Daughter of Ra

by M. Sasinowski

  “I could help.” Alyssa offered, trying to sound casual. “I could cart some things up while you finish here.”

  “I don’t know…” Dan scratched his chin. “Probably should be doing it myself.”

  “It’ll be our little secret.” She gave him a coy smile. “Besides, what harm can there be in recruiting some help to get things done on time? It shows initiative.”

  He eyed the tablet and the items on the shelves. He rubbed the back of his neck, his face betraying an epic internal battle. Finally, he nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”

  Alyssa’s stomach fluttered. She gave him a thumbs up.

  She waited while he double checked his tablet and added a couple more bottles to the cart.

  “All right, I think this is it,” he said, “just bring it to the door and give it to the wait staff. We’re not supposed to go inside.”

  “You got it.” Alyssa saluted. “To the door.”

  “You sure you’ll be all right?” Dan asked.

  “I’m pushing a cart into the elevator and down the hall. I think I can handle it.”

  “Okay, okay. Just making sure. Cheers,” he said, looking almost happy.

  “Don’t mention it!” Alyssa waved and pushed the cart out of the pantry and into the elevator. Her fingers trembled as she pressed the button for the VIP floor. The moment the elevator door closed, she unscrewed the lid of the jug with the tomato juice, popped the plastic foil, and set the lid back on top without screwing it on. She exited the elevator onto a plush rug that ran the length of the corridor to the wide, frosted glass double doors.

  A young woman wearing formal waiter’s attire eyed her as she approached.

  Alyssa put on her most disarming smile. “Hi.”

  “Who are you?” the woman asked.

  “I’m Jane,” Alyssa replied. “I’m helping Dan with the delivery for the bar.”

  “Okay, I’ll take it from here.”

  Alyssa picked up the tray with the bottles and jugs from the cart.

  “Here they are,” she said. “Club soda, pineapple juice, orange—”

  “It’s okay, just leave it,” the woman reached for the tray.

  “I’m glad to help,” Alyssa moved the tray awkwardly to the other woman.

  “Really, I’d rather you—” Her next words turned into a screech as the tray tilted and the bottles tumbled. The tomato juice squirted out of the open container, drenching her crisp white server uniform in bright red splotches.

  “Oh, God! I’m so sorry!” Alyssa cried out.

  The woman stared at the red mess on her uniform. “Look what you did!” she shrieked. “I can’t go in there like this!”

  Alyssa set the tray on the cart and grabbed the handle. “Run and get changed,” she said before the other woman had a chance to fully recover. “I’ll take this in.”

  “Junior staff are not permitted in the Cayce Lounge.”

  “We’re already late!”

  The woman pondered for a moment, a pained expression passing through her face. Finally, she nodded and rushed away.

  Alyssa breathed in and out, trying to tame her heartbeat, which rattled in her rib cage as if trying to escape. Slowly, the panicky daze cleared. She took a deep breath and approached the door.

  The frosted panels slid open, and she entered the room. Or, more appropriately, the great hall. The entire circular space was open, panoramic floor-to-ceiling glass walls surrounded most of its perimeter. On the left, a vacant, concert-size grand piano idled on black polished marble near the intricately carved mahogany bar. Facing it, a myriad of colorful, exotic fish darted in a massive, curving glass tank. A dazzling, multi-tiered crystal chandelier hung in the center of the huge space. Beneath it, eight people lounged on an ensemble of minimalist, black leather furniture, oblivious to her presence.

  Just keep your head down. Stay invisible.

  Alyssa pushed the cart along the spotless floor to the bar. The bartender, a tall man with almond eyes and wide cheekbones, gave her a curious look, but kept silent as she stopped at the bar and began passing him the contents from the cart. She kept her head low, eyeing the group.

  “The event in Cairo was a declaration of war!” An olive-skinned man wearing gold rimmed eyeglasses leaned forward in his armchair, the sleeves of his yellow Indian kurta tunic flapping as he waved his arms, agitated.

  “We must not rush to judgment,” a woman lounging across from him interjected. “We are still unsure of what exactly occurred.” She was Asian with a faint, long scar that traced the left side of her cheek from her temple to her jaw.

  “We know that two dozen of our own perished needlessly!” the Indian man countered.

  They’re talking about the woman I saw in the hospital!

  A Middle Eastern man stood from the leather sofa. “As regrettable as the incident may have been, they knew the risk,” he said. His face was all angles and hard corners; a trimmed beard defined a strong chin. He wore a slate blue suit with a maroon tie, tailored handsomely to his physique. His tone and body language implied that he led the meeting. “Harnessing the ancient power continues to be our greatest pursuit. But we must learn from our past. Madame Chen and her followers prioritized swiftness over prudence.” His face darkened. “And once again that course led to peril—just as it did for William Drake.”

  He lifted a finger to the bartender who nodded and handed Alyssa a bottle of red wine and a corkscrew, pointing at the man.

  Alyssa stared at the bartender, a shiver running down her spine.

  “Go,” he whispered and mimicked a pouring motion.

  Alyssa stood, frozen.

  “Now!” he mouthed, snapping her out of it.

  She crossed the room to the sitting area, her trembling legs making it hard to keep a straight line. She showed the bottle to the Middle Eastern man who gave the slightest nod without glancing up. She stepped back to work on the bottle.

  “We must not disregard the possibility that what occurred may have been an accident,” the Asian woman said while Alyssa fumbled with the bottle. She finally managed to peel back the foil and twist in the corkscrew.

  “That may be wishful thinking in the face of the facts,” the Middle Eastern man said as the cork came out with a quiet pop. Alyssa placed it on the table, and he picked it up and played with it absentmindedly while Alyssa poured a taste. “I’m afraid the situation may be more complicated and grave than we recognize,” he said.

  He picked up the glass and swirled the wine around then took a sip and set it back down. “What reports have we from the site?” he asked, facing a slight, bespectacled man.

  Alyssa held her breath, struggling to keep her hand steady as she filled the glass.

  “The team dispatched to Cairo is still piecing the events together,” the man answered. “Preliminary reports indicate that the meeting took place as scheduled. It is less clear what occurred afterward.”

  The Indian man stood up. “What of the reports that rather than synthesizing the genes himself as he claimed, Dr. Korzo obtained the genes from a Hybrid female who—”

  Hybrid female?

  The bottle almost slipped from Alyssa’s hand and clinked against the wine glass as the Middle Eastern man lifted his hand to silence the Indian man. Alyssa cringed at the discontented look he gave her before he turned to the other man.

  “We can discuss this matter further at an appropriate time,” he said. “In private.” He gave Alyssa a dismissive wave.

  She nodded shyly and set the bottle of wine on the table.

  The Indian man continued, “Be that as it may, this pursuit—”

  “Enough,” the Middle Eastern man silenced him. He shifted his gaze across the room. “Do we have access to Yuri Korzo’s research files, Dr. Tibaldi?”

  Alyssa followed his eyes. An Italian-looking woman with long dark hair glanced up at him, and her eyes met Alyssa’s for an instant. Alyssa cursed herself and looked down quickly, but not before she noted the strange flicker crossing the o
ther woman’s eyes. Alyssa turned and paced to the door.

  “Dr. Tibaldi?” the man repeated.

  “Yes, right,” the woman responded, sounding distracted. “Unfortunately, it appears that much of the research has been lost and—” The rest of the sentence was cut off as Alyssa exited the room and the sliding glass doors slid shut behind her.

  Alyssa’s heart hammered in her chest as she paced down the hall to the elevator. That Italian-looking woman, Dr. Tibaldi, she was there in Cairo four months ago! The way she looked at Alyssa… Did she recognize her?

  Alyssa replayed the conversation in her head as she pressed the button for deck four. Hybrid female? Could she be…?

  Alyssa exited the elevator and hurried down the passageway. She slipped into her cabin and fell against the door. Paul jumped up from the chair.

  She rushed into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

  “Change of plans!” Alyssa whispered breathlessly as Paul entered and closed the door behind him. “We need to get to the server now and get out of here!”

  Paul stared at her, bewildered.

  “I think I just blew our cover. There was a woman there who may have recognized me from the manor house in Cairo.”

  “What?” Paul’s face dropped. “Who?”

  “Doesn’t matter. We need to do this now!”

  “No, no, no…” Paul whimpered, pacing. “This is not good.”

  “Paul!” she yelled.

  He jerked up. “What about the tracker? Clay said that as soon as it leaves the body, the failsafe gets activated.”

  “He did say the failsafe is triggered by a decrease in temperature, so we just need to make sure it stays warm,” she countered.

  “We don’t know that! It could be anything. What if it’s the pH in your body or salt content that keeps it activated?”

  “We have to take a chance. What if we put my arm in warm water and remove it there?”

  “Even if you’re right, how are we going to take it out?

  Alyssa gave Paul a small smile. She reached inside her pocket and pulled a cloth napkin then unfolded it, revealing a fillet knife. “It’s sharp as a scalpel.”

  “Where did you…?” He shook his head, exasperated. “Never mind. And I suppose you also figured out how we’ll know how warm the temperature is.”

  Alyssa opened the small medicine cabinet. She pulled out a first aid kit. “I checked it earlier,” she said and lifted a slim glass thermometer from it.

  “Really?” he said.

  Alyssa placed the thermometer in the sink and started the water. “The water on this ship is desalinated sea water, so it’s relatively sterile.” She pointed at the water bottle on the night stand. “We can take out the tracker in the sink and transport it in the water bottle. After we hit the server, we put it back in, take the pills, and get off the ship as planned.” She reached into the first aid kit again and pulled out some sterile gauze and tape.

  Alyssa checked the thermometer inside of the full sink. “Forty degrees C,” she said. She held out the knife to Paul. “Now or never.”

  “You know this is going to hurt, right?”

  She nodded.

  “And we have absolutely no guarantee it’ll work.”

  She nodded again.

  “Our last getaway to an exotic location got us both shot. Can’t wait to see what this luxury cruise will bring…”

  “Stop stalling! Are you going to do this, or do I have to cut it out myself?”

  “Sorry,” Paul said and took the knife. “Here we go.”

  Alyssa clenched her jaw as Paul tentatively pushed the tip of the blade against her forearm. A bead of blood appeared on her skin before it formed a swirling red ribbon in the clear water.

  Paul put the knife down and pressed on either side of the small incision. Alyssa inhaled sharply.

  “I’m sorry.” Paul winced. “There’s the little bugger!” he said as the tiny silver transmitter popped out of her forearm.

  He reached for the bottle and submerged it in the sink then guided the transmitter into it with the knife. He took out the bottle and topped it off with hot tap water then slid the thermometer inside. He glanced at the temperature. “Still at forty degrees Celsius.”

  Alyssa lifted her arm out of the water and dabbed it dry with sterile gauze. She put antibiotic ointment on the incision and pressed the gauze against her arm, securing it in place with tape.

  “Contact Clay and let him know the plan. We’ll need all the help we can get,” she said.

  Paul looked at the thermometer again. “We probably have fifteen minutes or so before it cools to below thirty-five.”

  She gave him a small smile. “No time to waste!”

  8 The Valediction

  The young guard stirred in his chair and faced the array of flat screen monitors suspended on the wall before him. He took another sip from the Styrofoam cup, grimacing as the lukewarm coffee hit his taste buds. His eyes moved to one of the monitors, movement catching his attention. He took a bite from his protein bar to cover up the bitter taste of the coffee and tapped his partner on the shoulder.

  “See that? Deck eight, sector five?”

  The older man swung his chair around lazily. He scratched his head, making raspy noises on the patchy stubble that matched his scruffy beard. He flicked the small control panel next to him.

  The image from the secondary monitor moved to the central display. A young man and woman, both dressed in crew uniforms pranced down the passageway, holding hands.

  “What the hell are they doing?” the young guard asked.

  “Looks like a couple of crew kids,” his partner said.

  “Want me to call it in?”

  The older man contemplated. “Check their trackers,” he said.

  The young guard typed a command into his workstation. Two pictures appeared on the screen.

  “Jane Morton and James Truman. New arrivals,” he read.

  “They’re just getting to know the ship. Probably looking for a place to spend some quality time between shifts,” he chuckled. “As long as they stay away from the restricted areas, cut them some slack.”

  Alyssa ran playfully along the corridor, holding Paul’s hand, ignoring the sting in her forearm and the knot in her stomach. Beneath her playful exterior, she was strung as tight as a violin string, scanning the walls and ceilings for cameras.

  The conversation with Clay after their “surgery” didn’t exactly fill her with confidence, but true to form, once the initial shock had passed, he cleverly altered the plan, making use of all the resources they had.

  As they approached one of the overhead cameras, she shoved Paul playfully against the wall. He reached up as if to steady himself and attached a micro-transmitter beneath the camera. He reached in his pocket and concealed another transmitter in his palm, and they continued along the corridor, repeating the procedure under two more cameras.

  Paul’s other pocket held the remote trigger for these transmitters. Once activated, they would fire an interference pulse tuned to the frequency of the cameras. Rather than cause the cameras to go offline and possibly create suspicion, the pulse caused the cameras to freeze their transmission, giving them a ten second window before the cameras’ software would reset.

  Alyssa glanced to the door to her left. Server room. Bingo. She considered the location of the cameras. According to Clay, the digital lockpick would take about five seconds to crack the lock. The plan was to find the closest spot out of view of the cameras and activate the transmitters. Once the images were frozen, she would rush to the server room door, unlock it, slip through, and close it. All in under ten seconds, before the cameras went live again. It’s going to be close. Really close.

  She replayed the route in her head that she and Paul had memorized from the ship layout and let Paul nudge her into the port passageway. A few seconds later, they stopped in front of a maintenance closet.

  Dr. Claudia Tibaldi stormed out of the elevator and paced to her ca
bin, the fiery tempo of her four-inch stilettos warning passersby into giving her a wide berth.

  Nothing like spending two hours trapped in a pissing contest with a room full of alphas.

  And they were no closer to finding out what had actually happened in Cairo. If the preliminary reports were correct, the situation was even more dire than anybody had suspected. And where the hell was Yuri?

  This would have never happened with Will in charge.

  With no clear successor, William Drake’s sudden death had left a gaping hole in the organization, the members bickering and vying for positions. It was anarchy at its finest. The Society has never been as divided—or as vulnerable.

  She frowned. Something else had been nagging at the back of her mind. The server girl. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but something about that girl didn’t feel quite right. The hot bath and chilled glass of prosecco waiting in her suite were almost enough to ignore the pesky voice in her head, but she knew she would not have gotten this far without paying attention to her intuition.

  She turned on her heel and stepped back to the elevator and pressed the button for the command deck.

  Alyssa huddled against Paul, feeling the warmth of his body against hers in the tiny supply closet. She untucked her shirt and lifted the water bottle from her waist. She eyed the thermometer before putting the comm in her ear. Thirty-eight degrees.

  “Clay, are you there?”

  “I’ve had this bloody headset in my ears for eighteen hours straight. You think I’d take it out now?” His voice sounded tense.

  She pushed the eyeglasses over the bridge of her nose. “How’s the video?” she asked.

  “Paul is sweating,” Clay replied.

  “I take that as ‘clear,’” Alyssa said.

  “Remember, when you trigger the pulse for the cameras in the hall, we’ll be offline for a few moments.” Clay swallowed loudly. “You can do this.”

  Alyssa handed the bottle to Paul. “Ready?” she asked.

  He nodded. “You?”