by K. T. Tomb
Savannah was going to be mad at him. He had screwed it all up by being rash. Oh well. Never mind that now. It was done. He reached inside his breast pocket and withdrew the deed and the passport. At least when they found him, they’d know what was going on from these documents. He wondered if there really were gods who looked after the dead. Is that what Izanami did? Or did she cause people to die? Maybe this was punishment for swinging on her statue back in Nikko. His shirt was turning red. That could be a problem. Someone else’s problem now, unless Savannah got here pretty quickly. He remembered that Monica was trying to leave the country. He should stop her. Not that he could catch her again now, but he should do something. Using the ink Monica had just given him, he finger painted a short message for Savannah on the floor next to him. He could sleep for a year. Travis closed his eyes, and drifted away to a place where nothing hurt.
Epilogue
The light hurt his eyes through his closed eyelids. Did heaven have to be so damn bright? He wasn’t in pain, so it couldn’t be hell he was in. Travis guessed that on balance he wasn’t a bad guy, so maybe St. Peter would let him in after all. Someone was calling his name. He recognized the voice. Oh God, not her too.
“Sav… sorry I got you killed.”
His voice was a dry crack, and he was incredibly thirsty. Someone gave him some water.
“Travis, I’m not dead. You’re on a lot of morphine, they tell us we can’t stay with you long.”
Travis opened his eyes a fraction, and had to squint to avoid being blinded by the fluorescent strip lighting over his head. He didn’t appear to be dead after all, unless heaven looked a lot like a room at Emory University Hospital which would be a joke of bizarre complexity on the part of the Creator of the Universe. He guessed he must be somehow still be alive. Savannah sat around his bed, Adam and Thyri.
“Aren’t you guys in Europe?”
He felt amazingly at peace with everything. Morphine was something he could get used to.
“We got here this morning,” Adam said. “How are you doing?”
“Yeah, I’m great. Apart from another hole in me, that sucks. It seems like the drugs are good in here though.” He cracked a smile to show he was joking.
“What happened?” “ Where’s Miya?—I mean the real Miya. Did they get Monica?”
“Steady, Travis, take it easy,” Thyri said. “Miya is fine, she was in for a night, and was a bit dehydrated from being kept prisoner for a month. She’s helping the FBI now. As to this Monica, it turns out you had an encounter with one of the most notorious identity thieves in the world; Monica Chen, formerly of Hong Kong, London, Rio and New York. The feds have been trying to catch her for five years. You got closer than they ever did in the last five days.”
Thyri didn’t try and hide the pride she felt in him.
“I messed up and it got me shot, again. Sorry.”
Despite the morphine, Travis felt close to tears all of a sudden. Savannah dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief and squeezed his hand.
“It’s alright Travis. You didn’t know she’d turn out to be so dangerous. The police read your message- which was particularly gruesome, by the way, and closed the airports. If she’s on her way out of the country, she’ll have to get across state lines and her picture is being circulated through every airport in the country. They’ll catch her.”
Thyri’s phone rang. She answered it, sighed heavily then said ‘No comment!’ and she hung up the phone.
“The press have been a nightmare. Obviously your shooting made local news, but when the events came to light about the kidnapping and who shot you, they got whipped up into a real frenzy. Looks like you’re going to be the poster boy for Adventurers Inc. again, Mr. Monahan.”
“Great, my favorite thing, talking to those vultures. I don’t want to speak to them.”
Travis shifted uncomfortably in his bed. The IV drip in his arm was itching as the morphine faded from his system, replaced by considerable pain in his abdomen. Savannah pressed a button and a flood of warm well-being entered his veins.
“On the upside, we are in line for a substantial reward when Chen is captured, and Mrs. Richards says she’ll honor the fee agreed to by Chen for the return of the deed to the mine,” Thyri said.
“Speaking of which,” Adam said, “it definitely helped her come to terms with her kidnapping when Savannah told her she was about to become a multi-millionaire. She’s going to look after your friend Ryo and his family too; I think she was more excited about the new relatives than she was about the wealth. She’s a nice lady.”
“At least it worked out. I think I’m going to go to sleep now, guys. Thanks for visiting me.”
Travis could feel the morphine knocking him out. Thyri and Adam said their goodbyes, but Savannah stayed, gently holding his hand as the drugs kicked in fully and Travis slid into unconsciousness.
He was glad she stayed. His last thought before the blackness took him was that when he was fully healed he would make it up to Savannah for charging into things without thinking, and for being a drunk for so long. With her help, he was sure he could stay clean.
The End
The Alpha Adventures returns in:
“B” is for Bullion
An Alpha Adventure #2
Return to the Table of Contents
“B” IS FOR BULLION
An Alpha Adventure
#2
by
K.T. TOMB
“B” is for Bullion
Published by K.T. Tomb
Copyright © 2014 by K.T. Tomb
All rights reserved.
Ebook Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Dedication
The author wishes to dedicate this book to the late
Kurt Vonnegut.
‘B’ is for Bullion
Chapter One
For reasons best known to himself, Angelo the terrier loved winter in Atlanta more than the other seasons. Sure, he enjoyed dragging Travis through piles of leaves in autumn well enough, and basking on the balcony in the spring, but the little dog took a near bacchanalian delight in snowdrifts and never seemed to tire of playing catch with snowballs thrown by his master. Travis had missed their games last winter, thanks to the abdominal bullet wound he had received from Monica Chen in the fallout from the amethyst case, and by the time he had been physically capable to get out of his bed and play with his dog, the winter snows were well on their way out.
In any event, during the immediate period after his discharge from the hospital, games were the last thing on his mind. He had been in a seemingly endless cycle of interviews with the FBI, psychotherapy, physiotherapy and aqua aerobics, which was the most ridiculous exercise on earth in Travis’s not-so-humble opinion. Not to mention, his return to lecturing at the university with the accompanying mob of students; despite trying hard to be too cool to care, they could hardly help themselves with excitement that their odd anthropology professor had managed to get himself shot... again. By the time Travis had managed to stop his head from spinning, he had at least managed to convince the kind but fastidious psychoanalyst that he was not, in fact, suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, nor in possession of any undue unresolved childhood issues with his mother. Dr. Morgan had appeared at least as old as George Washington, had the appearance of Colonel Sanders and the mannerisms of Mr. Rogers. Slightly harder to convince of this, and much more difficult than convincing himself or Dr. Morgan, was Savannah.
Travis couldn’t think too badly of her incessant monitoring of him. After all, he had spent half a year at the bottom of a bottle after being shot in Russia, and that had been a flesh wound in comparison to the wound inflicted by Chen. This time had been different, partly due to his extended stay in the hospital while his internal organs were sewn back together, but also thanks to Travis’s own resolve to not go down that dark path a
gain. Savannah had shepherded him to several AA meetings, but had eventually consented to allow Travis to drive himself to and from the weekly get-together. If he was truly honest with himself, Travis did feel a little superior; and then bad for feeling superior. The state some of the poor bastards were in exacerbated his feeling of dread that this was the path he could easily be on himself if he didn’t sort his shit out, and fast.
The fear of becoming a corpulent, yellow-skinned and bloodshot-eyed walking corpse had the positive effect of Travis finding himself in the gym every morning before his lectures, and even joining the university Aikido club on Thursdays. He wasn’t too bad at it either, despite the twenty year age gap between himself and his student sparring partners. Green tea and healthy eating, regular exercise and strictly no booze had visited a remarkable change in Travis in a mere eight months. The paunch that was threatening at his waistline was defeated, and if it wasn’t for the ever-increasing flecks of gray in his beard and at his temples, he could have passed for a man in his early thirties rather than his true age.
Despite the revolution in his health, Angelo the Jack Russell was still capable of running him into the ground. They had been at the park for over an hour, and despite his vastly increased cardiovascular fitness, Travis was puffing hard at chasing the small dog across the compacted snow. Angelo decided that he had perhaps run enough and occupied himself with inspecting some urine on a tree trunk before tagging over it with his own. Travis waited patiently while the canine bush telegraph was suitably amended and checked his smart phone. The display showed the speaker icon with a line through it, denoting the phone was on silent, and a red arrow showing him that he had missed a call; at least one. He was still unaccustomed to touch screen technology, so it took him a few moments of swiping to find out whom he had missed. Angelo finished his own messages and looked up with a canine approximation of a quizzical look. Travis met his eye.
“Yeah, I wasn’t expecting them, either. We had better go see what they want. What do you think?”
Angelo barked once, which either meant yes or no, or sometimes it meant that Angelo had no opinion. The dog was happy enough to have his collar attached to the lead again, so Travis assumed that his important business in the park was thus concluded for another day. He toyed with the idea of returning the call, but decided that seeing as the office used by Thyri and her team was only a short distance away, he might as well go and see them in person. After all, it had been quite some time since he had told anyone to stick their ideas where the sun doesn’t shine.
By the time Travis reached the unassuming building that housed the Alpha Adventures, Inc. office, Angelo had finally tired out some and had begged to be carried the last portion of the way. Travis knew that the dog was aware of their destination seeing as they had practically lived there in the depths of his alcohol abuse. As sure as he was that the terrier was milking his tiredness for a free ride he was incapable of refusing Angelo’s pitiful whimpering, faked or not.
“You know, there was a really cool German Shepherd at the pound when I got you. I bet he would have been a great dog. Lots of stamina, those German Shepherds. Runs all day, never complains.”
Angelo said nothing as Travis pushed open the front door to the office block, made his way to the third floor, and entered the room without knocking.
“Well. Fuck me!” he said.
In the Adventurer office sat Thyri, whom he had expected to be there, resplendent in her usual glamorous tailored suit and immaculately styled blonde hair. Who he had not expected to see was the thin, angular woman with spiked green hair, dressed in a cardigan and combat trousers. Fiona. The last news Travis had heard of her was that she had had her prison sentence – originally a short stint for disturbing of the peace and vandalism in London – extended for orchestrating a riot over some ridiculous cause. The last time Travis had seen her was in the hospital after his first shooting by Russian mobsters over the Baikal case which, when he thought about it, was entirely Fiona’s fault in the first place for getting involved with British psychopaths to resolve her legal issues.
“Great to see you too, Travis!” Fiona bounded over and wrapped him in a hug, accidentally squashing Angelo slightly, who yelped in annoyance.
“Get off!” Travis said, as she sprang back. “You have some nerve after what you pulled. You think you can just walk in here like nothing happened?”
Fiona looked abashed as Thyri stood up from her chair and held her hands up in a placating gesture. “Travis, I know this is...”
Thyri was cut off mid-sentence.
“This is what, Thyri? A surprise? Let me think, did you not get my email? Oh, of course you did, because we had many, many conversations about it with the end result that I still quit this fool’s game. I don’t care why Fiona’s here, but it sure as hell ain’t going to end up with me getting lead plucked out of me again. Lovely to see you both, of course. Good day.”
Travis made to leave, but Angelo wriggled from his arms and bounded to Thyri, tail wagging.
Traitor! Travis thought.
Thyri beamed a smile and made puppy talk at Angelo for a moment. Fiona took the opportunity to try and explain the situation.
“Travis, I know this is a surprise, but, well… I need your help with something.”
Travis snorted in derision.
“And why would I help you? Are you going to take a bullet for me this time?”
“If I have to, yes. There have been a lot of recent developments, and I think you’d be interested in what I have to say.”
“Hold on a minute. Start with how in hell you aren’t still in a British prison before you start spinning me a line about what damn fool’s idea you have cooked up in what masquerades as your mind.”
Travis was overly bitter to Fiona, but it felt good to put the gregarious and often overbearing English woman on the back foot early. From past experience, he knew that if he didn’t control the conversation, he would find himself an hour in the future without having spoken a word.
“Okay,” Fiona said. “First things first, then. I am obviously no longer in jail. I cut a little deal with my parole officer to get out early, but there’s a catch.”
“I’m stunned, of course.”
Fiona was starting to go a little pink under the withering sarcasm.
“Well, obviously I’m not supposed to be out yet. The parole officer fudged some paperwork; technically, I’m at an open prison in Hampshire, which has taken a bit of, er, financial incentivizing… from Thyri to keep sweet.”
Thyri raised her eyes to the conversation and away from tickling Angelo’s belly at the sound of her name, but said nothing.
“You mean, you’ve bribed officials to keep your absconding from jail under wraps. Nice.”
Travis motioned for Fiona to continue.
“Yes, well, we’re on a bit of a schedule you see, so, time really was of the essence in getting me out of the country. I’m traveling on a Swiss passport – Thyri’s work again; I can’t even pronounce my new name at the moment but I’ll get the hang of it. Anyway, this parole officer has family who is invested heavily in a company called Multimetal. They deal in ores; steel, stuff like that, but also gold. This company had a ship go missing, had loads of gold on it. Doesn’t seem like it’s sunk, but it went totally dark. The parole officer knew what I did with you guys and reckons if we get the gold back to Multimetal, we’ll get a cut and I’ll be off the hook!” Fiona smiled hopefully.
Travis stroked his chin, feeling the therapeutic texture of his inches-long beard. He had quit the adventuring business after the Japanese amethyst affair, but the idea of locating an entire container ship did tantalize his investigative taste buds. It wouldn’t hurt him to find out a little more. Ignoring Fiona’s smile, he turned to Thyri.
“Well, you’re clearly thinking this job will fly, or Fiona would still be serving at the pleasure of Her Majesty. What do Savannah and Adam have to say about it?”
“Savannah will be staying here. She
has other concerns.”
Travis’ heart sank a little. Savannah and he had formed a good relationship in Japan.
“Adam is overseas, purchasing antiques and will not be back in the U.S. for another month. It’s to be just the three of us, if you are interested.”
Thyri raised an eyebrow to indicate the exact position of the ball, and in whose court, it lay.
“Maybe I am. This doesn’t mean I’d be re-joining Alpha. You can consider me a private contractor, and I expect to be paid as such. Here are my terms. Any grief from Fiona, any stupid wild goose chases or half-cocked ideas that are not run past me first, and I go straight to the nearest airport and home, at your expense. If we’re clear on that, I’m provisionally in. Where was this ship last seen? I’ll assume that you’ve made travel arrangements already.”
Travis saw that Fiona was now quite abashed from the verbal dressing down.
“Excellent news, that’s fine by us. Fiona will be on her best behavior, right?” Thyri looked at Fiona, who silently nodded her assent. “We’re going to the Sea of Okhotsk. I’ve taken the liberty of chartering a plane, which will be ready to go as soon as we are. We’ll be traveling incognito as reporters for the Wall Street Journal; seems like there’ll be plenty of press there we can blend in with.”
Thyri, in a move that was quite uncharacteristic for her, had looked away from Travis as she was speaking at the end. She usually made a point of maintaining eye contact.
“Okhotsk,” Travis said. “That sounds kind of Russian.” He could feel his blood pressure rising. “Thyri, why does that sound Russian?”
“Relax, Travis,” Fiona said. “It’ll be fine – I’m giving you a no-gangster guarantee! It’s a simple investigation.”