by A G Stevens
“And have you done it willingly?”
Blaze was back in Liam Keller mode. “I lost my wife. I would give anything to have her back.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Liam,” Parrick said. “That isn’t a fair exchange.”
There was an opportunity to probe here, to reach beneath the surface of the powerful Nicholas Parrick, to see what made him tick. It was information that could be greatly valuable, if Blaze could only draw it from him without arousing suspicion. “Have you ever lost someone you loved, Nick?” he asked.
“It’s enough to say I’ve lost,” Parrick said, skirting the issue well enough. His tone became sad and dark. “Remorse is a liability. And regret is a character flaw. You should always know what you’re sacrificing, even if you aren’t entirely amenable to the trade.”
Blaze noted Parrick’s unpredictable complexity. He was a man who was both welcoming and dangerous simultaneously, warm and remote, not unlike many of the figures Blaze’s freelancing missions had brought him into contact with. But he was by far the most influential, the most visible, and fabled to be the most guarded. But it felt now as if he was trying to express something more, to explain the reasons why he did what he’d done to acquire what he had. The agent knew it would extend his skills, having to deal with someone who wasn’t straightforward regarding his dirtier dealings. He wasn’t certain what would come of it. But the vibration he was picking up from Parrick told him there was reason to try. “How long has it taken you to gather such an impressive collection?” he asked, seizing control of the situation in as subtle a manner as he could manage.
“Lifetimes,” Parrick said with a laugh. He stared into his own reflection in the surface of the blade, like a demon staring back at him. “Literally, you could say. One lifetime, and then another.”
It wasn’t difficult for Blaze to recognize that he was being baited. There was either a confession hanging just beyond the dramatic lights...or a warning. Was this a ritual that Parrick performed to bring people into his inner circle? Liam Keller certainly didn’t qualify, but if he were to be given access to gauge Parrick’s most beloved treasures, maybe the initiation was the same. Maybe knowing that he hadn’t used aboveboard means to acquire these pieces meant Parrick had to assert his authority over their handling, even if it meant appearing monstrous. Blaze had to play it carefully; Liam Keller was too professional, too staid to involve himself in the dealings of his Davenport-Frasier clients, even if Agent Blaze felt compelled to keep probing for the truth—and even if Parrick seemed to be goading him into it. “Your beliefs include reincarnation, then?” Blaze asked.
Parrick paused. “Don’t yours?” he asked in return.
Blaze wasn’t prepared for the man to be so forthcoming. If he played it too open, he risked Liam Keller being overtaken, backed into a corner he couldn’t get out of without revealing his truer nature—and possibly breaking his cover out of necessity. Once he gave over to Parrick, he would have no leverage. It was a psychological dance, and he’d performed it before, though never with someone quite so direct. “I hardly know you, Nick,” he said sheepishly. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable discussing my spiritual beliefs with someone I’ve just met. I hope you understand.”
Parrick pulled back a bit. “Yes, of course. I didn’t mean to overwhelm you with all of this. Or offend you.”
“No offense taken,” Blaze said, keeping his eyes squarely on Parrick as the man’s gaze returned to the blade.
There was a pulse of uncomfortable silence, and then Parrick went on. “In the end,” he said, “we’re all just energy. I truly believe that. We’re a wavelength; a frequency. We flow. We create current. And ultimately, we transcend the mortal to become the divine. The game we play in between is to seize as much power and vibrate at as high a frequency as we can—higher than those around us, by whatever means necessary. That’s strength. That’s power.” The red lights surrounding the heart pulsated more urgently, and the music swelled frantically as he spoke, tribal drums and strings battling against each other through the sound system. Blaze had the distinct feeling that this was a regular occurrence for Parrick, that he brought important people to this room to explain to them without saying it outright that he knew exactly the extent of his power. That he wasn’t unwilling to dominate in a manner that was refined and primitive at the same time, to demonstrate to anyone standing opposite him that his order in the chain of command was far above theirs. “Some of us dissolve back into light...and some of us ascend and become the gods for a new cosmos.” The glow from the case shone up on his calm, unsmiling face.
Delving into this man’s psyche made for as fascinating a conversation as Blaze had ever had. But they’d gotten so far off-topic, Liam Keller thought it best to bring them back to center. “I...really just need to know how much you paid for them so I can make the valuation and draw up the policy.”
Parrick broke with the drama and laughed uproariously. “I wandered off into my mystical cosmic woo-woo talk, didn’t I?”
Blaze’s brow kinked. “Maybe a little.”
“I’m so sorry,” Parrick said. “Helene says I do it more and more.”
“It’s okay. Really.”
Parrick looked around the room again. “I guess these pieces in this environment just bring out the drama in me.”
Blaze noticed one case covered with a swath of black velvet in the middle of the room. “And what drama are you hiding in that one?” he said coyly as he pointed toward it.
“The piece de resistance, of course,” Parrick said theatrically. “My greatest chase...my most savage pursuit. My—”
All at once, the music shut off and the cold, white lights of the collection room came on. “Nicholas—why aren’t you answering me? I’m talking to you!” Helene’s voice cut through the new silence.
The spell was broken.
Parrick rolled his eyes and hung his head as the music stopped. “What the hell do you want now?” he hollered.
“I need you to taste the canapes so we can give the caterer the final order for tomorrow!” Helene hollered back. “Unless you want your guests to eat canned tuna on soda crackers, in which case I’ll just let you keep showing your new friend your toy collection.”
Blaze tried to hide his laugher, but it was difficult.
“She’s a pill, isn’t she?” Parrick said with a sigh.
Blaze winked, an un-Liam gesture that Parrick’s smile said he appreciated greatly. “If it helps,” he said, “I’m a fan of tuna and crackers.”
Parrick laughed and clapped his shoulder. “I think Davenport-Frasier sent just the right man for this job,” he said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an angry hostess to appease.”
Blaze tipped his head. “I think the gods would be pleased with your flexibility.”
Parrick turned and guided them toward the exit, and they emerged into the tropical sunlight again, the cinnamon-clove scent flushed away by the tang of ocean air. “So that’s what you’ll be including in the policy,” Parrick said as he put on his sunglasses, “forty-eight pieces in total, including Thunderhead. Apologies that we didn’t get to lift the veil, but you’ll see it tomorrow before the gala when we do the assessment.” He rolled his eyes. “After the canapes have been approved.”
Blaze grinned. “I’ll look forward to it.”
“I have no idea how long I’ll be, or what task will follow this tasting,” Parrick explained. “The to-do list is undoubtedly very long. Which leaves you freedom for the rest of the afternoon. I invite you test the limits of indulgence on my humble island.”
Blaze marveled at the paradox of that entire statement. Liam Keller was perhaps a little too reserved to mix business with that much potential pleasure. “That really isn’t necessary, Nick.”
“Don’t be silly. I haven’t gathered power and wealth in a quantity like this only to have my guests decline my hospitality, or feel guilty for indulging in it,” Parrick said through laughter. “It’s here; you’re here. It’s yours for t
he taking.”
“Davenport-Frasier might consider that a conflict,” Blaze said.
“I like you, Liam,” Parrick said sincerely. “Your integrity is admirable. And you have a spirit of quiet refinement.”
I’ve never been accused of that before, Blaze thought.
“Please,” Parrick plead with him, “enjoy yourself while you’re here.”
It would have been counter to his cover to decline twice, and it would definitely arouse suspicion. “Thank you, Nick,” Blaze said as he scanned his surroundings. “It certainly is paradise.”
“I’ve done my best to make it so,” Parrick affirmed.
“I’ll...find my way around, I guess.”
“Excellent!” Parrick clapped and motioned to two of his guards. “Dawes and Hanson are my generals, you might say. They’ll be at your beck and call.”
Translation, Blaze thought, they’ll make sure I don’t steal the silverware. “Very kind of you.”
Blaze watched as the two guards stepped forward and flanked him. Then Parrick and the rest of the team walked slowly toward Helene, all members reluctant to face her wrath over menu decisions.
“She’s very particular about things, isn’t she?” Blaze said flippantly, forgetting his Liam Keller reserve for a moment.
Dawes side-eyed his charge and said quietly, “You don’t know the half of it, Mr. Keller.”
***
The guards delivered Blaze to a room that was luxurious, more resort-style than residential, an aspect that suited not only the environment of the island but the net worth and tastes of its owner. The décor continued the primitive themes executed with modern elegance that Blaze had found in the treasure room; natural fabrics and earth tones accented by sky and water tones made him feel as if he was surrounded by nature, and the indigenous art on the walls and sculptures standing in the corners, though clearly replicas, felt as authentic as the pieces he’d seen in the treasure room. “We’ll be just outside the door if you need anything,” Hanson told Blaze.
Blaze stood before both men with a friendly, submissive smile, sizing them up silently as they opened his door for him. These were no small figures; each was a head taller than him, and broader by half. The weaponry on their belts was limited to Glocks, one each. There were no machine guns, no rifles, no extreme weaponry; for a man as powerful as Parrick throwing a party to welcome the rich and famous to his island, the munitions must have been kept under camouflage—a wise choice to maintain the comfort level and the party atmosphere. Blaze had no idea of their skill level in hand-to-hand combat, what training they might both be proficient in. He assumed it was quite advanced, that they were solid, reliable fighters, and lethal if necessary. But he also knew his own skill level, and he’d faced down more powerful-looking men who’d been more expansively armed. You aren’t here to fight, he reminded himself silently. If you need to, though...you should be fine. “Thank you. I’ll call you when I’m ready to see the sights,” was all he said.
“Just knock,” Dawes told him as he handed over Blaze’s luggage. “We’ll be right in.”
“Knock on the inside of the door?” he asked in his best Liam Keller confusion, which also may have carried a bit of Blaze’s own puzzlement.
Before he could reason through it fully, Dawes had pulled the door shut and the electronic latch clicked into place.
Blaze tugged at the handle. It held firm. “Ah. Locked from the outside,” he huffed. “How welcoming.” He wondered if all the guests would be treated to such oversight, or if this room had been prepared specially for his own appearance on the island. He was, after all, a stranger to Nicholas Parrick, no matter how easy-going their introduction had been.
He hung up his suit, kicked off his shoes and loosened his tie, settling into a club chair near the mini-bar, certain that everything around him was flanked by cameras and listening devices. He made a casual spin through the room as he hung his clothes and filled the dresser drawers with Liam Keller’s belongings. Cameras there, he thought, and there...and there. Mics under here and here. Nice set-up. As observed as he was, it would be difficult to communicate with Savant and Zed to let them know he’d arrived, that he’d seen the grounds and been shown every piece of prehistoric art Parrick owned...except for the one he was after. He pictured it again, hidden behind its black sheath. He would catalogue and appraise it, in the sheer light of the room rather than the grandeur of the multi-colored light show. And then, it would be covered again, prepped for the actual unveiling at the Thunderhead gala. If the drama surrounding the event once the glitterati were in attendance was anything like what he’d just been shown, it would be the most cinematic art exhibit he’d ever been witness to. “The rich really know how to waste their time and money,” he said quietly, hoping the mics wouldn’t pick up the acid in his tone.
In spite of the privacy challenges, Blaze thought it crucial after his rogue display with the guards at Halex that he contact the House before proceeding, to demonstrate that he was able to make nice and play by their rules, and to explain that he hadn’t injured anyone as of yet. He also thought it best to inform them that Parrick had something of a wild card that he hadn’t been apprised of in Helene. He’d known the man was married, but it would have been nice to know about her high-maintenance tendencies prior to arriving, to account for the potential for complication she posed. She seemed to be in Parrick’s business more than would be helpful; were she to get a sense of Liam Keller being Derek Blaze and begin to suspect that his intentions were anything less than professional, she could ring the alarm and ruin everything. He’d already detected a note of suspicion in her during their brief yet terse interactions, and he didn’t take her to be much of a fan of her husband’s collection, though she did seem invested in the party preparations. Maybe that’ll keep her busy enough, he surmised.
Once his luggage was unloaded, he prepped a white noise curtain by running the shower and sinks in the bathrooms simultaneously. Then he gathered his cufflinks, tapped the right one to activate the microphone, plugged in the earpiece, and made contact.
Savant spoke before Blaze had a chance to. “I take it you’ve arrived, and that you’re not sitting in an airplane on the tarmac talking into your wrist for everyone on Parrick’s security detail to see.”
Blaze laughed. “It’s like you have eyes in the back of my head.”
“I hear sizzling,” Zed’s voice chimed in. “Are you at a barbeque?”
“No, I’m—”
“He’s in the bathroom with the water running, masking his voice for the microphones Parrick has planted in his room,” Savant said, leaving no room for doubt.
“You know so much about what’s going on, you should have run this mission yourself.” Blaze laid the cuffs on the counter as he stripped down.
“Believe me, Minerva was inches away from having me do just that,” Savant affirmed. “And I wouldn’t have said no to Thane Island.”
Blaze pulled on a pair of swim trunks. “You’d have been wise, then. This place is literally paradise on earth.”
“And did you make contact with the gods?” Zed asked.
“More than you can imagine,” Blaze told them. He spread the blinds open to see a view of the treasure room in the distance, and all the beautiful blue sky and white sand beaches he could handle in the foreground. “I had no idea Parrick was such a power-monger. His entire collection represents strength through supernatural forces.”
“It goes beyond his business enterprises, then,” Savant mused.
“It goes well into his spiritual beliefs,” Blaze confirmed, “into his philosophy of power and life in general. None of this was documented in his profile.”
“None of this was known,” Zed told him. “We gave you everything we could find on him. And our intelligence was from sound sources. I guess they couldn’t dig up anything on his freaky otherworldly side.”
Blaze understood. There was only so much ferreting his team could do. “I have a feeling I’m going to add a ne
w volume to the House’s Nicholas Parrick intel library before this trip is over.”
“And the mask?” Savant asked. “Have you made visual contact yet?”
“You ask as if it’s some sort of living thing,” Blaze pointed out. “Like a hostage.”
“No, I ask that as if I’ve sent an agent halfway around the world without having visual contact to see what he’s encountering myself,” Savant said tersely. “Have you seen the mask?”
“Well...no. He showed me what he calls the treasure room, where he displays all of his artifacts. But the case where the mask was happened to be sheathed for the gala. Before we could lift the cover and take a look, Parrick was called away by his ever-so-charming wife to taste-test canapes.”
“You...you can’t be serious,” Zed said, incredulous. “One of the wealthiest men in the world still has to choose the food for his own parties? Amazing.”
“I don’t think it’s something he relishes,” Blaze confirmed.
“All of that aside,” Savant said, bringing them back to center, “when will you have access to the mask? You have precious little time on the island, and incredible opportunity to arouse suspicion with whatever activities lead you to make the switch.”
Blaze watched as two women and three men walked onto the beach, all in swimming attire, and all with the healthy glow of the rich and indulgent. “Yes, well...the other guests are arriving as we speak,” he pointed out.
“Exactly,” Savant said. “There’ll be potential for having eyes on you from here until the gala tomorrow night.”
“Quite the opposite,” Blaze told her. “The more people milling about the island, the greater a crowd I have to blend into. But I won’t need that. I have an open appointment for later this afternoon to examine the pieces and create the insurance policy.”
