by A G Stevens
Blaze felt his stomach churn.
“Okay?” Dawes asked again.
Gabrielle nodded. “Okay.”
Dawes smiled. “Okay,” he repeated.
“And you’re sure we can get the mask without being caught?” Gabrielle asked.
“The plan is perfect,” Dawes assured her. “And timed perfectly...the compound is teeming with partygoers. Anyone could have slipped onto the island for this purpose. They’ll be on their dessert course by the time I put the security cameras on loop, divert the rest of the guards, and steal Thunderhead. And once the mask is gone, they’ll search the guests—their rooms, their belongings. I’ll be leading the search. Nothing will be found, and I’ll report the escape vehicle fleeing the island and put out a private worldwide search for the mask. By then, everything else will be settled.”
Gabrielle exhaled heavily. “It sounds so easy when you say it.”
“It’ll be easier than most of my duties for Parrick, actually.”
Blaze knew enough now. And he knew that even though he’d stumbled onto what amounted to international antiquities theft—another theft, of the same relic, even—and though it hadn’t yet occurred, getting involved in side activities such as foiling this plot wasn’t part of his assignment. Savant had made that abundantly clear. Infiltrate the compound; find the mask. Make the switch. Extract. That was the entire mission.
But now there were three thieves on the island instead of one, all with their own ulterior motives for acquiring it, and all with the possibility of ruining one another’s plans by a mistake of timing.
The urgency to replace the mask had been ratcheted up considerably. Blaze knew now that he had to make the switch before Gabrielle and Dawes had a chance to steal it. If timed properly, what they would end up stealing would be the replica. Otherwise, he’d be leaving the island without Thunderhead in his possession. Time was of the essence now. If only he could get into the treasure room undetected.
In the midst of a gala.
He’d thought of a few ways to work around it. But if he’d been hoping for a quiet moment to slip away and make the exchange, he knew now that it couldn’t wait. If he didn’t do it before Dawes and Gabrielle had a chance to execute their plan, there wouldn’t be a mask to exchange at all.
Meanwhile, he was soon to be missed in the treasure room, where he’d left Parrick and the unveiling of Thunderhead behind at the pinnacle moment.
He turned and slid down the darkened hallway toward the exit he’d come through. He took the path to the right and heard footfalls coming from ahead. There was nowhere to go that wouldn’t lead to disaster; he’d either head back toward the door and risk being seen by Gabrielle and Dawes, or he’d run headlong into whoever was coming down the hall. If he had any hope of executing his plan, he had to remain as incognito as possible, even in this snare of a situation.
He stepped forward quickly, watching the floor as he walked and purposely bumping into the guard coming toward him as he turned the corner. “So sorry,” he said, fumbling as the guard pushed back firmly and held him at arm’s length. “I didn’t see you there. I didn’t see anything, actually, it’s so bloody dark in here.”
“What are you doing here, Mr. Keller?” the guard asked. “You’re supposed to be in the treasure room with the other guests. Mr. Parrick just unveiled Thunderhead.”
“Yes, well,” Blaze said, reaching for his Liam Keller awkwardness. “I was looking for the restroom and I took the wrong exit, and I ended up back he—”
There was an incredible squeal in his ear as his comm unit came precariously close to that of the guard. Feedback was inevitable, and practically deafening. It was also audible from the outside...which meant the guard could hear it, too. And he recognized it. “Are you wearing a communicator for Mr. Parrick?”
“I...” Blaze waited a beat too long.
“You weren’t looking for the restroom,” the guard said. “You were—”
Blaze didn’t wait for him to finish his accusation. He smashed his fist into the guard’s jaw, snapping his head to the side. Then he reached into the guard’s open holster for his Glock. Blaze pulled back, but before he could get a bead on the guard’s shadowy figure, the man launched a front kick into Blaze’s chest that threw him back against the wall. A roundhouse came next and knocked the gun to the floor, which clattered as it slid further into the darkness.
Blaze may not have been able to track the gun, but his vision was semi-dark-adapted now. He was ready for the guard’s next move, a charging shoulder to the stomach. Blaze leapt high as he came forward, landing against the man’s back and rolling onto the floor behind him. His face was precariously close to the guard’s boot, and the guard knew it. He raised his leg and brought it down hard, trying to stomp Blaze’s skull, but Blaze anticipated it and rolled free, springing to his feet, the guard’s boot coming down against the concrete instead. Blaze turned quickly and fired two raging kidney punches, one on each side, and the guard buckled and went to his knees. Then Blaze hooked the guard’s throat in his right elbow, locked his hand into his left elbow, and squeezed firmly as the solid man struggled...then struggled a little less. In ten seconds, the guard had passed out fully.
Blaze dragged his unconscious body down the hallway with a bit of difficulty. He slid the man toward an open utility room he’d passed on his way in. It wouldn’t be long before the guard woke up, and there was nothing to work with in the room; a sink and a water-heating system were the only features available. So as he’d become accustomed to doing on so many missions, Blaze improvised. He removed his neck tie and bound the guard’s hands, tying them tightly around a pipe. He took the tie clip with the camera and stashed it in his pocket, then he left and clicked the door shut behind him, wondering how much time he’d have before the guard came to and started thumping the door to be let out.
“The mission might be moving along a little faster than expected,” he told Zed into his cufflink communicator. He realized only then that his earpiece had been knocked out of his ear during the scuffle. He had no time to search for it in the darkened hallway. “Returning to the gala...I hope you heard what I heard happening between Dawes and Gabrielle. And now, I’m on radio silence until extraction.”
When he entered the treasure room again, the crowd was slowly loosening around the Thunderhead display, clustering in small groups near Parrick and congratulating him on such a stunning acquisition. It gave Blaze an opportunity to examine the case for the first time. He slunk through the others, hoping to appear as if he’d been there the entire time as he made his way to the display. He’d seen it earlier, but even with the special effects swirling around it, the mask was far less magnificent than the exaltations of the gala attendees made it out to be. Or maybe they were just eager to appear knowledgeable, to impress Parrick with their familiarity with antiquity, and with Tlaloc in particular. Hearing Parrick speak of it and seeing the images on Savant’s screen even sold Blaze on the possibility of the power of the relic, the haunting green eyes in particular. But sitting in its cradle behind a cube of glass, with the dramatic lighting shining down on it, it was nothing but a stone mask that stared out empty and hollow. It looked more like an unfinished college art project. Fifteen million dollars for this? he thought. Stolen once, now to be stolen again—and possibly a third time, unless I make the switch. I just don’t understand the appeal.
“You can see why I’m so adamant about a proper appraisal now, can’t you?” Parrick said, sidling up to him from behind with his whiskey glass in hand. “Now that you’ve seen my beloved jewel in its proper setting?”
Blaze put on his best Liam Keller deference. “Oh, absolutely. It is...stunning.”
Parrick stroked the poly-plexithene case. “It’s the centerpiece of the whole collection now,” he said. His attention was drawn to Blaze’s missing tie, his open collar, and his gleaming forehead. “You’re loosening up, Liam. And you look a little damp.”
“Sorry?”
“You
ditched the tie. And you’re sweating.”
Blaze realized at once the image he was projecting after his struggle with Parrick’s guard. “I, uh...I’m feeling a little peaked, actually,” he said.
Parrick’s expression became concerned. “Are you ill?”
“Maybe a little?” Blaze said, dabbing his brow and adjusting his collar. “Tropical swelter and all that.”
“This room is temperature-controlled to seventy-two degrees at all times...do you have a fever?”
Blaze felt his head. “Maybe a little. I might have eaten something that didn’t agree with me. The hors d’oeuvre...”
“Your stomach doesn’t like the exotic stuff?”
Blaze forced a pained smile. “Maybe less than I’d like to admit.”
The lights came up in the treasure room, and the doors opened.
Helene slunk across the room, making her way toward her husband. “Dinner is waiting, Nicholas,” she said. “Liam, you look withered.”
Parrick turned to her sternly. “Be kind, Helene. He’s not feeling well. It could be the canapes.”
Helene shrugged, casting Blaze a knowing look, but affording him little sympathy in front of Parrick. “We’ll blame you for that then, since they were your call. Perk up quickly, Liam...we have five more courses for you to work through.” Then she turned on her heels and followed the flow of her guests, linking arms and faking camaraderie with them.
“She’s a real paragon of empathy,” Parrick said, draining the rest of his whiskey.
“I’ll be okay,” Blaze insisted, playing up the discomfort. “Something neutral to drink, and I’m sure all will be well.”
Parrick held his hand toward the door. “Then let us away, good man. We’ll find a cure for what ails in you in the dining room.”
Blaze forced a smile. “I like the sound of that.”
They walked out of the treasure room at the tail end of the crowd, Blaze eyeing the security panel and solidifying his mental notes on the location of the mask, and assessing his ability to break away from the dinner and replace the mask before Dawes and Gabrielle had a chance to steal it out from under Parrick—and him.
E L E V E N
The Aztec motif of the treasure room carried over through the visuals and the food in the banquet hall. The menu was filled native Mexican staples—fish, corn, beans, squash, all done in haute cuisine style and served in artful displays until they were barely recognizable. There was cacao flowing from a fountain shaped like a volcano, and mescal and tequila monopolized the bar selections. Everything offered was an elevated version of traditional Aztec fare. And because Parrick believed, as part of his obsession with power, that he was capable of creating fusion where it didn’t need to exist, he’d made sure that his multi-million-dollar chef included a selection of seafood dishes from the island as well, including octopus, sea bass, and oysters on the half-shell. It was decadence the likes of which Parrick’s guests were fully accustomed to, though Blaze had become only remotely familiar with it during a mission or two. But it had never been quite to this level; this was everything he’d seen in those instances escalated by an order of magnitude, just like everything where Parrick was concerned. To anyone else in his situation, it would have been incredibly distracting, highly indulgent, and wildly hedonistic. But Blaze was in heightened-focus mode. He could only think about the mask, and the double-cross that was soon to take place.
The timing of everything was far keener now that he knew what Gabrielle and Dawes were planning; a thread of urgency vibrated through his nerves on a higher frequency. The tie tack camera was useless in his pocket, but the cufflink communicator was still fully operational, as far as he knew, even without the earpiece. Still, he couldn’t hear if Zed or Savant were responding to him, though he could still reach them when he needed to.
Beyond that, he was flying blind.
He was on high alert as he found his table and took his seat. His plate was adorned with a paper Aztec mask, and there were nine other people at the circular table all chiming with excitement over their own masks, putting them on with strange delight as the waiter began taking drink orders. Blaze’s attention shifted from table to table, watching for signs that there might be others working with Gabrielle and Dawes. It would be incredibly difficult to move now without being noticed with everyone else seated at their tables waiting for their drinks, soon to be followed by their first dinner courses. And when Nicholas and Helene Parrick took their seats at the table where he was stationed, Blaze knew that the rest of this mission was going to be more than a balancing act; it was going to be a high-wire ride while juggling razor-sharp machetes and flaming batons, performed in full view of a very real audience.
Helene took the seat next to him, and Parrick took the one next to her. As if things weren’t complicated enough, Blaze thought as he felt her elbow casually slide against his. “Are you feeling any better, love?” she asked, playfully donning her mask.
Blaze flinched. “Sorry...love?” he asked.
Parrick leaned around her. “Helene has had mescal, Liam,” he explained. “Don’t be surprised if she gets a little amorous with you.” Then he looked across the table at a particularly attractive couple. “Or you,” he said to the man, who smiled. “Or you, either,” he said to the woman, who smiled as well. “Oh, hell—there’s a fifty-fifty chance the whole table gets felt up before the appetizers arrive!” he said cheerfully.
Everyone at the table erupted in laughter...everyone except Helene. She rolled her eyes, leaned her elbow on the table, and cradled her chin in her hand. “You all should be so lucky,” she said, smirking. The laughter grew louder. Then she glanced at Blaze, and her right hand dropped under the table and slipped down his thigh.
He cleared his throat and sat up straighter as the waiter brought him a mescal of his own.
The whole group at the table seemed to know one another. Blaze was the lone soldier with no familiarity whatsoever of anyone except the Parricks. “Friends, this is Liam Keller,” Parrick said, introducing him jovially, “my insurance assessor for the Thunderhead mask, and the whole collection.” There was an audible gasp of recognition around the table, as if these people had been wondering who the man without a tie was, and how he’d scored a seat at the Parricks’ very own banquet. “He was kind enough to journey all the way from America, as many of you did. But he came to work as much as to play...whereas all of you just came to attend our fabulous party.” They all laughed again and began engaging Parrick in all sorts of questions about his latest acquisition.
Helene sighed and leaned into Blaze. “He’s holding court now,” she said quietly.
Blaze wasn’t comfortable with this scenario at all. It was more than he’d bargained for, being under the watchful eye of the man from whom he was destined to steal treasure, and under the wandering hand of his wife. The latter was his doing, he knew; their heated liaison only hours before had set Helene’s aggressions in motion. He could handle the strangers, but working his way out of the glittering trap of the Parricks’ combined presence would take something akin to magic.
He was silently searching his mental sleeves for something he could pull out of them.
“Did you love Thunderhead in its unnatural setting as much as Nicholas hoped you would?” Helene asked. Her breath grazed his cheek, and her voice was a honeyed purr.
“It was...striking, yes,” Blaze said, sipping his drink.
Helene turned and watched her husband revel in the attention from the rest of his table as he regaled them with the story of how he’d located the mask, how he’d tracked it down and negotiated a deal, all of which Blaze knew to be patently untrue. “He talks like he’s developed a cure for cancer,” she said blandly. “All he did was buy a damn mask.”
“You aren’t as impressed as everyone else?” Blaze asked.
“No, Liam,” Helene confessed. “I’m not impressed. He paid an exorbitant amount of money for something that’s worth at least twice that much when you consider—
” She stopped abruptly.
“When you consider what, Helene?” There seemed to be a lot of interest in this relic from people in Parrick’s immediate circle. Added to the notion that Parrick was inordinately concerned that the mask be appraised at an inflated value, Blaze was forced to wonder what exactly he didn’t know about Tlaloc—what hadn’t been written in the dossier Savant provided that would have given a clue as to why it seemed so coveted.
“When you consider its advanced age,” she said unconvincingly, “its exemplary workmanship for the era in which it was created. The incredible difficulty it took to unearth and acquire such a masterwork.” It sounded rehearsed, especially coming from someone who was so used to speaking exactly what was on her mind.
“Are you sure there isn’t something more about this mask that you aren’t telling me?” Blaze whispered.
Helene cast him a sideways gaze. “What else could there possibly be, Liam?” she said as her hand slid further up his leg.
Blaze shifted in his chair and downed the rest of his mescal.
“Careful, now,” Parrick warned him as his attention turned back toward his guest. “It’s very strong.”
Blaze breathed between his teeth as the fire seized his throat. “I’ve had stronger,” he said through a wheeze. The table erupted in laughter yet again.
That’s right, Blaze thought. Play them right into your hands.
Helene laughed and gave his thigh a squeeze.
Speaking of hands...
The waiters brought a tray of appetizers to the table, something Parrick was proud to describe. “So you may notice we have some fruit de mer tonight that doesn’t exactly fit the Aztec theme.”
One of the women across the table leaned forward. “We don’t know what the Aztec theme entails, Nick, so anything you serve will seem fitting, I’m sure.”
