INVITING FIRE (A Sydney Rye Novel, #6) (6 page)

Merl paused and I looked around the room. Everyone watched him with somber expressions. Heads nodded in agreement. Lips were set in firm lines of determination. "Malina was a founding member of Joyful Justice," Merl said. "Many of you are here because of her direct intervention. And all of us owe her a debt of gratitude. I considered her a close personal friend. I admired and loved her." His voice wavered, eyes turning red and shiny. He swallowed and took a breath, his face relaxing as he regained control over his emotions. "I know some of you want to speak, so now I'll open the floor to anyone who has something to share."

Tanya, an early member of Joyful Justice, stood up. Her blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail, strands sneaking out and curling around her face. She turned and faced the room, a crumpled piece of paper in her hand. The woman had clearly been crying.

Originally from Moldova, Tanya was a beautiful woman, which is probably one of the reasons she ended up being trafficked to Miami and forced into prostitution. However, her looks were not nearly as vital in that chain of events as were her circumstances at home. Tanya, like so many, believed that coming to America, no matter the route, was better than staying in a place like Moldova. But the reality of her life in Miami (a complete lack of freedom, regular beatings, never getting paid, never receiving medical attention) put the lie to that desperate hope. Tanya did not have a new life, she was a commodity, an expendable one at that. But she didn't have to take it.

Tanya was involved in the very first Joyful Justice attack. She killed two men and was instrumental in the bombing of the clubs, empty at the time, where she'd been forced to work. As Tanya put it in her video confession:

Zis is a battle cry and a varning. You can't stop us because ve are everywhere. In your brothels, in your beds, in the shadows of every city and village. Justice is coming.

The grainy phone confession was made the night of the explosion. In it Tanya wore a red strapless dress that cut tight across her chest. The bones in her thin shoulders stood out as she talked coolly to the camera. Her lipstick was smeared, mascara running. It looked like war paint.

Out of the three confessions made, Tanya's video went the most viral. It spread across the internet like a flame through dry grass, igniting a storm of controversy. The world would never agree on if she was a heroine or a terrorist.

Tanya took a deep breath and smiled, looking down at her notes. "Malina saved me," she said, her face contorting into pain. "She showed me how to fight back." She looked up from the paper, tears dripping down her face. "But I am not afraid to go on without her." Tanya straightened her shoulders. "Malina taught me that you can be a victim, you can be so foolish as to let yourself be sold. But you can also let yourself be free." She bit down on her trembling bottom lip and raising her fist above her head yelled, "Justice." The people around me mimicked her call, throwing their own arms into the air, and letting that word burst from between their lips.

Daniela was the next to speak. Born and raised in South Philadelphia, she was one of the first people to join the Joyful Justice website, long before it turned into the vigilante network it was today. Back when it was just a place for people to gather and talk about Joy Humbolt, my birth name, and how she killed the mayor of New York to avenge her brother's death.

There were few people besides me who knew that wasn't true. That Kurt Jessup was dead when I arrived. That I was too stupid and inexperienced to realize it before shooting his corpse, touching the walls and the elevator buttons, leaving all the evidence a corrupt police force would need to make me their patsy. Few people knew this whole Joy cult was built on a lie. Malina hadn't known. But I didn't think she would have cared. It wasn't about that one incident anymore. It was about injustice in so many places and what these people were building to confront it. With or without me.

Daniela's curly hair was loose and wild tonight. She was about 5'2” with hips that I'd seen her flip a 6'2” guy over. A helicopter pilot and well-known spitfire. I'd never heard Daniela's reasons for coming to Joyful Justice. Maybe she didn't have a story, a single incident that she could point to that sent her into this world. Perhaps it was more of a slow burn.

Daniela faced the crowd, her dark eyes bright. "Malina was fearless and determined," she started, her words stilted. "I am proud to have called her my friend." She took a deep breath and her voice steadied. "It is not our place to question why but to soldier on." Another deep breath and her tightly clenched fist reached for the sky. "Justice is our cause. Justice is all," her voice rang out clear across the room. It was echoed back to her.

Merl walked behind me and went to lean against the far wall. His dogs settled at his feet. I stood and, excusing myself, followed him, Blue by my side. Turning my back to the wall, I rested next to him. A gray-haired former army doctor, stood up. "Are you going to speak?" Merl asked.

I shook my head. "I've got nothing to say." I slipped away from him and into the night as the doctor’s gentle voice began. Halfway back to the villa I heard the voices rise up. "Be brave," they chanted.

W
ind whipped my hair back and forth. The trees were just a green blur as I flew through the treetops. The trolley made a zinging sound as it traveled along the metal cable. The harness cut into my waist and where it wrapped around my thighs.
Better too tight than too loose
, Merl always said. I wore a thick leather glove on my left hand and as I approached the platform I reached behind me pressing against the line, slowing myself down. I heard thunder. Lightning flashed across my vision. I ignored it, concentrating on Merl, who waited for me at the next tree. He was frowning. He knew something was wrong.

I squeezed harder on the line, feeling the thick metal cable through the worn leather. My feet dangled free and I stuck them out, reaching for the platform as I slowed to a stop, suspended a hundred feet up in the trees. Merl reached out and grabbed my shirt pulling me onto the platform next to him. He took my face in his calloused hands as I got my feet under me. "What did you see?" he asked. My skin, sensitized from that damn dream, flushed under his touch.

I pulled free from him. Cynthia stood behind Merl, a frown creasing her forehead. "I'm fine," I said.

Merl shook his head but didn't say anything else. He began to unscrew my carabiner, freeing me from the trolly. I watched his forearms tense as he worked. His muscles were tight cords of discipline. "Jump," he said. I put my hand on his shoulders and pushed up so that he could unhook my harness from the cable. I felt his shoulder move under my touch, they were strong and sculpted. It had been two weeks since Malina's death and my nights were worse than ever.

Hand holds fitted into the tree served as a ladder to the highest platform. Safety wires circled the trunk and followed the ladder up into the branches. Cynthia began to climb, her harness jingling as she moved. Merl attached my carabiner to the safety line and motioned for me to go ahead of him. "Ready to catch me?" I asked him.

"Shut up," he said and pushed me toward the ladder.

"Grumpy this morning."

He raised his eyebrows and laughed. "You're killing me, Sydney. One day at a time."

"I'm fine," I said with a smile. "You don't need to worry about me."

"We'll talk about this later," he said and pushed me again toward the ladder. I followed Cynthia without further argument.

The tree trunk was covered in green lichen and moss. The branches I passed hosted epiphytes of ferns and bromeliads. I could hear the movement of birds and small mammals fleeing as we climbed. That was one thing I loved about the jungle. Life upon life upon life upon life.

Cynthia waited on the platform built into the uppermost sturdy branches of the giant tree. Tanya was with her. She reached out and I accepted her hand so that she could help me onto the platform. "Thanks," I said, moving to the edge so there was room for Merl. I wrapped my hands around the metal railing, feeling the heat of the sun on my face as I looked out over the expansive view. The canopy lay before me. It dipped and rose with the topography. From up here it reminded me of the ocean, the tops of the trees undulating waves, stretching to the horizon. It was certainly as powerful and isolated a place as the middle of the sea. A black bird with a  red beak squawked and rose up in front of me, then dove down into the leaves disappearing into the jungle below.

"Ready?" Merl asked.

Cynthia came up next to me and looked down. "Yes, last one," she answered. Cynthia had designed and trained our perimeter force. Dogs patrolled the jungle floor while humans kept watch in the zip line towers that surrounded the compound. Merl, pyromaniac that he was, had also booby trapped the area so that anyone coming in from the outside who hadn’t been trained by him was unlikely to survive.

Merl talked into his walkie talkie. "Go," he said.

A crackle and then Daniela's voice acknowledged the command with a simple "Okay."

Tanya walked over to the screen mounted on the railing. It was encased in a metal box, sharing the space with a solar panel which supplied its power. "Entering zone C now," came Daniela's voice over the radio. Each dog was responsible for a zone and if they saw any human crossing into our territory they were trained to touch a marker which activated an alarm, and brought up the closest camera feed.

"He should spot her soon," Cynthia said, referring to the guard dog we were testing.

"He will," I said.

She smiled at me. "Last one."

"He's got it."

And then the alarm went off. Tanya's screen lit up with a video feed from the jungle floor. We could see Daniela standing a little distance from the tree. The street dog we'd named Ronald, a small black beast with intelligent, friendly brown eyes, was barking at her from his position by the tree. He'd touched the marker just like he was supposed to. Daniela crossed out of view, heading east. Ronald took off after her and a moment later the feed switched again showing Daniela as she met up with another path.

Cynthia clapped her hands. "He did it!"

"Of course he did," Merl said. "You trained him."

Cynthia slapped his arm. "Like that's a guarantee of anything," she said with a laugh.

Merl held the walkie talkie up to his lips. "Good job, Daniela," he said. “You can head in."

"Okay," came her response.

"So cool," Tanya said. "I had no idea this was possible."

"Seriously," I agreed. "This is very cool, Cynthia. Thanks so much for coming here and helping us set it up."

"My pleasure," she said, grinning at me.

I heard thunder again and cocked my head. There was something else in the sound. Helicopter, I thought, as Merl's walkie talkie went off again. "The birds coming in early," came a voice over the radio.

"Does that mean Lenox is here?" Cynthia asked.

Merl smiled. "Yes, you're so excited to meet him?"

Cynthia blushed. "I've never met a gigolo before. I'm very excited for his lecture tonight on the art of seduction in espionage. I can't believe he can fly a helicopter!" I laughed, Merl and Tanya joined me. "What?" Cynthia asked, looking back and forth between us.

I shrugged. "I don't know, the way you said that. It's like you're a super dork or something."

She slapped at my arm playfully. "Hey, that's not nice."

"Sorry," I said, holding up my hands. "A very cute super dork."

She frowned at me but I could tell she wasn't mad. "Aren't you coming tonight?" she asked.

I shook my head. "I've got watch duty."

I was also avoiding Lenox. Don't get me wrong, Lenox was a good guy. He'd saved my ass in Miami. A male gigolo at the top of his game, Lenox despised the cruel acts and slavery that took place in his industry. He was willing to risk his life to try and stop them. Not only was Lenox Gold a good man but he was also beautiful. Dark black skin, warm eyes that could fill with heat at a moment’s notice. A body that should be carved for posterity and his voice—Dear God, Lenox Gold's voice was an elegant rumble and his accent made his words sound like lyrics. One of the first times we'd spoken Lenox propositioned me over the phone. I'd turned him down then, but with the dreams and his physical presence, I didn't think I could do it again.

T
hat night on my way to watch duty I paused in front of the sparring field. A group of people practiced on the lawn. Merl's brand of fighting was fluid, smooth, fast, deadly, life altering, needing intense concentration. There was no room for doubt in the movements, no hesitation. Really no thought, just instinct. Anything else would stall the flow and the entire form would be lost.

I slowed my thoughts and let my mind absorb the shapes that the participants made. Merl's martial art, which he refused to name, was affectionately called "inviting fire" among some of his students... and when Merl was far out of ear shot. Like Bruce Lee, Merl believed that to name the form was to contain it. There were no prescribed moves or sets, just a way of being. While Bruce Lee encouraged his students to be like water, Merl always invited us to burn brighter. To move energy through our limbs effortlessly. To invite attack and use our opponent’s movements against them.

A bird screamed behind me, its call sounding slightly insane and offbeat. I turned around but saw nothing, no rustle in the leaves, no follow up squawk. I wished that Blue was with me to confirm if I'd heard the sound. He'd gone ahead so that we'd arrive on duty closer to the same time. Running along the paths, it took Blue about an hour to reach our post. By zip-line, my preferred method, it took me only about thirty minutes.

I continued down the path, the low yellow lights barely cutting through the darkness. The air was so thick with moisture that the light seemed to come off the fixtures as fuzzy balls. The stones under my feet were wet, droplets sprang off the grasses onto my boots. But they were waterproof. I was prepared for the night ahead of me.

At the fork toward the watchtower I stopped and checked my watch. I still had time, I decided, and traveled back into the grounds, skirting around the outer edge, to where the dog kennels were. Cynthia was there, as I expected. She sat on a tree stump. It was as large as a coffee table and about the same height. One leg pulled up, Cynthia rested her chin on her knee and watched the dogs. They lay in a pile on the far side of a chain link fence, their breath even as they slept. "Hey," I said softly.