by A G Stevens
Blaze felt as if he were being passed a cypher, some sort of encrypted message. “I don’t understand.”
Parrick shrugged. “I didn’t think you would, but I had to take a chance.”
“Wait—what did you mean by that?”
“Nothing to worry about. Goodbye, Liam. I really do like you. And I really do regret that this has to happen. But it must.” Parrick’s head tipped toward Helene.
Blaze saw Helene’s grip tense, but before she could pull the trigger, he seized her wrist, swung his elbow into her temple and knocked her out cold. Then he grabbed the gun and held it on Parrick. Parrick lunged to catch the mask as it fell from Helene’s grip. It landed squarely in his hands.
“Impressive reflexes for an insurance assessor,” Parrick said, brushing the surface of the mask.
“Impressive reflexes yourself,” Blaze said.
“You really don’t understand my reference...do you?”
“I don’t. But I’d love to know more.”
“So would I,” Parrick said. “Who are you really, Liam?”
Blaze circled around carefully and collected his attaché with the gun squarely trained on Parrick the whole time. “I’m a simple man doing a simple job, who seems to have gotten caught up in something much bigger than he ever expected to.”
Parrick clicked the mask on his lapel. “Well, now you’ll be caught by security team and tried for attempted theft, double homicide, and assault.”
“Will I?” Blaze asked. Then he spoke into his cufflink. “Extraction requested.”
Parrick smiled as Blaze backed up toward the exit. “You’ll have two minutes before my team tracks you down through the darkness of the island.” He said it as if this were some sort of game.
“I’ll only need one,” Blaze said as the doors slid open.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Parrick asked him, holding up the mask as a reminder.
Blaze looked at the bodies of Gabrielle and Dawson, lying in pools of blood, and Helene lying unconscious at Parrick’s feet. “Ah, yes...I am.” He saluted Parrick with the barrel of the gun. “Your island is lovely, your collection is spectacular, and your wife is an incredible lover. You keep the mask...you’ve shed enough blood here to deserve it, whatever you choose to do with it.” Then he winked and let the doors slide shut before shooting out the security panel, effectively locking a very confused Parrick in the treasure room.
***
Blaze heard sirens sounding and saw searchlights sweeping the beach as he ran. “Extraction requested – repeat, immediate extraction requested,” he repeated into his cufflink communicator, a bit more frantic this time. “Location: westward beach front, shoreline.” He heard the revving of engines as he moved from the pavement to the beach, dropping low into the foliage and dissolving into shadow as he watched the skies and listened for his ride. Parrick’s soldiers came in Humvees, armed to the teeth and roving the beach with night vision goggles. There was no way of knowing if his messages were being received by Zed or responded to by the House. He could only hope. As stacked against him as this particular deck was, he had no option but to wait and see, even as the beach-scouring security guards swept closer and closer to his location.
The sky was startlingly clear, with every star shining brightly and a sliver moon hanging above the ocean for a rippling mirror reflection. Above the horizon a single silent red light appeared, gliding closer and closer. Then the sky below it was blotted out, and Blaze saw an ominous blocking of the reflection of light on the surface of the water. He breathed lighter when he realized what it was.
A Black Dragon, he thought. They sent a million-dollar stealth helicopter to extract me. If he hadn’t known before how impressive the House was, he certainly knew now.
The craft slid soundlessly toward the shore; when it reached the sand, Blaze ran low and quick toward the ladder it dropped. He climbed in, and though there was no sound from the rotors, the eddies of sand swirling around on the beach drew the notice of the Dragon. It lifted vertically and slipped back out over the ocean with Parrick’s guards firing a barrage of machine gun ammunition in its direction. The chopper’s impenetrable skin deflected each shot with a spark and a thread of smoke. Soon, it was out of range, with Blaze in its belly. The real Tlaloc mask was safely in his custody and his head was spinning with a puzzle of betrayal he was trying desperately to assemble.
F O U R T E E N
The hollow gaze of Tlaloc was aimed at Blaze as he sat across from Minerva Syre at the House headquarters, the mask resting on her desk. The empty green eyes seemed flat and unimpressive outside of their more dramatic setting. Even without the theatrical effects in the treasure room, the disembodied face had seemed daunting and judgmental, sitting on its cradle in the poly-plexithene case Parrick had kept the mask in. But now, in the sere light of Minerva’s office, it looked more like an ornate paperweight than a tribute to a higher deity of the Aztec culture. “It’s even more hideous up close, isn’t it?” Minerva noted.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Blaze said. “His gaping mouth is kind of handsome, in a vengeful death-and-destruction kind of way.”
Minerva’s eyebrow arched. “There’s no accounting for some peoples’ taste.”
“That ugly head is worth fifteen million dollars,” Zed chimed in.
“Or five-hundred-million, depending on who you can sell it to,” Blaze corrected him.
“There’s a sucker born every minute, I guess,” Zed commented. He leaned on the desk and made a closer examination of the mask. “Now that I can see the real deal up close, I must say the accuracy of our replica was stunning.”
“Your team did an excellent job,” Savant pointed out from the corner of the room.
Zed smirked. “They did, didn’t they?”
“So,” Minerva asked, her own gaze searing down to laser focus on Blaze, “please explain again your findings in the treasure room, after your mission came to violence once again.”
“Tragic, even, this time,” Savant pointed out.
“In my defense,” Blaze said tersely, “the violence and tragedy were not initiated by me. They were a result of the greater situation, one that I wasn’t privy to until it all unfolded in front of me. I simply did what I had to do in order to defend myself. Which was in service of the House, if you extend that logic. The tragedy came at the hands of others.”
“Yes, yes, you were a lamb led to the slaughter,” Minerva said, stopping short of rolling her eyes. “And you aren’t on trial here. We just want to hear the circumstances. Give us your summary, please.”
Blaze summarized. “Before I had a chance to make the switch, I stumbled upon Dawes and Gabrielle—Nicholas Parrick’s head of security and Helene Parrick’s personal assistant—discussing their plan to steal the mask. Rather than wait for that to happen, I engaged to replace it before they made the theft. I became...encumbered, let’s say, in the treasure room, and they found me there with my hand in the proverbial cookie jar.”
Minerva didn’t look amused by his analogy.
Zed filled in the blanks. “The wafer that softened the poly-plexithene case fell off and Derek got his arm caught in the case when it re-solidified. That’s why the recording went silent; the case is sound-proof.” Zed hitched a knowing eyebrow at Blaze.
“Is this true?” Minerva asked.
“That is...uh, yes; the recording went dead while my hand was in the case,” Blaze confirmed, catching Zed’s hint.
“You sound unsure,” Savant pointed out.
“No, I’m sure,” Blaze said, catching Zed’s subtle nod. “Then Gabrielle shot it to smithereens. It turns out that substance is not entirely indestructible.”
Zed looked sheepish. “My bad. And duly noted for future reference.”
Savant sighed. “Go on.”
“While they were explaining their intentions to me, Helene Parrick showed up and revealed that she and Gabrielle were the ones with the plan to steal the mask. Gabrielle killed Dawes without blinking..
.then Helene revealed that she and Parrick had used them both to steal the mask so they could report the amount that Liam Keller had assessed it for and take it underground to sell it for half a billion dollars instead. She killed Gabrielle in cold blood.”
“Good god, these people are monsters,” Minerva said tersely.
“Well, Helene intended to kill me as well,” Blaze reminded them, “but Nicholas Parrick showed up and provided enough of a distraction for me to escape. Not intentionally, of course. But it worked.”
Savant looked at the godhead on the desk. “And you’re certain you have the real mask now, with all the double-crossing and switchbacks they’ve pulled?”
“I am, yes,” Blaze said without wavering. “I’d made the switch before anyone arrived. There were no witnesses on hand to see the exchange. And their cameras were disabled, thanks to Zed’s tricky clicker.”
“The client will be pleased to hear this,” Minerva said.
“And I only had to knock out two people to get it back,” Blaze said.
“Please don’t consider that some sort of achievement, or an improvement over your prior performance,” Minerva said begrudgingly.
Blaze wore his most sincere face. “I wouldn’t think of it.” Being a spy— and in turn a professional liar—made it difficult for anyone in the room to believe him; knowing that their purposes had been served made it less necessary. “So...what now?” he asked.
“The client is awaiting delivery,” Savant asserted. “We’ll have our delivery team make the drop, and the case will be closed.”
“And the Parricks?”
“The proper authorities have been notified; they’ll be arrested for attempted insurance fraud, and Helene for the murder of Gabrielle Zamora,” Minerva explained. “As far as anyone pertinent is concerned, Liam Keller retired from Davenport-Frasier after his harrowing experience and is living somewhere in South America under an assumed identity.”
“Your cover is living under cover,” Zed pointed out.
“How meta,” Blaze noted. “And it’s onto other adventures for me, I’d imagine?”
Savant nodded. “As soon as the need arises. Until then...keep a low profile and try not to inflict too much violence on innocent bystanders.”
“The violence I inflict is always deserved.”
“And to be fair,” Zed said in support, “they were trying to kill him. They’d already knocked off two of their own...they would have offed him in a heartbeat.”
“And yet, they didn’t,” Savant pointed out. “Why did they hesitate?”
Blaze felt a thread of hidden truth appear in the conversation. He was ready to ask if anyone in the room knew what Parrick might have meant with his cryptic message about the eyes of heaven always watching as it related to the mask. He thought better of it and pulled back. That information might be better served at a later date, and in a more necessary situation. “I couldn’t possibly say.”
Minerva stood. “As far as we’re concerned, this matter is closed.” She picked up the mask and handed it to Savant. “Please make sure this gets to the agents who’ll see to its proper cataloging and processing.”
“Of course.” Savant took the mask and signaled Blaze and Zed out of the room.
Blaze cleared his throat. “And payment due is...”
“On schedule,” Savant answered without turning around, “to be deposited into the account you indicated.”
“I haven’t received notification of that yet.”
“It’s on its way,” Savant assured him.
Blaze persisted. “It’s just that I’m used to—”
“Being paid in cash the moment your mission has concluded,” Savant recited. “I remember your requirements. And you remember that we don’t do things like that around here.”
Blaze slid ahead and turned to face her. “You have the mask. That I risked my life for. The mission has concluded. Payment is due immediately upon completion.”
Savant paused. Her tongue probed her teeth in visible irritation.
Blaze’s phone chimed. He checked the notification. “Well, look at that...”
“Payment has been delivered, I take it?” Savant pushed around him and continued walking.
“We’ll be in contact shortly about your next mission, Agent Blaze,” Minerva said, turning her attention to other work. “Thank you for your service.”
Blaze shook his phone and smiled as they left. “And thank you for yours.”
Savant walked silently, disappearing down another hallway to deliver the mask. Zed pulled Blaze aside as they entered the Cathedral, before they came to the nave, for a private moment. “Listen, friend...when I said the communicator went silent back there, I meant only while you were in the treasure room with Gabrielle and Dawes.”
Blaze busily verified the total payment was the amount due, and smiled when he was able to confirm it. “Yes, understood.”
“But not when you were in the treasure room with Helene Parrick.” Zed’s eyebrows rose to finish relaying the message.
“Yes,” Blaze said, his smile falling. “Understood.”
“Now,” Zed continued, “I’d say you’re extremely lucky that there was no active listening happening during the assessment, and that I was the first to review the recording of your confrontation with the Parricks in the treasure room. Which means there may or may not be a redaction of your audio, roundabout the point at which Helene Parrick drops the dime on your...ahem...entanglement. The soundproof case had been shattered when she spilled the beans, yes, but it would be difficult to say whether we encountered atmospheric disturbance over the island at that particular moment that caused a technical malfunction in the data relay...or if the file was altered after the recording. And thanks to my skilled hands, it’s now impossible to tell.”
Blaze smiled. “Thank you. Sincerely. That entanglement...could have repercussions.”
Zed didn’t smile in return. “Right? And while I’d love nothing more than to hear the details of your encounter, because I’m grungy and envious of you like that, I have to warn you that the House doesn’t play nice when it comes to this sort of compromise.”
“I would imagine not.”
“I may not always be able to be your willing redactor,” Zed warned him. “It puts my neck squarely on the line as much as it puts yours.”
“I get that, yes,” Blaze agreed. “I’m sorry for the compromise.”
“And even if I were willing, I may not be the first to reach the incriminating information.” He paused to let the message absorb. “Please, for your own sake, step carefully. These folks don’t play.”
Blaze truly appreciated Zed’s help. “It won’t happen again. I swear.”
“Let’s not go crazy,” Zed told him with a pointed nod. “I didn’t say it shouldn’t happen again. What you do on your missions when the cameras are out of range or the mics are dead is your business. I just said step carefully—especially if the recording devices are running.”
Blaze couldn’t be sure what was happening here, if a workmate was supporting his extracurricular behavior, if he was being warned by a veteran who knew better than he did about the nature of the business they were in, or if a potential adversary was defining their dynamic.
“Duly noted, Zed. Thank you for helping me out.”
Zed’s face went blank. “I didn’t help you out, Derek. There was a glitch in the recording. That’s all.”
Blaze smirked. “And glitches get stitches.”
Zed laughed. “Drinks sometime, and a review of all the dirty treasure room details?”
Blaze would have loved to believe this was the friend element coming to the fore. But he knew better than to trust so easily. He also knew better than to appear untrusting. “Absolutely.”
Zed knocked his elbow. “For now, though? Another mission needs my brilliance.”
“It certainly does,” Blaze agreed.
F I F T E E N
Savant laid the mask on the table in the Lower Lab, a r
oom beneath the lab Zed worked in, in the sub-basement of the House. It was a section of the Cathedral that few knew existed, and even fewer had cause to descend to. Savant was one of the trusted few. “Carefully,” she said to the agent there. “The client expects a perfect piece. No chips, no flaws.”
The young woman across from her lowered a jeweler’s loupe over her eye. “I’m no amateur, Savant.”
Savant smiled. “Of course you’re not.”
The agent flipped a switch on a small tool with a very fine blade that buzzed with a piercing, high-pitched whine. Then she ran the blade down into the socket of Tlaloc’s right eye, cautiously disconnecting the green stone from the clay it was embedded in with surgical precision. It dropped with a tender thunk into a swath of microfiber gauze beneath it. Then, she performed the same procedure on the left eye.
Her white-cotton gloved hands moved the mask away and presented the loosened stones to Savant for inspection. Savant picked up another loupe, held the stones to the light, and examined them. “Perfect. Or as near as possible, anyway.”
“And for the rest of this ugly thing?” the agent asked.
“Thorough disposal, of course,” Savant told her without hesitation.
The agent lifted the loupe from her eye and drew a steel-headed hammer from a cabinet behind her desk. Then she lifted the hammer and brought it down on Thunderhead, again and again until the mosaic was nothing but loose stones, and the clay was a pile of rubble. “This is always my favorite part...the destruction.”
Savant sighed. “I know, Lark. But please try not to enjoy yourself so much. It makes what we do for our clients feel frivolous and lacking in concern for the state of the world.”
“What is it exactly that we do here again, Savant?” Lark asked, leaning lazily on the hammer. “I really don’t have a clue.”
Savant dropped the stones into a soft silken pouch, then scanned the sliding door open, stepped into the red-lighted hall, turned, and winked. “That’s the spirit.”
