chapter XV
LIKE I HAD ANY idea what a Bowler Wildcat was. Boys and their ridiculous off-roaders. And of course it was looming hugely in the shed, unmistakable had I known we were looking for a racing truck.
But I found out soon enough that it was indeed a tool. A tool for seriously fast going on any terrain. How did I find that out? Easy: Five minutes after we found the thing, we were racing east across a bumpy field of volcanic rock like it wasn’t even there.
Since it was a two-seater I had to sit on Michael’s lap the whole time, and contrary to what I might have thought, it wasn’t even close to fun. My head banged against the roll cage and the windows, my butt banged against his lap, my head pounded with the noise, and Ellie never slowed down through all of it.
“You’re a crazy driver!” I shouted at her. But I endured it for the possibility of being able to help Kim.
All Ellie did was drop the hammer, accelerating across the rocky undulating hills until it felt like we were either flying or sailing; I couldn’t tell which.
“So where are we going?” Michael asked, his voice cracking against the noise and heat of the cramped enclosed space.
Ellie pointed straight ahead and straight up. “There! Green Mountain! That’s where Kreios was and that’s where the Bloodstone is!” The racing engine roared even louder and we were gone in a cloud of dust.
Schipol, Amsterdam, present day
Schipol airport in Amsterdam was one of the busiest air terminals in Europe. Flights came in from and departed to nearly every continent. Great walls of steel and glass enshrouded it in a shrine to the sleek and modern. People from every tribe and nation walked its corridors every day.
Among them were two men lately of America, specifically Boise, Idaho. They walked and talked. Their layover would last only about one more hour, then they would have to board their plane for Cape Town via Johannesburg.
“You know, at some point I’m going to have to use the restroom,” Harry said to his companion. “What will you do then?”
“You wanna go? Let’s go.”
“What, together?”
“Certainly. Might as well get it over with.”
Harry shrugged and kept walking toward the sign for the men’s room. “What’re you gonna do? Lend me a hand as well?”
“You’re not funny at all,” Airel’s father said.
“I think it’s a fair question, since you’re nannying me.”
“No, Harry. You’re a big boy. I trust you not to soil yourself.”
Harry grinned a little at the perverse tete-a-tete, but mostly he grinned at the idea of what he was planning. “You know…friend…I’m going to need a minute or two here…”
He looked at Harry. “Fine. That’s fine. You go back one out and take your time with it. I’ll be waiting at the sinks when you’re done.”
“It’s a lot of paperwork. If you know what I mean,” Harry said. “I tend to take my time in only two areas of my life, and this is one of them.”
“I’m not asking what the other one is.”
They walked into the restroom, Harry leading the way. He selected the farthest stall and walked straight for it. As he turned to close the door, his hand absentmindedly grasped its sleek metal top edge. He did not have time to latch it.
Airel’s father, following Harry, did not hesitate an instant. He removed his pen from his shirt pocket in mid-stride and aimed the point discretely at the door. The other men in the large restroom went about their own business as men do, making no conversation and not desirous of it. He pressed the pen’s engage/retract button as it made contact with Harry’s stall door, releasing a bio-EMP pulse into and through it, energizing the door with a carefully engineered amount of voltage. It was just enough, and not too much, to accomplish a predetermined effect. It had taken years of R&D in three labs spread across two continents to develop the weapon. But of course, these were all just bullet points in a sales pitch, one Airel’s father had cycled through with many a secret and elite client.
The bio-EMP pulse terminated its fury in the center of Harry’s chest, instantly arresting his heart and contracting selected slow-twitch muscles on his body—the specific muscles that produce the fetal position.
Harry thudded into something. Airel’s father opened the stall door to confirm the kill.
Harry was seated on the toilet; he had involuntarily soiled his expensive trousers. His torso leaned back to one side, propped up by the toilet paper dispenser. His head had knocked against the tile wall, his eyes wide and glassy. A trickle of blood escaped the corner of his mouth.
He was dead. Airel’s father retreated, closing the stall door.
It had only taken half a second. It had only taken half a second. Airel’s father swept the room with experienced eyes as he moved smoothly toward the adjacent stall, as if that was what he had been doing all along. When he turned he noticed one man looking in his direction, disturbed by the racket Harry had raised as he had so violently sat down. He shrugged at him, hiked his thumb over his shoulder at Harry’s stall and said, “Lots of paperwork,” and smiled. The man rolled his eyes and left.
Airel’s father entered his own stall and closed the door. Perfect timing. He had to pee like a maniac. He would be landing in Cape Town in about 16 hours. He could maybe catch up on some sleep. He caught a whiff from next door. Whoa, Harry. You stink.
Cape Point, South Africa, present day
Kreios stole some wheels from the car park, the British way to say ‘parking lot.’ Details mattered, and he made mental notes to himself to blend in as much as possible. It was an old Toyota Land Cruiser pickup. Decades old, the design didn’t stand out on South African roads and it didn’t have much in the way of anti-theft measures. Just get in and go. He drove calmly, just like he owned it, right up the M64 to the M4, headed for Cape Town.
He was headed for one particular building. But he didn’t want to allow his mind to rest on that too long.
What’s the plan? He had to admit, he didn’t really have one, beyond one of two scenarios: one, go in guns blazing, figuratively or not, and take as many of them with him as possible. Two, he would take them out surreptitiously in small groups, keep them guessing, keep them afraid. After all, they had to know he was coming.
Yes. That could be a problem, too.
This was what was left of the whole range of choices he had had not too long ago. He had whittled them down to two primary options. One of the most portentous choices he had made right from the beginning was to submit to naked rage, and this is what it had left him. But had he not been justified in giving in to it?
Was it not a just war he now waged against the Brotherhood? Had they not taken everything from him?
How can it be? He reflected on the very reasons he had had for abducting Airel in the first place. He knew how special she was; that’s why he took her. He knew she had to be set apart, protected, watched closely, instructed, trained. He had heard clearly what El had told him, that she was absolutely crucial to the turning of…historical events. He dared not allow his mind to dwell upon these, even in brief.
But all was lost.
How can that be possible?
Have I missed something, El? He drove on in silence as the sun set in the sundering west. I thought it would not be possible for her to die, ultimately, given what You told me. I thought I could protect her. I thought my efforts would be adequate.
He could think of the situation no longer. He had a limited endurance these days. He could take only so much reflection on Airel before he sank either into despair or rage.
He had to find someplace to stay that was crowded, somewhere he wouldn’t be noticed, somewhere the stolen Toyota would blend right in if parked for several days. He needed time to strategize and think.
He turned right with the light onto Atlantic in Muizenberg and drove a little way.
Then, on Alexander Road, he veered left. This is as fitting place as any.
There would be murders here; it was inevitable with Kreios. Soon.