by Martin, CJ
“Yesss, lady.”
With reluctance, the creature followed Suteko back inside and to the same dark room. As she closed the door behind her, he realized he was alone and what he must do. Deep in his pockets, he felt the object. Pulling it out and reinserting the battery, he pushed a button causing a light to shine, softly illuminating the room. It was artificial and did not give off heat. It was not painful, not even to his eyes, but it did give him pause.
The Nephloc held the communications device up close. His fingers felt up and down the metallic rim. His eyes stared at that faint blue light. He stalled, mesmerized by the light. Only a second before, it had been eager to contact the High Lady. But then, he remembered her touch. Suteko, the Temporal, had a healing warmth that he now treasured above anything the High Lady could bestow, even the gift of becoming Perazim. The High Lady had nothing but cold death. She was cold; her grip was cold death; her eyes, deadly.
He put the device back into his cloak. Yes. Yes. Yes. She can wait.
But then he thought of the pain that awaited him if the High Lady ever discovered that he had not been completely honest with all he knew. He pulled the device out again and summoned his master.
Chapter Twenty
Dr. Bracker had led the investigation into who exactly had authorized Marcus’ detention and while he hadn’t discovered the source, he did manage to recover Marcus’ phone from White House security. Marcus was suspicious of Bracker after hearing General Gordon’s concerns, but he knew that every story has two sides. The man had found the missing phone and he had personally come to the Berkshire House to drop it off with a deep and apparently sincere apology.
The ringing of the recovered phone disturbed Marcus’ daily mediations. He often quieted his mind to listen to the echoes during times of stress or hardship. When all that can be done was done, it was best to listen to the echoes and simply let it all go.
“This is Marcus.”
He hated phones; he despised all technology that kept the mind from peace and freedom—the exceptions were the few machines designed to foster those positive attributes. His beloved automobile, for example, was liberty incarnate.
“Sir, this is Captain Morris, assistant to Admiral Hartling. Five of the planes were successfully boarded. One is due at Joint Base Andrews within the hour.”
“And how many were stopped?”
“Four that we know of.”
“I believe that accounts for all that weren’t called off. I am in contact with most of the others. When it is daylight, I want teams onsite to examine and report. But you must wait until daylight.”
“Understood.”
Marcus’ phone beeped, indicating another call. He looked at the screen to see it was a call from Italy.
“Captain, I have an incoming call.”
Marcus pressed a button and heard someone’s heavy breathing.
“This is Marcus.”
“Marcus, thank God. This is Amato. We were under attack.”
“Amato? Where’s Maro?”
“He...he commanded me to leave without him. I had to obey—I’ve never seen him so insistent. I cannot be sure why, but he had me go while he stayed to fight the attacker.”
“Undoubtedly to save your life and give you a chance to warn us. With your inability to slow time, there is little doubt that without his diversion she would have reached you.”
“She? Marcus, I’m on a pay phone and haven’t much time. I fear for my master’s life.”
“One moment, Amato.”
Placing the call on mute, Marcus yelled for Sam who was in the other room. Sam appeared a second later.
“Sam, Maro in Italy.” Marcus cupped the phone and whispered to Sam, “Is he still alive?”
Sam closed his eyes, wrinkling the outer edges deeper as his concentration progressed. Marcus watched his lips mouth the name over and over again. Maro...Maro…
“Do you need a map?” Marcus knew his old friend on the phone was nervously waiting; he couldn’t read Sam’s face to know if he was stumped or just needed a few more seconds.
His eyes shut tight, Sam violently shook his upheld hand and continued wordlessly mouthing the name.
Just as Marcus was about to tell Amato he would get back to him, Sam’s eyes opened.
“Yes. He’s alive. I think he’s injured though.”
“Okay, now that you have his signature, monitor him and tell me if you find anything else. Amato, can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Maro is alive. We will send someone to fetch him immediately.”
“Then, he made contact with you?”
“Well, no. We are able to track him and confirm he is alive, but we have not heard from him.”
“Marcus, is that how they were able to find us?”
“No, I’m absolutely sure of it. The leak came elsewhere. Are you positive he hasn’t tried to make contact with you?”
“Yes, I had to go back to his residence to retrieve your number and a few other things. I checked messages and he has not called. I didn’t even know if he was alive. In fact, I feared the worst. Marcus, for the retrieval, can it be someone he trusts? Someone he knows? This military transport was ambushed. Someone in the military must want him dead.”
“Yes, we fear Kaileen has spies in the military. I will arrange something infinitely more discreet. He survived and has battled the demon witch, and we will not rest until he is safe. If he contacts you, tell him to travel during daylight and to fly commercially to DC. You do the same—tell no one. Do not even tell me your flight number or time of arrival. Until we discover the leak, we must be extra careful.”
“Understood. I’m heading to...an airport now.”
“Call only if you absolutely need something. Otherwise, keep your plans to yourself.”
Marcus closed his phone and called everyone to order.
“Listen up,” he said as the other Temporal and Lieutenant Harrison came together. “Maro, our friend in Italy, was attacked by Kaileen. He survived but is probably injured. His closest friend Amato has asked us to find him personally and I agree. At this point the only ones we can trust are in this room. We know that Sam and Suteko are of special interest to our enemies and Catherine is incapacitated. Therefore, in order to protect them, they must remain here. I shall go and bring back Maro.”
“No,” said Ian with a determined look on his face.
Marcus was afraid the group was about to splinter into factions. Ian was not making his intentions easy to read. It seemed certain that there would be another authority challenge.
“No?”
Holding up a pack of cigarettes, Ian pulled out a stick.
“I’ll go.”
Everyone turned to Ian as he leisurely lit the cigarette. He held the cigarette up precisely vertical in front of his face as if to examine the faded red embers.
“I know Maro. He trusts me. And I can get there much faster than you, old man.”
“It’s too dangerous,” Suteko said with a kind of concern in her voice that worried Sam. Her eyes were pleading.
“Time is not on our side. Kaileen knows about where Maro is and will be hunting him. I’m the only one who can get there immediately.”
Suteko was silent, but Sam sensed she was not happy with Ian’s decision. He felt a tinge of jealousy build as he realized she hadn’t been as alarmed when Marcus had said he was going.
“I didn’t want to suggest that,” said Marcus. “But you are the most natural choice. How soon can you leave?”
“Give me a weapon, some currency, a way to communicate with Sam, and a starting point.”
Ian looked at Sam. Sam managed a half smile that ended up looking more like a snarl.
“Just a moment,” said the lieutenant. He ran to his car outside and returned to hand Ian a large phone. “It’s a satellite phone and will work just about everywhere you’ll need to go. Give me a list of countries and fifteen minutes. I’ll prepare any documents and money that you may need.”
>
With money, local forms of ID, and the phone in hand, Ian stood outside preparing himself. Under his belt, he felt Harrison’s Beretta M9 rub against his back. He would have preferred an armor-piercing rocket launcher, but every ounce mattered. The lighter his equipment, the easier the jump would be.
“Be careful,” said Suteko. Suteko knew what awaited him on the other side, how shock would set in once his molecules rejoined themselves—if they rejoined at all. She had seen Ian do this before, and that was when he was younger and had a steadier mind. She was worried—very worried he would not come out the same.
“I always am.” Ian paused in thought. “Tell Catherine. Well, when she wakes up, tell her...”
Ian closed his eyes.
“Never mind.”
His body immediately started to modulate. It was almost imperceptible at first but every atom within and in contact with his body was in motion; the shifting of molecules increased by the second. Soon Sam was having a hard time focusing in on any part of Ian. He could sense the motion, but Ian was still standing in the same spot—or at least some of Ian was. As time passed, less and less of Ian was there.
Ian would momentarily be in northern Italy, just short of the Swiss border. He had made jumps much farther than this before—but not in the last century.
Suteko had seen him do this in the past. She had also been on the other side to receive him. Tired and broken, it was as if his soul had been ripped apart along with his body. The thought of what this jump could do to an already disturbed Ian horrified her.
The motion of Ian’s molecules soon became too rapid for even the eyes of the Temporal witnessing. There was a low cracking sound and, just like that, he was gone.
Marcus held his phone with a tight grip, waiting for the call. No one said a word. Sam, full of questions and without understanding what just happened, saw the serious expressions and joined the silent vigil. Suteko caught herself holding her breath.
The sudden ring startled even Sam.
“Ian?” Marcus answered before the first ring finished.
“I...I made it.”
For the three Temporal, it had been but a minute. For Ian had seemed much longer.
Once his cells separated, he’d had to herd them in a single direction much like a shepherd would his flock. But for this shepherd, it would be like having to manage a billion sheep while being chased by packs of hungry wolves.
Ian’s gift was the ability to move just under the speed of light. But he often thought of it as more of a curse. Ian was the only Temporal Marcus knew who couldn’t modify the flow of time. While he could move great distances in very little time, it took everything out of him. And as he aged, his accuracy suffered.
A single motion could result in a jump of hundreds or even thousands of miles. It had saved him many times during battle. And more than once, it had enabled him to sneak up on an unsuspecting enemy. Before meeting Suteko, when he was at the top of his game, he could materialize and within ten minutes be cognizant enough to crush the enemy. He had also used his gift, under Marcus’ authority, to aid and initiate new Temporal. His final assignment had been Suteko.
“Ian, this is Sam.” Marcus had given Sam a detailed map of northern Italy. “I see you now. Maro is nearby—perhaps only about ten miles away. He is currently northeast of your position.”
Ian silently cursed. Two hundred years before, he would have been a mere ten feet from Maro.
“Okay. I need to rest. I will contact you again before moving.”
“Understood,” said Marcus as he took possession of the phone. “Contact us when you are able.”
Amato had ended the phone call with Marcus but that did not end his nervousness. He was having trouble breathing. For years, he had suffered from a mild case of emphysema—a condition exacerbated by stress. He was currently experiencing the worst bout with stress in his life.
In all his seventy years, he could not recall a time when he was more fearful for his master’s life or his own. His father and grandfather had stories—tales of daring escapades during both great world wars. But his own service to Maro had been quiet, comfortable, and by comparison, mundane. Now, however, he was alone, separated from his master who, despite Marcus’ words, he believed to be dead.
After driving thirty minutes, he pulled over on the side of the road. Even after the car stopped, his hands remained tightly wrapped about the steering wheel. He had a naturally pale complexion, but looking at his hands, he saw the knuckles of an albino. Slowly, he drew in deeper and deeper breaths until he was able to pry his fingers from the steering wheel.
Breathe.
He got out and headed to the trunk. Opening a suitcase there, he fished out his breather. He held the medicine in his lungs as long as he could before letting out a satisfying exhalation.
Amato returned to the driver’s seat and made a decision. He would go to Rome, flying out of the Fiumicino Airport. It was large; he would be able to melt into a crowd without difficulty. Amato kept his thoughts to himself, not even mouthing the airport’s name silently.
He had never been so alone. He had always relied on his parents and then Maro to tell him what was required. But now he had neither. He focused on his face in the rearview mirror. After a moment of reflection, he was surprised to see a convincing look of confidence appear. Amato then put the car into gear and headed for the airport.
Chapter Twenty-One
“You summoned me, my master?”
Kaileen was kneeling submissively. She planted a closed fist in front of her, supporting her weight and then bent her head low, allowing her red curls to sweep the floor. She knew the man standing before her demanded total submission. She would give it to him at least until the time that she was more powerful than he. It was not yet to be. The echoes were loud around her master. It was a peculiar and distinct rhythm that was impossible to mistake. He was powerful and made a point to show off that power around her.
“Yes, my love. I need to know what happened in Italy. Was the intelligence not timely?”
“The locations you gave me were accurate. My target, however, had been warned.”
“Rise.”
She first lowered her forehead to the ground in an act of worship. After lightly touching the brown earth, she pressed with her arms until she was on her knees and then to her feet. She moved with grace, slowly, taking her time. Slow motion was an show of respect; a perceived attack upon him would be nothing short of death. All Nephloc and Perazim feared her—she feared him.
She stood tall, but kept her eyes downcast. Her master was wearing a dark cloak—not unlike the Nephloc. His hands protruded out from the armholes but were covered by dark leather gloves. She kept her eyes down at his black cap toe oxfords. Above the shoes and just under the bottom of the cloak, she could see dress pants.
She often wondered of his true identity, but never voiced or made any gesture that could be interpreted as curiosity. At every meeting, he appeared either masked or with a random morphic representation. Today, he had the face of a man in his mid-twenties and dressed as a professional. The meeting location was just outside DC. She knew Marcus and the others were nearby and by his clothes and the location, she could only assume her master had some kind of contact with the Temporal.
“Is Maro...deeaad?” His voice was darker than his cloak. He lingered on the vowels of the word “dead” mimicking the Nephloc’s slurred speech. But he was no Nephloc. He was relishing the word.
“Yes.”
There was no chance to react defensively. She was glad for it too; a reaction of any kind could be misinterpreted as disobedience. As she woke from the momentary lapse of consciousness, she realized what had happened.
He had thrown her through the wall and into the next room.
She had displeased him; he had known she was lying. She hadn’t been able to confirm Maro’s death. As she heard his footfalls grow in volume, she hastily threw herself down, bowing with her arms outstretched and her forehead hard onto t
he floor.
He was leaning over, breathing behind her, the air from his nostrils wafting through the hairs standing on the back of her neck. She had not heard any other footsteps and yet he was now above her. He had stopped time and moved to her location. Only her master could stop time without her knowing.
She felt her hair fondled and repositioned. His gloved hands massaged the back of her head, gently and lovingly. She heard him kneel behind her, the crackle of leather mixed with the whoosh of his cloak bending with the movement.
She felt his two hands start from her shoulders and then progress down to her buttocks. It was a weapons search—quite unnecessary, she wasn’t stupid—but he was taking his time with the process, enjoying it.
His left hand removed, but his right made its way back up to her head. It stopped at the nape of her neck, wrapping the tips of his fingers under the bone of her chin. He gripped tightly and lifted. She had no choice but to obey, raising her head in an effort to mitigate the pain. Seconds later, she was standing and his grip was released. He walked around to face her. She kept her eyes down at his shoes. They were real, not morphic. He had been somewhere recently that necessitated a pair of thousand dollar shoes.
“Do not lie to me, my sweet.”
Her master had been around Marcus. She could sense it. He had been with Marcus recently and often. Marcus was a fool; his senses were dulled. Or more likely, her master had perfected his echo shield. Not even Marcus could pick up the echo of his old enemy and erstwhile friend.
“I...I saw him fly off the cliff. It was a death jump. I didn’t hear his echoes, nor did I see any movement.”
“But you didn’t search for the body. You didn’t stay long enough to confirm he wasn’t hiding his echo signature.”
“I...I had no time. They were coming. The police, the humans were alerted and drawing in fast. I…” She had no understanding of the word “regret,” but she understood fear. It is true she could have searched more. Keeping time at a sluggish rate would have allowed her to thoroughly scout the base of the mountain before the humans could arrive. But she had been so certain Maro hadn’t survived. How could he? Her chest heaved as if the heavy burden of fear was pressing upon her.
