Mission Titanic

by Jude Watson

  “While people were having breakfast,” Amy said. “Some in their pajamas.”

  “So this nutcase is going to re-create that?” Ham asked. “Blow up a city?”

  They sat in silence for a moment.

  Jonah got up. “I’ll tell my pilot to file a flight plan.”

  Ian looked at Amy and Dan. “So. Are you in?”

  Amy glanced at Dan. He knew she wouldn’t answer without checking in with him.

  He was the reason they’d gone on this long, aimless journey. What they hadn’t been able to admit to each other in the past few months was that maybe they’d grown just the tiniest bit bored. Maybe his life had changed so much that he couldn’t go back to being happy just hanging out. So he’d pushed them. From surfing to paragliding. From rock climbing to bungee jumping. From parachuting to wingsuit BASE jumping.

  Because after what they’d been through, just being normal wasn’t enough.

  That didn’t mean he wanted to jump right back into this. If he ever wrote a book about his family, the title would probably be Those Cahills!: Tales of Mayhem, Backstabbing, and Crazy People Who Think They Deserve to Rule the World.

  But no way would he walk away from friends in trouble.

  Simple as that.

  He didn’t have to say a word. Amy recognized his decision. She gave him the tiniest of nods. They were in.

  “This guy took over our family,” Amy said quietly. “We’re going to get it back.”

  “Plus, he stole my cat,” Dan said. “Try and stop me.”

  Amy stood up. “We’ll have to go get our bags,” she said.

  Ian smiled. “No need. We broke into your hotel room and packed your stuff.”

  Hamilton slung his muscled arms over Amy’s and Dan’s shoulders. “Welcome home.”

  Attleboro, Massachusetts

  Nature was cruel. No question about it. Earthquakes, floods, tsunamis … natural disasters were all ruthlessly efficient when it came to population reduction.

  But when it came to devastation, the Outcast would bet on human stupidity, every time.

  He swiped through the images on his screen. He had one last disaster to pick, and it was important not only that the death toll be high, but that it would be symbolic of his eventual victory. Not that the children would necessarily understand this. It would be a small, private pleasure to be savored after he won.

  He was close to deciding. The disasters would escalate. Until the last great, impossible task.

  He would restore honor to the Cahill family. Glory to the Ekat branch. At last the Ekats would be where they belonged: in the very seat of power. He would use the Tomas, the Lucians, the Janus, but they would just be tools in his hands. Best of all, at the end of a long life, he would live out the rest of his days holding ultimate power.

  You used to tell me that I wasn’t ruthless enough, Grace. Remember?

  So I proved that I was.

  I had to wait until you were dead to prove it again.

  The Outcast turned off the screen. He sat and surveyed Grace’s library. It appeared that the grandchildren had restored it with a meticulous attention to what it had been. There were changes in the mansion of which he did not approve — he would rip out that climbing wall, for starters, and the zip line from the attic to the tree house was ridiculous — but the library was as he remembered it, the deep window seats, the wall-to-wall bookcases, the brass telescope, the rich emerald-colored tiles around the fireplace.

  All of it belonged to him now.

  The Outcast strolled to the telescope and trained it on the drive. His team was just climbing out of a black SUV. He studied them carefully. He had planned this coup for years, and chosen his five conspirators with great precision — grooming them, promising them, flattering them. And noting their weaknesses.

  They did not speak as they walked to the front steps. They each kept a few feet of distance between themselves and the rest. Magnus was first, of course, striding toward the front door, his long black coat flapping behind him.

  They were suspicious of each other. Most likely despised each other. What difference did it make? They probably despised him, too.

  He knew some of them were annoyed that they were not invited to stay at the mansion. Goodness knows it was big enough.

  But it was his at last. And he would not share it.

  He had rented several apartments for them in Boston instead. Anonymous places, luxurious corporate rentals. Patricia Oh, of course, had demanded a four-star hotel instead.

  She was a bore. But useful.

  He had known her as a young girl, beautiful and delicate and lethal. Now she was old and brittle. Her hair was unnaturally dark, and there were feathered lines around her thin mouth. Her trademark rubies flashed on her fingers in long columns that led to the knuckle. He knew from experience how those stones could tear your skin with one hard slap.

  She was here to avenge Alistair, her cousin. She believed that he’d been duped by Amy and Dan, had turned soft, had betrayed the Ekats.

  The Outcast’s mouth twisted. What did she know of betrayal? What did anyone know?

  The greatest betrayal demands the greatest revenge.

  He tilted the telescope back into place as he heard them enter the house. Their footsteps echoed as they traversed the great hall and headed for him.

  Patricia entered first, flinging her coat on the wing chair. He had never seen her in a good mood. “I need strong coffee.”

  “Good day to you, too,” the Outcast said. “Berman has set up coffee and tea on the side table. There’s cream and sugar as well.”

  “I don’t take cream. It confuses things.” Patricia reached up and patted her elaborate hairdo. Her black hair was piled on top of her head and was anchored there by a large wooden ornament that sat on her head like a crown.

  “I don’t see why we have to meet in person,” Toby Griffon said, adjusting his black-framed glasses. The only reason the Outcast had allowed him into the conspiracy was because he needed a powerful Janus. Toby was a world-famous architect known for exacting demands and tyrannical tirades. But as far as the Outcast was concerned, Janus were undependable. Creative geniuses, sure, but that same originality meant they walked their own path. It didn’t matter. Toby was here just to keep the Janus in line.

  Magnus remained standing. “I think I can deliver all the Tomas leaders,” he said.

  “The Ekats are in line,” Patricia said. “A few holdouts. The Mourads could turn into a problem.”

  “Nothing that can’t be fixed.” The Outcast waved his hand.

  “The Lucians are more difficult.” Melinda Toth took off her kid gloves, finger by finger. Like all Lucians, she had a sense of drama. She was painfully thin, with a large head that descended into a pointed chin. “Naturally. We are leaders, after all, and so we don’t like it when someone else is in charge.” She slapped her gloves down on the table. “I can’t guarantee I can deliver a unified branch.”

  “Just get enough support and don’t bore me with your difficulties,” the Outcast snapped.

  “There’s a lot of talk about you tossing out Ian Kabra,” Melinda said, narrowing her catlike eyes. “Some are saying it was too extreme.”

  “Mercy is a swift sword,” Alek Spasky said. He sat on the floor with his legs crossed in a yoga pose. He was dressed in a pair of loose pants and a tunic. He smiled at the group.

  Funny thing about that smile. His eyes never warmed. Those cold, dark eyes. The same chilling gaze his sister had.

  Who knew that Irina Spasky had a brother?

  The Outcast did. He’d scoured the world, and finally located him in a Zen retreat in California.

  Even the monks had looked relieved to see him go.

  “And this plan to re-create disasters? It seems extreme,” Toby said. “Excess pressure can bring down even the mightiest of structures.”

  “Did the Buddha say that?” Alek asked.

  “No, I did.”

  “Very deep,” Alek said, bu
t his mouth twisted in another of those chilling smiles. Toby flushed as he felt the sting of the sarcasm.

  “Toby does have a point,” Patricia said. “I can’t control my branch if there is too much dissent. We’ve always operated by stealth. This could be too public.”

  It was a struggle to keep the smile on his face. Traitor! He wanted to scream at Patricia. He had recruited her, groomed her, helped her gain her power. Now she was challenging him? He was certainly rethinking helping make her branch leader.

  Alek stood and walked to the silver pots of coffee and hot water. He took a tea bag from his pocket and placed it in a cup, then poured steaming water over it. The Outcast noted the missing tip of his pinkie finger. He must have gotten a bit too close to a sharp blade. “If you two aren’t prepared to risk, what are you doing here?” Alek asked in a mild tone. “You approved the plan. If you can’t summon up the nerve to follow through …”

  “Now, hold on a second,” Toby said. “I didn’t say —”

  Patricia’s voice was like a cracking whip. “Are you calling me a coward, you Russian airhead?” She turned to the Outcast. “I won’t be insulted! I told you not to bring him in! He’s unstable; everyone knows that!”

  The Outcast said nothing. It was better to let them fight it out. See who won. It would be instructive.

  “Go back to your mountaintop!” Patricia sneered at Alek. “We don’t need you!”

  Alek put down his teacup. His fingers moved faster than the Outcast could track. From within his bell-like sleeve he withdrew a steel rod. He twirled it on a finger, so fast it was a blur. The rod flew from his fingers and, spinning and glinting, sped across the room and speared Patricia’s hair ornament, lifting it off her head and then pinning it to the wall behind her.

  Patricia’s hair slipped to one side, and the Outcast realized it was a wig. Toby burst out laughing.

  Patricia reached up and readjusted the wig, never taking her eyes off Alek. “You are despicable,” she hissed.

  “I don’t like it when people insult me,” Alek said, turning and sipping his tea. “Don’t do it again.”

  The Outcast smiled. It had been worth it to track down Alek.

  He turned to the others. “The game has begun. The children will be looking into my background. That will be a bore, but it must be handled. There could be some remaining tracks to cover.”

  “I doubt that,” Patricia said huffily. “I was meticulous. Unlike others, I know what I’m doing.” She shot Alek Spasky a venomous look.

  The Outcast said nothing. He watched as Alek sipped his tea. Dear, ruthless Alek. He would come in handy very soon.

  Halifax, Nova Scotia

  The late winter wind sliced through Ian as they walked the streets of Halifax toward the harbor. It had snowed the night before, a dusting that still clung to the tree branches and rooftops of the stone and brick buildings of downtown Halifax. Sunlight sent sparkles into Ian’s vision. People strolled by wrapped in colorful scarves, smiling at the blue sky and twinkling snow.

  Canadians, Ian thought darkly. Why are they always so happy?

  Even though he was hunched against the chill, Ian’s brain was working feverishly. He’d caught up on sleep on the plane from Geneva, but he hadn’t had time to develop a plan. Just a direction. He had to come up with something before they hit the harbor. They were already in the morning of the second day, and he could feel the clock ticking.

  The ships coming into port were posted online, but the information was sparse. They needed detailed information about cargo, and the only place to get that would be the Port Authority office.

  He glanced over at Amy, who was chatting quietly with Hamilton. Had she thought of a plan, but just didn’t want to share it until he came up with something? He’d already asked for her help. He didn’t want to have to do it again. It would be nice if she would just volunteer something.

  Ian massaged his temples as if he could squeeze some ideas out of them. His strategic brilliance was his strength, his mojo, as Jonah would say. Somehow his brain didn’t seem to be functioning. Instead a movie was playing in his head, a constant loop of the same scenes: His pants falling down. The Outcast appearing on the screen. Being tossed out of the mansion like a bag of garbage.

  Cara drifted back toward him, matching her stride to his. “You’ve been quiet.”

  “Thinking about failure,” Ian said. “It’s a new sensation.”

  “Anyone who risks big, fails big.”

  “Did you get that from a fortune cookie?” Ian asked bitterly.

  “No, I got ‘Beware Brit-fuff-fuffs who enjoy feeling sorry for themselves.’”

  “Thanks a lot!” Ian said, stung. “The next time I need help, I know where not to go.”

  Cara sighed. “Why do you have to be such a jerk?”

  “I can’t help my upbringing,” he muttered. “Kabras were raised to be awful.”

  “So were Pierces. That’s why you and I understand each other. We have to fight our genes.”

  “This is supremely unhelpful.”

  “Look, I’m just saying, if you’re the leader of the Cahills, things are going to go wrong. Like, all the time.”

  “But did it have to happen while I was standing in my underwear?”

  “Okay, that was unfortunate, but —”

  “I was humiliated!”

  Cara flashed the one dimple that under normal circumstances could disarm him completely. “At least you have nice legs.”

  “They threw me out! Magnus called me a crybaby!”

  “He was trying to get to you! To get inside your head! And have you noticed? It worked!”

  Ian said nothing. Better to be silent when you’re cornered.

  “Do you want my advice?” Cara asked.

  “No.” Ian stomped on, thrusting his hands in his pockets. If he went to Cara for advice, she’d have the upper hand. Then she’d never think of him as boyfriend material. That’s what his father always said. When it comes to women, Ian, I’ll give you this piece of advice: Maintain your superiority at all times.

  Ian paused. Was he really willing to take advice from his father?

  He cleared his throat. “Well. If you insist.”

  “Stop worrying about your stupid dignity and start worrying about the innocent people who just might die because some crazy old guy is making a power grab. You’re feeling sorry for yourself, and we don’t have time for that. So get over yourself, Kabra.”

  “Just when I thought I’d get some sympathy!”

  “If you want a pep talk, find a different girl. Ian, you’ve got to stop focusing on yourself and focus on other people. You’d be a lot happier. And a better leader.”

  She yanked him to a stop. Ian almost slipped on the ice, but she caught him.

  “Must you always knock me about?” he complained.

  “Yes! Until you listen to me! Really listen!”

  Ian faced her. A sudden burst of wind sent the snow flying, a shower of diamonds that drifted into Cara’s hair.

  “You think I’m an egotistical fool, don’t you,” he said.

  “Well, sure. Everyone does. Because you are.” One side of her mouth quirked upward in the lopsided smile that always did something squishy to Ian’s knees. “But not all the time.” She nudged him again, but less fiercely. “There’s hope for you yet.”

  Ian felt his heart swell. His charm was working after all. He still had it. She was softening. He could see it. In the middle of all this trouble and darkness, this would be his light. Cara.

  “I don’t care what everybody thinks,” he said, and was about to add, I care what you think, very much, but Cara scowled.

  “You should care what they think,” she said, gesturing toward the group. “Because they’d go to the wall for you. Until you realize that, no matter how well you do, you’ll still be a loser.”

  With that, Cara turned and marched down the street toward the group, not caring if he followed.

  Crikey. That didn’t go so well.<
br />
  She’ll come around. They always do. Because you’re a Kabra.

  Ian pressed his fist to his forehead. This time, he tried to pummel out the memory of Vikram Kabra. Get out of my head, Father! I don’t need your advice!

  He hurried to catch up without looking as though he was hurrying.

  “What’s our cover story?” Dan asked. “Why would a bunch of kids need shipping records?”

  “There isn’t a reason,” Ian said. This part he’d already figured out. “We have to get Cara into an interior office so she can invade their computer. Do you think you’ll be able to access the shipping details?” he asked her.

  “Child’s play,” she said.

  “What we need is a distraction,” Ian said. “Then add confusion.”

  Ian nearly collided with a little girl who darted out of a toy store. Her mother ran after her with an apologetic smile. Ian scowled. The little girl wore a blue wool hat pulled down to her eyebrows and carried a big yellow balloon. “Today’s my birthday!” she called to Ian.

  For a second he was merely irritated. Why did little kids assume that other people wanted to hear their boring trivialities? And no doubt that balloon would just get in the way of pedestrians. Right now it was bobbing in Cara’s face, and he couldn’t believe how cheerfully she batted it away.

  Then he had an idea.

  “Happy birthday!” he said to the little girl in his warmest tone. Cara smiled at him. Ian had forgotten how girls thought it was cute when guys were nice to kids. Something to remember for later. He’d rent a whole kindergarten class if it meant Cara would smile at him again.

  Maybe that was what he needed to do, plot the conquest of Cara’s heart like a Lucian.

  But first, it was time to unfurl his brilliant plan.

  San Miguel de Allende, Mexico

  Nellie and Sammy Mourad stood on the edge of the town square as a large mariachi band played a lively Mexican folk tune. The sound of guitars, violins, and trumpets soared through the mountain air. In the center of the square, dancers swirled in bright yellow skirts. Spectators swayed and sang, applauding the dancers in bursts of joy.