Sleight of Hand: Book Three: The Weir Chronicles

by Sue Duff

A remote overlook offered the privacy Jaered sought. He crossed the vacant lot and came to a stop at the concrete barrier separating the overlook from the sheer drop on the other side. He shut off the engine and studied his surroundings to verify that he hadn’t been followed.

  Jaered withdrew the cell from his pocket and stared at Eve’s text. It’s time. He thought of the hundreds of rebels scattered across the globe. Each one had received the identical message. How many stared at their screens, wallowing in the significance of those two simple words? Were they prepared to see this to the end, understanding they were about to change Earth forever?

  A gust of wind whipped through the open cab. Jaered grasped the steering wheel to steady himself. At the horizon, a steel blanket rose from the ocean. It billowed and swirled. The dark mass soon obliterated the sun and transformed the blues of the sky to a palate of overlapping grays.

  Jaered tapped out his response. Rec’d. His finger hovered over the send button. A heartbeat later, he touched the screen.

  He left the Jeep, approached the edge of the overlook and threw the burner phone over the side.

  There was no reason to stay in contact with Eve in the days ahead. Jaered was well versed in his next assignment.

  He needed to close out his affairs and erase any lingering sign he’d ever been in San Francisco. It would be disastrous if Aeros, Jaered’s father, discovered his association with the rebel forces or his hand in the events to follow.

  The sun’s rays poked through the overcast sky and ignited Jaered’s core. He relished the afterburn while his thoughts fell to his assignment. Kill the Pur Heir.

  {4}

  Ian shyfted Tara and Saxon to the coordinates. They appeared in the middle of a small outcropping of boulders on a high plateau. Moist, sweltering air doused them in an instant. Tara wiped her brow with the sleeve of her shirt. Saxon snorted and shook his thick coat. Ian feared the wolf might topple over from heatstroke.

  A tall man leaned against the rocks. His skin and clothes were so dark Ian took him for a shadow. “Welcome to the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Pur Heir,” he said in a French accent. They shook hands.

  The scientist was much younger than Ian had expected. “Dr. Willoughsby.”

  He laughed, full and hearty. “I’m sorry, you have me mistaken. I am Dr. Bhutto Masani, Dr. Willoughsby’s associate. The others are setting up an experiment below. I am to take you to them.”

  “Is your entire research team Weir?” Tara asked.

  “Yes, everyone here,” Bhutto said. “There are many Weir in Africa.”

  “This is Tara, my Channel,” Ian said. “And Saxon.”

  Bhutto offered Tara a toothy grin and hearty handshake. His outstretched hand toward Saxon was rewarded with a paw. Bhutto led them out of the clearing. “We are honored by your arrival, Sire.” He gestured toward a mud-clotted Rover and, with a slight bow, Bhutto held a door for Ian. They got in and headed down a narrow winding dirt road that promised more ruts than smooth surfaces.

  “How long has Dr. Willoughsby been doing this research?” Ian asked.

  “Which one?” Bhutto said. “The father or the daughter?”

  “I didn’t know there were two.” Ian grabbed the roll bar when the vehicle veered close to the edge of a two-hundred-foot drop-off.

  “Both are acclaimed scientists,” Bhutto said jerking the steering wheel back and forth. “They study the same thing from two different directions.”

  “What do you mean?” Tara said.

  Bhutto pointed out the window. “At the horizon,” he said, grabbing the wheel again. “That is what they study.”

  Tremendous billowing storm clouds swept across the plains. In an instant, they converged, surging in mass and spreading out as if someone whipped open a blanket over the land. The storm front soon took command of the upper atmosphere.

  “They study clouds?” Ian said.

  “No,” Bhutto replied. “They study what comes from them.”

  Lightning’s tendrils thrust in all directions, then disappeared in the aftermath of an almost indiscernible pulse on the heels of distant thunder. Before long, it returned, one bolt immediately after another, and several in unison.

  “That’s some storm,” Tara said.

  Bhutto chuckled. “Welcome to Africa.”

  By the time they arrived in a camp at the base of the plateau, the billowing gray extinguished what little sun remained overhead. The camp bustled with activity. A dozen or more people hurried about the compound. A middle-aged gentleman and young woman stood at the center, shouting orders and waving their hands about.

  Ian jumped out of the Jeep while the throng of people scattered.

  Dr. Willoughsby and, who Ian deduced was his daughter, separated then headed in different directions.

  Bhutto stood next to Ian. “This storm was supposed to hit last night, or at least earlier today. They were packing when the recordings indicated it was on its way after all. That’s why there’s more confusion than typical,” the assistant said. “The father can be short-tempered and single-minded about his experiments. The daughter will be more approachable in the midst of all this.”

  They followed Bhutto between flapping tents and reached the edge of camp, where a towering antenna stood in a clearing. Two tables of instrumentation and cables were attached at its base. Off to the side were three massive cameras encased in plastic, attached to thick tripods and bolted to concrete slabs.

  The young Dr. Willoughsby appeared to be in her mid-twenties and dressed like she was ready to lead a jungle expedition.

  “Dr. Willoughsby, this is the Pur Heir,” Bhutto announced with subtle reverence.

  She stopped what she was doing long enough to size Ian up with emerald eyes before turning around and flipping a few more switches on a console. “I believe my father was expecting you, but he’s a little busy at the moment.”

  “I am intrigued by what you do here, Dr. Willoughsby.” Ian took in her instrumentation.

  “Joule.” She turned and extended her hand. “Dr. Willoughsby is my father. It’s easier to tell us apart that way.” She stepped around him and paused at a nearby console.

  “Joule is a measurement of electricity, is it not?” Tara said.

  Ian grinned, frequently amazed by Tara’s scientific knowledge.

  “My father sees everything through a narrow lens. He lives and breathes his passion,” Joule said. A strand of her auburn hair had escaped from her ponytail. She blew it from her face. “I’ll answer any other questions you have if you’ll give me a minute to complete my prep.”

  Ian watched the storm in the distance and stroked a restless, panting Saxon.

  “Is it headed this way?” Tara asked.

  “We’re counting on it,” Joule said. Before long, thunderous echoes collided with each other. A sheet of rain pelted the area. “Shemsu, make sure your view is five degrees to the west. I can’t accurately line it up on my screen,” Joule shouted over the claps of thunder. A man, poised behind a camera, gave her a thumbs-up.

  The electrical energy magnified the closer it crept toward Ian. His core absorbed much more than he was used to and the power ignited nerve endings. It felt exhilarating, but at the same time, uncomfortable. Sparks jumped between his fingers. When he held his hands parallel to each other, they formed an electrical arc. Joule paused and stared at it.

  “I’m not used to absorbing this much power,” he said.

  “Would you consider being a part of my experiment?” she asked with excitement in her voice.

  He flashed a tenuous smile. “Depends,” he shouted over the thunderclap.

  “I’m testing where upward leaders come from,” Joule said. “Actually I’m not only trying to gauge where they come from, but from what source.”

  “I don’t know what that is,” Ian admitted, leaning in to hear over the deafening strikes.

  “Think of it as upward lightning,” Joule shouted. “One of nature’s greatest mysteries.” She grasped his forearm but j
erked back, wringing her hand. A look of pure glee sparkled in her eyes. “You’re exactly what I need.”

  Ian, maybe we should just observe, Tara channeled, with a calming hand on Saxon.

  My core feels the strongest it has in months, Tara. Something tells me that this is exactly what I need. Wait here. Ian followed the scientist.

  Joule led Ian to the center of a small clearing, in the direct path of the cameras. “You control the electromagnetic energy through your core, am I right, Pur Heir?”

  He nodded. “Ian, please. I’m not one for formality.” Two lightning strikes, one on top of the other, hit the tower. The resulting electricity raced down the metal structure and directly into Ian’s core. The intense power surged inside his core and he held his palm up to release the energy through his hand.

  She raised his other arm and took several steps back. A series of lightning strikes, one after another, connected with Ian’s upturned palm. The impact of the tremendous force broke gravity’s hold and it lifted him.

  The affect cramped every muscle in Ian’s body. Light-headed, Ian feared he might pass out.

  “Are you all right?” Joule shouted. “The power isn’t too much for you?”

  “I’m fine, but is it affecting you?” he asked while hovering a few feet above her.

  She spread her arms wide and flexed her fingers. “It’s tingling,” she exclaimed. “Is this what it feels like to shyft?”

  “No, the magnetic field creates a cold, numbing sensation.”

  “This is incredible!” she screamed at the storm overhead. “Thank you!”

  Ian’s thoughts whirled and gained speed as if birthing a tornado. He wouldn’t be able to tolerate the power flow for much longer and he gave into the strain loosening his pull of the electricity, easing himself downward.

  The second he reached the ground, Ian released the remaining electrical energy. When the charged raindrops touched the air, they lit up like glittering sparks.

  Joule grabbed Ian around his neck. “Incredible!”

  The electricity left his core fully charged and his entire body energized. Joule kissed him hard on the lips, then rushed over to her instruments.

  Ian, are you okay? Tara channeled.

  “That was amazing,” Ian said.

  Which part? Tara channeled. He ignored her and studied the storm’s fury overhead with renewed eyes as it pelted the Congo Basin. The gradual shift in atmospheric pressure signaled its retreat.

  “This is the lightning capital of the world,” Bhutto said. “Most storms elicit sixty or fewer strikes in an hour. Here, we can get that many every minute.” Bhutto set a canvas chair down for him and another for Tara.

  Ian declined, too energized to accept the offered seat. Saxon jumped on it and rested his head across the back canvas.

  “What exactly happened?” Tara asked.

  From the look on her face, Ian wasn’t sure if she was curious, or concerned.

  “When lightning reaches down out of the sky it’s called a step leader,” Joule said. “If it connects with an upward charge from the earth, called a positive streamer, then the lightning touches the ground.”

  Ian nodded. “I was the positive streamer.”

  “You charged the ground with tremendous amounts of electricity and concentrated it in the clearing.”

  “Did you get the footage?” Bhutto asked.

  Her smile spread wide. “Come see.”

  Everyone huddled around the computer console. Bright flashes lit across their faces.

  The footage looped back to the beginning. The screen displayed an image of the clearing with Ian and Joule at the center, his outstretched arm reaching upward, and the lightning connecting with it. As the image played, Ian lifted up into the air while the camera followed him.

  What was captured on the footage after they left the clearing triggered goose bumps along his arms, in spite of the heat.

  Replayed in slow motion, lightning erupted upward from the ground and appeared as an instant leafless tree, branching out in all directions, sizzling white and intense with the earth’s power.

  “That,” Joule said, “is upward lightning.”

  The pulsating energy trees multiplied like a small forest grove, only to disappear as quickly as they formed. Enthralled, Ian pressed closer and peered over Joule’s shoulder, mesmerized by the spectacle on the screen.

  “Isn’t the earth’s power breathtaking?” she said, resting against his chest.

  {5}

  A throat cleared from behind them. The group separated like the parting sea as a stout, middle-aged, scientist entered the tent. His shirt was drenched. “Please excuse the impertinence of my daughter, Pur Heir.” Dr. Willoughsby’s British accent was deep and resonant. He threw Joule the reprimanding look. At his approach, Ian caught a whiff of burnt wood mixed with musk aftershave.

  “On the contrary Doctor, don’t give it another thought. I’ve been enthralled with her work and what she helped me discover about my core’s ability,” Ian said.

  “I must apologize for her lack of reverence.” Willoughsby offered an outstretched hand. Ian was greeted with a firm but brief shake. “You honor us with your cooperation, Highness.”

  “He wants to be called, Ian, Father.” Joule said. “He’s not into pomp and circumstance like you.” She gestured toward her screen. “We got the most amazing footage.”

  “Yes, and unfortunately it will have to be destroyed.” Willoughsby approached the monitor with his full attention on the images playing in a continuous loop. The scowl on his face deepened.

  “You’re not erasing any of this!” Joule’s expression turned menacing.

  “You have video of the Pur Heir that can never be seen by anyone outside of this group. What were you thinking, Joule?”

  He’s right, Ian thought, the Syndrion would never allow it. “She can cut me out; edit it to keep the upward lightning intact,” he suggested.

  “With no explanation of how the energy was so concentrated,” Willoughsby said.

  Joule turned and rushed out of the tent without another word.

  “I have taken the responsibility for your safety while you are on this research site, unfortunately, above all else.” From Dr. Willoughsby’s slumped shoulders and weary eyes, he too, weathered his daughter’s sacrifice. “I can vouch for those individuals who observed the experiment firsthand, but the recording is too volatile.”

  “I’m sorry as well,” Ian said.

  “Why are we here, Doctor?” Tara asked.

  “And you are?” Willoughsby asked, as if recognizing that Tara and Saxon were present for the first time.

  “My Channel and companion,” Ian offered.

  “Let us head to my research site. It will be easier to show you.” Willoughsby held the flap of the tent open. An immense arch met Ian when he stepped out as the storm’s moisture clung to the sun’s energy, creating a brilliant palette.

  They ventured around the base of the plateau and came upon a monstrous structure suspended above a large clearing and held in place by a massive crane. The structure resembled enormous white seashells clustered in a tight bud like flower petals.

  “What are those petal designs?” Ian asked.

  “They’re a variation on exedrae,” Tara said. “What are they made out of, Dr. Willoughsby?”

  “Titanium.” The scientist looked impressed. “You have some knowledge of architectural design.”

  Ian stared at the enormous bolts holding the petal structure together. “What is your research?”

  “Channeling the Earth’s power,” he said. “What you do naturally, I do with geophysics. In fact, I was on the team that designed your—what did Dr. Angus MacBride end up calling it?” He touched a finger to his lip. “Oh, yes. A boost.”

  “I though he designed it,” Tara said.

  “He dictated which of the natural elements needed to be drawn from the earth. I designed the structure to collect them. In fact, it’s not too dissimilar to the one hanging abo
ve us.” Dr. Willoughsby stared at his design with nothing less than immense pride.

  “What does it do?” Ian asked.

  “I’ve been testing a design theory for harnessing the electricity of the lightning and focusing it elsewhere.” Willoughsby pointed overhead. “Do you see that scorch mark?” The scientist indicated a blackened area where the petals converged at a tip. “After capturing the lightning inside the structure, I was able to enhance it and then channel it to a specific location.” The scientist gestured to a burnt patch of dirt that rested in the center of the clearing.

  “Why harness energy and direct it into the earth’s crust?” Ian asked.

  “The potential applications are varied,” Willoughsby replied. “Mining, in smaller applications farming, excavation for construction, archeology—”

  “Purveyor of death and destruction,” Joule said. She stepped to the edge of the clearing.

  “Again, excuse my daughter. Not only is she precocious, she is dramatic as well.”

  “It’s possible,” Joule said.

  “But not the intent.”

  “Considering the amount of energy you pumped into the earth,” Ian said. “It could explain—”

  “The energy source of my upward lightning!” The spark returned to Joule’s eyes.

  Willoughsby regarded Ian with an expression that was difficult to read. It turned to dread when Joule threw her arms around Ian.

  “Thank you!” she exclaimed and kissed him on his cheek.

  It wasn’t exactly a peck. Self-conscious of the awkward moment and in full view of her disgruntled father, Ian pushed away. “Minus my screen footage, of course.”

  “That goes without saying,” Willoughsby said.

  “I’m still a little vague on where I fit in with your research,” Ian said. “Or how this could help stop the earthquakes.”

  “Now that I have learned how to collect and direct the power, I would like to see if you can.”

  *

  Jaered slipped into Joule’s tent. He found the video link and copied the Heir’s footage to his flash drive. There was no need to open it. Eve would study it later. Approaching steps. When he lifted the edge of the tent to exit, Bhutto stood in his path.