Death and Conspiracy

by Seeley James

  Warwick sounded English, but Queens Head could be something out of the French Revolution for all I knew. Were they re-enacting a scenario? Planning something? If it was a plan, they hadn’t left any handy clues about when. I needed Miguel to see these markings. Raising my fist in the air for black power was the signal for danger, so that wasn’t appropriate.

  I looked around. Arrianne’s crib had a good view of the whole town. She stood on the veranda in tight leggings and an athletic top. She waved.

  I took stairs to the second level of a house. A wall had been removed on the upper level, improving the view from Arrianne’s veranda. I checked the sightlines to the street and neighboring houses. It was a perfect sniper position. On the floor lay a pile of spent casings. There were more arrows with initials. A small grappling hook attached to thirty feet of nylon rope lay in the corner.

  Directly below my position was a hole cut into an old wall. Scratches left by the hooks indicated someone had rappelled to the floor below. Looking at the spot where I’d seen the distance to Saint Paul’s, there was no sightline. As if they wanted to rappel without being seen by Saint Paul.

  I made my way to the lower level and checked the entry point. Small piles of brass lay on either side of the opening. From their positions, it looked like someone had conducted a standard room-clearing procedure for SWAT teams and regular army. Across the street was an empty house. There were no boot prints in the dust, no ejected casings. Rangers, SEALS, and other special ops teams would’ve cleared the room from across the street. A sniper in a distant position would take the first shots, confusing and scattering the enemy’s response. Then they would send in the bullet-chewers.

  That told me these guys were not elite killers. But they were good enough to do serious damage to regular police and first responders. In the average big city, they could wreak havoc. In an unsuspecting medium city, with less training for law enforcement, they would be devastating.

  I went back to the arrow pointing to Saint Paul’s and paced out 500 feet. When I reached that point, I turned around and checked the town. None of the places where I’d found ejected casings were visible. Making Saint Paul’s something they were going out of their way to avoid.

  A bush near a wall outside the village whispered to me as I strode by. “We don’t know what the markings mean either.”

  CHAPTER 16

  It was Tania’s voice. A former sniper, she knew how to become invisible like the best of them. Even so, being this close to Arrianne’s house in the daylight was a big risk.

  “You saw the Saint Paul reference?” I kept my face down as I spoke in case the lady of the house had her binoculars trained on me.

  “No idea. We’re checking all the Saint Pauls in London, Rome, New York, Tokyo; you name it.”

  A large SUV crossed the hillside and parked outside Arrianne’s house. Four men got out and appeared on the veranda with Arrianne a few seconds later. A man’s voice called out to me. I couldn’t make out the words at that distance, but they wanted me back there.

  I climbed the hill at my own pace.

  As I stepped onto the front porch, Lugh opened the door. His arm was in a cast held in a sling. Behind him, two men held Arrianne’s arms. I didn’t see the fourth man until his tactical baton crashed into my stomach. I doubled over.

  The big man wielding the weapon knew what he was doing. He had driven it in with an upward arc and pulled it back without a split second of hesitation. It was effective. He’d managed to compress all my innards upward into my diaphragm at the bottom of my lungs, expelling all my breathable air. The quick removal made sure the sting was instant and long-lasting. He pulled back for a second swing.

  “Stop!” Arrianne screamed. “Don’t hurt him.”

  The man held the baton over his head, ready to render another blow. It was a Euro Security Products collapsible baton with a weighted end, an anodized steel shaft, and a non-slip, rubberized grip. Good for breaking bones. Baton-man looked to Lugh. Lugh shook him off. The man took a parade rest posture, hands behind his back, feet apart. He kept the baton extended.

  “Do I have your attention now, soldier?” Lugh asked.

  My lungs struggled to reflate. I stood, fighting against the pain searing through my core.

  I analyzed him in my peripheral vision. Baton-man evoked a Russian Spetsnaz background. At parade rest, they hold their chins a little higher and cocked to one side, a form meant to convey superiority. Americans go for straight forward confidence with a level jaw and gaze. The men holding Arrianne let go of her and formed the same posture. These guys had not been at the shooting range. They were on a whole different level. My level. But there were more of them than there was of me.

  Not good.

  Lugh held up a passport. “This is yours. I’ll hold it until you’ve completed your duties here.”

  “That’s … illegal.” I found it hard to be a smart-ass when my internal organs were in desperate need of medical attention.

  “Aleksei will help you find your way around the grounds.” Lugh pointed at baton-man. “And we will keep your phone until you’re ready to leave.”

  One of his goons grabbed my Sabel phone—my only link to safety—and handed it to Lugh.

  “This is my conference.” Arrianne stepped out from behind the two Neanderthals. “Birth Right is paying him. He goes where I say.”

  “None of that changes.” Lugh glanced at his goons to intimidate her. “Everyone’s worried about your safety, given this man’s propensity toward violence. Aleksei is here to ensure he doesn’t hurt you.”

  “All you had to do …” Talking increased the pain in my core. “Treat the ladies with respect.”

  I turned my back on Aleksei while addressing Lugh. A tactical mistake. I heard the whoosh an instant before my kidneys screamed out in pain. My world went silent while my brain worked to bring the systems back online. I was on my knees. Arrianne was shouting at Lugh.

  Gentle hands tugged at my arm.

  It was Nema. She helped me to a standing position. My gut wrenched and convulsed. It took all my strength not to get sick. There was no way I was going to puke in front of these guys.

  Holy Saturn, dude. Mercury stood on the other side of her shaking his head. Without me, you get blindsided by a freakin’ Russian? I can’t leave you alone for a minute, homeboy.

  I said, I got this.

  Nema’s got this, Mercury said. You can’t even stand up on your own. This is SO embarrassing. Don’t you dare tell the other gods about this.

  I said, Tell them what?

  Mercury crossed his arms. The man I’m trying to make into a Caesar had to be rescued by a girl.

  “Get your testosterone out of here.” Arrianne grabbed a book off the coffee table and threw it at Lugh. “You deserved that broken arm.”

  “You were supposed to tell him who’s in charge.” Lugh caught the book and tossed it back.

  “I did. He gets it. We didn’t need you. Now get out of here.”

  Nema turned to Arrianne. “He needs a doctor.”

  “So what?” Lugh asked.

  “How’s he supposed to teach your Free Origins’ people his tactics from a hospital bed?”

  Lugh faced me. “Who’s in charge?”

  Mercury said, Punch him, homie. Or—better yet—kick him in the balls.

  I said, What’s the first of Sun Tzu’s Five Essential Elements of Victory? The victor knows when to fight and when not to.

  Mercury scrunched up his face. You talking about ‘Art of War’ Sun Tzu? Dude, he was nothing but a mercenary when Tarquinius Superbus brought him in as an intern. That was when the Romans whupped the Volsci. That little Chinaman learned it all from Tarinius then went home and acted all big.

  I said, Riiiight.

  “Right?” Lugh looked at me funny. “Who then?”

  “You are, Lugh.”

  “Take him back to the hotel.” Lugh looked at Nema. “Aleksei will collect him in the morning. He’ll work through his pain.�
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  Lugh lifted his cast before ushering his men out. Aleksei gave me a sick grin. I winked at him. Even that hurt.

  The women eased me into the car and drove me back to town in the heat of the late afternoon. It was all I could do to keep my insides from coming up and out. Every bump and turn made something hurt. Nema had come to deliver the rest of my money. She wasn’t happy about the scene she’d found. She sat in the back, arms crossed, scowling at the countryside. Arrianne ignored her and stroked my leg while she drove.

  Climbing the stone steps was a chore. I kept getting dizzy and almost fainted. They helped me to my bed. Nema wiped my forehead with a damp washcloth while Arrianne watched from the foot of the bed.

  Nema lifted my shirt. My belly was purple, and my six-pack abs looked like a swollen pillow. She looked at Arrianne. “He needs a doctor. He must have internal bleeding.”

  “Get him a bag of ice. Let’s see if that works.”

  Nema handed off washcloth duties and ran downstairs. Arrianne smiled and wiped my face with a luxurious stroke. She did her best to brush her tight yellow racerback top across my skin. Any other time, it would’ve gotten my attention. At that moment, it was all I could do not to dump my lunch on her. She examined the cloth and determined it was too dry.

  While Arrianne rewet the washcloth, Mercury sat on the edge of my bed with a golden goblet. Drink this, homie.

  I said, Oh, no. I’m not falling for that one again.

  Mercury said, What? This is the tonic of the gods. It will stop all your internal bleeding, put your spleen back where it belongs and sew the two halves of your intestines back together again. You need this.

  I said, It’s Bellona’s menstrual flow. You pulled this one on me once.

  Yeah! Remember how it cured you quicker than Ethan Hunt can come back from certain death? Mercury pushed the goblet to my lips. You’ve drunk worse than this at a frat party, brutha. C’mon now, drink up. Vejovis got it straight from the goddess of war and conquest herself.

  I pushed it away.

  “Too cold?” Arrianne held the washcloth over my face. “Or is Nema the only one allowed to touch you?”

  “I’m fine for now. Thanks.”

  She looked away like a woman rejected.

  “You and Lugh aren’t on the same page,” I said. “Competing for control of the IDC? Isn’t he in a different organization?”

  “We had a falling out about a year ago.” She looked to the ceiling. “I’d had enough of his misogyny. Paladin wouldn’t do anything about him. That’s why I started Birth Right. Nema helped me get started, but they lured her back several months ago.” Her soft, dark eyes came back to me. “I must say, you were a bit heavy-handed breaking his arm. But I can think of several times I considered doing the same thing. I like a man who takes action when it’s needed.”

  “Bullies usually need someone to …” Pain cut through my thinking. I writhed and breathed and beat it back.

  “You’re right about him.” She wiped my face again. “He’s a bully. I’m so sick of the macho crap coming out of those Free Origins guys. Paladin seems nicer, but that’s because he has Lugh do all his dirty work. The Fair Heritage people are just like them.” A dreamy gaze came over her and drifted to the ceiling. “You know, I’m getting out of this business soon. A couple more deals and I’m gone. I’ve got a little mill house in Vermont. Needs some work but it’s paid for. I plan to go back there and leave all them behind. It has a little brook, a mill wheel, and trees. Peaceful and quiet. You could come with me.”

  “Vermont?”

  “Yes. It’s 92 percent white.”

  Mercury said, You’ve got her talking, dawg. Now’s the time to ask her what’s up with that Ooze. Get her to take her clothes off, and you can ask her anything.

  I said, I don’t think that’s how it works. If she gets undressed, I’d be the one telling her anything.

  Mercury changed position as if he were about to watch a movie. Never know til you try. Go for it.

  I said, I think we’re still at the indirect stage for questions.

  “What is Free Origins all about? And don’t tell me self-defense, I heard that. There’s something deeper going on. Something that binds your organizations when you obviously hate each other. What are the origins? Why connect ‘free’ to that word?”

  “They’re about freedom based on scientific research.” Arrianne tossed the washcloth in her hand absently and stared at a far corner of the room. “Experts from Stanford and Berkeley researched why certain races are worse than others at getting screened for preventable diseases like heart disease, hypertension, and diabetes. They found that people respond better if their doctor is of the same race. There’s a Hidden Brain podcast about it called People Like Us. Another study found similar results in education. At-risk black youths are twenty percent more likely to graduate high school and go to college if their teachers are also black. Free Origins thinks people shy away too much from the fact that people need to seek out their origins.”

  I felt distant. I was fading fast. I heard my voice say, “Sounds like segregation.”

  “Freedom to choose. If you went to a party and you saw three black people, three Asians, and three people from your hometown, which group would you approach?”

  CHAPTER 17

  Arrianne and Nema took shifts through the night. I blacked out a few times. The pain of my internal injuries kept me from sleeping. I would black out, wake up, black out again. They were concerned I might die on them. But not concerned enough to call a doctor. Which raised more than a few questions about their sincerity. Not that I could do anything about it.

  Arrianne went home well after midnight. Nema fell asleep in a chair. I finally dozed off for good early in the morning.

  Sunshine knifing between my curtains woke me. An empty golden goblet lay in the bed next to me. I picked it up and stared at it.

  Nema stretched and yawned and said, “Where’d that come from?”

  Mercury said, Don’t thank me. I know you’d rather die than drink the divine fluids of the goddess of war, but I had to do something. Your kidneys were shutting down.

  If he were real, I’d have beaten him with the goblet. I hate being healed by miracles.

  I stared at him. I cannot believe you took advantage of me like that.

  “Oh, no,” Nema said. “I didn’t do anything. I just took off your shirt. You kept tugging at it in your sleep. I thought that’s what you wanted.”

  I tossed the sheets back and stood before thinking. I looked down. At least she left my boxers in place.

  “What the hell?” She jumped to her feet and pointed at me.

  “I’m fine.”

  “I can see that.” She looked completely freaked. “I mean, how … what happened to the bruising?”

  “Who took my pants off?” I asked.

  “Who do you think?” She stole an angry glance at the door. “But what happened?”

  “Did you guys give me some kind of drug?”

  “No. Of course not.” She walked around to the side of me, looking me up and down.

  I spied my jeans on a balcony chair. My t-shirt lay on the chair next to it. Both had been handwashed. I picked them up and came back in. “Thank you.”

  The door opened without a knock. Arrianne strode in like she owned the place. Since I’d charged the room to her, I guess she did. A familiar-looking bodybuilder came in behind her. The two of them stopped in the doorway, their eyes bouncing back and forth from Nema to me.

  “Sorry,” Arrianne said. “We’ll leave you two alone.”

  In Arrianne’s hand was a Spanish tabloid featuring a picture of Jenny and me taken the day before she left. A graphic lightning bolt separated us.

  Those razor-sharp spears sliced through my ribs and into my heart all over again. I missed Jenny so much it hurt. How do we get so wrapped up in someone that life and death revolve around their smile? Why is it we don’t sense how precious those moments are until we lose them?

&n
bsp; “Don’t go!” Nema scowled. “He just woke up. It’s not what you think.”

  My shirt was still wadded in one hand my trousers in the other. I pointed at the guy. “You’re the guy from the street fight. Thanks again for the help.”

  His movie-star chin allowed his Hollywood smile to beam at me. “Dude, you’re looking fine. The girls made it sound like you were on death’s door. I was worried something happened to the hero of Saint Germain. That’s not what they’re calling you back in Paris. They still think you’re a terrorist. But you’re a hero to everyone at Free Origins.”

  He gave me a handclasp as if we were arm wrestling and pulled me in for a bro hug. I leaned into it for politeness sake, patted his back, then put my pants on.

  All three stared at my abs while I lowered the t-shirt over them. When my head popped up, they kept staring at my tummy as if they’d seen something miraculous. I said, “Where can I get a cup of American coffee?”

  “What’s that about?” The guy pointed to my t-shirt.

  It had a rendering of a soldier blasting a .50 cal BMG, spent casings flying out and piling at his feet. Below him were the words, “Slaughter is the best medicine.”

  Not the kind of thing you’d wear to pick up your niece from ballet. Or to impress people paying twenty times the going rate for your services.

  “Uh. Yeah. Something from my Ranger days.” I crossed my arms over it. “Coffee?”

  The other two looked at Nema. She hung her head and slouched.

  Arrianne touched Nema’s arm and faced her. “Please?”

  Nema lit up. “I know a place. Be right back.”

  “You got a name?” I asked the movie star.

  “They call me Paladin.”

  “Lugh says you walk on water. He works for you?”

  “Whoa!” Paladin waved me off. “What he did yesterday was not sanctioned. I came here to apologize.”

  “Nice organizational command structure. What did you do about it?”

  Paladin winced. Arrianne tossed him a sympathetic glance. He wisely took a moment to gather his thoughts, then said, “We’re not a big group like the Army. We don’t have a bench full of qualified leaders to step up if we relieve a man of his command.”