by Seeley James
At one point, a familiar face appeared dressed as a pirate. He spun in a circle and stopped three feet from me. His eyes met mine—Benoît, my medic at the church. Recognition crossed our faces at the same time. He winked at me in the quarter second he held his pose. On the next beat, he danced away.
Nema was fascinated with the show for a time. Then she went back to eyeballing me as if I were about to do something terrible.
“What was that guy you met in front of the store earlier?” she shouted in my ear.
Mercury danced right off the stage and landed on the floor next to me. More important, homie, why is she phrasing her question without any humanity in it?
I said, What are you talking about?
She didn’t ask who he was, Mercury grinned before slipping between tables and away. She asked what.
I turned to Nema. “He was some guy asking about great restaurants.”
“He seemed to know you.”
“Americans tend to be friendly with each other.”
“He wasn’t American. He was something else. Not colored, not Asian.”
Even though I’d been expecting as much from Lugh, I’d hoped Nema was above that. I said, “He’s more American than you and I. He’s native.”
“How do you know that if you’re not friends?”
“No beard, no facial hair.”
She leaned back as if I’d solved a puzzle she’d been working on ever since she laid eyes on Miguel. But that made him identifiable at a distance. If she saw him in Spain, my cover would be blown. And Miguel would be in danger.
“Why?” I asked. “You have something against Native Americans?”
Her gaze went back to the stage where ladies danced wearing nothing but a few rhinestones draped across their chests.
I tried to determine if I’d been wrong about her gender preference. She didn’t watch the nearly naked ladies with any salacious interest. She was more intent on avoiding my question. She’d been doing a lot of that.
A strange-looking waiter squeezed through the two-inch gap between the stage and our table. He blocked our view of the show for a moment and bent to the floor. Then he scampered away.
The scantily dressed ladies were quite good dancers. I found it impossible to look away. Exceptional poise, posture, and balance.
Mercury popped out from under the table. Yo. Dude. Quit staring at the boobs while pretending to admire their skill. Did you see that guy pretending to be a waiter put a bomb under your table?
I lifted the tablecloth and leaned down. The first thing I could make out in the dark space was a partially disassembled flip-phone. A light on it blinked a steady beat. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I could make out wires running from the phone into the backpack that sat on the floor beneath my feet. The bomber hadn’t quite gotten the phone back in the pocket after arming it.
I leapt to my feet, turning the table over and sending our dinner to the floor. The backpack fell over.
I faced the audience. “BOMB! RUN!”
Everyone stared at me. They thought I was part of the show.
I pointed at the backpack. “BOMB!”
One of the dancers saw it and shrieked. Everyone on stage ran out. The music stopped. A mad scramble for the exits erupted. Most of the tourists would get out in time. Being in the center of the room, we would be inside the blast radius if we ran for the exits.
Nema rose slowly, staring at the backpack like a deer staring into oncoming headlights. Then her eyes swept the room.
I grabbed her hand and tugged. She pulled away. She was staring at the waiter who’d left the bomb. He stood by an exit. He wore a wig, eyeglass frames without lenses and a fake beard. He turned and joined the fleeing crowd.
The color drained from Nema’s face. I’d rarely seen anyone look so scared and confused and betrayed and hurt at the same time.
I scooped up Nema and jumped onto the stage, figuring our best route was through the shoemaker’s room.
We made it three steps before the blast threw us both through a wall.
The wall was a stage prop and gave way easily. It broke our fall. My elbows hit the floor. I landed on top of Nema. Since I cradled her inside my arms, my body shielded her from the debris falling all around us. A steel beam full of spotlights crashed to the floor an inch from the top of my head. The room went dark and filled with reeking smoke.
Cries and screeches surrounded us.
I got to my knees. “Are you all right?”
Nema was dazed. I saw no scratches, but her mind was stuck in shock. She had yet to catch up with what was happening around us. Her eyes darted to one side, then another.
Then it came to her. She let out a wail that nearly broke my eardrums.
Emergency lights snapped on, providing direction despite the thickening smoke.
“We’ve gotta get out of here!” I rose and pulled her arm and dragged her to a standing position.
Nema looked at me as if I were the devil himself. She pulled out of my grasp.
I waved at the destruction around us. The bomb had been at our feet. When I jumped on stage, the platform negated much of the blast. But the damage to the building was my biggest concern. I heard metal on metal creaking and saw stage scaffolding swaying.
Terrified screams for help came from every direction.
I grabbed her more forcefully and started to pull. Then I saw Benoît, unconscious under the light beam. I let go of Nema and said, “Get outside. I’ll find you.”
She didn’t move. Most people react to an emergency with shock, not urgency. It takes a few minutes for the brain to process everything before the urgency kicks in. Nema was taking longer than most. I couldn’t help that. She was on her feet and capable of saving herself. Benoît was not.
I grabbed the steel truss and tugged with both hands. It was really heavy. Then it got lighter. Nema had put her shoulder under the higher end and stood up. Together, we shoved the lights aside. I grabbed one of his hands; she grabbed the other. We got him to his feet. But his brain wasn’t functioning yet. I tossed him over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
Nema wrapped her arms around me. “I knew you would protect me.”
Not a good time for a discussion, but she’d just telegraphed critical information. The bomb was meant for her. She knew it. And she suspected one of her rival gangs.
I shouted over the screams, “Find a way out of here!”
CHAPTER 13
Major Pavard gave up when Hugo of the GIGN arrived and pulled rank for the second time in a day. Hugo admired Nema for a moment, then told me to enjoy the rest of the evening. He said, “Our mutual friend will be in touch.”
There had been no fatalities, but there were a lot of broken bones. Nema’s façade was one of the casualties. She hid behind my right shoulder, gripping my bicep like a shield, through the medical checks and the police questioning. Every sound made her jump. Every motion made her flinch.
We caught an Uber after three in the morning. She snuggled under my shoulder.
Mercury craned back from the passenger seat. Gay, huh, homie? Maybe you misjudged this one.
I said, I just saved her life. She’s grateful, that’s all. I think.
Mercury said, She said you don’t know anything about her. Five hundred aurei says she’s right.
Never bet with gods. That much I’ve learned the hard way. They gamble with people’s lives, and it never works out well for the mortals.
Too wired when we got to the hotel, we ordered hot fudge sundaes from room service and finished with some kind of dessert wine I’d never heard of. But it was awesome.
Nema toured the penthouse suite before the exhaustion caught up with her. The opulence convinced her I was filthy rich. It didn’t make her like me any more or less. She crashed on the sofa at the far end of the suite and purred herself to sleep within seconds.
I staggered through the dining room to the master bedroom and fell face down on the bed. Not long after, someone was scratching at the win
dow.
Miguel stood on the bedroom balcony in the dark. I quietly opened the door and snuck out, hoping not to wake Nema. In the distance, the Eiffel Tower glowed gold. A shadow stood to my right. The shadow made a muffled noise that sounded like a plea for help. A light drizzle began to fall.
I said, “I thought you went to Spain.”
“We were on the jet when we heard the news. Tania made them turn around.” He sounded rather casual about using Ms. Sabel’s third jet. She used to keep it in reserve for my missions. Now she was letting anyone take it for a joyride.
“Aw. You worried about me,” I said.
“Tania figured Pia would want us to bring your carcass home.”
“Hate to disappoint.” I flapped my arms to prove I had life left.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say the gods were on your side.”
I rolled my eyes. “Mercury still thinks you’re Monster Slayer.”
“Maybe I am.” He grinned.
“The bomb was professional.” His voice dropped to business. “Hastily built with a professional timer and a shaped charge. They meant to minimize casualties beyond the target. Not terrorist stuff. More like an assassination. Sabel Labs offered free expedited services to analyze the materials. That’ll take a couple days.”
I gave him the rosary the shooter left behind. “Based on the number of beads, he was either Eastern Orthodox or Protestant. Maybe Episcopalian or Anglican. Which is odd for a Spaniard. They look mass-produced, but it’s all we have.”
Miguel tucked them in his pocket with a nod that said he’d get them analyzed. Then he said, “Oh, hey, brought you something.”
He turned to the shadow in the corner and pulled Zack Ames into the dim light. Miguel ripped a strip of duct tape off Ames’s mouth but left the man’s hands wrapped.
“Fuck you both,” Zack said.
Miguel slapped the tape back on. The muffled pleas resumed. Miguel said, “Found him loitering around after the bombing. Figured you’d want to chat before you head off to Spain. Although I thought he’d learned some manners during the ride here.”
See here, homes? You be on the top floor. Mercury squeezed between us and leaned over the railing. Ain’t no fire escapes or ladders or stairs outside. He dragged a CIA agent up here. See what I’m saying? The man is not who he says he is. I’m telling you, he’s Monster Slayer, son of Changing Woman, savior of the Navajo—and the bastard who killed all the Mesopotamian gods back in the massacre of 823 CE.
I said, He spent his summers in Canyon de Chelly. Climbing cliffs is a habit.
He’s still unnatural. Mercury crossed his arms and scowled. Don’t be messing around with any other gods, ya hear me?
I let it go. The only gods Mercury feared were the North Americans. Apparently, when the Old World gods were beaten by Christianity and the Dark Ages descended upon the land, they crossed the Atlantic to convert the indigenous tribes. Instead, they got their asses kicked by the local deities. There’s still bad blood.
Or I’m hopelessly insane.
Never have figured that out.
Miguel asked Zack Ames if he would behave himself and Zack nodded with vigor. The tape came off.
“You two are interfering with a government employee in the execution of his duties, which is a felony by—”
Miguel yanked the man’s pants to his ankles, a schoolyard prank that shut him up. It also revealed a tattoo on his butt. It was a square cross on an interlocking circle, the cross filled in solid. It was vaguely Celtic. And decidedly not CIA.
Miguel said, “Next step is stress positions, Zack. All I want is for you to tell my man here what you’re getting him into.”
Zack nodded and pulled his pants back up as best he could with duct-taped wrists.
I said, “Start with why you’re involved. The undercover agent was FBI.”
Ames said, “The FBI surveilled several guys from Indianapolis heading to the Kraków meeting I told you about. About fifty guys met up in Atlanta and went from there to Poland. The FBI managed to get a man on the trip. But they didn’t have the clandestine resources to support him properly outside the country. That’s our department. Once Brady got here, he couldn’t shake loose. They had someone sitting on him in the EU. They moved around a lot.”
“You lost him.”
“That’s all history. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Not to you,” I said. I thumbed at Miguel. “Guess why he’s here? He tends NOT to lose people. You know why? Because he gives a damn. He doesn’t go home at six o’clock and hope to figure it out in the morning.”
“We didn’t know, OK?” Ames struggled against his bound wrists. He was dying to take a swing at me. “They don’t usually kill their own. They couldn’t have known he was undercover. He never communicated. Listen. We did our best under the circumstances.”
“I’m sure Brady appreciates your effort.” I looked skyward. “Wherever he may be.”
“Not funny, Stearne.”
“Do you know why Miguel brought you here, Zack?”
“You want to know the plan.”
“Tell us about that, Zack.”
“There’ll be a bunch of groups in Úbeda for the Identity Defense Conference. I’ll recap for you. Kraków was their international meeting. They were supposed to come together and form a united front politically and socially. Instead, they split into three big, well-financed factions, Birth Right, Fair Heritage, and Free Origins.
“There’ll be hundreds of unassociated ‘floaters’ going to the conference. The associations will compete for new members during the events. As I told you before, one of those groups is planning something big and violent. Rumors are it’s something bigger than Christchurch. We don’t know what or when or where. Whatever it is, we can’t let it happen.”
Zack took a breath and squinted at me. I think he was trying to intimidate me, but with his hands taped, it wasn’t working for him.
“Your mission is to go there as an attendee,” he said. “Don’t ask questions—that’ll give you away. I want you to keep your eyes and ears open. Each night, I’ll meet you at a café in town. We need to discover three things: which group is planning it, who’s in charge, and who or what Ross Gio is. When we’ve it figured out, we’ll arrange an extraction for you. Hugo and I will take it from there. There’s just one thing you must be clear on.”
“Oh?” I asked.
Zack lifted his nose. “I call the shots.”
I looked at Miguel. He shrugged. We each took one of Zack’s arms and legs, turned him upside down and dangled him over the balcony railing. I said, “Or?”
Zack got busy calculating the distance to the ground—and our willingness to drop him. He writhed in our grip, which didn’t help our hold. “Or. Um. We can listen to any alternative ideas you might offer.”
I said, “Or?”
“Or we can do whatever you want.”
“Or?”
“OK. OK. I’ll clear out. I’ll stay out of Úbeda.”
“Stay out of where?”
“Spain. I’ll stay out of Spain. I’ll wait until you send word. Put me the fuck down!”
We pulled him back and set him on the balcony.
When he landed, his eyes bulged and the veins on his neck pulsed. “You two might think you’re pretty clever, but Brady was cocky too. He didn’t want me around either.” Zack pushed his face up to mine. “They slit his throat with a razor and left his body where it fell.”
Mercury tilted his head. Yeah, homie, why not trust this guy? He knows the players, the terrain, the GIGN guys.
I said, Because I’ve been to war with one of these two guys. I don’t know Ames. But I know Miguel would take a bullet for me. Ames might, but not on his coffee break.
Mercury said, Miguel and racists don’t mix. Too easy to spot.
I said, True that. But he’ll figure something out.
On that sobering thought, I put my faith in Miguel.
He told me they would take Sabel Thr
ee but send it back to Paris before dawn.
Miguel hoisted the short guy on his big shoulder and crawled over the railing. Ames complained he wanted to use the elevator. Not happening. I had a guest and didn’t want to get caught up in awkward explanations.
After Googling cross tattoos and finding thousands, I gave up. I crashed for two hours before hearing Nema wandering around. I popped up, told her to order room service, and hopped in the shower.
I reverted to my jeans and jacket look. Even grabbed one of my better t-shirts. It read, “War: It’s not fun until someone loses an eye.”
Nema had not ordered breakfast. She still had her evening dress on. She looked quite embarrassed and wouldn’t face me. She said, “About last night.”
It was a definitive statement. I felt compelled to respond. “Nothing happened. You didn’t do anything … and I didn’t do anything …”
“No. Not that. Um.” She turned from the window. “I appreciate that you bought me the dress and all, but I can’t go out in the morning …”
When she didn’t finish her sentence, Mercury stroked his chin. Aw, dude. I think she’s old fashioned. There was a time when women didn’t want to be seen slinking out of hotel rooms in last night’s party dress. Now it’s a badge of honor. Of course, she might not be worried about the shame of hotel-slinking.
I said, What would she be worried about then?
Mercury grinned. The shame of being seen with you, dawg.
Walked right into that one. While he howled with laughter, I looked in the dressing room and found the package of our old clothes from Kooples. When the sales lady offered to have them incinerated, I’d told her to have them couriered back to the hotel instead. Turned out to be a good idea. The sight of her old things gave Nema comfort. After some coaxing and a hundred assurances about being on my best behavior, she took a shower and changed.
The café had its umbrellas out, which helped with the drizzle that nearly qualified as rain.
Waiting under one was Lugh. While we were still a few yards out, he hailed us with a sneer. “I see you two hit it off well.”
Walking straight to his chair, I stretched out my hand. He instinctively took it. I yanked him to standing. “Show the lady some respect, Lugh.”
