by A G Stevens
Blaze was curious. “If it’s proprietary, how do you know what it’s called?”
Zed passed a perplexed look to Savant. “Is this guy for real? Uh...by hacking their system. Try to keep up, Scarface.”
Blaze’s finger brushed his stitches, and he laughed. Zed’s tendency for insubordinate commentary rivaled his own. “And it works how?”
“You need proximity to the central server or control panel. It attaches magnetically, sends a controlled and focused EMP to the heart of the system, then replaces the signal with a digital echo, so the monitoring systems never register the outage. No one will know it’s been shut off but you, you sly dog.”
Savant added a bit more professionalism. “You’ll need to study the schematics to find the panel before you leave. Parrick’s security team will confiscate your phone—which will be a decoy, of course; you’ll leave your real phone in a lock box for safe keeping—and any other electronic devices you bring in as soon as you land on the island. The disk is stealth to their scanning, but everything else you’ll need will be embedded in something less technological.”
“If they confiscate my phone, how will I keep in touch with you?”
Savant pointed to a set of gold spheres lying on the table. “I’ve had Zed fit your right cufflink with a full communication system, operated by voice command. It’s marked with a small ‘R’.”
“Well. That’s not too obvious, is it?” Blaze said.
Savant ignored him. “The Ghosttech earplug is fitted with wireless connection that can evade surveillance scanning. It should nest in your ear for reception, deep enough to avoid detection.”
“Earplugs and cuff links.” Blaze scoffed. He was loathe to work with lo-tech. “This seems...old-fashioned.”
“So is having all of your tech taken from you when you walk in,” Zed told him.
“The thought of that makes my neck itch.”
“You’ll be fine,” Zed assured him. “But we’re going as analog as possible to camouflage your gear.” He pointed to a metallic bar next to the cufflinks. “Your tie tack has a body cam, if that makes you feel more modern.”
“It does. A little.”
“Oh good,” Zed said sarcastically. “I feel so much better now.”
“What else?” Blaze asked.
“In the gallery among all the other bits and bobs Parrick collects,” Zed explained, “you’ll find the mask encased in poly-plexithene, an unbreakable polymer with the visual properties of glass but the molecular structure of...not glass. It can’t be smashed. Nor should it be in this instance.”
“How about opening it with a laser?” Blaze asked. “I hear that’s how they do it in spy movies.”
Zed didn’t miss a beat. “Sure, if you also want to cut through everything on the other side of the case, since laser is light and won’t stop at the edge of a transparent surface. Which means you’ll slice through the mask, too.”
“Ah. Good point. Science is very important, isn’t it?”
“It’s paramount. I can say that, because I’m a scientist. You’ll use this instead.” Zed held up an Altoid tin and popped it open. The menthol scent wafted through the space between them. His finger flicked the mints aside as he produced a small black wafer.
“That’s not just a rotten Altoid, is it, Mr. Scientist?”
“Well, now...you’re approaching genius level. It’s a molecular disruptor that softens the structure of poly-plexithene when you place it against the surface and allows you to reach through the pane as if it were a curtain of gel. Once you remove the wafer, the structure returns to a solid state. The tin will disguise it during security scans.”
“So the poly-plexithene softens, and I just reach in and pull out the mask...that’s how this works?”
“Indeed it is. And then, you’ll replace it with this.” Zed pulled back a white cotton sheath to reveal a replica of the Tlaloc mask. “It’ll be hidden in a scan-and-x-ray-proof compartment of your suitcase.” The green gem eyes gleamed menacingly in the light of the lab. “Is it horrific? Why, yes, it is. But it’s a perfect facsimile of the real horrific mask, and it will leave Parrick thinking he’s lost nothing. And the distraction of the gala should give you all sorts of time to make the switch without being detected.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just replace the mask during the appraisal?” Blaze felt the challenge of it stir his blood. “I’ll be in there with all of the other pieces, feeling my way about.”
“You’ll also be in there with Parrick,” Savant reminded him, “and I would assume his security team will hawk-eye you the whole time.”
“You’ve never seen me in action,” Blaze told her. “I’m something of a magician when it comes to this sort of thing.”
Zed scratched his chin. “A magician who disappears in a puff of chlorothan?”
Blaze had to give him that. “You’re really good with a call-back, Zed.”
“I do my best.”
Savant sighed. “Your methods are risky enough as it is, Agent Blaze. We don’t need you tripling that by trying to play Three-Card Monty in full view of Nicholas Parrick and his guards.”
Blaze shrugged. “I could always just knock them all out if things go sideways. That’s part of the magic.”
Savant blanched.
“Kidding. Just kidding.”
His handler glared at him. “I’m not entirely sure that you are.”
Zed leaned in gravely. “If it happens to go sideways, though, your tie tack will be running in real-time and transmitting back to us via satellite connection. Make sure you’re wearing that when it goes down so I can see the footage as it happens, please and thank you.”
“That helps nothing, Zed,” Savant reminded him. “You’re encouraging him to make trouble he doesn’t need to make.”
Zed shrugged. “What can I say? I’m an adrenaline junkie trapped in the body of a mechanical genius stuck a tech lab buried underground.”
“It’s trouble that may need making,” Blaze said. “The option is on the table.”
“Another option is to avoid physical confrontation,” Savant insisted. “Please exercise that one at all times.”
“I wish I could knock out a guard or two on a mission,” Zed said wistfully.
Blaze smirked. “I could put you on a training program, if you want—toughen you up and teach you some dangerous moves. Maybe our commandant in the glass tower would consider moving you to the field.”
Zed wiggled his fingers. “Sounds like a blast...I’m assuming. I need to keep my hands in one piece for all this developmental glory, though.”
“Well, if you ever change your mind, you know how to breach the encryption on my phone to let me know.”
“I’ll just DM you. Much easier.”
“If you boys are finished with your little bonding session,” Savant interrupted. “Your driver will arrive at 6 am tomorrow to take you to the jet, chartered by Parrick for security purposes.”
“You agreed to that?” Blaze asked, incredulous.
“Absolutely. If we want to reach the mask, we have to play by his rules.”
Blaze didn’t like the sound of it.
“You’ll fly to a private hanger and transfer to Parrick’s helicopter, which will carry you to Thane Island. You’ll be in the custody of his people the entire time.”
“And in touch with you as well?” Blaze asked hopefully.
“We’ll be tracking your movement, and you have the communicator in your cufflinks. I am your handler, after all.”
“Believe me, I couldn’t forget if I tried.”
Savant let it pass. “But I won’t be joining you on Thane. Parrick’s demand was that only the insurance agent would be in attendance. I will be available by remote, should you need me. Zed will be as well.” Savant tapped her secured House phone against his and transferred the schematics. “Commit those to memory, please. Don’t print them out. Find all possible escape routes, secured entrances, checkpoints—”
“I was a c
ontractor before I dove headlong into the House, Savant.” Blaze pulled up the blueprints on his screen and started studying the layout. “I’ve memorized diagrams like this a thousand times.”
“Of course you have. But you’re not going to have any back-up on Thane. Your escape once you’ve switched the masks is entirely on you.”
Blaze halted and stared at Savant. “And yet you don’t want me to knock anyone out this time?”
Savant reconsidered their conversation with Minerva about his prior missions, and thought about this new situation from his side of things. She knew agents weren’t immune to confrontation. But the less mess for the House to cover and clean up, the better for everyone. “An agent of your skill set should be able to work around that...but you’ll do what you must. Let’s say you should try to leave as little collateral damage as possible this time.”
Blaze raised three fingers. “Three knock-outs at the most—scout’s honor.”
Zed sighed. “Three knock-outs would be plenty.”
F O U R
It was a three-hour plane ride to Parrick’s private hanger, followed by a six-hour flight and a forty-minute helicopter ride before Blaze reached Thane Island. He saw it looming below as the chopper approached, a green jewel laid in a golden-sand setting hovering on a sea as clear as daylight. And resting atop it like a crown was Parrick’s compound, a cluster of seven structures that looked like a modern architectural palace, with five swimming pools gleaming in the sun, smaller blue gems set within the larger piece. Blaze was used to locales that were a bit grittier; more industrial and under the radar. But this was fully above the radar, as glamorous and in-view as anything could possibly be. So while he was traveling, since he wasn’t allowed any electronic devices to prepare, he read the dossier created by Savant and hidden within the fabricated insurance forms that allowed him to craft his Liam Keller persona. In his mind, the man was an Irish ex-patriate working in America, which allowed him to utilize a brogue he’d created for a prior job that took place in UK. It was an easy reach, and gave him a vocal mask. He was widowed, but wore a wedding band in memoriam of his dearly departed wife, Laura. He had no children, loved running for exercise through brick-walled neighborhoods in upstate Vermont, where he currently resided, and cherished his schnauzer, Hobart. He held degrees in art history and business and had begun working for Davenport-Frasier in London three years earlier. After Laura’s death, when a position came open in their U.S. office, he’d jumped at the opportunity for a fresh start. The more he thought about the character, the more natural the details became, ingrained in his psyche to the point of natural immersion. When asked questions about his past, he would be able to answer without hesitation, even though he’d only spent the last six hours creating them. It helped that he had prior experience to draw from; Liam would end up being an amalgam of several other undercover roles Blaze had played in his time as a freelancer. It was so rote, in fact, that Blaze found himself becoming bored with the standard he’d set. I can always improvise, he thought as he read, if things get stale. Considering Minerva and Savant’s edict regarding the level of physicality the role would require, he had to allow for something to make the job interesting, at least.
The chopper landed on the helipad and powered down as Blaze stepped out to meet another cluster of Parrick’s security team, four officers clad in casual black, but stern and standing at attention as they greeted him curtly. He assessed them as non-military, which allowed him to formulate a plan to confront and subdue them, if the need arose. These weren’t armed guards like the ones he’d encountered at the lab while procuring the vial. They were larger than him, more imposing, but calm and confident. A confrontation would be challenging, at best, and brutally unsuccessful, at worst. He may have been a trained expert in defense disciplines, hand-to-hand combat, weapons, and munitions, but there were incredible variables regarding use of force by security officers in the private service of someone with the status as Nicholas Parrick. They were trained and ready to kill if necessary, of course. But so was Blaze.
Parrick approached the helicopter with an air of ultimate control. Even in his casual attire, his significance was obvious, and his presence commanding. He was much taller in person than he looked in pictures, more solid and upright, but no less well-kept, even in a casual polo, jeans, and baseball cap. He was flanked by his guards and speaking sternly with a small team of assistants when Blaze approached, guided by the helicopter pilot. He moved forward, and one of the guards pushed on his chest to hold him back. “Mr. Parrick will be with you shortly,” he said.
Blaze, as Liam Keller, slid his glasses back up his nose and shrank a bit. “Of course.”
He took a breath and waited patiently until Parrick finished his thoughts and finally turned his attention to his guest. At that point, his demeanor shifted, lightened, and became warm and convivial. “Mr. Keller,” Parrick said, stepping forward and reaching for Blaze’s hand. “All dressed up, I see. We’ll have to teach you the island life!”
Blaze felt a bit self-conscious in his suit and tie as he waited for the guards to step further aside before reaching out his own hand. “Mr. Parrick, it’s an honor.”
Parrick smiled and waved it off. “It shouldn’t be. I’m just a humble businessman who makes his living with...” The billionaire broke into incredible laughter, throaty and sincere. “Who the hell am I kidding? I live in paradise and traffic in unimaginable wealth. It’s great to be me.”
Blaze halted, hesitated, watching for Parrick to pull back.
“That’s a joke, Mr. Keller,” he said, patting Blaze on the shoulder. “I mean, don’t get me wrong: it really is great to be me. But I’m not the man you might imagine me to be based on what you’ve read on the internet. In print. Or seen on cable news, or in the tabloids, or...”
Blaze settled into the rhythm of Keller now. He smiled and forced a flustered laugh. “I don’t read gossip.”
“Excellent policy,” Parrick said.
“However,” Blaze said, his brogue on full display now, “I have been informed that you’ve been married three times, including your current marriage to former supermodel Helene Caron, have no children, and your auto collection rivals that of royalty, and your annual income is greater than the combined gross national product of the eight smallest nations in the world.” He cleared his throat with a false nervousness. “And that you relish your artifacts like few other things in life.”
There was a skip in the conversation as Parrick’s face went blank. “Well, damn. Someone’s done his homework.”
“Davenport-Frasier expects that when it represents a client.”
“Also an excellent policy.” Parrick motioned to the stitches on Blaze’s cheek. “And the gash? What type of expertise does that represent—Brazilian jiu-jitsu? Or swordplay of some sort?”
A thousand possible answers passed through Blaze’s brain, all of them charming and sharp, but only one that didn’t expose his identity or his true vocation. “Actually, my schnauzer got a little overly affectionate.”
Parrick laughed. “For a minute I thought you were going to tell me there was a roughneck hiding in that three-piece suit.”
If you only knew, Blaze thought. He forced a blush. “Nothing rougher than a game of sock-wrestling with Hobart, unfortunately.”
“True gentlemen like us are a dying breed, Mr. Keller.”
Parrick motioned Blaze toward the walkway that led from the helipad, with Parrick following behind as his security team closed in the space between them. “Apologies for the heavy guard activity,” he told Blaze. “It’s a busy weekend with the gala in motion. Truth is, I never go anywhere without them.”
“For a man of your station, it’s highly advisable.”
“I suppose an insurance agent would say that,” Parrick said.
“Risk management is our specialty,” Blaze told him.
“And I hope we can put that skill to excellent use when insuring the collection. I’m sure you’ve read the listing...you�
��ve seen how extensive it is.”
“I have,” Blaze confirmed. “It’s quite an impressive set.”
“You’re familiar with works of pre-Columbian Meso-America?”
Blaze nodded. “It isn’t my specialty, but I am familiar, yes. My area of study was Roman antiquity, but once university was finished, I drifted away from the museum world. I hope that’s okay.”
“You’ll be up to your neck in it soon enough,” Parrick affirmed, “so you’ll tell me.”
They walked into his compound through the main entrance. The visual impact was breathtaking; the interior of the building was as meticulous and indulgent as the exterior. Sleek floors of polished granite spread beneath squared columns of marble; a cable-and-beam mezzanine was suspended above their heads, and a sheath of windows formed the wall, exposing the entire space to the paradise background outside. A floating staircase lead from one level to the next, and the asymmetrical layout extended far into the reaches of the great room ahead. Another expanse of crystal-clear glass let in a full view of the ocean.
Parrick’s security crew flowed in behind him. A guard took Blaze’s bag and attaché and carried them away, an action which Blaze was fully prepared for. “Sorry for the mess,” Parrick said.
Blaze examined his surroundings, as much to get his bearings as to search for whatever mess Parrick was referring to. “Uh...your home is pristine, Mr. Parrick.”
“First of all, you need to call me Nick.”
“That seems a little too informal, Mr. Parrick.”
Parrick smiled. “I like informal. I have to trust you if I’m going to have you cataloguing my most prized possessions. And in my world, in spite of all the militant security measures, trust of a personal nature doesn’t come with formality. Suspicion does.”
Blaze was something of an expert in trust—how to establish it, how to break it. How to avoid it. And when to do each. “How do you know you can trust someone you’ve just met?”
An attendant slid in from a room just out of sight, carrying a tray with crystal glasses and a decanter of scotch. “Your credentials and your reputation precede you.” The attendant set the tray down and poured, then handed the glasses to Parrick. “Your education is impeccable...your work history is flawless. Your small, quiet life makes you perfectly harmless.” Parrick, in turn, handed a glass to Blaze. Then he rattled off details of Keller’s life that even Blaze found stunning—his childhood, his education, his family history. Details from his life that would require deep searching. “And your accent makes you winsome and charming.” Parrick raised his glass.
