by Robyn Nyx
“I expect it’s some military humor we couldn’t begin to understand,” Rayne said. They needed him to relax and sit down. She had another baggie of Rohypnol in the right cup of her bra with his name on it. “Would you show me the map again? I’d like to begin some exploratory translation of the symbols.”
“Of course.” Turner moved to the case and waited for Rich to remove his empty glass before he laid it on the table.
He pressed his fingerprint to the lock panel and slowly lifted the lid as if he were once again revealing it for the first time. Rayne reacted as she had when he’d initially revealed it to her. Clichéd, she knew, but the sight of it truly did take her breath away. She traced the edges through the glass trying to imagine what it might feel like.
“Still finding it hard to believe?” Turner asked, his fingers tracking the glass toward Rayne’s.
She withdrew her hands and put them over her mouth, trying to make it less than obvious that the thought of touching him in any way repulsed her. “It is quite unbelievable, Mr. Turner—”
“Stan. You should call me Stan.”
She gave a quick smile. “Then you should call me Rayne…I went back to my hotel after our initial meeting in something of a daze. Even though I’d seen it so closely, my brain still refused to believe it was real.” Turner was lapping up her reverence, becoming more wide-eyed with each word, so she ramped it up a notch. “I woke several times that night, certain I’d been dreaming, sure that you couldn’t possibly exist, and that it had all been a wild fantasy.” Tonyck rolled her eyes and shook her head slightly. Rayne ran her middle finger over her eyebrows slowly and looked at Tonyck long enough for her to receive the message. Turner leaned over the briefcase, his excitement obvious, but Rayne doubted it was for the map.
“I’m so glad you share my enthusiasm, Rayne.”
Rayne pointed to the map, every inch of the bark used in one way or another. An artifact like this made non-destructive carbon dating worth the extra expense over traditional carbon-14 dating. Even removing a tiny piece of the map might have affected their ability to read it accurately. “I do love the new carbon dating process,” Rayne said.
Turner took a sip of his drink, reminding Rayne she had yet to get the drug anywhere near him.
“I don’t understand why more museums aren’t trying the process. Where else do they let someone get away with an acid and an arson attack?”
Turner chuckled at his own clever humor, and Rayne felt a measure of truth in his words. How many arsons had he set to cover his tracks in the Amazon? After speaking with Chase, Rayne had spent a little time reading about illegal logging the previous night, and as she had, guilt had crept up. Why hadn’t she checked into that business before agreeing to meet him and entertain the notion of him becoming a client? Had her ethical standards slipped so low, unnoticed, that Jenny thought she wouldn’t balk at how he’d made his fortune? She’d thumbed a lengthy email to Jenny questioning the moral turpitude of the company but then deleted it. Rayne was responsible for the final decision on client suitability. She couldn’t blame Jenny or anyone else. She’d abdicated rather than delegated, and Turner had been a much-needed wake-up call. Wouldn’t Chase be proud?
“At least it proved your theory correct. Imagine spending that kind of money only to find that an artistic aboriginal kid had made it and stuffed it in a tree to fool the karaì.” Turner looked like he didn’t understand. “White people.” Rayne glanced at Rich. His eyes were beginning to look too heavy to keep open. The window to drop the drug into Turner’s drink was closing quick, and there didn’t look to be a legitimate opening coming anytime soon. She looked across to Ginn, and she nodded, beginning to move into position behind Turner. Plan B then.
Turner tutted. “You insult me if you think a witless child could ever put one over on me.” He knocked back his drink and rose from the couch, his ego obviously wounded.
“Please don’t misunderstand me, Stan. I certainly don’t lump you in the karaì category. You’ve been around them long enough that they couldn’t begin to outwit you. I have no doubt.”
Turner didn’t respond. He filled his glass and returned to his seat on the couch opposite Rayne.
“Flattery will get you everywhere.” His brow furrowed as he focused on Rich, who was now snoring like Darth Vader. “That boy can’t take his liquor. That’s why I don’t let him drink the liquid gold.” He tapped his glass. “Perhaps you’d like to tell your bodyguards to leave so we can talk about our plans in a more…relaxed atmosphere.”
His meaning was clear. Relaxed equaled naked. Rayne smiled as she saw the twins move silently to the rear of Turner. “Perhaps you’d like to go fuck yourself.”
She savored the millisecond of his confusion at her rebuke before Ginn clamped her giant hand over his mouth. She yanked him backward, and Tonyck quickly administered Plan B to a vein in Turner’s neck. He was immobile and unconscious in seconds with minimal noise or movement. Ginn slowly released him and slid him back onto the couch. Tonyck put her finger to her lips and approached the door. She checked the small screen for the corridor camera and gave a thumbs-up sign. Ginn joined her and stood to the side of the door. She pulled out her own pre-prepared needle and nodded to Rayne.
Rayne took a last sip of the rum. It’d be a shame to waste it since Turner’s pretentious claim that it was liquid elegance was irritatingly on point. It was the best she’d ever tasted. She resolved to liberate the rest of the bottle along with the map. She gave Rich a little shake to ensure he was fully unconscious before she joined the twins at the door.
“Just get him all the way in,” Tonyck whispered.
Rayne suppressed a sudden giggle that arose from nowhere. This wasn’t a situation that warranted laughter. She dismissed it as nerves. What they were in the middle of was new, and yes, exciting, but it definitely wasn’t something to giggle at. She pressed her lips together in case another bout surprised her and nodded. She opened the door. “Could you come in and check Mr. Turner? He’s had something of a turn.” Rayne stepped aside to encourage him to enter.
“What happened?” he asked, stepping into the trap. “Was he—”
He didn’t get to finish the sentence. As Rayne closed the door behind him, Tonyck stunned him with a blow to his neck. She kicked the back of his knees, and he thudded to the floor. She wrapped an arm around his thick neck and put her other hand over his mouth while Ginn plunged her needle into a small section of neck Tonyck left open. She held him as his thrashing slowly stilled. Rayne watched, impressed by their slick takedown. It took both of them to drag him over to the sofa.
“I’ll get the map,” Rayne said. She opened one of the backpacks the twins brought and pulled out another pack, smaller but the perfect size for the glass box containing the ancient bark. She moved around the twins who were busy securing their three drugged victims in para rope, and slowly lifted the airtight box from the briefcase. She couldn’t stop a wide smile. Relieving the bad guys of an ancient artifact, fighting the good fight, protecting the innocent tribespeople…now she really felt like a tomb raider.
Chapter Eleven
Chase didn’t have the vocabulary to put what she felt into words. Not adequately. Wonderstruck. Astonished. Overwhelmed. None of them perfectly described her reaction to what she was looking at. And there were so many layers to its existence in any ordinary circumstances—a piece of history possibly two and a quarter thousand years old, a map to lead them to an astonishing haul of treasure people had sought for centuries, only the fifth remaining record of Mayan language on bark.
But Chase wasn’t in any ordinary circumstance. This was a Rayne situation, and that complicated everything.
Chase resolved to parse out what was going on into smaller, more manageable chunks. Trying to juggle the situation as a whole was just too much. The approach didn’t sit well. She was used to dealing with complex scenarios with little trouble, and the last thing she wanted to appear was incompetent. She could do this. She’d been
doing this her whole career. She just had to temporarily ignore the danger and threat of violence, or worse, that sat menacingly at the back of her mind waving for attention.
The map. That was the reason Rayne wanted her there. It was, almost unbelievably, sitting before her now in a sealed case. It’d be cumbersome to lug around on their expedition, but Chase expected that the interchangeable tank twins would take turns. And as much as she disliked everything about them, after seeing them in action in Syria, Chase was begrudgingly comforted by their presence.
The feeling apparently wasn’t mutual.
“She’s dead weight, and she’s going to slow us down,” Tank Twin One grumbled.
Chase looked up from the map at her. “Could you both wear name badges? You’re like a pair of pedigree poodles, and I can’t tell the difference.”
Tank Twin One raised her eyebrows and snarled. “You wanna see this poodle throw a punch, shortstop?”
Rayne placed a hand on Tank Twin One’s shoulder. “This is Tonyck, and her slightly younger sister,” she pointed to the other one who looked amused rather than furious, “is Ginn. Tonyck has deeper frown lines on her forehead, her Special Forces tattoo is on her right shoulder, and generally she’s more serious.” Rayne removed her hand and gestured to the other one. “Ginn’s tattoo is on her left shoulder, her skin’s softer because she moisturizes daily, which Tonyck blasts her for and calls her Ginger Beer, some sort of English slang for queer. And she sports an almost perpetual grin.”
Chase didn’t want to know about Ginn’s skin. And how did Rayne know that? And why was Chase bothered that Rayne did know that? “Why are they named after a cocktail? Mean parents or your nickname for them?” Chase couldn’t stop herself from wanting to push Tonyck’s buttons. Every time they’d met, Tonyck’s reception had been less than welcoming, especially now that she realized it was Ginn who’d pulled her from the Parisian sewer. Chase didn’t understand why since she’d never done or said anything untoward to her. She’d decided to give it right back instead of wasting more time trying to analyze it. It looked like Rayne had to suppress a laugh.
“It’s a nickname they got in the military,” Rayne said. “Ginn’s full throttle approach occasionally needs watering down, and her big sister does just that.”
“Older sister,” Ginn said. “Not bigger sister.”
She flexed her bicep and Chase had it down for nineteen inches. She was over six feet tall so it didn’t look disproportionate to the rest of her, which was symmetrically sizeable. At only five foot five, Chase had decided she couldn’t train to be much bigger or her head would look like a shrunken head on a voodoo doll.
“Older and bigger,” Tonyck said.
Without getting out the measuring tape, Chase couldn’t comment either way. Tonyck may have edged it. Her long-sleeved shirt looked like it was struggling to contain her biceps, chest, and back, but she also had a bit of a belly that indicated a guilty leaning to chocolate or alcohol. Ginn’s stomach looked flat enough to iron her shirt on. That’s how she’d tell them apart from now on, but name badges still wouldn’t hurt. She uncapped a bottle of water and drank. Long-haul flights always made her super thirsty.
“Chase has an unparalleled grasp of Mayan calligraphic art and is an expert in ancient cartography,” Rayne said, relaxing back into her seat. “She’s vital to interpreting the map correctly. Animals become colors with a misplaced glottal stop. I don’t want to think I’m heading toward a yellow brick road only to discover I’m walking into a pit of snakes.”
Chase laughed and water spluttered from her mouth. Rayne offered a napkin, smiling mischievously, but Chase shook her head and wiped it away with her scarf. The knowledge in Rayne’s joke evidenced she was no airhead when it came to decoding glyphs either. Once again, Chase was struck by the injustice to most regular people that Rayne had been blessed with beauty, brains, and a kick-ass sense of humor. It simply wasn’t fair to anyone else.
“Is that the same scarf you were wearing in Syria and Paris?” Ginn asked.
Odd that she’d observed and remembered Chase’s accessories, but she nodded.
“It’s her lucky scarf,” Rayne said.
Rayne got up and approached Chase. She reached down and ran her fingers along an edge of the scarf, and her nails grazed Chase’s bare collarbone and chest. Chase clenched against the response between her legs and swallowed. It sounded like it echoed around the cabin.
“I think it makes her look like a wildly adventurous National Geographic photojournalist.”
Rayne’s words caressed her ego as delicately as her fingers had caressed Chase’s skin. Damn, she knew exactly how to rev a girl’s engine. In truth, Chase only wore it because that was exactly what Rayne had said when she’d first tried the new look. Rayne released the material and continued beyond Chase. Chase glanced over her shoulder to watch as Rayne somehow managed to walk elegantly at fifty thousand feet. If Chase tried that in heels, she’d be facedown in some fat guy’s lap. Rayne closed the cockpit door behind her.
“Best keep your focus on what you’re here for and keep your eyes off the lady boss.”
Chase knew it was Tonyck talking before she turned to meet her confrontational glare.
“I could say the same to you,” Chase said. Tonyck flushed pink and her head twitched to the side.
“My focus is the lady boss. We’re here to keep her safe from everything…and everyone.”
“Who’s going to keep her safe from you?” Chase asked. Her heart thumped against her chest, and she was sure even the captain would hear it. Chase hated confrontation but wasn’t afraid of it. Even if its source had about forty pounds of muscle and six inches of height over her.
Tonyck moved to rise from her seat, but Ginn put her arm across her chest and grinned. “I like you. You’ve got some cajones for a little guy.”
“Thanks?” Chase said, unsure as to why Ginn had called her a guy. But she’d take that over constantly butting heads with a walking wall. Tonyck still glared so Chase looked away, happy to let her continue to bore holes of fire into Chase’s skull. As long as Tonyck had Rayne’s back, she could act like a belligerent butch as much as she liked.
* * *
The approach to the Manaus landing strip roused mixed feelings. Chase couldn’t wait to suck in lungfuls of non-conditioned air, though the temperature would probably be high enough that each breath would coat her throat with heat. On the other hand, the capital of Amazonas was a study in opposites, a dichotomy of privilege and poverty. Cruise ships moored to a side of the city where brightly colored high-rises and status symbol buildings such as their opera house abounded. But the vista changed where Manaus met the rain forest, where stilted houses crushed together on softly rising hills, their fasciae a palette of weather-beaten, pale, pastel panels. It angered Chase that the look had been appropriated for the shabby chic look in fashionable restaurants and bars across the US, ignorant of the poverty from which it came. This wasn’t an unusual sight in South America, hell, the world over.
Chase had seen it on many expeditions, but its impact pressed heavy on her heart wherever she went. If they found the Golden Trinity, the people in these slums could benefit and finally have the life they’d come here for. If their government used the vast income to provide better, safer housing. It was a big if. Chase rested her forehead on the small window. She stared beyond the harsh orange glow of the city lights into the comforting darkness of the rain forest.
The epic task before them suddenly weighed on her chest. Turner had told Rayne where he’d found the map. She and Rayne had studied it before they left SFO to get a rough idea of where it referred to. From that, the destination airport was Tabatinga, via Manaus. Chase was as certain as she could be that the top right corner of the map correlated to where the Itaquai met the Ituí River. The possibility that she could have made a mistake sat at the forefront of her mind. Could she afford to ignore it? They’d checked, doubled-checked, and checked again. The positioning made sense in rela
tion to where the map had been hidden, south of Atalaía where Turner planned to decimate newly available areas of rain forest for profit.
Chase had done some digging while she waited for word from Rayne that she’d secured the map, and what she’d discovered had blown away the lingering doubts about joining Rayne’s crazy quest. She recalled the images of a small previously uncontacted tribe that had left her in tears. Their butchered bodies, mutilated by machetes, left distorted and displayed as a warning not to get in the way of the karaí. White men were claiming this land as their own and had no compunction about slaying whoever stood in their way, much the same as they had done in North America. A single bow lay clutched in the hand of the only adult male of the six dead. An arrow as long as the bow itself lay impotent beside him. It had been no match for the savage attack that had befallen them.
The location where the gruesome tableau was found was too close to where Turner had felled the tree that yielded the map to be coincidental. And this was simply a taster of how far they’d go to make their fortune. Chase still had so many concerns if they actually found the Golden Trinity. Would Rayne betray her again? Had Rayne realized she needed Chase once she’d seen the map? Was that the ruse behind her sudden bout of morality?
She parked all her worries to concentrate on deciphering the map. She had a chance to stand between genocide and greed. Even in school, she’d never been one to look the other way when the resident bully victimized the weaker kids. Getting a beating when she stepped in to help a woman in a bar fight hadn’t diminished her drive to defend people unable to protect themselves either. This was no different. More dangerous, sure. Potentially fatal, accepted. But she couldn’t and wouldn’t stay at home when she knew she could help.