by S. A. Beck
A little window opened up in the door, covered on the inside by mesh, which would keep anyone from sticking a gun inside.
Damn, I’m beginning to think like Grunt, Otto thought ruefully.
A narrow-eyed Moroccan man with a thin scar across one side of his chin stared at them for a moment before saying something in Arabic. Grunt replied in the same language.
The window slammed shut, and there was a rattling of chains and snapping of bolts.
The door opened onto a dark, narrow hallway. A man stood at the far end, holding an assault rifle.
As the guy at the door closed it behind him, Grunt took off his kaffiyeh, revealing the tribal tattoos that snaked across his neck and bald scalp.
The doorman’s face lit up. “Malcolm!” He embraced Grunt and gave him a kiss on each cheek, something Otto had seen men do there. Otto hoped he wasn’t going to get the same treatment.
Malcolm? How many names does this guy have? Oh wait, he boasted that he had seventeen. Wonderful. I think I’ll just call him Grunt. It fits.
The doorman and Grunt had a quick conversation in Arabic before turning to Otto.
“I’m Ahmed,” the doorman said. “Come.”
He led them down the hall past the guy with the assault rifle. Otto nodded to him and got a cold stare in return. Taking a right, they passed down another short hall and entered a large room with a couple of low, battered couches and rugs on the floor.
Leaning on the couches and lined up on the floor were dozens of guns of all descriptions, everything from small hideaway automatic pistols to hefty machine guns.
Otto gaped. “You took me on a shopping trip to an arms dealer?”
“What did you think, Pyro, that we were going out for ice cream?”
Otto gave the room another look. “I don’t see any Tasers.”
“They don’t do Tasers in this part of the world,” Grunt said, reaching down and picking up a rifle. “Try this one on for size.”
Otto handled it uncertainly. His uncle had taken him to a shooting range a couple of years before, but that was the only time he’d ever fired a real gun. He’d already been in fights with people shooting at him, but he always had his Taser or flash-and-smoke grenades. He’d never had to use lethal force. He wasn’t even sure he could.
Otto thought back to the fight at the abandoned gas station. He’d complained that he wanted some real grenades to fight General Meade’s agents. It didn’t seem fair that they were trying to kill him and he was only trying to blind and stun them. But what if he really had some explosive grenades? Could he have used them, and how would he have felt about it afterward? He didn’t want to kill anyone, but if people were trying to kill him or kidnap Jaxon or hurt anyone else in the Atlantis Allegiance, wouldn’t he be forced to sooner or later?
Otto glanced at Grunt. The mercenary acted as if killing people was nothing more serious than smashing a window or driving over the speed limit. Otto couldn’t help but notice, though, that Grunt always tried to avoid using his gun if he could, and he never bragged about his war exploits like some veterans he’d met. While Grunt might have been a killer, he didn’t relish that status.
Grunt put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Pyro, it won’t bite. We’ve had it easy, but now we’re in a tough part of the world, and we’ll probably end up in a lot tougher places than this. It’s time to step up to the plate. You’re in the major leagues now.”
Otto stared at the gun in his hand, feeling a growing sense of dread. He wished he was back in Little Leagues. He didn’t like how this was going at all.
Chapter 10
July 28, 2016, MARRAKESH, MOROCCO
6:30 AM
* * *
Jaxon couldn’t believe she was up so early. Back in the States, she woke up as late as possible. Sometimes, she felt like not getting out of bed at all.
In Morocco, though, she got up with the dawn call to prayer. The sweet singing brought her out of a restful slumber into a strange, exotic land still half asleep in the predawn light. A blissfully cool breeze blew through her latticed window to greet her as she got out of bed. She stood in front of it, letting it blow over her body, enjoying it while it lasted. Within a couple of hours, it would be warm. Within four hours, the heat would flatten her.
The songs from the various minarets near and far faded to a close, and she looked out over the flat roofs and rusty satellite dishes of the city as the light grew. It was still quiet out there. Most people didn’t seem to go to the mosque. Perhaps they prayed at home or at least pretended to. She’d seen a TV program about Saudi Arabia, showing religious police going around and checking that everyone said their prayers. They even banged on windows, shouting to people inside to get down on the floor and pray. People who didn’t pray got hit with long wooden sticks. There didn’t seem to be any of that here.
Occasionally, she could hear a neighbor open and shut a door or see the dark silhouette of a woman on a rooftop putting up the wash. Someone would call to a friend on the street. The rumble of a cart passing beneath her window told her one of the merchants was getting an early start to the market with his produce.
The city was waking up. If she wanted some privacy, she wouldn’t have much time.
Jaxon grabbed her nunchucks and sai and went down to the courtyard. At that hour, it was always empty.
She started with the nunchucks, taking care to begin slowly. Her first couple of times trying them, she smacked herself in the head before she learned the trick of it. The chain between the two sticks had to bend with your body, moving with your curves as you swung it over your shoulder or your side. Right hand flip up over shoulder, left hand behind to grab, left hand flip up over shoulder, right hand to grab. Again and again, picking up speed.
Her tablet leaned against one of the tiled pillars, showing a video for an instructor going through the moves. She always left it on mute, partially so she didn’t disturb anyone sleeping behind the windows above her and partially because she didn’t want anything disturbing the peacefulness of that time. The only sounds she heard were the early-morning birdsong as sparrows flittered overhead, along with the rattle of the chain and the swish of the sticks as she spun them faster and faster around her body.
The morning routine calmed her, helping her start her day with a clear head. Being in such a strange place, it helped to have something of a routine. She was making progress with her weapons, and most of all, it gave her something to do.
She wasn’t getting to do much else. Everyone had become overprotective of her. Grunt and Otto were off making contacts with some people in the underground, the two scientists were at the university talking with Moroccan experts, Vivian was acting as her personal bodyguard, and she hardly even saw Edward. Besides a bit of sightseeing with Otto and Vivian, she barely even got to go out.
Everyone told her she needed to keep out of sight since General Meade was still looking for her.
Looking for her here? Yeah, right! How was she supposed to find her people if she was stuck in the hotel all day?
She couldn’t even talk to the other guests. The place had a strange policy that no one spoke to anyone they didn’t know. The other people staying there passed her in the hallway without even glancing at her. One of them, who looked like some Arabian oil sheik with long, loose white robes over his big belly, had wandered into the courtyard one morning while she was practicing and had immediately turned around and walked away without a word.
Another time, she had been sitting in the lounge sipping some of the awesome mint tea Mohammad’s wife Fatima made, and a thin guy in a cheap suit and an old-school fedora had sat down nearby and ordered a tea as well. They both drank in silence, neither looking in the other’s direction or at the TV showing Moroccan news with a droning Arabian narrator giving the room its only sound. She understood that everyone went there for the privacy, but that gave the place a creepy edge.
As Jaxon went through her moves in the courtyard, the hotel around her slowly woke u
p. She heard a rattle of dishes coming from the kitchen and the footsteps of one of the other guests passing through to the lounge. The square of sky three stories above her had brightened, and she could already feel its warmth.
The video finished, and she put away her weapons with a sigh. She didn’t have much to look forward to for the rest of the day—just sitting around in the room, watching movies on her tablet, drinking tea alone in the lounge, and maybe getting a walk with Otto after he finished hanging out with Grunt’s creepy criminal friends. Jaxon was on the trip of a lifetime, and all she got to do was hide in the hotel.
She returned to the room to find Vivian primping in the bathroom.
“Off on a date?” Jaxon joked.
“I wish. No drinks with the girls either, not in this town. No, I have to see someone about something.”
You mean you’re off doing something cool while little old me has to stay safe in the hotel?
Vivian came out of the bathroom. She looked gorgeous, as usual. “Sorry I can’t be a better roommate and spend some more time with you. I have too much to do. So why are you sharing a room with me instead of your boyfriend?”
Jaxon blinked. That was a quick change of subject. “He hasn’t been my boyfriend for that long.”
“It’s okay to wait, honey.”
“It’s not just that, but… there kinda was someone else. When I thought I’d never see Otto again, I was heartbroken, but then I accepted it. Then there was this other guy. I mean, we never really were officially boyfriend and girlfriend, and now I kinda regret it.”
Vivian gave her a sympathetic smile. “Must have been tough not to get to say goodbye.”
Jaxon’s eyes filled. Vivian put a hand on her shoulder.
“Oh honey, we know this is hard for you. We asked you to walk away from your whole life.”
Jaxon shook her head. “There was nothing worth missing in my old life, but that’s not why I’m crying. He got murdered.”
The story came out of her like a waterfall: her fight with her neighbors, her solo trips to bad parts of town, meeting up with Brett doing the same thing, and that last terrible fight, where he disappeared and ended up dead in a dumpster.
Vivian gave her a hug. That time, Jaxon didn’t resist.
“That’s terrible, honey. I’ve lost some good friends in the field, too. At least he was fighting for what’s right.”
Those last words came out with a note of regret. Jaxon squeezed her arm.
Vivian wiped the tears from Jaxon’s eyes. “Chin up, girl. You can honor his memory by finding what you came for and stopping General Meade. He’s out after all your people, and they won’t be safe until he’s gone. Speaking of, I got to see to one part of that plan right now. Sorry to run, honey, but I really got to go. You can’t be late with the kind of people I’m meeting. Stay out of sight in the hotel. I know it’s boring, but it’s the safest thing. By the way, Edward wanted to see you.”
Within a minute, Vivian was gone. Jaxon sat on the edge of her bed, feeling glum. So much was happening around her, and she didn’t even get to be part of it. Forcing herself to get up, she headed over to Edward’s room. That would be the last bit of socializing she’d get until evening.
Edward’s room looked as though he had moved the mess of his trailer across the ocean to Morocco. His room had a large desk covered with three computers. Other equipment hummed and blinked their lights in the corners of the room. The rest of the place was covered in junk—dirty socks, empty candy wrappers, and half-filled bottles of flat Coke. He kept complaining that nobody could get Mountain Dew in Morocco and that he was stuck drinking “the weak stuff.” Jaxon wrinkled her nose, wishing Edward would shower more often.
He greeted her nervously at the door before hurrying back to his computers.
“I downloaded some more videos for you,” he said, looking at the floor. Edward never looked right at her. “Sorry it took so long, but it was five hundred gigs, and the satellite uplink here is terrible.”
“You downloaded me five hundred gigs of video? I’m going to be practicing until I’m sixty.”
“No, it’s not all what you asked for. I found a torrents site that had videos for pretty much every martial-arts weapon. I downloaded them all. If I downloaded just something on nunchucks and sai, it might get flagged by a spybot.”
“Huh?”
Sometimes, Edward sounded as though he was speaking another language.
“You bought those weapons from that guy in Chinatown. Isadore probably noticed. She’ll realize you’re going to teach yourself how to use them, so General Meade probably set up a spybot to flag anyone downloading that stuff. Of course, lots of people download martial-arts videos, so it will only make an alert if someone only downloads videos for those two particular weapons.”
“Um, okay. Thanks.”
It sounded ridiculous, like some crazy conspiracy theory. Jaxon couldn’t decide whether Edward was paranoid or she was naïve. Maybe both were true. Her idea of reality seemed to have been taken apart piece by piece in the past few months. She didn’t know what to believe anymore.
Edward offered her a thumb drive.
As she turned to leave, he blurted, “Do you like the hotel?”
Jaxon turned back to him and found him blushing.
“I-I found it for you, I mean for us. All of us.”
“Yeah, it’s great.”
Edward looked flustered. “It’s pretty expensive, but it’s safe. I figured you’d like the private courtyard.”
“I do, thanks,” Jaxon said, softening her tone. Because Edward was so brittle, she always had to take care when talking to him. “Glad we’re getting the four-star treatment, or at least what passes for it here. So you were going to tell me where your money comes from?”
Edward shifted in his seat and blushed. The poor guy always seemed tense around her. She wondered if that was because she was a girl or because he was actually tense all the time.
“Well, yeah. I don’t want you to think I’m a criminal or something. I mean, I break laws, but only the bad laws.”
Jaxon tried very, very hard not to roll her eyes. That would only fluster him even more, and she wanted to hear his answer even if it was some sort of self-justifying BS. She’d heard plenty of that before.
“You see, I work for another organization, too,” Edward said. “I met them on the Darknet. No, don’t look at me like that. It’s not just for criminals. A lot of political groups meet there too because they’re harder to trace. Democratic activists in countries with dictatorships, stuff like that. Social reformers, too. Anarchists. Transhumanists. Vigilantes. I got a job with the last group. It’s called Operation Lifeline. They use crowdfunding to hire people like me to take down illegal websites, both on the Darknet and on the regular web.”
“What kind of sites?”
Edward let out a sigh. “Child pornography and child trafficking.”
Jaxon’s stomach turned.
Edward went on. “Some of the Operation Lifeline sponsors are millionaires. They offer a lot of money, more if you can find out user information, and even more if your work leads to a conviction. I’m very good at what I do. I find these sites”—Edward grimaced—“and hack into them, planting spyware on them. When a user logs on, they get tracked. Then I have their IP number, the unique code each computer has. After that, it’s usually pretty easy to hack into their computer, turn on their webcam, and take a photo of them, time stamped for the same time they’re accessing the illegal website. That’s enough to get a conviction. The information gets sent to the FBI as well as Operation Lifeline. I’ve got it mostly automated on that computer over there in the corner. I’ve probably caught ten or twelve perverts today already. I’ll check later this afternoon. That means a few grand.”
Jaxon put her hand on his. Edward flushed and yanked his hand away.
“You’re a hero,” Jaxon said.
“Heroes don’t ask for pay,” he grumbled.
“Those FBI agen
ts you contact get paid too, but they’re still heroes. I think what you’re doing is noble. But why did you pick…”
She let her words trail away. She was about to ask why he picked that line of work since it so obviously upset him, but when he turned away and his whole body started shaking, she knew the answer to her question.
“So I hope you like the hotel,” Edward mumbled. “And, um, I put your CPS records on there too, in case, you know, you want to look at them or something.”
“You saw my CPS records?”
Edward looked flustered. He took a minute to get a response out. “I had to so I could track you. I needed the Grants’ address.”
Jaxon stared at the thumb drive. She hadn’t read those documents in a long time. She had never seen the point of reading about the past when she didn’t have any future to look forward to.
Now, she felt different. She was part of something bigger. Her family had given her up, disappeared, but she still had her people.
And here she was, on the other side of the world, looking for them.
“Thanks, Edward.”
The hacker nodded and turned back to his computer. He took a slug of Coke and started typing like mad. As he got into a groove, he seemed to grow a bit. His spine straightened a little, and he got an expression on his face that, while not quite confident, at least didn’t look beaten anymore. He always looked better facing a screen than facing a human being.
He glanced over and saw Jaxon hovering by the door. “Don’t worry about what they say in those things.” Edward gestured at the thumb drive with a dismissive wave. “It’s not you. It’s just what the system thinks of you.”
Back in her room, Jaxon turned the thumb drive over in her hands. Her social workers had sometimes offered to show the records to her and answer any questions she had about them, but it had been a long time since Jaxon had bothered. Too depressing, like she didn’t have enough to be depressed about already.
That had been in her old life. She didn’t know how her weird new life would turn out, but she was going to make damn sure it wouldn’t end up like the old one.
