‘Maybe they’re just having a dance on their night off,’ Czarina said. ‘Operative summer break. Except in, you know, winter.’
‘I doubt that,’ Sophia said.
Czarina glared at her. ‘I was joking.’
‘You’re always joking,’ Ieva said, offering her phone.
Sophia took Ieva’s phone. Onscreen was a young girl, Priya, with wide eyes, thick dark hair that spilled over warm sienna cheeks, and the hint of a smirk. Sophia flicked to the next photo. Also as a young girl, Loren had a pink, pointed nose and wavy ash hair. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was a start. The third photo was of Tetsuya as an adult. He had eyebrows like black feathers and a soft, rounded chin, but his dark amber eyes carried a quiet confidence. If Sophia could find him, she could find the others.
‘That seem weird to you?’ Czarina asked. ‘If this place was their operation, they’d take an alternate entry.’
Their operative tracking map did just that—track the location of all the Fifth Column operatives, but it didn’t divulge any details of their operations. They had to figure that out on their own.
‘Cache your weapons in the car,’ Sophia said. ‘We’re lining up.’
Czarina and Ieva exchanged a glance.
‘You want us to line up and go in there?’ Ieva asked.
‘It will be quicker than sneaking in. Do you have an objection?’
‘Yeah.’ Czarina leaned against the car. ‘My objection is this is a super bad idea.’
Sophia stashed her pistol and knives under her seat. ‘Then what do you suggest, we go home and drink tea?’
‘Yes!’ Ieva nodded enthusiastically. ‘I like that idea.’
Czarina sighed. ‘She was joking.’
‘But Sophia never jokes,’ Ieva said.
‘I joke,’ Sophia said. ‘Sometimes.’
Czarina pointed to the line. ‘Us lining up out there, that’s a joke, right?’
‘No.’ Sophia shut her door. ‘I hope you two brought dancing shoes.’
Czarina and Ieva stared at her.
‘That was a joke.’
The dance hall resembled some sort of Medieval cathedral. Looming before them, concrete walls and metal staircases with hard lines and rough edges. With their phones tagged and bagged by the cloakroom attendant, they were granted access to the depths of the Nightcrawler. The lower half of the nightclub shivered a fiery red, while the upper level pulsed a cool blue.
‘So,’ Czarina said into Sophia’s ear. ‘Have you ever been to a place like this?’
Around them, the hall rippled with face-pounding electronica and dazed patrons whirling over each other. A selection of dancers and performers, elevated above the crowd, stretched and contorted on square concrete platforms.
‘Of course I have,’ Sophia said as they stepped through a dark curtain.
Before them, a uniformed woman knelt behind a man wearing nothing but his mustache, and fisted him with a lubricated hand.
‘Maybe not quite like this,’ Sophia said.
Ieva squeezed between Sophia and Czarina, saw the mustached man brace himself. ‘Oh. So I guess tonight isn’t Bingo night.’
Sophia retreated from the room with her. ‘Have you seen them yet?’
Ieva shook her head. Czarina was still watching from behind the curtain.
Sophia pulled her by the arm. ‘Hey, are you with us?’
Czarina looked mesmerized. ‘Uh, I think so.’
‘Stay together,’ Sophia said. ‘We check everyone.’
Blending in was difficult when the crowd was a disconcerting jumble of shirtless glittering patrons dressed in a variety of uniforms. Sophia weaved around them, checking every face and evading their erratic, unapologetic dancing.
The dance hall was large, but it trickled off into dark alcoves. She led the impatient Czarina and unwilling Ieva deep into the lower level. On a raised stage, under a lighting rig, a DJ wore bug-eyed goggles. Dancers writhed around Sophia, scented with perfume and sweat. A woman dressed as Peter Pan blew glitter into the air. Sophia felt it settle on her lips.
The music swelled and the dance floor became a frenzy of elbows and hips. She wiped her face.
‘You need to start dancing,’ Czarina said.
Czarina was already moving in rhythm with everyone, her limbs jerking awkwardly.
If dance moves could kill, Sophia thought.
Ieva found herself in a competitive dance-off with an energetic young man in knee socks, shorts and a red feather in his hat. His bony elbows were a blur. Nearby, Czarina joined a pair of women in suits, one with purple hair tied in a ponytail and the other with short brown hair and burgundy lips that matched the handkerchief in her breast pocket. They smiled at Czarina and parted to accept her.
Sophia felt suddenly awkward, so she slipped to the edge of the crowd to have a better look around. In the blue level above, balconies overlooked the dance hall. Not a bad place for an operative to identify someone, but only a few people lingered for more than a moment. Smoke machines poured tangerine clouds overhead and Sophia saw nothing more from above.
When she looked at the people around her, she was surprised to discover she could not only smell their emotions with her inherent ability—she could now see them. Color overlapped and bled from the dancers, washing over her. Their psychoactive euphoria looked to her like dusted sugar. It floated past, tasting sweet on her lips. Whatever Peter Pan had blown in her face, it wasn’t glitter. Something was messing with her enhanced senses, but it wasn’t dulling them. It was sharpening everything.
What the hell was in that glitter? DMT?
She tried not to panic, turned her body in increments, seeking the operatives. If they were close, she would find them. Their emotions would be different. They would shimmer with cortisol, only without the softened edge of alcohol. Standing on the perimeter of the dance floor, Sophia searched for their sharp edges. Only now she would see instead of smell it.
There.
Above her, two figures watched from the mezzanine. One cradled a drink.
The music dropped low and strobe lights pulsed fiercely, making everything stutter. Sophia focused on the pallid face of a middle-aged man wearing an ill-fitted white shirt—or pale blue, she couldn’t be sure in the fluorescence—and a little black bow tie. He danced with his eyes closed, glitter smeared across his cheek.
A pair of women in naval uniforms— blue, gold and silver—slinked around him. One was taller, her movements gentle and enchanting. She had ash brown hair, but it wasn’t wavy. Three silver stars on her shoulder made her a Vice Admiral.
Her shorter counterpart had shortly cropped hair and short sleeves that revealed sienna arms. She danced boldly in front of Bow Tie Man, with parted lips and a gold bar on her shoulder, making her an Ensign. Sophia didn’t see a soft edge on the women, but strangely she didn’t see a serrated edge either.
Smoke poured through the hall, obscuring the women on the dance floor. On the mezzanine above, a lone figure still watched.
The lighting shifted and suddenly Sophia could see those weird auras again. From their heads to their fingertips, everyone was luminous at their core, half of them carrying different hues and shapes. She looked down at her own arms. Blues, oranges and purples crackled off her fingertips, and her chest quivered brightly.
Something was wrong.
Her awareness pushed back, and she shouldered her way through the crowd, stumbled, almost knocked someone over. Czarina.
Her colleague held her up, mouthed the words: They’re here.
Sophia nodded. Ieva appeared beside her. Sophia felt everything begin to congeal around her. She had her world together again.
Smoke poured through the crowd, obscuring faces and movement. Sophia breathed, focused. They couldn’t stand here forever. She remembered the Vice Admiral and Ensign dancing with Bow Tie Man and cut a path back toward them. The women danced with him, but he barely acknowledged them.
Ieva’s former dancing partner—the young man in knee
-socks and shorts—shimmied through the smoke. He circled around Bow Tie Man, paused for a moment, then switched to the Vice Admiral and Ensign. He brushed his back against the Admiral’s, his legs lightly touching hers. Through the smoke, Sophia saw a small movement: the dancer’s hand slipped between their backs and—in the space of a single strobe pulse—removed a fold of Euro bills from her uniform pocket.
Sophia knew a talented pickpocket when she saw one. She’d learned a few tricks herself as a kid, courtesy of the Romanies in outer Prague. The pressure between their bodies would’ve made the man’s grab undetectable, and the Admiral wouldn’t have noticed.
Except she did.
The Vice Admiral turned on her heel. Her arm weaved around him. The pickpocket’s mouth popped open like the mouth of a milk carton and he tumbled forward. The Vice Admiral pocketed her money, but she took a moment to apologize and help him to his feet. The pickpocket recovered and flashed her a smug grin, then disappeared—unaware he’d been pickpocketed in return.
Czarina and Ieva appeared on either side of Sophia. Together, they watched the Admiral and Ensign resume their dancing. Their noose around Bow Tie Man constricted just a bit more.
Up on the mezzanine, that single figure was still looking down. A drink no longer in hand, not even a pretense at moving in time with the music. He didn’t look self-conscious, just focused. Sophia tried to pick out detail in his silhouette, but all she could see was his thin jacket, which he hadn’t shed in the cloakroom.
You only wear a jacket inside if you expect to be leaving in a hurry.
‘We have them,’ Sophia said.
Chapter Eleven
Las Vegas, United States
‘Damien?’ Aviary lowered her pistol. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Rescuing you?’ Damien said.
Two marines stood in the room with Aviary, but they weren’t there to capture her. Schofield and Gunn served with Aviary’s brother in the USMC’s Force Reconnaissance, but now they were with the resistance. They stood guard over Hal, the suited man from the elevator. He was bound, gagged, blindfolded and breathing slowly. He appeared to be taking a nap.
‘You’re alive!’ She lunged for Nasira and hugged her. ‘So glad you’re OK.’
Nasira closed the door behind them and shot Damien a puzzled glance. He pretended not to notice.
Aviary released Nasira, but her eyes were wide. ‘What about Jay?’
Damien looked over at Hal.
‘He’s sedated,’ Schofield said. ‘And don’t worry, we won’t kill him.’
‘I wasn’t worried,’ Damien said.
‘Jay’s here in Vegas with us,’ Nasira said.
Aviary relaxed. ‘Good.’
‘You missed the party,’ Gunn said.
Schofield slapped Damien’s shoulder. ‘Welcome back.’
‘Is someone going to tell us what’s going on here?’ Damien asked.
‘Short version: they kidnapped me.’ Aviary wiped blood from her septum ring. ‘Long version: I’ll explain later.’
Gunn stepped behind Aviary and half unzipped the small backpack on her shoulders. It was a black military-grade rucksack Damien had modified for her when he last visited. It was water-resistant and low profile, holding a modest sixteen liters and a bombproof compartment against her back for concealing a laptop or tablet. Like most special forces medical rucks, it opened flat to reveal several rows of webbing lined with cables and devices.
Gunn zipped it back up, leaving a small hole for a slender rubber antenna to protrude.
‘Before you ask, there aren’t any operatives floating around,’ Aviary said.
‘You don’t know that,’ Nasira said. ‘We gotta move.’
Aviary held up a finger. ‘One sec.’
‘Tablet’s a bit scuffed but it’s secure,’ Gunn said.
Aviary chewed her lip. ‘Yeah, I kinda beat him with it.’
Damien nodded. ‘Tablets are good improvised weapons.’
‘You get the database encryption keys?’ Gunn asked her.
‘Hell and yes.’ Aviary took a silver watch from Gunn and slipped it over her wrist.
‘You’re accessorizing?’ Damien asked.
‘It’s a modified smartwatch. Which controls my modified phone.’ Aviary eyed his marine uniform. ‘Says the guy constantly stealing other men’s clothes.’
‘Dressing up is a liberating experience,’ Schofield said, inspecting their stolen marine uniforms. ‘Right, Damien?’
‘Yeah. Wait, what database?’ Damien asked.
‘I’ll explain later.’
‘Good to see you’re all right,’ Nasira said.
Aviary fist-bumped her. ‘Yeah, I’m pretty pleased about that too.’ She glowered at Damien. There was no fist bump for him.
‘Look, it was dangerous in Central America,’ Damien said.
Nasira sighed. ‘Colombia’s not Central America.’
Gunn pointed to the sedated Fifth Column agent, Hal. ‘Want us to finish him off?’
‘No,’ Aviary said. ‘We got what we came for. We don’t need to do that.’
‘We haven’t got what we came for,’ Schofield said.
‘Represent,’ Gunn said.
Aviary gripped Schofield’s elbow. ‘You will. We’re not leaving until you do.’
‘So I guess you didn’t need us then,’ Damien said.
‘I needed you a while ago.’ Aviary opened the door.
Schofield and Gunn moved into the corridor, pistols aimed at the bound marines as they wriggled across the carpet. There was a protrusion across Schofield and Gunn’s shoulder blades where they carried concealed swords.
Aviary led them down the corridor, back to the elevator lobby. She stepped inside an open elevator and called out, ‘Get in!’
Damien stepped in beside her and Nasira, while Schofield and Gunn took the other corners.
‘Marines will be waiting for you on the first floor,’ Gunn said.
‘We’re going below ground,’ Aviary said.
Schofield gave a sharp nod. ‘You can drop us at twenty-two.’
‘Special occasion?’ Nasira asked.
‘Got some friends who need fresh air,’ Gunn said.
Aviary nudged Nasira. ‘Part of the plan, don’t worry.’
‘Not worried at all,’ Damien said, worried.
From the back of his vest, Gunn unsheathed what looked to be a dark angular sword with teeth and handed it to Damien.
Nasira stared at it. ‘What the hell is that? A medieval chainsaw?’
It was shorter than a broadsword and made of hardwood. Embedded in the blade, fragments of super-sharp obsidian glinted under the elevator light.
‘Maquahuitl sword.’ Schofield handed his sword to Nasira. ‘Aviary can take care of their firearms, but you need to do the rest. Word of advice, these are sharper than any steel blade.’
‘The obsidian sometimes snags on armor, though, so you can keep it in the sheath and beat them down,’ Gunn said. ‘That way no brother’s gonna die.’
Damien slipped the sword over one shoulder to test it. He didn’t want to dismember himself as he ran, but the sheath felt firm and secure. ‘We can stay up here. Help you guys first.’
‘Aviary’s risked enough for us,’ Schofield said. ‘But you can help get her out of here. And if I were you, I’d do that now.’
‘Alive would be good,’ Aviary quipped.
‘See you on the other side,’ Schofield said.
Schofield and Gunn nodded to Aviary and stepped out at Level 22. Aviary hit the button and the doors closed, then switched her attention to her smartwatch. The elevator plunged downward.
‘What are you doing?’ Damien asked.
‘Locking the other elevators,’ she said. ‘And giving us priority movement to the basement. From there we can move to the next building. All the different buildings are connected here, so I’m thinking we can escape through a casino or something.’
‘That could work. We got Jay on wheels,’
Nasira said. ‘He can extract.’
The elevator levels ticked down. ‘Are Schofield and Gunn going to be OK?’ Damien asked.
Aviary nodded. ‘Only way I could convince them to let me be captured by the Fifth Column. So they could rescue their friends.’
‘Wait, you wanted to be captured?’ Damien asked.
‘A tablet like Hal’s isn’t easy to come by.’ Aviary turned to face him. ‘So why are you back? You rescued Nasira and Jay, you didn’t need to—’
‘Hold up.’ Nasira glared at Damien. ‘You told her you were rescuing me?’
‘I told you I’d come back,’ Damien said to Aviary, pointedly ignoring Nasira.
‘Yeah, but it’s not like you were serious,’ Aviary said. ‘We both know I’d slow you down.’
‘You should’ve brought her with you,’ Nasira said.
‘And do what?’ Damien asked.
Aviary snorted. ‘I can do things.’
‘Nasira, you’re not helping.’ He turned to Aviary. ‘It was dangerous.’
Nasira arched an eyebrow. ‘And this isn’t?’
Damien held his hands up in defense. ‘I didn’t know you were going to voluntarily sacrifice yourself to the Fifth Col—’
‘Damien, shut your mouth,’ Nasira said, turning to Aviary. ‘We need your skills. That’s why we’re back.’
‘Right, so the only reason you want me is so I can crack my way through something.’
‘I thought that’s what you wanna hear?’ Nasira said. ‘That we need you?’
‘You need me?’
‘We do.’
‘What for?’
‘The people who took Jay,’ Nasira said. ‘They’re a company based in Brazil. They stole something from him and we need it back.’
The elevator reached the basement, but Aviary jammed her finger on the button to keep the doors closed. ‘What did they take?’
‘His abilities,’ Damien said.
‘They can do that?’
Damien handed Aviary his pistol. ‘Ask Jay yourself.’
Aviary looked down at the weapon. ‘Sure you’re feeling OK?’
‘You might need it,’ he said.
Exile Page 7
