Phantom Pearl

by Monica McCabe

  Trouble with a capital T.

  Without so much as a polite nod, she turned and followed Craig out of the terminal.

  Chapter 4

  They couldn’t pull away from Cairns Airport fast enough for Riki. Things were already urgent, but now they’d taken on a whole new level of complication.

  “How much has Kai explained to you about this job?” she asked Craig.

  “That we’re flying into Aboriginal territory,” he said as they turned onto a main highway and headed south toward the town center. “And somewhere in the Great Dividing Range, there’s an old wrecked plane we need to find.”

  “That pretty much sums it up.” She peered at a side-view mirror, checking the vehicles behind them. “How far to Cooktown?”

  “Three hours or more if you drive,” he replied. “But I’ve a Cessna Skycatcher that will eat the kilometers faster. She’s built for six and hauls passengers over the Daintree. She’ll handle the mountains just fine.”

  “Is that what you do?” Riki asked. “Scenic flights for tourists?”

  “Sometimes.” He maneuvered traffic with speed and agility, sailing around a curve with a quick downshift. “Mostly run freight charters to the Far North. Whatever pays the bills. This is a first, though. Never been hired to escort a beautiful woman in search of a long dead plane.”

  She ignored the offhand compliment. “How familiar are you with the mountain ranges? Do you know the lay of the land?”

  “Flamin’ heck, you’re some kind of sheila,” Craig declared. “I’ve been from one end of Cape York to the other, delivered people or cargo to every tiny village out there. If there’s a runway, I’ve been on it.”

  “The name is Riki, not Sheila. And I need to know the skill level of my new partner. The crash site is over seventy years old. I doubt it will be easy to spot.”

  “No worries. I’m holding coordinates from a 1944 civil defense briefing. It’ll get us started. And don’t you know what a sheila is?”

  “Slang for a koala?”

  He barked with laughter. “Not even close. Girls are sheilas. Boys are blokes. Maybe I should get you an Aussie dictionary, eh?”

  “Hiking gear would be more helpful.” A military surplus store would be even better. She needed some things.

  “Got a GeoPickers outside of town. Lots of outdoor gear and Army surplus.”

  Perfect. Tactical supplies, field kits, and jungle outfits. Her favorite kind of shopping. “Let’s eat first, stock supplies second,” she replied.

  “Roger that.” He made a left at the Crown Hotel, zipped down a block, and parked. “Mackie’s has the best pub grub in town. A right proper nosh up. And strong Irish coffee.”

  It didn’t take long to get seated and order. The place was comfortable with its shipboard décor and warm timber accents. She especially liked the openness and curved L design. From their table in the middle she could see the majority of patrons—locals gathering for lunch or couples on vacation. Mackie’s looked every bit of what it was, a nice safe place to eat and toss back a pint.

  “Sure you don’t want a room at the Crown and fly out in the morning?” Craig asked as he handed the menu back to the waiter. “You look like you could use some real rest.”

  As luxurious as that sounded, there wasn’t time. “Competition has arrived. More will come. We need to leave ASAP.”

  “You’re not talking the friendly kind, are you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Nothing stopping us from heading on out,” Craig said. “I’ve already devised a cover story that’ll win the hearts of the natives.”

  “Why do we need a cover story?”

  “Because Cooktown is tiny. Little over two thousand residents. Everybody knows what everybody is doing, and they like it that way. There’s always a few stray tourists for the Captain Cook history, but what we’re doing will cause a stir. If you don’t want local interference, you give them a good tale to chew on.”

  Two cups of piping hot coffee arrived, and she immediately pulled one her way. She inhaled the steam, the heady aroma of dark roast promising a much-needed boost of energy. She added a dash of cream, stirred, then asked, “What’s the story?”

  He leaned forward, elbows on the table, and grinned. “What do you know about the movie industry?”

  She shrugged. “Not much.”

  Craig doctored his coffee with an overload of sugar as he answered. “Well, looks like you’re now a film location scout, here for a World War Two documentary on allied defense sites. The local RSL club stands ready to assist, too. Hell, they’ll probably host a celebration in your honor.” He winked at her. “Bloody brilliant of me, I say.”

  As long as it got them free access to roam the mountains, she’d play along with whatever lie he had to tell. But if the town residents liked gossip, wait until the Yakuza showed up. That should turn things upside down.

  “It’s very clever,” Riki agreed. “Completely explains digging through old civil defense files and running aerial reconnaissance.”

  The pub’s hostess walked by, followed by a striking Asian man in a solid black tunic and slacks, his long dark hair pulled into a band at his nape. That wasn’t what caught her eye. It was the unusual tattoo of a long, undulating dragon that wrapped around the side of his neck. Strangely enough, the guy never even glanced at her, though she blatantly stared at him as he walked past.

  “What is it?” Craig asked.

  She shrugged. “Did you see that guy’s tattoo?”

  She twisted in her chair to watch the Asian take a seat three tables down, smack in the center of the room. A strategic choice, given the unobstructed view of the room, the window to the outside, and access to multiple exits. The hostess treated him like a VIP, immediately serving him tea and a dish of something special.

  “I caught a glimpse,” Craig replied. “It was unusual. Why?”

  “Not sure. Ever see that man before?” she asked.

  “Can’t say I have. But if you’re as sharp as Menita says, and something about him bothers you, then let’s keep an eye on him.”

  What exactly bothered her, she couldn’t say. It could be she was tired, unsettled. Seeing threats where there were none. Perhaps the tension she sensed when the tattooed guy walked past was merely a reflection of her own edginess. Still, she angled her chair to better see behind her. The Asian sat ramrod straight, gracefully pouring tea. No additives for him. He lifted, tasted, and nodded in approval before returning the cup to its saucer with precise, even movements.

  She got the impression the guy liked control.

  Their food arrived, and the waiter blocked her view as he unloaded two bowls of Irish stew and a platter of breads from his tray. The enticing aroma stirred her appetite, and she shook off her suspicions long enough to eat.

  After several warm bites of hearty beef and potato, she began to feel normal again. A few more and half a sourdough roll, she felt able to focus on the job at hand.

  “Tell me how you know Kai,” she said to Craig.

  “You don’t mince words, do you? I like that. Direct. To the point.”

  She took another bite and stared at him expectantly, waiting.

  “Right, well…” He washed down a bite of bread with a swallow of coffee. “Menita and I served on a dig in Malaysia together. I flew in supplies and flew out whatever relics his team found in the dirt. We became an unlikely pair of friends—a rowdy Australian and a quiet Japanese archeologist.”

  Since Kai also worked with her father and Craig’s age fit the timeframe, she briefly wondered if the Aussie had met her dad, but she left the question alone. “How do you go from working historical digs to giving scenic flights to tourists?”

  He shrugged. “You never know what direction life is going to take. One day you’re flying for a privately funded dig, the next you’re fighting for your life agains
t murdering tomb robbers.”

  She understood that. One day you are thirteen and have a loving set of parents. The next you’re standing at your father’s gravesite while your mother sinks into a depression so deep she never recovers. Life changed in the blink of an eye.

  “Kai mentioned tomb robbers once.” It had been a long time ago. Yet even then she didn’t believe he’d meant to share. Kai took the definition of brevity to the extreme. Getting details out of him required a lot of coaxing on her part. It worked less than half the time. “Same story perhaps?”

  “Menita was there. He saved my life that day. I owe him.” His jaw clamped shut after that statement, and he shoved his spoon around in his bowl.

  Obviously, he didn’t want to talk about it. Seemed to be a lot of that going around. Over the years, she’d spent countless hours at Kai’s sprawling home in the Pacific Palisades of southern California, training in self-defense and studying art. Through their conversations, Kai knew her inside out, shared the pain after her father’s death, showed her how to channel the rage that burned inside her. He taught her how to care for her increasingly detached mother and Riki enjoyed talking to him about the years he worked with her father, their finds and exploits. But her mentor had blank spots in his past that he refused to discuss. Now here sat a piece of that puzzle, and he wasn’t any more inclined to talk about it than Kai.

  “Why are you helping me?” she asked Craig.

  His gaze slid away from her, but she was reaching her limit on the silent treatment. This time she wasn’t backing down. It might be rude to force the issue, but a chance to discover another piece of Kai’s past wasn’t something she’d pass up.

  “Paying back a debt of honor?” she pushed.

  Craig shrugged and grabbed a chunk of bread from the platter. “How do you pay back someone who gave you your life?”

  The answer was simple. You couldn’t. It was a selfless gift that did not require repayment. But the tantric nature of the world was cause and effect. If you believed in karma, the saved life would be best spent in honorable pursuits, giving back to the well of good things.

  Of course, this truth applied to every life. Which meant the path of revenge she walked today would eventually demand a price. But until that day arrived, she intended to deliver karmic justice to a criminal organization that had stolen everything from her.

  She downed the last of her coffee and cast a glance toward the Asian again. He was studying his cell phone, but chose that moment to look up. A cold hard stare chilled her, sparking a tingle of alarm to race up her spine. A second later, he clicked off the device and slid it into his pocket.

  This man wasn’t here by accident. He’d been watching her, and she’d bet it had started at the airport. That meant her presence in Australia was already known. Her simple find and retrieve was quickly turning hostile.

  Riki turned back to Craig. “You’re aware we aren’t the only ones searching for this plane, right?”

  “Menita mentioned it.”

  “Did he warn you there’d be danger?” He had to go in with eyes wide open, no doubts, no surprises. When Craig gave her a nod, she continued. “We’re barely one step ahead of the Yakuza. I’m sure you’ve heard of them. No one gets in their way. They are lethal.”

  “And ruthless. Some factions are worse than others. The Seibu branch in Manila tangled with a buddy of mine a few years back. He’s in a wheelchair because of it. I’d love a chance to dish out payback in his name.”

  She never liked involving strangers. They carried unknown motivations of their own. Yet if Craig told the truth, and she believed he did, then the job offered a double strike for him. It didn’t get much more solid than that. Plus, if Kai trusted him, then she should, too.

  The tattooed Asian slid back his chair and stood, but he didn’t leave. Instead, he stared directly at her, his entire demeanor going still. He didn’t even blink.

  The threat just got real.

  “We have to go,” she said. “Right now.”

  Craig didn’t argue. “Plane is fueled and ready by now.” He pulled a few bills from his pocket and dropped them on the table.

  The Asian calmly crossed to the bar, set something on the counter, then moved to the hostess stand. He now stood between them and the front door. Odds of getting past him without incident were nonexistent.

  Only one option available. Strike first.

  She slung her backpack over her left shoulder. “You realize that guy isn’t our friend, right?”

  “Yep.” Craig shook out his shoulders, tilted his head left and right. “Let’s get this over with.”

  After a quick nod, Riki led the way. She marched right up to the Asian, stopped boldly in front of him, and said, “Nice ink.”

  He contemplated her with dark eyes alight with curiosity. “You are not afraid.”

  “Not since I was thirteen,” she replied.

  She kicked out, banking on surprise to knock his legs from under him. But the maneuver was too basic. He easily saw it coming and leaped backward, avoiding the hit. She tried again, whipping off her backpack and circling fast, using momentum to slam him with the heavy bag.

  His arm blocked the blow, but he stumbled back against a table. Dishes crashed to the floor. Glassware shattered. Someone screamed. Customers scrambled for safer ground.

  She instantly repositioned, prepared to strike again.

  “Stinking ratbags!” yelled the bartender as he rounded from behind the polished wooden bar. “No fighting in here.”

  She kept her eyes locked on her opponent, watched him smile, malevolent and predatory. He struck without warning. She twisted and parried, dancing out of his reach. He countered and went for her again, charging with blunt force, careless of collateral damage.

  Craig intervened, slammed his fists against the enemy’s back, and knocked him forward. The man staggered, going down hard on one knee, but came up roaring in anger and clutching a splintered chair leg. He threw it like a dagger, straight at her rescuer.

  Craig dodged the deadly missile, and Riki used the precious seconds it bought to propel herself into the Asian, hitting his solar plexus with her shoulder and driving them both into another table. They went down and rolled.

  She recovered fast, but he matched her. His fight level came from the streets, blunt and dirty. That wasn’t a problem. She could roll that way, too.

  She swept a half-eaten shepherd’s pie off an abandoned table and smashed the potato and pea mixture against his finely pressed tunic, then followed it with a buttered roll and side dish of gravy.

  “Enough!” the bartender snapped. “Take it outside.”

  The Asian didn’t pay attention. He surged forward, grabbed her by the waist, and rammed them both up against the wall.

  The impact knocked the breath from her lungs.

  His dark eyes were full of vicious intent as she struggled to inhale. This guy wanted to inflict pain. A hand slid around her throat and squeezed. He leaned in close to her face and whispered. “You leave, go home. You stay, you die.”

  She shoved against him, but it was like pushing against a rock.

  “Hear those sirens?” The bartender stomped up beside them, grabbed her attacker’s wrist, and yanked. It did no good. “You’d best let her go. Cops are coming.”

  Dark eyes glittered, and the Asian twisted slightly, blasting out a kick that scored a direct hit to the bartender’s stomach, sending him crashing across a table and onto the floor. And he did it all without releasing her throat.

  The move offered a sliver of opportunity, however, and Riki jammed the palm of her hand against his chin, snapping his head backward. At the same time, Craig shattered a chair across his back.

  Neither had a lasting impact—the guy was a robot, a solid and immovable force.

  “Bloody hell,” Craig swore. “Cheap ass furniture.”

 
The pressure against her throat increased.

  Riki clasped both hands around his one and strained to shove up and away, but she was at a disadvantage. He had height and leverage on his side, not to mention being made of stone. The bastard smiled and took a step closer, stealing any chance of her maneuvering between them.

  She hated to lose. It made her mad. She tightened her grip on his arm, dug her nails in deep, and dropped her weight.

  In the split second it took for him to adjust his hold, Craig seized the day. He swiped a half-empty jug of beer from a table and stepped into a hard swing, whacking her assailant’s skull with the heavy glass. Amber ale spewed over them all.

  The Asian’s eyes rolled back into his head, and he dropped to the floor, unconscious.

  Riki sucked in a lungful of sweet air as Craig smiled and set the jug on a table. “That was a fair crack,” he said, “but it’s time to move.”

  She nodded, breathing heavy as she wiped ale from her lashes. Still, she managed to drop onto one knee beside the fallen man and roll his head to one side for a clear look at the tattoo. Definitely a dragon, the head and front feet inside an elongated sideways triangle, flames shooting from its jaws toward the front of his neck. The dragon’s torso stretched to the back, the tail curving upward to follow the spine. It was beautifully crafted, artistic, and wicked cool.

  Sirens grew louder.

  “Now would be good, koala girl.”

  She reached into the pocket of the man’s tunic and lifted his cell phone. Then she calmly rose, grabbed her backpack, and fled out the door.

  Chapter 5

  “What do you mean you don’t have anything available?” Dallas couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  The twenty-something rental clerk shrugged. “You aren’t in Sydney, mate. We only have a handful of cars for hire here in Cooktown.”

  Dallas took a deep breath, fighting to keep his patience. He should’ve drove from Cairns, but hadn’t wanted to burn three hours to get here. A decision he might soon regret. He stared the guy in the eye, going for the no-nonsense approach. “Look, I don’t care if it’s a beater. I just need a car.”