Return (Matt Turner Series Book 3) (20 page)

Agony! Piercing! Pain! Terror! No!

Matt jerked his hand back, unsteady at the knees, one hand clutching Markus’s desk. He choked down a painful gulp, wiped his singed, wet eyes on his shoulders, and labored for a clean breath. That sort of imprint burst hadn’t happened in a long time.

He pulled himself together, stood upright, and stole a glance at a fascinated Markus.

Matt shut the box with a pop, shoved it into his other pocket, and placed his hands on Markus’s shoulders. “That came from Tuni St. James?”

“Tuni
Absko
, by way of several couriers, but yes … What
was
that?”

Matt ignored the question, still shaken by the imprint. He strove for composure, but a spike had just been plunged into his left wrist. The right had already been pinned to a post, ulna and radius pried apart. He was being
crucified
. Residual pain throbbed in his wrists—torn flesh and splintered bone. His nervous system couldn’t tell the difference between imprint and reality.

He forced it all away, concentrating on his grip on Markus’s shoulders, the incoming stream of thoughts, and asked, “Anything I need to worry about on my way out of here? … Yes, I know about security, what else?” Markus kept trying to speak, but Matt cut him off as each thought flashed by. “Yes, we’re taking the boat. Aren’t you the smart one … Helicopter? I didn’t know you had one. Where? … Wow. The awesome never stops here, does it? Who knows how to fly it? … Oh, well a lot of good he’ll do you right now. Who else? You? Really? … Well, good for you.”

Markus shook Matt’s hands off, declaring, “We
won’t
go after you, Matthew.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because our primary interest has always been in recovering the Library’s contents.”

“And keeping us here for as long as Ostrovsky has artifacts for me to read.”

Markus smirked. “That was a secondary interest.”

“Your friend Rostik arrives tomorrow.”

“That …” Markus considered his words, “... may not have been the wisest decision. It wasn’t my desire. And he’s no friend of mine.”

“Right, well we won’t be here.”

“Evidently,” Markus said. “Have a safe journey.”

Matt put a hand back on Markus’s shoulder. “What does Rostik look like?”

An imaginary picture of Rostik materialized in Markus’s mind. “I don’t know. He doesn’t do face-to-face. This is a face you’d do best to avoid knowing.”

“Big help. And what are
you
going to do when I leave this office? You’re not just letting us go−”

“You, too, are making an unwise decision.” His eyes landed on Matt’s pocket—Taria A. “Mr. Ostrovsky will obviously wish to retrieve his property. I’ll have to see you in Alexandria.”

Reminded of the wooden sword, Matt slid it out, raising the tip to Markus’s neck. “What makes you think I’d go there? You think I actually care about some scrolls that may or may not even exist anymore?”

Markus tilted his head cynically. “I don’t need your ability to deduce your intent. Just know that your other requested imbursements have yet to begin.”

Matt shrugged. “Well, I really only had one, and you’ve already handled it, so thanks for that.”

“Your note hasn’t necessarily arrived at its destination yet, and if it hasn’t, it will be stopped.”

“Well, you seem to find that possibility unlikely. That’s quite a bonus you paid the couriers for punctuality. As for the other ‘imbursements,’ your boss obviously has the power to make big things happen, but in Africa? No. Not to the extent I would’ve needed. Anyway, I’ll return the Tarias and
wakizashi
. I only need to borrow them for a short time.”

Markus grinned and blinked. Matt smiled back, their eyes locked.

They stood there in silence a moment until Matt lowered the sword.

“I’m flattered,” Matt finally said. “Now then, would you do us a favor and stay here for ten minutes before calling anyone? … Five? Sure, I’ll take it.”

Markus slid by, traded places with Matt, and busied himself with the empty Taria case and safe.

Matt opened the door, surveyed the hall, and hastened back to Circe’s office. Down the hatch, he duck-jogged through the tunnel to Joss.

“That was a long goddam time,” Joss growled.

He grabbed her hand and picked up the duffel bag.

“Thank you for a lovely stay, Circe,” he said. “Someone should be along soon to fetch you.”

Cheek smushed against the floor, she sneered and said in Greek, “You’re an ill-mannered peasant.”

Matt and Joss followed the tunnel uphill about fifty feet to another set of steps.

Matt put a hand on the hatch. “
Great
. This one is actually inside the security building. We don’t have time for this. Stay here a second.” He slid the sword from his side and twisted the knob.

The hatch glided open above him with a quiet hiss, sunlight shining from a nearby window, illuminating the baggy black cargo pants of the enormous Grisha, Markus’s guard, sitting before a pair of security monitors, munching on some sort of dried dumplings.

Catching the hatch’s motion in his peripheral, Grisha snapped his head toward Matt, eyes wide. He recoiled, cursing in Greek as one might swear in a haunted house when one of the “monsters” pops out from the darkness.

Matt dashed up the steps with both hands on the bokken, wielding it defensively, with the blade pointed downward across his torso. Grisha stood, tripped backward a couple steps as he fumbled for the semi-auto pistol under his arm. Too late. The sword’s blunt edge struck Grisha’s wrist, flinging his meaty hand at his own face, landing with a slap. Matt followed up with a light blow to the solar plexus using the bokken’s tip. Fragments of popcorn and spittle flung from Grisha’s mouth as he lurched over. A final nudge from Matt’s hip dropped Grisha to the floor, gagging and dry heaving.

“Handcuffs!” Joss’s voice from behind.

Matt spun round, put a finger to his mouth to shush her; he didn’t know if any other security men had returned to the building. She mouthed sorry as she jabbed a finger toward the cabinets behind him. Sure enough, several sets of cuffs, both metal and the black plastic tactical sort, hung from little pegs. Unsure what Grisha had stashed on his person, and wishing to not waste another second by conducting a thorough search, Matt opted for a combination of restraints. Grisha groaned as Matt pulled the pinned arm out from under him, locking his wrists behind his back with metal cuffs. He then added the zipties, crisscrossing two sets over the metal cuffs.

Matt grabbed the bokken from the floor, stood, and pointed to Joss. “You have my bag?” She held it up. “Let’s go.”

Outside, sunlight pierced the leafy canopy, littering the ground with shiny little fragments. Matt took his bag from Joss, hooking it once more over his head, and led them away from the security building, toward the unseen dock to the west. They trudged through the soft, sandy dirt, aided now and then by more rigid, viney ground cover.

Matt slowed and glanced back at Joss. “You good? We’re almost there.”

She nodded, tired but resolute.

“There’s one more guard in the boathouse,” Matt said, “and we need the keys. Shouldn’t be a problem though if he hasn’t been alerted yet.”

“What if he’s been alerted?”

“Then we’ll see a crapload of guards either on their way to, or standing around the boathouse. In which case, I’m going to very quickly learn how to fly a helicopter.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Shh.”
He stuck a shushing hand out behind him as the boathouse came into view through a stand of palms’ prison-like bars.

To the right, the mild Aegean waves lowered the docked speedboat, then lifted it just as easily. If the boathouse window didn’t directly face the pier, Matt might have elected to go straight to the boat and hotwire it—ridiculously simple in small vessels.

“Follow me to the back,” he whispered, “then stay there until I get you.”

They ran across the sand between tree trunks and bushes, avoiding the crunches of dry leaves and branches. At the back of the boathouse, Matt peered toward the path leading to the staff quarters, envisioning Markus examining his watch, then sounding the alarm. Matt had Joss hide on the shady side of the boathouse, out of view of anyone coming from the staff quarters.

He mouthed, “Last one. Be right back.”

Matt crept alongside the windowless, white paneled structure. A quick glance around the corner to the concrete deck and wide-open window. All clear. He stepped up onto the deck, inching foot over foot toward the window.

A metallic clatter—the sound of keys dropping on the counter beside him. Matt froze.

“There you go, Matthew.”

Matt’s shoulders slumped.

Markus.

Was there a gun pointed through the wall behind him? Had someone snatched Joss silently away?

Matt stepped into view of the window. On the counter lay a ring of three small keys attached to a little day-glow orange float. Beyond stood Markus, arms crossed, satisfied, close-lipped smile. And beyond Markus, surrounded by hanging life jackets, scuba gear, and wetsuits, stood a troubled, confused guard, empty hands at his sides.

Matt used the tip of the bokken to slide the keys toward him.

“Please,” Markus said, indicating the sword. “Take it easy with that. It’s six hundred years old.”

“Seven hundred and twelve,” Matt corrected, dropping the keys into his palm.

Markus popped his eyebrows.
Touché.

Matt cocked his head sideways and yelled, “Joss!”

She appeared a few seconds later. “Jesus Christ. Guess we’ve given up on stealth, huh?”

“Safe travels, Ms. Leland,” Markus said, and Joss snapped her head his way.

“Oh.” She grimaced. “Yikes.” She offered him an apologetic smile.

Markus leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter. “If you’d remained here, Matthew, I would’ve been able to manage Rostik. I’ll have precious little control in Egypt. Do take care.”

Matt flashed Markus a peace sign, hooked his arm around Joss’s, and ran down the beach to the pier. He jumped into the boat and helped Joss down.

“So he just gave you the keys? And who’s
Rostik
?”

Matt stuck them in the ignition and twisted. “Yup. And I’ll explain later.” He pressed the ignition and the twin engines sputtered and growled to life. “Can you undo that back line?” Matt stepped between the split windshields, and untied the front cleat.

Back at the steering wheel, Matt pulled the throttle into reverse and the idling boat trembled, slowly backing away from the pier, and traversing incoming swells. On the beach, Markus stood with his hands behind his back, gazing out at them.

Once Matt had driven them a good distance away, past two other islands and well out of sight of Philippos, he figured out their course with the boat’s GPS. He beckoned a reluctant-yet-intrigued Joss to man the controls.

“You see this map here?” he shouted over the wind and engines. She nodded. “Just follow the line there and watch out for other boats.” He showed her the throttle. “There’s no brakes. Just
Go
and
Don’t go
, got it?”

She shouted back as she grabbed the wheel and rested a hand on the throttle. “I got it, but where are
you
going?”

“I need to figure out our
next
destination.”

He grabbed his duffel bag and sat down on the backward-facing seat adjacent to Joss. Unable to find a long enough length of string anywhere, he unlaced one of his sneakers and fashioned himself a Taria necklace, pulling it over his head and dropping the dangling artifact inside the collar of his T-shirt. He stood up to take over driving but saw that Joss had it well in hand, so he grasped the windshield frame, planted one knee on the seat cushion, and watched the water ahead.

“So?” Joss said. “What was that about back there? Just letting us go like that … kind of makes me even more worried. Is the boat going to blow up or something?”

“Ha, no. He knows where I’m going, knows I’ll take good care of the artifacts, and figures I’d refuse to read anymore if detained … Or at least not share what I learned. Hell, I could simply lie. Send them on a wild goose chase. This way, I keep reading and lead them straight to the scrolls. He’s confident I’ll be easily trackable.”

“So that Rostik person is supposed to track us? But he won’t be able to?” She glanced at his face, then back to the island-dotted waters ahead.

“I’ll be trackable
enough
. I’ll need him and others close when the time’s right.”

“Okay, cool. Ambiguity. Big fan. So, where are we going, at least? Egypt?”

Matt was about to say
“I’m going to Egypt.
You’re
going home,”
but thought it through. He’d lost three days with travel and the island—probably another now, getting to Alexandria. Many balls would require juggling.

“Hello?” Joss prodded.

“Just a second.”

Rostik was the only factor making Joss an ongoing problem. If Matt could get rid of him early on, Joss’s safety wouldn’t be an issue. Set her up in some random, different hotel, fill her in on everything, and have her coordinate with Iris on some of the other pieces, freeing him up to work on the primary objectives.

Crap. Iris is going to freak the hell out. Another benefit to having a Joss “buffer.”

They’d need to take separate flights, stagger times, keep apart …

Then there was Patra’s deep imprint. Absolutely unexpected. Bewildering.

As someone rarely surprised, those two simple words,
“Hello, Steward,”
had shaken him to the core, and her voice now echoed in his mind. He’d heard them before, those words—his first time reading the Taria, as well as the last time she’d gazed in that mirror, brushing her hair—and thinking on it now, the phrase had been oddly disembodied, and unlike normal thoughts. Had he thought to investigate either incident, perhaps she would’ve gone on, as with the last reading:

“Hello, Steward. I hope your visit is timely, and your objectives in accord with our society’s timeless principles. Your very presence here demonstrates your training and commitment, so we must assume not only noble intent, but also familiarity with our methods and media. For your prospective efforts, you have our eternal gratitude.”