Planet Heist (The Dunham Archives Book 1)

by J. D. Hale

  “Wow. All that just to come in?” Salah marveled.

  “And to enter every other room in the mansion,” I explained, “that’s the price we pay for being masterminds,”

  “So, are we going to fight or not?”

  “Of course. Rowan, can you go get Laina, Izan, and Wynn?” I asked.

  “Yeah, they’ll want to see…him,” Rowan replied, walking up the stairs.

  “Who are they?” Salah’s inquisitive eyes bored into mine, even with such a simplistic question.

  “My older siblings,” I said.

  “There are more? I had always assumed it was ‘The Dunham Twins’ and nobody else,” He shrugged.

  “No, but my brother and sisters stay out of the public eye, to avoid attention for being my siblings. They’ve all done something different, besides Elaina. I’ll be fighting her later, since I beat her when we were little,” I grinned.

  “How old is she?” He asked, surprised.

  “Twelve when we last fought, seventeen now,” I told him, “I hope that you’ll be as worthy of an opponent.”

  “I’m sure I will. Aren’t you going to change?” He asked, eying my heels suspiciously, as if they would jump up and kill him, which they just might, “You could literally poke an eye out with those things.”

  “That’s the idea,” I told him with a sly grin, “if you want to back out, before you get hurt, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

  “I’ll hold my peace, thank you,” He chuckled.

  “For your health, I hope that was a wise decision,”

  “Kai? Is that, by any chance, Salah the Younger?” Elaina asked, coming down the steps.

  “Salah’s just fine, thanks,” He replied awkwardly.

  “I see. So, you think you can beat my little sister here?” She scoffed.

  “Yes.” He replied suavely.

  “Somehow, I seriously doubt that,” She laughed, her voice trilling like bells. Wynn and Izan slowly ensued, joining the group quietly.

  “Follow me,” I said, walking to the back courtyard. It was our sparring area, with a mat floor and rack upon rack of weapons – swords, guns, vaporizers, small explosives, specialty weapons, daggers, spears, balisongs, katanas, tantōs, sai, flamethrowers, maces, and bombs – each of which my father had collected in all his inter-planetary travels.

  “Where did you possibly get all of these weapons?” Salah gaped.

  “When you’re in this business as long as our family, you collect a lot of stuff,” Izan smiled, twirling one of his favorite swords.

  “So, what’re you two going to use?” Elaina asked.

  “Nothing, hand on hand.” I said, nodding to Salah.

  Izan and Rowan were making bets, hundreds of dollars being forked onto the table.

  “Come on!” Izan said, “This Salah kid is going to crush our baby sister!”

  “I’m older than Rowan.” I smiled. This was a long going debate in my family. We didn’t know who was truly older, somehow or another.

  “Whatever.” Izan turned from me to Rowan, “He’s got height and weight on her! Plus, if he’s anything like his father, he’s got to be amazing,”

  “His father,” Rowan derided, “won’t help him here. Sure he’s got mass, but Kai has thirteen years of training, muscle, and wits.” Rowan offered, and I smirked at Salah.

  “Ready?” Salah mumbled, pulling off his suit jacket.

  “More ready than you’ll ever be. Don’t hold back,” I chuckled.

  I got into sparring stance, and he waited, bored, across from me.

  “Ready?” Izan asked.

  I nodded tightly, grimacing at my opponent.

  Salah nodded curtly.

  “Good, now, on my count, go,” He said.

  “One…” I psyched up my mind, flexing all of my muscles.

  “Two…” I allowed my glare to pierce Salah’s skin, making him fidget.

  “Three…” I clenched up, waiting in the profound silence of my sibling’s astonishment.

  “Spar!” He backed up and I waited for Salah’s first strike.

  He came at me with his dominant hand – his left – and my elbow connected in a block. I would now have a serious advantage; ambidextrousness was natural in my family, dexterity and power equal in each of my crushing blows. He swept his hand at my face, landing a scratch with a gold ring. Blood feel down my alabaster skin. I was filled with wrath – he was the first person to actually land a hit on my face in years – and I started rapid firing. Every hit in my barrage of punches had him staggering back. This would be quick and easy. I hooked at his jaw, a distraction. He went to block it, and I dropped down and pulled the back of his knees forward. He fell onto his back, but somersaulted and jumped up. My next maneuver was smacking his ears flat-handed, leaving them ringing, a favorite move of mine. He looked dazed for a moment, something that I took advantage of. I jabbed him in the neck, dislocated his shoulder, and cracked two of his ribs in the same moment. Finally, I kicked him in the chest, leaving him on the ground, one stiletto clad foot on his chest.

  Eighteen seconds.

  “Good fight,” Izan acknowledged, officially ending it, as is custom.

  Salah quickly came back to his senses, and looked up at me from under my heel. I allowed him to get up. Izan sighed, handing Rowan a few hundreds. I stalked over, pulled their wallet from their back pockets, took out the equivalent of five-hundred dollars, and clacked their heads together.

  “Don’t bet on my fights, it’s unfair to whoever bets against me.” I growled seriously, slipping the money into my pocket.

  I turned back to Salah, who was wheezing in a chair, holding his chest.

  “Want some help splinting those ribs?” I asked him in what I hoped to be earnestness.

  “Thanks,” He grimaced.

  “Any time,” I said, “and there will probably be many, many more times.”

  He followed me into our small downstairs bathroom. I locked the door behind us. He pulled his shirt off, and I pulled out a roll of gauze. I slowly and tightly wrapped it around his tanned skin. He took a deep breath when I was done.

  “You should be able to guide your knee back into place,” I told him shyly, trying to avoid looking at his bleeding stomach.

  “Ugh. You hit me,” I said stupidly, looking in the mirror to examine four long, thin scratches to my left cheek. The blood had dried already, leaving rust colored streaks down my face.

  “I’m not against hitting girls,” He shrugged.

  I pulled up a towel, wet it, and rubbed it against my face until it was the skin was bright pink against its normal pale cream.

  “What a shame,” Salah said from behind be, tugging his shirt over his head.

  “What?” I asked, turning back to him.

  “I had to hit one of the most beautiful faces in the galaxy,” He said. I heard a pop and a grunt as his knee slid back into place.

  “I’ve suffered worse,” I whispered, unlocking the door behind us.

  “That still doesn’t make it okay,” He said.

  “I thought you weren’t against hitting girls,” I smiled sarcastically.

  “You’re an exception,” He smiled back.

  “Thank you?” I opened the door and stepped out.

  “You’re welcome.” He said, turning serious.

  I stepped out the door.

  “Elaina?!” I called toward the yard, ushering away the suddenly intense air.

  “Ready little sister?” She said as I glided forward to her.

  “Always,” I smirked.

  “Weapons allowed?”

  “No weapons that you don’t have on your person right now,” I told her, hoping it would give me an advantage.

  She gave me a sly smile.

  “One…”

  “Two…”

  “Three…”

  “Spar!”

  Elaina and I were better matched – it was almost a fair fight, if the both of us weren’t dirty cheaters at our core.

  S
he came at me, pulling out a knife, but I returned by pulling my longer dagger from the back of my thigh. Her eyes widened, but her advance did not stop. She lunged, lithe like a cat, toward my legs. She smacked me in the knee, almost painless despite the hard hit, and I jumped over her to implement my trademark distraction. When I landed, I pretended to shriek and grab my knee in pain.

  “Kai?” Elaina asked, bending down to me. She had dropped her knife a few feet away, giving me a distinct window of opportunity “Are you-”

  But I jumped up, using her temporary distractedness to my advantage. I kneed her in the face as she crouched, and landed like an agile acrobat. I twirled gracefully around in order to kick her in the back. She doubled over, and I grabbed her golden tresses, holding my dagger to her neck.

  “Wow,” She said as I let her free.

  “Yep. Six years have passes and I’m still the better,” I smiled.

  “No. I was going to say that you’ve let your guard down.”

  A quizzical expression settled on my face, then snap realization as I saw her plan.

  Izan hadn’t yet called the match.

  In a split second, she was jumping at me, but luckily my autonomic reactions took over. I pulled a bobby pin from my hair, using the razor edge on her knuckles. She was momentarily surprised, but began kicking me, her forte. My own specialty – an onslaught of rapid, excruciating punches that not only would knock out her wind but break her shoulder – hit her at full force. Again I swirled around, this time ending with her an arm’s length away and my knife at her neck.

  “Great match ladies,” Izan said, clearing his throat behind us.

  Elaina turned to me, smiled and shook my hand.

  Suddenly, she threw a punch at my jaw, and there was a sickening snap as it briefly dislocated.

  “For good measure.” She shrugged.

  “All right,” I nodded with a wince. I slowly led my lower mandible back into place, and turned around.

  “Salah, Row, come with me,” I gestured to them and walked into the house.

  Stalking off to my stand-in Lair, I heard Rowan arguing with Salah about something. I didn’t particularly want to know what. When they caught up to me, their argument was reaching a crescendo.

  “Boys? No need to be uncivilized, you’re in the presence of a lady.” I smiled menacingly before we entered the Lair. They snapped out of it, their expressions utterly different. Rowan looked somewhat irritated to the point of anger while Salah had a sly grin glued on his face. I suspect he won the argument.

  I opened up the door and walked into my alternative Lair; of course it had all my files, but none of my extensive artifacts and items from my numerous accounts of thievery – as if I had just moved into a house, but hadn’t brought my things.

  The room, much to my vexation, was bright yellow. It was (and I suppose still is) the room I stayed in when I visited my father. It was pink until I was ten, when we painted the room…yellow. I don’t know what possessed me. Even now, I would be sleeping in here while Rowan bunked with Izan, if we ended up staying the night.

  “Take a seat,” I addressed the pristine white couch to my side. There was only one other chair in the room – a blood red armchair with gold patterns on the sides – and I perched on its edge.

  The boys hesitantly and awkwardly sat down, as far away from each other as the couch allowed, periodically giving sideways glances to each other.

  “I hope you both realize that you’re going to get along, or one of you will have to be disposed of. Which would be a problem because I need both of you,” I tell them.

  “Do you really?” Rowan sighed with a look at Salah.

  “Yes.” I coldly replied my brother, “Salah is essential in this mission because of his …stealth. Did he not tell you that he’s an expert lock-picker, hot-wirer, and fantastic on-the-spot liar, or did you just refrain from doing the research we always do because you were so busy bickering with our new accomplice like a selfish child?”

  Salah smiled smugly.

  “And you, Salah the Younger,” I turned to him spitefully, “need to understand that you’re walking a very thin line. Your own father was the latest in a long line of partners I had offed, and I’m confident that you don’t want to follow in his footsteps. Though your project is brilliantly ingenious, you are much more expendable than my brother.”

  He looked taken aback, and quite a few shades paler.

  “Oh?” He countered, “What would you do without my plan? You need something spectacular for your three hundredth crime.”

  “And you think it’s your plan?” I smiled at him ruefully, “I could send whoever I wanted to kill you. They could be here in minutes, and I could take the Xeron with the only man I really trust, my twin.”

  He looked conflicted.

  “So you don’t trust me?” He asked.

  “Of course not. Not yet anyways. Mostly because on every occasion we’ve met, including this one, much to my dismay, you’ve been wearing an earpiece. You want my trust? Earn it.” I said harshly, standing up.

  “Row, you can go sit in my chair, as, apparently, our new accomplice requires supervision.” I scowled.

  Rowan promptly got up and reclined in my chair. I made a move as if to stroke Salah’s cheek, but instead slapped him – hard – and ripped off his earpiece.

  “I hate it when someone tries to outsmart me.” I told him odiously, “Now, down to business. We’re going to train every day at our chateau on Saize, until Salah can beat one of us in a fight. We’ve also got to test his mental capabilities. Meeting adjourned. I need to go see Elaina about something.” I said, getting up and leaving the boys to bicker about something.

  I figured that by now Elaina would be upstairs in her room. Trotting up the steps in a hasty manner, I knew that without what was required for my mission, the theft of the Xeron would fail.

  When I reached her door, I knocked as hard as possible to ensure that she could hear it.

  I heard Elaina unlocking the door on the other side in only a moment.

  “Come in.” She said quietly when the door was finally open.

  I took a cautious step into her room, wary of anything that could jump out, trip, hit, or incapacitate me. She had always been a mastermind when it came to creating traps and various devices.

  “What’s up?” She asked as I looked around. Her room was hardly how I remembered it. It used to be purple and turquoise, but she had painted it silver and replaced her purple bed spread with a black one. It suited her personality now. She had a computer with files open on a glass desk, and, more importantly, a chest filled with what I know to be extremely helpful criminal technology, of her own invention.

  No matter how brilliant I become, Elaina will already be steps ahead.

  “Listen, Elaina, I need to borrow your signature pen.” I whispered nervously. The signature pen is a specially designed peace of Elaina’s technology designed to copy any writing scrawled with it. I need the Prime Minister of Saize’s signature to get into the Institute where they hold the Xeron, and I’ll have to get her autograph onto an official Institute permission form. Thus, I would need the signature pen to copy the Prime Minister’s actual signature from a piece of paper to the form.

  “For what exactly?” She growled. I know that the pen is one of her favorite pieces of equipment, and it would take some explaining and convincing to get it from her.

  “You can’t tell anyone, alright?”

  She nods her approval.

  “I’m planning on stealing the Xeron. That’s why Salah’s with Rowan and I.” I told her, steeling myself for her response.

  “What?! The Xeron? That’s crazy! Do you even know what kind of stuff they have protecting it? I’ve heard everything from trip wires to dragons to bugs that crawl inside your head and control you! You could die, Kairee. The odds are a trillion to one, and not in your favor.” She replied.

  “We all know that, but it’s worth the risk. I know that you especially understand the hunger
for glory, and the Xeron will let me get it.” I told her as patiently as possible.

  She took a few deep breaths, sighed, and looked me square in the eyes, “I’ll give it to you, but if you die, I’m not speaking at your funeral.” She said sardonically, and dug through the chest to find what I needed.

  June 15th 8:25 am

  Cairo, Planet Earth: Cairo Town Square

  I scanned the street through my new, dark silver sunglasses, searching for my contact. Salah to my left glanced around in a somewhat hilariously nervous manner while my brother on the right stood casually, probing the area for possible dangers. Down the street, out of a normal person’s view, there was a drug deal going down. A smile spread across my face.

  “I found him. That man selling crack, he’s our contact, Mahar Nefri.” I nodded towards him and then stalked off in that direction. The boys hastily followed. Even though it was almost impossible to move fast enough in what I had begrudgingly put on this morning in an attempt to fit in with the locals, I scurried along. Uncomfortable “everyday” shoes called Chucks that thoroughly pissed me off, khaki shorts and a white beater that didn’t exactly fit into my image of formality, but allowed me (in all my pale glory) to fit in this land of tan people and tourists.

  “We’re supposed to trust a man selling drugs?” Salah asked, and I decided it was a rhetorical question.

  As Mahar started to move away quickly, I began to run in a…less than inconspicuous way. People stared at this gangly teenager running faster than an Olympian towards a drug dealer with incredulous expressions on their faces. I’m not exactly something you see every day. On my way towards Mahar, I noticed a poster plastered to a telephone pole with one of my more famous pictures. It was me, running away from the police, my wild blonde mane flying around me like a deathly halo. Panic fluttered in my eyes. This was taken last year, the one time a policeman actually laid his hand on me in an attempted capture. Under my picture was the condemning word alerting my intentions: خطر!

  I immediately translated it in my head: خطر! Danger!

  There was a phone number under the picture, telling the locals who to call if they happened to see me on the streets. I sure hope nobody recognized me, as I only have enough weapons and motivation to take out a small army with my bare hands.