Phantom Pearl

by Monica McCabe

  “Blame it on the movie scout in town,” the clerk replied. “She came with an entourage. Between them and tourists, we got nothing left.”

  Why couldn’t things go his way just once? “What kind of entourage?”

  “I don’t know, three Chinamen.”

  Dallas held back from correcting him. Nationality wasn’t as important as the fact that the Yakuza had already arrived. “Movie scout, huh?” Maddox was clever, but he’d learned that the first time he went up against her. And had lost. “What’s she looking for?”

  “I dunno. Defense sites, I think.” He unlocked a drawer under the counter and swiped loose papers inside before shoving it closed. “Doesn’t matter. It’s another boring World War Two documentary.”

  Strike one for the unhelpful clerk. His indifference over the Great War, the global impact and steep price paid, was inexcusable. History offered life lessons no one on the planet should ignore, or disrespect.

  Strike two was not having a damn car. Dallas hadn’t counted on coming up dry for a simple rental.

  “Look, we can find a solution here,” he reasoned. “There must be a vehicle tucked away somewhere. Ask your boss. There’s always a VIP reserve. I’ll pay top rate if I have to.”

  He didn’t care what it cost. He wasn’t going to let a technicality give Maddox the win.

  “Hey, mate.” The cabbie who drove him over from the airfield leaned against the counter next to him. “I’m available. Hire me.”

  The guy’s level stare said he was serious. So was this operation, but the agency frowned on using civilians. It was a rule Dallas didn’t want to break. But then again, he didn’t like losing either.

  “I appreciate the offer,” he said, “but I need constant access. How about your car? Can I pay to use it?”

  The cabbie shook his head. “Can’t. It’s all I got, mate. But you can hire me out as your driver. How long you gonna be in town?”

  That depended on how fast Riki Maddox located Phantom Pearl. Knowing her, not long. “It’s unpredictable,” Dallas replied. “A couple days maybe.”

  The guy made a show of checking his phone. “My schedule is clear. All you gotta do is ring.”

  It was tempting. The cabbie was a great source of local info based on his nonstop flow of conversation on the way here from the airfield. There was benefit in that. He was also friendly, pushing sixty, and had no idea the level of trouble he’d be taking on.

  “I need more than an on-call ride.” Dallas looked him square in the eye. “You’ll have to constantly be with me.”

  The older man rubbed at his chin, a calculating gleam lighting his eyes. “Tell you what, five-hundred American dollars a day, and I’m yours, twenty-four seven.”

  “Hellfire, Oscar,” the rental clerk snapped. “You fleecing the tourists again?”

  “Now, come on, Ben. A bloke has to make a living. Not like you don’t charge a pretty penny with them fancy rigs you let out.”

  Price didn’t matter to Dallas. Not when they were dealing with a volatile combination of Riki Maddox and the Yakuza. It was like playing with gunpowder that had every chance of exploding. Last thing Dallas wanted, or needed, was another soul to protect. But he had to have wheels, and Oscar was it.

  “I’ll pay the fee,” Dallas agreed. “But this is no gravy job. You’ll be earning those wages. And we start right now. You sure you want to do this?”

  The cabbie contemplated for about two seconds. “First two days paid up front, throw in meals, and we have a deal.”

  Oscar was shrewd and willing to commit highway robbery. It was the kind of gumption that could come in handy if they ended up in a bind. Correction. Make that when, because this was make or break time. If Phantom Pearl was out there, Dallas intended to bring home the prize. No matter how much it cost. He reached out and shook hands on the questionable deal.

  “Where you staying?” his new driver asked as they headed outside.

  “Nowhere yet.” Dallas tossed his bag inside Oscar’s Ford Explorer and climbed into the passenger seat. “How about where the movie scout is staying?” An ideal choice for tracking her movements.

  If he knew Riki Maddox, she was already in the air, searching.

  “Our town is small, but we aim to please. Your scout is staying at the Sovereign Resort. Nice place, good food. You’ll like it.”

  “Won’t be there much,” Dallas said. “Look, I need to level with you. This is no vacation.”

  “I figured that when you agreed to pay my fee.”

  “There’s more.” Oscar shouldn’t go into this unaware, but revelations were a fine line. There was only so much Dallas could tell him. “I work in artifact recovery and came here for a historically important find. There’s a lot riding on the outcome of the next couple of days.”

  “You an archeologist?” Oscar asked as he fired up the SUV. This vehicle was another reason Dallas agreed to hire the cabbie. The diesel-powered Ute was geared for the rugged outdoors—roof rack, 4x4 with a bull bar, and an engine snorkel to allow for deep water crossings. It would eat up the dirt tracks that passed for roads around here.

  “No,” Dallas said with a shake of his head. “I work for the government. We research specific pieces in the name of foreign relations.”

  “You make it sound boring.”

  “Usually is,” Dallas lied.

  Oscar shifted in his seat to stare directly at him. “How about you tell me the truth?”

  What happened to the opportunistic cabbie out to make a killing off a stranded tourist? Dallas would rather be dealing with him than the sharp-eyed Australian who suddenly took his place. Things weren’t all they appeared with his new friend.

  “You aren’t just a cabbie, are you?”

  “Am now,” Oscar replied. “It’s called retirement. And it bites.”

  “What exactly did you do before retiring?”

  “Australian Defense Force.”

  That was a bit worrisome. He needed to keep a low profile, not make waves, but having a driver with paramilitary skills could prove useful. Luck might finally be turning his way.

  “Would it make you happy if I said there’s a chance things will get dicey? That we’ll go up against known crime operatives?”

  “Will there be car chases and shootouts?”

  He sounded far too hopeful for his own good. “Probably not, but I can’t promise it won’t happen. How are you at handling unexpected complications?”

  Oscar still hadn’t taken the vehicle out of park. They sat with the engine running while his new partner laughed like Dallas shared a five-star joke.

  “Did I say something funny?”

  Oscar shook his head, the laughter slowly dying out. “I left active duty four years ago. It was thirty years of organized chaos, and then nothing. I started driving cab for something to do besides sitting around getting fat. It’s a mindless job. I miss the high-energy days of working with the force.”

  This was a complication with potential. “You know your way around military operations? Had combat training?”

  “Some,” he replied vaguely. “I handled acquisitions at the training center. Most fun I ever had was during war games.”

  A supply clerk. Dallas sighed. Not exactly what he hoped to hear. Still, Oscar seemed fit for a man in his sixties. “Were you on the ground during maneuvers?”

  “Not literally. It was more along the lines of outfitting a platoon with food, gear, and supplies. Does that count?”

  Certainly didn’t hurt. “You still have contacts at the ADF?”

  “I have a few friends.”

  Dallas felt slightly better about involving Oscar, but that didn’t mean he had the right to risk the man’s life. There was only one certainty in this game. Things would go south. Because each time Maddox bested him and walked away with the prize, she’d also beaten the Yakuza. I
f their destructive reaction to the last loss was any indication, their patience had run thin. Dallas doubted they would let her get away with it again.

  That meant Oscar should know what he was agreeing to. “I’m giving you fair warning here, and I do mean warning. This acquisition might turn hazardous. It’s of critical importance to several organizations, and we could be dealing with life-threatening competition. You still want to play?”

  “What exactly are you after that makes it so dangerous?”

  Here’s the balancing act. He wasn’t ready to reveal all. He’d said too much already. But if Oscar was going to hang around twenty-four-seven, he’d learn soon enough. “Ever heard of the Department of Homeland Security?”

  Oscar laughed. “Hasn’t everybody?”

  “Maybe.” The SUV was still idling, and he needed to get busy. He’d make this quick. “I work for the Cultural Art Division. We recover a country’s lost or stolen antiquities as a way to gain allies in the war on terror.”

  “And one of those is currently in Cooktown?” Oscar sounded dubious.

  “It seems so. And I’m not the only one searching for it.”

  It was quiet for the space of several heartbeats as his new driver took in the seriousness of the situation.

  “That’s no movie scout, is it?”

  Dallas shook his head. “And that’s not her entourage.”

  “Think I’m getting the picture,” Oscar said. “I didn’t charge you enough.”

  Based on the risk factors, probably not. “We can renegotiate to include hazardous duty pay if the need arises. Does this mean you’re still in?”

  “I like a challenge,” Oscar said as he put the Ford into gear and began rolling. “How about we stop at the barracks first? We should pick up a few things.”

  “I like you, Oscar. Think we’re going to get along fine.”

  Chapter 6

  The Great Dividing Range sliced north to south along Queensland’s eastern coast. The rugged, tree-covered peaks of Mt. Webb and Mt. Beardmore were shaded by low-lying clouds. They greedily blocked moisture generated by the currents of the Coral Sea, turning the east side of the range to rainforest, while the west gradually faded to prairie and scrub.

  As the Cessna soared over the lower coastal elevations, the aerial views grabbed the nature lover in Riki and refused to let go. She stared out the plane window in rapt fascination at a terrain that alternated between steep mountainsides, narrow valleys, and rocky sandstone gorges. Covering it all was a rainforest canopy so thick and diverse she wondered how they’d ever find one small plane crash in such a vast sea of green.

  “It’s been two hours,” Craig said. “We’ve covered more than half our target coordinates, and there’s no sign of a shiny metal fuselage.”

  “I doubt there’s any shine left to that metal.” She glanced down at the grid map they’d made from the old civil defense briefing. “Seventy years of humidity and relentless plant life would’ve taken care of that.”

  They’d been systematically zigzagging the landscape, racing the afternoon sun as it lowered behind the mountain range. Not a single indication had surfaced. Nothing shiny, no scar on the land, no flashing neon sign pointing the way. What they had was a thick carpet of pine, gum, and eucalyptus trees, their grip broken only by tangled vegetation and the occasional narrow flash of a stream.

  Craig tapped on one of the gauges with his finger. “Altimeter is sticking.”

  It didn’t matter. As long as they stayed above the tree line, they were fine. In fact, the closer to the ground they got, the easier it might be to spot an anomaly.

  “Circle back to that small gorge we just passed. There’s something bothering me, and I’d like to have a closer look.”

  “You’re the boss,” Craig said as he banked the plane into a turn. “And I’ve seen you in action, so whatever you say goes. How’d you learn to fight like that?”

  “Kai. He’s a demanding teacher.”

  “Don’t doubt it. Even back in the day, no one messed with him. If he trained you, I’ve no trouble believing you can be lethal.”

  She shrugged. “I’ve delivered a few bruises.” She did what it took to get the job done, but she’d never actually killed anyone. Not yet. She trained relentlessly, but only resorted to force if no other options were available.

  “No need to be modest,” Craig said drolly. “I bet your size offers a big advantage. Opponents don’t expect a koala to knock them sideways.”

  She muttered a soft laugh, the sound drowned out by the engine. She had taken out brutes three times her size, and their look of shock as they dropped always gave her a sense of satisfaction. No doubt it added to a growing karmic debt she’ll never be able to repay, but with precious little to enjoy about her life, she’d take what she could get.

  “We’re going to need that element of surprise,” Craig continued, “because I’m betting there’s more where that Asian came from. Odds are, we’ve stirred a nest of vipers.”

  Leave or die. That was what her attacker had said. Any sane person would be scared. What did it say about her that she wasn’t? All she felt was jubilation. Every risk she’d taken, every battle she’d won, had finally begun to make an impact. It said they were taking her as a serious threat.

  “As long as we’re ahead of the snakes,” she reasoned, “we’ll be fine.”

  That probably wasn’t true. Maybe she should lay it on the line—this job could very well be life-threatening.

  “I like your optimism,” he said. “We’re being stalked by Yakuza, searching for a needle in a rainforest, and losing daylight fast. Still, why be pessimistic?”

  She could think of several reasons without even trying, but declined to comment. “That’s me, always looking on the bright side.” She faked a grin to reinforce the parody.

  They banked into another turn as Craig maneuvered their position. The sun had dropped considerably. Night fell quickly this far south of the equator. They’d have to call it a day soon.

  “You been working for Menita long?” Craig asked her.

  Riki looked up from the grid map. “A few years.”

  Craig tapped on the altimeter again. “I’m struggling to wrap my brain around the why.”

  She shrugged. Why wasn’t something she liked to share. “It’s a job.”

  “You’ve got skills, no doubt about it, but why are you working for him?”

  Why not? The odd question caught her off guard. “I’ve known him since I was thirteen. He’s been like a father to me ever since my own was murdered.”

  Silence reigned for several heartbeats before Craig spoke again. “Damn, that’s rough. Sorry to hear that.”

  “It was a long time ago.” She left it at that and stared out the side window.

  “What exactly do you do for Menita?”

  The line of questioning was making her uncomfortable. Specifics were off limits. Craig was supposed to be a friend of Kai’s. He had to know something of his business dealings.

  “He finds rare and interesting artifacts,” she finally said. “I help with the acquisition.”

  “He’s still in archeology.”

  It was a statement, not a question. Like he was catching up on news of an old friend after years apart. It seemed strange. Surely he’d been working with Kai for a while now, trying to locate the downed plane. After all, it was Craig who found the civil defense briefing.

  “Once you’ve been bit by the history bug, there’s no known cure,” she said. “He’s constantly searching for lost artifacts. We’ve placed several spectacular pieces in various museums.”

  “What’s it like working for him? Do you enjoy it?”

  She enjoyed the competition, the satisfaction of finding something lost. Denying the Yakuza a valuable prize warmed her all the way down to her toes, so that was a definite yes. But lately there’d been a
subtle change growing inside her. Elusive, but unmistakable. Strong enough that Kai had sensed it and stepped up his encouragement to avenge her father’s death. The trouble was, she shouldn’t need it.

  “This work is all I’ve ever done, but I love history. There’s nothing like recovering a lost piece of art.” She also liked the travel, the money, and freedom from the ordinary. Sharpening her wits against crime lords and Homeland Security had merit, too. “My father was obsessed with history. In a way, doing what I do keeps me connected to him.”

  “I get that,” Craig said. “Back when I flew for the Consortium, I heard the same thing from the archeologists. It’s exhausting work, but they seemed to love it. Especially Menita.” He took a long drink from his water bottle before continuing. “Not even mortal danger deterred him.”

  She believed it. Recovering lost civilizations didn’t always sit well with the current inhabitants living atop the ruins. “I don’t think the risk deterred you either. Having a plane full of valuable history can be hazardous.” She grinned, but it was the truth. “Do you miss it?”

  He shook his head. “Nah. Riskiest thing I do now is run whiskey into dry shires.”

  Riki laughed as they banked into yet another turn. The sun was barely above the tree line now, and the new angle cast long shadows. It also highlighted gaps in the trees. She peered out the window, studying the landscape below.

  “What did you do with the tattooed guy’s phone?” Craig asked her.

  She had debated keeping it, wondered if it could be used to assist somehow. But in the end, she couldn’t risk the thing’s GPS being a beacon. “I removed the battery and tossed it in the trash at Australian Avionics. I didn’t want him to wake up and have instant access to whoever is pulling the strings.”

  She squinted, focusing on the edge of a ravine. And there it was again—a scratch of deep red in the trees, blending but somehow not belonging. “There’s something odd down there.”

  “What?” Craig glanced out from his side.

  “That cut in the side of the mountain,” she said. “Do you see it?”