by Martha Carr
“Tsuchigumo, the leader of this pack of trash.” Shay ejected her mag and reloaded. He obviously wasn’t going to try to shoot her for whatever reason. “You’re obviously ex-Harriken.”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re very powerful. I could use you.”
“You don’t care that I just slaughtered your men? Kind of an asshole, aren’t you?”
“The weak perish. The strong survive. Such is nature. Such is civilization. The Harriken were weak, and now they are gone.” Tsuchigumo shrugged. “I would ask why you’ve done what you’ve done, though.”
“Because you assholes can’t learn a lesson. All your little bullet sponges are here because Brownstone fucked up their gangs, so what do you do? You try to pick a fight with him again by putting a hit out on him.” Shay shook her head. “I don’t get it. If the strong survive, why hate on Brownstone?”
“Only a fool leaves a sword pointed at his heart. Brownstone must die for that reason alone.”
Two other gangsters stepped around the corner behind their leader. One carried a sword and looked Japanese. Shay assumed he was another ex-Harriken. The other was a huge white man with chains. She couldn’t begin to guess what pissant gang or group he came from.
Both held guns but kept them pointed down. Unlike their leader, barely-contained panic infected their faces as they surveyed the scene before them: mangled corpses and dying men, walls, floors, and ceiling painted with blood.
Shay kept her attention on the men in front of her, near-complete calm settling over her and her heart beating steadily. She was doing what she needed to do to protect her man.
She lifted her gun. “It didn’t have to be this way. All you had to do was leave well enough alone.”
“Leave this bitch to me,” Tsuchigumo ordered. He drew his sword.
Shay sighed and lowered her SMG to her side.
“You recognize the futility of fighting me?”
“I’m guessing your little glowing tattoo is some sort of protective magic.” Shay reached into her jacket and pulled out an adamantine knife. She pulled back her arm. The knives weren’t the best for throwing, but they were balanced well enough.
“You think a knife will work when a gun does—”
Tsuchigumo tumbled to the ground, the knife sticking through his eye.
Shay snapped up her SMG and put a round into the gun arms of the remaining two men. They collapsed to their knees, grimacing in pain. She stepped slowly toward them, stopping to lean over and yank her knife out of the dead leader’s eye. She wiped the blood off on his jacket before sheathing it.
“Oh, fuck,” one of the survivors cried. “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.”
One deliberate step followed another. The crunch of the glass marking her every step as she approached the men, her gun at the ready.
“Do you know why you’re not dead yet?” Shay asked, her voice a near-monotone.
The men both shook their heads.
“Because I need you to answer a few questions. First question, assholes, I’m guessing there are more men in your little gang?”
They both nodded.
“About twenty more guys,” the second survivor offered. He gritted his teeth, obviously in pain from his gunshot wound.
“Then I guess I need the two of you alive to spread the word, because someone needs to know what happened here. Congrats. I know James Brownstone likes to send messages, so go tell the world what happened here. Learn the fucking lesson the Harriken and so many other gangs didn’t learn. If you fuck with Brownstone, you die.” Shay leaned forward and offered the men a cold grin. “If you even look at him the wrong way, you die. The only reason anyone is dead today is that you assholes thought you could put a new hit out on Brownstone. You understand?”
The men both nodded. She lifted her gun, and the second one covered his face before wetting himself.
Pathetic. These assholes thought they had what it takes to take down James?
“Get up,” Shay barked. “And get the fuck out of here. If you know what’s good for you, you and the rest of the gang will pack up and run as far from LA as your little legs will carry you, because next time I have to show up—or he has to—every last one of you fuckers dies.”
The men both managed to stand. Their wounds dripped blood on the floor as they turned and ran out of the building.
Shay let out a long sigh. Sirens sounded in the distance. Time to go.
She shrugged, her heart still as calm as if she were watching the Weather Channel. It had to be done. She would always protect her man’s peace.
19
The next day, Shay tapped on the keyboard in the Warehouse Two office, her thoughts returning to the slaughter the night before. Guilt was far from her mind. If anything, despite the calmness during the slaughter, the old excitement from a well-executed killing job threatened to bubble up.
I’m not surprised. I was a killer because I was good at it. Even if I can distance myself from what I did and not enjoy it for the sake of the killing, that part of me is still there, even if I told James the old Shay was dead after we killed the cartel.
Was this really so different, just because I killed people who weren’t a direct threat to me? I’m so full of shit.
Peyton knocked lightly on the door. “Everything okay?”
Shay looked up, blinking. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“You’re just…really quiet this morning. Way more than usual. It reminds me of the old days right after you first killed me.”
“The old days?” She snorted. “Whatever. Shut the fuck up.”
Peyton swallowed once and took a deep breath. “I was poking around, and there’s chatter on the dark web about how someone slaughtered a new gang in town last night, the Phoenix Gang. About three-quarters of the gang got killed at a massage parlor they were running.”
“And why the fuck do I care about that? Gangs can all go cut each other’s dicks off for all I care. Less scum to worry about.”
“Just…you know. It’s not exactly like you helping and/or killing a large number of criminals is unprecedented in recent history, between you helping with the Harriken, assassins, and the Nuevo Gulf Cartel. And the last one wasn’t all that long ago.” Peyton shrugged. “From what you told me before, the whole cartel thing was supposed to be kind of turning point. Shay 2.0 and all that. You weren’t out taking care of business, were you? Taking out a few more people for old time’s sake?”
Shay gave him a death glare. Some things Peyton didn’t need to know, for both their sakes. He needed to stop pushing.
He withered under her attention. “Never mind. Sorry I asked. I just forgot for a minute that I was riding the scorpion across the river.”
“Never forget people’s true natures,” Shay muttered. “You’ll live longer that way.” She turned back to the computer.
“Um, there was actually something else I needed to talk to you about.” Peyton winced as Shay snapped her head back his way. “It’s work stuff, not personal.”
“What?” Shay barked.
“Just a weird message I got through one of your contact emails. Someone wants to meet with you, Miss Professor.” Peyton frowned. “You are still a tomb raider, right?”
Shay gave him another death glare.
Peyton threw up a hand. “Okay, okay. No need for that kind of look, just checking. Anyway, the thing is, the guy who wants to meet with you? It’s not about a tomb raiding job.”
“Then why do I give a shit?”
“I would have told him to go away, but he claimed it was government-related and sent some confirmation codes that seem to support that, like high-level top-secret-clearance shit.” Peyton shrugged. “And with all this Project Nephilim and Project Ragnarok stuff, and after what you found out about…”
“James?”
Peyton nodded. “Yeah. Well, the thing is, it’s extra-weird because the guy’s specifically asking to meet with Professor Carson, not Aletheia.”
“Huh?” Shay f
rowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, crap. Sorry, I wasn’t clear. You know I’m filtering most stuff for you these days, but yeah, it’s a request to meet with the professor, not the tomb raider. Nothing in his message suggests he even knows about your tomb raiding activities.”
Shay frowned. “That’s weird. Maybe it’s a trap. Just because he’s acting like he doesn’t know doesn’t mean it’s true.”
“It could be, but I don’t know. It’d be a better plan to lure you out to the middle of nowhere overseas and kill you if that is what he wanted.” Peyton shrugged.
The tomb raider sighed. “Guess I need to go see who this is and what he wants. Where does he want to meet?”
“At a diner in Huntington Park.”
Shay nodded slowly. “Well, guess we’ll see what he has to say.”
A quick inspection of the outer perimeter of the diner revealed no hidden enemies or suspicious vehicles. The level of drone traffic wasn’t unusual for this part of town.
Shay stepped into the diner with a frown on her face. A dark-haired man in silver glasses and a navy-blue suit waved from a corner table, his back against the wall. Defensive seating.
Yeah, look at you, Mr. Careful. At least you’re not a total amateur.
She frowned, her hand reaching into her purse and settling on the comforting grip of her gun as she walked over to the man.
“You’re the one who wanted to meet me?” she asked.
“Yes, Professor Carson.” He gestured to a seat across from him. “Please join me. We have a few things to discuss.”
Shay noticed a small mirrored cube not larger than a die sitting on the table. “What’s that?” She pointed at it.
“A nice little trinket that lets a man have a private conversation in public. Listen carefully, and you’ll see what I mean.”
She frowned and sat. After a few seconds, she realized she couldn’t hear any background noise.
“Neat trick. Magical or technological?”
The man laughed. “Now where’s the fun in telling you that? The real fun is that when people look, our mouths movements will be randomized, so if they’re good at reading lips, they’ll understand that something’s wrong.”
“Who the hell are you?” Shay slowly pulled her hand out of her purse. This was all too elaborate for a simple assassination.
“Daniel Goldstein, and I work for the CIA.” He shrugged.
Shay laughed. “Seriously?”
He nodded with a wry smile. “Seriously.”
“I assume that’s not your real name.”
He shrugged. “For now, it is. Names in my line of business are very fluid. Were you born with that name?”
Shay ignored the question. “What does the CIA want with me? I’m not a spy.”
Daniel shook his head. “This isn’t about counter-espionage, at least not in the sense you’re thinking.”
“And what do you mean by that?”
“I’ve read some of your lectures, both your UCLA stuff and your previous stuff. You’re an expert on revised history, and you have a keen mind that sees through a lot of bullshit.”
Shay eyed the mirror cube. “Like what kind of bullshit?”
“Like the fact that everyone now believes that if you look at weirdness in history, you have to assume it’s Oricerans.”
Her stomach tightened. “And you don’t agree?”
“Let’s just say that I’ve seen enough to convince me that Oricerans aren’t the only aliens who like to mess around with Earth. Most want to stick their heads in the sand and pretend that’s not true because it just becomes scary for them after they thought they figured it all out.”
Okay, so this guy’s got a good head on him and is careful.
Shay nodded. “Uh-huh. What kind of things have you seen?”
Daniel flashed her a smile. “I need to keep a few cards close to the chest until I know I can trust you. I know you’re probably not used to that kind of thing as a professor, but in my world, trusting people can easily lead to death.”
Okay, Peyton. I have to give you major credit. You gave me a fake identity deep enough to fool a guy from the CIA.
Shay leaned forward. She couldn’t deny that she was interested. “Okay, so what does this all have to do with me?”
“The short version is that I’m putting together my own little team within the CIA using both Company and external resources. I’m concerned that not everyone in the government has the best strategy for dealing with potential extraterrestrial threats, and a lot of them are more interested in suppressing things rather than getting out in front of it. I need to help push this in a different direction.” He gestured toward her. “I’m impressed with you, and I think you’ve got potential as a researcher. It’d be nice if you had more skills, but the research skills are useful enough.”
You asshole. I’ve faced down invisible armies and rusalka. I’ve found vimana keys. Have you done that? I’ve probably faced more weird shit than half the CIA combined.
Shay kept a smile plastered on her face. “Oh, I’m not exactly useless outside of the classroom. Digs in remote areas aren’t always the safest thing, you know.”
Daniel looked her up and down, but the look in his eyes was clinical and detached, with not a hint of a leer. “Guess you keep fit for all that field work, and you’re right. The world’s not a safe place, and it’s become even more unpredictable these last few years.”
“Yeah, something like that, and what about you?” Shay glanced over her shoulder, having just noticed no waitress had ever stopped by. For all she knew, the entire diner was a CIA front.
Daniel gave her another too-perfect smile. “What about me?”
“You’ve got your little silence cube, which suggests you aren’t just a pencil pusher.” She almost mentioned the defensive seating but didn’t want to tip him off that she was more than a professor.
Daniel laughed. “I get out into the field for fun on occasion, sure.”
There was an ease to the man she found disarming, but there was also an almost forced quality to it. Every once in a while, the façade would drop for a second and the eyes of a calculating and dangerous man looked at her.
What’s your deal, Goldstein? You planning to track down aliens and kill them to make sure they don’t threaten the country? If so, I better keep close to you to protect James.
Shay made a show of glancing at her phone. “I’m flattered by all this, but I do have to go. I have a lecture to deliver at the university.”
Daniel raised an eyebrow. “A CIA agent shows up to recruit you to help him with, among other things, investigating aliens, and you’re concerned about being late for your day job?”
The tomb raider shrugged.
He laughed. “I know I’m making the right choice in reaching out to you. You must love your work.”
“I do.”
“Okay, then. I’ll see you around, Professor Carson. It should go without saying, but just to be clear, I’d rather you not mention our little conversation to anyone.” A hint of menace crept into his eyes. “And remember, I am with the CIA.”
Shay snickered and stood. “Who would believe me even if I told them?”
“Good point. Until next time, then.”
She offered him a final polite nod and turned to leave, still unsure whether to trust the man or if he knew more about her than he was saying. She wanted to believe Peyton had fooled the CIA, but the whole conversation also could easily be some sort of long-play manipulation by the government.
Does he work for Project Nephilim or Ragnarok? Maybe they figured out I’m on to them.
Shay stepped out of the diner with doubts swirling in her mind.
20
Shay threw her arms out to her side to get the attention of the students filling the room. The lecture on Lake Toplitz was going even better than she’d anticipated.
They are eating this shit up. Nice.
“Deadly traps. That’s what I’m talking abou
t. Of course, even with all that gold most likely sitting on the bottom of the lake, no one’s been able to recover it, and there have been fatalities.
“Given what we know about magic now, we can’t dismiss out of hand that magical traps haven’t been set up to guard the treasure. Even though magic was contained before the truth about Oriceran came out, that’s not the same thing as saying there was no magic. So, many of these lost treasures have to be considered much more dangerous than before.”
Murmurs swept the room as Shay advanced her presentation slide from a picture of gold bars to an image of an eagle pin.
“And the gold’s not the end of it,” Shay continued. “Which argues for traps even more. We now have a fairly good idea that the Nazis had access to a number of magical items, and many of their great treasure hordes likely also included such things.”
Shay aimed her laser pointer at the picture of the eagle pin as she finished her lecture, the students all listening with rapt attention.
“Recent evidence suggests that artifacts like this might be on-site, and at least one might have been an artifact of magical nature—an enchanted eagle pin. Unfortunately, any useful artifacts are lying under piles of unstable logs at the bottom of a deep lake. It’s not exactly an easy site for recovery, and any sane archaeologist would stay well away from it because of the dangers.”
“What about the gold?” someone shouted from the back. “Is it all still there, you think?”
The rest of the students laughed.
Shay shrugged. “We can only presume that most, if not all, of the gold is still there, along with the pin and other artifacts, if it was indeed at that location, which it very well might not have been.” She shook a finger. “Now, I know some of you are thinking this is just a lot of legend and second-hand rumor, but when you examine the strands of evidence together and how they point at one another, you quickly see that they all point the same direction.”
She pressed a button on her pointer/clicker, and a picture of Heinrich Schliemann replaced the eagle pin. “In these sorts of situations one can’t ever be sure, but remember, everyone thought Schliemann was a nutjob until he found Troy. Sometimes, you’re just going to have to be fine with being called crazy until you prove you’re right.”
