Paige hesitates for a moment. “So how are you going to do this sweep?”
Cole grabs her sleeve, rotates his hip and throws his body to the side, rolling her beneath him. He sits on top of her and looks down with a beaming smile. “Like that. You just got swept, rookie. Here, now you give it a try.”
He leans in and presses some weight down on her chest.
“This isn’t exactly fair,” she says with a small groan. She struggles to create some distance so she can effectively maneuver from the bottom. “You’re at least twice as heavy as me.”
“You always have to assume your attacker is going to be bigger and stronger than you. Just pull my arm and rotate like I did.”
With a heavy grunt Paige repeats the action as instructed, flipping Cole to the mat as she rolls on top. “I did it!” she shouts victoriously. “But I have a feeling that you were going easy on me.”
“No way...I would never do that.” Cole bites down on his bottom lips, trying to suppress a smile.
“Jerk!” Paige giggles and smacks Cole across the chest with both hands. “How am I supposed to learn if you’re letting me win all the time?”
“You’re a noob, so I’m cutting you some slack while you learn the basics. Just don’t get used to it.” Cole realizes that he’s never heard Paige giggle before. A light, playful laugh that makes her seem infinitely less stoic; in this moment she seems almost like a young, beautiful girl in her twenties who doesn’t have a care in the world. Cole takes in a deep breath and looks up at her. “Thank you,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “For what you did back in Brazil.”
“Not a problem,” she replies with a small nod. “We had each other’s backs out there, just like I said. You’d have done the same for me.” She pauses for a moment. “And about the whole Dia thing, I just wanted to tell you...”
“Don’t,” he says before she can finish. “It’s all right.”
She shakes her head. “Nothing I’ve done over the last few years has been ‘all right’...I’m just trying to protect the people I care about. Sometimes I have to make tough choices.”
“And no matter what you do, people are always going to get hurt. I know.” Cole’s mind flashes to Jens back in Paris – his body riddled with stab wounds, bleeding profusely. And he relives the feeling of complete helplessness that washed over him.
Paige leans in and trails her fingers down Cole’s chest, her face drawing closer to his.
Before he can take in the moment she sits straight up. Paige shakes her head from side to side, closing her eyes tightly. When her eyes snap open she has a different, more business-like expression on her face. “So, you were saying something about teaching me a triangle choke or something? How does that work? I think I’ve got the sweep thing down.”
“Yeah, yeah...” Cole clears his throat and scoots backwards, sitting up on the mat. “Yeah, that was really good. With the...what is that called?”
She raises her eyebrows. “A sweep.”
“Exactly. Great sweeping, so let’s move on.”
Forty-five minutes of training drills later, Paige feels as though she’s learned a few of the more rudimentary chokes and submission holds. When the session is over she stands and retrieves a water bottle from the corner of the room, and uses a small white towel to dab the beads of sweat from her cheeks and forehead.
“I’ll wipe off the mat and clean up in here,” Cole says. “I’ll see you upstairs a little later for dinner. I still have another lesson this afternoon.”
Paige nods and exits without another word.
She flings open the wooden door of the training facility and finds Brodie resting on a bench in the hallway, reading a boating magazine that looks like it was printed in the late 80s.
He stares at Paige, his gaze cold and emotionless. “That was quite a little training session you two had in there.”
Paige narrows her eyes. “You were spying?”
Brodie shakes his head at the accusation and continues to leaf through the pages. “No, I just caught a couple minutes of your workout while I was waiting. I’m up next. But it definitely looked...educational.”
She folds her arms and locks her legs in place, leaving the towel hanging around her neck. “If you have something to say then just say it, asshole.”
“Whoa,” Brodie replies defensively, dropping the magazine in his lap while he holds both his hands up. “I’m not trying to say anything. You and Cole just looked a little cozy in there, that’s all. If I knew there was that much cuddling and giggling in these grappling lessons I probably would have requested a different trainer. Cole isn’t exactly my type.”
Her stare turns to ice. “I’m not doing anything wrong.”
“Would Dia think the same thing?”
“Wake the fuck up, Brodie. Dia might not even come back.”
His casual tone melts away. “Is that what you think, or is that what you suddenly want?”
“Well I know that you want her back,” Paige replies. “I see the way you make those little goo-goo eyes at her. Let it go, man. If she was into you she would have made a move by now. You’ve literally been living with us forever, so she’s had plenty of time to make up her mind.”
“Maybe she doesn’t know the real me. I have layers, you know. I can be all heroic and shit when I want to be.”
Paige lets out a short laugh. “Just keep biding your time and I’m sure the opportunity to save the world will present itself. Just keep smoking weed and popping pills while you prepare to make your big move.”
Brodie stares back at her and considers replying, but thinks better of it. He stands and stomps down the hall, turning the corner before Cole emerges from the gym.
“What was that all about?” Cole asks. “Was that Brodie? He’s scheduled to work out with me now.”
“Yeah,” Paige says softly, feeling a pang of regret. “He just left...I think it might have been something I said.”
Cole shakes his head with disappointment. “He needs to start taking this shit more seriously. The General’s troops aren’t taking afternoons off, I can guarantee that.”
Jens races around the corner and down the long corridor, slipping on the hardwood as his socks lose traction on the polished surface. “Cole! I need you.”
“What is it?”
“The news...” Jens says, leaning against the wall as he catches his breath. “You need to come upstairs. Right now.”
When Cole arrives in the living room Goto and Allison stare at him solemnly, and their grave expressions alarm him even further. He approaches Brodie’s open laptop sitting on the dining room and glances down at a paused video file, where an anchor man stands on a familiar street holding a microphone.
Jens stands between his friend and the monitor. “Dude, before I press play let me tell you that this is fixable. We are totally going to fix this, okay? Just keep calm. We’re gonna figure this out together.”
“Step aside.”
“All right,” Jens replies with a tiny nod, “but just remember that when you first see it...”
“Step aside!” Cole growls, the muscles tensing in his neck.
Jens clicks the ‘play’ button and backs away, keeping his eyes fixed on Cole’s expression.
“Big news from The Bronx,” the reporter says as the camera pulls away. The dilapidated building behind him is instantly recognizable: Gary’s Gym. The sign comes into focus as the man continues. “Former professional boxer and now full-time MMA trailer Gary Marciano, a local legend in this neighborhood, has been arrested on drug trafficking charges. His gym was raided early this morning, where, according to police, six million dollars worth of heroin was seized, along with an assortment of illegal firearms, explosives, and several falsified I.D.’s. Marciano was arrested at a cabin upstate where he’s been hiding, presumably preparing to flee the country. Charges are pending, but if convicted, he’s expected to face life in prison with no chance of parole.”
Cole shuts the laptop with a soft clic
k and walks across the room, past the kitchen and towards the front door.
“Listen, Cole...” Jens says as he approaches, but keeps a safe distance behind him. “Let’s just sit down, have a beer and talk this out. We can get him back.”
Without a word Cole kicks the heavy wooden front door, sending it spiralling a hundred feet into the desert. He walks through the remains of the splintered frame, down the stairs, and towards the horizon. He doesn’t look back.
“Damn...what do we do?” Paige asks, gazing out the front door as he disappears into the distance.
“We wait, and we give him time.” Jens replies helplessly. “There’s nothing else we can do.”
Chapter Fourteen – Truculent
Western Australia | January 27, 2012 | 8:35 pm, Western Standard Time
The most remote bar in Western Australia is Wally’s Pub, a time-worn wooden shack that sits several miles off the beaten path from the Goldfields Highway. The highway is little more than a beaten path in some places; an unpaved stretch of dirt than punishes the suspension of any vehicle that dares to pass over it. The sides lined by the occasional lifeless tree or the decaying carcass of a dingo, but not much else.
Wally’s has the dubious distinction of being the last place to get a beer if you’re brave – or stupid – enough to trek any further east into the Outback. Wally himself often wondered, watching the patrons come and go, how many of them would consume their last pint of Foster’s at his fine establishment. If a tourist wanted to pretend they were Crocodile Dundee and go on a suicidal walkabout through the snake-infested desert, far be it for him to dissuade them. But if someone was going to die, at least they’d float up to heaven filled with the best amber liquid in western Oz.
Wally wipes a damp rag across the bar top as he glances out the side window, and spots a figure approaching; a tall, imposing man wearing white pyjamas, jogging through the desert towards his pub. But his enormous frame and unique evening attire are not the most unusual things about him: he’s arriving from the east side of the bar, where there is absolutely nothing. Not a house, not a road, and not trace of civilization stretching into the Outback for days. But even stranger, he’s running barefoot. This is not a tourist, a truckie, and definitely not a local sandgroper...this man is something completely different. Possibly a lunatic, but even they must get thirsty.
When Cole swings the door open and steps into the dimly-lit pub he draws the attention of the half-dozen men stooping over their pints. Wally adjusts his thick glasses and musters a smile. “G’day...what can I do for you?”
Cole lifts his feet to examine his soles. The skin that had been sheared off from running across the rocky terrain has grown back, and only a trace amount of dried blood remains spattered across his ankles. He steps up to the bar and places his palms flat on the surface. “Are you the owner?”
Wally nods. This crazy Yank has got to be high on drugs...lots and lots of drugs. “Sure am. Can I help you with something, mate?”
Cole pats the side of his pants, as if to check for something in his non-existent pockets. “I seem to have left my wallet at home. Can you spare me a beer or two and put it on my tab?”
Wally nods again, wringing his hands nervously. “Sure can.” He fills a glass to the brim and slides it across the bar, stepping back from the towering man without looking away.
“Hey seppo,” a man says with a growl. The burly, pot-bellied bloke steps off his barstool and strides across the bar. He’s gargantuan – a full head taller than Cole. “Why don’t you back off and leave Wally here alone? He might be intimidated by you,” he says, looking back over his shoulder, “but we’re not.”
Several of his friends gather behind him, and their intentions are clear.
“Please,” Cole says, completely expressionless. “Do something. I’m begging you, do something.”
The hulking Aussie laughs, holding his gyrating belly. “Are you off your bloody head, mate? There are five of us, and one of you. What do you reckon your chances are?”
“Better than you might think.” Cole grabs two fistfuls of the man’s flannel shirt and tosses him with surprising ease, sending him through the front window of the bar and into the side of a rusted pick-up truck.
Before anyone has a chance to react Wally pulls a pump-action shotgun from beneath the bar, cocks it and fires. The slug hits Cole in the shoulder, spinning him around.
Cole regains his footing and pulls the lapel of his gi aside, just in time to watch his skin mend around the gaping bullet wound. “Bad move, Wally.” He darts forward and snatches away the shotgun. Cole breaks it over his knee like he’s snapping a twig. He tosses the debris aside as a Bowie knife digs into his ribcage. “Come on, guys,” Cole says, looking down at the weapon with a small frown. “The shotgun blast didn’t faze me, so now you’re going to start poking me with silverware?”
As Cole slams his feet and fists into every bar patron, systematically breaking their jaws and snapping their limbs, he forgets, for the first time, what Gary has always taught him. To respect his power. To respect himself, and his growing abilities. And he forgets the silent vow he took when he gained this incredible power to manifest his supernatural speed and strength: to never abuse what he'd been given.
When Cole engages the last man standing in the bar he feels a sickening twist in his stomach, and the blood burns inside his veins like searing acid. As he staggers to regain his bearings he begins to undergo a transformation – he shrinks in size, reverting to his pre-superhuman physique; thin wiry arms, a slender frame, and the dragon tattoo that coils around his arm fades and disappears.
Without missing a beat the man lumbers forward, slamming his fist into Cole’s cheek bone.
Cole falls backwards, and his head bounces dangerously off the wooden floor.
“I don’t know what just happened to you, mate,” the man says with a partially toothless grin, “but I’m about to give you a proper welcome to western Oz.” He pulls a small knife from his boot and lunges down, driving the blade into Cole’s shoulder before twisting it like a screwdriver.
The pain is blinding. Cole eyes begin to fall shut, fading into unconsciousness – but not before the man, to his own surprise, turns the knife on himself. He begins to stab his own stomach, screaming while he falls to the floor.
Paige stands in the threshold of the door, eyes pulsing with purple energy.
“You followed me,” Cole whispers, coughing up drops of blood from a loosened tooth.
She grabs his arm and yanks him to his feet. “Of course I did, you idiot. Get your ass into the jeep. The police are gonna be here any minute.” She drags him out the front door and into the parking lot. As she shoves him into the passenger seat, they spot a pair of flashing blue lights approaching in the distance.
“Thanks,” Cole says with a wince, applying pressure to the open wound on his shoulder.
“Don’t thank me yet,” she replies, twisting her keys into the ignition. “We’re not in the clear.”
Chapter Fifteen – Acquiesce
Western Australia | January 27, 2012 | 11:58 pm, Western Standard Time
On the rocky drive back to the compound, Cole’s frame reverts back to his now-common muscular frame. Not in an explosion of adrenaline like it had in the past, but in a much more steady and gradual fashion. As they approach their destination the tattoo surfaces around his arm, and his injuries from the bar fight begin to vanish.
During the drive, Paige had left the headlights off to avoid being spotted by a helicopter overhead, relying solely on the hazy blue glow of the full moon to light her path. The chances of slamming into a kangaroo had been higher, but it was worth the risk.
The jeep grinds to a halt just outside the main entrance and the oversized tires kick up a cloud of loose dirt.
“Cole,” Paige says, staring straight ahead with her hands gripping the wheel. “You need help.”
“I know, but just—”
“Shut up,” she interrupts. “I’m talki
ng now. I don’t think you understand what’s at stake here. I care about Dia, and I know you do as well. And now Gary has been dragged into this mess. You’re pissed, and you have every right to be. You have a right to be angry and crazy and to fly into a psychotic rage if you want to.” She turns towards Cole, and her dark, intense eyes reflect like polished gunmetal in the moonlight. “But not now. You can’t fall apart on me until this thing is over. I’m barely hanging on myself...and I need you.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“There is only one person I know who can help. And he’s not local. We need to take the Aithon.”
Cole nods in submission. He knows she’s right. “What about the gang?”
“They’ll be fine until we get back. The Mirage is active and it’ll provide cover, even if helicopters come looking for you. And the trip shouldn’t take long.”
The internal cloaking device built into the compound, which Goto refers to as ‘Mirage’, is just that – an optical illusion that renders the entire structure invisible. Thousands of reflective surfaces built into each side of the compound’s exterior, as well as the shingles on the roof. When observed from a distance, the cloaking device creates the impression that the viewer is looking through the building, as if it doesn’t exist. At a close range the technology is spotty, but it’s more than enough to mask the compound from anyone passing by in a helicopter or an ATV.
“We need to leave first thing in the morning,” Paige says. “Go get some sleep.”
***
The next morning Paige explains the situation to Goto. He agrees to let her take a pilot and the Aithon, and make their way to a remote region high in the mountains of Tibet.
The one man that Paige believes can help Cole is known only as ‘the Messenger’ – a monk who lives in isolation from the rest of the modern world. The man’s name, age, and his purpose for helping those who seek him out are unknown, even by those who have met with him in person. What is known, by the select few who can verify his existence, is that he’s the most powerful psychic presence on earth, and can only be located by others who possess a similar gift.
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