Alpha Adventures: First Three Novels

by K. T. Tomb

  He got Adam up and they moved as quickly as they could toward the boathouse.

  “What the hell happened to you guys?” Lucas shouted over the roar of the motor in yet a third boat.

  “Don’t want to talk about it,” Travis gargled through an already swelling lip. One of his eyes was almost swollen shut.

  Adam just moaned in clear discomfort, the blood still rushing out of his nose. As they approached the stern of the second boat, they saw a number of flashes coming their way, and Travis ducked his head instinctively. Three returning flashes answered, and the report of the gunfire quickly travelled over the water. The noise was deafening. They had to swerve to remain out of the line of fire, and as they did, Lucas opened up the throttle wide and they closed on the other two watercrafts. Another series of shots rang out to their right this time, and one of the bullets caught the engine on the boat containing Thyri, Savannah and the man called James.

  “Get off the boat,” Travis yelled as loudly as he could, but he needn’t have worried. Three figures leaped up and out, just as the engine caught fire. They were momentarily blinded as the fiberglass boat took off, skidding across the water and exploded a few yards ahead of them. Travis managed to count two floating heads swimming for shore, but he did not see the third until he looked at the boat they were pursuing more closely.

  Faber was clearly entangled with yet another combatant, and this one had long blonde hair. Give him hell, Sav, Travis thought to himself. But even from a distance of a couple hundred yards, Travis could tell she was losing.

  Faber slapped away another of Savannah’s vicious punches.

  “I won’t hit you, little girl, but don’t tempt me into shooting you,” Faber threatened, waving his gun in her face. He had set the boat to auto pilot while he dealt with Savannah.

  “Why won’t you hit me? You were willing to sell me,” Savannah said. “Hit back.”

  She threw yet another combination of punches at Faber, none of which landed.

  “It’s not polite to hit a girl,” Faber said.

  This astonished Savannah, and it was the moment Faber needed. He grabbed one of her arms, spun it up behind her and threw her off the side of the boat. The water did not make for a nice landing, but it did nothing more than knock the wind out of Savannah. She was a good swimmer and headed for shore. Once onto dry land, she took off running, trying to stay level with the boat.

  The guys had made up considerable ground and Lucas was bringing the boat in closer to try and ram Faber. Faber must have read their minds somehow, because, as Gaston swung the boat around, Faber spun his boat around and plowed into the starboard side of the boat the men were in. There was a sickening snap, and followed by more cracks, and the gurgling of the motor going in. All three men swam straight down. Faber fired a number of rounds into the water, and after the third or fourth click telling him the gun was empty, he tossed that into the water too.

  Faber brought his boat around, laughing how easily he had handled those who thought they could stop him. He pulled the boat into shore, and eased up toward a dock, on which sat a DHC-2 aircraft equipped with hydro-skis. He got the plane started and was taxiing out onto the river for take-off in no time; the Swarovski vases in his lap, when out of the corner of his eye, he saw a soaking wet tangle of blonde hair launch itself off the dock and latch onto one of the hydro skis.

  Faber immediately proceeded to take off and got the plane into the air, but not before Savannah had clambered up into the passenger area of the plane, using the rear door to get inside. She lay panting and wet, almost completely exhausted on the floor of the plane, when she noticed she was not alone.

  Bound hand and foot and blindfolded was Simon, the missing driver. Savannah’s rage that Faber would have honestly considered selling another person gave her tired, frozen limbs new life. She removed the man’s blindfold and reassured him that she was there to help.

  Then, thinking quickly, she stripped down until she was in her underclothes. She had on a very functional, but sexy, pair of black boy shorts and a lacy bra that any man would be happy to see.

  She made her way into the cockpit, and Franz was at a complete loss for words. She made her over to him and, noticing the three precious objects on his lap, leaned over and gave him a long, slow kiss. She pulled away, and gave Franz a cold smile, opened the pilot’s side door, and pushed him out of the plane. It was only a few feet up in the air, but Savannah winced anyway as Franz’ body hit the water. She quickly moved out of Simon’s way as he took the pilot’s seat and began to bring the plane around for a landing. It was only after she sat down that she realized there were only two vases. Shit, she said in her head. Shit, shit, SHIT!

  On the surface of the river below, Adam saw two separate splashes. One was large, and seemed to stick to the top of the water for a moment, and the second was a much softer splash. What the hell? He thought to himself, and swam over to investigate.

  It was Faber, knocked unconscious by the fall out of the sky. Adam could not figure out what the second splash had been, but he was too concerned about getting Faber out of the river. He grabbed him under the arms and swam the last few hundred yards backwards to the shoreline.

  Up in the air, Savannah had pulled out her phone and called Interpol.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I hope you’re recovering well,” Mrs. Rodange said to Travis.

  In his bid to escape from Faber’s bullets, Travis’s foot had become tangled in a forest of kelp and he had been submerged in the icy water much longer than either of the other two men. His core temperature had dropped dangerously low, causing him to suffer from hypothermia. On the bright side, being submerged in the cold water had greatly reduced the swelling around his eye and had helped his other bruises to heal rather quickly.

  After a couple of days in the hospital getting fluids and eating lots of hot soup, he was no worse for wear and his recovery had been aided by the constant ministrations of Savannah. That first night after everyone had left his hospital room, she had climbed into the hospital bed with him, kissed him lightly on the lips and put her head on his chest and promptly gone to sleep.

  Travis had no idea what that had meant, but he did not complain about the companionship.

  “Yes, I’m getting along quite well,” Travis said, grinning at his private thought.

  “We can’t thank you enough for your hard work on this case,” Liebowitz added. Monsieur Liebowitz had matched Mrs. Rodange’s fee, he was so grateful to get the vases back. “It’s a shame though,” he said, looking at Gaston, “that all three were not recovered.”

  “Well,” Adam interjected, “I’m sure they’ll find that vase. I know it didn’t break—I would have heard that. It’s gotta be buried in the bottom of the river somewhere. Don’t worry; someone will dig it out of there.”

  “Always the optimist,” Gaston replied. “Listen, you did an excellent job. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the opportunity to break this story to the world,” he said, looking at Liebowitz with a grateful smile.

  In the past few days, Gaston had presented Liebowitz with his ideas about a new media company, and Liebowitz had been sufficiently impressed to fund a majority of the start-up capital Gaston needed. Of course he hadn’t neglected to make it clear that Liebowitz, Inc. owned the business, and that for now Lucas Gaston was working for him.

  “It’s still a shame, and I feel just awful taking full-pay on this one,” Savannah said, expressing the sentiment of all the Alpha Adventurers. “We kinda screwed up when we lost one of the vases. Maybe we should take two-thirds, huh Thyri?”

  “That’s not a terrible idea,” Thyri replied, and she got immediate agreement from Adam and Travis.

  “I can’t let you do that,” Gaston said softly, eyes staring straight at the ground. Everyone looked at him. He sighed heavily, then paused and smiled slyly. “There exists in this matter what we call reasonable doubt. The only thing that is known as fact is that the vase is out there. Who knows whether it rem
ains lost or whether it has already been found?”

  The group of friends looked at each other, all at a loss for words. Liebowitz broke the silence, and gave them a genuine smile as he clapped Gaston on the back.

  “Already been found, eh?” he said and gave a deep roar of laughter. “Well, let the games continue then!”

  The end.

  The Alpha Adventures returns in:

  “D” is for Diamond

  An Alpha Adventure #4

  Coming soon!

  Return to the Table of Contents

  Also available:

  SASQUATCH

  An adventure novel

  by

  K.T. Tomb

  (read on for a sample)

  Chapter One

  Draw, flash sight, discharge weapon. Replace in holster. Repeat seven times until magazine empty. Check target. Reload. Check magazine, cock weapon. Holster weapon. Draw, flash sight, discharge weapon. Replace in holster. Repeat seven times until magazine empty. Holster weapon. Check target.

  Her aim was off by only a fraction on perhaps two bullets out of eight. She should have given herself the time to fully sight the target. She had been relying on the speed of her cognitive functions to align her gun with the distant target and fire on it in one fluid movement. If she could correct that, her aim would have been good enough to make an Olympic team.

  The thought came unbidden.

  That was part of a past that she didn’t particularly cherish, so she put the safety on her Ballester-Molina pistol and stepped back from the target range. The weapon was a relic by anyone’s standards, reconditioned twice. The legend goes that this was one of the pistols made in Buenos Aires from the steel reclaimed from the Nazi battleship Graf Spee after it was scuttled in the River Plate during the war. It was just a fairy story, but one she had been happy to cling to. Not that she was a sentimental person, but Lux always found herself with better things to spend her money on than a new gun. Not that she had seen any fresh influx of cash in a while.

  Had it been so long since Mexico? In any case, she couldn’t see herself parting with the old pistol, or her old truck, any time soon. And on that note, she would not be letting go of her upcoming project, that was for sure. Lux had a reputation to uphold if not the lifestyle to go with it. It wasn’t like she had much else other than her truck, her gun, and her boots. She wondered if she could get any government grants for being the most Texan woman of all time, but reminded herself that that wouldn’t be a very Texan thing to do.

  Leaving the weapons free area, pausing to grab a soda and sparking her last cigarette, she looked at her truck through the window of the shooting range over the head of the balding receptionist, Tony. Tony, as usual, tutted at her and pointed to the no smoking sign without even looking at it. She enjoyed their game, although they had perhaps spoken only twenty words to each other in the two years she had been frequenting this place. She knew his name was Tony from his name badge. She stepped outside and put a booted foot on the thirty-five inch tire of her truck. Her rundown 1978 Ford F-150 pickup sat by the curb like a sad puppy, the headlights giving her their best dejected gaze. The vehicle was definitely in need of some repairs, if not scrapping completely. Hopefully, when she was paid for this job, she could finally get some of the mechanical work done that was becoming rather urgent. Maybe even some of the aesthetic work, too, or at least swap out the seat covers for something that hadn’t fallen out of an 80’s sitcom. She was glad she had invested in getting the brush guard installed and the suspension lifted. If this contract was going to be as rough as the client had surmised, those improvements would certainly come in handy. If it turned out to be as lucrative as the client had predicted, then old Betsy would be getting the ultimate mud truck spa treatment.

  She looked around and then snuck a peek at her watch. It was three o’clock, right on the dot. The sweltering Texas heat poured down on her head from the sun high above her. Through her open window, she grabbed her straw cowgirl hat and swept her hair back from her face as she put it on and sat back to wait. Tardiness was not one of her customs, although it appeared apparent to her after fifteen years of adulthood that this philosophy was woefully under-subscribed. Like her services, it appeared.

  Fortunately for her limited patience, it wasn’t long before a sleek sedan pulled up to the park. The midday light reflected off the shiny surface, momentarily blinding her despite her knockoff aviator sunglasses. She squinted at the sedan, fixing her customary impassive expression to hide her irritation. It wouldn’t do to piss off the client, at least not until he’d paid. The door opened and a twiggy driver popped out and bobbed around the side to the passenger door. The driver opened the rear passenger door with a magnificent sweep, as if displaying some sort of grand treasure to the world.

  The treasure turned out to be a very thin and very old man who hobbled out, flailing a stick to get leverage on the baking asphalt. He was so wizened he could barely have topped five foot. Without that cane, she was sure that he would have toppled in the breeze like a dried-up leaf. He had a thin white beard, but only a handful of long white hairs sprouting from the top of his head. Certainly anyone else would have cut them off by now, she thought. He reminded her of the KFC colonel in miniature and he could have been older than God. But she kept her face well-schooled. The little man may look ridiculous, but he was paying her an even more ridiculous amount of money for the most ridiculous project of her life. Low on cash and lower on luck, she needed that money; so she needed that little man to see respect on her face instead of disdain or merriment at his appearance. She felt unkind for thinking it. She had been without the company of people too long, and it was as usual, having a misanthropic effect.

  “Hello,” she said when he had painfully made it several steps closer. “You must be Dr. Stevens.”

  The man wobbled, tottered over to her and sat on a bench opposite her truck with a great sigh. It was a louder sound than she had expected him to be able to produce, but she forced herself to appreciate his effort in getting out of his car at all to say what he had to say. She spun and parked her behind on the hood of her car, and then had to stand again. The hood was easily hot enough to cook meat on.

  So cool, she thought.

  Stevens at least pretended not to notice, but she was sure that the little man’s mouth curled slightly in a smile.

  “Aye. I am Dr. Stevens. And you must be Lux Branson, I assume?”

  “Yes, sir,” she grinned, only partly falsely. “Pleased to meet you.”

  She bent in slightly to take his hand, trying not to break it off in her grip. There was nearly a foot of height difference between them.

  “You’ve quite the handshake there, dear. It’s a lost art, don’t you think?”

  “No, I think people are just lazy,” she said, and instantly regretted it.

  Small talk had never been her strength. Now, sitting on a park bench beside her in the Texas heat was a little old man who was about to fund several years of tracking adventures that she’d had to miss out on, as well as the lucrative guide’s jobs that usually came along with them. Here she was, sitting down and telling him that he had the wrong idea about handshakes.

  Dr. Stevens’ crinkly face expanded to hide all his features except for his mouth as he let out a dry, cackling noise. For a moment she thought that the fossil was going to die on her right then and there, which would put a severe dent in her travel plans.

  “I suppose that’s the best answer I’ve ever got!”

  It was a laugh. He was laughing! Lux was relieved, but resolved to keep herself in check from then on out. She was hardly gregarious, which was fine so long as she didn’t have to engage with other human beings, ever. When she did, this sort of social error was commonplace.

  “So tell me Lux, about this so-called ‘tracking’ ability of yours. I’ve heard you’re the best.”

  Dr. Stevens lay his thick cane against the bench and caught her with his little rheumy eyes. They were old eyes, eyes that had
seen a lot – perhaps even too much – of the world. Lux had seen enough of the world too, enough to know when she was being deliberately needed. So-called, indeed.

  “Well, I’ve worked as a skip tracker for about seven years now. There isn’t anywhere someone can run where I won’t find them. I haven’t failed yet, and I don’t intend to.”

  Bounty hunting paid, but barely. Still, no harm in taking pride in a job well done, no matter if it was usually luring people into traps with her looks so she could cart them off to jail.

  Dr. Stevens nodded slowly.

  “And other things?” His eyes seemed to clear. Strange. Like she was watching the process of Stevens manually focusing his eyes with strength of will alone.

  “What do you mean ‘other things’?” she said.

  “You can find people, but can you track things? Non-human things?”

  Lux wasn’t sure what he meant. Animals? Why not just say, ‘animals’ then?

  “If it leaves a trail, I can track it,” she said confidently, though she didn’t feel anywhere near as confident as she sounded. It had, after all, been a while since she had fired a gun at an animal. Hunting for sport had been drilled into her as a child, and then firmly drilled out of her by a burgeoning moral code that began on Kodiak Island, years ago. Lux had been tracking and hunting since she could stand up and hold a rifle. When she was seventeen and had dropped out of high school, she had spent every bear season in Alaska as a hunting guide and her charges had never gone home empty-handed. In her mind, that was some of the most stringent hunting that the continental U.S. had to offer. Slowly but surely, the thrill of watching fat, gloating morons gun down beautiful, dangerous animals paled. Walking away from animal hunting with no idea of how to support herself financially, she had returned to Texas, lost and freelancing with the local sheriff.