New Shores: The Eden Chronicles - Book Three

by S. M. Anderson

  He worked his way around a gentle curve in the road and stepped into a pocket of clear air. The first thing he did was take a deep breath; the second was to hawk up one of his lungs. The pitch of the Osprey’s engines altered, and he looked up with eyes full of tears turning to mud. The aircraft was passing back over the ranch, hugging the ground as it picked up speed heading west.

  Ten minutes later, having washed out his eyes with a bottle of water from the truck, he made it to the ranch on foot and discovered the three ranch hands tied up, trying to free themselves from where they’d been roped together on a couch. They just stared at him as he came through the open door, following the noise of their exertions. He couldn’t imagine what he looked like; he felt as if he was carrying forty pounds of desert in his clothes and hair.

  “I’m ISS,” he said, only to be met with confused stares. “A cop,” he tried again.

  “Oh, thank God,” the big fat guy with a welt the size of a plum on his forehead said. “Is she gone?”

  “Who?”

  “The crazy lady, with the crazy kids.”

  He untied them as he got the gist of the story of what had happened here.

  “I need one of your vehicles, keys.” He held out his hand.

  “They took all our keys,” the big guy whined. “Maybe they are still in the cars.”

  They weren’t. A tractor was the only thing that still had its keys, and its tires had been shot out along with those of all the other vehicles.

  The ranch hands had been helping him check the vehicles for keys, and one of them was yelling something at him and pointing. He still couldn’t hear for shit, but turned to look for whatever had the man so excited.

  There were two vehicles coming down from the rim of the valley, moving fast.

  “Friends of yours?” he yelled at the big guy they called “Little Mike.”

  The look of fear on the man’s face said “no.”

  He took another look at the three of them. They were scared. He doubted if this ranch had ever seen this kind of excitement.

  “You three get back to your bunkhouse.” They just stood there, looking at him. He pulled his sidearm and did his best to smile. “I wasn’t asking, gentlemen.”

  It was probably a good thing he couldn’t hear the comments he could clearly see the three making, but they did as they were told.

  Following the progress of the two vehicles was easy. Even when the road was hidden from view by turns, the glow from their headlights and banks of lights mounted on the roof could have been seen from anywhere in this valley. He thought of his own aborted drive in; he should have realized they’d seen his lights long before he’d been able to spot the ranch.

  “Who are you guys?” he whispered to himself as he maneuvered himself behind the weighted wheel of the massive tractor. He checked his gun belt, reassured that he hadn’t lost his two extra magazines.

  The two vehicles came off the final slope and skidded to a stop in front of the ranch house amid a spray of gravel. He stayed hidden as he watched men pile out of what he could now see were up-rigged civilian versions of Army JTVs. These guys were loaded for bear and moved professionally. He watched several of them set a perimeter, taking a knee while the rest scanned the area.

  “Agent Starret!?” The shout sent a chill down his spine.

  “Agent Marc Starret!” These guys were ISS, and the only way they could be here right now, so close behind him, was Tessa. She’d been lying; he’d been followed.

  He wondered how long she’d been playing him. He was angry enough that he almost raised his gun. This was either a fucked-up test of his loyalty or something a lot more final. Either way, for him it was the last straw. He wondered how long she’d had this cleanup crew on his ass. The only question left was whether Tessa considered him part of the mess.

  He stepped out from behind the tractor tire, hands raised, badge in one hand, his gun in the other. “I’m Starret! Director Roberts send you?”

  He could only imagine the conversation that was taking place forty yards away in front of those vehicles. He could see two men exchange words, perfectly outlined by their own lights. Two of the operators came running up in tactical order and ordered him to ground his gun. He did so, took a step back, and put his empty hand on his head, the other stretched out, showing them his badge wallet and ID.

  “What’s the situation here?”

  “You just missed them,” he said as the wallet was ripped from his hand and closely examined.

  He knew these teams were made up of former special ops types who wouldn’t have come close to passing the psych eval of any agency two years earlier. The soldier gave a nod to his partner and handed back the badge.

  That soldier, clearly in charge of the two, spoke in the clear into his mic shroud.

  “It’s Starret. Tango’s are gone.” He assumed the man was speaking to the team leader back at the vehicle.

  “You want to lower that muzzle? We’re on the same side here,” he said, knowing that wasn’t even close to true, but certain niceties had to be observed. If he made it out of this alive, he’d tender his resignation the minute he stepped into the office. On second thought, a text sent from a burner would be better. After that, he’d work on disappearing on his terms, before Tessa would do it for him.

  The muzzle of the assault rifle didn’t waver until the ex-soldier got a reply. When it dropped away, the man behind the gun did a piss poor job of hiding his disappointment.

  “You’re clear,” the man said with a tinge of surprise. “Come on.”

  He retrieved and holstered his own gun and followed the two soldiers back to the vehicles.

  “What happened here, Starret?”

  “I need to speak with Director Roberts.”

  “We’re here on her orders.” The team leader was almost half a head shorter than the other operators surrounding him, but in the dark, silhouetted by the headlights, his shoulders looked four feet wide.

  “I don’t doubt that, but if you want a debriefing, you’ll put me in touch with her.”

  The man unslung what he’d taken for a radio, but it was sat-phone Wi-Fi’d to a dish on one of the vehicles. The man held it out to him and made him come get it. Asshole.

  “She’s on the line.”

  No shit. “Tessa? This is Marc.”

  “You OK, Marc? Our team get there in time?”

  He swallowed his anger; she was still playing him. He’d done a few undercover operations in his early years at the bureau. Two could play this game.

  “You’re going to get a hell of a dry-cleaning bill, but I’m good. Who the hell are these guys? And why didn’t you tell me I had backup? We could have had them.”

  “You’ve been living in DOD spaces for two weeks, Marc. That team has a footprint quite a bit larger than yours. There isn’t an explanation that would have held, and there would have been questions we couldn’t have answered. I kept them in their own loop.”

  “Are they read in?”

  “Fully. Give them all you’ve got; accompany them. You own the investigation, Marc. But you need to know they have tactical authority and their own orders.”

  He had to give her credit; it was utter bullshit, but it was a good story, and she sold it well.

  “All right, that works. Get an ISR drone up if there isn’t one already. They looked to be flying west.”

  “Coordinate that with Simmons. He has control of a drone. Check in with me if you learn anything.”

  The call ended abruptly, and he handed the phone back. “You Simmons?”

  “I am,” the short-statured troll confirmed.

  “Did you hear all that?” Simmons looked around at his men, standing there waiting for orders.

  “Can you track them or not?”

  Simmons jerked a thumb over his shoulder at his vehicle. “My man’s working on it.” He noticed somebody still sitting in one the vehicles, a blue-green glow of a computer terminal highlighting his face.

  “OK, good. Let
’s get back to a blacktop and start moving west.”

  Simmons nodded slowly and then jerked his chin towards the bunkhouse.

  Starret turned around and saw that the three ranch hands had exited and were standing near the front door, watching them.

  “First, we sanitize this place.”

  His hand shot out and grabbed Simmons by the forearm. “They’re just ranch hands. They don’t know anything.”

  “Not my call.” Simmons shook his head and then dipped his chin to look at where he was being held. “Or yours.”

  The rest of Simmons’s team was already moving. When the burst of automatic rifle fire ruptured the quiet of the valley, he started as if he’d been shot himself.

  Simmons jerked his arm back. “They’d seen the target.”

  “You don’t know that! I don’t even know that, and I was here.”

  “Orders.” Simmons shrugged and pulled out a pack of cigarettes before activating his tactical mic.

  “Burn it all.”

  *

  Chapter 17

  Hatwa Estate, Chandra

  Cal’as was starting to relax a little bit. It had been touch-and-go with the Hatwa warrior for a while. The coast road they were on passed by the Kaerin lord’s estate, and Jake had taken the opportunity to do a little sight-seeing. Lupe’s reaction hadn’t been much better than that of their local escort.

  Jake had been shocked at the lack of security around the Kaerin estate. He had to keep reminding himself that the Kaerin weren’t occupying enemy territory—they’d won a long time ago. Their absolute rule was as firmly entrenched as the weather—it just was.

  Their hostage had dug his heels in and refused to leave the road and jump over the waist-high wall into the Kaerin lord’s front yard. He’d told Lupe to keep a watch on their friend and that he’d be right back. Lupe had agreed to stay behind a little too quickly. He pointed them towards a copse of trees where they should hide.

  Jake got it; he understood. From his perspective, Lupe was a work in progress. The former poacher had a solid foundation for mayhem and a healthy mistrust of authority that he could work with. He was still uneasy or maybe a little in awe of things he didn’t understand. To Jake, the Kaerin were a challenge; his goal, as always, was to instill awe in others. He knew it was probably some deep-seated insecurity from his youth; he’d been late catching his growth spurt, and it had been damn hard to grow up in rural Louisiana as an undersized hellion when you just knew you were the toughest kid in town. Whatever the psychosis driving him; defeating the Kaerin wasn’t enough. Jake wanted them to know fear.

  The Kaerin lord’s “front yard” was a half mile deep and kept mowed by a small flock of sheep that he could make out in the moonlight. Keeping close to the low wall made of stacked rocks that Cal’as’s ancestors had probably dug out of the ground, he made it within maybe two hundred yards of the estate house’s bricked courtyard before he even saw a guard. Not that he needed additional proof of how long the Kaerin had been in control, but the massively overbuilt “house” was ancient. The entryway to the courtyard was flanked by two opposing piles of rubble, archaic remains of fallen guard towers.

  This place had been here a long time. Giving it some thought, he wondered if had been Audy’s ancestors who had cleared the land and hauled the stone for the fences. This had been Jema land up until they’d been relocated.

  Jake took a knee in the shadow of a large tree and did what he’d been trained to do. He counted guards, noting the routes they took around the property. He gauged the distance from the ground to the first-floor windows, noted the large barracks building that several Kaerin warriors emerged from. He was casing the compound for an assault.

  Satisfied that he wasn’t going to learn anything more without getting closer and running more risk than he was comfortable with, he backed away and quickly ran back the way he’d come. He was pleased with himself; one more bit of intel that Audy would be able to use. Nearing the wall that fronted the coast road, he started to slow; one of his feet went out from under him as he stepped in a fresh pile of sheep shit. He almost caught himself, the smell of the disturbed shit hitting him before he could put a hand out. That same hand found another pile of sheep dung, not as fresh, but just as shitty as he pushed himself back to his feet.

  “Son of a bitch!” he cursed to himself as he took the final few steps to the wall and climbed over. The pungent stench came with him.

  Like most difficulties he’d faced in his life, he laughed at it. Get to thinking you’re all that . . . the universe would always find a way to remind you that in the big picture of things—you weren’t shit.

  Lupe and Cal’as were where he’d left them. Their hostage didn’t look any happier than he had fifteen minutes earlier. Lupe . . . Lupe had a strange face look on his face and took a half step back.

  “What the hell?” Lupe sounded almost angry as he covered his nose.

  “There were sheep,” he explained. “A lot of sheep.”

  A sick grin broke out on Lupe’s face. “There are so many things I want to say right now.”

  He could only nod in agreement. If this had happened in the teams, he’d have a new call-sign by now.

  “Well, shit happens.” He straightened his sword belt and nodded at the road. “Let’s get going now that you ladies are rested.”

  They made it twenty yards down the road, when he saw both Lupe and the Hatwa exchange looks and move to the upwind side of him.

  “What is it with gringos and sheep?” Lupe asked in Chandrian without missing a step.

  Cal’as turned to Lupe. “I do not understand. What is a gringo?”

  Jake had to listen to the detailed explanation of not only what was meant by “gringo,” but also what Lupe was inferring had happened between him and a sheep.

  Cal’as snorted in laughter; apparently, some jokes existed in multiple universes.

  Cal’as’ good cheer faded an hour later when Jake ordered them off the road at a vine covered stone bridge that hung over a small creek.

  “We’ll follow this to the shore.”

  “There is nothing there.” Cal’as was shaking his head. “Some big rocks and a short strip of sand at the edge of the sea.”

  “Sounds perfect. We can be picked up there.”

  “How?”

  “How far to the sea?”

  “Two, perhaps three kamarks.” Cal’as looked as if he thought they were crazy. “This stream is nothing but a ribbon across the beach; a boat cannot use it.”

  He was reminded of early days with the Jema. It had been painful trying to explain shit that they had no knowledge of, or in many cases even a point of reference for. They’d all quickly learned that it was a lot easier to just show them.

  Turning to Lupe, he pointed up at a large tree. “See if you can reach Audy; tell him we are on the coast, three miles west of the Kaerin estate lying west of the city. He should be able to see that place the way it’s lit up. I’ll have the IR beacon shining up.”

  “Got it.”

  “Lupe,” he called, “let him know we are plus one.”

  Lupe regarded Cal’as for just a moment, then smiled. “Right.”

  “Stay with the stream. We’ll meet you on the beach.”

  He clapped Cal’as on the shoulder. “Lead the way.”

  “How will he talk with your boat?” Cal’as kept up his pace and turned to look back at him over his shoulder as he walked.

  “He has a long-talker.” Jake used the Jema word for a radio. The concept of such hadn’t been unknown to the Jema; they’d just never been allowed the use of one. Jake could recall the shortwave device the Strema had brought to Eden. It had needed a small wagon to transport it around.

  “A very small one,” he added. “So do our friends on the boat.”

  “Lupe”—Cal’as pronounced it as “Lou-pay”—“he takes your orders?”

  Most of the time. “Yes, he does.”

  “Yet, you allowed him to laugh at your expense, ab
out the sheep. You are a strange people.”

  “Just different,” he managed as he followed Cal’as down the middle of the stream. Steep hillsides on either side had forced them into the ankle-deep water.

  “It was funny. I would have thought less of him if he hadn’t given me a hard time.”

  “A hard time?”

  “If he hadn’t laughed at my . . . misfortune.”

  “And you are his superior?”

  “I suppose I am,” he managed.

  “And the man in the boat? This Addy? He is yours?”

  “His name is Audrin’ochal; he is Jema. We call him Audy.”

  “Audy,” Cal’as repeated the name and got it right this time. “He is your superior?”

  Jake had to smile to himself for a moment. He supposed they’d all get an answer to that question very soon. “Yeah, in this,” Jake admitted, “he is.”

  “Your people defeated the Strema and Koryna war hosts? Yet the Jema rule over you?”

  Jake came to a stop. “First off, Skippy, my people and the Jema fought together as allies, equals. That may be a tough concept for you people to understand, but it pretty much explains us. We don’t rule them—they don’t rule over us. Everyone is equal.”

  Cal’as looked at him strangely. “You would not say that if you had our knowledge of the Kaerin.”

  Jake smiled to himself. Oh, I think I would. “Trust me, you’ll feel different once you see us in action.”

  The Hatwa warrior did not look convinced. “Trust?”

  “Trust.” It felt odd saying it. For his part, he trusted the Hatwa, this one or any other, no further than he could throw one. Still, the kid was here with him now. Jake knew that was his father’s doing, but Cal’as was here. He pointed downstream. “Let’s go.”

  They reached a narrow bar of sand backed by large, square boulders of basalt. The creek almost disappeared as it widened into a dozen smaller channels. The dark water of the Baltic lapped gently, driven by what little wind there was.