Nobility

by Dana Lyons

  You’re off schedule.

  His breath caught. Sweat bloomed in his hands. I can’t stop now!

  Ever since he’d signed on for this project, he’d been working with two handlers; he just had to convince them he remained ready and in position. Quickly, he tapped in, Good to go. I have the package.

  He hit Send and held his breath, praying they didn’t cancel him. Damn you Simon if you screwed this for me. But the answer returned, Wrap the package. Sit tight.

  In a quick rush, he exhaled through pursed lips.

  * * *

  In a Similar Hotel Room Nearby

  One of Vince Harper’s handlers, code name Tom, sat back after reading the message board. “I can’t decide if Harper’s a genius or an idiot.”

  His partner, Jerry, laughed. “What’s he done now?”

  “Just says he’s got the package and he’s good to go. For Christ’s sake, he blew up his house. How does that sit at the top? I can’t believe they chose him for this.”

  “Knowing that is above our pay grade. If he’s good to go, tell him to wrap the package and sit tight.”

  Tom shot a glance at Jerry. “Do you think he’ll go through with it?”

  Jerry shrugged. “The shrinks say he will—he fits the profile to a T. I guess we’ll see at the airport.”

  * * *

  The DC Compound

  Dreya, Rhys, Quinn, and Simon returned home with a mixed bag of emotions. Simon’s disappointment was palpable even without her mind link, leaving him uninterested in reassurances they would get Harper. He ambled off to order dinner, his mind link closed.

  Quinn and Rhys asked, What can we do?

  We support him, she answered. That means we find Harper tomorrow.

  Their dinner order arrived. They spread out at the kitchen table and popped the cork on several bottles of red wine. The meal began in silence, but soon groans of delight for the food and grunts of appreciation for the wine eased the vibe.

  She checked her team. Rhys and Quinn were determined to catch Harper. Simon lagged behind with sinking defeat. Unwilling to let him flounder, she said, “We’ll do a search for Harper online and see where’s he’s been.”

  “He wasn’t much of a social media guy,” Simon offered.

  “Friends, family, girlfriends, enemies?” Rhys asked.

  “No family that I know of,” Simon answered. “As for friends, can’t have too many when you’re ripping them off. If he thinks you’re his enemy, he’ll avoid you.”

  “How about groups or organizations he might have joined, obsessions, maybe a hobby?” Quinn asked.

  “Guys, look, I’m beat,” Simon protested. “I’m ready for a shower and bed.”

  Dreya emptied her glass of wine. “Me, too. And I want everyone in bed tonight. I need my pack.”

  After her shower, she waited in bed for them to show up, continually surprised by the evolving pack dynamics.

  Being separated from them left her with a visceral response, one as strong as life or death. She had to be with them, couldn’t be without them. In these moments of deep gratitude, she always wondered about Nobility for humanity.

  What would the world be like under Nobility’s guiding hand?

  The door opened and Rhys walked in naked. He transitioned and hopped onto the bed. She patted the covers in front of her. He picked his way over, his bird legs navigating the treachery of bed covers, and nestled against her breast.

  Next Simon entered and transitioned before jumping on the bed. He stretched out in the middle with long cat arms and playfully reached for her fingers. She let him catch her and he pulled her hand in, purring and rubbing his face against her palm.

  Quinn came in and surveyed the lay of the land. He transitioned and jumped on the bed, claiming space at the head. He yawned, revealing a mouth full of sharp teeth and flopped down. He rolled onto his back and spread out, his tail brushing against her head.

  Brain waves fluctuated and their minds opened up, allowing a peaceful flow to circle through them. She registered Quinn’s happiness, picked up on Rhys’ contentment, and came to Simon’s slightly simmering peace. You’ll figure it out, she told him.

  Figure what out?

  She smiled and scratched his ear. When you figure it out, you’ll know.

  Silence was his response. But he was smart and she knew he would come to it in his own time and way. In the meantime, she wondered what the hell Harper was up to. Her highly tuned instincts also simmered, leaving her as uneasy as Simon.

  The next morning, not having slept well, she woke with Harper’s face in her mind. He had flitted through her dreams all night, elusive and dangerous, laughing at them.

  They went into the office and scattered to look for information on Harper. Quinn went on social media. Rhys began with calling the morgue for a body ID from the house explosion before doing a background and financial check. Simon went back on car rental and airline tickets, expanding his search.

  She knocked on Jarvis’ door.

  He motioned her in. “What’s going on with Harper?”

  “He led us on a roundabout chase and dropped us in a black hole.”

  “I saw the forensics report on the body from the house,” Jarvis replied. “With the head missing, I think we can add murder to Harper’s sheet. Since he’s going to so much trouble to lose you, he must have something big to cover up.”

  “That’s what I think and it’s making me nervous.”

  “Then find him.”

  In her office, they combed every resource possible. Other than his criminal profile, Harper was invisible. “What did the coroner say?” Simon asked. “Do we have an ID?”

  “Nothing confirmed,” Rhys said. “They never found the head so dental is out. What pieces they have don't add up to enough for an identify. And it’s all too charred to do DNA. As for Harper’s financials, I found no recent large bank deposits or purchases.”

  “For now, Jarvis wants us to proceed with the John Doe as a victim of Harper’s,” Dreya said.

  “There are no rental cars or tickets bought within a hundred miles of DC in any of Harper’s known aliases,” Simon added.

  “I’m no help,” Quinn said. “Facial and keystroke recognition programs are still scanning social media with nothing so far.”

  Dreya cocked her head and added up what they had.

  Zip. Nada. Zilch.

  When you had nothing, you had nothing. Every good agent faced that hopeless moment and the smart ones called it a day, otherwise you burned out.

  Her team waited patiently for the next move. The responsibilities of alpha were often times heavy, and, other times like now, beneficial. “I want a steak and a big fat baked potato, and chocolate cupcakes after dinner. Are there enough of you to pull that off?”

  With a rush, Rhys and Quinn were already out the door. She caught up with Simon. Do you really think Harper can evade all of us for much longer? “He’s in my sights, Simon.” She V-ed her fingers and pointed to her eyes. “He’s not getting away.”

  In spite of her encouragement, he offered a weak smile and nodded, saying half-heartedly, “Of course.”

  Producing dinner in a pack effort eased their stress. Simon claimed to be a cupcake master, while Quinn reigned as grill king. Rhys got the potatoes in the oven and started on the salad.

  She sat back with a glass of wine. The common effort between them was a beautiful thing to witness. There existed no backbiting or jealousy, no power grabs or inequality. Three alpha males with a mutual purpose—to protect the pack and her above all else.

  Simon finished frosting his cupcakes and set them on a plate. He stared off, lost in memory. When he returned to the present, his gaze fell on her. She V-ed her fingers and pointed to him. I see you.

  He grinned. Come to dinner, princess.

  It was all she asked for. Crisp salad, steaks charred to perfection, potatoes dripping with butter and covered with cheese, bacon, and green onions. By the time the garlic bread rounded the table, two b
ottles of red wine had been poured and the robust banter begun.

  “I keep telling you Rhys,” Quinn stated. “That beard makes you look like a raven even when you’re human.”

  Rhys pointed his fork at Quinn. “And your rear end wiggles like you have a tail, even when you’re human.”

  They laughed and made faces, strengthening the pack bond. The energy connecting them tapped into her telepathy, bringing their minds closer. Comfort and peace and purpose surrounded them. Underlying this flowed a single thread of common purpose.

  Tomorrow we find Harper.

  * * *

  “My last night,” Vince said. “Tomorrow everything changes.” He gazed about his hotel room seeing everything ready to go tomorrow. He’d finished the cigar box wrap. It was a sheet of cellophane bearing Custom stamps from Cuba and the US. Once he had it done, the box looked like a present straight out of the Cuban gift shop.

  He had to wonder how deep, how far and how high the powers behind this operation ran. In the morning, he’d fly into an as yet unknown airport and disperse the contents of the cigar tube.

  How I lucked out for this gig. No more crime. No more scrambling. Just early retirement with a golden parachute.

  His watch alarm beeped. He opened the laptop and checked for his next instructions. The page loaded and he logged in.

  A ticket under your new identity at counter.

  Shenandoah security check in: the x-ray machine will be non-operational when you pass through. Mention to the TSA agent searching your bag that the cigar is for your father.

  Arrive Dulles 12:06 PM. Open package, remove glass vial. Spritz as you walk through crowd, or shatter. Vial is delicate.

  He exhaled in a rush through pursed lips, forgetting he held his breath. What is it, he wondered.

  Virus? Anthrax?

  “Not my call,” he muttered, but still his heart pounded and a roar filled his ears.

  How many will die?

  “Not me,” he whispered.

  * * *

  Dreya slept uneasily even though her pack surrounded her and woke in the dark of night. She glanced at the clock.

  3:15. The witching hour. Why am I awake?

  She kicked her leg out and it swept through cool sheets.

  Simon?

  Sometimes you have to sweep the board clean to make room for new players.

  She sat up. What are you talking about?

  “I think I have something. And it’s not good. Come see,” he said from the doorway. His voice stirred Rhys and Quinn. She added, I need everyone up. Show time.

  A flurry of activity brought them clothed and awake into the office. Simon passed around coffee cups while they settled in. “I couldn’t sleep. Something kept nagging at me,” he began. “I couldn’t figure out how they were communicating if not by social media, cell phone, or email.” He tapped on the keyboard. A gaming page came up.

  “What’s this?” Quinn asked.

  “It’s a game we played in college, so that tells you how old it is,” he answered. “I was surprised to see it active.” He changed the page. “This is the message board we used to post notices and bullshit.”

  A string of testosterone-fueled quips went by as he scrolled to a point and stopped. “This is where messages ended a decade ago. And here’s where new messages began two years ago.”

  Dreya set her cup down and leaned forward, silently mouthing the words. Her gut clenched with alarm as she got to the end. “He’s been recruited.”

  “By?” Simon asked.

  Quinn said, “No telling. From the looks of this he’s got a handler, most likely two. There’s definitely big money behind this.”

  She glanced at Rhys. You know who this sounds like?

  “Yeah, Pantheon,” he said.

  “What would be Pantheon’s interests in this?” Quinn asked.

  Simon responded, “Pantheon has their hands deep in genetics. Big money. Big power. The kind of money and power that inspires people to think they can make decisions for other people. They like to talk the benefits and need for eugenics. Ask Lazar, he knows who they are.”

  “We don’t have any proof,” Dreya said.

  “If we officially call this in,” Rhys advised, “the power people will take over and any evidence will disappear.”

  “You think we can stop Vince by ourselves?” Simon asked.

  “We have to.” She stood. “Everyone get ready to leave in fifteen. I’ll call Jarvis. He’s the only one I trust, and we’re going to need leverage at Dulles.”

  She met the boys at the door with Rhys holding the keys. She loved how they worked in perfect synchronicity. “Let’s go.”

  On the way to Dulles, she called Jarvis. “Sir, we have a situation.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “We have evidence of a possible biological event at Dulles at noon.”

  “Make the calls, we’ll get biohazard up and ready,” he responded.

  She could hear him moving around, sitting up in bed and likely reaching for his glasses. “Sir, wait. We want to go in alone. We have reason to believe forces are at play here that are … extra-large.” She sucked in a quick breath and rushed on. “We want to see if we can contain the situation … and catch a trail.”

  Silence born from comprehension settled over the conversation. She’d already said a lot. Knowing they had to speak on an open line made the hairs lift on the back on her neck. Her heart hammered and her ears filled with pressure as she waited for his response.

  “What’s your plan?”

  “We go in undercover and try to intercept Harper. I’ll put Rhys in the air out front. Inside, Harper has a handler so Quinn’s going for him. Simon and I are after Harper.”

  Another stretch of silence passed.

  Untold loss of life, financial and commercial chaos, and everyone’s career hung in the balance of this decision. “Are you sure? This isn’t a suicide mission, you got that, Love?”

  She watched the countryside speed by. They were going to face an unknown biohazard event with only themselves between it and the public. The pressure of responsibility weighed on her.

  In this moment of crisis, Nobility rode at her side, backing her, just like her pack. Her heart calmed and her gut instincts said she was doing the right thing, because Nobility stood between her and this threat. If there’s anything I’d bet my life on, beside my pack, it’s Nobility.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” she answered. “We’re already on our way.”

  “Then I’ll call Dulles and clear it for you.”

  “Thank you. We’ll be in touch.”

  “Do I have to tell you to be careful?”

  “No, sir.”

  * * *

  Vince gazed at a world going by on his way to the airport, a world that would never be the same. Nations would be shaken, economies and currencies would collapse, all to pave the way for a new normal to be dictated and implemented.

  I’m just a soldier on the front lines.

  At the airport, he collected his ticket and approached the security check point. An older man with silver hair searched the carry-on luggage, inspecting all contents.

  Vince kept his face calm even though his heart pounded with adrenaline. Here was the final point where failure might occur—or success, all depending on the reach of those in charge of the operation. He placed his bag on the conveyor.

  “Unzip it, please,” the man said. He wore gloves and he smiled, a figure of authority.

  Vince knew now was his moment to shine; he’d been practicing for this all his life. “Morning.” He peered at the name tag. “Morning, Todd.” He unzipped his bag and laid it open.

  “Anything sharp in here?” Todd riffled around the perimeter of the bag, digging in.

  “Nothing sharp, Todd. Just a change of clothes and a cigar for my Dad.”

  Todd extracted the cigar box from the clothing. He peered at the customs stamps and tested the wrapping. “My son brought me a cigar from Cuba just like this. I enjoyed the heck
out of it.” He gave the package another once-over before placing it back in the luggage. “I hope your father enjoys the cigar as much as I did mine. Have a good trip.”

  Vince pulled his bag off to the side to repack it, heart banging and waves crashing in his ears. His hands shook and he ordered himself, Get it together!

  Once his backpack was returned to order, he made his way to the boarding gate. For a regional airport, it was quite busy, with the entire waiting area packed. He leaned against a wall, leaving seats for the women and children and the elderly.

  In spite of this consideration, he felt no remorse for causing their deaths. The decision of who lived and who didn’t had been made by those who held the power and authority to do so. As a lowly soldier, his conscience was clear.

  He gazed about. Families with children, couples, the occasional single traveler, all whose lives were about to step off a cliff.

  Sometimes you have to sweep the board clean.

  5

  Rhys pulled up to the security parking at Dulles and they all got out. Dreya presented her badge to the TSA agent at the door. “We’ve been expecting you, Agent. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to our security chief, Sam Collins.”

  He led them to an office nearby. “Chief, the FBI is here, sir.”

  She and her team filled the room, the four of them each imposing in their own way. She cocked her hip, exposing her badge. “Special Agent Love.”

  “What does the FBI need from Dulles?”

  She ignored the snip of attitude. “Thank you. My team and I are expecting an individual arriving at 12:06 and we wish to talk with this person.” She cut it off, waiting to see how many more questions would come.