by Zoe Forward
The white-faced terror on Kira’s face reflected Dakar’s exact thoughts.
Christian stumbled against the lurching of the plane to the cabinet just behind the cockpit. He pulled out two orange duffle bags and oars.
“Everyone throw me cells and any small electronics you don’t want toasted by water,” Scott yelled.
Christian pulled out his cell. “What exactly can you do to guarantee my phone makes it? I’ve got some important numbers in here.”
“Backpack is waterproof. Learned my lesson the first time I was on a plane that Nate downed.”
“For the third fucking time, it wasn’t me!” Nate yelled.
“Whatever. I need electronics,” Scott said.
Many devices sailed toward Scott.
Kira fell into the aisle as the plane pitched. She crawled to look under her chair. Over the noise of the plane, she yelled, “Where are the life preservers?”
Ashor chuckled. “This isn’t a commercial jet liner.”
She screeched, “Crashing in the middle of the ocean isn’t what I’d call protecting the akhrian! If the sharks eat me, Ashor, I’m cursing you in your next lifetime.”
Ashor pulled her close. “We’ve done this before. It’s a casualty of having Nate on board.”
“Then, I’m not flying with him again. Period,” she declared.
Nate glowered.
Dakar smiled.
Javen piped in on the overhead again. “I’m going to try to hold her steady, but this is going to be rough. I recommend we get the emergency door open fast once we land just in case this hunk of junk tries to sink or breaks apart.”
“Nate, you’re on the door,” Ashor commanded. “Everyone, buckle in.”
Kira said, “I remember the Ethiopian hijacking from several years ago when they tried to land in the ocean and broke the plane into bits. Only a handful survived. I do NOT want to die.”
“Javen is getting good at water crashing,” Ashor soothed.
“Didn’t do so hot the first time,” Ethan grumbled.
“Thanks, Eth,” Ashor tossed sarcastically while drawing Kira into a tight embrace. “We’ll make it.”
The plane lurched and jolted until it smoothed out for about a half minute.
Ethan pointed at Dakar. “Put the seatbelt on tight and brace for impact.”
The plane halted in midair as if it smacked against a wall, tossing Dakar forward only to be caught by his belt. He whiplashed back into the seat with a head-smacking thwack that had him seeing blurry for a few seconds. Out the window the wing was barely above water, but they were floating.
Seat belts unlocked simultaneously. He followed suit and shuffled to the exit door.
“You swim?” Nate asked.
“Not a problem,” Dakar replied. He might despise the water, having been drowned too many times over the centuries, twice by his mate and once by a daemon before he met Shaiani, but he knew well how to navigate it.
A while later and quite a bit wetter, Dakar leaned back in the inflatable boat watching the tail of the plane disappear beneath the turbulent waves. “For a first-time airplane experience, that was memorable.”
“That’s the third one Nate crashed. Damned waste of a good plane,” Javen complained as he tried to lash together the two boats. He pushed curling dark wet hair out of his eyes and cursed when the ropes refused to cooperate into a knot. He had the tats from a very nasty daemon strike marking his face, giving him a chilling look that probably didn’t go over well in public. Three quarter-inch diagonal tattooed scars coursed from his forehead to chin. Another wide tattoo spanned the circumference of his neck. Perfect marks for a daemon scratch and then throat grab. Ouch. Amazing he survived without decapitation.
“Need help?” Dakar asked.
Javen glanced up sharply. Dakar felt a familiar mind push. He sent the bold magus a threatening mental growl. He wasn’t comfortable with Javen mucking around in his brain. He didn’t know how developed his powers were at this point in his magus life. In previous lifetimes, he had seen Javen send more that a few humans into a coma or stroke before he became adept at working within a person’s head.
Javen’s blue eyes went wide. His mental presence withdrew. He fiddled with the rope a bit longer without success.
Dakar grabbed the rope and tied the boats together in a few seconds. If there was one thing he knew well, it was nautical knots, having spent years on seafaring vessels in past lifetimes.
“It wasn’t me. Not this time.” Nate glanced around at all the others who all reflected frank disbelief. “I. Did. Not. Lose. Control!”
Javen raised his eyebrows and mumbled, “Right. Like you didn’t blow up the gas station a few months ago and end up on Interpol’s most wanted list for terrorism.”
“They never found out that was me.”
Dakar smiled, enjoying Nate’s frustration. “Maybe you should seek calm, Sparky. If you light your boat on fire and it sinks, I vote you swim.”
“Amen to that,” said Ethan.
Kira pointed at Nate. “If you sink these boats, it’ll be a cold day in hell before I’ll be helping you out the next time some daemon tears you up. I refuse to spend the next few days starving to death until a shark eats me.”
Ashor enfolded her in his arms. “I would not let a shark eat you.”
Nate rolled his eyes heavenward and then back to Kira. “I promise I will not sink the boats. Javen, are you one hundred percent sure the plane didn’t have a computer malfunction?”
Javen shrugged. “She just shut down. You were yelling and then it conked out.”
Ethan grabbed a set of plastic oars and started rowing. “How long you think it’ll take us to row to Costa Rica, Javen?”
Javen grabbed the other set. “All night. Maybe into tomorrow. We’re about thirty miles out. Current is with us, though. That’s good.”
Scott piped up after consulting a colorful screen. “I estimate with winds and current we can make it, if you guys row hard, in ten hours.”
Ashor said, “Let’s hope no one notices us. The last thing we want is to end up on CNN as the mystery rescue of the month.”
****
White sand beaches scattered with driftwood loomed ahead. A few post-dawn stragglers roamed. For most people, the beach epitomized the perfect holiday destination. For Dakar, quite the opposite. Too near the ocean.
“Where to, Scott?” Ashor asked.
Scott typed madly on what Dakar had learned was a laptop computer. Images of elaborate boarding houses…no, Scott called them resort hotels, scrolled faster than he could process.
As he scrolled, Scott said, “We need something not top end or American touristy. Something…like, aaaha! Our destination is that way.” He pointed north along the beach.
Long after they rowed past several sprawling multi-story hotels with gigantic blue pools (who needed a pool with the ocean?), they pulled the rafts onto a beach.
“That’s it?” Javen pointed to a dilapidated three-story.
Scott nodded. “It’s perfect for not being noticed.”
“If I get bedbugs from this, I’m blaming you, Scott.” Christian crinkled his nose.
“It’s described as a charming hotel, designed with traditional Spanish colonial elements and contemporary tropical décor,” Scott read off his laptop.
“Charming as in old and rundown,” Javen grumbled.
Scott shot back, “Like you think we could waltz into a high end resort smelling like we spent a week in the ocean with you guys tattooed and bloody up the wazoo, and not attract local police?”
“Well, let’s check in,” Ashor thundered, shutting down the bickering. He led the way up the beach.
“Wait,” Kira demanded. “You’re going to scare the hell out of the staff. We need someone less intimidating. And less memorable.”
Dakar said, “About the only ones less likely to scare the humans are Christian, you, and Scott.”
“Great, then we three will get a few rooms,” Kira announ
ced. “Scott has the credit card, anyway.”
“Why is it that I always end up with this shit?” Christian complained while jogging to catch up with Kira and Scott.
“What’s our transportation plan, Ashor?” Javen asked.
“Let me text V to see if he and Eric can fly down here by tomorrow.” Ashor’s fingers moved madly over a small rectangular device.
“The plane he likes to fly has some right engine issues that I wanted looked at.”
“Then, we’ll just have to hope it holds out. I really don’t want to have to crash again and then row into Florida.”
“We could hire a private jet and get out of here tonight,” suggested Ethan.
“And deal with customs? No, thank you. Besides, we could all use a shower and rest,” Ashor replied.
Nate mumbled, “It’s not like we all brought along our own hookup.” His gaze darted to Kira before she disappeared around the building.
Ethan laughed. “Jealous? Get Christian to fix you up. I guarantee he won’t be sleeping alone tonight. Maybe he’ll let you join him. You never know.”
Nate snorted out an ick-no-way sigh. “I can do fine on my own.”
“Christian claims you haven’t been laid since the last time he fixed you up over a year ago.”
“You’re really going to do this again? You keeping score? The one and only time I allowed Christian to fix me up the girl turned out to be psycho. I mean, she wanted me to hurt her. I’m not into that messed-up shit. Besides, who are you to judge me? You haven’t been laid since like the first World War.”
“Maybe it’ll help you relax and be less likely to crash-land us on the way home,” Dakar suggested.
Nate flashed a middle finger and marched up the beach, away from Ethan’s laughter.
Ethan met Dakar’s gaze. “He blows up so easily. How can I resist? Hard to believe he was a cool-headed ranger lieutenant before we recruited him.”
“What’s a ranger?
“Military. Covert, special forces.”
****
“We’re on the second floor. They didn’t have any beach front views. There’s apparently some American group checked in here that have all those. I couldn’t quite make out…” Kira’s voice trailed off as they rounded the building toward the external stairs. “No way.” She yelled at a tall short-cropped blond wearing a black outfit, “Kane!”
The tall heavily muscled man halted and pivoted. Focused, unblinking dark blue eyes skewered them. Kane wore no expression on his face at all, just that focused stare. Cool as a cat. This man knew how to handle himself. Kane yanked a small plastic piece from his ear that had a curly cord, which disappeared into his shirt. When his gaze settled on Kira, expression set in for the first time. Shock. “Kira?”
“Who’s he?” Dakar asked, sensing the guy wasn’t a magus.
“Kira’s cousin, Kane Langford,” Nate replied. “Ex-special forces. Uh, that means he has special military training.”
“He a ranger like you?”
“How the hell did you know that?”
Dakar shrugged.
“If you can read my thoughts like Javen, then stay the hell out of my mind.”
Ethan bit his lip against a smile and raised an eyebrow when Dakar met his gaze. Dakar’s lips quirked upward.
“He’s an ex-ranger like Nate. Apparently, they were in the same unit,” Ethan explained.
Kane glanced behind him before walking their way. “What are you guys doing here?”
Kira smiled. “What? Embarrassed to see us or something? Ready to level with me on what you really do? I want to know who you’re spying for. And how you scored a trip to Costa Rica out of it.”
“Really, what are you doing here?”
Kira said, “Needed a vacation.”
Kane direct-eyed each magus. Brave. And then did a once-over, taking in their rough clothes. “Sure, a vacation. You guys working?” His gaze settled on Ashor. He pursed his lips as if Ashor’s presence pissed off some core, fundamental level he couldn’t get beyond.
Ashor raised his shoulders and dropped them. Dakar noticed none of the others conveyed anything beyond boredom toward Kane.
“It’s odd seeing you guys. I was going to call tonight. I’ve run into a bizarre situation down here. One that involves your world. Or at least your favorite bad guys.”
“Hashishins.” Ashor stated, his tone resigned.
“Yeah, them. You know, I preferred conferring over the phone…but whatever. So, you’re right, Kira, that I didn’t exactly retire from the rangers ten years ago. Recruited into a different organization.”
“I knew it! Wish you were out, though,” Kira said.
“The bottom line is that my unit has been chasing this child abduction ring for about two years. Today we found a big piece of the puzzle. We were this close to getting them this time.” He held his thumb and index finger an inch apart. “But the kids were already moved and several of the abductors were killed. Although we’ve suspected that’s their standard M.O.—kill all involved—we never found a body until now. Today we must’ve been close since they left the bodies and ran. The real pisser is we’ve never found so much as a whisper of the kids. They don’t show up on any human trafficking network, nor does any body surface. But today, one of the abductors had a Hashishin tat on his neck. That little concentric ring thing.”
“Maybe it’s a coincidence. Used to be Hashishin or something,” suggested Ashor.
A coincidence? thought Dakar. Maybe he misinterpreted how obtuse Ashor seemed, but targeting in such a manner was a definite search for pre-mags. He cocked at eyebrow at Ashor.
Ashor squinted for a fraction of a second in reply.
Thank the gods. He knew. But was smart enough to keep the info close to the cuff.
Kane continued, “Those guys don’t seem like the type to let one of their own wander off the ranch. I’d venture to guess if you tried to do a hasta la vista on Terek, he’d smoke your ass. What do you think they want with kids?”
Kira suggested, “New recruiting method? Start ’em young? What better way to mold young minds—”
“You think so?” Kane interrupted with his gaze square on Ashor.
“Anything special about these kids that disappeared?” Ashor asked in a monotone that lacked enthusiasm.
“All boys. And each the victim of a major trauma from which they walked away unscathed. True miracle kids. What do you think?”
“He’s looking for something,” Ashor replied.
“That’s what I think, but what?”
Ashor shook his head in a clear no-idea. The guy was good.
Javen called from his post at the corner of the building, “There’s a blonde Amazon chick headed our way. Looks like she’s shouldering a buttload of pissy. She with you, Kane?”
“Astrid. My assignment partner. Better if she doesn’t see you guys. I can bluff most people through twenty questions, but her…well, she can smell bullshit a mile away. I’ll head her off. What room you in, Kira?”
“We’re in two oh four,” she replied.
“Catch you later.”
“Or not,” Ashor whooshed out as he breezed passed Dakar.
****
Showered, shaved, and now dressed in what Nate called a T-shirt and jeans, Dakar stepped out of the bathroom. The red glow of early dusk tinted the room behind his reflection in the mirror. The black shirt was immodestly tight. Comfortable. But hugged his chest in a way that made hiding weapons impossible.
“Nice shave. I’m flattered,” Ethan greeted him and stroked his goatee, which was an exact replica of what Dakar had done with his facial hair.
“Thought I would attempt to blend a bit better in this century. When I was here last, sideburns were all the rage.”
Ethan grimaced. “That’s a trend that keeps coming back, but really should stay gone. How long have you been…uh, gone? And what have you been doing all that time?”
Dakar shrugged, not feeling it the right moment to discuss th
e past with an amnesic Ethan.
“Fine. Keep your secrets. Want to come with us to get a beer?”
“Does that mean food?” The two small packages of cracker sandwiches a few hours ago had done little to assuage his hunger. Based on his stomach’s gurgling, he wouldn’t be surprised if it started digesting itself within the next hour. Starvation was a familiar sensation; one he despised, but knew how to live with. In this realm, though, it equated to weakness.
“Christian chose the place. That means there will probably be a lot of scantily clad single women and alcohol. No guarantees on the food part.”
“Lead on, then.”
Two hours later the three of them occupied a round corner table in the tavern…no, they called it a bar. He shifted when his stomach rumbled to cut off its complaints. The place offered only a crackers-and-nuts mixture for food. Four bowls of the salty blend had done little more than dehydrate him. And the beer was a foul, diluted version of the hearty stout he remembered. It didn’t warrant more than a few sips.
A brunette sat in Christian’s lap, whispering in his ear. No doubt he would retire soon, at least Dakar hoped. He couldn’t stomach watching Christian push a girl against the dark wall behind him and have at it. Modesty and respectability had apparently vanished in this century. Call him old-fashioned, but he missed the days of long women’s skirts when an ankle flash was enough to make a man blow in his trousers.
Upon arrival at this bar, Ethan assured him this was not a brothel as he’d assumed. Men and women conducted themselves in a manner that suggested their sole objective was to find a bed partner. He squinted through the flashing lights to the packed dance floor, watching mixed couples bounce around to the non-melodic, heavy-beat music. There was no organization to the movements. No group social interaction and propriety. This was imitation sex with a lot of pelvis grinding.
Ethan gazed sightlessly into the crowd while he nursed his ninth double-shot scotch. Conversation was impractical over the piercing music pulsations.
“Se tiene que ir.” You need to leave.
Dakar tabled the beer he’d been nursing and eyed the busty blonde now beside him.
The woman moistened her puffy, pink-painted lips, planted her hands on the table, and leaned in. Despite the retina-brutalizing strobes, he was able to make out the shadow of her generous breasts rebelling against confinement in her too-tight bustier. She dropped lower in front of him with a too-knowing smile, granting him an unobstructed view of that substantial flesh.