Phantom Pearl

by Monica McCabe

  “You talking about that little ravine?”

  “Yes. Along the rim, I saw a red color in the trees that doesn’t mesh.”

  Craig stared out the window, but they’d already flown past. “I don’t see anything,” he said with a shake of his head. “Let me try again.”

  He pulled the Cessna into a climb, seeking altitude for room to maneuver a tight circle. When the plane banked into the turn, a floor of green appeared out Riki’s window. She braced her hand on the sidewall and stared down at the forest canopy, intrigued with nature’s blend of shape and color.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Craig said. “That’s why I love to fly. Don’t get this kind of view on the ground.”

  She loved smaller planes over the big ones. It was how flying was meant to be—no stratosphere heights, no cabin pressurization, just blissful freedom to soar like a bird.

  Craig leveled out and swooped down the mountainside, coming at the target from another angle. They crossed the ravine instead of cruising the length of it.

  “I still don’t see anything,” he said.

  “One more time,” she demanded. “Cross toward the bottom of the cut. There’s a cluster of boulders, look to the right of them.”

  They circled once more, and Craig came in as Riki directed. The closer they got to the ravine, she began to see the outline of something jutting from the trees at a crooked angle. It wasn’t a boulder.

  “What is that thing?” Riki asked.

  “By all that’s holy.” He stared out his window. “That’s a wing tip.”

  Chapter 7

  Dallas hated paperwork. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. As an academic, he understood the value of real-time reporting, especially from an agent in the field when the higher-ups wanted to keep close tabs on every detail of an operation. As a handler, he appreciated the flow of information. As a field agent, the constant e-mails and status updates wore on his nerves.

  It was almost eight. He should be grabbing dinner before the adjoining café closed, but instead he sat in his room typing yet another update.

  Maddox already busy. Playing movie location scout for a World War II documentary as cover for search. Clever ploy. Locals love it. RSL club lining up veterans for her to interview.

  He wouldn’t be surprising anyone with that. The Art and Cultural Division held an extensive file on Riki Maddox and Kai Menita. Dallas added to it constantly. But Jane Lassiter, along with a few other agency heads, probably grew bored with his repetitive facts. Maddox didn’t waste time. Her style was methodical, direct, and uncannily perceptive. What he didn’t report was his grudging respect of her shrewd tactics and sharp intellect. Or his idiotic appreciation of her small stature and whisper of almond-shaped eyes that hinted at an Asian heritage.

  She was his nemesis, his enemy, and a smart man would remember it.

  She’s being assisted by Craig Lawson, a local pilot who runs tourist flights out of Cairns. They’ve been aerial for several hours, but night has fallen, and they should be returning to hotel soon.

  He wasn’t certain of his next move. They’d spoken face-to-face only once, right before she’d snatched a Tibetan ritual death mask from right under his nose. That was two years ago and it marked her first win against him. The bite still stung. He’d painstakingly followed the mask’s trail, negotiated its purchase from a two-bit criminal who billed himself as a purveyor of fine art, and came up empty-handed when she’d circumvented the sleazy collector’s worthless security and walked away with the prize.

  In other words, she’d stolen it.

  Ken Cho, a Yakuza kingpin, is here as well. But Maddox making a splash. Entire town buzzing with news of possible movie deal. The excitement gives her a thin layer of protection. Cho lying low as any threat to her may invoke a local riot.

  That wouldn’t stop Dallas from bringing her down, however. Snagging a few players in the crime organization along with her would go a long way toward repairing his reputation at the agency. He needed that boost a hell of a lot more than he needed dinner, but right now, dinner won.

  He closed the laptop, stood, and stretched. Oscar had a room down the hall and had gone straight to eat after check-in, but not before he pronounced to the desk clerk that all meals were to be covered by Dallas and his company credit card.

  “Best food in town,” Oscar proclaimed. “You should try the roo tenderloin.”

  Dallas suspected, but had to ask. “Roo?”

  “Kangaroo. Tasty meat. I like it best barbequed, but a grilled steak paired with a buttery red wine can’t be beat.”

  Maybe he’d take Oscar’s advice. BBQ sounded good about now, kangaroo or otherwise. He grabbed the key card, stuffed in his back pocket, and made for the door.

  One foot over the threshold, and he saw him.

  Dark jacket over a white shirt, the Asian was dressed for a dinner party, not a stakeout. He stood on the ground floor walkway, leaning against a second-story support column—calm and silent and not even trying to hide.

  Dallas shut the door and headed toward the watcher. “See anything interesting?” he asked when he drew even.

  The guy didn’t say a word, just offered an arsenic-laced smirk.

  “I bet you hate your job,” Dallas said. “Standing around all night being bored and obvious.”

  “As marks go,” the guy said slowly, “you are not significant.”

  Dallas grinned. “A bit lame, pal. With all the time you have out here to meditate, I’d think you’d come up with better insults.”

  He shrugged. “I’m here to deliver a message.”

  “Well, get on with it. I’m sure the party is missing you.”

  A flat stare said the guy didn’t appreciate the humor. “Take the girl and go home.”

  He didn’t have to ask. He knew exactly who he referred to, but being spied upon made him want to dish out some attitude. “Does the girl have a name?”

  “Do not play games, federal agent. She is as much on your radar as ours.”

  Definitely, but controlling a force like Riki Maddox was almost laughable. The Yakuza must be feeling serious pressure if they resorted to pressing for third party intimidation.

  “She’s one little girl,” Dallas ridiculed. He might sympathize with their pain, but that didn’t mean he’d cut them any slack. “What is Ken Cho afraid of?”

  The messenger pushed off from the support post and brushed imaginary lint from his linen jacket. “We grow tired of her interference.”

  “You’re not the only one.” Dallas had his own issues with the pint-sized wrecking ball. “But you have to admit, she’s damn good. Her capabilities are amazing. Downright impressive, really.”

  “We do not share your enthusiasm.”

  “Right. It’s just… Have you seen the way she moves? One time I saw her take out two burly security guards all by herself. Boom!” He snapped his fingers. “They were down before they even knew what hit them.”

  “She is tiresome.” The man’s tone was as cold as his expression. “A problem that requires handling.”

  Couldn’t argue with that. But it wasn’t the point. She was his. No one was going to put Riki Maddox out of commission except Dallas Landry. Period. And he didn’t like the thug’s thinly veiled threat. A woman of Riki’s intellect deserved some respect. He intended to outsmart and outlast her if it was the last thing he ever did. They needed to stay out of his way, not the other way around.

  “Hard to snare an opponent with smarts like her,” Dallas informed the misguided thug. “She’s got beauty, brains, and skill. A Neanderthal like you doesn’t stand a chance.”

  Now that was a proper insult. Direct and intentional.

  The Yakuza foot soldier clenched his fist and took a menacing step toward Dallas. “If she does not leave,” he threatened, “she will be eliminated.”

  Dallas had heard enoug
h. “Give a message to Ken Cho for me.” He got within an inch of the troublemaker’s face and let anger take the lead. “Tell your miserable boss he’s on my radar as well. Tell him I know why he’s here, and I know what he’s after. And if that girl gets so much as a scratch, I won’t stop until he’s paid the price. This federal agent has an arsenal at his disposal that Cho can’t begin to match. Inform him that I’ll use every damn piece to send him to the very gates of hell.”

  The watcher hadn’t interrupted, hadn’t said a word, just listened to his rant with an expression of sheer boredom.

  What part of gates of hell did he not understand?

  “In case you’re wondering,” Dallas continued, “that’s called a threat.”

  The thug took a step back. “You have been warned.”

  With that, the guy turned on his heel and left.

  * * * *

  Riki could scarcely believe they’d found a plane after a few hours of searching. She’d expected days. Of course, the hard part was still ahead. The only way to prove it was their C-47 was to lay hands on the wreckage. That meant hours of hard hiking across a terrain that hadn’t seen many human footsteps, if any at all. And to complicate things, her run-in with the Yakuza said they were on borrowed time.

  “You want sauce for your chips?” the man behind the counter asked.

  The Sovereign was a surprise. Cooktown was small, but they boasted a stylish hotel complete with two restaurants, a trendy bar, large general store, and a tropical oasis pool that would be the envy of anyone back home in California. All of it surrounded by luxuriant botanical gardens. No doubt the resort was the largest employer in the whole area.

  “Just salt, thank you.” She offered a friendly smile to the older man as he packed up her fish and chips to go.

  “How was your search today?” he asked. “See anything promising?”

  The question startled her at first, but she quickly fell into her role. “It was a preliminary run, but your countryside is breathtaking. Perfect for a movie backdrop.”

  “We’ve plenty of war history, too.” He dropped salt packets into the bag, along with tartar sauce and napkins. “The original airstrip was built by the Allies. We had the 27th Operational Base Squadron of the RAAF stationed here. You should visit the Cooktown History Centre on Charlotte Street. Lots of useful information.”

  He was proud of his small town. She liked that. The people here were friendly, eager to show off their contribution to history. She’d be disappointing them, and an unwanted flicker of guilt snaked its way in.

  “Thank you,” she replied. “I’ll make time to look it over.” He handed her the bag and a ticket, which she signed and listed her room number. Then as an afterthought she said, “Can you add one of those cheese Danishes? And what about those chocolate chip cookies? Are they homemade?”

  “Got a lady who comes in every morning and makes them fresh. Scones, too.”

  The place was too good to be true. She could spend days here, doing nothing but lying poolside and contemplating a new path for her future. But that was a pipedream, an escape she’d no business harboring. Her destiny was spoken for.

  “Throw in about four cookies,” she said. “And half a dozen granola bars.”

  His grin widened. “Hearty appetite for a wee thing like you.”

  “They’re for tomorrow,” she said sheepishly. “Flying makes me hungry.”

  She wasn’t lying. Except about the flying part. She was meeting Craig at four-thirty in the morning two blocks down from the resort where he’d pick her up in a borrowed truck. The man had friends everywhere and promised the vehicle came stocked with enough supplies for a solid three-day hike, but in case that meant crackers and a jar of Vegemite, she wanted other options. She’d tasted Vegemite before, and she would starve before eating that mess again.

  After thanking the man, she slung her rucksack over her shoulder, grabbed dinner, and headed downstairs. Her room was in the adjoining building, a three-story tropical-style hotel graced with white, wraparound verandas and tall, lush palms. It could just as easily be at home in southern California as Queensland.

  She stepped out into the warmth and humidity. April might be autumn, but summer heat lingered. Not that she was complaining. It beat frosty Russia hands down. She strolled alongside a perfectly trimmed boxwood hedge and pushed through a black iron gate into a courtyard. It had been shady and colorful during the day, but at night it seemed almost magical with its soft lighting, stone pathways, and flowering shrubs. She breathed in an earthy aroma and savored the sultry feel of the evening air on her skin. A tall coconut palm stood beside the path, and she indulged in a moment to lean back against it, close her eyes, and listen.

  Cars moved down the street, a distant slamming of a door, but she weeded out the city noise and searched deeper. Then she heard it—the cooing of an owl, perhaps a tawny frogmouth, its song floating toward her from the gardens surrounding the pool.

  She drank in the sound, allowed the melancholy notes to soothe her nerves. The next couple of days were going to be intense. Hot, sweaty, uphill climbing while carrying a pack and keeping constant vigilance for unwelcome company, both human and animal. By far the most dangerous portion of the entire expedition. But if the plane they found was the C-47, the reward would be worth every agonizing second.

  She sighed and pushed away from the tree. Tomorrow began another ordeal when she’d barely recovered from the last one. Suddenly all she wanted was to eat and sleep. She picked up her pace and rounded the corner toward her room, anticipating the heavenly feel of stretching out on a soft bed.

  She couldn’t wait to—oof!

  Arms wrapped around her, and she had a face full of chest. Alarm spiked a rush of adrenaline, and she reacted with a fierce stomp on her attacker’s foot.

  “What the—ouch!”

  She shoved away from him. He let go, and she stumbled backward.

  “What’s the matter with you?” he snarled.

  She grabbed the building’s corner post and steadied herself for battle. She was about to fling dinner at her attacker’s face when she suddenly recognized the iron wall of chest she’d slammed into.

  Dismay, anger, and an errant thrill of excitement all jumbled together, immobilizing her for a split second.

  “Well, what do you know,” Dallas Landry said with a smile that looked more predatory than friendly. “Must be my lucky night.”

  Not for her. She was on a downhill slide. “Why aren’t you in Singapore?” she snapped.

  “Keeping tabs on me? How flattering.”

  “Please,” she scoffed, “you’re not that interesting.”

  She lied. He was fascinating. And a difficulty she didn’t need right now. When this job was over, she intended to slow things down for a while. She just needed to survive Ken Cho, the Yakuza, Homeland Security, and a ridiculous attraction to a man with every reason to dislike her. Honestly, she’d rather deal with the Asian crime lords. All they wanted to do was beat her to the Pearl. And maybe kill her in the process. That she understood. Landry was different. He carried a grudge against her, one that was mostly her own fault, but still.

  He smiled, a slow teasing grin that hitched her pulse more than it should. For reasons that could only be labeled insanity, she enjoyed each time she’d beaten him to the prize. It had grown into a game of sorts, a crazy competition. It was foolish. Now she was going to pay the price.

  “You know,” he said quietly, “I’ve often dreamed of getting my arms around you. Mostly to slap on handcuffs, but I have to say…never thought you’d smell like a tavern.”

  Landry hadn’t moved. He stood where they’d collided, staring at her with a gleam of speculation that she didn’t like one bit. She also didn’t like being told she stank, even if it was true.

  “I had a little mishap with a jug of beer earlier.”

  “Right.”
His grin widened. “The other guy smell just as bad?”

  “Don’t know,” she replied. “Didn’t stick around to find out.”

  “Oh, right. Hit and run is your specialty, isn’t it?”

  She shrugged. “If the situation calls for it. Like right now… It’s been lovely seeing you again, truly it has, but I need to go.”

  She made to move past him, but his arm blocked her. “Not so fast.”

  A heavy sigh escaped her. It wasn’t hard to figure out where this was headed. He was a federal agent, and she’d pushed the edge of legal to get the job done.

  “Look, can you cuff me later?” she asked him. “I have things to do.”

  “Work always comes first with you, doesn’t it?”

  Always. It was a fact of life she couldn’t change even if she wanted to. “I have a strong work ethic. Perhaps you should try it. Maybe then you’d actually be a challenge.”

  When he tensed, she instantly regretted the words. Not only were they unkind, they were untrue. Twice she’d barely managed to stay a step ahead of him, another time had been sheer luck. As an adversary, she knew him well enough to be wary. Landry was smart. He most definitely was a challenge. She should stop baiting and start thinking.

  Obviously, he was here because of the Pearl. Would he arrest her, stop her search? She doubted it. He wanted it as much as she did. Probably more. After all, he had a losing streak to break. Which meant he’d allow her time find it, but didn’t intend to let her walk away with the prize.

  “You have thirty seconds to explain why I shouldn’t take you into custody right now.” The frown he wore said he might not wait that long.

  For some inexplicable reason, she wanted to take back the words. It was strange. For someone whose intentions were not in her best interest, why did she care?

  “I’m sorry,” she began. “I shouldn’t have said that. It was wrong of me.”

  “I don’t care about apologies. Try again.”

  That was exactly why she shouldn’t care. Her misplaced sense of remorse didn’t accomplish anything except to highlight Landry’s deep-seated resentment. She should’ve known better. This was business. Nothing more. The direct approach then, right for the gusto. “I’ve found the Phantom Pearl.” Okay, not technically. Not yet. But the odds were high.