Chapter Ten

Exes

 

With Cameron’s support and sponsorship, Ella enrolled at the Prophus Academy in Sydney to train as an agent. The girl’s status as a host was kept secret from the Academy’s administrators.

The Academy has a strict policy about not disclosing who hosts are. Penetra scanners are not allowed on campus. Many new hosts train at these academies and their safety is a top priority since new hosts are at their most vulnerable and often hunted by the opposing faction. It is also to aid their training. The instructors want to insure that the host students do not receive any special consideration or privilege.

 

To Makita’s disappointment, Nabin and Ella had broken up over half a year ago, shortly after she was expelled from the Prophus Academy. He wondered if her getting expelled precipitated the separation. The two hadn’t been in touch. Even worse, it wasn’t an amicable sort of breakup.

“Does that mean you’ll dish on your ex?” he asked.

To Makita’s even greater disappointment, Nabin was a stand-up guy. He maintained an intense loyalty to Ella and refused to volunteer any information regarding her whereabouts. It was not up to him to reveal where she was living, he declared. She was no longer with the Prophus, and therefore out of their jurisdiction. It was up to her if she wanted to keep in touch.

In fact, Nabin knew for a fact Ella did not want to be found. She was done with the Prophus. No matter how much Makita relayed the urgency of his mission or emphasized how much danger the girl could be in, Nabin held his ground.

At least for the first day.

Makita would have gone as far as to physically threaten Nabin if he thought it would do any good. It wouldn’t. Maybe thirty years ago. Still, Makita would have loved to try to box his ears, old age be damned.

Nabin was one of the Prophus’s elite agents. He had turned down several promotions and a dozen offers to become a host over the years. The main reason, he had said, was that being a host severely hampered his ability to operate in Genjix territory, and he wanted to stay on the front line. He was also intensely loyal to Cameron Tan, his commander, who was considered the only Prophus Adonis vessel.

Makita was persistent, and he could be very persuasive in an annoying fly sort of way. He and Josie had spent a good portion of the day trying to cajole and shame Nabin to no avail, and then the rest of the afternoon threatening him. The only reason Makita finally gave up was because he needed a nap.

He had forgotten how exhausting running missions and staying on the move could be. He had sat behind a desk for the better part of the last decade, and while he kept himself in relatively good shape, the years of wear and tear were catching up with him. Plus, there was no fighting it: getting old just plain sucked.

By the time he woke up, it was bedtime. Makita yawned and cracked his sore neck. Sore neck, sore feet, sore back. He stared at the angled off-white ceiling with dark blotches where the roof had leaked and the paint had peeled. It took him a second to remember where he was. Sleeping on a couch. Somewhere in Singapore. Really far away from home in Oregon.

For a second, he cursed his idiocy for taking this job. He should be home chopping wood or fishing on the lake or watching a crappy game show on the television. Never mind that he detested all of the above. Makita considered staying in bed and power sleeping his way through to morning, but then another annoyance of old age forced him to reconsider. Sighing, he sat up and looked for the bathroom.

“It was supposed to be a cushy babysitting job. Go sightseeing in Australia. Swim the Great Barrier Reef. Smoke weed with the Bushmen,” he growled, rolling off the sofa and walking across the room. Getting to his feet took far more effort than it should have. It was like a walk down memory lane of every injury and broken bone his body had ever suffered. Dull aches, popping joints, and just that general feeling that things weren’t working the way they were supposed to. It was a not-so-gentle reminder that this body had trod through many miles, and that his remaining time was dwindling.

On the way, he noticed that Nabin’s door was ajar, and the bed was empty and pristinely made. A bed with perfectly folded sheets was always a sure tell of a military career, which Nabin absolutely had. Unfortunately, all three bedrooms were already spoken for. Nabin’s team of five had been squatting here for the past five months, two to a room, running a long-term recon mission. Not one of them considered offering the two old farts a bed. Makita looked over at Josie splayed out on the sofa at the other end of the living room, a leg and arm spilling over the side. Well, maybe just one old fart.

The safe house actually was nicer than usual. It was still not the Four Seasons, but it was a pretty solid rooftop unit in a mid-rise apartment building nestled in an upscale residential neighborhood in Singapore. It consisted of one generous open common space with a cathedral ceiling, three bedrooms flanking one side and a kitchen area against the opposite wall. The armory was cleverly hidden under the main floorboards, and all the other secret-agent tools were hidden in an attic space in the far back. Makita would have killed to have these digs back during his bachelor days.

After he emptied his tank, he wandered through the safe house looking for signs of life and something to drink, not necessarily in that order. Other than Josie passed out in the living room, no one was home. He wandered into the kitchen.

After a glass of water, he noticed a tall metal flask sitting on the counter. Curious, he popped off the top and sniffed. Makita perked up. He glanced around the kitchen like a first-time shoplifter. He had quit drinking a few years back, partially for his health, partially on his wife’s insistence, but mainly because most of the people he enjoyed sharing a drink with were gone.

Being on a mission felt like the proper time for an exception. He took another deep sniff and let the burn climb up his nostrils. It was very good scotch. Whistling and feeling like he just found the perfect parking space, Makita pocketed the flask and strolled outside and up the stairs to the roof to look for someone to share the drink with.

He found Nabin and one of his agents in the far corner, poring over a map in front of a pair of tripods supporting high-powered binoculars aimed at the Singapore Strait about a klick to the west. The agent noticed him approach, tapped Nabin on the shoulder, and offered a little deeper of a bow than necessary. “Beautiful night for sightseeing, sir. Can we assist you with something?”

Makita smiled, but inside he grimaced. He was trying to sneak up on them. He must be losing his touch. “I’d like a few minutes of Nabin’s time if he’s available.”

“Can it wait until morning?” asked Nabin. “We’ve just received the latest crack from our code breakers. We have a pretty limited window to verify the data before the algorithm resets the encryption.”

Makita inhaled the cool night air deeply. “Would you mind if I join you? We can talk along the way.”

Nabin hesitated. He pointed toward the port. “Uh, with all due respect, sir. I’m taking the most direct route. It’s not an easy one. Are you… are you sure you’re up for it?”

“I’ll be fine.” That was an automatic and emotional response, given without much thought. Makita looked toward the port, which was mostly just blurry lights after a hundred or so meters, and realized that Nabin literally meant moving across the rooftops, scaling walls and jumping over alleys.

“What’s wrong with street level?” he asked.

“Too many checkpoints and patrols. The rooftops are pretty much a clear shot.”

Last chance to back out. “I can handle it,” replied Makita gruffly. Stupid pride.

“Suit yourself,” shrugged Nabin. He handed the binoculars to the other agent. “Bea, keep an eye on it and let me know if any activity pops. We’ll be back soon.”

“Sure thing, Nabin.” Bea saluted Makita.

“Don’t do that.” Makita took a few minutes to stretch. He had a feeling this wasn’t going to end well. He signaled to Nabin when he was ready and followed the Nepalese’s lead, hurdling over the side of the building and dropping down to the adjacent roof a few meters below.

The first landing rattled his bones, causing him to pitch forward and roll out on the gravel top. Every pebble stabbed into his back. He swallowed the groan climbing up his throat.

Nabin was there to help pull him to his feet. “Are you doing OK, sir?”

“I’m OK, and stop calling me sir. All this formality drives me nuts.”

“My apologies, Makita.”

That was one thing he really appreciated about Nabin. The guy was a consummate professional even when they were alone. He never took shortcuts or deviated from his script. Although in this era of constant surveillance, could anyone really be sure they had complete privacy any more?

They began to jog side by side, dropping another level to the next building before climbing a wall to the one after that. Next they hopped down to a fire escape and took it all the way up to the next building’s roof.

Makita did his best to keep up. “How goes the assignment?”

“I’ve been staring at ships all day for the past five months. What do you think?” grunted Nabin as he bounded up the ten flights of stairs. The man wasn’t even breathing heavily, which was more than Makita could say.

Stupid pride.

“Who did you piss off to get this gig? I thought Cameron’s crew was untouchable. Why did you break with him?”

Nabin made a face as if he smelled something foul. “I didn’t. He got tired of everyone on his team turning down promotions and hosts, so he threatened to apply for a transfer to guard the Svalbard Global Seed Vault unless we started taking them seriously.”

Makita chuckled. “Don’t mess with an Adonis, regardless which side they’re on.”

“Besides, he was the one who asked me to take this job,” said Nabin. “Singapore is the Genjix’s main sea transportation hub. All the collection points for the Bio Comm Arrays pass through that port. All the shipments are coded. My team has been grabbing snapshots of the manifests, tracking their destinations with a dozen other teams in the area, and trying to crack the codes. We’re close. Once we do that, the encryptions will practically draw a map of every array in the entire world.”

Makita signaled for a quick break when they got to the top of the fire escape. A lengthy silence passed as he labored to catch his breath. Nabin leaned against a chimney, looking perfectly relaxed as he waited patiently, which annoyed Makita even more. He wouldn’t mind resting for another ten minutes, but motioned for them to start moving again. Thankfully, Nabin slowed and walked the length of the next building.

“Is that really what you wanted to talk to me about?” asked Nabin.

“It’s about Ella Patel. I need you to reconsider your position. We need to get in touch with her.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You know I could just give you a direct order, right?”

“You could,” admitted Nabin, “but I don’t think you will. From what I’ve heard, I don’t think that’s your style.” He paused. “Didn’t you say not six hours ago that you were retired and this whole mission is off-book?”

“Well, young man,” huffed the old man, puffing his chest out. “I still have the authority, even if I’ve been put out to pasture.”

“Technically you don’t, so I’ll probably just refuse.”

“Off the record, what happened between you two?” asked Makita as they took a ladder down a few levels to a warehouse roof.

Nabin reached the bottom first and waited for him to catch up. “After she joined the Academy, we got together. We became serious enough I considered leaving the team to be closer to her.” His voice trailed off.

They walked around two long rows of skylights and then jumped down onto a sky bridge crossing a main street. Staying low, they quickly moved to the other side. They paused in the shadow of the building until the traffic below died. Then Nabin gave him a boost up to the next roof, and followed right behind.

“Relationships and service are tough things to juggle, especially if you serve the aliens,” continued Makita. “My wife and I fought for years over the Prophus. I thought fighting the Genjix took priority over my family, that I was saving the world for them. It took her leaving me to realize that she was right. What is the point of fighting for your future if you destroy it? So why didn’t you make the move?”

Nabin spread his arms. “And miss out on all this fun? Squatting here for the past five months has been so fulfilling. It had nothing to do with duty, if that’s what you’re thinking, and everything to do with Ella. She’s… wilful. How’s that saying go? You can take a girl out of the slum, but you can’t take the slum out of the girl. She had a tough time adapting.”

“Understandable,” said Makita. “I was pretty lost before I joined the Prophus.”

Nabin chuckled. “Oh, that’s the problem. Ella’s not lost at all. That girl knows exactly who she is, where’s she’s from, and what she’s all about. Did you know she ran a gambling ring in the dorms? A cards table, game betting, dice, the whole deal.” He leaned in and whispered as if he thought someone could overhear. “Pretty sure the dice were weighted.”

Makita was impressed. “Entrepreneurship. Organizational skills. Clandestine operations. Business acumen. I’d think all of that would be a plus.”

“Maybe in the old days,” grinned Nabin. “Not sure if you’ve noticed, but the Prophus have gone a little corporate lately. I’m surprised the commandant didn’t kick her out as soon as she got caught. I think the Academy gave her a pass because Cameron vouched for her. But then she injured a few students with her knives. Snuck them into a sparring session. She’s pretty good with those.”

“Real-life combat experience is always a plus.” That sounded less convincing.

Nabin shook his head. “The final straw was when they caught her pilfering Academy supplies, electronics and weapons, and selling them on the black market.”

“Holy crap!”

“She had an entire operation set up and just–” Nabin sliced his hand horizontally across the air “–was skimming off the top. Did it for an entire year. I mean, who does that?”

“You’re kidding. That’s colossally stupid,” mused Makita. “That’s ballsy as hell, but stupid.”

“That was the last straw. They kicked her out then. I begged her not to do stuff like that. Offered to send her money, but that only pissed her off.” Nabin sighed and made a face. “Ella Patel is beholden to no one, was what she said… screamed. She knocked the money out of my hands. Anyway, after she got expelled, we broke up. I’m a Prophus agent. I can’t have a loose cannon risking my people’s lives.”

“Understandable.” Makita stopped and stared at the space between this warehouse and the next building. The alley wasn’t wide, and his younger self may have given this hurdle a shot, but not at this age. Now this gap might as well have been the Grand Canyon.

“Um, I’m not jumping that!” he exclaimed.

Nabin was already a step ahead of him. He went off to the side and returned dragging a metal ladder, which he extended over the gap. He pressed down on the ladder to check its stability and then climbed on. “If it makes you feel better, I can’t make this jump either.” He pointed down. “Short legs.”

They climbed across the alley, threading down a series of shorter buildings until they reached the outer fenced perimeter of the port. They took position behind a billboard overlooking the streets. Nabin pulled out his monocular and began to scan the grounds.

Makita squinted at the main dock area on the other side of the fence. “This is a civilian dock?”

Nabin nodded. “There’s a standing contingent of Genjix security onsite but most of the guards are just rent-a-cops.”

“Why don’t the Genjix transport their classified and sensitive cargo through military channels directly to naval bases?”

“Same reason why so many high-ranking officials on both sides fly commercial. Our satellite detection systems have gotten too sophisticated while stealth technologies have fallen behind. The enemy learned early on that it was more effective and far safer to mask their cargo through commercial shipping lanes than to use military transports. We kept finding their ships and blowing them out of the water. Now they just hide it with all the civilian transports. We have a lot harder time finding their needles in haystacks that way.”

“Doesn’t this make infiltrating the docks much easier?” asked Makita.

“Once we finally locate it, maybe,” answered Nabin. “The hard part is wading through the mountain of crap. Took us almost a year to find this particular shipping node.”

Makita looked over at the Nepalese and decided to give his pitch another go. This time with numbers to back him up. “Listen, I appreciate your loyalty to Ella. I know you care about her, and you think you’re respecting her wishes, but her life is in danger. The Genjix are after her in a big way. They want her badly enough to put a very large location contract on her head.”

“How big?”

“Three million US.”

Nabin whistled. “Wow! At that price, she might just turn herself in.”

“The Genjix are expending a tremendous amount of resources attacking the Prophus network and searching for her whereabouts. We need to get to her before they do.”

“Damn it, we have a problem,” said Nabin. He checked the time. “Someone is in the port master’s office. We’re going to lose the window.”

“Can we wait him out?”

“The Genjix are careful with their paper. The encryption rolls in thirty minutes.”

“Then take out whoever is in the office.”

Nabin shook his head. “Can’t. This is a white-glove operation. The moment the Genjix discover any foul play, they wipe everything and start over. We’ll lose months of intel and probably the shipping node as well.”

“What if we lure him out? Create a distraction.”

Nabin frowned. “Throwing a rock at a window only works in video games.”

Makita pointed at his own bulbous head. “I’m a little bigger than a rock.”

“If they catch you, they’ll hand you straight over to the Genjix. That is a poor trade, sir.”

“Not if they just think I’m some drunk who wandered onto the docks.”

“Through a barbed-wire fence, a guard house, and dozens of surveillance cameras?”

“I’ll make it convincing.” Makita grinned and fished out the flask. He unscrewed the top and took a long swig, feeling its raw goodness burn as it washed down his throat. Then, sacrilegiously, he doused himself with the peat-smoked drink.

Nabin just stared. “Wait… I was saving that. That’s a twenty-four year Ardbeg!”

“Sorry.” Makita actually did feel bad, albeit for a different reason entirely. By the time the flask was empty, he smelled like a boozy campfire. He ruffled what little hair he had left on his head for effect, and then pulled out a knife and cut a few slits into his shirt. Once he was done, Makita held his arms out. “What do you think? Do I look like I sleep on the streets and just finished a bender?”

“I don’t know about this.” Nabin furrowed his brow. “This is a terrible idea. If you get captured by the Genjix, the Keeper will kill me and court-martial my corpse.”

“Don’t worry, son, I have this handled. If I get captured, you can tell Command it was my idea and that you tried to stop me. They’ll understand.” Makita grabbed the nearest drainpipe, and began to shimmy down. He had made it halfway to street level when the world began to sway. His sensitive bowels were letting him know how unhappy they were. It had been so long since he last had alcohol, he was practically nine years old trying it for the first time again. Well, it made the act more convincing at least.

He crept to the gate and waited for an opportunity. There was only a lone guard managing the entrance as he watched television inside a small booth with windows on only two sides. Curved spikes were laid out in a row across the road, and the top of the fence was lined with barbed wire.

It took only a few minutes for a truck to pull up. Makita barely had to slouch as he strolled along the opposite side of the vehicle and then slipped in from the side. Whoever had designed the security for the front gate needed a new line of work. Within moments, he was lurking in the shadows of the large warehouses and making his way to the port master’s office.

Makita found the perfect location for his distraction just outside the second-floor window. He bided his time inside a backhoe’s loader bucket until he saw Nabin’s silhouette creep up to the base of the exterior metal stairs leading up to the port master’s office. Makita patted the ground and rubbed some dirt on his face, and then staggered out directly under one of the bright floodlights. He began singing too. Unfortunately, the only songs in Japanese he knew were theme songs to old anime.

It wasn’t long before he got into character. Makita weaved left and right, bumping and bouncing off cargo containers, slapping the sides of machinery and humming loudly off-key. An old friend of his would have accused him of overacting – which was likely true – but that didn’t make a lick of difference when you’re trying to act drunk. He pretended to finish chugging the flask, and then he baseball-threw it as hard as he could at one of the containers, making it ring like a giant gong. Then he remembered that Nabin probably wanted to keep the flask, so he went to retrieve it.

He picked up a handful of rocks and began to pelt a dump truck as big as a house. Most of his throws sailed wide, bouncing off the sides of containers and warehouses, which was just as good.

Within seconds, he had caught the attention of two dockworkers. Within minutes, a small crowd had gathered. The silhouettes in the office hadn’t budged. Makita turned up the decibels and began to yell, half in Japanese and broken English, and the other half in badly slurred made-up phrases.

Finally, after he had run out of things to say, two men exited the port master’s office to investigate the commotion and the growing crowd surrounding him. One looked white-collar and the other looked military. Hopefully, those two were it and Nabin was clear to do whatever he needed. Makita kept his cool as the group closed in on him.

“What is going on here?” the man with the tie demanded.

“Old drunk ghost here,” laughed one of the workers. “Moi and I have a bet to see if he pisses himself or passes out.”

“What if he does both?” laughed another.

Out of the corner of his eye, Makita noticed a shadow move up the stairs to the second floor office. He began to drift in the opposite direction, pulling the dockworkers’ attention with him. It didn’t occur to him until he had a good look at the growing mob that he may have been too effective in attracting their attention. A dozen burly men now surrounded him. Escaping his little ruse may be a problem.

He had no choice; he was pot committed, as they say. Makita continued to stumble away, yelling incoherently and throwing clumsy swings at anyone who came too close. One dockworker managed to grab his arm. Makita moved with the fluid motion from thousands of hours of practice. He felt for the gap in between the thumb and the rest of the fingers and gave a hard yank, freeing himself. Then he stepped in and shouldered the man, sending him tumbling off his feet.

The rowdy group howled and whooped as their friend fell on his ass into a puddle of mud. The young man jumped to his feet and charged again. Makita remembered to act unsteady as the man tried to shove him. He shifted just slightly, causing the dockworker to push air. A little nudge to his back sent the man diving face first into the ground. Now he was caked with mud on both sides, much to the enjoyment of the audience. The young man growled as he picked himself up a third time and charged, his fists swinging. One almost connected, but Makita shifted his weight just in time, tripping the man back once more.

By now, the laughter had run dry and was replaced by suspicious stares and mutters. Once or twice may have been luck. Three was a pattern. Things were about to turn ugly. To make matters worse, the one in the military uniform just happened to be a Genjix stateless official.

Makita swayed and spun in a circle, hoping to catch a glimpse of Nabin. Failing that, he backed up until he bumped up against the hard ridged metal wall of a shipping container. He turned quickly to the side and banged his head into another shipping container. He had somehow effectively cornered himself.

“Great,” he muttered.

Makita considered his dwindling options. Each was worse than the previous. When he was younger, he maybe could have fought his way out. There was no chance now. The Genjix official pushed his way to the front of the crowd and looked as if he were going to order his arrest.

He closed his eyes. There was only one thing he could do that could remotely get him out of this situation. He turned to the young man that had picked himself up for the fourth time and threw a wide, lazy, looping swing.

Makita was ready for a punch in the gut. Ready for a follow-up to the jaw. It didn’t hurt too badly. The secret of taking a punch was knowing it was coming and having your body prepared to receive the pain. It also helped tremendously that the guy whaling away at him couldn’t throw a proper punch to save his life. Unfortunately, what the young man lacked in technique he more than made up for in enthusiasm. That, and a couple of his buddies joined in on the fun.

The beating was mercifully brief. It probably wasn’t that enjoyable beating up a geriatric, and Makita did an excellent job of selling it, although it didn’t require that much acting. By the time they were finished he was black and purple all over, and bleeding from half a dozen minor cuts. His plan worked. The dockworkers got bored quickly; some even took pity on him. Most importantly, the Genjix lost interest and wandered away.

The dockworkers tossed Makita into an ankle-deep pond just outside the front gates. It was actually more of a sewage ditch filled with refuse. The freezing water bit into his skin. It smelled worse than the Chicago River on a hot summer day, but Makita opted to lie in the pool for a little longer. It was less painful than moving.

A while later, Nabin’s head appeared. “Holy hell, are you all right, sir?” The robust agent scrambled down the ditch and picked him up. “I knew I should have recorded you saying this was your idea. You better not be dead, you stupid old bastard.”

“I’m alive,” he coughed, his chest clenching as he breathed.

“Thank goodness, sir. I was very concerned for your wellbeing.”

“You sounded like it.”

Nabin sat him down in the alley across the street and looked him over. “Nothing appears broken. Your cuts are superficial.”

Makita waved Nabin off. “I’ll survive the night. Did you get what you were looking for?”

The agent nodded. “We got all the intel we needed. Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without your assistance.”

“See, I told you I had this handled.” Makita grunted as Nabin pulled him to his feet and helped him walk. They retreated to cover.

“I was thinking about what you said,” said Nabin, leading him down the alley away from the street. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll tell you where Ella is under one condition.”

“Which is?”

“I come with you. I should be the one who makes contact with her. The team can survive without me for a few days.”

“Sounds fine by me,” shrugged Makita. “How do you know where she is?”

“Cameron and I set up a backdoor to keep tabs on her.” He paused. “And she, um, also sent me a birthday card.”

Makita looked around the dead end. “What are we doing here? Call a cab or something to take us to the safe house. I need a hot bath then I’m going to bed.”

Nabin pointed up at the fire escape that zig-zagged up the side of the warehouse wall. “Actually, sir, we have to go back the way we came. The checkpoints, remember?”

Makita hung his head. Every ache was reminding him of its existence, as were the new aches he knew he was about to get. He let loose a long sigh. “Of course it’s always the hard way.”