28
On the battleground of passion, his mind and his breeches warred relentlessly.
—Jade Mulhouse, Raked by the Duke
This could be a tale about me and my chalk-white skin catching fire the second I stepped out of the plane and running around Rangiroa Airport like a human torch. But Stiles had remembered to take sunscreen, so I survived that too. We landed around 11:00 a.m., and as soon as we were standing on the tarmac, I was swallowed by wind and light. Everything was so incredibly blue, the sky, the turquoise sea beyond. My tunic was flapping in a strong breeze, and I couldn’t stop staring up at the clouds stretching above us.
Once I did look down, I realized that there was a welcome committee: several Jeeps and a sedan waited at the other end of the tarmac. I overheard someone saying that the Caterpillar had requested reinforcements from the Honolulu station, in case things went really bad. I wondered what they’d do though, if the Crystal Whisperer managed to blow up the dome. An army wouldn’t suffice.
A bit farther, a different sort of company awaited us: a couple of armored station wagons that screamed French secret service. The Caterpillar walked to them with an escort. Indeed, armed men came out, along with older guys wearing linen suits—no doubt local caterpillars. A heated negotiation began, which I gathered went along the lines of “This is our country, and we’re totally in control of the situation.” “Fuck you, cheese-eaters, this is our investigation, and mine is bigger.” “Non, mine.” “Someone find us a ruler, terrorism can wait!”
Stiles scratched his head. “It might take a while . . .”
“Then perhaps we should leave these gentlemen to their administrative concerns,” March said, observing the palavers disdainfully. “Besides”—he squinted his eyes in the direction of the airport’s low building and its traditional tiled roof. There, a tall guy in a yellow Polynesian shirt and cargo pants stood, his arms akimbo—“I believe my friend is here.”
I think he said something else to Stiles, but I was already running to greet Ilan, so I didn’t listen. When the two of them followed me, one of the Caterpillar’s agents yelled that we couldn’t do that. That’s all he did though, because he didn’t have the balls to stand up to March, now that most of his pals guarded the Caterpillar and were busy stare-fighting with the French.
Unlike mine, Ilan’s leathery olive skin didn’t fear the tropical sun. He greeted me with a wide grin piercing through his silvery stubble. “Alors, on continue de foutre le bordel partout où on va ?” So, still wreaking havoc wherever you go?
“Ouais, ça va . . .” Yeah, kinda . . .
He frowned down at the purple cast around my wrist. “C’est pas beau ça . . . c’est récent?” That doesn’t look good . . . happened recently?
“Je t’expliquerai. Mais le résumé c’est: évite la drague sur le net.” I’ll tell you later. Long story short: stay clear of online dating.
Ilan nodded in puzzlement and raised an eyebrow at March, whose jaw clenched in response. It didn’t make me happy or anything, but I was almost certain that if March caught Alex, the first damage he’d inflict would be a clean fracture of the left wrist.
I decided to change the subject. “Kalahari va bien?” How’s Kalahari?
“Pretty good,” he went on in English once March and Stiles had joined us. “She has some news for you two; she’ll call you when you’re done destroying the country.”
“Hopefully we won’t have to,” March said with a weary sigh. “Thank you for responding so quickly.”
Ilan towered over his old rival—just because he could—with a benevolent smile. “Don’t mention it. Besides, I know half of the guys baring their teeth to Erwin back there.” He rubbed his hands. “Couldn’t pass on that kind of thrill. Who’s the guest, by the way?” he asked, noticing Stiles behind March.
The interested party stepped forward and extended a hand that Ilan proceeded to crush in his big paw. “Special Agent Joshua Stiles, Directorate of Foreign Operations.”
“Ilan.”
“Yes, I heard about you.” Stiles quickly retrieved his hand and shook it discreetly after the introductions were done.
“So you’re with them?” Ilan asked, jerking his chin at the Caterpillar’s agents waiting near the plane.
Stiles turned around to confirm, and his eyebrows shot up. “They” had finally noticed that we were leaving without them and were running toward us, guns in hand, while the Caterpillar watched the scene from behind his sunglasses.
“And here I was wondering when we’d start to run.” Ilan laughed.
“Is it ready?” March asked, his gaze cutting to a big silvery helicopter.
Ilan gave a firm nod. “My guy is waiting for you.”
March glanced at Stiles’s colleagues, now less than a hundred yards away, and adjusted one of his cuffs. “All right.” He planted his gaze in Ilan’s. “Je te confie ce que j’ai de plus précieux.” I’m entrusting to you the most precious thing I have.
When Ilan winked at him like it was a done deal or something, I took a gulp of air and my mouth opened, ready to protest and share my outrage. No sound ever came out, because March’s hand went around my waist and his lips crashed on mine—in public! The kiss was brief but laden with a familiar urgency, the same as when he’d kissed me on Dries’s yacht.
“Trust me,” he whispered.
No. Watching him climb into the helicopter without looking back, my legs shaky, my heart all over the place, I didn’t trust him. I hated him a little, in fact, for shunning me again. Especially when I feared he was hiding something big from me. I wasn’t exactly superspy material, and that damn cast didn’t help my street cred, but I wished he’d have at least told me what was on his mind before running away.
I jumped a little when Ilan’s hand landed on my shoulder. “Let’s move.”
Stiles watched the chopper rise above us with a deafening noise, visibly confused. “I wasn’t supposed to let him out of my sight.”
“Where are you taking me?” I asked Ilan.
“To a nice hotel on an islet across the atoll. It’s called Le Sauvage. No phone, no Internet, need a boat to get there: you won’t get any safer than that.”
More like a fricking cage . . . “Was that March’s idea?”
Ilan gave a noncommittal shrug.
Of course. I had to think fast, because once Ilan got me locked up on that island, there would be no way out until March returned. If he ever did. The very idea that he might die hunting Gerone and Alex made my skin prickle with horror. My right hand went to rest on the heavy little green bag hanging from my shoulder as I mentally leafed through the possible scenarios.
“Okay, but I need to use a computer first. Obviously, I can’t do that once we’re at Le Sauvage.” I turned to Stiles. “Do you think you could help me with that?”
“Sure.”
Ilan considered us warily.
I joined my hands in a pleading gesture. “It won’t take long.”
He relented with a sigh. “All right.”
Stiles led us to a white Jeep around which several of his colleagues still waited. He retrieved a bag sitting on the back seat and took out a laptop that he opened and unlocked. “Here.”
When he, Ilan, and the guys behind them all stared at me expectantly, I retreated inside the Jeep. “I have to call my dad. Does everyone have to listen?” I asked, before slamming the rear door shut. I saw Ilan’s arm move toward the handle, but Stiles appeared to reason with him, presumably arguing that a lady sometimes needed her privacy.
Being around March, I’d caught on to a few things, like what protocol and software he used to make video calls to Phyllis. What caller ID he entered. What PIN code he used to secure the line. I was disappointed to discover that the CIA’s laptops weren’t the crazy secure stuff I’d expected to battle with. Within minutes, I’d overridden the admin rights and installed the extensions I needed to make that call. It was early morning in New York, but I figured Phyllis would be up and ready to rock when March needed her the most.
I was right. At the second ring, her tired face appeared on-screen, a tangled heap of flaming-red curls cascading down her shoulders. “Hey! How’s the wrist?”
“Good enough, I guess. The painkillers make it bearable.”
Her head bobbed up and down, her expression turning serious. “Good, good . . . You gave my boss a cold sweat.”
“I’m sorry. I know it’s been a pretty rough week for everyone so far.”
She shrugged. “That’s the business. Sometimes you can’t tell when the lemons will stop raining.”
“Hopefully soon.”
A clear laugh burst from the speakers. “What can I do to help you?”
“I have a question, and I need you to tell me the truth, even if March ordered you not to.”
The mirth died in her eyes. “It depends . . .”
“No more lies,” I said, a little more harshly than I intended to.
She gave a silent nod.
“March knows what’s going on, right? He knows why Gerone is targeting the dome.”
“What makes you think that?”
“He’s been weird, shifty. He knows. I can tell he knows,” I insisted.
On-screen, Phyllis buried her face in her hands. “He’s gonna kill me for this. Or he’s gonna cut my bonus. More likely.” She composed herself with a sigh. “He’s been to Rangiroa before. Once.”
“For a job?”
“No. It was a few years after he started working for the Board. They were very satisfied with him, and he was invited to the dome . . . to be introduced.”
“You mean, to the Queen? That’s when he met her for the first time?”
“Yes.”
“But . . . do you think there’s a link to all this?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Now you know how March met the Queen. Do you know how I met him?”
“He didn’t give me the details, but I know he met you in Macau, that you were working in a casino there.”
“Yes. A casino that belongs to the Board, the Goldmine. Code name HKS4MS17, which stands for HongKong Sector 4, Macau Subdivision 17. I was their accountant.”
I filed every word, working the Rubik’s Cube in my head as she spoke.
“And because I know their business inside out, as does March, I can tell you that if someone managed to pull apart the web of shell companies and foundations that own shares in the Poseidon, they’d eventually find a single entity named FPS3TS1.”
I ventured a guess. “French Polynesia Sector 3, and—”
“Tuamotu Subdivision 1,” Phyllis completed.
“The Poseidon Dome belongs to the Board. They gather there,” I chewed out each word slowly, digesting the news.
“It’s a multipurpose investment: good for money laundering, profitable on its own, and it’s both remote and crowded. Hundreds of people come and go all day long, dozens of boats and helicopters. Who’s going to notice a few businessmen gathering for a seminar?”
“Do you think that’s what’s going on? That the Board is calling a meeting, and Gerone is gonna to try to blow them up?”
“I have no way to be sure, but that’s what it smells like.”
I clenched my right hand into a fist to stop its shaking. Anies wasn’t just getting rid of Dries; this was his big night. That insane turd was going to war. The Lions were done serving the Board, and the Board was likely done with them as well, after the way they had tried to keep the Ghost Cullinan for themselves. So Anies was going to try to destroy them and clear the path. And March stood in the middle of this mess, trying to warn the Board before it was too late, because even if his days as a hit man were behind him, he remained loyal to the Queen. As for Dries . . . did he know about this? Where the hell was that guy when you needed him, dammit?
“If March lets the Board know, they’ll evacuate, right? And it’s over?”
On the screen, Phyllis’s pale-gray eyes avoided mine.
I smacked my forehead. “God . . . they’ll pretend everything is cool to bait Gerone and try to shove his mask up his ass, right?” And if the showdown goes wrong, three thousand people will pay the ultimate price, I mentally completed.
Phyllis leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “I can’t imagine the Queen running away from that sicko. That’s not the way she deals with threats, and she can’t afford to show any weakness. Plenty of guys willing to take her place if she misses a step.”
“Phyllis, I need to get to the dome. I can’t just stay here and wait.”
“There’s nothing you could do, and March’d kill me if I sent you there and something happened to you. He seriously would,” Phyllis retorted, a sudden gravity in her eyes.
I didn’t believe March could ever hurt her, not even if I died, but I gathered Phyllis lived in a world where even undying loyalty never got in the way of some measure of caution. Begging her wouldn’t work.
“I’ve seen Alex’s men. I could recognize them.”
She shook her head. “Island, I like you, but right now, whoever takes you to that dome lands on March’s personal hit list.”
“I understand.” Yes, I did . . . and I knew exactly whose name I was going to put on that list. “I have to go. Thank you. Thank you for telling me the truth.”
“Island, wait.”
She combed back a red lock behind her ear with nervous fingers. “Don’t do anything stupid. He’s not”—her voice quavered—“he’s not as strong as you think. He needs you. Alive.”
“As I need him.”