by Ally Shields
“Louvre Break-In Baffles Police,” he read. “Jermon may have been in Paris.”
She tapped a few keys and pulled up the online version of the newspaper on her computer.
“Got it. What was taken? More obsidian?” She answered her own question before he could respond. “Minor artifacts. Hmm, that could be anything. I don’t suppose they’d tell me if I called…but they might tell the CIA. I’d thought about talking with Agent Crain anyway, but I’d like your opinion first.”
“On what?”
She heard the change in his voice. Whenever she talked about Crain, he got a little tense. She’d put herself at risk a few too many times for Seth to be entirely comfortable with her CIA work.
“How to protect the portals.” She explained her idea before he jumped to the conclusion she’d be in the line of fire…once again. “I mentioned it to Barrott. He’s thinking over how to make it work, but I admit he wasn’t enthusiastic.”
“I bet not. Guns and human mercenaries, huh? If you can keep them outside so there’s limited risk of them seeing things they shouldn’t, you’ve got my vote. But don’t expect the king or Brunic to approve.”
“Yeah, probably not…if we ask. But this isn’t Elvenrude.” She let the suggestion hang.
“Risky to walk that fine line,” he said. “But my guild master would agree with you. Henre wanted to arm our guards with guns six months ago. Under normal circumstances I’d defer to the king’s scruples, but we can’t risk our people being murdered. Talk with Crain. But don’t promise him something we’ll both regret.”
Kam smothered a half laugh. “I’ve been better about that, haven’t I? He hasn’t played the favor-for-favor game in a while.”
“Try not to get it started again.”
They talked several minutes, discussing the best time to bring in paramilitary reinforcements. The longer the humans were there, the more likely they’d discover the elves’ true identity.
“So we wait until the last minute,” she said. “Even more reason to step up our efforts to identify the obsidian thefts, the rebels’ activities in Elvenrude, and any other signs of Jermon’s progress. I’ll get in touch with Crain this morning. Have you talked with Rhyden yet? He’s back and left here a while ago.”
“Haven’t seen him, but I expect we’ll meet with Merik before noon. I don’t know how long it will take, but you know how to reach me if something comes up here.”
Kam shot a furtive glance toward the conference table as she disconnected. At least her sister was immersed in reading reports and not asking questions. Esty hadn’t been told the Elvenrude search for the rebels was proceeding without her, or that Rhyden would be working with Seth and Merik rather than helping her. She wouldn’t be happy, and Kam and Seth thought it would be easier to present the situation as a done deal. She’d wait another hour before breaking the news.
She punched in the number for Agent Crain. As expected, his message service answered. Since the local terrorist gangs had been busted last summer, his regular CIA duties pulled him away from New Orleans most of the time. Just what those duties were she wasn’t sure. And she didn’t ask. Occasionally she and Seth took on a mission for him, when it took their special skills to complete something vital to US or world security. Usually that meant photographing secret documents or carrying information quietly to places accessible only by being invisible or by using some form of teleportation.
While she waited for his callback, she searched the French websites that might carry the Louvre story in depth. While the articles she found detailed background information on prior thefts at the museum, French authorities weren’t saying much about the incident, except they’d been alerted by a silent alarm. An unnamed source speculated the thieves had been scared off before more valuable items were taken.
Unless priceless paintings and gems weren’t what they came for.
She’d barely finished scanning the third article when Crain returned her call.
“It’s been a while,” a familiar gruff voice said. “How are things in New Orleans?”
“Good at the moment, but I’m not sure it will last.”
His voice became crisp, business-like. “It must be bad for you to call me.”
“Yeah, well, I need to hire a discreet paramilitary group. And for you to provide a cover story to minimize the questions.”
“The hell you say. What’s going on, Kam? I’m not far away. Should I come to New Orleans?”
“Nothing’s critical…yet.” She started with the part that he would relate to. “The rogues we were after last summer survived the explosion at Gormley’s building.”
“So your suspicions were founded. Are they fighting with the local gangs again?”
“No, they’re raiding museums and stealing artifacts around the world.”
“Museums? That doesn’t sound like something that requires the CIA or a paramilitary unit.”
“They’ve also taken control of a Mexican cartel. When they’ve stolen the items they need, we believe the cartel will make an armed assault on our New Orleans’ guilds. Jermon Lormarc intends a takeover of my homeland. As you can imagine, he won’t be a friendly neighbor for humanity.” They’d never actually told him about Elvenrude, but he understood enough. She took a determined breath. This next part might come under the label of too much information, but Crain had to understand the magnitude of the risks involved. “There’s more. What he’s planning could create an inter-dimensional backlash. An explosion—”
“Geez, Kam. Stop right there. This is going to take some explaining. I’ll be on the next flight I can get.”
By the time Kam disconnected, Esty stood in front of her desk. Her eyes were big. “Are you bringing the CIA into Elvenrude?”
“No, of course not.” Kam stood and waved toward the conference table. “Let’s sit down. I have a couple of things we should discuss.”
Esty immediately grabbed her arm. “Has something else bad happened? Is that why Rhyden left? Is he doing something dangerous?”
“Rhyden’s fine. Nobody’s been hurt, but he won’t be back to work with you.”
Esty’s look of alarm turned to suspicion, but she sat quietly and listened without comment while Kam told her about Seth’s meeting with Merik Trevain. She took Rhyden’s change of focus in stride. “I didn’t figure he’d be back. He’s too uncomfortable around me. But I hate being left out. Especially now they have several names.”
“It wasn’t Rhyden’s idea,” Kam said. “Seth asked for his help.”
But Esty was right about Rhyden’s discomfort. From what she’d observed, he was uneasy because he wanted to be with Esty. Unfortunately, he seemed obsessed with her age. At least that was his current excuse. Twenty-three—or nearly twenty-four, as Esty liked to say—was a long way from thirty in elven maturity, and her parents might think twice about the age difference. But there was still a lot of little boy charm in Rhyden. Kam stifled a smile. She thought they were rather well-matched. And the chemistry was unmistakable. Still, she didn’t want to encourage her sister to believe in emotions he was resisting.
“Now, about Agent Crain…”
* * *
Two hours later, Esty stared at the closed office door. Her sister had just left to meet with the CIA agent for a late lunch at the Wharf pub. He’d certainly made good time getting to town from wherever he’d been. Esty had been tempted to ask if she could go. It would be exciting to meet a real spy. But she knew what the answer would be. She was just the little sister.
With a deep sigh, she returned to her notes. She’d spent most of the morning looking over the annual reports on the Lormarc Guild’s past operation. Until recently the New Orleans end of the business and the Elvenrude operation were in the hands of different family members. While Rhyden and Seth handled the Cityside guild and the foreign exports, Jermon Lormarc had controlled the hiring, firing, and processing in Elvenrude until the day he was arrested.
She frowned and picked up one of the annual repor
ts. According to this, the Elvenrude guild master, Dorth Olseon, had originally worked for Jermon, then transferred to New Orleans, where he was dismissed by Seth and Rhyden for poor performance, and later rehired in Elvenrude by Jermon. So there was a long time connection.
She set the report down, propped her elbow on the table, and rested her chin on her hand. Olseon must have been pretty grateful to his old friend for rehiring him. Did his gratitude extend to funneling current information to the fugitives?
She wrinkled her nose in thought. What was Olseon really like? He’d been described as rather a mouse of a man, but surface perceptions could be wrong. She added him to a list of four other names from the Lormarc guild. So far, these were her main suspects. Employees who’d been associates of Jermon. She intended to interview each of them.
But she needed to understand more about the guild business first, and with that in mind, she arranged to spend the rest of the day with Ryndel Guild Master Barrott. She’d known him since childhood, and he was the one man in the guilds she could be positive wasn’t involved with Jermon Lormarc. When she finished her time with him, she’d know enough to ask intelligent questions when she arrived at the Lormarc Guild with her fictitious survey into employee/management relations within the guilds.
Esty grinned. She’d have to remember to tell her family and the Lormarcs about the cover story she was using.
She glanced at the clock. Time to go. When she overheard Kam’s phone conversation with the CIA agent, she understood how fast things were moving forward. They expected something to happen soon, and she wanted her part done before it—whatever the next awful thing turned out to be—crashed down on their heads.
She waved at the receptionist as she sailed out the door…delighted to finally embark on her own mission.
* * *
Kam paused in the doorway of the Wharf pub and scanned the room for her lunch date. The middle-aged CIA operative sat in a back booth. He bit into an olive from his martini and lifted a hand when he saw her. She placed her sandwich order with the bartender before joining him.
“I’m surprised to see you indulge so early in the day,” she said taking the far side of the booth.
“The martini lunch? After what you said on the phone, I figured I needed to fortify myself.” Crain’s typical demeanor was serious, but today his gray eyes were more guarded. “I’ve envisioned all kinds of nightmare scenarios…that I can’t do anything about.”
“I guess that about sums it up.”
His salt-and-pepper brows lowered. “Why didn’t you call me before now?”
“We thought it was a problem just for us, not you. New information suggests that isn’t true.”
He leaned forward, hunching his shoulders. “I already know I’m not going to like this, but let’s hear it. Tell me everything you think you can. Then add at least half of what you think you can’t. I already know enough about you to ruin us both. If the current situation is as bad as you’ve implied, my government needs to make preparations, take steps to head off a disaster.”
She studied him, almost sorry she’d called. The secret knowledge he had of her race was a burden to him. He understood enough to realize his best defensive measures, most modern weapons, were relatively ineffective against magic. It didn’t stop him from trying.
“OK. Here’s the nutshell version. The fugitives from last summer are collecting obsidian from around the world to make…a bomb. A very unstable bomb. We aren’t sure how they intend to use it—whether to hold our world hostage or simply take revenge and blow it up. Before they can do either, they’ll attempt to take over our guilds by using Mexican desperados with high-powered weapons.”
“My God, you were serious. Five of your kind have actually taken control of an entire cartel in less than five months?”
“I thought you had intel on everything happening in the world,” she said dryly.
“We’d heard there was new leadership. No one suggested it was someone like you.”
“Well, duh. How could they? No one else knows about us.” She cut off her irritation. “Sorry, that was rude. But you’re wrong anyway. They aren’t like me. They’re vicious rogues with a criminal agenda.”
“Point taken.” A simple acknowledgement, no wasted discussion. “Now what about this dimensional stuff you mentioned on the phone?”
“That’s the worst case scenario. My homeland is kind of linked to yours. If it blows up, it might take the earth too.”
He stared at her as if he couldn’t comprehend what she’d just said. “My God, Kam. I don’t believe we’re having this conversation. Are you suggesting the earth could be totally destroyed by this madman?” He ran his hand through his hair, making parts of it stand on end. “We’ll simply hunt him down and kill him.”
“Except he isn’t really a man, not a human man,” she reminded him. “You can’t even see him if he doesn’t want you to.”
They argued for the next ten minutes about contacting Homeland Security, DHS, and the Pentagon, not to mention the FBI and his superiors at the CIA. She and Crain both knew none of that would work, but she understood his desperate need to do something.
“What I need is the help I asked for,” she said, when he finally cooled down. “In the end, Seth and I…and our friends…will have to deal with the fugitives.”
He made a guttural sound of disgust and leaned back. “Tell me what you want. The mercenaries are to protect the guilds?”
Kam nodded but waited while her lunch order was delivered before continuing. “If we can stop them at the guilds, we’ll prevent the rest or delay it until we can track down Jermon Lormarc.”
“Wait a minute. Won’t they just set this bomb off here in New Orleans?”
“No. They can’t.”
“Why not?”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re asking too many questions. Just trust me. It can’t happen. Part of what would make it ignite, isn’t here.” He frowned at her, but Kam couldn’t begin to explain the Heart of Iska or the anti-magic. Instead, she went on. “As I was about to say, I’m not sure how to find the skilled fighters I need, and before I make contact, I want a cover story to avoid a lot of awkward questions.”
“If you hire the right people, you won’t need a cover story. They won’t ask questions. Let me find them. I’ll put a half dozen on each guild.”
She paused with a sweet potato fry halfway to her mouth. “Is that enough?”
“It will be with these teams. They’re ex-military, Special Forces…and can take down a small army.”
“They might have to.”
His face clouded. “Let’s hope not. We don’t need World War III in the heart of New Orleans. Maybe we can stop the cartel at the border. We’ll give it a shot.” He pushed his drink away, waved at the waitress, and ordered a sandwich and black coffee. “It sounds like there’s work to be done. In that case, I need food and a clear head.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Dammit. That didn’t go well at all,” Seth muttered. He stood outside the palace gate after a failed attempt to join forces with Brunic to bring in the duchaen rebels. He’d finally given the names of the four dissidents to the captain, even though Brunic had made it clear his guards would not be working with “a bunch of deceitful incompetents who’d already managed to get four people killed.”
Harsh words. There was no question Rhyden had gotten on Brunic’s bad side. But how much of that was a remnant of the old Ryndel/Lormarc feud? As for his disrespect toward Merik Trevain, more out-dated thinking. Brunic was an admirable man, especially in his leadership of the Guard, but his biases ran deep. Seth hunched his shoulders against a cold gust of wind and stuck his hands in his pockets. Clearly Brunic’s friendly feelings toward any of the Lormarc family had been tested by recent events. Yet another bad result of Uncle Jermon’s handiwork. He’d lost count of the black marks on his relative’s karma.
While Brunic’s attitude was a setback, it didn’t change their plans. Rhyden and Merik were alr
eady searching for Jermon’s supporters. They’d known the captain’s rejection was a possibility, and in fact, they might have better luck working on their own without Brunic’s heavy hand curtailing their efforts.
Seth made up his mind and took the street toward his grandfather’s house. In case their actions caused repercussions from the king, Harad Lormarc, as head of the clan, had a right to know about the brewing political storm. Seth was suddenly curious about his grandfather’s reaction. He couldn’t remember hearing the old man’s views on crossbreeds or their duchaen cause. Was Harad as prejudiced as some of the older ones? Seth arrived at the entrance to his grandfather’s tree house residence anchored by the branches of four large oaks and lifted the knocker. He’d soon know.
Beesom answered. The family retainer was nearly as old as Harad, but he’d looked the same for as long as Seth could remember. Tall, thin, ramrod straight. He rarely smiled, but he had a kindly eye and had viewed Seth’s and Rhyden’s boyish escapades with a detached tolerance. He’d even covered for them a time or two…or three.
“How is he today?” Seth asked. Harad had turned one hundred eighty a few weeks ago. Not a remarkable age yet, but pushing the upper limits.
“Much as usual, sir. He’s in the study.”
Seth knocked on the oak door and pushed it open when a strong voice invited him in. His white-haired grandfather looked up from a chessboard he’d been studying. “Seth, come in, my boy. See what my days have come to? Playing chess with myself.” Harad gave a broad smile, his green eyes twinkling. “Of course, I always win that way.”
Seth glanced at the board. “Black looks to be in trouble.”
Harad’s chuckle was deep. “Yes, I favor the white king. What brings you to Elvenrude?” He pushed the chess table away and settled back in his chair.
Seth took a seat opposite him, but before he said anything, Beesom entered with a tray of tea and scones. The retainer removed the chessboard to a larger table and positioned the tea tray between the two men. “I thought you would enjoy refreshments,” he said.