by Attard, Ryan
“Oh, for chrissakes, not this again!” Nick dropped the tablet on the table and shook his head exasperatedly. “There are no aliens. All I see is a whole load of black.”
“It’s called ‘antimatter’,” Briggs replied. “Remains of stars, planets, et cetera.” His eyes were cold and hard, as if challenging Nick to question him.
Nick cocked his head, and glanced back at the picture on the tablet. “So, these guys are, what? World destroyers?”
“We’re not sure,” Excalibur said. “Maybe the planets were simply shifted to another dimension. But the more plausible explanation is that they were destroyed.” She shrugged. “Either way, it does not look good for the future of mankind.”
Briggs took the tablet again and gently tapped it, until he found the information he was looking for.
“It doesn’t matter what they want,” he said. “Officially, the world doesn’t know, or care, about aliens that are hundreds of light-years away. That’s thousands—millions—of years away from Earth. Our planet would turn into an empty husk long before that time; or at least it will, if we keep up the current pace.”
Briggs took the tablet back and shut it off. “We need to worry about surviving now, before we can worry about surviving the future. We need clean, renewable energy, which is exactly what these artifacts have. Mankind needs an ace to save the planet, and we need it yesterday. This technology could be the key to our survival. And we know for sure that it triggers an evolution in mankind—just look at yourself.” He gave Nick a meaningful look. “That’s why you should help us, Professor Solomon. For the future of mankind.”
Stunned silence fell in the room, and for a long while all Nick could hear was his own breathing as he struggled to make sense of what Briggs had just told him.
“Good pitch,” he finally said.
“Thank you,” the director replied. “I meant it.”
“Okay, so let me get this straight.” Nick rubbed the bridge of his nose and looked the large black man sitting in front of him in the eyes. “You think that a bunch of planet-munching aliens have our planet on their menu, and somehow, you wanna use me—who you think is some sort of super-genius—to help a Spanish millionaire megalomaniac find a fictional city, in hopes that an ancient, whack-job secret society hid an alien device in there. And that same device is the key save our planet, both the Greenpeace and Silver Surfer kind of way.”
Nick shook his head. “How long has it been since your last psychological evaluation, Director?”
Briggs gave him a smile that reminded Nick of a great white shark. “I assure you, Mr. Solomon, I am quite sane,” he replied. “Although, admittedly, some degree of mental flexibility is required for this job.”
Nick scoffed at him. “Is that what they’re calling it now? Mental flexibility, my ass.”
Excalibur drummed her fingers impatiently on the table. “Let’s stop this song and dance, shall we?” she said, glaring at Nick. “Both you and I know you’re going to take this job. For one thing, you don’t really have a choice. But at the end of the day, you are going to do what we’re asking of you because you want the thrill of the adventure, and no amount of college shags and tequila shots are going to give that.”
Nick started at her, speechless, until he turned towards Briggs and said, “I don’t like that she’s in my head. Is she allowed to do that?”
“Yup,” Briggs casually replied.
Nick shook his head and sighed. “Fine. You’re right, I’ll take it.” He yawned and stretched his arms, trying to act as casual as he could. “Just so you know, I still don’t see a happy ending to this.”
Briggs shot him a grin. “Don’t worry. They may have starships and better tech, but we got a few tricks up our sleeve, too.”
“I’m scared to even ask what they are,” Nick said.
The director smiled. “Then, you are a genius after all. Now, time to go play nice with the crazy white guy.”
Chapter 22
“Mister Solomon!”
Astrid’s voice echoed over the Ponte Degli Scalzi, in Venice, Italy. The constantly crowded tourist site was a never-ending chorus of voices, snapping cameras and small handheld fans buzzing against the Mediterranean heat, so having one overly dressed Spaniard and yelling out was really not an issue. Especially when in Italy, where everyone seemed to only know how to communicate at a high decibel level.
Still, Nick winced as Astrid yelled his name over the Ponte.
“It’s Professor Solomon,” he muttered half-heartedly, knowing he might as well have been trying to talk to the rack of cheap plastic Venusian masks on the vendor’s stall nearby.
Astrid came over, flanked by two bodyguards, and hugged Nick. “I am so glad that you changed your mind. Again,” he said, beaming widely. “For a scholar, you seem to be quite unsure of where you stand.”
Nick smiled, resisting the urge to punch the millionaire in the nose. Once again he thought of where he should have been by now had he not been dragged on this stupid mission: club, concert, after-party, then, hopefully, nestled between some groupie’s legs. And maybe if he had a bit too much Jager, he’d pass out next to said woman.
Or women. He wasn’t picky.
But instead, Nick had been forced to travel across the globe, while blackmailed into working with this jackass.
“There were extenuating circumstances,” he said.
Astrid leaned closer. “The American government?”
“They held me in a room and asked me to tell them all I told you,” Nick said.
“And did you?”
“What could I tell them, Astrid?” Nick replied with a raised eyebrow. “That you have a couple of coins and a yellowed piece of parchment that may or may not lead to fiction city of gold?”
Astrid smiled innocently. “Well, when you put it like that, it does sound silly.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“So, why are you here, then?”
The corners of Nick’s mouth bent into a rebellious smile. “Because they told me to stay out of it,” he said. “That makes me think there’s something real going on here. And as we both know, I don’t do well with authority.”
Astrid chuckled. “I love it when defiance works in my favor.” He held out a hand, inviting Nick into a limo that hadn’t been there a few seconds ago. “This way, please.”
Astrid dropped Nick off at the marina, one hour’s drive away from the Ponte, and instructed him to enter the only boathouse there. Before Nick could ask anything, Astrid and his ostentatious limo were already driving off, leaving Nick with no idea what was expected of him.
He growled and made his way to the vessel. He immediately noticed the boathouse was not adequate for open waters. Most likely they were going to relocate to a different marina, far from tourist eyes.
The group of four people inside the boathouse looked like the cast from a heist movie. The first guy Nick saw had thick glasses and a plaid shirt, and looked just about as interesting as a cardboard box.
Another was perhaps fifty years old, and Nick thought he looked a lot like Jeremy Irons, if Jeremy Irons had never visited the gym a day in his life.
The remaining pair was as unique a couple as they come. The woman looked like a Roman goddess and had a figure that would put any sex symbol or supermodel to shame. Long, flowing, dark hair, olive skin, and a pair of chocolate-brown eyes that made Nick’s heart skip a beat. Her curvaceous body was enough to make every man, and certain women, drool. Nick half-expected to see a crowd of lustful people assembling outside the boathouse, hoping to catch a glimpse of this wondrous specimen of the female beauty.
She was sitting next to an immaculate man with chiseled features and a body that belonged on a gay porn set. For a moment, Nick had forgotten about her and was about to start questioning his sexuality. The couple were snuggled together on a couch, pressing against each other as if they could barely control the urge to jump each others’ bones.
Nick was rudely snapped out o
f his daze by Astrid, who’s face suddenly appeared on the laptop on the coffee table. Everyone snapped at attention, which told Nick that none of them were given too much information as to what they were supposed to do in Venice.
“Ladies and gentlemen. I am glad you could all make it,” Astrid said. “Before we embark on our mission, let us get some introductions over with. For the duration of our mission we will be using codenames and numerical designation for each member, or unit.”
Astrid cleared his throat.
“The lovely couple over there,” he said, motioning to the female supermodel and Greek god statue, “will be acting as unit number one. Codename: Distraction.”
Astrid pointed at Nick. “Our young friend over there is unit number two. Codename: Professor.”
Oh, so now I’m the professor, Nick thought with an internal smile.
“The gentleman over there,” Astrid continued, pointing at the Jeremy Irons lookalike, “is number three. Codename: Locksmith.”
“And finally-” Astrid pointed at the nerdy kid with the pimples, glasses and plaid shirt, “-is number four. Codename: Circuits.”
“And what shall we call you?” Locksmith asked.
Nick smiled when he heard the man’s thick Australian accent. This is starting to look like a bad heist movie, he thought.
Astrid’s smile never faded, but Nick caught a subtle eye twitch. “You may call me Boss,” Astrid replied dryly.
Circuits giggled, earning him a dirty look from Locksmith.
“Now, if there are no more concerns,” Astrid said, “let us get down to business. The item we seek is currently located in the private exhibition hall of a certain Guillermo Del Saccho, a local politician with strong influences. He fancies himself something of a socialite, often throwing fancy masked balls in Venusian tradition. Tonight, he is hosting one such event. You are all to infiltrate the party as guests, with the exception of Circuits. Number One will mingle and be the center of attention. Meanwhile, Number Two and Three are to sneak inside the hall. Once inside, Locksmith is to act his namesake and enable Professor to access the item in question. Professor will be in charge of handling and delivering the item back to the boat, and then delivering it to me.”
“Wait, wait.” It was the attractive guy that spoke this time. “Why does he get to handle the item?” he asked with a thick Italian accent, and pointing at Nick. “Why do we have to trust him?”
Astrid frowned at him through the screen. “Because Professor is the only one who has yet to serve a prison sentence for scamming, burglary, and internet fraud,” he replied as he looked at the couple, Locksmith and Circuits respectively.
Nick looked at the rest of the group with a new perception. The old man fit the profile of a textbook burglar, while Circuits looked like someone who gets his jollies by hacking banks and getting new toys. That sad thing was, he probably did it to impress some girl that was way out of his league.
“Any more questions?” Astrid asked.
There was something else on Nick’s mind, and he decided to ask.
“Yeah,” he said, speaking for the first time since arriving on the boathouse. “Why aren’t you telling us all this face to face? Why the video conference?”
“Because I am currently on a plane to my dear Espana (Spain),” Astrid replied. “I just couldn’t bear to stay in Italy any longer, with its loud people and exuberance.”
Loud people and exuberance—talk about hypocrisy, Nick thought. The Spaniard had been the loudest person on the Ponte.
No, there had to be another reason. Astrid was using them as scapegoats, just in case it all went south.
“I hope you’re not planning some trick,” Nick said darkly.
“Oh, I assure you, my dear Professor, there is no foul play here. Now, good luck.” Astrid waved and the screen went blank.
The beautiful woman shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “This looks to be a simple mission,” she said in an equally thick Italian accent, matching her partner’s. “In and out, quick and dirty.”
“Just the way you like it,” her partner muttered with a perverted grin.
Nick resisted the temptation to roll his eyes.
“Yeah, in and out,” Locksmith echoed. “Let’s hope you don’t screw us over, Professor.”
Nick and Locksmith engaged in a glaring contest, and before Nick could reply in kind, the woman chimed in again.
“I am sure a handsome, good boy like him will not screw us.” She batted her eyelids seductively. “Or at least, if he does screw us, I hope it will be in a pleasant way.”
Nick shot a glance at her partner, who simply shrugged.
Locksmith scoffed at all of them. “Best we prepare,” he said, getting up and wandering into one of the cabins.
Circuits disappeared into a another cabin without saying a word and Nick got up, not wanting to be left alone with the Italian couple. The woman managed to slide her arm into Nick’s.
“Don’t worry, it’s very simple,” she said with a wink. “What could go wrong?”
Nick smiled and shrugged out of her grip.
“I guess we’ll find out,” he muttered, as he walked away.
Chapter 23
The mask irritated Nick to no end. He kept fidgeting with it, somehow making it even more uncomfortable than before. Locksmith walked next to him, wearing an Armani suit and an equally ostentatious mask, and smirked at the archaeologist.
“What are you smiling at?” Nick muttered. “You look like an extra from Rocky Horror.”
Locksmith said nothing, but raised his champagne glass and he flipped him the bird with his other hand.
“Play nice, boys,” the woman’s voice crackled through the Bluetooth earpiece in Nick’s ear.
Before exiting the barge, Circuits had outfitted them with an earpiece each, while he stayed on the boat not far from where the party was being held and hacked into the mansion’s mainframe.
The entire team was impeccably dressed and wore a traditional Venusian mask. They were issued with an invitation and entered separately. The Italian couple were the first to enter, instantly attracting everyone’s attention.
Nick and Locksmith were forced to stick together, much to their chagrin. The old man made his dislike of Nick clear. Or maybe it could be the old age and a lifetime of looking over his shoulder.
That would make anyone cranky.
“Whatever,” Nick said. “Let’s get this over with.”
“That’s the spirit,” Locksmith said.
“Just shut up and lead the way,” Nick replied. “Circuits, are we clear? Distraction, you guys set?”
“We are fine over here,” the woman replied. Nick observed the couple from his peripheral vision, and the disturbingly attractive man gave him a nod before joining his equally attractive female companion in an animated chat with some very important-looking people.
Locksmith put his champagne glass away and motioned Nick to follow him. Just like a scene from Pink Panther, Nick mused as he followed the old Australian to a less populated room.
Once they were completely alone, Nick tore off his ridiculous mask and stuffed it into the jacket of his suit. He hated dressing up like that. Give him a t-shirt, jeans, and leather jacket any day over the uncomfortable monkey suit.
“Second door to the right, gentlemen,” Circuits’s voice crackled through Nick’s earpiece. “I’m disabling the security feed and booting up the loop video. Locksmith, it’s up to you now.”
The two men followed the directions and stopped in front of a thick, ornate, oak door. Locksmith extracted a pouch from his inner pocket. It looked like a first-aid kit, but was instead full of miniature lock picks. He extracted a small, spoon-shaped one with a flat, reflective circle at the end, like the kind dentists use to check around the tooth, and slid it under the door.
“Tripwires,” he grunted by means as an explanation. Satisfied, he put away his tool and instead took out a couple of standard lock picks.
“If there is one thing t
hese aristocratic slime balls love,” Locksmith said as he pried the door’s keyhole, “it’s their antiques.”
The door clicked open, and the pair quickly shuffled inside.
The room they found themselves in was a vast collection of paintings and literature, most of it original.
“You got that right,” Nick said, as he ran over to a shelf. His curiosity got the better of him and he ran his fingers over a stack of paper. His eyes widened as he read the title.
“What is that?” Locksmith asked.
“An original draft of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein,” Nick replied, almost reverently.
“The monster book?”
“Yeah. This thing was auctioned off a few years ago. In the right market, this could be worth hundreds of thousands.” Nick looked around, wondering what other treasures he might stumble upon. “There must be at least four or five million bucks worth of stuff in this room.”
A sly smile appeared on Locksmith’s face. “Yeah, now this is more like it. How much do you think you can stuff in your pocket?”
Nick put the manuscript back in its place. “We are not taking anything. Let’s just find what we’re looking for and get out.”
“And what would that be, Professor?” the Australian asked.
Nick extracted his phone and tapped the screen, until he found the picture of the red ledger that Astrid had sent him.
“Another bloody book,” Locksmith complained.
“Just spread out and find it,” Nick said.
“Don’t boss me around, kid.”
“Hey, guys.” Circuits’s voice came through their earpieces, interrupting their cat fight. “You’ve only got a ten minute window, of which you already wasted three. Seven minutes and the alarms go back online.”
Locksmith glowered at Nick one final time and walked away. Nick took the other direction, looking amidst works of art and antiques, each one more valuable than the next.
“Oy. Over here,” he heard Locksmith loudly whisper. Nick hurried over to the source of the sound and saw the man standing next to a glass display.
Inside, was a thick ledger bound in red leather. The cover was heavily stained, clear proof of the book’s many voyages. The parchment inside was faded and yellowed, but there were pages that were clearly less ancient than the rest. Nick guessed those were later additions to the red book.
