by D. N. Leo
“Everyone sends packages everywhere. I carried it myself to save some money,” Cooper muttered.
Behind her, Arik mumbled, “Courier packages. Hell…” He looked at her then Ciaran and then pulled out his cell phone.
“Jenny, where’s Mother? … She said there was a package sent to me, and I asked her to keep it for me. Where is it? … Then go look for it … No, no, wait …”
She couldn’t hear what the person at the other end of the line was saying. But Arik turned and looked at her, his eyes filled with fear. He rushed toward Ciaran. “Do you know how to neutralize the package if we find it? Like the one right here—if this was a real one, could you handle it?”
Ciaran stared into Arik’s eyes. “No.”
Arik waved his arms in the air. “So what’s the point of all this?” he gestured wildly.
“It’s easier if it’s a bomb. I can’t neutralize what I don’t know. The packages might be only one form of destruction. I don’t know the maker. I don’t know why he did this or when he will strike again. And you could have helped if you weren’t being a selfish prick. It’s hit home now, and it’s quite painful, isn’t it? Why don’t you call the US bomb squad?”
Ciaran turned and walked away.
Part II
20
Roissy—Charles de Gaulle airport, France, 2003
Arik grabbed the handle on the case of his precious guitar. “No!” he said, looking at the security officer at the Roissy Charles de Gaulle airport. He’d had that guitar since he was fifteen. It had been with him for ten years—that was a lifetime relationship! There was no way he was going to let that stupid dog sniff it, lick it, or worse, scratch it.
“Non,” he repeated using one of few words in his French vocabulary inventory.
The officer responded with a stream of French and pointed at the drug-detecting dog, who sat down and poked a pink tongue out from between its teeth. Arik had no problem with dogs. He might even like them. But he certainly did not like this one accusing him of carrying drugs through the airport. He didn’t need this right now.
“Parlez-vous anglais?” Arik said.
“Non.”
Damn it, he thought. He wished he had taken some French lessons before traveling. The dog stood, straining at its leash to approach the case.
“Non. Non,” Arik growled and pointed at the dog. And then, as the dog sat down and started thumping its tail, he said in English. “Aren’t you supposed to be a passive dog? You know, the friendly kind?”
The officer didn’t understand what Arik was saying. Either that or he chose to ignore what he was saying. He mangled a couple more sentences, trying to explain he didn’t have a problem with his luggage being checked, but he didn’t want his guitar damaged.
From the corner of his eye, he saw a young man his age step out from an area reserved for private jets and VIPs. He wore his dark hair long, tied in a ponytail at the back. He was as polished as a model straight out of a fashion magazine. But there was something about him that was incongruent with his polished model looks. Something dark, rebellious, and authoritative.
Arik’s stare was long and engaging enough that the man caught his eyes. The man glanced behind him as if to see whether someone was following him.
Then the dog let out a low growl, pulling Arik’s attention back to the matter at hand. He started to say, “You’re not going to bark,” but before he could finish, the dog barked at him.
The officer kept repeating something Arik didn’t understand. But the more Arik refused, the more formal and serious the officer’s tone became. The dog barked in harmony with the argument just to add to the drama.
Arik tried for the last time to communicate with the officer, but all the French words came out wrong with his thick New York accent. And with his limited knowledge of the French language, his sentences were grammatically incoherent.
Then the officer quieted down, and the dog reverted to a throaty growling. As the young man approached, he captured the officer’s attention instantly. The officer shook hands with him, and Arik noticed he was a bit shaky. This young man must be someone important.
The man said something then grinned and patted Arik’s shoulder as if they had been best friends in high school. The officer nodded and laughed. Arik let out as natural a laugh as possible and shoved his hands into his pockets.
The young man gestured toward the guitar case and said something. The dog let out a low bark. Arik turned toward the man and, through clenched teeth, said in English, “It’s Stevie Ray Vaughan’s legendary 1963 Number One Strat. It’s worth $2 million. I’ll burn this airport down if they put a scratch on it.”
The man frowned for a brief second, glancing to a far corner. Then he looked in another direction and turned his shoulders slightly. Arik could tell he didn’t want the approaching group of men in formal business suits to see him.
Arik stepped sideways to block him from their view.
The young man nodded slightly and said something else to the officer. He pointed at the dog, which stood and tried again to approach. The officer tugged on the dog’s leash to make it sit down again. The dog moaned in protest. Then the officer nodded his goodbye and dragged the grumpy dog away.
Arik exhaled in relief and turned toward the young man, whose face had just turned from sunshiny summer to an icy cold winter day in a second.
“Thank you for helping out. Arik Bonneville.” Arik reached his hand out for a handshake.
The man looked Arik up and down. Arik was dressed for backpacking across Europe, finally on his way to execute his turning-twenty-one dream. It was true that the twenty-one was long gone, but it was better he tried it now than never.
When he received no response from the man, Arik withdrew his hand and said, “Hey, I know you didn’t really want to help me. You just wanted to avoid those jackasses in business suits. But just so you know, I don’t do drugs, and I’m not carrying.”
“They’re not jackasses. They’re my men.”
There wasn’t a French accent in this man’s English. He had no foreign accent at all. He didn’t sound British, nor did he sound American or South African or even Australian. Arik frowned. He didn’t like it. He was good with accents. If someone uttered a single word, he could always tell where they came from.
“Got a name?”
The man hesitated, then said, “Ciaran.”
Arik grinned. “That’s a good start.” He picked up his guitar. “Also, just so you know, this isn’t Vaughan’s guitar.”
“What?”
“It’s not the signature guitar worth $2 million. So don’t think about robbing me!”
“Oh.” Ciaran shook his head and shrugged.
“Look, I’m heading to Beynac et Cazenac.” Arik pointed toward the exit.
“Have a good trip,” Ciaran said quickly and turned around as if leaving. Then he saw his men coming back from that same corridor. He turned back toward Arik.
Arik chuckled. “Your stupid clothes make you stick out like a sore thumb.” He tossed his hoodie at Ciaran. Ciaran grabbed it and immediately slid it on.
“Where did you say you’re going?” Ciaran asked.
“Beynac et Cazenac.”
“I’ll take you,” Ciaran said and strode quickly away.
“Ciaran!” his men called from the far end.
Ciaran darted toward the parking garage exit. Arik had only enough time to toss his bag over his shoulders, grab his guitar case, and follow Ciaran.
In the garage, Ciaran pointed the remote and pressed. A car’s lights flashed.
“Well, that’s beyond the caliber of an ordinary car!” Arik muttered when he saw the expensive-looking vehicle. Ciaran took Arik’s hoodie off, gave it back to him, and walked over to the driver’s seat. Before the car exited the garage, Ciaran’s men entered. Ciaran drove straight through the gate, breaking the bar and setting off the alarm.
“Was that necessary?” Arik asked.
“No,” Ciaran said, his eyes as cold as steel. “B
ut you don’t want to get caught, do you?”
“Dude, I told you, I’m not carrying anything I need to worry about. I traveled to Asia before coming here. My luggage must have traces of a drug of some sort. I just didn’t want the dog to scratch my guitar…” He trailed off as the hand he had underneath the hoodie Ciaran had just given back to him hit a plastic bag. He pulled it out. Inside the bag was a capped syringe containing blue liquid.
“Jesus Christ, you were carrying. The dog was barking at you! You used me, dickhead.”
The car had entered the highway. Ciaran veered off onto a smaller road.
“It’s not a drug. It’s a rare medicine,” Ciaran said.
“So why did you run?”
“I didn’t say it was legal!”
“Those jackasses are your own people. Why are you running from them?”
A storm was coming. Lightning streaked across the darkening sky. Ciaran looked up at the clouds and then accelerated along the country road which had started to muddy due to the rain and poor drainage.
“Slow down, will you?”
Ciaran ignored him. He glanced at the rearview mirror and saw the silhouette of a car chasing them. His eyes darkened, and he accelerated even more.
“Did you steal the meds from those guys?”
Ciaran shook his head. “No one wants to be in possession of this, trust me. It’s extremely poisonous.”
Arik dropped the bag.
Ciaran glanced at him. “If compounded correctly, it can heal rare diseases. What you are holding is a healing compound.”
“Right. Then why are you running? And please slow down!”
“It’s my family’s formula. Our French business counterparts didn’t like the healing compound. They wanted the narcotic formula.”
“Why can’t they have theirs and you have yours?”
“They want mine because I destroyed the last narcotic sample they got before I left.”
Arik laughed. Ciaran smiled, but the smile faded quickly from his face when they saw a whirl of light ahead. Ciaran hit the brakes, but the momentum of the car still sent them straight into the light.
Then everything turned white.
21
Arik opened his eyes groggily. Eric Clapton’s voice singing “Crossroads” echoed in his head. The voice kept repeating the desperate verse, “I went down to the crossroads…fell down on my knees.” He closed his eyes, trying to shake the song off. It did go silent for a second. Then Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” blasted out without warning. He closed his eyes again, and the music went off.
“He’s back!” He heard Dinah’s voice, and the music stopped completely. He would never have thought she’d be his anchor to reality. The memories came rushing back. He was at the market, trying to get his sister to look for his mother. Then the phone went dead. He’d had no choice but to go back to New York. Since Ciaran had refused to help, he’d hoped to get a standby ticket at the airport. He took shortcuts down a few small roads, hoping to get to the M40 motorway quickly so that he could get to the airport in under forty minutes. While driving, he dialed his sister’s number several times without success.
Bam! He hit something. Or something hit him. Then his world went completely blank.
He opened his eyes to find Dinah’s witty face hovering over his.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
He loved her eyes. Large, dark, focused, and full of secrets. Her pouting lips always made him want a taste. And for some unexplainable reason, he knew he would love to hear that Irish accent of hers for the rest of his life.
“What happened?” Arik asked.
“It looks like you had a car accident.”
He blinked. He wasn’t lying in his car, but on a stretcher. He guessed he was in an ambulance. He had been trying to go to the airport. Mother! He sat right up.
“Hey, that’s okay. Ciaran has it under control,” Dinah said.
“What?”
“He’s got someone locating your family in the US.”
Arik nodded. Having money came in handy sometimes. Ciaran could afford to have the entire universe working for him, Arik thought. “How did you find me?”
“I didn’t. Ciaran did.”
Arik buried his head in his hands. How many more times would he have to hear Ciaran’s name?
The man himself approached. “Tell me you’re okay, and I’ll ask the paramedics to let you leave without going to the hospital,” Ciaran said.
Arik looked up from his hands. “I’m fine. If I have to go back to the hospital again, I’ll have to make it my permanent address.”
Ciaran nodded and turned away to talk to the paramedics.
Arik asked Dinah, “How did he find me?”
Dinah shrugged and shoved her hand into his jacket pocket. She pulled out a small round black chip the size of a lemon seed.
“You bugged me?”
“It’s Ciaran’s device, part of the wrist unit he gave me. So in principle, he found you.”
Arik hopped off the stretcher and exited the ambulance. “Normally I’d say I don’t like having my privacy invaded, and I make that known. But I need to go now, and that bug may actually have saved me. So let’s consider things even.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Even? Between you and me, or between you and Ciaran?”
Arik shook his head and muttered, “He and I will never be even.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” He walked away from the ambulance and looked at what was left of the car. He wondered how he had survived a crash like that. He looked down at his hands and then his body. He barely had a scratch on him.
He turned and was about to ask Dinah more questions when he saw the shadow of the yellow-eyed man among the trees in the distance. He swallowed a curse and looked away. The man must have yanked him out of the car before the impact. He had to protect his gift in Arik.
Ciaran approached after sending the paramedics away. Arik raised an eyebrow, gesturing toward the ruin of his car. “So people just go away without question just because you tell them to?”
Ciaran cast a glance at him. “Pretty much.”
Arik waved his arms in the air, about to let out the nastiest remark he could think of, but he decided against it. “Thanks for your help. Dinah said you’re looking for my family?”
“You’re welcome. But you sound a little like you’re pulling your teeth out right now.” Ciaran glanced at his wrist unit. “We found Jenny, and my men are bringing her here. She’s on our private jet, so she’s safe.”
Arik shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “Thank you.”
Ciaran nodded. “We searched, but we couldn’t locate the package in the house. And we still can’t find Diana.”
Arik shook his head. “They’ve got Mother and the package. Why her? She has nothing to do with this.”
“They want you. So they’ll use Diana to lure you out. Any idea what they want from you apart from the illusion that you’ve identified the pattern of the aperture occurrences?”
“No, I didn’t identify it. I bumped into it accidentally.”
“And he’s not a jumper,” Dinah added.
“He told you that?”
“He doesn’t have the mark of a jumper.”
Ciaran said nothing.
“So we’re waiting for them to contact me to say exactly what they want?” Arik asked.
Ciaran nodded. “I’ve got to get back to our place.”
“How’s Madeline?” Arik asked.
“Thanks for asking. She’s recuperating.” Ciaran turned to walk away.
“I’m sorry,” Arik said.
Ciaran turned back. “Me too.”
Dinah frowned but said nothing.
22
Lesches, France, 2003
Arik grabbed the car seat as it spun into the dome of light. He looked over at Ciaran. The man didn’t even blink as he did his best to control the car. This guy’s nerves must be made of steel, Arik thought. As they spun,
Arik realized they weren’t headed into a dome of alien light but rather into a row of trucks shining headlights at them from across the field just off the D45A.
“Cover your head,” Ciaran said.
Arik did so instantly, just before the car hit something and came to an abrupt stop. The airbag inflated into his face, making him see thousands of stars.
“Get out of the car,” Ciaran said.
Arik unbuckled the seatbelt and dove outside. As soon as they had rolled clear and scrambled to their feet, the car exploded. “There goes my guitar!” Arik muttered in disbelief.
There was some movement to their left. Before Arik had a chance to turn to see what it was, he heard Ciaran yell, “Get down!” Arik dropped himself down to the ground, lying flat on the mud.
Ciaran darted toward a tree trunk to take cover and pulled out two handguns. Arik could see a group of men, all of them brandishing guns, walking toward them from the trucks in the distance. There were too many. He wasn’t sure Ciaran could handle this.
Before the group of men moved any closer, shots were fired from behind the group of men. They turned and began exchanging fire with their attackers.
Ciaran said, “We’ll have to run into the bush. Let them cancel each other out. How fast can you run?”
“For my life? I could win an Olympic medal!”
“Okay, run to the right. On three.”
Arik nodded. Ciaran looked back at the fighting men, braced against the tree to prepare, then signaled the count to three. Arik hopped up from the ground, and they both ran into the woods.
There was shouting. Some of the men had seen them running away, but they continued to fire at one another.
Ciaran and Arik had run for a while. It seemed they had escaped the situation. Ciaran pulled out his cell phone and called someone. He spoke in English, so Arik figured he was speaking to one of his men, not the French business counterparts who were chasing them. He finished the conversation quickly, then said to Arik, “We have to get out of the bush. There’s no way my men can navigate in here.”
