Through milky eyes Margaret faced Foucault and tried to suppress a quizzical look. Lifintyls? Breylofte? What was he talking about? Snuffling involuntarily, she asked, “Who are you?”
“Less a threat to you than you think. Possibly an allié — if you can lower your defenses long enough to find out.” While Foucault spoke, he typed out a message on his own cell phone and placed it on the table.
“Ally?” she questioned.
“Oui. I sought to meet you in the hopes we might form an alliance.” Foucault nodded as he flicked ashes onto the platform by his chair.
“Why would I want an alliance with you?”
“Simple, Mademoiselle. Because I can offer you much more than your Klaus Navarro.”
“What makes you think I’m in an alliance with this Klaus person?”
Foucault shook his head with disapproval and said, “Come now, Margaret, do not be coy. I found you. I know your true identity. I demonstrated my ability to neuter the Breylofte — and I showed you Dreylaeks can do more than just defend. Do you really believe I am not aware of who pulls your strings?”
Mustering a small measure of bravado, she said, “No one pulls my strings! You didn’t answer my question. Who are you?”
Smoke poured from his mouth as he answered, “I told you my name.”
“You know what I mean! You obviously know about the Stones. Are you a collector? Or a smuggler like Navarro?”
Foucault considered her question while sipping champagne. “Non. I am not a collector in the classical sense. I don’t gather trinkets to admire or display, but I am interested in the Munuorians and their Tyls.”
“Moon what?”
“Moon-war-E-uns. They made the Lifintyls, the ‘Stones’ as you call them.”
“What did you call this?” she asked, lifting the Sound Stone.
A pleased smile stretched across Foucault’s face. “It is known as a Breylofte.”
“Is that French?”
“No. The Munuorians gave the device its name. It means ‘air mover’ in their language.”
“How do you know that?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Didn’t your Uncle Matthew teach you about the Munuorians?”
“A little. But he didn’t know their name. He called them Stone Benders. What did you do to block the Sound Stone?”
Foucault nodded appreciatively. At least she is curious, he thought. He unclasped a golden cufflink fastening his left sleeve and withdrew a cookie-sized, deep-emerald-colored stone. Gripping the stone between his finger and thumb, he said, “With this. Well, two of these. One for each wrist.”
Squinting across the table at the thin, shiny rock, Margaret said, “More Stones? What did you call them?”
“Dreylaeks. The name has a dual meaning. One is ‘defender,’ the other ‘healer,’” he said.
Over Foucault’s shoulder, Margaret saw Christian approaching the platform. Foucault noticed her body tense. He reached out a hand. “Calmer, Mademoiselle. He will not hurt you.”
When Christian stepped up to the table, Foucault handed him Margaret’s room key and cell phone. He instructed him to search her room. Turning to Margaret, he said, “Please tell Christian the passcode to your phone. Then, we can finally eat.”
Margaret’s face reddened. “Why should I?”
“Also, if you have anything in the room safe, we need that code as well,” Foucault said.
She hesitated. Foucault pressed on. “I need to know who you called on the beach. That is all. As for the safe, Christian will not take anything that isn’t mine.”
“Yours? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means we know you have been snooping around Dominica. Just like your uncle. If your brother is to be believed, Monsieur Dobson stole my Sulataers. They were of great value to me and now they are lost. I aim to ensure you’ve removed nothing else from the Maerlif.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.
“The gold, mon chère. It was mine,” he said. Foucault watched the shock spread over her face. “Yes, you know of what I speak. It was hidden in a place I have guarded for many years. The miscreant blew it open with explosives and took my Sulataers.”
“I’ve found nothing,” said Margaret.
“That is good to hear, and it doesn’t surprise me,” Foucault said. “After the intrusion, I took measures to ensure it would not be discovered again. Still, I need to be sure. After all, you have the map, do you not? And you have a Breylofte.”
Margaret looked at him quizzically but provided Christian with the passcodes nonetheless. “The room safe is empty.”
As Christian hustled away, Foucault said, “I believe you. Now…what have you done with the map? Your brother guessed you gave it to Navarro. Is that true?”
She nodded. There was no reason to lie at this point.
“Most unfortunate,” he said. “How long has he had it?”
“A month, maybe more.”
“Do you know his purpose? Why he wanted the map?”
She shrugged. “To find more of the Stones, I guess.”
Foucault’s concentration was interrupted by a text from Christian confirming Margaret’s calls were placed to an Argentinian phone number. He also confirmed the calls went unanswered. Foucault looked up at Margaret and said, “Bon. I’m pleased you didn’t lie to me. It is fortunate you did not connect with Señor Navarro.” While he rubbed a Dreylaek between his fingers, he added, “You say Klaus wants more of the Lifintyls. Do you know which ones?”
“If you’ve talked with Kyle, you know what he wanted.”
“One likes to be sure the truth has been shared.”
Margaret said, “Navarro wanted anything and everything Devlin had.”
While she spoke, another text from Christian arrived. He validated the room safe was empty. Foucault read the message and then asked, “Did he mention any of the Stones using the Munuorian names. For example, did he say the word Sinethal instead of Master Stone?”
She shook her head.
“Did he mention the name Malinyah? Or the name Muran?”
“Nope. Who are they?”
Foucault massaged his temples and thanked the heavens. Maybe Navarro was blind to the Tuliskaera after all. As he considered the possibility further, he realized it was irrelevant. The man had the map. He still had to be dealt with, or he would eventually learn of the fire cutter.
For a few minutes, Foucault sat with hands folded, deep in thought. Christian returned with a train of porters carrying their dinner. While they served the meal, Christian handed the phone and keys back to Margaret. Foucault seemed not to notice the buzz of activity around him.
Once the porters retreated, he quietly asked, “Did you retain a copy of the map?”
As Margaret sampled the curried shrimp, she nodded.
“Dieu Merci!” Foucault exclaimed, clapping both hands together. “Let us eat then…and discuss our alliance!”
CHAPTER 4
MINDS OVER MATTERS
Incline Village, Nevada
August 5
“Are they gone yet?” Pebbles asked.
Jennifer Stevens gunned the engine of her Jet Ski and zipped past the secluded cove’s entrance. She looked left and right, and then turned to signal all clear.
After acknowledging the signal, Eleanor “Pebbles” McCarver stepped into the icy water and cupped the Breylofte with both hands. Placing the scratchy underside of the bowl-shaped stone against her lips, she pointed the bowl’s open end at her Jet Ski drifting ten feet away.
As she started to hum on the Stone, the water between Pebbles and the watercraft rippled from the burst of sound waves, pushing the Jet Ski a little farther away. She frowned and lowered the Stone.
Squatting a bit lower to concentrate the Stone’s energy on the heavier, lower section of the watercraft, Pebbles repositioned the Breylofte against her mouth and resumed humming. Immediately, the Jet Ski began to jiggle. She increased the intensity of the hum and f
elt the Breylofte vibrate in her hands, an indication the Stone was ready to do its voodoo. Pebbles lifted her head an inch and the Jet Ski lifted two feet out of the water.
At the entrance of the cove, Jennifer kept one eye on Pebbles’ maneuver while watching for unsuspecting passersby. On more than one occasion over the past two weeks, a boater or fellow Jet Skier had happened along while they practiced levitating objects in midair. When they practiced with rocks or logs, they could quickly fling the objects into the water before anyone noticed. But a Jet Ski floating in the air?
Pebbles raised her head slowly and the swaying watercraft climbed higher. When it reached twenty feet above the lake’s surface, Pebbles steadied her humming until the swaying ceased. She turned left and ever-so-gently moved the Jet Ski thirty feet in the same direction. Then, running low on oxygen, she delicately lowered it. When it splashed down without incident, Pebbles raised the Breylofte above her head and shouted, “Woohoo! New record! Beat that, copper!”
“Big deal. You have an unfair advantage, anyway!” Jennifer called back.
“Ah, you’re just a sore loser,” bellowed Pebbles.
Jennifer zoomed back toward the beach and pulled up next to Pebbles. Cutting the engine, she crossed her arms and said, “Seriously, with all the jabbering you do, your lungs are more developed. That’s the only reason you won.”
“Ha!” Pebbles said. “You’re just jealous.”
“Oh, am I? And who was all ‘boo hoo’ an hour ago?”
The jab was a reference to an earlier competition where the two women endeavored to determine which of them could shoot the other the farthest with the assistance of the Breylofte.
Pebbles pushed the empty Jet Ski toward shore and said, “That was entirely luck on your part. The wind interfered with my shots.”
“All six of them?”
“Care to go again?”
“I don’t know, we’re running kinda late as it is.”
“So, in other words, you’re chicken?” Pebbles taunted. “Come on, one turn each, winner takes all.”
“Fine, what distance?”
“Hmmm, fifteen feet. Or, is that too far for you?”
“Let’s get it on.”
Jennifer hopped off and together they slowly guided both Jet Skis onto the beach. While Jennifer paced off a rough fifteen feet from the water’s edge, Pebbles stood back and waited impatiently. When Jennifer arrived in front of Pebbles, she dragged her foot to create a line in the sand…making sure to kick the excess sand atop Pebbles’ toes.
“That’ll cost ya, copper,” Pebbles said.
Jennifer yawned in her face and retreated to the water’s edge.
Pebbles readied the Sound Stone and called, “Okay, make like a starfish.”
Jennifer extended her arms and widened her stance. She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth just as Pebbles huffed on the Stone. The blow caught Jennifer’s right shoulder and spun her two feet back, but she remained standing. She turned around and grinned at Pebbles.
Pebbles said, “Do over. I wasn’t ready.”
“Uh-uh,” Jennifer said. “One round. You made the rules. My turn.”
She marched up the sand with hand extended. Pebbles frowned when she passed over the Breylofte. “I’m toast.”
“Yes, you are.”
When both were in position, Jennifer asked, “Any last words?”
“Be gentle?”
Jennifer focused her aim between Pebbles’ hips and took a deep breath. The hum that followed was short and sharp. The sound waves caught Pebbles square in the midsection and sent her flying ten feet back. With arms and legs flailing, she hit the water with a scream.
Shivering, she emerged from the lake and adjusted her bikini top. As she waded back to shore, she maintained a quiet, yet undefeated expression. Jennifer teased her by displaying Pebbles’ signature victory pose — finger pointing at a flexed bicep.
“What can I say,” Pebbles said. “Lucky again.”
Jennifer tossed her a towel and said, “Luck has nothing to do with it. I just aim better.”
“Oh, here we go again. Five years in the army, five years as a cop, yada, yada.” Pebbles wrapped herself in the towel.
“Exactly, I’ve had a lot of practice aiming at things,” Jennifer said, pulling a hoodie over her string bikini.
While Pebbles clutched the towel around her neck with one hand, she bent down to load up her daypack with the other. Tossing sandals, sunglasses and bottled water in the sack, she asked, “Tell me, what military exercise requires you to hum on a stone? Hmmm?”
“None, but the principle is the same,” Jennifer said. While she waited for Pebbles to finish packing, she pulled out her cell phone and checked for messages.
Pebbles mocked, “Principle, schminzaple. You just got lucky.”
“Call it what you will, I still won. By the way, Anlon texted. Wants to know where we are. Should I tell him we’re waiting for your bruised ego to heal?”
“I’ll answer myself, thank you very much.” Pebbles retrieved her own phone and tapped a quick message: “Heya! On our way back now!”
Anlon replied within seconds: “Good, I’m hungry. Sydney’s?”
Pebbles turned to Jennifer. “A.C. wants to go to Sydney’s. You in?”
“Sure, but it’ll be crowded. You think he’s ready for that?”
“He wants so bad to get back to a normal routine. I think we can manage. We should try, at least,” Pebbles said while she typed an affirmative reply to Anlon.
Shortly after, Anlon responded, “Great, I’ll call Syd and set it up. Tell Jen I’d like her there too. We have Stones to talk about!”
A gasp escaped from Pebbles and she covered her mouth. “Oh, my God. It’s official.”
“What? What did he say?” asked Jennifer.
“See for yourself,” said Pebbles, tossing the phone to Jennifer. Gathering the last of her things, including the Breylofte, she prodded Jennifer. “Hurry, we need to get back before he changes his mind!”
Anlon Cully grasped the iron railing with one hand and leaned on a walking stick with the other. Gingerly, he extended his good leg over the landing’s edge and proclaimed, “One small step for man…”
Down below, Pebbles and Jennifer stood side by side on the driveway and watched Anlon sidle down the first step. Pausing to rebalance, Anlon inhaled the pine-scented air and smiled at his two companions. “See, told you I could do it by myself.”
“Looking good!” said Jennifer, while filming the descent on her phone.
Pebbles, nibbling on a fingernail, edged toward the staircase and cautioned, “Don’t get cocky, Doctor Cully! And keep away from the pine needles.”
“I see them, I’m fine,” he said.
Pebbles kicked off her sandals and perched on the bottom step. When he teetered slightly, she clutched the railing and readied to dash upward. Anlon steadied himself and motioned for her to move back. “Quit staring at me like I’m going to keel over! I’m forty-two, not eighty-two, for goodness sakes!”
When he reached the driveway surface, Pebbles leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “I’m sorry, A.C. You did great.”
Anlon returned the kiss and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Thank you. Now, let’s get going. I need to eat some real food…fast!”
“What? No more protein-gruel?” Jennifer asked.
Rubbing his jaw, Anlon said, “Never again. It ruins the taste of tequila.”
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Pebbles asked.
“Probably not, but I’m doing it anyway,” Anlon said.
“Will you at least ride with Jen in the Jeep?” pleaded Pebbles.
“Nope. I have a rain check for a scooter ride, and I’m cashing it in.”
“Well, okay, if you say so,” came Pebbles’ solemn reply. After a short pause, her face brightened. “I can’t believe you’re finally going to ride with me!”
Garbed in black tank top and cut-off denim shorts, Pebbles scooped up her sandals
and joyfully skipped to the sparkling, hot-pink scooter. She leaned on the seat to slide on the sandals and then ran her fingers lovingly over the shiny surface of the moped’s frame.
Jennifer locked an arm through Anlon’s and escorted him across the driveway. As they neared the scooter, she asked, “Nervous?”
“Nah,” Anlon said.
“I would be if I were you. I’ve seen her on a Jet Ski!” Jennifer whispered.
Safely aboard the bike, Anlon handed the walking stick to Jennifer. He strapped on a black-and-white-checkered helmet and waited for Pebbles to slide in front of him.
“Take it nice and slow,” Anlon said.
“Oh, please. What fun is that? Wrap your arms around my waist and hold tight,” Pebbles said. She lowered a black helmet atop her pink, pixie-cut hair and pressed the ignition button. The scooter puttered awake and Pebbles revved the engine. A happy scream sounded above the whir of the moped motor.
Behind them, Jennifer leaned under the Jeep’s roll bars to stow a jacket and Anlon’s walking stick on the back bench. She then hopped into the driver’s seat, fashioned her honey tresses into a quick ponytail, slid aviator sunglasses into place and gave Pebbles a thumbs-up.
Pebbles revved the engine again and lurched forward onto Lakeshore Boulevard. The unexpected motion nearly bucked Anlon off the bike, but he managed to right himself before she zoomed off.
With ragged enthusiasm, Pebbles put the scooter through its paces as they snaked up the side streets of Incline Village. During the ride, Anlon marveled at Pebbles’ instant transformation from mother hen to reckless driver. Twice he succumbed to the overpowering urge to shut his eyes — once at a sharp bend in the road, and the other when she jerked around a car backing out of a parking spot. He burst out laughing when she silenced the engine outside Sydney’s Bistro and said, “Careful getting off.”
It was on the early side for dinner when they arrived, but the bistro was already packed. As they approached the crowd mingling outside the entrance, Pebbles and Jennifer extended arms to clear a path for Anlon.
His unsteady movements and frail appearance drew odd stares as they wound their way through small groups of people waiting for tables inside the restaurant. Anlon couldn’t help but notice a toddler pointing at him as he shuffled past. He smiled in return, but wished for the day when people would once again concentrate their stares on Pebbles’ array of tattoos and piercings instead of him.
Race for the Flash Stone (The Anlon Cully Chronicles Book 2) Page 5
