Michael (The Mark) (The Airel Saga, Book 4: Part 7-8) (8 page)

“Oh, sure,” Ellie said. “What do you fancy?”

“Oh, I don’t like anything fancy,” Kim said, and I smacked my palm against my forehead. She went on, “My favorite movie is
Beauty and the Beast.
I think it’s soooo romantic.”

“Since when?” I howled at her. “I thought your favorite movie was
Miss Congeniality,
Kim.”

She simply stuck her tongue out at me and sat down in a huff.

“No matter. We’ve got both of those and more,” Ellie said. “We’re connected via satellite all across the globe in this—”

“Beauty and the Beast. Beauty and the Beast. Beauty and the Beast. Beauty and the Beast.”
Kim was hopping up and down in her seat, clapping her hands together like a spoiled rotten brat.

I pressed my hands to my temples and leaned forward. “Oh, my gosh,” I said, feeling desperate.

“Okay, Kim, settle down,” Ellie said. “I’ll put it on for you.” She was talking to her like she might have talked to a small child. She grabbed a tablet-sized control pad and deftly manipulated some settings. “There. It’ll start streaming as soon as the decryption is finished.” She turned back to Kim. “In the meantime, love, can I get you something to drink?”

“OhmyGawdyes,” Kim replied. “I want soda pop. Soda pop. Soda pop. Soda pop.” She sat still, beaming at Ellie with crazy eyes and clapping her hands in rhythm to her chant.

The movie started up, telling the story of the ugly witch and the selfish prince. The music swelled in surround sound, filling the space of the jet with my preschool memories. What was up with Kim?
When did she become five again?

Ellie approached me. “Hey, girlie. Can I get you a drink?”

“Yeah,” I shot back. “What’s the legal drinking age in international airspace?”

She chuckled and bent low to my ear, trying to talk over the preschooler noises.

Kim was now singing along with the symphonic score with a loud “Dum-da dum doo dah DUMMMMM-pum pum pum …”

Ellie said, “Don’t worry, girlie. I’m going to slip a sedative in hers so you won’t need one.” She stood erect. “Unless, of course, you
want
to be sedated … to each their own.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “Anyway, how quick does it work?”

“She’ll be out like a light before we reach the end of the runway.”

“In that case, I’ll have a water.”

Ellie, who had been holding her hands up as if she were writing my order on an imaginary notepad, dropped them to her sides, slumped her shoulders, and gave me a sharply sarcastic look. “Oh, that’s imaginative.” She stalked off. “Fine. Have it your way. We’ve got all kinds of expensive beverages on here, but never mind.”

“Hey,” I growled at her, “what about my boyfriend here?”

She didn’t stop. Her voice came shouting at both of us from the back of the airplane. “He doesn’t get anything.”

I looked at Michael, and we both laughed. He pointed his index finger at his head and moved it in a circle, indicating that we had fallen in with the psych ward somehow.

“No doubt,” I said back, laughing. It
was
insane. But I figured we all needed to let off a little steam. I grabbed his hand and kissed the back of it. He smiled and his blue eyes sparkled. I was so happy just looking into his eyes. I wanted to drown in them.

Ellie came back with a silver tray bedecked—yeah, bedecked, in this case—with two ornate crystal glasses of crisp, cold, pure water, and set it down on the solid burled wood table between Michael and me. “
Madame et Monsieur,
your two hydrogens and one oxygen. Each.” She turned toward Kim with a can of soda and fairly slammed it down on her table, making little drops of it blast out the opening.

“Ooooo, thanks. Soda pop soda pop soda pop soda pop soda pop,” she sang along with the cartoon, forcing her words into the mouth of the bookish on-screen heroine.

Sedative, do your worst. I can’t take much more of this.

The co-pilot, Bishop, bounded up the stairs. He was short and wiry and full of energy. As black as coal and beautifully pure African, he moved very quickly, darting all over the cabin and pumping our hands while smiling enthusiastically at us. He spoke in a very thick accent; it was difficult to understand what he was saying. I smiled at him and guessed he was glad we had come.

When Hex came aboard, Bishop shut the door for him. Then Ellie made the official introductions.

“This is Kim, Airel, and Michael Alexander.” Michael’s last name produced a subtle reaction in Hex. His eyebrows arched ever so slightly.

“Very well. It is my pleasure to meet you all. I welcome you aboard Miss Ellie’s personal aircraft.”

Whoa. This is hers?

“My name is Hector LeFievre. You can call me Hex. Please relax, enjoy, and leave the flying to us.” He gestured to Bishop, who smiled at us. “If you have need of anything, please just call the cockpit, and we will do our utmost to serve you.”

“Oh, Hex, just fly the thing. I’ll take care of my guests,” Ellie said.

Kim made childish noises in the background as she sipped at her soda pop soda pop soda pop and tapped her fingers on her little tray table.

“All right. Here we go,” Hex said, and turned to the cockpit. Both he and Bishop entered through the flight deck door and took their seats. Bishop then reached back and closed it. Hex’s voice came over the intercom: “Ladies, and our lone gentleman, please buckle your seatbelts. This is the captain speaking.”

Ellie sat casually in a seat facing us and kicked her shoes off, tucking her legs up under her. “Should I do the stewardess thing now, with the seatbelts and the flotation cushions?”

Michael laughed. “No, that’s fine.”

“All right then.” Without looking, she reached back and snatched the can of soda from Kim, who at that instant was passing out and crashing. Ellie brought the can around smoothly as Kim plopped back and sideways over her own armrest, her mouth wide open. “See what I mean? Quick.” She smiled and stood, walking to the back with the can of soda pop soda pop soda pop.

When she came back, the can was gone, and she carried a blanket and a pillow.

“What did you give her?” I asked, semi-concerned for my friend now.

“You don’t want to know,” was the reply. “But she’s fine.” She flipped a lever on Kim’s chair and it lay down flat. She pulled her up by the armpits and righted her in the chair, propped her head up with the pillow, buckled her seat-belt, and covered her with the blanket.

“Now that’s hospitality,” she said, admiring her work.

The plane began to roll, taxiing for takeoff.

Ellie picked up the tablet and gestured to the movie screen. “Anyone else watching this?”

“No,” Michael and I said in unison.

“’Kay, then,” she said, touching the tablet’s screen. The movie turned off. “Ah,” she said, sitting in her seat again, “much better.” She twisted to check on Kim.

Turning back toward us, she buckled her own seat-belt. We followed suit.

Hex’s voice came over the intercom again. “Prepare for takeoff.”

“This is my favorite part,” Ellie said.

The jet engines roared, and we blasted down the runway. As we became airborne, it hit me: this was the first time in a long time I felt truly safe.

CHAPTER XII

Boise, Idaho—Present Day

HARRY, AFTER WAITING DAYS for the confluence of various circumstances after the demise of one Gretchen Reid, sat on a plane at the Boise airport, waiting for departure. The man next to him was having a conversation on his cell phone. It sickened him that people felt the need to parade all that weakness, all that idiotic vanity, in public. Sure, the conversations were one-sided, but they were also usually louder than ambient noise, and disturbing for their disjointedness. Harry ground his teeth as the man prattled on.

“Yes, dear.” A pause. “Honey, you’re okay. Honest injun. Are you enjoying your time with your sister?” Another pause.

Harry wanted to vomit. Either that or rip the man’s phone away from his hand and beat him senseless with it. Mercilessly, the conversation continued.

“Of course. And how about you?” A pause again. “Oh, I’m just waiting for the pushback so we can get underway here.”

Pushback,
Harry thought.
I’ll give you pushback.

“And I’ll miss
you
. Well, it’s only the civilized parts of Africa … Yeah. Of course … Always.”

Why must I endure all this nonsense?
Harry thought.
Why couldn’t I just kill the man in his own house?
He reflected on that. It would have been … less convenient. Orders were orders, anyway. He understood rationally that it would be better to wait until Cape Town. It would look better. But emotionally, he wasn’t sure how much more he would be able to stand.

“I love you.” The man in the seat next to Harry ended the call.

Thank you,
Harry thought.
Perhaps now my day will improve.
But the man turned to face him directly, as if he had been reading all the hostility Harry had been broadcasting. Harry twisted in his seat, shrinking back from the man as he squared his shoulders and looked at his face.

“Let’s not pretend we don’t know each other, Harry.”

This is not good.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” was all he could say in response.
Deflect this …

The man lowered his voice and leaned in. “Oh, come on, Harry, let’s not pretend anymore. I know all about it.”

Harry chortled. “About what?” His body language communicated his distaste and contempt for the very idea.

The man lowered his voice still more. “About Agent Gretchen Reid. And how you killed her.”

Harry arched his eyebrows. “Oh, really? And here I thought you were going to be another boring, dull, stupid, lazy mark.”

“Not hardly,” said the man, looking away and taking a sip of bottled water. “Not hardly. Why do you think I booked my ticket for this flight specifically?”

“Oh, my. This is getting good. But I’m afraid it’s a chicken-and-egg debate on that score, my friend.”

“What, you booked first?”

“So say some.” Harry changed the subject. “So. Off to rescue our daughter, are we?” He gave a wickedly recumbent chuckle that would have weakened the knees of lesser men.

“Harry, I wouldn’t tell you any more about my Airel if you held a gun to my head.”

“That can be arranged.”

“Tell you what, Harry—if I can presume to call you by your Christian name…?” Harry flinched. It made Airel’s father smile ever so slightly. “How about this: When we refuel at Twin Cities, you don’t move a muscle. How about when we change planes at Schiphol in Amsterdam, you behave like a good little boy or I’ll splatter your guts across all those pricey cheese wheels in the duty-free. How about we pretend to be pals, okay?”

“And why,” Harry couldn’t help but laugh in his face, “why should I not kill you here and now?”
Oops.
Harry hoped he didn’t say that too loudly. “And for that matter, why wouldn’t you do the same, here and now?”

“Because, Harry. It’s just not reasonably possible. Those idiot pretend mall cops with the TSA badges. FAA protocol. The Federal Air Marshall sitting in 17 D. The Boise PD. Ada County Sheriff. The fact that the door to the jetway is now closed, and we’re stuck on this tin can for the duration whether it’s convenient for us or not. And then there’s the question of your orders …”

Harry muttered strong curses under his thin veneer of cool. He gave a petulant little exhalation through his nostrils, scoffing.

Airel’s father continued. “You want me to get to Africa. You need me to get to Africa. Unharmed. And I know it. And trust me, Harry, this showdown can keep until then.”

“Okay.” Harry dismissed him casually with a wave of his hand.

“Until then, we’re just fellow disciples in the tribe of … sales. On our way to the ‘convention.’”

Harry laughed cruelly. “And just what do we sell?”

“Saleable things, Harry. Today it just happens to be a few extra hours of your life. Whaddya say?”

Through gritted teeth, Harry said, “Deal,” and regretted bitterly his former audacity to have purchased a ticket on the seat next to the mark. He hadn’t counted on Airel’s father being so smart. That, he had never accounted for or even imagined.

***

Somewhere Over North America—Present Day

MICHAEL WASN’T QUITE SURE how to broach the subject with Airel. He had been up since … well, he hadn’t really had time to sleep at all, what with all that needed to be taken care of. The body. And the Bloodstone turning up missing. He had been a little freaked out about that until his little under-the-bridge conference with Ellie. And now Kim carried it.
C’est la vie,
he thought cynically.

How could he tell Airel about Kim? How would she take it? He could tell by the way she looked at him that she thought he carried the Bloodstone. But he had to tell her. As if, by Kim’s erratic behavior, it wasn’t painfully obvious to everyone by now. But somebody had to call attention to the elephant on the plane.

And there was no time like the present. “Airel, can I talk with you?”

“Sure,” she said.

Michael didn’t even have to look at Ellie. “Excuse me,” she said. “I’ve gotta make a trip to the loo.” She got up and walked to the back of the plane.

“That was nice of her,” Airel said.

“Yeah, she’s pretty cool.”

“So, what’s up?”

He hazarded a glance at Kim, who was snoring away in her seat. “It’s about Kim.”

“Oh, don’t tell me. I know she’s been acting really weird. What’s with her?” Airel came off a little nervous. She gripped his hand tighter, as if holding on to him could bring her insane world into focus.

He looked at her. “I think you already know.”

Fear crept over her face. She was quiet for a long time, looking at her sleeping friend. Finally, she looked back at Michael. “She has it.”

He confirmed this truth.

“How long?”

“You’re not going to like this one bit,” he said. He tried to explain what Ellie had told him about destiny and choice and consequence and how it was Kim’s burden to bear because, really, she had taken it up that day on the cliff top.