knew it was a “him”, though the more she watched in the hazy conditions she couldn’t be sure. Gender bending had never looked so real. He had a lights guy, equally ambiguous, who shared the riser with him and seemed to derive great importance from his role as laser-shooter-strobe-guy. On either side of the small stage was a cage with a barely-dressed Japanese girl, dancing furiously to the music. Jess wondered if they traded with different girls throughout the set. She hadn’t noticed. Just watching them pump and grind, as hard and as steady as they were, was exhausting. She couldn’t imagine actually doing it.

  “There he is,” Zac pierced the grip of the music. His voice had such inhuman clarity amid the pandemonium. She looked up at his strong jaw, followed his gaze over the heads of the crowd ...

  And saw him.

  Lorenzo. Entering the VIP area.

  He wasn’t looking at her, of course he couldn’t be, not in that crowd and across that room, yet … his gaze seemed to pass right through her. Through both of them; Zac too. It was as if Lorenzo could feel them, though his focus didn’t linger, and the smarter part of her told her he hadn’t seen them nor did he even know to look.

  How could he possibly?

  So why did she have the sudden terror of being seen? Of being picked from the crowd. She looked up at Zac and was dismayed by his expression.

  He felt it too.

  He didn’t look down, though, didn’t know she was looking at him; kept his eyes on Lorenzo, watching their target arrive with casual importance. The Bok leader made his way coolly to the couches in the VIP area, entering from some hidden door behind it or some other entrance unknown to them. At any rate he did not walk in through the front of the club.

  Turned out it was a good thing they were inside after all. They might’ve missed him otherwise.

  Several others trailed him with the same casual confidence, like Russian mobsters or something; people who knew this was their place and that no one, absolutely no one, would mess with them. Quite the contrary. Others would fear them.

  And she felt her first tinge of worry.

  Lorenzo and three other guys about his age, plus one girl, all of them dressed uber cool, swank—however you described it, these guys were wearing a thousand dollars worth of clothes each. Had to be. Comfortable, easy fitting, minimal yet … beyond rich. They sat easily in the luxurious VIP seating, reclining, almost as if they saw everything while barely deigning to notice what was going on around them.

  It was all very much beneath them.

  “Seems pretty cocky,” Zac commented, and his voice was easy and confident. Jess steadied a bit as he added: “Suddenly I think I’m going to enjoy this.”

  Yeah, she thought. It will be fun stuffing him in a bag or something.

  Then it hit her like a bolt.

  This guy, Lorenzo Fertiti, leader of the Esehta Bok, was, through the distant past, through many generations of humans, directly connected to the Kel. Until then talk of the Bok had been just that: talk. Pictures, information. Now here they were, here he was, and …

  For a shuddering instant he looked Kel. Like the elfin images from Nani’s records.

  Lorenzo wasn’t Kel. No way. The Bok had been human from the beginning. Still, the image was impossible to shake. He and his cronies exuded a sort of other-worldly presence that made them feel alien, though they’d surely been on Earth through a line of humans a thousand years old.

  Then she spotted Drake. Quite suddenly, no longer even looking for him—having almost forgotten the Project at the arrival of the Bok elite—moving toward the VIP area far too deliberately, and when she recognized him she looked quickly away.

  “There’s Drake,” she hissed, thought for a minute Zac hadn’t heard the tiny sound—a hiss that was utterly lost in the thunder—but he did.

  “I see him,” he said, keen eyes already making contact and following the Project agent as he, in turn, zeroed in on Lorenzo. Blatantly moving against the crowd toward the newly arrived Bok. Drake was closer than expected, having chosen the same section of bar from which to view the VIP area, and Jess wondered how she missed him earlier. No matter. Now that he was right there and focused on the same target she had to avoid eye contact. Zac might be safe but she wasn’t. This guy once led the operation to capture her. No doubt he’d reviewed tons of photos of her, building the Project’s dossier, and would be sure to recognize her—even dressed as she was, appearing in that improbable setting: in the midst of a Spanish club, in the middle of their secret operation, when the last time he knew her location for sure was in a suit of armor in Boise, popping out of existence with an Icon. She felt so utterly exposed, more than she thought she would. Fearfully she slipped tighter against Zac, hiding herself behind him. He stood taller—if that was possible—shielding her as inconspicuously as possible.

  But she couldn’t stop peeking. Looking around his midsection furtively, like looking around a tree.

  Drake held one hand to his ear, obviously speaking into an earpiece, alternately listening and moving his lips in what was clearly a shout. He was handsome, probably close enough to the right age to be in there without attracting too much attention under other circumstances, but with his plain suit and standing there yelling into an earpiece he was a complete sore thumb. If he was trying to be undercover he was doing a terrible job. Jess had to admit the conditions were strained, but come on.

  Surely they could do better.

  Nani was listening to the Project’s channel; Jess had the idea to check the tablet to see what Drake was saying. She pulled it from the purse and thumbed it on. There were, in fact, updates, posted by Nani just moments ago. The Project agents had spotted Lorenzo and company arriving in sports cars and entering through the back entrance. Drake then relayed what he was seeing from inside, which Nani in turn relayed to the tablet, and as Jess glanced back and forth between the straining, concentrating Drake, able to know what he was saying as he said it, right there on her Kel tablet, she felt a little smile turn the corners of her mouth. Not only did she and Zac have the upper hand in terms of physical force, they had the upper hand in terms of situational awareness. They knew more of what was going on than the Project did, and when it came time to act the Project would be left empty-handed.

  She watched Drake trying to hear. Pushing the earpiece to his ear ever harder. Lorenzo had to notice.

  Then, suddenly, Drake turned in her direction. Covered his free ear with his other hand, so obvious now it was almost painful to watch and … was suddenly looking right at her. He hadn’t seen her yet, hadn’t focused, but his eyes, randomly, were right on her.

  And she realized she shouldn’t be staring. She shouldn’t be looking back. Now was the time to look away. Head pee
ring stupidly around Zac, rest of her hiding behind him, staring right at Drake like playing hide-and-seek—like she’d somehow forgotten what the hell she was doing—which apparently she had—Drake right there in easy view …

  She’d blown it.

  He focused all at once and she realized it was too late to do anything but stand there and hope for the best, hope she got lucky. Otherwise he would surely see her ducking to hide …

  But luck was not on her side.

  He saw her.

  CHAPTER 31: THE SUMMIT

  Osaka sprawled within its walled confines, dark buildings crowding against the tall barriers at every edge, casting long shadows beneath the rising sun. Outside the walls stood a vast emptiness. The expansive plain surrounding the city did not even have trees, for as far as the eye could see.

  Lindin watched from the windows of a large command ‘thopter, taking it all in as they banked above the land of their—possibly former—enemies. The waterborne carrier on which they’d arrived, part of a military escort that was as much ceremony as it was function, had anchored with the fleet off the coast of Dominion lands, releasing a swarm of the Venatres ornithopters with their dignitaries and leaders, which now flew along the major waterway leading to the city itself.

  Osaka.

  Lindin looked ahead to their destination. The wings of the giant flying machine beat the air with a titanic whump, the shielded walls of the executive cabin unable to block the tremendous noise utterly. This was a large, heavy beast, and it took a lot of mechanical action to hold it aloft.

  Lindin rode with the president and several of the Venatres top brass. Not all Venatres leaders had come, certainly, but enough were among the convoy that a Dominion trap at this point would be quite damaging. But none expected the Dominion were laying a trap. The Dominion had issues of their own, their entire leadership gutted—not once but twice in the past half-year—and Yamoto, whom the Venatres came to see, was all that was left of that original hierarchy. The Dominion were hurting. A summit, with new agreements, concessions and understandings was, in truth, needed by them far more than it was the Venatres.

  Soon the ‘thopter was curving down, angling toward the aerodrome at the city center. The two tallest spires, Vivitak and the Tower of Light, jutted high into the air, several dozen floors higher than the next nearest skyscraper, the aerodrome waiting to receive them just outside the inner compound. Perched on a massive landing pad near the top of the Tower of Light was one of the Dominion airships, one of the few left at the moment, after Kang flew most of them across the ocean for his ill-fated attack on Venatres lands.

  Lindin knew the Dominion were relieved to be rid of their invincible ruler. Even those refusing to obey orders, those generals staging a coup back in Midbay—yet one more element of decay facing Yamoto—were glad Kang was gone. When the beast disappeared with Zac there was a collective sigh of relief across the globe.

  For a difficult moment Lindin fought a barely suppressed rage, inflamed at the thought of what happened with the Icon and, most critically, the starship. But he could not afford to continue to be consumed with it. Not now. Not here. Before them lay opportunity. For now he must hold it aside in his thoughts.

  Much could be gained from an alliance with the Dominion.

  As they curved around the tall buildings he watched the large airship perched atop its pad until it was out of sight, seeing it from many angles as they passed behind, around at a near distance and below. The Dominion airships were yet another advanced technology the Venatres had been unable to replicate. And yet, in many ways the Venatres were more advanced than the Dominion. The Dominion had a mad-scientist streak running through them, with more than a few examples of advances that did not fall in line with the rest of their knowledge. Subsequently many of those things had become mysterious or arcane—though they themselves had invented them. The airships. Plasma cannons of unparalleled power. Raza energy to tame the mighty Kazerai.

  The Kazerai themselves.

  Now they’d lost all their Kazerai, and nearly wasted all their airships. And their greatest treasure, the Holy Icon itself …

  That Lindin had. And they knew it.

  He wondered how important it still was to them. Wondered if it would be part of the discussions later that day. Surely it would become the topic of some discussion. He doubted, however, if it would be put on the table right away.

  If things went well, however, that conversation might be one to welcome rather than dread. How far might an alliance go? After so many decades of so much conflict, how easily could they wipe the slate clean? Ideologically there were differences. Big differences. But there were also many things over which to come together. Could this truly be the dawn of a unified world?

  Perhaps, in that place and at that time, an alliance might actually herald great things. Monumental things.

  As they landed and the heavy wings began winding down Lindin imagined how the Dominion technology and their own might be blended.

  How, perhaps, Anitra might, eventually, become one world, united in a greater cause.

  * *

  Hours later the sinking feeling of discovery had finally passed. Drake definitely ID’d her, there was nothing he could do and, thanks to Nani, Jess knew it. She’d been checking the tablet feeds and knew that, in fact, the agents were talking about her and, if anything, her unexpected presence was throwing an extra layer of stress into the mix. A big layer. They’d been poised to kidnap one person on foreign soil and now here was a second, unaccounted for—a target of extreme opportunity—Jessica Paquin, teenager from Boise, whom they wanted just as badly and ...

  What to do?

  And so they’d begun working feverishly to incorporate her into their plans, having no idea their harried conversations were being tapped; no idea Jess knew what they were up to. In fact, she wasn't even sure they knew she’d seen them. It was quite possible they didn’t. When Drake first spotted her she looked away casually—even as her blood chilled—and yet it didn’t appear he realized she, in turn, knew who he was. And why would she? The possibility had not, apparently, crossed his mind. It was looking more and more likely that her furtive glances in his direction had gone unnoticed.

  Of course, the fact that she was there at all, an uncanny “coincidence” that flew in the face of chance, must’ve tipped him somehow, even if he wasn’t saying so to his partners. He had to be suspicious. After being at the top of their Most Wanted list Drake must realize there was no way Jess could just happen to be at the same club—all the way over in Europe, no less—that the Project was staking out. Therefore, she concluded, whether it looked like it or not they must suspect her. More than that, they had to be a little afraid. Right? She would be. If Jess did know what they were up to, which was the only logical explanation—unless they thought her somehow connected to the Bok, which would bring its own sets of confusions—if she did know then why did she willingly put herself directly in the middle of their operation? They’d come after her once, back in Boise, and she, one girl, faced with an onslaught of well-armed, well-funded agents had, essentially, handed them their asses. Weren’t they just a little afraid to find her there now, smack in the middle of their operation? Right as they were about to make their move? Was she about to snatch their prize again? This time with no suit of powered armor, just a little black dress and a fancy purse. How could she possibly?

  If they only knew.

  She stared up at Zac. He stood tall beside her, sipping a coke. She held her own ice-filled glass, moist with condensation. Like the glass she was sweating, flush with the exertion of dancing.

  She leaned back and put her elbows on the bar.

  Since Drake’s discovery she’d been trying desperately to push herself into the role of club rat, to blend thoroughly, hang with Zac and pretend to be there for the music, the DJ, the drinks, the experience—anything but what really brought them. Anything to make them appear completely natural. In order to do that the only thing she could think of was to
dance. The exact thing she did not want to do, had not wanted to do from the moment she knew they were coming to a club and, though she was nervous and embarrassed—so embarrassed—she made herself get out there. Filled with dread she dragged Zac to a spot on the floor and …

  Danced.

  On top of everything else; the fear of being discovered, the sheer magnitude of what they were there to pull off, the desperate need to blend in, the self-conscious uncertainty of actually dancing … she couldn’t have imagined a more agonizing mix of emotions. Shy terror? Embarrassed fear? It was nearly too much. Once she began letting go, however, once the initial awkwardness eased … much to her surprise it got easier, came more naturally until … it started to be fun. Now, after hours on and off the floor she’d been dancing with abandon, working up a healthy sweat and feeling, in a word, awesome. In fact the dancing actually helped ease the other, darker emotions and she was, incredibly, having a great time. There was nothing else to be done until the critical moment came and so, as always, if it was time to have fun, then, why not have fun? By then she was fully in character; a girl and her boyfriend out at the club and nothing more. So what if Drake knew she was there? It didn’t matter. Not even a little.

  And so she danced.

  Before tonight she never really had. Definitely not like this; not at a club, not with a boy. Gymnastics, tricking, ballet when she was little, even martial arts … she knew how to move, especially structured movements, it just felt embarrassing to let go. Once she did, however, it turned out she was good. Zac too. He was a great mimic and super coordinated. Of course he would be. He did what the others did and more. Even some cool original moves. Watching those around them, following Jessica’s lead, and together they’d been dancing the whole night, making stuff up, even jumping around, which was hillarious and fun, getting more and more creative, totally getting into it and having a blast. At first small, simple movements, awkward expressions and knotted nerves, those turning eventually to goofy smiles and the occasional laugh, then gut-busting laughter at each ridiculous, increasingly exaggerated, sometimes silly move, all of it gradually becoming more …