The Phoenix Variant: The Fifth Column 3 (8 page)

Giant colorful feathers brushed Sophia’s face as a line of drummers shuffled past her. Thanks to Aviary, Sophia was in the center of a colorful stampede of dancers, faces half-painted as sugar skulls, colors from dresses and suits swirling into her vision.

Sophia stood near East Harlem at the corner of Central Park, shoved enthusiastically forward by Aviary into
Dia De Los Muertos
, the Day of the Dead festival. Percussion and the chirp of woodwind instruments guided the costumed through a progression of traditional Aztec and folkloric Mexican dances.

Sophia stepped aside to avoid a woman in a cream corset decorated with large fiery marigolds. Her face made Sophia flinch, —it was painted sparingly with delicate black lines. Large circles around her eyes were shaded in violet and dotted with multicolored jewels that glinted in the setting sun. Skeleton teeth were painted over her lips and dark daggers across her nose.

She felt Aviary’s hand on her shoulder. ‘Keep going.’

Sophia checked her iPhone. There were no pulsing dots. She zoomed out and still found no dots. Not even in Newark. She seized Aviary by her arm.

‘They’re gone,’ Sophia said.

Aviary took her phone and thumbed the control center. ‘It’s dropped out. Give it a few seconds.’

Sophia nodded and took the phone back.

They passed a boathouse on their right, beside a lake. She noticed their path was flanked by makeshift altars covered in cloth and decorated with fruit, candles, wild marigolds and other flowers. Aviary pointed to the edge of an altar as they passed and Sophia noticed packs of cigarettes, shots of alcohol, bottles of water, soda and even hot cocoa.

‘For the weary spirits, when they arrive,’ Aviary said, adjusting the ruck on her shoulders. Although she hadn’t said anything, it looked like she’d purchased the same ruck Sophia carried.

‘Remind me why I’m here again,’ Sophia said.

‘Because I want to eat food and drink alcohol,’ Aviary said. ‘And by extension you will also eat food and drink alcohol.’

Sophia continued with the flow. People in stilts loomed over her, faces painted entirely as skulls: white with black around the eyes, nose and mouth. Men dressed as women and women dressed as men, other mourners dressed as skeletons and still others as demons.

The altars changed. These were decorated with candy and toys. Tiny white skulls covered in colorful icing, ornaments and bejeweled eyes. Aviary called them sugar skulls; they had large ones for adults and little ones for children. They each represented a departed soul. Aviary quickly added that you’re not supposed to eat them, not that Sophia was planning to.

Tables offered food people were actually eating, however. Mounds of fruit, peanuts, plates of chicken mole—the smell was strong and reminded her she hadn’t eaten since the morning. There were also tortillas and some sort of large bread Aviary called
pan de muerto
.

As the sun began to set over New York, they passed a collection of grave markers. The markers looked like miniature houses painted in lavender, blue, a pale yellow and some in pink. All were lit with candles inside.

Soon they reached Aviary’s friends, although it was hard to recognize the four jaguar knights through their makeup and costumes. She had to suppress a laugh at the four rigid-framed knights, ex-Force Recon marines, as they curtsied for her. Like most of the attendees at the festival, their faces were half painted as skulls. But what she found most delightful was they were dressed—rather elegantly, she thought—as women, each wearing an adorable white dress and wielding not a carbine but a white lace parasol. The three Hispanic knights looked completely unfazed while the fourth, an African American knight she recognized from their operation in Denver, seemed fractionally self-conscious.

‘That’s an interesting costume,’ she said to him.

‘Yeah,’ he said, twirling his parasol. ‘But you know what? It’s kind of liberating.’

‘Shots!’ one of the knights yelled, spiraling into the group with a cluster of tall shot glasses.

Sophia found herself cradling a glass—or plastic as it turned out—as the knights cheered, yelled, ‘To the dead,
salut
!’ and emptied their glasses—delicately so as not to smear their face makeup.

She watched them drop into the procession, dancing like lunatics. Aviary raised her glass to Sophia and drank half of hers. It didn’t look pleasant because the redhead winced afterward.

‘
Mezcal
,’ she said, pointing to the glass in Sophia’s hand.

Something cracked nearby—a gunshot. Sophia dropped to one knee, reaching for the Glock under her jacket. Fireworks blossomed above, followed by more cracks and bursts. She relaxed and stood, conscious of nearby stares, including Aviary’s. Her glass of
mezcal
was now half-empty. A line of drummers passed by, banging faster. Sweat dripped from their skull-faces.

‘So tell me why we’re really here,’ Sophia said.

Aviary flashed a smile. ‘To laugh at death and show we’re not afraid.’

More fireworks exploded above. Sophia didn’t flinch this time. She lifted her glass with Aviary.

‘
Salut
,’ she said.

It burned her throat. Before she could recover, Aviary plucked the plastic shot glass from her fingers and tossed it into a nearby bin, then pulled her farther into the crowd. Everyone had started moving south along the eastern edge of Central Park. The path curved left and they walked between two giant walls of candles. Aviary told her, above the cacophony of drums, that the candles would guide the deceased loved ones.

The drums stopped and the candle flames quivered in the breeze. The pace of the procession slowed suddenly and Sophia felt uncertainty crawl inside. Everyone walked slowly now, in silence. Sophia suppressed the urge to check for her pistol again. She heard church bells ring in the distance. Incense smoke rippled through the air. Everyone around her seemed excited. She didn’t share the sensation.

‘What’s happening?’ she whispered into Aviary’s ear.

‘The dead are coming,’ her friend said. ‘And we’re waiting for them.’

Aviary took her by the arm and guided her between the walls of candles. The procession diverged from the park out onto Fifth Avenue, now shut off from traffic for the festival. Around them, people carried sugar skulls and candles; others grasped framed photos of loved ones. The flames of the candles encouraged them forward. Sophia remembered the photos in her wallet and her stomach tightened.

As an operative she had been trained not to think about death except from an operational standpoint. It was what happened when you died. If you did your job right and drew on your training then you stayed alive and it wouldn’t be an issue.

They reached the end of the procession, outside a museum. Altars glowed in the night, large and vast enough to receive the festival’s guests; together they approached one.

Aviary moved forward, tentatively, and placed a photo upon a bouquet of flowers. The photo was of a young man Sophia didn’t recognize.

‘My brother, Calvin,’ her friend said. Her eyes shimmered.

Across from them, Sophia could see the shapes of jaguar knights in their dresses. One of them was arched forward, trembling. Another’s hand rested across his back. They were crying.

‘I shouldn’t be here,’ Sophia said.

She broke away. But Aviary reached forward, her arm on Sophia’s. ‘You can be wherever you want,’ she said.

‘Can we go somewhere else?’ Sophia said.

‘How do you feel?’ Aviary said.

Sophia swallowed. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘A bit strange.’

Aviary’s green eyes glittered in the candlelight. ‘Your loved ones are here now, with us.’

Sophia pressed her jaws together, keeping her mouth firm. She tried to think of other things but the memories came flooding back. Dancing with Leon in Italy. Swimming in a river with Lucia and the rest of her team in Belize. Helping Owen Freeman with the Akhana. Drinking coffee in the Philippine mountains with Benito.

She felt it build inside. Her vision blurred and she knew she hadn’t stopped it in time because Aviary moved closer, steadying her.

She swallowed again. God, she was losing it. She didn’t want to do this. Not here. Her cheeks burned red. Tears spilled down. She couldn’t keep her mouth closed. She couldn’t stop it any longer. She broke down.

She sobbed violently before the flower-adorned altar. All she could see was a blur of candles. She held onto Aviary’s arm tightly. Aviary was there when she dropped to her knees.

For a moment there was clarity as she drew things together. She opened her mouth, her eyes, and took a deep breath. Blinking, she cleared her vision. She tasted salt across her lips. Her breathing slowed and the candles came into focus. She sniffed to clear her nose.

‘Would you like to put some photos on the altar?’ Aviary asked. Her voice was whisper soft. ‘The ones in your wallet?’

Sophia didn’t want to take them out of her wallet. But it was almost too difficult to explain why she couldn’t. Instead she found herself nodding in silence. Her hand closed over her wallet and she looked down, fingers moving under her false driver’s license. Tears dripped onto the leather. She wiped them away and found the photos. Three photos and the motel business card with her family’s names.

She stepped forward and rested on one knee, staring at the altar. Just the thought of finding a place for her photos was overwhelming. Aviary moved to help but she pushed herself forward. She didn’t want help. Leon sat on a bunch of orange marigolds, calmly watching over her. She reached for her next photo, Owen, and placed him beside Leon. They knew each other to some degree; Owen would have rescued Leon from the Fifth Column in the early days. So they should be together, she thought. On the other side of Owen she placed Benito. He would have known Owen, perhaps even met him at some point.

In her hands, the card with the names of her family. She cried on the card, ashamed she had no photos of them. The only reason she hadn’t taken a photo with her to Project GATE was because she hadn’t liked the ones they had and wanted to take a better one when she returned. Instead she’d killed them.

‘They’re your family?’ Aviary said, her hand closing over Sophia’s.

She felt the mezcal warming her. She nodded.

‘What are they like?’

Sophia shook her head. ‘They’re gone.’

‘No they’re not,’ Aviary said. ‘They’re with you now.’

‘How do I know?’ Sophia said.

‘Your heart will tell you.’

Sophia gripped the card tightly, then placed it above the photos, on a larger bouquet.

‘Now they’re here, what would you like to tell them?’ Aviary said.

She wished the questions would stop. She should never have taken the photos. She should never have kept them. This was awful. She thought about the question for a moment. What could she say? What did you say to the people you love once they were gone?

‘I’m sorry.’

‘They know,’ Aviary said. ‘They know already.’

Sophia sniffed. She felt dizzy, uncomfortable. Everything about this was uncomfortable.

‘I’m very thankful,’ Sophia said. ‘For their care.’

Aviary nodded. ‘They know that now.’

‘And … I guess—’ Sophia wiped her eyes ‘—I’m sorry,’ she said to Aviary. ‘I’m not used to doing this. I wish my family knew that I love them and I didn’t want … anything to happen to them.’

‘I understand,’ Aviary said from beside her. ‘I feel like that too.’

She could see tears brimming in Aviary’s eyes as she looked down at the photo of Calvin, Aviary’s brother. Sophia was reluctant to admit it, but she felt the missing
were
there with them, even if only for a moment.

Damien led his client, Frederick Jensen, up the stairs to the elegant lobby of the Waldorf Astoria Hotel. Without looking, he knew Jay was behind Jensen. On top of the stairs, between two silver vases, security had installed a metal detector and a table for receiving firearms from attendees.

While the security officer looked on, Damien unholstered his SIG Sauer P226 from his shoulder holster and pulled the slide back, catching the round in the same hand. He pressed down on the decocking lever and ejected the magazine. He took a moment to thumb the ejected round back into the magazine. Satisfied, he handed over his weapon, followed by two more magazines.

The security officer motioned Damien through the metal detector. He was pleased his belt didn’t set it off—and neither did his titanium lockpicks and plasticuffs. Unfortunately neither of those were weapons.

Jensen passed through the metal detector behind him. Then they waited for Jay to begrudgingly hand over his pistol and magazines. Damien checked the people sitting on the nearby art deco chairs before continuing through the lobby. Their polished shoes echoed on marble as they walked along an intricate design of maidens and flowers.

Moving between two rows of pillars, he waited for someone to notice he’d snuck into the world of the privileged and escort him smartly out. The tuxedo he wore felt odd, but it was required attire for the event.

The lobby was lit by table lamps and decorated in dark wood and gold. He walked around a tall octagonal clock carved in bronze. A tiny golden Statue of Liberty sat atop the clock. At least I haven’t decapitated that version, he thought.

‘Level three,’ Jensen told him.

Damien already knew but Jensen liked to repeat himself.

He led Jensen through the silver corridor of the third floor—fringed with potted palms and candle-lit chandeliers, and a black-and-white tiled floor that reminded him of chess. They reached the doormen, who checked their IDs and swept them with handheld metal detectors. Damien and Jay came through clean and were permitted entry to the cocktail reception. Damien cleared a path for Jensen.

Soaring four levels high, the two-tiered grand ballroom teemed with nearly one thousand guests in gowns, suits and various states of sobriety. On his right he noticed red curtains drawn across an elevated stage. He slowed and checked over his shoulder for Jensen, who pinched a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and nodded to him.

‘You can back off a bit tonight, champ.’ Jensen placed a hand on Damien’s shoulder. ‘I have some business. Just, ah, do what you do best, huh?’ He pointed two fingers at Damien’s eyes as though he were privy to a secret sign language. ‘Keep an eye on things.’

‘If you need us—’

Jensen was already leading with his chest through the crowd until he reached a colleague. Damien watched for anyone else who might be paying Jensen some attention but no one gave notice. Their boss’s charisma was well oiled tonight.

‘If he calls you champ one more time,’ Jay said under his breath, ‘I’ll save them the trouble and shoot him myself.’

Damien turned to see Jay brush over a particular area of his chest—where his pistol should be. ‘Relax,’ he said.

‘Easy for you to say,’ Jay said. ‘Stop playing with your bow-tie.’

‘I wasn’t.’

Damien straightened his bow-tie again.

He could count on one hand how many times he’d worn a suit. Most of them were dress rehearsals in Project GATE. He wasn’t used to it and his neck felt tight. Jensen had rented them well-fitting tuxedos for the night. He’d assured them that, despite the firearms-free zone through the entire hotel, security would be excellent, and they were merely here to protect him in transit. Still, Damien was being paid and he wasn’t about to take any chances. He’d ensured Jensen wore a covert ballistic protection vest under his shirt, just to be sure. It would at least stop pistol rounds.

He turned to Jay in time to see him pluck a salmon wafer from a passing waitress. She was dressed like some sort of light infantry soldier circa Roman Empire. She glared at Jay and Damien as she wafted past. Her eyes were impossibly white against gold-dusted skin. She wore a black helmet and golden armor that covered her chest and shoulders. There was even a bow slung across her back. Unusual weaponry for a Roman soldier, but they were known to have assumed the tactics of those they defeated, archers included.

The curtains on stage parted and music trickled softly through the ballroom. Damien looked above, dizzied by a gargantuan chandelier shimmering high overhead.

‘For the record, this is a terrible idea,’ Jay said.

Damien shrugged. ‘At least we can make it through one job without you shooting our client.’

‘Hey that happened once—’ Jay reached for another passing salmon wafer ‘—OK twice. And they were both dicks,’ he said. ‘Big dicks.’

Damien realized the music stopped and the surrounding guests heard Jay say ‘big dicks’ quite clearly. Damien intercepted a tray of champagne and took two flutes.

‘This could be a long night,’ Damien said, drinking an entire flute.

Jay reached for the other flute but Damien was already drinking it. Jay grumbled and ran his hand across his empty holster again.

‘Last I heard it’s a mandatory evacuation tonight.’ Jay checked his watch. ‘This shindig should be winding up early.’

Damien took comfort in that, but he didn’t admit it.

The music returned, and this time the stage curtains parted to reveal two rows of performers. They each rested on one knee, dark helmets lowered. The drums built with intensity and they unfurled to full height, weapons across their backs.

‘Why couldn’t we carry a sword instead?’ Jay whispered.

‘They’re blunt swords, Jay,’ Damien said. ‘They’re just props.’

‘You mean the swords or us?’ Jay said, his eyes searching for another tray of food.

The performers began to dance, intertwining as pairs and breaking off again. Damien found himself enjoying it. Their movements were slow and mesmerizing. He reached for another flute and realized he’d already broken his rule of no alcohol on a job—although it was a rule he’d set more for Jay than himself.

*

Sophia stood silently with Aviary before the altar. She spent most of the time—how much time?—trying to keep herself together. It seemed a while before the tidal wave inside her finally settled.

Aviary reached down to take Calvin’s photo. ‘We can’t keep these,’ she said. ‘We need to let them go.’

Sophia breathed slowly, deeply, and retrieved her own photos and the business card. She couldn’t think clearly enough and was grateful Aviary led her beyond the altars to a cluster of small fires in Central Park. People were drawn to them. They stayed for a time, mesmerized, and then left. Sophia realized why when Aviary held Calvin’s photo tightly between pressed thumbs. The flame revealed dried tears on Aviary’s face.

‘Calvin Keli’i,’ Aviary said, placing the photo in the fire.

Sophia watched the flame pour over his face and consume the photograph. Aviary stepped back and Sophia felt herself hesitating. She looked down at the photos in her hand and realized she didn’t want to let them go. She wanted to hold onto them forever. She wasn’t stupid—she knew she couldn’t bring her people back, but she couldn’t … She couldn’t even think right now. She stepped closer to the flame. She placed a photo onto it.

‘Benito Montoya,’ she said.

The flame consumed him. He was gone.

‘Owen Freeman,’ she said.

Her eyes were filling with tears again. She swallowed, stayed focused.

The flame consumed him.

‘Leoncjusz Adamicz,’ she said.

In an instant, Leon dissolved. They were gone now.

She held the card with her family’s names, stared at it for a moment. Everything came crashing forth inside her. She held it all back just long enough to throw the card into the fire.

‘Lenka Novotný,’ she said. ‘Antonín Novotný.’ Tears poured down her face but she didn’t care anymore. ‘Tereza Novotný. Petr Novotný.’

She said goodbye to her family.

There was nothing more to say.

She closed her wallet and pocketed it. She felt Aviary beside her. The flame licked the night, impartial to her offering. Sadness filled the night, but it felt clear. She hated it less.

As the tears dried on her face, Aviary suggested they have their faces painted. A renewal. Sophia was ready to object but she didn’t have the energy. She followed Aviary on weak legs to a stall where painters were turning regular people into skeletons.

Sophia was the first to sit down. She wiped her face with a tissue Aviary had given her, dampening it with her own tongue. Once it was clean, she looked up to see the woman with the cream corset who had startled her earlier. The woman’s painted face was incredibly well crafted, and jeweled too. It was no surprise that’s what she was here to do.

‘I’m Xtabay,’ she said. ‘A demon from Mexico.’ She curtseyed.

If Sophia was supposed to feel comforted by that, she wasn’t. ‘I’m … Sophia,’ she said. ‘I’m not a demon.’

Xtabay smiled and dabbed a brush in white paint. Sophia could smell the paint distinctly. It mixed with the artist’s perfume. The paint was cold but the touch of the brush felt reassuringly warm.

Aviary watched from a distance, arms folded, occasionally checking the crowd as it filtered through toward the museum. Sophia figured there was some sort of ceremony or concert inside. She wondered if Aviary would take her in there next. She made a mental note not to cry over her face paint.

She closed her eyes and relaxed for the first time in months. She almost lost track of the time, but by the time Xtabay was finished they’d accrued a crowd of children who sat cross-legged, fascinated by the brushstrokes. As soon as she had finished around Sophia’s lips, Sophia smiled and waved to them. They waved back and whispered to each other.

Xtabay retrieved a mirror so Sophia could see her work. When she saw it, her jaw dropped. Or at least a skeleton jaw dropped. The paint was detailed, with subtle shadows and gradients, and a deep metallic purple encircled her eyes. Xtabay had even painted the skeleton teeth past Sophia’s lips, wrapping around her jaws. The far edges of her jawlines were black, giving the illusion her skeleton teeth disappeared into darkness. It was disturbing, yet breathtaking. Xtabay started plucking sticky jewels from a tray and adding them to Sophia’s face, around her eyebrows and under her eyes until they formed a perfect circle. She added some to the ends of her cheekbone strokes and curled lines on her chin.

Aviary hadn’t seen it yet; she was staring fixedly at her iPhone, her face lit up by its screen. Sophia stood and waited for Aviary to look up. She looked distracted.

‘You’re very pretty,’ Xtabay said. ‘Do you like it?’

Sophia felt her heart kick faster. The way Xtabay smiled made her blush. She could almost feel the demon woman’s adoring gaze. No, she could feel it.

Sophia touched her chin. ‘It’s magnificent.’

‘Life is just a dream,’ Xtabay said. ‘Only the eternal life is the true life.’

The demon woman winked at her, then walked over to the children. Sophia didn’t know quite what to do so she made her way over to Aviary.

Aviary looked up. ‘Looks great.’

‘I think … she has a crush on me,’ Sophia said.

Aviary sniggered. ‘Did she give you her digits? I mean, number,’ she said. ‘Poor choice of words.’

‘No,’ Sophia said. ‘It just
felt
different.’

‘That’s good,’ Aviary said. ‘You’re becoming normal.’

The crowd seemed to ripple past them.

‘You know, like a real person with feelings,’ Aviary said.

Sophia caught Aviary’s wry grin but was too focused on the crowd. For a moment she was worried her synesthesia had returned to mix up her senses but they all seemed in order. Food smelled like food. Colors looked like colors and the faint tang of
mezcal
tasted like it should. She could feel just a little
more
.

‘Everyone’s so … happy,’ Sophia said. ‘I’m not used to feeling this.’

Aviary looked up from her phone. ‘They don’t look happy.’

‘No, but they are. I can just tell.’

Aviary was staring at her now. ‘Are you OK?’

Sophia swallowed. ‘I don’t know.’ She focused on Aviary. ‘You’re worried. I can feel it.’

‘Yeah, a bit,’ Aviary said. ‘Wait, you can feel it?’

‘I’m not worried about me,’ Sophia said. She snatched the phone from Aviary’s hands.

It was the same map Sophia had been checking on her own phone earlier. Aviary had zoomed out to fill most of upper Manhattan. Only now it was covered in blinking dots.

Sophia felt a chill sweep over her. She cast a quick glance around the crowd, checking for faces.

‘There’s no one here,’ Aviary said. ‘But—’

‘How long have they been here?’ Sophia said.

Aviary shook her head. ‘Fairly recent. We only lost our connection a half hour ago.’

‘They’re operatives, Aviary. They move quickly,’ Sophia said. ‘Where are your friends?’

‘Huh?’ Aviary was still inspecting the blinking dots. ‘They went home. The festival ends early tonight because of the hurricane.’

Sophia recalled snippets of news over the past few days about a hurricane moving through the Caribbean. She kept her television-watching to a minimum, mostly because it drove her insane.

‘We should get off the island now.’ Sophia said, looking up at the brooding clouds in the previously clear night. ‘And this … off my face—’

Aviary was already walking. In the other direction.

Sophia took off after her, moving against the crowd. She kept eyes on Aviary so she wouldn’t lose her. Aviary made her way through to the grass in Central Park, her ruck on both shoulders. By then Sophia was running. She caught up with Aviary at a big lake farther south. The lights of the city encircled them, reflecting off the water’s surface. Aviary stood at the edge, looking at her phone.

‘What do you think you’re you doing?’ Sophia said.

‘Look.’ Aviary shoved the screen in her face.

There was one dot moving just below the lake, heading west.

Aviary looked up at Sophia. ‘One operative. Right near us.’