by Paul Knox
“I get it. No judgment. Just keep your eyes open. By the way, Duke called me worried about you.”
Reece sighed. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll call him as soon as I get a chance. I better let you go and focus on these roads.”
Reece disconnected and continued screaming down the highway, trying to cut some serious time off her journey. The pickup bounced over a big bump, and she suddenly noticed something pop up from the bed of her truck, coming into the rearview mirror for a split second.
It didn’t just look like something, but someone—the top of a head, before it ducked back down and out of sight.
Someone’s in the back of this pickup.
* * *
Mario Leon was standing in front of the hospital when Señora Reece disappeared around the hospital building’s corner, leaving him with Chang.
The last thing Mario wanted to do was babysit the guy. Even though Chang appeared to be a full-grown adult, his mannerisms and actions were akin to a babbling toddler stumbling around a new world.
Mario wished with all his heart to be fighting the bad guys like the magical Señora Reece. He wanted to fight Kai Castro, the murderer of his parents.
Mario had never gotten to say goodbye.
The only thing Kai and Rolando and Derian wanted: money. They had no respect for honor, tradition, or the sacred path.
I’m already eleven, old enough to be a warrior. What if Reece needs my help again?
“Let’s go, Mario,” Chang said, turning toward the road. “I think I see the taxi.”
But Mario had no intention of going to a hotel. He wanted to fight. Especially if that fight had something to do with the Castros.
So Mario did the only thing his heart let him do. With Chang facing the other way, he ran off and toward the back parking lot of the hospital.
13
SHANAHAN ended his call with Kennedy Ross, hopeful someone in her web of connections could enlist a trustworthy helicopter pilot for Reece.
Interestingly, Kennedy had informed Shanahan that El Jocotillo wasn’t much of an airport, and almost seemed confused when he mentioned Reece had originally booked a flight there.
Her exact words were, ‘That’s suspect.’
He sipped on an afternoon mug of coffee, drumming his fingers against his desk and trying to think outside the box.
It was then he remembered a gentleman by the name of Mr. Black. Mr. Black’s true identity had never been fully revealed, only that he had worked closely with Michael Alderidge within The Resistance.
Shanahan rummaged through his desk drawer until he found a solid black business card, the same card Mr. Black had given him when they first met. In contrasting white ink, the words Mr. Black and a single phone number were printed underneath.
He dialed.
“Mr. Shanahan,” came the greeting, “I’ve been expecting your call.”
Shanahan’s conversation with Xie about being personally profiled flashed through his mind.
“Mr. Black,” he said. “Exactly why were you expecting my call?”
“With the current happenings converging within the borders of El Salvador, it appears that that country is the ‘X marks the spot’ for the birth of a new Association. Considering Reece flew down there yesterday—and Mr. Alderidge is now deceased—it was, naturally, only a matter of time before I heard from you with questions.”
“How do you know Reece is there?”
“Please, Shanahan, obtaining that info was child’s play.”
Shanahan rolled his eyes—mostly at himself. Of course it was. “What about Sandy chasing the white dragon?”
“Ah, the Sandman, yes, yes. He went there to shut down the up-and-coming Kai Castro. And my sources have also put the claws of the green dragon near as well.”
“Speaking of the green dragon, have you ever heard the name Lindon?”
“Lindon? I can’t say I have. Why?”
“I’ve been told he arranged a flight for Reece that ultimately crashed. I’m not sure who he is, either.”
“Mr. Shanahan, shall we trade intelligence?”
Shanahan divulged what he knew about Xie, and everything Reece had discovered. “Now it’s your turn, Black. What do you know?”
“It’s not only the white and green dragons I’m worried about, Mr. Shanahan. I’ve also become aware that a member of the Bratva is attempting to become the new red dragon.”
“The Russians are involved in all of this, too?”
“Perhaps.”
Shanahan groaned. “If the dragons can successfully reestablish themselves, The Association will be back full force.”
“They seem to be like the mythical serpent Hydra,” Black said, “able to regrow their heads even when sliced off. Unfortunately, I don’t yet have the name of the new red dragon—just a hunch. However, I am cognizant of the plan to seal a new position of power.”
“Does it have something to do with Reece?”
“Close—but a different Cannon. There’s a bounty on the Sandman’s head. He killed the highest ranking member of the red dragon sect. It’s rumored they now seek revenge.”
“How did you find this out?”
“There’s chatter all over the dark web. I’ll send you the information I have. And Shanahan—I trust you have access to Michael Alderidge’s specialized equipment—the machines Reece boxed up after his death?”
“They’re sitting right next to me.”
“Good. Look for the device called Hound.”
* * *
Soon after, Shanahan searched the dark-web chat rooms Black had suggested. For being secret, the place was lit up with Bratva members. There were all sorts of crazy information and code words for illegal activities—none of which could be easily traced by traditional law enforcement methods.
Shanahan pretended to be a Bratva initiate who had robbed numerous wealthy homes. Now he was sitting on a large sum of money and jewelry to tithe. Speaking Russian and having extensive knowledge on their criminal networks in America made his cover appear flawless.
It wasn’t long before someone accepted his proposal. Shanahan chatted online with the Bratva member, conjuring up fake stories of past thievery and trying to learn names and numbers.
He didn’t get anything, but the member did accept Shanahan’s own phone number—a fake that Shanahan had acquired for purposes like these—and indicated that someone would be in contact with him when they were ready for the handoff.
After logging off, Shanahan programed his fake phone number through a computer and into the Hound device.
It didn’t take long before a Bratva member called and instructed Shanahan to meet him downtown in the dead of night, in two days’ time.
At first Shanahan planned to meet the thief, and either go undercover or force information out of him in the hopes he knew something pertinent.
But during their short conversation, Shanahan watched in amazement as Michael’s Hound device instantaneously duplicated the SIM card and internal memory of the thief’s phone onto Shanahan’s computer.
With that information, Shanahan switched tactics. He began dialing all the thief’s recent contacts and reading the recent text messages. The more people that answered the phone, even for a few seconds, the more information Hound duplicated.
On a large whiteboard, Shanahan began mapping out his findings. He used a red marker to draw lines between the dots, connecting the Bratva members. After a couple hours, he began making real headway with the Bratva’s hierarchy. What started off with local numbers turned countrywide, then even worldwide.
No wonder Michael was able to do this so efficiently and for so long.
The machine’s ability was incredible, and Shanahan vowed to dissect it as soon as he had a free moment—to make another one.
Finally he hit the jackpot: the red dragon sect. And he found a name—someone who rose through the ranks, who was out for revenge, and who was out for total power and control. Someone who had recently entered El Salvad
or looking for the Sandman.
His name: Konstantin.
14
THE RED DRAGON
THE OLD PAKHAN WAS DEAD. And while that knowledge should’ve made Konstantin proud to exact revenge, it did not. There was no pride to be had inside that man. Only a vile hunger that could never be satisfied.
The sky had grown dark in the middle of this afternoon. Heavy cloud cover wasn’t typical this time of year, and it signaled something dangerous brewing in the heavens.
Konstantin was leaning against a BMW here on the side of the road, in El Salvador, to enact ‘revenge.’ But he did not see it as such. Only the Bratva members below him believed that, chatting about it like mother hens.
But the corrupt politicians in Russia who enlisted the services of the red dragon knew better. They were the ones the red dragon catered to—the ones with the real money and power.
Konstantin was like them, he silently mused. Feared. Intoxicating. Influential. And if he played his cards right, he’d become like the old Pakhan, the most powerful dragon in The Association.
Revenge was such a lowly emotion, hardly an effective means to wealth. But mercilessness, on the other hand, when paired with manipulation, wielded endless results and never-ending compensation.
“Do you approve?” Alexey asked, his blonde hair blowing wildly in the winds, as he finished disguising the strip of road spikes with small branches and other debris.
The trap was well hidden from a vehicle traveling at normal speeds, but Konstantin had to find fault; he had to assert authority. He always found fault. “Put more dirt on the road. Scatter it around for many more yards, ahead and behind.”
“The wind is fierce, Konstantin. It is blowing at its own will.”
“Do you question me?” Konstantin growled, pushing his six-foot-four-inch body off their car and standing tall, shoulders back.
“Never,” Alexey responded, glancing at the clumps of trees up ahead where they would wait and hide for Reece. “Come, Danyl, we have more work to do.”
Danyl adjusted the submachine gun strap around his shoulders and followed Alexey to the side of the road with a shovel.
Konstantin returned to his thoughts.
There were priceless riches rumored to be in this little Central American country. Gold from antiquity. Its location had been passed down for ages—and someone here knew where to find it.
When I’m done with the Cannons, I’ll beat it out of whoever that is.
But first, find the Sandman, the legendary blue dragon. Then become the Pakhan. The path was simple. And no one would ever question Konstantin again.
Recognized. Respected. Rich.
Konstantin’s mouth watered. He could taste the glory already.
Though his path was straightforward, the Sandman could not be underestimated. He was the only original dragon left, having survived when none of the others did—and as a secret traitor, too.
Konstantin had followed his trail from America to this country, but lost track of his whereabouts yesterday on the coast in Los Cabanos. The Sandman had been staying at a beach hotel—but then never returned. He hadn’t checked out, either.
Where is he now, I wonder?
Fortunately, backup plans were always handy. And thanks to the recent tip he’d been given, Reece Cannon was about to become insurance.
15
REECE pulled over to the side of the road seconds after realizing someone was in the back of her pickup. She removed her gun and jumped out of the vehicle, circling a few feet out, ready to shoot.
Two surrendering hands sprung into the air, and a wide-eyed boy gasped before offering a crooked smile. “Señora Reece, please don’t be mad.”
“Mario?—what the heck are you doing back here?”
“I want to fight, Señora Reece, not babysit a full-grown man.” Mario lowered his hands and puffed out his chest. “I helped you before, you know.”
“You did, yes. But this… Listen, I don’t have time to take you back, so you’re coming with me.”
Mario bit his bottom lip, scrunched his upper lip into his nose and clapped his palms together, rubbing them fast like he’d just landed a monumental deal. “Chivo,” he growled.
Give him a few more years, Reece thought, and that look will almost be menacing.
“Goat?” she translated.
“It just means fantastic or okay. It’s slang here.”
“Got it. Hop in the truck. And don’t get too excited. You’re not fighting this one; I have to fly out to sea.”
Mario’s face fell for an instant but quickly rebounded to a look of scheming on some idea. Reece figured he was planning on fighting still—but there was no way she would let him.
While they sped along, Reece asked more about Mario’s life. He didn’t elaborate much, but was eager to talk about the gold tablets.
“Sure, let’s hear it,” Reece said, focused on the road ahead.
“Where did I leave off?”
“You stopped during a battle scene, when one of the guys plunged spears into the enemies who attacked them in the middle of the night.”
“That was a good one! Okay, so…”
Atl Balam felt a great pain in his heart while defending his people. He tasted insanity and slaughtered the enemy with a vengeance unmatched.
Finally the battle ended and he took stock of what remained, with other men’s blood covering his skin and the bodies of his people covering the ground. The attackers had all been slain—yet at a heavy cost.
All of the dead were his charge—the friendly and the foe. Only a few dozen men and women had survived.
If a Halach Uinic’s worth was judged by the life of his people, Atl Balam had failed miserably as a ruler.
He found his queen tending to the wounds of a soldier. Atl Balam kneeled and whispered in her ear. “Colel, I will always love you.”
Her eyes danced to him and shot him with a knowing. “Where are you going?” she asked.
“I must find a way to persuade the gods to change our people’s fortune.”
A tear fell from her eye. She said nothing.
Atl Balam felt her large belly. She would give birth soon. He kissed her deeply and time stood still.
Then he snuck away while the great mourning continued. And that night he wandered deep into the forest.
Not knowing why the gods had been displeased and cursed him so, he only understood the honorable thing to do.
As the sun rose in the new land, Atl Balam lifted his spear high, raised his head to the heavens and cried, “Take my soul and end this drought. Let my people live!”
He plunged the jade blade deep into his flesh and heart.
“Are you serious?” Reece asked. “He killed himself?”
But Mario didn’t answer. Reece noticed he was now staring intently into the rearview mirror.
“What is it?” Reece asked.
“Señora Reece, have you noticed that truck behind us?”
Reece had noticed the pickup gaining on them, but hadn’t thought much of it. It could be someone in a hurry, like them.
“Do you recognize it?” she asked.
“It looks like a truck I’ve seen before, next to my village. One time I followed the Castro brothers over the two mile path and back to their truck, hiding in the forest behind the trees. And they left in a black truck that looks just like that.”
Reece said, “Don’t worry, Mario. I’m sure it’s fine.”
But her heart started racing a little faster, worried that Mario was right.
“Then why are you reaching for your gun?” Mario asked.
“Habit.”
Reece sped up as fast as she dared travel over the ill-maintained road, being frequently jostled back and forth.
But the other pickup eventually caught up—a big, beefy Dodge Ram that was lifted with large tires and equipped with grille guards. All black with black rims. Soon the Ram was right behind and Reece could see the two men inside.
Rolando and Deria
n Castro.
CRUNCH!
Reece and Mario’s heads slammed back against the headrests as their vehicle was knocked forward. Reece gripped the steering wheel to keep from losing control.
16
REECE swerved left to keep them from advancing. The last thing she wanted was another showdown, this time on the side of the deserted road.
The first droplets of rain began to lightly fall from the dark skies above. They were more of a mist which floated over the pickup, than heavy splashing drops.
The Castros butted the Toyota gain, this time harder. Reece felt her back tires skid to the right, causing her pickup to jerk left. Trying not to overcorrect, she went with it and dropped off the asphalt, spitting dirt from under the tires.
The Castros overtook them, and the next thing Reece knew, Rolando had a pistol raised at them. Reece was accelerating back toward the pavement, but hit the brakes when she saw the gun.
Rolando fired and the first bullet went wide, off into the unknown. She scanned the upcoming roadway, peering into the distance, trying to ascertain an escape route.
There were no other turnoffs, only masses of trees dotting the roadway here and there, spread out in clumps among the alternating fields and forests.
Then she noticed something odd about the road up ahead. Sure, the weather had been windy all day, but there was an unusual amount of debris in a certain section of the road going from one side to the other. She might not have noticed it if she was driving at twice the speed limit like she was earlier. But something about it didn’t look natural.
Preoccupied, Reece didn’t have time to fully appreciate strange-looking branches in the road. She had to get out of there before getting shot.
The Castros skid to a stop, blocking the front of the Toyota with their massive Ram. Reece veered to the right attempting to speed around them.
But a barrage of gunshots hit the driver’s side of the Toyota, shattering the windshield and ripping through the metal all the way from the front, along the entire length, and to the back.
