Cyrus was here in Matamoros. If she hurried, she could leave a message for Tan at the rendezvous shop and be back at the kitchens before anybody missed her.
❖
Cyrus looked out across the plaza into their upturned faces. They were at least several thousand strong in this one seaside city. He was The Prophet, their modern miracle. They didn’t even realize that when they looked at him, they saw the face of The One. It didn’t matter. They were his army and his greatest weapon. A virus among The Collective, they were spreading his words to their families, friends, and coworkers, who then infected their connections. Their belief, their trust in him would be the sword that would slay The Collective dragon.
Chapter Seventeen
“I’m Xavier, regional quartermaster. I have a request from The World Council to meet with you. How can I help?”
Furcho bowed very slightly and held out his hand. Cautionary flags already were waving. He’d known men like Xavier, slick in appearance and with moves so smooth you’d never feel the knife sliding into your back until it pierced your vital organs. But that was why Alyssa had insisted they fly Uri to Brasília. They wouldn’t have to depend on Furcho’s impressions. Uri was an empath and could discern deceit. So he relaxed and concentrated on his job, which was to keep them safe.
“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. I’m Furcho.” He gestured to the three behind him. “These are my colleagues—Diego, Raven, and Uri. We’re part of a special task force appointed to secure our shipping routes. It seems a number of shipments are not reaching their rural destinations, and we’ve been sent to trace some delays at this specific warehouse.”
“Ah, yes. Please come with me. I think I can explain the problem.”
They followed him inside the warehouse. Transports were backed up to the loading docks, and workers moved up and down the warehouse aisles to check numbers on their d-tablets against crate labels, dodging flats being airlifted to the transports.
“It’s very busy today,” Raven said. “There was no activity or workers when I visited several days ago.”
Xavier held up his finger to forestall her as a foreman brought a d-tablet for him to review. After a moment, Xavier signed his approval on the tablet and the man left.
“I’m sorry. It is busy. We’ve had shipments backing up for weeks now because we’ve had several transports hijacked en route to their outlying destinations.”
Diego frowned. “We have no reports of hijacking.”
“No, there wouldn’t be.” Xavier smiled indulgently. “If we’d filed a report with the peacekeepers, it would’ve been on the d-news and everyone would know the shipments were unprotected.”
“The shipments haven’t needed protection in the past,” Raven said.
“Crops weren’t failing, and people weren’t hungry then,” Xavier said.
“But you’re filling transports for shipping today,” Furcho said.
“Yes. We’ve had several warehouse positions open here that won’t be filled, and I’ve asked each of the rural centers to sacrifice the salary of one position if they have one open now or when they have one come open in the future. The credits are being pooled to pay for extra security.”
“What kind of security?” Diego asked.
“We don’t want the details to be public knowledge. If you’ll come into the office, however, I can be more specific.” Xavier stepped back and motioned for them to precede him.
The office was spacious enough for the three quartermasters who shared it on rotating shifts, but it felt stifling with five adults packed in among the three desks and various electronic records equipment. The oily stink of whatever Xavier used to slick back his dark hair made Furcho want to hold his breath. One of the things he loved about Nicole was her clean, light scent. He’d hoped Alyssa would send her to Brasília, but Nicole was in bed with the flu that was sweeping the dragon-horse-army camp. He hated being away when she was sick.
“Can I offer anyone something to drink?” Xavier asked.
Furcho started to say no, then changed his mind. “I wouldn’t mind a bottle of water, if you have one,” Furcho said.
The others declined, and when Xavier turned to a cold storage tucked into the corner of the office to get the water, Furcho shot Uri a questioning look. Uri’s brow furrowed and he waggled his hand, signaling that he had no clear impression yet.
Xavier handed Furcho the water and stroked his goatee. “Where were we?”
“You were going to explain your security measures,” Diego said.
“Ah, yes. Well, we’ve equipped each transport with a concealed camera that can be activated by either the driver or the guard we’re hiring to ride along. Anyone who attacks will be caught on a live feed, so even if they smash the camera, we’ll have the recording here.”
“They could wear masks.”
“They haven’t so far. That’s another reason this information shouldn’t go out to the public. They’ll figure it out after we catch a few, but it will work for a while.”
“These security guards. How do you expect them to stop the hijackers? You know as well as I do that it’s illegal for them to carry arms. Only peacekeepers are allowed to use stun weapons.”
“They’re all trained in martial arts and hand-to-hand combat. The hijackers are villagers, armed with staffs or, at worst, a jungle machete. Our guards will be armed with the same. Only instead of a machete, they could be carrying a rapier or some other sword. Fair is fair, and those aren’t illegal to own.”
“Not if you’re a licensed collector, but collectors don’t take jobs as security guards and carry their prized swords around strapped to their hips,” Diego said.
“Would you prefer that we just hand over the shipments?”
“If you’re shipping the food for proper distribution, I don’t understand the need for theft. Everyone would get sufficient rations.”
Xavier shrugged. “People are greedy. They want more than standard rations.”
Furcho finished his water and placed the empty bottle on the desk. “At any rate, it seems that you have things moving again here. Perhaps we should report your solution back to The World Council so they might consider implementing it in other problem areas.” He nodded to Xavier. “We won’t detain you further. Thank you for making time for us.”
Xavier watched them file out of the office behind Furcho, then went to the window to make sure they got into their transport and left. He went to a bank of d-screens and activated one that showed the interior of the office, then backtracked the video to show the silent exchange between Furcho and Uri while he was getting the bottle of water.
Juan, who was quickly becoming Xavier’s right-hand man, came through the door. “How’d it go, Boss? Do you think they bought it?”
“No. I think our source was right. The big man with the Advocate tattoo is an empath. He knew I wasn’t telling the truth. He wasn’t sure out in the warehouse, because everything I said was partially true. But he’s probably telling them now that I was lying about the guards not being armed.” He watched the vid again of them standing in the office. “I’m afraid they’re going to have a terrible accident today. It’s unfortunate. The woman is quite attractive.”
❖
The four of them were quiet as they climbed into the automated multi-passenger taxi. Furcho tapped in the route to the central bus station in the center of town and settled into his seat.
Nobody would discuss what they’d seen until they were safely secluded and scanned for listening devices that could have been planted on them while they were in the warehouse.
They’d stayed a few nights in the home of a local contact until their host’s wife became visibly nervous. It didn’t matter why she was nervous, whether it was for her safety or because she’d sold them out, but Diego found new quarters for them each night until Tan’s friends in San Pedro hooked them up with the local Brasília network, who’d finessed extracting the kidnapped doctor from the men Xavier paid to “dispose” of him
and provided refuge for The Guard at their underground quarters.
Still, they were followed each time they ventured out and were careful to make a series of transportation changes, splitting up midway, before they met back at the network. Today, they would separate when they reached the bus station, and each pair would wander around the city, lunch, dawdle, and then slip into the network’s underground at two different entry points.
They were lost in their own thoughts when Uri turned in his seat to peer through the rear window. “Something’s wrong,” he said.
Furcho scanned ahead. Nothing suspicious. “Diego?”
Diego sat forward. “This isn’t the route we took before.”
“My window won’t open,” Raven said, pressing the control several times.
The transport turned down a narrow alley between buildings three- and four-stories high. It slowed to a stop, but the door safety locks failed to disengage. As though he’d anticipated it, Diego already was ripping into the door panel with his knife.
“We need to get out,” Uri yelled, kicking the windshield with both of his large, booted feet. It popped out in one piece onto the street at the same time Diego’s blade disengaged the lock on his door.
“Get out, get out and run,” Uri shouted.
Diego and Raven scrambled out of his opened door. Uri grabbed Furcho’s shirt and literally threw him through the opening where the windshield had been. It was a tight squeeze for the big man to follow and his belt hung up on something.
Furcho reached for Uri. Damn, he hated being on the ground. He fought from the sky. If only he could summon Azar in the daytime.
“No, no,” Uri shouted, swinging his arms to fend Furcho off. “Get away.”
Furcho grabbed Uri’s arm and held tight. “Raven.”
“Got it.”
She grabbed his other arm and braced her foot against the transport as Diego slid his knife under Uri’s belt and cut it. Uri kicked and they pulled. A loud crack sounded, and they were all on the ground struggling to their feet.
“Run, run,” Uri said. He looked up and pointed. “Roof.”
Why did Uri sound so far away? Roof? Was he saying run or roof? Furcho could see his lips moving, could feel Uri tugging him to his feet, but his legs felt like rubber. He could walk, just couldn’t catch his breath. Each desperate attempt to suck in air brought a sharp stabbing pain. Uri was holding him too tight and the big moose was running. Stars, the jostling hurt. Raven and Diego were running in front of them. Why were they running?
A thunderous boom threw them all to the ground, and Furcho was thankful Uri fell next to him rather than on him. The pain in his chest was red-hot, but he was getting a handle on it. He could manage if he took short, quick breaths.
Uri turned his head, sand and grit clinging to his cheek. It was too hard to talk, so Furcho curled his index finger and thumb in an okay signal. Uri started to smile and push up from the street when his brow furrowed.
“Roof.” Uri yelled again and flung himself at Furcho. Another sharp crack sounded, followed by the familiar whoosh of a fireball. The cracking must have been a couple of ribs breaking because Furcho couldn’t breathe again. He thanked The Collective when Uri groaned and rolled away. The odor of burning flesh filtered through Furcho’s pain. He needed to assess the damage and get The Guard to safety. He gritted his teeth as he rolled onto his side, and then Diego was lifting his shoulders to help him sit.
Furcho focused first on the carnage in front of him. The auto transport was a burning shell. Next to it lay a torched body and a shattered sniper rifle. Blood drenched the right side of his white shirt. That explained the pain in his chest. Diego squatted next to him, his head bowed.
“Diego?” A red mist sprayed from his mouth with the whispered word.
“Raven got him. Too late, though.” Diego looked up, his rugged features drawn. He moved aside to reveal what Furcho hadn’t yet seen.
Raven knelt next to where Uri was sprawled on his back in the street, a pool of blood seeping from under him and his unseeing eyes turned to the sun. She chanted softly as she dipped her fingers in the blood and painted a bear symbol on his forehead, the eye symbol of a medicine man on one cheek, and a rising sun on the other cheek. She gently closed his eyes as the last soft tones of her chant were drowned by the sing-song siren of the local peacekeepers arriving.
Furcho wasn’t sure which was greater, the pain from his wound or the ache in his heart. “When he…jumped…on top…of me—” Each word was a struggle as he gasped for breath.
Diego nodded, glancing away and swallowing hard, then clearing his throat and holding Furcho’s gaze again. “Just after he arrived here, Uri told me that Nicole was so upset she was too sick to come, she made him promise to bring you back safe.”
“No. She didn’t…mean this.”
“You’ll have to help her accept that,” Diego said. “He would do no less than give his life to keep his promise to her.” He glanced at Uri. “He was a good friend to her…my friend, too.”
❖
Alyssa sank back against Jael’s tall form and let her lover’s strong arms and impenetrable shields surround her.
The news of Uri’s death had shaken the entire camp. The Advocate’s easy-going, quiet manner had made him a favorite among the few children who lived there. It wasn’t unusual to see several hanging onto his broad hands, sitting on his hulking shoulders, or trailing in his wake.
A chartered aircraft had arrived in the early morning hours, carrying Uri’s body and Furcho, feverish but refusing to be left behind. Diego and Raven would arrive sometime the following night with the dragon horses. Nicole and Furcho wept together over Uri’s sacrifice, and Furcho had claimed his right to fire Uri’s pyre. He was too weak to stand, however, until he could be reunited with Azar and draw strength from their bond, so the funeral had been delayed until Tan could repair Furcho’s shoulder in surgery and the others arrived.
When Tan had returned with the details of Cyrus’s location and Kyle’s infiltration, Jael had decided to take down Cyrus, then clean up the situation in Brasília as The Natural Order began to fall apart. Now that Uri had been killed, that plan had changed. Something in Jael’s gut told her that she’d misjudged the threat in Brasília. Perhaps Cyrus was only the bark of the snarling dog. The teeth snapping at the throat of The Collective was in Brasília. The dragon-horse army—or what part wasn’t in the influenza ward—would go there first, then after Cyrus. Tan argued heatedly against it, but Jael was firm.
Everyone’s emotions were running high, and Alyssa was weary from trying to shield them out. It was a relief to have Jael shield for her, even for a few moments, but it also kept her from feeling Jael.
“Are you okay, love?” Words would have to suffice.
Jael rubbed her cheek against Alyssa’s. “I’m fine. Tan’s being a pain in the ass. Normally, I’d say it was because she’s too eager to see this end.” She paused, and Alyssa’s skin tingled at the feathery touch of Jael’s lips along her neck. “But I think it’s about getting Kyle out of the believers’ camp and safe with her again.”
Elation replaced the weariness that’d been draining Alyssa. She whirled around in Jael’s arms and searched surprised blue eyes. “Do you think they’ve bonded?”
Jael laughed. “I didn’t say that.”
“But you’re thinking that, aren’t you?”
Jael narrowed her eyes. “Are you trying to read my thoughts now, too, empath?”
Alyssa smoothed her palms up Jael’s chest, lingering over the nipples hardening under the thick T-shirt. Her breasts relatively small and very firm, Jael never wore a support band. “I don’t have to read your mind, lover. Your body always tells me what you’re thinking.”
Jael’s pupils dilated slightly and her voice dropped an octave. “What I think about Tan and Kyle isn’t what makes me throb inside.”
Alyssa cocked her head and smiled at the flush coloring Jael’s neck. She rubbed her cheek against one rigid point
under the soft cotton. “It doesn’t matter what sparks you, warrior, just who stokes your fire and gets to put it out.” She jerked her head around to grasp the nipple in her teeth and bite down gently. Jael hissed at the pleasurable pain. “Because that job belongs to me.”
Jael cupped her face. “I belong to you.” Her lips were gentle but her tongue hot and thorough.
Alyssa’s belly did a slow, tingling roll, and she pressed her hips into Jael’s. Stars, this woman was everything to her—the air she breathed, the very blood that surged through her heart and made it beat. “What were we talking about?”
Jael smiled. “Tan and Kyle.”
“Oh, yeah.” Alyssa sighed and stepped back. Would there be a day when she could be in Jael’s presence and not need to touch her? Sun, she hoped not. But it would be nice to at least stay on track once in a while. “Well, I know you wouldn’t probe Tan’s thoughts without her permission, but feelings don’t work that way. I can’t help but pick up on hers. She’s an emotional whirlwind.”
“A whirlwind?”
“When Kyle comes up, she radiates so much. She’s protective, possessive, even tender. Yet I still read a bit tentative.”
Jael shook her head. “Tan finds it very hard to trust.”
“Someone hurt her before?”
“Not that I know of. It’s more like she doesn’t trust that she’s worthy of anyone’s love. I think she punishes herself for something that happened in a past life.”
The pieces of the puzzle that was Tan began to click into place. She’d seen the damage Anya had done. Alyssa had gone back to the headquarters the morning before Tan and Kyle departed and heard the water running in the common bathroom. The door was partly open, so she worried that a showerhead they’d had trouble with might have broken again. But when she started to push past the door, what she saw made her stop. Tan stood at the sink, bare from the waist up. Second was carefully cleaning blood-crusted lashes marring Tan’s beautiful shoulders and back. She quietly backed away, leaving Tan’s privacy intact. “Oh, Jael. That’s why she lets that dominatrix abuse her.”
Tracker and the Spy Page 23