Whispers: The Reincarnation Series (Book 2)

by R. E. Rowe

  Sitting up, stunned, my ears ringing, I realize what just happened.

  Bree manages to get to her feet and stumbles into the other room. She coughs and gags, then starts to cry. “No!”

  “Bree?” I push myself up and move as fast as I can to the other room.

  Bree kneels over Daniela, who’s unconscious on the hard floor, blood trickling from her nose and ears. “Daniela.”

  I take off my new sweater and cover Daniela the best I can. I hear Mack gagging and coughing near the ladder on the floor. I run over to him.

  He groans. “What . . . what happened?”

  “A bomb—”

  Above us, machine gun fire rattles.

  “What the—”

  Another explosion and a shock wave slams into me.

  Darkness.

  chapter seventeen

  Hologram after live hologram, I watch the unrest from multiple QCC communities continuing to get worse. It’s not supposed to work this way. We provide everything a community could need. They should be joyful and happy. Not angry and rebellious. Yet, these people are unhappy.

  If a problem existed in only one community, I’d call it an outlier. But unrest is happening in every community. Could a small minority be influencing the majority inside every community? And why?

  Chien’s face suddenly appears, replacing the video hologram I was watching from my private room deep down in the island bunker. “There’s been an incident, Carmina.”

  “What kind of incident?”

  “An attack on Bree and the last enforcers. Your entire store of ancient gold red beryl has been stolen.”

  My body tightens. “Stolen?” I lean in closer to Chien’s holo-image and pound the table with my fists. “By whom?”

  “Unknown,” Chien says with frustration. “But we do know it was not any of the enforcers. We’ve detected no quantum energy traces, only traditional weapons. At this point, it is possible the attackers are either a sophisticated spy organization such as the CIA, MI-6, or one of the active terrorist groups in the area.”

  My stomach sinks when the impact of the attack sinks in. “The enforcers weren’t able to defend themselves?”

  “All we know at the moment is there were two large explosions,” Chien says. “I’m sorry—”

  Oh no. Bree. Alex. Asher.

  I interrupt. “Bree. The twins. Are they safe?”

  The hologram buzzes, and then stabilizes. Chien hangs his head. “Bree is fine. However, Alex and Asher are dead. So is the enforcer known as Daniela. The enforcer known as Mack is missing and presumably kidnapped.”

  “Dead.” My throat tightens. I sit back on the chair and hold my head. “Alex and Asher sent back beyond the ether? An enforcer too? How could this happen? Their bracelets should have protected them.”

  “Agreed. That’s what doesn’t make sense. They had no time to react. Alex and Asher were hanging three blocks back in a van monitoring Bree. With no warning, the van just blew up. It’s as if someone knew they were in there.”

  No. This can’t be true. Alex and Asher gone?

  Chien continues. “After the explosion, their bracelets were pried off their forearms. Whoever is behind this incident knew about the bracelets.”

  No spy or terrorist group would have targeted our van. No normal incarnated soul knows about the twins or about our bracelets.

  This feels like something an enforcer would do, but we’ve accounted for all the enforcers. Could it be General or another group under General’s control?

  “What about Curtis?”

  “He’s fine. He inspected the bodies.”

  “Do you think General is behind the attack?”

  “I was wondering the same thing,” Chien says. “It appears likely he has another group under his control.”

  “Incarnated souls tailing enforcers?” I stand up and pace, tightening and untightening both fists. “This complicates everything.”

  “True. We are analyzing system data. We hadn’t considered a second group. The reincarnation gate failsafe is offline, making it impossible for General to activate reinforcements. A secret group with abilities similar to ours could destroy us.”

  “Focus all available resources on this problem. We must find out who is helping General.”

  “We’re on it. But shouldn’t Franz continue work on the builderbots? And what about Dennis? Unrest continues to grow in QCC communities—”

  “Good point. What do you recommend?”

  “Keep Franz focused on resolving bugs with the entanglement process. Keep Dennis focused on QCC communities.”

  “Okay. That sounds right. What is Bree’s and Curtis’s current status?”

  “Bree is with the enforcer who has not yet been activated named Reizo Rush. Curtis is working other angles using his CIA cover. The Englishman enforcer has his CIA team searching for Mack. At the moment, the Englishman still thinks you’re behind the attack.”

  General is obviously raising the stakes. He knows he’s losing. A pained smile grows on my face. I’m so close to succeeding.

  “Get word to Bree. Activate Rush, immediately. We must recruit him to help us before General terminates his life. Tell Bree and Curtis to find the kidnapped older enforcer. We will need his help.”

  “What of the Englishman enforcer?”

  “Have Curtis monitor him. We may be able to use his CIA connections.”

  Chien agrees. “I’m on it.” His hologram disappears.

  chapter eighteen

  Blurry white and an alcohol smell. My eyes struggle to focus on a girl’s face. I attempt to sit up, but fall back and groan. “Aimee?”

  “Go slow,” Bree says, placing a hand on my arm. “We were attacked.”

  Damn it! So not Aimee. “What . . . happened?”

  “It’s about time you woke up,” Bouncer says.

  “We were so worried,” Honesti says.

  “Please, don’t start on me,” I say. “My head is pounding.”

  “Sorry, Reizo. I’m just trying to help you.” Bree helps me sit upright.

  I remember more: a room full of expensive rocks, Mack showed up, an explosion.

  “Who attacked us? That Carm-something person?”

  Bree touches a plastic cup of water to my lips. “Here sip this.”

  “She has to be behind it,” Honesti says.

  “That’s my guess. What about the—,” Bouncer starts.

  “Shush!” Honesti shouts. “You know we’re not supposed—”

  “What? Not supposed to what?”

  “Excuse me?” Bree asks, looking at me sideways.

  “Sorry,” I reply. “I’m just a little confused.”

  Honesti and Bouncer continue whispering back and forth. I can’t make out what they’re saying but it sounds like another argument over what to say or not to say to me.

  I take the cup from Bree, remembering gunshots, shouts in an unfamiliar language, and a second explosion. My body hurts all over. “Where am I?”

  “You’re in the hospital. You have a mild concussion. They gave you a sedative. The doctor says you’ll be fine.”

  I don’t feel fine. I press against both my temples and rub. I’m in a room with one bed and a wall full of plastic medical tubes. A blood pressure cuff is wrapped around my arm. Wires attached to my bare chest. The heart monitor’s repetitive beep is in lock step with my heart. “Where’s Mack?”

  “Gone. They took him.” Tears well up in Bree’s eyes. “Daniela is dead.”

  I try to piece more together. My last memory of Mack is when he dashed back to Daniela. “I’m so sorry.”

  I remember the room full of red beryl, gold, and jewels. “What about the treasure?”

  Bree wipes her eyes and looks away. “It’s gone too. They took everything.”

  I try to put together a meaningful question, but nothing comes to mind. “Who’re they?” The heart monitor’s beeps increase in repetition. “And why kidnap Mack?”

  “Are you going to tell him who the
y are?” Bouncer whispers.

  “No way. Not me,” Honesti whispers. “The council would reprimand us.”

  “Money,” says Bree. “Leverage. I’m not sure.”

  The monitor’s beeping rate continues to increase. “But how could someone find out about our discovery so fast?”

  “The workers,” Bree says with a blank expression as if all her emotions have evaporated. “You were right.”

  I force myself to sit straight and comfort her. “Where’s Richard?”

  As if on cue, Richard bursts into the room. “Cheers, you’re awake,” he says, glancing down at a cell phone.

  “I don’t like that guy,” Honesti says.

  “Kill him, Reizo,” Bouncer says. “She doesn’t like the chap.” Bouncer laughs.

  I grab my head and groan. “Lower your voice, would you?”

  “Yes, sure of course.” Richard softens his voice. “My apologies. We have much to do and very little time.”

  “Like what?” I rub my temples harder.

  “Yeah, like what?” Bouncer says.

  “Let’s get you out of here, for starters,” Richard says. “Can you stand?”

  I nod. “I think so.”

  Bree and Richard help me to my feet. At first, the room spins and I grab for the bedpost.

  “Go slow, Reiz,” Honesti says.

  “Are you able to walk?” Richard asks.

  I’m dizzy, but my legs seem to work. “Yeah.”

  “Good.” Richard hands me the gold bracelet from my backpack. “Put it on. It will feel like a bee sting at first. But that goes away.”

  I inspect the bracelet, and then put it on my forearm.

  “Press the large jewel in the middle,” he adds.

  I press it. “Ow!” Pain radiates from my arm and dizziness hits me hard. I break into a sweat, bend over, and nearly puke. The disorienting feeling dissipates and goes away. “A bee sting?”

  Honesti and Bouncer instantly go silent.

  “What happened?” I try to pull it off, but the bracelet won’t budge. “Unbelievable. What did you just do to me?”

  “Initiation. Welcome to the team. Oh, and the voices you usually hear will be silenced now. The bracelet acts like a shield,” Richard says. “You’ll feel a little off balance for a while. But you’ll be fine.”

  The gold bracelet is half the length of my forearm and fixed in place. It’s lit up with glowing, mounted jewels.

  “Get changed. I've handled the doctors. You've been released from their care,” Richard says, tossing my clothes on the bed. “We’ll brief you soon. Trust me for now.”

  Here we go again. Trust me. I change in the bathroom and follow them out of the room. Bree holds one of my arms to steady me. Richard holds my other arm, helping me leave the hospital and climb into an idling car.

  Richard drives.

  Every time I ask questions, Richard tells me to wait until we’re safe. Jerk. He’s starting to piss me off royally. Bree is no help. All she does is gaze out the car window with a blank stare.

  It isn’t long before we slow down in a neighborhood within Malta’s capital city. The buildings look ancient. Mortared brick walls crumbling apart in places. Old stone buildings with arches and oval shapes. Rough roads. We pass statues and fountains along the way. A cruise ship steams off the coast. The only thing fresh about this place is the sea breeze.

  Richard turns off the road into the parking garage of a rundown apartment building. Its walls are crumbling in some places and missing chunks of plaster in others. He drives the car into a small underground garage and parks in an open stall.

  “Follow me, quickly.” Richard jumps out of the car and doesn't look back.

  “Let’s go Reiz,” Bree says, getting out of the car.

  We quickly walk through the dark, dank parking garage, jog up three sets of stairs, then into an apartment on the second floor.

  Two guys with short hair and wearing gray suits and sunglasses are sitting at a table with a recorder and a pile of electronic equipment. The men look like Internal Revenue Service agents about to do an audit. They sit perfectly still staring at a black phone sitting in the middle of the table, apparently waiting for a call. The rest of the apartment is teaming with men and women in gray suits busily moving around. The room has no furniture at all except for the table and a few metal fold-up chairs scattered around the room.

  “What is this place?” I ask.

  “Safe house,” Richard replies. “Take a seat.” Richard points to a folding chair.

  I collapse onto the chair and rub my pounding head.

  Bree remains distant, not saying a word. Her eyes are teary and far away.

  Richard picks up the phone when it rings. “Hello?”

  The guys at the table twist and turn knobs on the stack of electronic equipment set up on the table.

  A deep, electronically disguised voice speaks. “Two million U.S., large. Use two black bags. Drop off, front of Grand Master’s Palace. Put one in each green trashcan. Send the new kid. You have one hour.”

  The phone line goes dead.

  “This is bad. They’ve requested you,” Richard says, staring at me.

  “I’m the new kid?”

  Richard nods.

  “You can get two million in an hour?”

  “Yes, of course.” Richard taps at his cell phone and walks out of the room.

  “What did the guy mean by ‘large’?” I ask Bree.

  She paces the room, giving me a quick glance. “One hundred dollar bills.”

  I peer at all the gray suit activity. Men and women moving around like bees working in a hive. Some going, some coming, others talking in small groups. The place is buzzing with activity.

  After fifteen minutes of watching, the jewels flash and blink on my shiny gold bracelet, two more men in gray suits and sunglasses show up at the door, straining to carry two bulky plastic trash bags.

  More people in gray suits walk into the apartment.

  “What’s with the gray suits and sunglasses everywhere we go?” I ask Richard when he returns. He stops walking and waves his hands as if he could make everyone in the room disappear except for me.

  “Ignore them,” he says. “Your job is to carry the bags to the drop off and place them in the green trash cans.”

  “Why me?”

  “You heard the voice on the phone.” Richard taps my golden bracelet with one hand and turns to walk away. “You're part of the team now.”

  I raise my voice. “What do these ridiculous gold bracelets do anyway?”

  Richard stops and glares at me, along with everyone else in the room as if I’d just tagged one of the apartment walls with a big pink elephant. Not a bad idea if I had more spray.

  Bree walks over. “You need to be trained to use it.”

  “Fine,” I say. “Why can’t you just use one of these trick gold bracelets to get Mack back?”

  “We believe they have bracelets too,” Bree says. “Our bracelets protect us from them, and their bracelets protect them from us.”

  “That’s just great,” I say, shaking my head. “Stalemate.”

  Everyone in the room returns to their tasks and Richard joins a small group who resume an animated discussion. A pale dude with a bulbous nose, ears too big for his head, and gray hair matching his suit walks quickly into the room. A second man in his twenties follows behind him. Those two are definitely not accountants. The second man has a dark complexion with long, greasy black hair tied back. He adjusts his collar. Tattoos litter both sides of his neck, both ears are stretched out to make room for some kind of metal coin in the middle of each lobe, and a small silver ring hangs from his right nostril.

  “We’re ready,” the tattooed man says.

  “Who are all these people?” I ask. “It’s either an IRS convention or the CIA has invaded Malta.”

  No one answers.

  My frustration continues to grow. Finally, I grab Richard by the arm and hold on tight, shaking him so he looks me in
the eye. “What the hell is going on?”

  “Not now, Reiz,” Bree shouts, grabbing my other arm and pulling.

  I let go of Richard as gray suits converge on me all at once.

  “It’s okay. It’s okay!” Richard yells, holding up his hands.

  “Would someone please be straight with me?” I’ve had enough of the ignore Reizo game they’re playing.

  The suits back off.

  “Right, then,” Richard says. He points to the man with the bulbous nose. “This is Frank Harris; he’s FBI . . . Washington, D.C.” Then he points to the tattoo man. “This is Tano, our point man here in Malta. He’s from the security branch of the Malta Police Force.”

  I stare at his tattoos and notice a cross on the top of his right hand, and a tiger head showing its teeth on his left.

  “The tattoo says fier-ce in your lang-ua-ge, Mr. R-yke-r,” Tano says with a strange accent I don’t recognize, pronouncing the syllables in quick bursts of breath. There’s something about him I don’t like, but I can’t put my finger on it.

  Richard interrupts. “Tano works undercover for the Agency most of the time, and, well, you are partially correct, Reizo. Mack runs operations of a special independent branch of the CIA.” He lowers his voices and glances away. “Daniela was one of his regional section chiefs.”

  “CIA? Really?” I groan. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I work for Mack,” Bree adds, totally composed. Her tears are long gone and replaced with an intensity I haven’t seen before.

  “You’re CIA? A teenage agent?”

  Bree takes a step towards me as if she’s about to beat my ass, but Richard steps in to stop her.

  I groan.

  Richard narrows his eyes. “This is serious, I’m afraid. And we need your help,” Richard says sharply. “Mack will tell you everything once we get him back. But at the moment, he needs you to do as I say.”

  “But why me? You have an entire group of gray-suited superheroes here.” I point to a guy a little older than me marching toward us with determination.

  He's an over-six-feet-tall wall of solid muscle, with long dirty blonde hair and thick dark eyebrows with a serious expression on his chiseled, angular face. He looks like a bodybuilding surfer who lives on protein drinks.