Guardian Knight

by Aarti V Raman

  She only found implacable determination.

  “You take me to see Romero being sworn and I promise you I’ll go back home.” Honesty compelled her to add, “But I can’t promise to forget.”

  “You will. Once you see what you see even you’ll know there is nothing to wait here for. Nothing to dig around.”

  “You’re wrong. A man died inches from me.” The words brought tears to her eyes and fell down before she could stop them. She paused, swallowed the rest of them back before she dissolved in a puddle of unexplained grief. “That’s reason enough, Brandon.”

  Eleven

  An unmarked sedan carried them to the center of the Square, where a crowd of thirty-three thousand chanted, screamed, mourned a dead Premier and waited for the new one.

  Anthony Romero was short where Sebastian had been tall. A farmer then and still a farmer, while Sebastian had had the sophistication of a college education, Tony Romero had risen through the party ranks the hard way since Francesco De La Hoya’s reign.

  He’d killed and cheated and stolen in the name of his party and he could hardly wait for this day to begin. There were those in their party who’d not been in favor of a young upstart like Delgado taking their beloved leader’s place.

  Tony had not been among them.

  Instead, he bided his time. Made himself indispensable to the new Premier, content to be led.

  Now, there was a chance for him to make history. And he wasn’t going to lose it.

  Akira saw him, as he stood on the hastily-erected podium in Town Square. The white marble steps of the Hall of Records shone in the harsh glare of the afternoon sun. It was barely two, and she felt light-headed.

  She opened the passenger door of the sedan and would have stepped out, but found her arm clamped in Brand’s unforgiving grip.

  “You stay here. You can’t go out,” Brand said simply. “You wanted to see, so you see. But you don't get out. It’s madness out there.”

  She couldn't see his eyes behind the mirrored sunglasses, but she could imagine the hard, flat look in them. He was dressed like her, in black jeans and a black t-shirt. Only she looked like a teenager and he looked hard and dangerous, a bit like a rockstar with the shades.

  She really, Akira mused in that split second, had to get a grip on herself.

  This man was ordering her not to do her job; it would do her no good to fantasize about him.

  “How am I supposed to report this if I am not out there, among the people, getting the feel, the air? How am I supposed to do my job if you treat me like I’m breakable?” She demanded, rolling the window down and was immediately struck by the harsh sunlight.

  “Because,” he answered extremely evenly, “You got shot four days ago.”

  Akira subsided at that very logical argument and stayed put. The air was hot. Hot with the emotions of a crowd about to erupt. And hot with the sky about to press down on them in unrelenting blue.

  She wiped sweat from her neck and peered out.

  Speakers blared announcements for people to settle down in Spanish, Portuguese, and English. All the store shutters were down in deference to this moment. Only the podium looked like a hive of organized activity in the middle of the chaos.

  “If Romero doesn’t watch out, this could get nasty.” Akira commented as she scanned the restless, screaming crowd.

  Most of them carried placards that said Delgado Rest in Peace, Delgado: Dead Hero.

  “That’s his security detail’s problem.” Brand drummed fingers over the steering wheel.

  “Are you nervous?” Akira asked him curiously.

  Brand removed his glasses and gave her a careful look. “We are hemmed in on one side by thousands of people and a solid wall on the other. I can’t move this fucking car without running over someone.” He stared at the windshield. “There’s no escape routes here.”

  In answer, Akira leaned over and squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry for everything, Brand.”

  Brand jolted. “Sorry for what?”

  “I know you and Sebastian were friends. I just...I guess I just wanted to say, I'm sorry. He was a great man.”

  He shrugged. What could he say?

  “I still can’t believe it, though. I mean, I thought he was okay. How could he not have been?”

  This time, Brand squeezed her hand. In warning. “Leave it be. See what you have to see and then leave it be. You promised.”

  She didn't answer but tugged her hand away from his. “How can you not grieve, Brandon? How can you not feel?”

  She too looked straight ahead. The swirling placards and chants, and the flag of San Magellan, all making her slightly dizzy again. She took a sip of the coffee from the thermos he’d provided for them. It was bitter and black and she felt it course energizingly through her system.

  His mouth tightened. “My grief is not going to undo what’s done, Akira. Long ago I learned to make do with the present. Looking back is not my style.”

  She turned to him then. “Then what are you doing, here with me?”

  Brand turned so she could see his placid eyes when he answered dispassionately, “You’re a loose end, my loose end. I don't want you hurt and, after today, my responsibility to you ends. Don't make this into something more than what it is.”

  “I won't, Brandon. I maybe a lot of things but delusional isn’t one of them.”

  ~~~~~~

  Three hours later, Akira rode in utter silence with Brand. They were on the way to the airport, where a small, private charter was waiting to take her to Buenos Aires from where, she would board a connecting flight to Atlanta, which would take her to Frankfurt and then back home.

  Brand informed her that her tickets were waiting for her at the desk.

  She wished for a pen and paper, a recorder, a cell phone with recording facility. Anything with which she could sift through all the facts. She was damned if she would ask Brand for anything, though.

  He was the first to break the silence. They were at the airport parking lot and he looked at her.

  Really looked at her. Saw the tightened lips and the closed eyes which could mean either exhaustion or anger. He’d go with both.

  “Look,” he said, reaching for her hand.

  She let him take it. “What? What should I look for? What will you let me look for?”

  “Akira, I did everything you asked me to. I took you out of the hospital in the middle of your convalescence. Drove you to a goddamn political rally and gave you another story to chew on. What else do you want from me?” He was suddenly, inexplicably angry. His grip changed with his emotions, he was crushing her wrist now.

  “The truth,” she said evenly. “There’re things you’re not telling me. For example, why are you here? With me.”

  He opened his mouth to answer and she shook her head.

  “No, I don’t want to know about loose ends again. Where is Rumi? Henry. Why is Seb’s family on a media blackout?” Akira held up a finger to indicate a point.

  “Why is there no outrage from the press, the international media? Why is Anthony Romero suddenly talking about what’s best for his country in his inaugural speech when he should have been asking the right questions about Sebastian’s murder? Most of all, why wasn’t I interviewed, interrogated, questioned by the authorities. He died inches from me and it’s like I don’t even exist. How does that add up, Brandon?” She was absolutely dispassionate.

  He wanted to groan out loud at her thinking. How could he distract a smart stubborn woman from the truth? The best he could hope for was that she’d go away and do her digging from somewhere else.

  He was afraid of what could happen to her if she came close. His whole being shied in terror from that thought. She thought she was after the truth. She had no idea.

  Brand loosened his hold on her wrist and spoke quietly, “I am not the right person to talk to about any of this because I won’t be your source, Akira. Besides, I have no authority, official or otherwise, in San Magellan, nor can I speak for it
s newly sworn-in Premier. I am just an independent contractor on an expired expat visa.”

  She gave him a disbelieving look. “And your men? What happened to them?”

  Again, he answered honestly, “All on vacation. In Fiji. Bora Bora. In fact, I am thinking about hitting one of those little islands myself. Want to join me?”

  He smiled suggestively at her, his mind immediately conjuring, and enjoying the thought of spending sun-soaked days and hot tropical nights with her. His smile faded.

  She shook her head. Grinned. “Hell no. I have a job to get back to. Not all of us are…independent contractors. But.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks for the offer. It would have been nice.”

  Beyond nice, if that kiss on deck was anything to go by.

  “But.” Akira shrugged.

  Brand nodded. “Yeah, but. Your plane is located in hangar number three. Just tell airport security your name and they’ll let you through.”

  ~~~~~

  “Just like that?” Her smile was small, although there was this pressure squeezing her chest. Like her heart was hurting.

  He took her wrist and kissed it at the pulse point, which kicked up a notch. “Just like that.”

  She opened the passenger door and took her hand back from him. “You know, for someone who seems to have no clout in a foreign country you sure can arrange a lot of things.”

  “Well, I know people who know people who do things.” He grinned, lightning fast.

  Akira’s heart squeezed some more. It was so alien to her, this heart-squeezing, that she frowned. “That’s not funny.”

  He got out on the other side and walked to her. Handed her the small backpack and a small clear package. It contained her passport and a piece of paper.

  “There’s some petty cash for toothbrush and things, if you want,” he said slowly. “Take care, Akira. Be well.”

  “Thank you.” She took it and walked away, towards the huge terminal entrance, where the other, regular people were.

  He still stood watching her.

  Akira was twenty feet away when she realized she’d never see him again. Not if his words were anything to go by. And she knew instinctively that she’d never search for him. It wasn’t a matter of secrecy so much as self-protection.

  She turned and saw him still watching her, leaning against the hood of the car.

  She ran back to him even as he straightened. Launched herself into his arms even as they came around her.

  The kiss was explosive. As much need as goodbye. Emotion poured out of them that left them shaken. But it didn’t stop.

  “Come with me,” she murmured as she dug her fingers into his very proper hair.

  He ran his hand down her back. “I can’t.” All the while kissing her mindless.

  They didn’t close their eyes, each wanting to see. Wanting that last connect.

  Anger. Passion. Fear. Gentleness. So much to absorb and feel. To understand.

  He let her go with something close to desperation. “Take care of yourself. Go find some other story and stop looking, for God’s sake.”

  She touched his cheek, and he hauled her closer…as if he wanted to protect her. It was a nice thought, having Brand protect her. But it was only a thought.

  Reality was something else.

  “I’ll take care of myself. But I won’t stop looking. I won’t forget.”

  Brand took a deep breath. “Just go.”

  “Can we keep in touch?” Akira abandoned pride at the last moment, her eyes taut with need. “Email. Texts?”

  She knew it was stupid, fruitless but she couldn’t lose touch with him. He’d become important to her when she wasn’t looking.

  “For a story?”

  “No.” She shook her head, amazed at herself. “For me.”

  Something changed in his eyes then, darkening them to pitch. It could have been desire or fear. But he nodded. “Alright, I will.”

  She smiled because the pressure in her chest had loosened a little. “Thanks. Bye, Brand. You take care too.”

  He smiled. “Alright.”

  “Alright then.”

  Then there was nothing more left for her to do but cross the parking lot and into the bustling airport. She didn’t look back. Afraid that she wouldn’t leave if she found him watching her.

  She’d have been surprised if she knew how long Brand waited for her. Wondered if he should go with her. Thought of the futility of his promise to her, knowing he’d keep it.

  She’d have been surprised to know how much power she too had over him.

  Twelve

  “So, what you’re telling me, in the strictest confidence, is that Sebastian Delgado, the little South American country’s Premier, is still alive somewhere? And that the whole thing seems to be a big setup for a purpose that you can't yet see or figure out?” Akarshdeep Singh, a portly teddy-bear like man with a mane of white hair that he groomed with great pride, asked her from behind his desk, playing with the Slinky in his hand.

  He had the Lutyens accent which he’d never really lost, where he was from about thirty years ago and which had made him rebel enough to run away to the City of Dreams and seek his fortunes here. Fortunately for him, he had an excellent head for business, a nose for news and a family fortune large enough to bankroll his now-profitable venture.

  It also helped that, when he started the company in 1997, he had a cousin brother who worked for the Clinton Administration who’d helped Akarshdeep peddle Lewinsky-gate to the Indian press before anyone else. That, combined with throwing money at hungry reporters like Akira to send them to literal war (civil and military) zones in the places no one else would go had helped FPAI carve a very distinct space for itself in the new media landscape.

  “Yes, Sirji.” Akira knew how crazy it sounded. “I know you have very little reason to believe me…especially because the San Magellan Embassy in Delhi isn’t taking any of my calls but…”

  It was frustrating, beyond frustrating that Brandon was so right. There really seemed to be nothing to dig around for her. Especially since her attempts to talk to any authority of any kind – the Hague, UN or San Magellan cops – had been stonewalled by polite rhetoric.

  It was humiliating.

  “You are saying that,” Akarshdeep continued thoughtfully, “after the attack on The Sea Princess on the night of the big documentary premiere, where at least seven people died and ten others injured… where you were shot in the shoulder by one of these terrorists, when Sebastian was shot in the chest and lung…That Sebastian Delgado survived his heroic death and continues to plot in secret seclusion?”

  “You make me sound delusional, Sir!”

  “Did you see him getting shot, Akira?” Matt D’Silva, junior editor and her office best friend, asked her.

  “Matt, I --”

  “Did you?”

  Akira reluctantly shook her head. “I fainted a few seconds after I was shot. I…I didn’t see what happened to Seb.” I was too busy looking at one hunky Brandon Rice.

  “So, you’re sure Sebastian got shot because his head of security was stanching his wound. And you’re saying he was medevac’d, along with you, even though the plane manifest reported one stretcher and one patient.”

  Akira opened her mouth to protest but her boss continued inexorably, “And the papers and the cops… everybody in the man’s country is saying that he is dead because he couldn’t make the surgery. And these two facts correlate as we know them, but I should somehow believe you just because you insist on telling me that Sebastian Delgado is supposedly alive?” Akarshdeep asked her quietly.

  Akira’s headache – the one that had nagged her when she boarded the plane in South America continued unabated for the third day straight, after she was back home and at work.

  And avoiding calls from her mother.

  “Sirji, I can --”

  “Who’s your source?” Matt asked.

  She glared at her bestie. “Matthew, shut up.”

&nb
sp; “Who’s your source?” he persisted. “Can you confirm it with someone credible? Do you have a location? Do you know why Delgado had himself declared dead? What’s the motive, Akira?”

  “If I knew all that I wouldn’t be asking your permission to pursue this story,” Akira replied through clenched teeth. Her head pounded in sheer pain, but she was committed to seeing this thing through.

  “I want concrete, unassailable proof, Akira. That this story actually exists and not just because you got shot and had a near-death experience.” And before she could open her mouth indignantly, her boss held up one hand and continued, “I am not saying you are completely wrong. I just don’t want to be sued by almost every government agency on earth for making wild allegations based on the instinct of one reporter. Plus, San Magellan is a very vindictive country,” Akarshdeep added grimly.