Mystic Warrior

by Alex Archer

  Waving away the young server, de Cerceau glared at the man across the table from him. “I don’t have time for lies.”

  The operation at the hospital had not gone as planned. Not only had Annja Creed escaped, but his men were compromised. Even now the LAPD was questioning two of his people. There would be questions concerning the attack on the university and Melanie Harp’s death. Chances were good that he wouldn’t be able to work in the United States for a time, possibly years. Someone was going to pay for that. De Cerceau seethed inside but covered it with an icy demeanor.

  “Do you have the crystal?” After a brief hesitation in the face of de Cerceau’s anger, the man tried to be authoritative, almost blustering, but the veneer was a sham, so thin the cracks were already showing.

  Over six feet tall and in his late thirties, the impostor looked like someone who could handle himself in a physical confrontation. He was broad and capable, and he looked as if he hit the gym regularly. The musculature wasn’t just for show. Calluses lined the man’s palms, badges that promised he had gained his size through hard work, not just a lucky roll of the genetic dice.

  Barely containing his anger at the deceit, de Cerceau forced himself to be civil. He leaned back in the booth and tapped his earpiece to open the frequency. “Bring the car around.”

  Gerard answered immediately. “I am on my way.”

  “I have the crystal.” De Cerceau leaned back toward the man. “Would you like to see it?”

  “Yes, very much.” The man who was supposed to be SEEKER4318 nodded happily. He sat there waiting expectantly, as if de Cerceau was going to pull the crystal from his pocket.

  De Cerceau silently cursed the man, partly because the fool had been ill prepared, for all his good looks, and because it was likely he would have no information. Still, questions had to be asked.

  On the other side of the glass, Gerard pulled the Mercedes sedan to a halt out in the parking lot. “I am here, Colonel.”

  “I have the crystal out in the car.” De Cerceau pointed at the Mercedes.

  The man glanced at the car, took a breath, then looked back at de Cerceau. “Can’t you bring it in?”

  A smile ricked the corner of de Cerceau’s mouth. “No. I want a chance to count all of the money, and I’d rather not reveal what’s in that briefcase you brought.”

  The man clasped the handle of the briefcase in the seat beside him. “I assure you, the contents are all there.”

  “This is how I do business. You understand.”

  Nervously, the man adjusted his tie and nodded. “Of course. Do we have time to get something to eat?” the man asked. He touched the menu hopefully.

  Sliding out of the booth, de Cerceau shook his head. “No.”

  “Perhaps something to go?”

  “You can eat after we finish our business.”

  “Of course. Getting a booth like this again will be a problem, though.” Sadness shone in the man’s eyes. Evidently, he’d been looking forward to eating at the diner.

  De Cerceau led the way outside. He had two men inside the restaurant who would cover his six. They had gotten there before he had. He had no worries about the impostor trying anything.

  As he crossed the parking lot, de Cerceau knew that was the most vulnerable point. A sniper on the roof might take him out if the shooter tried for a head shot because de Cerceau wore Kevlar under his clothes, but Gerard would be safe inside the armored car. De Cerceau felt his chances were good that whoever was seeking to trick him wouldn’t risk losing the crystal.

  No, the better plan would be to attempt to lock down the Mercedes in the parking lot. De Cerceau had prepared for that, as well. Two SUVs, driven by his men, were already in motion, ready to run blocker for any kind of interception.

  Gerard stayed inside the vehicle but popped the locks.

  De Cerceau opened the right rear door and swept a hand inside. He smiled at the impostor. “Please. Get in.”

  The man peered into the back of the car for a moment, then straightened. “I don’t see a crystal.”

  “I’m not going to flash something like that in the parking lot.” De Cerceau waved to the car again. “Get in.”

  The man glanced back at the diner, but he didn’t appear to be searching for anyone in particular. “All right.” He got into the sedan and held the briefcase in his lap.

  De Cerceau closed the door and walked around to the other side. As he slid into the seat, he nodded to Gerard. Immediately, the Mercedes accelerated into motion. Gerard handed de Cerceau a pair of black surgical gloves and he pulled them on.

  “Where are we going?” Sweat drenched the impostor’s cheeks and he suddenly didn’t look so debonair as he watched de Cerceau slip on the gloves.

  “For a short drive.” To keep things moving along and cut down on the time the man had to think, de Cerceau leveled a forefinger at the briefcase. “Let’s see the money.”

  The man hesitated, then shook his head, trying desperately to recover his aplomb. “That’s not how this is supposed to go. First show me the—”

  De Cerceau backhanded the man. The impostor sagged back against the door. Blood spilled from his split lips. Before the man could recover, de Cerceau covered his prey’s head with a big hand and searched him as he squalled in protest.

  Claiming the man’s wallet, cell phone and key ring, de Cerceau leaned back in his own seat. Gerard passed a bar towel back from the glove compartment, which de Cerceau took and handed to the man.

  “Don’t bleed on my seat.”

  Gasping in pain, the man held the towel to his mouth and stared fearfully at de Cerceau.

  Casually, as Rodeo Drive passed him on either side, de Cerceau searched the man’s wallet. He matched up the man’s driver’s license and screen actor’s card to his features.

  “Your name is Jason Boone?” De Cerceau stared at the man.

  “Yes.” The man mopped at his lips again, wide-eyed with fright. “I mean, yes, that’s my name.”

  “You’re not SEEKER4318?”

  Boone frowned at that, and the effort made him wince in pain. “I don’t know who, or what, that is.”

  De Cerceau tried again. “You’re not the man who hired me.”

  “No. I was hired.”

  “To do what?”

  “To meet you. To deliver the briefcase and get the crystal.”

  “Who hired you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  De Cerceau drew back his hand and Boone flinched.

  “I don’t know! I swear!”

  “Tell me how you were hired.” De Cerceau lowered his hand.

  “Through my booking agent.”

  “Who’s your agent?”

  “Seymour Goldfarb.”

  The name meant nothing to de Cerceau, but the man’s words rang true.

  “Look.” Boone winced in pain. “I don’t even know what this is. I was told it was a tryout for a pilot on Netflix or something.”

  “What were you supposed to do with the crystal when you got it?”

  Boone shrugged. “The person who hired me was supposed to call.”

  Picking up Boone’s phone, de Cerceau went through the address book and found no entries. He glanced at the actor. “This isn’t your phone.”

  “No. It’s a burner. It came with the job.”

  Wary that someone might be tracking the phone’s GPS, de Cerceau took the battery from the phone and deactivated it. “Does your agent know who hired you?”

  Boone shook his head. “Seymour told me not to take the job, because he couldn’t track down the agency or the guy who called it in.”

  “The caller was a man?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you take the job?”

  “It paid five hundred dollar
s. I didn’t care where the money came from. I needed it.” Boone’s lower lip trembled. “Please. I don’t even know what’s going on.”

  Thinking rapidly, weighing his options, de Cerceau glanced up at Gerard. “Pull over.”

  Immediately, Gerard sliced through traffic and pulled in front of a small coffee shop. The car slid smoothly to a stop.

  “Let me have the briefcase.” De Cerceau reached for the item, took it from Boone and quickly examined it for any booby-traps. He didn’t think there would be any. Whoever had sent the actor wouldn’t want the crystal harmed.

  Satisfied all was well, de Cerceau opened the briefcase. Stacks of hundred-dollar bills sat inside, and he knew he’d been paid his asking fee. At least that was something. He gave the briefcase a cursory inspection but didn’t find any tracking devices. Satisfied for the moment, he closed the briefcase.

  Boone licked his bloody lips nervously. “Is it all there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank God.” He blotted his lips again. “Can I go now?”

  “Of course.” De Cerceau even smiled. “Our business here is concluded.”

  Hand shaking, Boone reached for the door release and pulled. The lock popped open, and he swung the door open a few inches. Without a word, Boone opened the door farther and stepped out.

  “Mr. Boone? There is one other thing you can do.”

  The actor hesitated, frozen like a mouse beneath the shadow of a hawk. Slowly, he turned. “Yes?”

  De Cerceau pulled a pistol from his shoulder leather and pumped two silenced 9 mm rounds into Boone’s face. Shot dead, the actor fell back spread-eagled on the sidewalk. De Cerceau took out his cell phone with his free hand and took a picture of Boone lying on the ground. He pulled the door shut as Gerard drove away from the curb.

  16

  SEEKER4318 cursed as he left the building across the street from where the actor he’d hired had left the diner with de Cerceau. He felt conspicuous even among the small group of office workers that had departed the building with him. He’d deliberately waited for them to leave. Dressed in a suit, he looked like one of the mindless drones who worked at the call service, the insurance agency and the other inconsequential jobs housed within the structure.

  This should not be happening. The meeting should have gone smoothly. The woman’s death the previous night in the hotel room had indicated that fortune was with him.

  He didn’t understand. He’d done everything right. Hiring the actor, especially with the way things had turned out, was a bit of brilliance. He was certain that de Cerceau would question the man. There was nothing to discover, though. The man knew nothing.

  Still, it meant the crystal remained out of his reach. There was no way he could take it from de Cerceau. Worse, given the mercenary commander’s actions just now, de Cerceau was also pursuing the treasure.

  SEEKER4318 had no doubts that de Cerceau’s efforts would go unrewarded. The man was ignorant of what was at stake. He was a blind hog rooting for an ear of corn. Whatever de Cerceau had heard, whatever he’d guessed at, whatever he thought he knew, that information wouldn’t be enough to lead him to the Merovingian fortune.

  Controlling his breathing to keep himself calm, SEEKER4318 walked another three blocks, then flagged a cab. After he clambered into the rear seat and gave his destination, he pulled out a burner cell phone he’d purchased just to contact the actor. He couldn’t even remember the man’s name.

  He punched in the number and let it ring. No one picked up.

  Silently, SEEKER4318 cursed de Cerceau’s greed. Then he checked another of the phones he carried, turned it on and viewed the email address he’d set up to work with the mercenary. There was one new message, posted only moments ago.

  Almost hypnotized, he opened the message and found an attached image. He opened it, as well, watching as the picture filled out and revealed the actor lying dead on a street. Blood pooled on the sidewalk beside his face.

  While he was still frozen, the phone dinged again, indicating the arrival of another email message. He opened that, too.

  The police are already hunting me, the message read. With this man’s death, they’ll be hunting you, too. Pray that they find you before I do.

  Anger filled SEEKER4318 as he stared at the words. He hadn’t anticipated this turn of events. There would be a trail potentially connecting him to the dead man, even with the false name he’d used. The police cyber unit would keep pounding away to find out who had sent the actor to his death. De Cerceau had thought of an angle that he himself had not considered. Still, even if the police somehow found him, they would have to prove he’d hired the actor, and he had nothing to do with the man’s execution.

  Then, realizing he wasn’t safe with the phone still active, he switched it off and removed the battery.

  He called to the driver and got his attention. “I’ve changed my mind about my destination.” He pointed at a small Cuban restaurant that featured outside dining. “I’d like to stop there.”

  “Okay.” The driver pulled next to the curb.

  SEEKER4318 checked the total fare on the meter, added a modest tip and walked toward the restaurant. As he passed a public trash can, he wiped both of the burner phones and the batteries and tossed them inside the receptacle. With luck, they would turn up in a sanitation burial ground and never be seen again.

  Luck.

  That was supposed to be on his side. He remembered cutting the woman open and seeing the portents and possibilities. De Cerceau’s actions were a bad turn, but he still had luck coming. He believed that, but the hunger to know what lay before him now with this latest turn of events became a burning ache within him.

  He took a seat at one of the outside tables under a gaily colored umbrella that ruffled in the breeze. Now that he was outside in the breeze, he felt calmer. Things were still doable. The prize could still be his.

  The secret held within the crystal had lain hidden for hundreds of years. Only that woman, Annja Creed, had shown up and somehow found the beginning of the trail. SEEKER4318 hadn’t even known the trail lay in two pieces, the crystal and the pages Dr. Orta had found.

  “Would you care for something, sir?”

  Surprised, SEEKER4318 glanced up at the young server standing before him. She’d slipped up to him undetected. She had dark features and startling blue eyes that he suspected were contact lenses. All the women in this city tried to find some way to distinguish themselves.

  “Some lemonade, perhaps?” He was too unsettled to eat, his mind whirling madly as he thought of de Cerceau finding the treasure and making off with it.

  “Of course.” The server folded her pad and walked away.

  His personal phone vibrated inside his jacket pocket. With some trepidation, he pulled it out and looked at the screen. He didn’t recognize the number, but he knew the 212 area code was from New York City. He tried to think of people he knew in New York. The list was almost nonexistent.

  Then he realized that the person didn’t have to be calling from New York. These days people could keep their phone numbers no matter where they lived.

  He almost answered the call, but his indecision let it go to the answering service instead. He resolved to wait a few moments and let the message be recorded.

  A police siren cut through the air.

  Looking over his shoulder, SEEKER4318 watched a patrol car speed as quickly as it dared through the street. He guessed that the unit was responding to the discovery of the dead actor. De Cerceau hadn’t gone far before he’d killed the man.

  Anxious to know what was going on, SEEKER4318 opened the web browser on his phone and checked a Los Angeles news affiliate’s site for breaking news.

  The death of the actor, Jason Boone, came in at sixth place, but probably wouldn’t rest there long. There was nothing unusual about th
e murder.

  The discovery of the dead woman in the hotel room held third place. Seeing that one bothered SEEKER4318, but he’d killed before and knew that he’d left no trace of himself behind at the room. He dismissed the possibility of discovery even though the story relayed that “LAPD’s top sex-crimes unit” had been assigned to the investigation.

  He returned to the story concerning the dead actor.

  “—witnesses here report that they don’t know why Jason Boone was gunned down in broad daylight,” the female reporter said. She stood a few feet from the dead man as uniformed police officers rolled out yellow crime-scene tape. “According to a witness I talked to, Boone was initially released from a dark blue luxury car, then was called back to the vehicle only to be shot dead by a man seated in the back.”

  The server returned with a tall glass of lemonade. SEEKER4318 paid her immediately, adding a tip, so that he wouldn’t be further bothered.

  “Hi. Are you here by yourself?” The husky voice belonged to a woman in her late twenties. SEEKER4318 started to berate her and send her away, but then he caught sight of the necklace lying in the valley of her breasts. The bronze medallion held the image of a dog barking at its own curled tail.

  He chose to take that as a sign and further examined the woman.

  She was dressed in bright orange yoga pants, a psychedelic midriff shirt and a yellow pullover. The hoodie corralled most of her ginger-colored hair that had to have come from a bottle. Bright pink lipstick framed her mouth.

  “I am alone.” SEEKER4318 smiled.

  The woman stuck out her hand. “I’m Destiny.”

  He took her hand and felt the anticipation growing within him. His luck still held. It had brought this woman to him at a time when he felt as if he was at a crossroads. He had questions he wanted answered, and here was the divining rod he wanted. She could put him on the right path once more.

  He gave her a false name, one he had not previously used. “I’m happy to meet you. Although I must admit that I’m flattered Destiny came calling for me.”