The Scarlet Crane: Transition Magic Book One (The Transition Magic Series 1) (13 page)

Isa wondered why Nkuri had not returned with Elder Ballo. They arrived at the clearing. Nkuri was not there, either.

Where is he? Did he die?

The other Elders were gathered in a half circle around the ceremonial fire. Elder Ballo joined them and directed Isa to stand before them, with his back to the fire. Fern leaves as long as a man’s arm lay on the ground next to each of the men.

One of the Elders approached Isa and knelt in front of him. He untied the
liana
vine around Isa’s
dhakari
and removed the small
mongongo
leaf. He tied a new leaf in place, and the fresh paste it contained dulled Isa’s pain. The Elder returned to the half circle.

Elder Ballo gathered up the ferns and handed one to each of the other Elders. He turned and faced Isa. “Isa Njikali, stand before each of us and say why you are here.”

Isa walked to the Elder on the left, and said, “I claim my right to
samawati
magic.” The Elder circled Isa, brushing him with the fern in a sweeping motion from top to bottom and said, “We cleanse you of any evil that soils your spirit.” Isa repeated his affirmation and was cleansed by each of the men, then returned to his place before the fire.

Elder Ballo said, “The Forest calls upon you to invoke
samawati
magic and complete your passage.”

Isa tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. The fire seemed to brighten the pain of the lashings on his back. A fleeting image of Nkuri lying dead startled him. He shoved these thoughts aside:

“I invoke my birthright. I beseech samawati to grant my request. I affirm …

“That I make my request with respect and humility …

“That my heart is pure …” The sounds of the Forest receded, replaced by the rhythmic sound of his words.

“That no request like mine has been uttered since time began.

“That this is my own true wish …

“That I willingly surrender my life if I am found unworthy or my request is found wanting …” Isa closed his eyes. He thought he might explode like a ripe melon.

“Hear me …” He felt the Forest pause for just a moment, as if waiting.

“Stop the great road spoken of by the Bakongo. Protect Muungu and save her people from this road or any other.”

“So thus I beseech.”

* * *

Isa yanked the net tight, tying it to a fig tree with a piece of
liana
rope, finalizing preparation for the daily hunt. Six circles of the moon had passed since
nkumbi
, since he’d joined the hunters. He grabbed his spear and hid behind a nearby tree, waiting for the rising chorus of the women to scare an antelope into the net.

Unknown to Isa, his earliest ancestors had combined the original
samawati
magic with their traditional beliefs, changing the ritual words. No lavender aura. No freezing cold. No
samawati
magic. All Bambuti children safe in their isolation.

But perhaps the Forest possesses its own magic.

February 23, 2011 4:30 p.m. EST

Democratic Republic of the Congo cancels planned road into Ituri Forest

By Willard Marrow

Associated Press

Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of the Congo

Bowing to the economic reality of a deepening world recession, the new government of the Democratic Republic of the Congo announced today that plans to log the central Ituri Forest had been canceled, likely permanently. A spokesman for the Ministry of the Interior said the decision reflected ongoing concern about the cost of the project in dollar and human terms.

He quoted newly elected President Youlou Massamba: “Our people have suffered enough. It is time to protect …”

Hoeryong

The Democratic People’s Republic of Korea

Maybe I’ll choose strawberry. No, its gotta be chocolate. I love chocolate.

Thanna and the other kids were waiting for the three girls to return from using magic for Uncle Rong. This was the second time in three days. The first time everyone in the dorm had been given all the ice cream they could eat. They’d been promised the same this time. All the girls had to do was say the words they’d been taught.

The dorm held twenty-one kids of different ages, fourteen of them girls. A little more than half of the kids were from Vietnam, the others from Thailand. Sleeping mats lined the walls on both sides, separated by a wide central pathway. The walls were painted white and covered with posters from different countries; the floor was cold concrete.

When they’d first arrived, after they’d been fed and cleaned up, Principal Chu-hua had taken Thanna aside.

“What’s your name, child?”

Thanna felt angry, scared, and suspicious. She hated the old woman for stealing her and the little ones away from their home in Hanoi.

Not answering will just get me beaten.

“Thanna.” She was careful not to let the anger leak into her voice.

“You may call me Auntie Li when none of the other children are around. In a few minutes, I’ll show you and the others to the dormitory, where you’ll sleep and stay when you’re not in class. I’ll put you and the young ones who came with you from Hanoi next to each other, so they won’t feel scared.”

Chuyện nhảm nhí—bullshit—that’s stupid. They’ll always be scared.

“Thank you, Auntie Li. What is this place?”

“It’s a special school where children learn Mandarin and how to use Transition magic without dying.”

“Why did you steal us for a special school?” The accusation flew from Thanna’s mouth before she could stop it.

Chu-hua’s face turned red. She drew back and smacked Thanna’s cheek with her open hand. “I didn’t steal you. I would never steal you. Others did that. But you’re here. And while you’re here, I’ll take care of you. But I must have respect. Do you understand?”

Thanna rubbed her cheek and nodded, eyes spilling tears.

Bitch. Daughter of a whore.

“Thanna. I …” Chu-hua sighed, her voice was sad with regret. “I let you come to the school because you know Vietnamese and Mandarin. You can help me with the children. If you are very good and do what you’re told, you may even be allowed to use your magic. If you don’t want to do that, tell me, and I’ll arrange for you to return to Hanoi.”

Right. Only way you’d let me go is to dump my body in some farmer’s field.

“Yes, Auntie.”

The Principal had led them to the dormitory and assigned sleeping mats as she’d promised. Thanna had even been given a second blanket, although she didn’t think ten blankets would be enough to get warm. She’d missed Hanoi more than ever.

The door banged open and Principal Chu-hua and a uniformed man she’d never seen before stormed into the dorm.

Chu-hua clapped her hands sharply. “Hurry! Grab your blankets and follow the major outside. We must leave.”

A handful of kids grabbed their blankets and ran through the door. The man waved his arms and pushed them to go faster as they passed. Others screamed and ran to the back wall, cowering.

The principal yelled at Thanna, “Help me! There’s no time for questions. We must go, or we’ll all die. And keep them quiet!”

It took ten minutes of promising, threatening, pushing, and dragging, but Thanna helped jam everyone into the back of a large truck. She climbed inside, turned, and looked out. Snow peppered her face, driven by a howling wind. Light spilled from the school’s open door into the parking lot.

“Where’re the girls in Transition? Where’re we going?” she yelled at Principal Chu-hua.

The doors slammed in her face and the truck lurched into gear, knocking her to her knees in the frozen blackness.

Bangkok

The Kingdom of Thailand

John stared through the side window as the ambassador’s SUV slowed and turned into a gravel lot for their midnight rendezvous with the Thai National Intelligence Agency. The parking area was sandwiched between trees on one side and a pile of rubble on the other.

The embassy driver parked next to the street and left the motor running. A half dozen men loitered in front of two NIA SUVs crouched at the back of the lot, illuminated by the pale, shimmering blue glare from a solitary street lamp.

“It’s best the NIA not know I’m in the car,” Ambassador Strong said. She had the driver confirm that the interior lights were switched off. “Godspeed.”

Aran climbed from the vehicle and John followed, intentionally catching the toe of his right shoe on the sill. He stumbled and grabbed the door to keep from falling. Aran clutched his elbow to help steady him.

It’s easy to underestimate an old guy. I hope NIA guys believe the stereotype.

“You okay?” Aran asked.

“Never better.”

Aran kept a hand under John’s elbow as he toddled toward the NIA agent striding to meet them. The man wore aviator sunglasses, a black suit, and white dress shirt with a narrow black tie.

This guy has watched Men In Black too many times. How the hell can he see?

Aran introduced Captain Gan Willapana to John in English and Thai. John smiled and
wai’d,
leaning on his cane for support. Gan returned the
wai
and shook hands with a crushing grip, causing John to wince in apparent pain.

“Aran has spoken highly of you, Dr. Benoit.” Gan said in passable English. “Welcome to Thailand.”

“Thank you. And thank you for the opportunity to accompany you. I apologize for our late arrival. I’m afraid I overslept.”

“We were about to leave without you.” Gan sounded annoyed. “The drive to
Nongki
takes several hours, and we must be in position for the raid well before daylight.” He waved them toward the Suburbans.

As they approached, Aran said, “Dr. Benoit and I will sit together. Would you join us and share your plans? Dr. Benoit will provide an update that you’ll find interesting.”

Gan hesitated, nodded. “Excellent. I would like to learn as much as possible.” He snapped instructions to his team and led his guests to the vehicle on their left.

An agent opened the door for John. Two rows of leather captain’s chairs faced each other behind the driver’s bench seat. John took the second row of buckets, looking forward, toward the driver. Aran sat next to him. Gan slid across the first row, facing the rear behind the driver and opposite John, leaving the seat next to him empty.

John and Aran fastened their seat belts. Gan left his unconnected, an amused grin on his face.

John’s pulse spiked when he noticed the embassy car slip from the lot and accelerate into the night.

Hope this isn’t the last time we’re seen.

One of the NIA agents climbed into the passenger seat next to the driver. The SUV next to theirs pulled out of the lot, turning left toward
Nongki.
John heard the wheels under him spin as they moved to follow, gravel hammering the bottom of the car.

He said to Gan, “I may need to stop along the way to take a leak. It’s an old man’s curse.”

Aran’s men need at least thirty minutes to get into position.

“If it’s necessary. You’ll need to be quick.”

John nodded. “Why don’t we each summarize our careers, perhaps share a memorable case? As a way to get acquainted.”

Gan’s compliance was grudging and succinct. Aran filled the air with fluff, listing several trivial achievements.

Nice. He’s good at presenting himself as a harmless bureaucrat.

John began a monotone ramble about the tuk-tuk rides, the noise of the airport, and the friendliness of the Thai people. His voice and the tires’ hum on the asphalt were mesmerizing.

He softened his voice and dropped his chin to his chest, breathing in a long, slow rhythm.

A sleepy U.S. agent and a harmless embassy dweeb. No threat here.

Fifteen minutes had passed when Gan coughed, sounding like he was going vomit up a hairball. John jerked awake.

“Aran indicated you have some new information.”

“I’m sorry, dozed off—what was that?”

“The new information?”

“Ah. We believe children are being kidnapped from third world—developing—countries. They are somehow being forced to use magic when they go into Transition.”

Gan’s eyebrows lifted in innocent concern. “I don’t understand. How can children be compelled to use magic? Wouldn’t they die?”

“A good question. Perhaps we will learn more from Scorpion.”

“How many countries?”

“What?” John asked, turning an ear toward Gan.

Gan almost shouted. “How many countries are involved?”

John glanced at Aran and stared forward, to the driver and the front passenger. He nodded slightly. Aran blinked three times rapidly. The two in front were his when the time came to act. John would handle Gan.

“Vietnam for sure. And we think Thailand. Tomorrow’s raid may tell us.”

“That’s very alarming if it’s true, but I can’t imagine how it’s possible.”

John squirmed in his seat. “Could we stop please?”

Gan barked at the driver, who spoke into a radio, and the two cars pulled to the side of the road. John pushed the door open, stepped out, and wobbled into the darkness, feigning dependence on his cane. He unzipped and pissed as much as he could force. Not much. His mouth was dry, too.

He finished and climbed back inside.

The two cars squealed onto the road. They sat in silence for another ten minutes. Gan grew increasingly tense. His posture became more erect. He displayed no pretense of interest in John or Aran. He began staring through the side window.

Shit. It can’t be long before Gan makes his move. This is going to be close.

“Captain, how long has the Scorpion gang been in exist …”

“
Kee!
” the driver screamed. The SUV fishtailed, swung sharply to John’s left, and slammed to a stop with a harsh crump of metal on metal. The driver bounced off the steering wheel; the front passenger’s head punched a bloody hole through the windshield. The crunch of the man’s skull against the glass was appalling.

Staccato handgun fire outside the car, muzzle flashes, punctured metal, and shrieking men battered John’s senses.

He released his seatbelt as Gan reached inside his coat and began to withdraw his weapon. The gun swung free. John yanked the long dirk from his cane and lunged forward, stabbing Gan’s shoulder. Gan jerked and fired into the car’s roof, the gunshot deafening.

John flinched and flicked the sparkling steel under the man’s chin. “Drop it!”

Don’t kill him! He can’t tell you anything if he’s dead.

John slashed Gan’s wrist and the gun fell to the floor. The NIA captain cried out and clamped the wound with his other hand, trying to stanch the flow of blood.

John glanced to his right. Aran was bent to the floor, fighting to free the Glock stuck in his ankle holster. The driver had turned in his seat and was swinging his pistol toward the crouching man.

John feinted at Gan’s face with his blade, then bent to his ankle, seized the Glock, jerked upright, and fired in one motion. Milliseconds later, a second shot rang out from his right. The rancid smell of gunpowder filled the air.

He snapped his eyes back to Aran, who sat on the floor of the SUV, his smoking weapon pointed at the driver. “I think the bastard’s dead.” His voice sounded distant.

“I’m sure he is,” John said. He’d seen his shot slam into the driver’s right eye, blowing blood, skull, and gray matter across the windshield. A blink later Aran’s shot had torn the man’s throat apart.

Gan was hyperventilating. “You could have fucking killed me!” Perfect English. His face was freckled with hot specks of gunpowder from John’s close-range shot.

“Shut the hell up,” John said. “I still might.”

The doors on Aran’s side flew open to reveal two small, thin men in red jogging suits pointing Glocks at the SUV’s interior. Aran snapped a command. They holstered their weapons and helped everyone from the car, pulling Gan aside and forcing him to the ground face down.

“You move pretty fast for a man of a certain age,” Aran said. “Thank you.”

“Nah. Your shot was good enough. But it was a close thing. I’d work on that holster.”

Aran smiled like a man who’d just received a pardon one minute before his midnight execution. He walked to the edge of the woods and joined his team. John turned and surveyed the scene.

His ride had crashed into the lead NIA Suburban, which was nose down in a shallow ditch at the side of the road, steam hissing from under the hood. The driver lay sideways and unmoving on the front sea. Four bodies sprawled in pools of blood on the asphalt.

One of the SUVs driven by Aran’s team blocked the road ten feet beyond the NIA mess, unscathed, engine running. Its headlights lit the forest opposite the old gas station where they’d lain in wait. The team’s other vehicle was parked beside the ramshackle old building, a shadow in the darkness.

John figured the driver of Gan’s lead car had slammed on his brakes when he was surprised by the sudden blockade, and then John’s car rammed the lead, pushing it into the ditch. Aran’s men ambushed them from the forest.

John checked his watch. It seemed like an hour, but only ten minutes had passed since the intercept.

Aran walked back across the road to John. “Gan’s the only NIA guy who survived. We’ve got a place in Bangkok we can use to question him.”

“Okay.” John said. “We need to clear out of here fast. Gan was pretty tense just before the intercept. I suspect we’re late for whatever they’d planned and his team is headed this way.”

Aran nodded. “A couple of my guys will hang back to get rid of the bodies, blow the cars, and destroy any evidence.”

An SUV pulled up next to John. Gan was blindfolded, cuffed, and herded into the second row of bucket seats, opposite two of Aran’s men. John sat in the front passenger seat. Aran slid behind the wheel and punched the gas. A half-minute down the road John heard a muffled whump. He checked the outside mirror and saw flames shooting twenty feet over the two wrecked NIA vehicles.

* * *

They’d been twisting and turning through the streets of a derelict industrial section for fifteen minutes when Aran turned and stopped before a rusty rollup door big enough to handle eighteen-wheelers. He honked twice. The entrance was in the center of a block-long windowless warehouse of crumbling brick. The door creaked up enough for them to pass inside.

John climbed out and stretched, looking around. A sputtering fluorescent fixture high overhead threw a dim light over the SUV. A grimy brick wall about fifteen feet from the left side of the car stretched into the shadows. Light leaked around the frame of a corroded steel door. Two men stood next to the door with handguns at their side. Two others leaned nearby, their four-cell flashlights slicing the darkness.

The air tasted stale, smelled of coal dust and mold. The slow ping of water dripping on a metal surface whispered in the dark.

Aran issued orders in a quiet voice, took one of the flashlights, and strode toward John. “They’ll take Gan to an interrogation room. We’ll follow shortly.” Their captive was led through the door; light from the hallway beyond flared into the warehouse, waned as the door crawled shut.

This place creeps me out, but Aran looks like he’s coming home. And he knows a place to dump bodies, for Christ’s sake. This is a scary guy.

Aran said, “I need a few moments alone with Gan before you join us. He’s almost certainly thinking he’s going to be tortured and killed. I need to shift his focus to helping us.”

“How will you do that?”

“He’s not a principled man. I’ll explain that he’ll continue to work for the NIA, but as my agent. He’ll be paid well, and he’ll be permitted to leave unharmed.”

John said, “I’m missing something. Why wouldn’t he just agree to anything to get out of here?”

“Gan’s been dirty for years. Much of that time he’s worked for organized crime. If he won’t agree to work for me, I’ll get word to his syndicate bosses that he can’t be trusted. He’ll do anything to avoid that.”

He passed the flashlight to John. “I won’t be gone long. I’ll leave a couple men here.”

John spent the time matching his heart rate to the slow drips from the distant water, preparing for the interrogation.

Dystopian yoga.

Ten minutes later Aran’s head poked around the door. “This way.” He led John down a long hallway. The walls and closed doors were covered in peeling avocado paint. The shiny concrete floor reflected light from weak bulbs mounted in yellowed fixtures on the high ceiling.

“And?” John asked.

“I now have an agent who works for the NIA.”

“Who do you work for, Aran?”

The slender agent turned and placed a hand on John’s shoulder. “Now I work for you, my friend. I owe you.”