The Gift of the Dragon

by Michael Murray

  Thorn thumped down in the chair next to Laird, placing his muscular elbows on the ridged table top, and glared at the aerial photos laid out there.

  “The western Keys.” Michel Thorn opened only one side of his mouth when he talked, usually the left side.

  Laird’s fingers were marked by years of battles. His right forefinger looked as it had stopped a knife by itself at least three times. The cuts had healed, but the scars remained. With this finger he pointed out a red line, snaking west from east of Key Largo.

  “Our drones tracked a boat from the snafu at Harbor Tower to this location.” Laird’s finger stopped at an island circled in blue.

  “No Name Key,” Thorn said. “They probably will fuel up on Big Pine, and then they could go anywhere in this mess!” Thorn’s arm waved at the open sea, bisected on either side by the Gulf of Mexico.

  “Mess? This mess, Mister Thorn, is the sea. The sea is everything. It covers seven tenths of the globe. Breathing its air will make even you feel pure and healthy. It is the great desert where man is never alone, for there is life on all sides. It is the place where enantiodromia rules, where water dries to salt, where calm becomes tempest, where blue skies turn red, where the greatest castles rot to sand.”

  Laird laughed inwardly as Thorn flinched. Michel could face rocket-propelled grenades, air-to-ground missiles, and hails of bullets from armed gangs like the ones the Mayor of Miami had hired Northwin to eliminate, but talk of the grandeur of nature scared him. Thorn listened better when he was nervous, and he needed Thorn to listen closely now.

  “I’ll just need to know who and where, Laird, and I’ll get him, even if he’s headed for Castro’s whorehouse.” Thorn spoke from the right side of his mouth when he was paying attention. Laird knew he couldn’t have gotten Thorn’s focus by yelling or screaming, but he had it now. Paraphrasing Verne usually does the trick.

  “We make it a twenty-five, maybe thirty-foot boat. Catamaran. Two hulls, two motors. We had an Aerostar drone up and followed the boat on infrared all night. We sent another one when the fuel got low on the first one. I’ll keep following them with the drones until you make contact. They might be able to make Havana, but I doubt it.”

  “Got it. So I’ll take the boys down there and pick up our friends.”

  “Yes, you’ll fly into Marathon. Your plane leaves as soon as we are done here and you can get to the airport. There will be a fast boat waiting for you at Marathon Boat Yard.”

  “What do we know of the targets?”

  Laird leaned back in the high-backed wooden chair and gazed at Thorn for several breaths. Thorn’s quizzical face turned to annoyance, and he spread his hands.

  Having gotten Thorn’s full attention again, Laird spoke, “We know that one of them is Alice Sangerman.” Laird enjoyed seeing Thorn’s jaw drop open. Thorn leaned forward and crossed his arms, shaking his head.

  “I don’t believe it. She’s dead.”

  “Well, you know how tough Sangermans can be to kill.”

  “Shit, that's a fact. But we haven’t heard of her in several years. Didn’t McAlister pay Callan Grant to kill her?”

  Thorn grinned only with the right side of his mouth.

  Laird thought, I have known this man far too long!

  “That’s what he told me. He had a photo, but never a body, never a head.”

  “Grant lies. That’s why I told you to fire him!” Thorn and Grant had worked together for many years. They hated each other, but the mixture of their two skill sets had been very effective until Grant left the Guardians. Deserted!

  “Maybe Ian was mistaken. I’ll ask him when I get a chance. Which should be soon after he and Robert get back from this idiotic hunting trip. Why Robert thinks he needs to kill another bear now, I have no idea.”

  Thorn looked up at the gaping jaws above Laird’s head.

  “Yes, I know Robert has just got to go one better than I.” Laird looked over his shoulder at the whale on the wall. “I killed her with an explosive harpoon and my bear with a rifle. So he thinks he will get the better of me by killing his bear with a spear. Makes me wish I could put her back in the water.”

  “You should’ve known he would take it as a challenge!”

  Yes, I should have. Laird jabbed his finger back on the aerial printout. “None of that matters now. This is our best chance in months of finding out what happened with Peter Moore. If Sangerman is Moore’s killer, we need to know why. If she’s not, we need to put that to rest and focus our efforts on the next lead.”

  “It would also be excellent to be the one to deliver to Robert Brandon the head of the last Sangerman.” Thorn licked his lips.

  At that, Laird looked away. “We… I will decide what to do with her. You bring her to me alive. There’s too much we need to find out from her to kill her before talking to her.” Laird stared into Thorn’s black eyes, searching for comprehension. “I worry about sending you on this mission, Michel. Sometimes you bring me bloody stumps when I ask for breathing necks.”

  “Dead is easier, most times safer. You say the mission is to bring her back alive, then that’s what I’ll try to do. As for the hero who rescued her?”

  “I’d prefer him alive, at least until I know who he is, who he’s working for. Of course, if you find that out…”

  “So catch and no release it is.” Thorn glanced again at the orca. “If possible.”

  Laird caught his glance.

  “I know. The bigger the predator, the harder it is to capture it alive. Alice Sangerman’s positively well above five on the danger scale. Her rescuer may be even higher. I need them alive though, Thorn. Especially Alice. Take the men, and gear up for what you need to do to accomplish that. But quickly, in case they do decide to go party with Raul.”

  Thorn nodded.

  Laird reached over and clasped him on the shoulder. They locked eyes.

  “Win or die, Michel Thorn.”

  Thorn saluted, rose, and walked off.

  Laird sat and stared at the tracks on the photo. He would much prefer to be leading the team instead of Thorn. However, he had other responsibilities. The first of which was finding out why his very old friend Robert Brandon had not answered his phone this morning when Laird had called to give him an update on the Guzman operation. He wished he could see his old friend’s face when he found out that Alice Sangerman had resurfaced! But all he got was Robert’s voice mail. The old fool must already be hot on the trail of his latest obsession.

  Hunting grizzly with a spear! What an idiotic thing for the man in charge of one of the largest companies in the world to be doing now!

  Laird sighed. Robert was his oldest surviving friend, but they were very different men. Robert thought nothing of taking risks that might leave his children fatherless and Ayn McAlister without a husband. As Apple Creek’s head of security, Laird took his own risks. Robert and the board’s goals for Apple Creek put it in the direct path of some of the world’s most powerful companies and organizations, and not a few of them fielded their own paramilitary forces.

  He leaned back and remembered a talk he had several weeks ago with his youngest children, Renae and Mark, last week. Mark had asked, “Dad, why do we have people with guns working for us?”

  ***

  At first Laird tried to avoid the question, thinking they were too young to understand, but Renae would have none of that. “Dad, we’ll be working for you soon! Tomorrow, you have us coming along on our first night mission. It’s time we knew what kind of work you do!”

  He could not escape her logic. If they were ready to handle the execution of a deserter, they could handle the way Apple Creek made its money! “Well, you remember we talked about supply and demand. Resources are used to make things. Like your cell phone, your tablet.” Pointing to Mark’s hand, Laird had said, “The Gamepad you’re hiding.”

  Holding up his tablet, Mark said, “This is just plastic. That’s everywhere!”

  “Plastic comes from oil, but it’s made from more
than that. Let me see the Gamepad, Mark.”

  “Why?”

  “Come on, now.” Laird smiled. “It’s old, scratched. I’ll get you a new one.”

  “Aw, okay.” Mark held it out.

  Laird laid it on his desk and then smashed down on it with his hand, cracking it open. Mark jumped back while Renae laughed and stepped closer to see inside it. Laird grabbed it and wrenched it open. “See, inside it’s all small bits of metal and ceramics.”

  “And lots of plastic,” Mark said. “You said you’d get me a new one.”

  Laird laughed. “Yes, there’s a good deal of plastic inside, more of that than the metal. And yes, I’ll get you a new one.”

  “Can I get some new games also?”

  “Maybe. If you pay attention now.”

  “Shut up, Mark!” Renae said. “So these wires and metal bits, these are made from resources…”

  “Right, and some of them are not just any old metal. For example,” Laird held up a small black square, “this remembers your high scores and what levels you’ve earned. It uses a material called dysprosium. There are only a few places where people can find dysprosium.” He paused, looking at the chip.

  “So?” Mark said.

  “So we own those places! Right, Dad?” Renae asked.

  “Correct! Not all the places, but we’d like to. Others would also like to. Sometimes they won’t sell us the land where the dysprosium is. Sometimes the owner sells it to us, but others try to keep us from going there.”

  “That is like Worldcraft!”

  “It is a bit like your video game. There are resources, and we control them, or others control them. If others control them, they use them up. If we control them, we get to use them.” Laird put the chip on the desk. “This chip was first made by a little company, which came up with a new, more efficient way to store information, like your high scores.” Laird smashed the chip with his hand. “Now, your scores are gone unless you backed them up.”

  “Aw, Dad, I backed them up, but not the last game! I was doing really well.”

  “Consider it a lesson. Always back up. Now, what do you think happened to this company?”

  Renae waved her hand. “They made a ton of money and got rich!”

  “They made some money, but before they could get rich, the cost of the materials for the chip went up. They couldn’t afford to make the chips any more, and they had to sell the company.”

  “Wow, that’s a bummer,” Mark said.

  “Bummer is not a word, Mark. Yet you are right. It was too bad for them.” Laird pulled out his iPad and brought up a map. “This is where the dysprosium is mined.”

  “That’s in Mexico!”

  “Right, Renae. Good geography.” Laird zoomed in on the map, and they saw an aerial photo of a large pit cut into the side of a mountain. “There were some people who were making illegal drugs on the other side of this mountain. They chased the miners away. No more mine, and the cost of the chips,” he nudged the broken chip with his finger, “goes up.” Laird zoomed in further until they could make out a pattern on the roof of one of the buildings at the mine.

  “Hey that is our logo! Apple Creek’s Four Horsemen! One of them is you, Dad!”

  “Exactly, Mark. We bought the mine. I took some of our Guardians and their guns down there, and we chased away the drug people. Now some of our troops stay down there to keep the drug people away. So I can take you to Target and get you a new Gamepad for one hundred dollars.”

  “And that’s why we have the people with guns working for us!” Renae said.

  “So we can get a new Gamepad? Sounds good to me. Hey, you are not taking that out of my allowance, are you, Dad?”

  Laird chuckled. “Well, that depends, Mark. Did you finish your studies and exercises today?”

  That led to a delightful argument between Renae and Mark over who had done more that week, and then they had gone out and gotten ice cream and a new Gamepad.

  ***

  Though it pleased him how well his youngest children had understood his lesson, he had left a few things out. Like how Ian McAlister had hired the drug gang, how Apple Creek had paid off a high-ranking minister in Beijing to temporarily stop exports of dysprosium from the Chinese mines, and how Apple Creek had bought the bankrupt chip maker for a song before starting dysprosium production back up. He also left out that he had described one of the simplest business deals the Guardians had been involved in recently. One lesson at a time.

  He wished Renae and Mark were here now instead of with his wife. They owned a home on Key Biscayne, and when in Miami, she would take the children there. She was there now with five of Laird’s best guards.

  “I will not have our family brought up entirely on a ship, Laird. The Biscayne house is three stories of solid concrete and well guarded. We will be quite safe there,” Theresa had said as she led her brood off the ship and into the two waiting armored limos.

  Soon, Renae and Mark would be ready to join him and help him, as their older brothers were, Ron in Africa and John in Russia.

  Laird sighed again. What a gulf of difference lies between myself and Robert! However, their bond was strong and had only deepened when they had worked together to wrest control of Apple Creek from old Sam as he had grown increasingly mad. The doctors had said they had found no sign of dementia or other chemical or physical illness in the man. In fact, for someone his age, his checkups had resulted in an exemplary bill of health. Laird snorted at the thought. For a man of any age, really. So they knew that old Sam had not been suffering from some sort of delirium or Alzheimer's when he tried to turn over Apple Creek’s assets to charity, claiming that was the best way to ensure Apple Creek’s goals for the future. What a load of rotten fish!

  It seemed at the time, to McAlister, Brandon, and Northwin, that Sangerman was looking for a way to cut them out of the company they had worked so hard with him to build. Robert and Laird took matters into their own hands, which had led to the end of Sangerman’s madness and, indeed, the end of Sangerman and most of his family.

  All except Alice!

  Laird thought again of Thorn’s words about the girl.

  Though Laird was not a man who lived for bloodshed and deceit—not the way Thorn did, for example—Thorn was right in thinking that Robert would welcome the head of the last of the Sangermans. Her survival would undermine any legal basis for their takeover of the company, which they were able to do because of the tragic series of accidents the Sangerman clan had experienced. Alice Sangerman being still alive would reopen cases that Robert… and Laird, would prefer remain closed.

  “I don’t like to kill innocents!” Laird spoke aloud. Men… even women who broke their oaths to the company, or who threatened his family with their plans or their insanity, he would kill. Although Alice Sangerman was a spoiled brat, a rich girl who, for all her playing at soldier, could never handle the years of violence that he had known, she did not fit the shape of those Laird could allow himself to see justice in killing. Not without much greater reason than possible legal troubles.

  He vowed then that if Michel Thorn brought her to him breathing, he would do what he could to let her stay that way. At least until I get to the actual bottom of this mess!

  Chapter 12, It Must Have Been the Roses

  Alice

  Alice tossed and turned. She knew she dreamed, and she didn’t want to wake up. She lay in her room back in her father’s house in Barnstable, on Cape Cod, and she felt surprised she could remember it. She heard a woman talking to a man, and she recognized her parents’ voices. As the sun rose, she saw herself from above, in a white room, with lace curtains. She was small, covered in linen sheets. A vase of roses stood by her bed, and the sweet smell wrinkled her nose. Her mother and father spoke about something important, something about… a dragon?

  Their voices faded as she heard a new sound, thumping, like drums? Then she noticed she rocked to the same rhythm. It felt like the motion of waves on the water.

 
Alice opened her eyes then, and a beam of red light stabbed in from a small oval window, from what must be the rising sun. Now she lay on a blue mattress with a shell pattern, and then she noticed she had drooled in her sleep, a pool beneath her chin. She sat up and almost hit her head on the low ceiling. She was definitely in a boat, and not a large one.

  She looked over the edge of the bed and recoiled, seeing an old porta-potty bolted to the deck. She looked toward her left and saw a small sink and counter with a pump-action faucet. She found the source of the rose smell there, a small, purple air freshener, gamely working to hold back the cabin’s other smells of fish, potty, and sweat. They were stronger and meaner than the sickly sweet artificial scent.

  A black door stood next to the sink, and she could hear the scratchy sound of a two-way radio on an open channel somewhere beyond it.

  Alice curled her legs under her and took stock. The dragon necklace still hung around her neck, but the stuffing she had used to make herself look chubby and her oversized dress were gone. The shorts and T-shirt she had worn underneath remained. The purse she had carried to Guzman’s, and the Centennial pistol inside it, were also gone. Good thing I left Ami and my money in the trunk of the rental car!

  She noticed a plastic box on the white shelf at the foot of the berth. She rolled over to it and quietly opened it. Along with lures, weights, and hooks, there was an eight-inch-long curved fillet knife. She gripped the slim blade in her hand and positioned herself by the cabin door. She poised her foot to kick it outward. Just then a voice called from outside, a man’s voice sounding both tired and strong.

  “I hear you moving around down there. Please don’t go kicking my door out, okay? It’s fragile, and I just fixed it.”