by Dakota Banks
Whoa! Is it too dangerous to send him with the team?
Her thoughts raced. She had nothing but what Master Liu had said to go on, that Jake was using her team to keep her, and that he wasn’t through with her yet.
The more interested in me he stays the better. Time for some manipulation of my own.
She put her arms around him and rested her head against his chest. “I’ve missed you so much.” Using her body to protect her friends didn’t even ring a muted alarm bell.
“I love you, Maliha,” he said.
“You don’t have to be at the hospital for another forty-five minutes,” she said.
He caressed her hair. “You okay? Green light?”
“Burning bright.”
He swept her up in his arms and headed for the bedroom.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Maliha slept aboard her private jet on the way to Wellington, New Zealand. President Millhouse was making the same trip on Air Force One. His journey would be shorter, due to the longer flying range of Air Force One and its ability to refuel in flight, a luxury not shared by Maliha’s much smaller Cessna Citation XLS+.
The Citation’s range was about 2,100 miles, meaning it had to refuel three times en route for the 8,000-mile-plus trip. With nineteen hours of flight time, Maliha needed refreshed pilots and copilots, since one crew couldn’t go the distance. All of that was handled smoothly for her, so she could sleep through refueling and piloting shifts.
Mickey Deer was on board, and she talked with him about her background. Everything this time, including her age, her past occupation, and her current goals. He asked a few questions for clarification, but overall absorbed it well.
“I’ve believed in the supernatural for a long time,” he said, “ever since I saw my father’s ghost right after he died. I’m open to the fact that we don’t know everything. That there’s a larger world out there.”
I’ve experienced the last minutes of hundreds of lives and allowed their spirits to move on whole instead of fragmented and trapped. So Mickey sees a ghost? Why not?
“I believe you,” she said. “I’ve seen a few ghosts over the centuries.”
“You don’t think I’m a freak or something?”
You’re asking me that?
“No.”
“Good. I don’t think you’re a freak either.”
Glad that’s settled.
“Listen, I need to get some rest,” Maliha said. “Feel free to explore the plane. There’s a food-prep area forward, and a very nice bathroom aft. Ask the cockpit crew if you have any questions.”
“Sure.” He stared at her.
She settled in for some sleep but had the feeling she was being watched. Her eyes popped open and there he was, still staring at her.
“Uh, Mickey, I look totally normal when I’m asleep.”
“Yeah, sorry.”
Mickey sat in a recliner and started reading a book, glancing at her every now and then. He didn’t seem to know what to do, but Maliha was sure that would wear off. He’d just never shared quarters with a three-hundred-year-old woman before. She used the time to get some deep rest and meditation, figuring that she was going to need to be in the best shape she could manage.
Maliha awoke in the last leg of the journey, looking out at puffy clouds over the Tasman Sea, between Australia and New Zealand. Famished, she went to the galley and checked out the available food. She had a large selection, but most of it had to be microwaved, so that took some of the fun out of dining. She went for pasta with mushrooms and sun-dried tomatoes. Pleased to find some fresh Italian bread, she poured some olive oil in a dish á la California for dipping.
She sat at a small conference table to eat and work on her laptop, going over the notes Amaro had sent about the Wellington venue with Mickey. She valued his expertise in sniper detection, although she wasn’t ready to give him a weapon to do anything about it.
“Have you eaten yet?” she said.
“I had toast and eggs, but what you’re having smells good.”
She offered him some bread and they shared the dip.
The president was speaking outdoors in the Civic Square. It looked like a nightmare from a security standpoint, with flowing foot traffic, multiple points of access, and multistory buildings on the perimeter. She looked at photos from various angles and the two of them tried to figure out where a sniper would choose as an ideal location.
“Not working,” Mickey said as he put down the photos. “I have to be right in the location. See where the sun is, which way the wind’s blowing, where the shadows are. Wind is going to be a significant contributor here, with the site so close to the water and this City to Sea Bridge.” He tapped one of the pictures. “Going to make that space between the buildings like a wind tunnel, almost. Well, from a sniper’s standpoint.”
“So we have to wing it,” Maliha said.
“Yup. One thing for certain, the security snipers are going to be ringed fairly close around the speakers’ dais. They’re not planning to shoot each other at rooftop height, just down into the square. All the nearby roofs will be inspected beforehand and the snipers planted. Then they’ll use aerial surveillance to make sure no one unauthorized pops up on a roof. That means our guy has to be far away, yet with a line of sight and able to compensate for the wind and other conditions. He could be a mile and a quarter out, or a little more, and it would take quite a marksman.”
“Could you make that shot, Mickey?”
“If I was having a good day and had that CheyTac Intervention system in that case over there. Depends a lot on the wind, since the city’s known as Windy Wellington. The sniper could have to move in much closer than that. What about alerting the Secret Service or the New Zealand government to widen the perimeter for their surveillance?” Mickey said.
“I’ve thought about it. The only problem is that it will hinder our own movements. We’d have to pull out and trust that security can handle it. With a basic assassination plan, I’d probably take that chance. With someone like Elizabeth involved, I don’t think we can leave everything to government security.”
“I see your point. You don’t mind me asking all these questions, do you?”
At one point, I would have.
“No. We’re dealing with lives here. It’s good to look at everything about an operation, including our motivation for being involved.”
The pilot interrupted with an announcement. “Two hours out. Good weather and smooth flying ahead. Any change of plans?”
Maliha pressed an intercom button. “No change. Thanks for the update.”
“Speaking of change of plans,” Mickey said, “I know you have a sniper system on board. You told me to feel free to poke around while you were asleep, and I did. Are you sure you don’t want me as a shooter?”
Something could be off here. This man might even be Elizabeth’s backup sniper. Not that he’s a bad guy, but if she’s got his balls squeezed about something . . . Put him up on a roof and he might shoot Millhouse, and I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it from where I am in the square. Sounds like Elizabeth’s brand of irony. The fact that Hound knows Mickey means nothing if Mickey’s being blackmailed.
“Let’s stick to the plan. If you can spot a sniper who’s suspect, I can take care of him.”
Mickey shrugged. “Okay. Just trying to pull my weight.”
“I’m going to get in some more sleep before we land.” Maliha left him sitting at the conference table. She slept lightly this time, a warrior’s sleep from which she could instantly awake. Since it occurred to her that Mickey might be working for Elizabeth, Maliha didn’t want to give him any opportunities to scrub the mission before it started.
She checked his aura again and found it as before, clear and inspiring.
Does Elizabeth have a shield of some kind that can cast a false aura? Getting paranoid in my old age. He’s already had chances to attack me and hasn’t taken advantage of them.
New Zealand from the air
looked as though someone had placed a green carpet over both islands. A lumpy one, because of the highland areas poking up underneath. South Island had a snowcapped mountain range running slightly off center, like a spine. The serene appearance covered disaster lurking underneath. New Zealand was part of the Pacific Ring of Fire. Lately, major earthquakes somewhere in the country had been regular events, including devastating ones in Christchurch, on South Island, two years in a row. Wellington had a major fault line running right through it.
Wellington was perched on the southern tip of North Island, surrounded by hills and the water of its attractive harbor. Spiraling down toward the airport, the jet took them over the harbor and the central business district—the CBD—where Civic Square was located.
Peering out the window, Mickey said, “I thought so. Wind tunnel. Look at those flags whipping around.”
“Would the sniper give up or move closer?”
“Might have to move closer and stay off the roof. It might be an easier shot from a window if the location’s sheltered from the wind, like in one of those right-angle corners of the buildings. Moving closer and inside is good for us.”
Two hours later, Maliha had rented a car under a false name and they had checked into a hotel several miles away from the square, traveling as a married couple. Mickey actually blushed.
They spent some time checking out their equipment, including the wireless transmitters they were going to use to keep in touch. It was 4 P.M. and the speech was three hours away.
“Time to get down to the square,” Maliha said. She drove them to within a mile of Civic Square and then they both got out to walk.
“Good luck,” Mickey said, and left heading south, a roundabout way he wanted to take to check the outskirts for good firing positions.
A gust of wind blew Maliha’s hair in front of her face. Clouds were moving rapidly across the sky and it looked like rain could develop later in the evening. It was summer in Wellington, so heavy clothing to conceal weapons would only call attention to her. She’d ended up with a knock-off of a police uniform, dark blue pants, a light blue short-sleeve blouse, and a dark blue stab-resistant vest. The hat with the shiny black brim—reminds me of Arnie—gave her a bit of disguise, since the brim shaded most of her face. She had the rank insignia of a senior constable. Her duty belt had a few surprises that were nonstandard—including the fact that it covered her whip sword—and she carried a gear bag with, among other things, a sword.
Maliha made her way to the back entrance of one of the buildings that faced Civic Square. It was Sunday, and although the cafés and shops were bustling in the CBD, the office buildings were sparsely filled, mostly with security personnel. There were police patrolling the perimeter streets, but because off-duty officers were contributing as additional security, the police were seeing a lot of unfamiliar faces on law enforcement personnel. She fit right into a scenario like that. She picked a lock at a loading dock entrance and went inside. The building had little interior lighting, only security lighting in halls and specific rooms. She imagined Elizabeth and a sniper or two doing the same thing she’d just done.
The buildings had already been swept for weapons and bombs, and would be swept again closer to the time of the president’s appearance. To compound the problem, there was underground parking beneath the square. The entrance had been closed the day before, but there were cars remaining inside that needed to be checked thoroughly.
I would not want to be location manager for security here.
Maliha wouldn’t be inside any of the buildings when the last-minute sweep took place, unless Mickey had pointed out a target. Maliha walked out the front door and blended into the gathering crowd in the square. She still had an hour to go, but local politicians were already speaking from the dais, not wanting to miss the opportunity to address a crowd. She glanced up. Sunset wasn’t until about 9 P.M. There was plenty of sunlight left, and she was worried that glare from the windows would prevent Mickey from spotting any snipers.
He’s the expert, go with it. Besides, he has thermal imaging binoculars and he’ll be looking for hot spots near windows. He was right about the wind here—unpredictable, with some strong gusts.
Maliha froze. She’d just caught a glimpse of Elizabeth across the square, coming down some steps near a sculpture. She wasn’t wearing any visible weapons.
Go after her now?
As she watched, from one instant to the next, Elizabeth disappeared. Maliha knew she’d taken off running at Ageless speed.
She could be coming right at me.
Maliha let her eyes relax into aura viewing. It was tough to do in crowds. Auras overlapped, wavered, and some shone brightly among the others, distracting her. She forced herself to focus on only one thing: the black smear left behind by an Ageless moving at speed.
There she is!
Maliha pulled a knife from her vest pocket and concealed it in her hand. If Elizabeth kept on course, Maliha could slash her as she went by. Elizabeth came closer. She was going to brush past Maliha to let her know she was there, watching and judging Maliha’s performance. Maliha raised her left arm to a 45 degree angle, the height of Elizabeth’s thigh. As Elizabeth passed, a streak of blood formed in the air and held suspended there for a fraction of a second. Maliha immediately kicked out her leg and extracted the blood from the air, letting it fall along the length of her dark blue pants rather than hit the ground. She whisked the bloody knife into concealment.
First blood, Maliha.
Elizabeth’s minor leg wound was probably already healed. It wasn’t intended to be disabling, just enough to serve notice that Maliha had claws too. She didn’t expect any retaliation from Elizabeth.
It’s part of the game to her.
She looked around to see if anyone had observed her peculiar action of suddenly kicking her leg into the air. A girl about nine years old, bored with the speeches, was staring at her and tugging on her mother’s shirt to get her to look at Maliha. Maliha pointed at her, then at herself and smiled a wide grin. Then she did a handstand and walked a few steps on her hands. The girl was giggling. Maliha drifted away, leaving the girl trying to do a handstand against her mother’s back. By the time Maliha tried to detect the black smear of the moving Ageless aura again, she couldn’t find it.
Her earpiece came alive with Mickey’s voice. “Target sighted.”
“Where?”
“Can you see the metal fern ball from where you are?”
There was a sculpture of silver fern leaves suspended in the square, over forty feet up in the air.
“Yes.”
“Move toward it.”
“Moving. Where are you?”
“Second floor of the City Gallery,” Mickey said. “Very nice in here.”
“What am I looking for?”
“The Town Hall building. Tan and brown with columns built into the front. Third floor, last window on the left as you face the building.”
“Got it.” There was a shadow visible in the window.
Maliha slung her gear bag over her shoulder and raced toward the building. She found a side entrance out of view of the crowd, but guarded by two Wellington constables. She walked up to them and asked to check that the door was locked. When they turned their backs on her, she kicked one of them into the side of the building, dropping him unconscious. The other spun around to confront her. She punched him in the stomach, and when he bent over, she kicked his chin, sending him back against the building. He hit his head and slumped down the wall, leaving a blood stripe on the surface. She checked his pulse. He was alive. The scalp wound was superficial. She opened the door and dragged both of them inside. There was a utility room nearby so she stored the bodies out of sight. She didn’t want to take the chance of leaving someone behind who could report her activities, so she shot both of the officers with her tranquilizer gun.
Maliha took the stairs on the south end of the building. The first office facing the square was locked, and that’s where she expe
cted to find her target. Slipping a small mirror on a rod under the door, she twisted the rod and the mirror responded by moving from horizontal to vertical, allowing her a view around the room.
There!
She spotted him at the window, seated in a chair. His rifle was already set up but he was relaxing, smoking a cigarette. He knew there was some time to wait. Maliha gently withdrew the mirror. She had no qualms about doing away with a sniper working for Elizabeth and decided on a blitz attack.
She knocked the door down with a powerful kick. The sniper just had time to bolt up from a sitting position before two throwing stars struck him in the throat. Clutching his throat, he fell backward over the chair. Blood poured from his neck, soaking into the carpet. Maliha continued the momentum of breaking down the door and ran into the room to check her kill.
That’s when she spotted the other man, sitting on a wooden chair in the corner of the room. He was either the sniper’s spotter or bodyguard. The mirror hadn’t revealed him. He’d been smoking, too, but had tossed the cigarette aside. Their eyes met and he fired his Israeli Tavor assault rifle at her. Maliha kept moving, diving at the floor and rolling behind a desk. Bullets tracked her across the room and smacked into the wooden desk, which for the moment protected her. The wood splintered as he fired again. Maliha reached up and grabbed a paperweight from the desk. Looking underneath, she could see the man’s feet to locate him. Swinging her arm up, she threw the paperweight hard in his direction. She heard a thud when it hit and an exclamation of surprise and pain from him. That’s all the incentive she needed.
Sliding out from the desk, staying low to the floor, she saw the man clutching at his chest. She’d struck him over his heart with the heavy brass paperweight, breaking ribs and delivering a stunning blow to the heart muscle. Maliha threw a knife and skewered his heart. He collapsed to the floor.
She walked over and picked up his Tavor, then unclipped several spare magazines from his belt. She snubbed out both cigarettes that were smoldering on the carpeted floor, leaving ugly black marks.
