Phantom Pearl

by Monica McCabe

  She glanced over at Dallas as he talked with Oscar. She didn’t want to believe him. Didn’t want to be attracted to him. She was losing on both counts. The worst part was the risk wasn’t hers alone. Kai might not be here with them, but he had just as much on the line. Her actions now could mark the end of him. And her. That wasn’t something she should treat lightly. Kai had been her anchor for years. She couldn’t turn her back on that. On the other hand, to discover his dedication to her could be based on betrayal made her feel ill.

  There had to be another answer. Kai hid something, of that she had no doubt, but what if he had good reason? They had fourteen years of friendship. Not something to throw away because two people shared corroborating facts regarding Kai’s involvement with Yakuza. Sure, it was damning. But it was wrong to condemn him outright without giving him a chance to defend himself. He’d earned the right to explain.

  No matter how she twisted it, she kept coming back to the same conclusion. If Phantom Pearl was truly the price of Kai’s freedom, she’d give it to him. Right after he told her the whole truth. An even exchange. His freedom for hers. After that, she could walk away, and not before.

  But they had to get out of here alive first.

  She lifted the lid on the Pearl to double-check all was snug and safe. The exquisite mother-of-pearl in the carved tusk winked in the dim glow of their light, a colorful swirl of deep blues, gray, and flashes of the palest red. Riki stared at the intricate carvings on the tusk, the strange writing on the dragon’s claw, and wished the spirit of Mei Shon would talk to her. Tell her what to do.

  Then again, the dancer had sacrificed her life for love. Maybe her advice wasn’t what Riki needed. Still, she wondered if Mei would say it had been worth the cost.

  “Truly a spectacular piece,” Dallas said as he joined her.

  On that, she heartily agreed. “The most unique I’ve ever found.”

  Dallas tucked away a corner of silk that had come loose in the case. “And yet, you plan on giving it to Menita, who will deliver it straight to the Yakuza.”

  It was a bothersome thought. Mei Shon didn’t deserve that fate. She was worthy of historical protection from a reputable museum, her beauty celebrated and shared with the world. Not hidden away in a royal treasury or a crime lord’s sealed vault.

  “Where would the Pearl end up if you take her?” Not that she’d be handing it over, but she’d like to know the answer.

  “She belongs back home in Cambodia,” he said. “Homeland Security will gift her back to them in exchange for concessions in the war on terror.”

  In other words, they’d use her for their own ends. Just like Kai.

  Craig walked over. “It’s lovely,” he said. “And worth a king’s ransom. But wrap it up, mates. We need to move.”

  With one last caress of the silver dragon leg, Riki shut the case and carefully secured it high on her backpack with the custom straps. Within minutes, they’d packed away the food, gathered what weapons they could salvage, and twisted their way out of the plane.

  The woods were coming alive as dawn lightened the skies above them and a chorus of birdsong filled the air. It was a balm to Riki’s jangled nerves, and she stood off to the side and listened, enchanted at the varied calls of chowchillas, thrushes, and kingfishers. And if she wasn’t mistaken, she could pick out the distinctive warble of a bowerbird.

  “What’s wrong?” Dallas asked her.

  She held a finger to her lips. “Hear that?”

  “What?” He instantly spun in place, seeking out a threat.

  “Listen,” she said. A high-pitched, metallic shriek dominated other birdsong in the forest. “That’s a lorikeet.”

  “A bird?” He sounded dubious.

  “A colorful one.” She pointed. “See it there, at the edge of that branch?”

  Dallas followed the direction of her finger. “The red and green one?”

  “That’s it. They love first light. Most birds do.”

  He looked at her in surprise. “I had no idea you were a birdwatcher.”

  She carefully set her backpack on the ground, propping it against a big rock as the others joined them outside. “It’s really more about the song. I find it peaceful and relaxing.”

  Oscar dropped his pack beside hers. “You should head over to Atherton Tablelands. Birdwatcher’s paradise. My favorite is Lake Tinaroo in the south. King parrots, cockatoos, goshawk, and once, I saw a male white-plumed Greater Bird of Paradise.”

  “Noooo,” she breathed in awe. “They are so rare!”

  “It was truly a defining moment,” Oscar agreed. “The Tablelands diversity make it a premier location for ornithology buffs. If it’s not on your bucket list, it needs to be. Over five-hundred species in the southern region alone.”

  “Do you track your sightings?” she asked. “Share data with local societies?”

  “Of course. Last year I logged more than—”

  “You know,” Craig interrupted with an armload of weapons, “I love chickens and ducks as much as the next guy, but we should be coming up with a game plan in case we get separated.”

  Dallas sported a wide grin that threatened to be a full-on laugh. “What are the odds? My partner and yours, bonding over birds?”

  “About as rare as being cornered by Yakuza.” Craig shoved a mangled chunk of engine housing with his foot and used the top as a shelf. He laid the firepower down and began matching weapons to ammo, loading, clicking on the safety, and moving to the next. “Where’d you start hiking?” he asked Dallas.

  “Same as you,” Dallas replied. “The old cattle station.”

  Never one to turn down a spare weapon, Riki selected a small revolver from the pile, checked to make sure the chamber was fully loaded, flipped the safety on, and wedged it between her waistband and belt, then strapped a knife scabbard to her calf and slid in a blade. With the gun already in her pack, she’d be a walking arsenal out there.

  “Cho will be waiting on the trail.” Dallas donned a shoulder holster he’d pulled from his pack, then took out a semi-automatic Berretta, popped in a clip, hit the safety, and pocketed it. “I don’t think there’s any chance we’ll make it to our vehicles before he finds us.”

  Oscar set his pack on the impromptu shelf and began pulling out hand guns, ammo, image-intensifying gun sights, laser lights, and an assortment of blades.

  Riki glanced at him in surprise. “Where’d you come up with all that?”

  “I’m sort of a collector,” he replied with a casual nod.

  She’d like to know how Dallas did it. He either had sharply honed skills at finding resourceful people, or he was the luckiest agent on the planet. Probably both.

  “Oscar is a mystery,” Dallas said. “One day he’s a cab driver, then an ammunitions expert, and now a bird lover. I don’t know who I’ll be talking to next.”

  His friend snorted. “You know what they say—variety is the spice of life.”

  A sudden feeling of wrongness prickled across Riki’s neck, and her senses jumped to heightened alert. She turned her attention outward to the forest.

  “Everyone, quiet,” she snapped.

  Her three companions turned to stare at her in surprise.

  “The birds,” she said.

  Oscar was the first to realize. “They’ve gone silent.”

  “Time to get moving,” Craig said as he snatched up several pistols and a supply of bullets and stuffed them in his backpack. He turned and handed one to Riki. “Another spare.”

  She nodded her acceptance and reached down to grab her backpack. That’s when a loud crack of gunfire cut through the morning stillness.

  Craig jerked backward. He stumbled, grabbed a tree sapling for support, then dropped to his knees in stunned surprise.

  Another shot pinged off the plane’s metal skin.

  Dallas hit her at a
dead run, practically knocking her off her feet as he barreled them toward the safety of the plane. More shots rang out as he shoved her through the broken fuselage first, then entered right behind her.

  “Take Craig,” Oscar shouted from outside.

  Together she and Dallas pulled the injured man into the darkened interior. They were stretching him out onto the floor as Oscar climbed in, tossed his backpack beside them, and went straight for the window, gun already drawn.

  “First-aid kit in the bag,” Oscar said.

  Blood stained Craig’s shirt and seeped from his side. His face had gone pale, his eyes glassy. She glanced at Dallas beside her and read the concern on his face. She didn’t want to acknowledge what they both already knew.

  “Help Oscar,” Riki said. “I got this.”

  Dallas slid Oscar’s backpack closer and yanked out a cotton shirt. “Press it on the wound, stop the bleeding.”

  She took the shirt, quickly folded it into a pad, and pressed it to Craig’s side. Dallas placed the opened first-aid kit beside her, then grabbed the fallen man’s hand and squeezed. “Hang in there.”

  Craig didn’t respond.

  Oscar fired two rounds out the window as Dallas joined him. “What do you see?” he asked.

  “Contact deep left, another straight ahead,” he replied. “But the woods are likely full of plenty more.”

  Riki heard them talk but concentrated on Craig. The beige of his shirt was fast changing color to deep red and spreading. The compress wasn’t helping. A bullet wound in vital organs rendered the field kit useless. This wasn’t something fixed with antiseptic and gauze.

  “Riki,” Craig whispered.

  She leaned close. “You’re going to be okay,” she lied.

  “I have a daughter.” His breathing grew labored. “In Port Douglas.”

  “Don’t.” It sounded like he was giving up. “Save your strength.”

  “Give her…my pack.”

  Another shot from either Dallas or Oscar, but she didn’t look away to see. “You can deliver it yourself. We’ll be getting out of here soon.”

  “Promise me.”

  He lifted his hand, and she grasped it, holding it to her chest. His words were getting weaker. He wasn’t going to walk out of here. She knew that.

  “I will, Craig. I swear to you.”

  “Marcy is blind.”

  Riki’s heart constricted. “I’ll find her, Craig. I promise.”

  His grip went slack, and his eyes closed. “So tired.”

  She put more pressure on the wound, but it wasn’t going to make a difference. She just didn’t know what else to do.

  “Riki—be careful.” His eyes were still closed and the words barely audible. “Owned by…Koyo.”

  Tears stung Riki’s eyes. It’d been eight years since the last time this happened. When she’d laid her mother to rest alongside her father. Since then she’d turned that pain into hatred, into revenge, and the crying had stopped. It shouldn’t be back now. In a short period of time, Craig had turned into a friend, and she didn’t make many in her line of work.

  She squeezed his hand. “Thank you, my friend. I’ll be cautious.”

  When bullets hit the plane’s outer shell, she flinched. Not Craig. Nothing registered at all, except the peaceful look of death. She leaned in, watching and listening for sounds of breathing. She still clutched his hand and felt for a pulse. There was none. She took a deep, shaky breath and dropped her head, going numb in grief.

  That bullet had been meant for her. Had she not bent over to pick up her pack, it would be her lying on the cold floor of the plane. Craig died in her place. It was wrong, a debt she could never repay. The only thing she could do now was find his daughter, tell her he’d died a hero. She’d do everything in her power to help Marcy. She owed it to Craig.

  Anger sizzled through her like an electric current. He was the last person the Yakuza would take from her. She was done. The gloves were coming off.

  More gunfire, from inside and out. They had the protection of the plane, but for how long? She glanced around. The aircraft was flown during the Great War. It came supplied with arms. They might be old, but they’d still be useful.

  She jumped up and rushed toward the back, to the cargo hold where she’d seen hand grenades last night. They were probably useless, age and moisture rendering the gunpowder inert. But they might get lucky. She counted six, but four was all she could safely carry. She grabbed them and hurried to join Dallas and Oscar.

  They were taking random shots out the window, but few and far between. Bullets were in short supply.

  She dropped to her knees to stay below window level and lined the four grenades on the bench shelf.

  “Craig?” Dallas asked.

  She shook her head, unable to say the words.

  “Sons a bitchin’ bastards,” Oscar swore. “They killed an Aussie hero.” He picked up two of the little bombs. “Cover me. I’m going to the front. I need throwing room.”

  Riki pulled her gun and took his place by the window. She peered out and saw nothing but trees.

  “Spot anyone?” she asked Dallas.

  “Some movement in the trees. I can’t get a count. Three or four at least.”

  She crossed to the other side of the plane and peered out. More of a precaution than anything else, since they were on the edge of a downward slope. It offered a small measure of protection. Attack from this side would be difficult, though not impossible.

  “Anything?” Dallas asked.

  “No.” She joined him back at the window and peered out again. “We can hold them off for a while, but we’re trapped in here. I don’t think we can sneak out the other side either. They’ll be able to pick us off as we climb out.”

  “Depends on who runs out of bullets first,” Oscar added.

  As if on cue, a burst of gunfire came from the woods to the left. She and Dallas ducked down, but Oscar pulled a pin and threw a fast pitch the direction it hailed from.

  She waited, counted to ten, but there was nothing except silence. Oscar pulled another pin and hurled.

  This time an explosion rocked the plane. Nowhere near as large as it should’ve been, but it kicked up enough rocks and dirt to let their attackers know they weren’t helpless. They had access to heavy artillery. Not much, but they didn’t know that.

  She still had two grenades, but Oscar zipped behind them to the cargo hold and collected the last of them. He’d found a few more, thank God. Because even inert, they’d inspire caution. Strategic throws might keep the vermin at bay for a few minutes more. Not that it mattered. They were probably surrounded.

  Riki peeked out the window again. She scanned the grounds and spotted her backpack still sitting on the ground propped against a rock. Her heart dropped.

  “Oh, nooooo.” She flattened herself against the wall. “The Pearl is out there.”

  “There’s also a hefty stack of firearms I wish we had,” Dallas said. “We aren’t going to get to either one anytime soon.”

  “We got trouble,” Oscar shouted. “Rocket launcher at nine o’clock!”

  Riki hurried to the next window and stared the direction he’d indicated. Above them, in the woods, a metallic gleam caught her eye. Their assailants had managed to circle around and come at them from above, a more strategic vantage point. She fired a couple of shots into the trees. Dallas did, too, but it did no good. They had the advantage of height and distance.

  A loud bang, then a whoosh sounded. Before she could count to three the plane rocked violently as a missile shot through the aged metal of the hull and out the other side. The impact threw all three of them to the floor.

  Riki grabbed the edge of a jump seat and tried to pull herself up, but a second ordinance slammed the plane and tossed her a couple of feet like a rag doll. The fuselage tilted and the whimper of str
essed metal filled the air. The plane began to roll sideways in slow motion, then breached the edge and began a downhill slide.

  Chapter 19

  Dallas dove for a jump seat, wrapped his arms around the back, and held on for dear life. Gravity sent the plane plummeting through trees and dense scrub brush, twisting one way, then another. They bounced off rocks, listed to one side, and gained speed. Everything loose in the cabin tossed about like a hurricane, battering and bruising in its wake.

  The out of control momentum broke with a sudden violent collision, and he was flung onto a pile of busted metal and wooden crates. He tried to find a secure hold as the cabin shuddered and the tail section of the plane ripped away. Then, just as fast as the slide started, what was left of the plane came to an abrupt standstill.

  Dust and leaves rained down on them from a cracked roofline, but they were no longer moving. For a second or two, he lay where he landed, facedown, too stunned to react. But he quickly came to his senses and struggled to roll over and sit up. Something lay across his legs, making it difficult to maneuver. He twisted to glance down. And blinked.

  A grimacing skull stared at him, the uniformed bones of the original plane crash victim pinning him in place like a horror movie come to life. Dallas kicked the skeleton off him with a muttered curse and pulled himself up on a side bench. His arm ached, and though there was blood and a cut, nothing seemed broken. He was far more worried about Riki.

  He frantically searched for her in the rubble and spotted her lying against a side wall, wedged in the crossbeams of a missing section of flooring. He immediately fought his way to her. Her eyes were closed, but she was breathing. Thank God. He pushed her hair away from her face and spied a short, thin red slice angling from her hairline toward her temple, but it didn’t look serious.

  “Riki,” he said as he checked the rest of her over. Her clothing was torn, but nothing appeared mangled or broken, no gushing blood. That didn’t mean she wasn’t hurt. He rubbed her shoulder, gently shaking her. “Riki, wake up.”