Black Onyx

by Victor Methos

  23

  El Sacerdote sat in the back of the rented Cadillac in a white suit and watched the Hawaiian countryside. Lush greens and reds and yellows broken with the fragmented red rocks and pineapple fields. He cared nothing for it. Any beauty in nature was lost on him.

  Miguel sat in the passenger seat as Ramon drove. Another car of four men was behind them as they drove up the winding streets, the road enclosed with palm trees. Few other cars were out this evening as the sun was setting and they headed toward the docks. He could see ships coming and going and he watched them passively.

  “El Padrino,” Ramon said, “maybe you should stay in the hotel? It’s not too late.”

  “No, I want to be here. I’ve known Nicolas for twenty years. He won’t do business with anyone else.”

  “I don’t like this,” Ramon said. “You’re out in the open.”

  He shrugged. “So what? What can they do Ramon? Arrest me? Do you know how much we pay for the judges and prosecutors? Evidence will be lost, my lawyers will win motions they shouldn’t…I have no fear. The hypocrisy of the system guarantees it.”

  The docks weren’t crowded. They passed the yachts and pleasure boats and got to the pier. The ship, a mid-sized cargo vessel, was already there. El Sacerdote waited until his door was opened before stepping outside. He walked to the front of the car and put his hands behind his back and waited.

  Miguel was behind him, looking around nervously, and Ramon was on the other side, his fingers on the handle of his weapon.

  “You seem nervous, Miguel,” El Sacerdote said.

  “No, El Padrino. I’m just nervous for you. I don’t like you risking yourself like this.”

  “Nicolas would never betray me. We have an understanding.”

  It was only a few moments before they could see the black Mercedes coming up the road and parking in front of them. A man in a black suit and shirt got out of the back, two other men with him. El Sacerdote walked to him and they embraced.

  “It’s been too long, Sebastian,” the man said. “How have you been?”

  “I have the world by the balls and it doesn’t know it.”

  Nicolas smiled. “The shipment’s here. Do you want to see the sample?”

  “Yes.”

  They walked to the trunk of the black Mercedes. Nicolas opened it. Inside were a plethora of firearms. Handguns, assault rifles, shotguns, laser scopes, infrared and hollow point ammunition.

  “Hard plastic shell,” Nicolas said, lifting one of the assault rifles and tapping it. “Won’t set off even the most sensitive metal detectors.”

  “What about the ammunition?”

  “Made from a Kevlar and glass mesh. The tips have a small sliver of razor, not enough to set off the detectors. The round slides into the body and the mesh shatters into pieces. Not quite the impact of a traditional round, but I’d say probably more deadly if you hit in the center of the body.”

  “Amazing. You’ve outdone yourself.”

  “I’m glad you’re pleased. I have the order on the packing slip, you can look it over if you like.”

  “No, I trust you. My men should be here with the ships in the next few hours. They’ll transfer everything to the mainland.”

  “California?”

  He nodded.

  “You have someone picking them up there?”

  “Yes, a shipping company we’ve secured. From there they’re going to Canada.”

  “Really? I didn’t think there was much of a market for it there.”

  “The difference between a millionaire and a billionaire, Nicolas, is that the millionaire finds a market while the billionaire creates one. I’ll sell everything in Canada and they will begin to trickle into the United States. When the demand begins to rise, we’ll begin with more shipments here.”

  “Not enough profit in narcotics?”

  “Plenty of profit, but that’s not what this is.” He picked up one of the assault rifles. “More people die from small arms than all of the nuclear and chemical and biological bombs in history. This,” he said, holding up the weapon, “this is the weapon of mass destruction. And I will put them in the hands of every crazy thug that has a few dollars. If you want chaos, you do it in small steps. Revolutions are done gradually over time.”

  Nicolas shook his head. “Once you buy it, you do what you want with it. But I would recommend—”

  “Shh,” he said, holding up his finger.

  “What is it?”

  “Quiet…we’re being watched.”

  Nicolas looked around. He could hear it now. The sound of boots in the distance, surrounding them.

  El Sacerdote grabbed a box of ammunition and began loading the plastic TAR 21, one of the deadliest assault rifles in the world. Of Israeli design, now that it was made of a hard plastic shell, it felt as light as a toy in his hands. Nicolas began loading them as well and passing them to his men. He threw several of them over to Miguel and Ramon and the men from the other car that were running over.

  “Make sure your weapons are ready. They haven’t been fired before,” El Sacerdote said.

  “What’s happened?” Ramon said.

  “Someone has betrayed me.” His eyes scanned his men. They were staring at him in confusion, gripping the TAR 21’s tightly. All except Miguel who was looking at the ground, a sheen of sweat on his brow. El Sacerdote walked to him and placed the barrel of the TAR 21 against his head.

  “El Padrino, please. I have children.”

  “What did they give you, Miguel? What did they give you to betray the man who took you into his home, who gave you money to feed your family, who flew your children to the best hospitals when they were sick. What did they give you?”

  Miguel was crying now. “I didn’t tell them nothing, Padrino. Nothing.”

  “How long have you been talking with them?”

  He was crying so badly now he was unresponsive. “Please, please…”

  El Sacerdote lowered his weapon. “I’m not going to kill you, Miguel.”

  He looked up, wiping his eyes. “No?”

  “No.”

  “I never give them nothing, Padrino. Nothing. I work hard for you. I work without pay. You are a saint. You are a saint, Padrino.”

  “Ramon, I’m not going to kill him. But you can shoot him in the face if you like.”

  Miguel screamed as Ramon aimed the assault rifle at his head. Before he could pull the trigger, men were shouting around them.

  “Don’t move!”

  Uproar and screaming orders filled the space around them as police and DEA agents swarmed onto them. Miguel ran off in the confusion.

  El Sacerdote smiled and said, “I’ll get him later.” He looked to the officers surrounding them. “None live.”

  The men raised their weapons as the officers closed in, and the docks erupted in gunfire.

  24

  yossDillon had just dropped Jaime off at her house when he went home and saw that the house was dark and James was asleep. He decided to let him sleep and go out over the ocean for a while. He wanted to be alone for a few hours and just think.

  He went outside and drifted up into the air and then sped away. He saw some of the neighbors out and a few people on the beach that saw him, but he didn’t mind. It was doubtful they knew what they were looking at and news reports from Sierra Leone of robbed warlords wouldn’t reach here.

  Before long he was on the coast, drifting down the beach and watching the waves lap the shore. Some people were having drinks and a late dinner on a yacht and they began waving and cheering for him. He waved back. That would be a story to tell friends when they got back: a man in a flying suit.

  As he passed the docks, he heard something. Small pops. He looked down into the semi-darkness and could see the flashes of gunfire. Men in police uniforms and Kevlar vests that read DEA or SWAT were surrounding three cars in the middle of the road. Several men had taken up positions behind the cars. The police had shotguns and handguns and the men by the cars had weapons
he’d never seen before. They were firing at such a rapid pace the police couldn’t run away fast enough without at least a couple of rounds hitting them and knocking them off their feet.

  Dillon could see at least three officers were already down, their fellow officers trying to get to them and being shot at with every attempt.

  He flew down.

  The suit flashed downward and he slammed into the ground feet first, causing vibrations to go through the cement in every direction. The gunfire stopped. Dillon looked up and saw that they were all watching him.

  “So why are you guys shooting at police officers when there’s hundreds of good reality TV stars that are going unshot?”

  The men looked to each other and then turned their weapons on him. They opened fire. The rounds bounced off the suit, ricocheting in every direction. Dillon thrust his hands out, the magnetic field expanding dozens of feet in front of him, throwing the men on their backs and flipping over one of the cars.

  Men were firing at him from behind. He leapt into the air and landed on a black Mercedes, the tires blowing out from the weight of the suit. He flipped off and lifted the Mercedes, throwing it into the other car. The men were running and shouting in Spanish. All except one in a white suit.

  “White suit?” Dillon said. “Really? Kinda cliché isn’t it?”

  The man didn’t move as Dillon floated over to him and hovered above him. The man lifted his assault rifle and fired several rounds directly at Dillon’s head. They bounced off, one grazing the man’s shoulder. Other men ran over and helped him up and they had to pull him away.

  Dillon turned toward the officers. They were running over to the injured. Behind them a woman in a wheelchair was coming out. She spotted him and sat perfectly still. He floated over the injured and lifted one man that had been shot in the neck. He brought him over and laid him down as two other officers grabbed him and ran off toward some police cruisers.

  “Those were some bad dudes,” he said.

  “What…what the hell are you?”

  “Onyx. Onyx has nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

  “What…I mean…”

  “Shame I destroyed that Mercedes. That was an SL55.”

  “I…”

  “Woman of few words. I like that.” He began drifting higher. “Probably be pretty easy to get ’em, we are on an island.”

  He flew off, glancing back once to see the woman still staring up at him. Farther down the road, the men were at a full sprint. The one in the white suit staring up at the sky.

  25

  James Mentzer picked up some take out and called Niles to say he was going to be a little late. He left a message for him and then stopped at a local wine store and picked up a bottle of Montrachet for six hundred dollars. Worth it, he thought. Besides, he’d spoken to Dillon yesterday and George and Henry had accepted the buyout. They were millionaires, all of them, and though the jewels were technically stolen, taking from warlords and slavers wasn’t exactly an immoral deed.

  He drove down the interstate and got off on his exit. The beach was empty as night had fallen. He turned on the local talk-radio station and they were discussing the weapons smugglers that had been arrested yesterday. Apparently a shootout had occurred but had been stopped by a man in a bulletproof suit. James shook his head. He was glad Dillon had told him about it rather than his finding out on the news. Still, it was too much. This suit was dangerous. At some point, after things had settled down and the excitement of a new toy had worn off, he would convince Dillon to sell it. They were not equipped to deal with it.

  He pulled into his driveway and saw Niles’ BMW. Taking the food, he went and opened the unlocked door and stepped inside. What he saw made him drop the food, his heart nearly jumping into his throat.

  Niles was strapped to a chair, his face bloodied and bruised. Several men sat around him. There was one in a white suit who smiled at him.

  “Hello,” he said. He pulled out a pistol from his waistband and shot Niles’ knee, fragments of ligament and bone flying in every direction. Niles screamed.

  “Stop!” James said. “Who the bloody hell are you?”

  “I am a man in need of something, Mr. Mentzer. A suit, that apparently, your son seems to have. Please, sit down.”

  James sat. “You can have the suit, please let him go.”

  “Very nice of you. Where is it right now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  El Sacerdote pointed the weapon at Niles’ other knee.

  “No! Don’t, please. I really don’t know. He should be here soon.”

  “I see,” he said, holding the pistol up. “Well, I can wait.”

  “What do you want with it?”

  “Do you have to ask?”

  “You can’t do anything with it but study it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “No one can use it except Dillon. It won’t take anyone else.”

  He tapped the barrel against his temple. “Really? That is disappointing. Well, I suppose then that neither of you are any use to me.” He pointed the pistol at Niles’ head.

  “No! Wait. You can’t use that suit but I know where you can get another one.”

  He lowered the pistol. “There’s more than one?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see them.”

  “But your son did, didn’t he? Niles here has been kind enough to inform us of your trip to Antarctica. Under a little persuasion of course. Isn’t that correct, Niles?”

  Niles began to cry.

  “He’s not in the mood for talking I guess.”

  El Sacerdote stood. “Looks like we’ll be spending some more time together, Mr. Mentzer.”

  26

  Dillon played in the African savannah before exploring Nairobi. He flew to the top of the tallest building, exhausted, and lay down on the soft black roofing. He had a date tonight with Jaime and he wanted to be sharp and rested. Lying on his back, he closed his eyes and slept.

  After waking and flying home, he showered and dressed and tucked the suit away in the garage before picking up Jaime in his car.

  They ate and watched a movie and then took a long walk on the beach. He spent the night at her house after an evening of drinking and talking. She wouldn’t sleep with him, but it didn’t matter. He just lay in bed with her and smelled her hair and had such butterflies in his stomach he couldn’t sleep.

  They spent the next day together. He called James once to check in with him and it went to voicemail.

  When the day was done, he drove her home and dropped Jaime off in front of her house. She kissed him again and he nearly blushed. He had wanted it for so long, now that he had it, it felt surreal.

  “Hey, so who were those guys?” she said.

  “What guys?”

  “Some guys came by the day before yesterday asking about you.”

  “Like who?”

  “I don’t know. They had Spanish accents. They said they were friends of yours. My mom told them you lived next door.”

  “Friends?”

  “Weird right? You don’t have any friends.”

  He pinched her. “Funny.”

  “Yeah, it is.” She kissed him again and got out of the car. “Surfing tomorrow?”

  “Sure. Wake me up.”

  He pulled out and then into his own driveway. Both James’ and Niles’ cars were already parked there. Which was odd because James hated parking outside. He thought it affected the paint job. Dillon got out and went inside. The house was empty.

  “James, you home?”

  He was about to run up to his room when he saw that one of the kitchen chairs was in the front room. Dillon walked to it. Duct tape was on it and underneath the chair was a stain. He touched it. It was still wet. Bringing up his fingertips, he could see that it was blood.

  He jumped up and ran to Jaime’s house.

  “What guys?” he said by way of greeting.

  “What
?” she said.

  “The guys that were asking about me. Who where they? What were they driving?”

  “I don’t know, a…some Beamers I think. Nice cars.”

  “What did they look like?”

  “Mexican, I think. One of them had a white suit. One had a—”

  “A white suit? With a light blue shirt underneath?”

  “Yeah. Dillon, what’s going on? You’re scaring me.”

  He leaned against the doorframe. It felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. “How’d they find me?” he said to himself. “Someone said something…the cops. How’d they do it though…” He looked around to his neighbors. He wondered if someone had told the police or the press about what they’d seen.

  “Dillon—”

  “I have to go.”

  “Where you going?” she shouted after him.

  But it was too late. He ran into his garage and within a few seconds was tearing through the air.

  27

  Dillon scanned the entire island. He felt in his gut that it was the wrong approach. They wouldn’t be here. They wanted the suit. The man in white…it wasn’t shock or fear that the man had staring at him, like Dillon had thought. It was envy and curiosity. He wanted the suit…

  But if James or Niles told them he couldn’t have it. That no one could have it because it had ‘bonded’ to him, would they be crazy enough to try and find another one? He couldn’t just sit at home and hope they would turn up.

  He turned south, speeding away from the island and over the vast expanse of ocean.

  Dillon kept his arms and legs in a straight line. He had found that if he concentrated on speeding up, he would. The suit responded to his thoughts. The last time they had spoken, James told him he had researched possible substances that the suit could have been made of. The only one that made sense was dark matter.

  Theoretically, the universe was made up mostly of dark matter, a substance whose properties were almost completely unknown. Was it possible that the earth had a reserve of dark matter and that this civilization had preserved it? Harnessed it and hid it away?