The Traveler

53

Maya and Hollis were about four miles from the entrance to Arcadia when they saw the Tabula helicopter. It rose into the sky and circled over the church camp like a raptor looking for prey.

Hollis turned his pickup truck off the road and parked in the Jimsonweeds growing near a retaining wall. They peered through the branches of an oak tree and watched the helicopter head over the ridge.

“So what do we do now?” Hollis asked.

Maya wanted to punch the window, kick, and shout: anything to release her anger. But she forced her emotions into a little room inside her brain, and then locked the door. When she was a child, Thorn would make her stand in the corner, then pretend to attack her with a sword, knife, or fist. If she flinched or panicked, her father was disappointed. If she stayed calm, he praised his daughter’s strength.

“The Tabula won’t kill Gabriel right away. They’ll interrogate him first and find out what he knows. While that’s going on they’ll leave a team at the church camp to ambush whoever returns.”

Hollis peered out the window. “You mean somebody’s waiting there to kill us?”

“That’s right.” Maya slipped on her sunglasses so Hollis couldn’t see her eyes. “But that’s not going to happen…”

THE SUN WENT down around six o’clock, and Maya began to climb the hill to Arcadia. The chaparral was a tangled mess of dry vegetation; it had the sweet, sharp odor of wild anise. The Harlequin found it difficult to move in a straight line. It felt as if the branches and vines were grabbing at her legs and trying to pull the sword case from her shoulder. Halfway up the hill, she was blocked by a thicket of manzanita and scrub oak that forced her to search for an easier path.

Finally she reached the chain-link fence that surrounded the church camp. She grabbed the top bar and pulled herself over. The two dormitories, the swimming pool area, the water tank, and the community center could be seen clearly in the moonlight. The Tabula mercs had to be there, hiding in the shadows. They probably assumed that the only entry point was the driveway that led up the hill. A conventional leader would position his men in a triangle around the parking lot.

She drew her sword and remembered the lesson on soft walking she had learned from her father. You moved as if you were crossing a lake covered with thin ice: extend your foot, judge the ground, and finally step forward with your weight.

Maya reached an area of darkness near the water tank and saw someone crouched beside the pool house. He was a short, broad-shouldered man holding an assault rifle. As she approached him from behind, she heard him whispering into the microphone of a radio headset.

“You got any more water? I’m out.” He paused for a few seconds, then sounded annoyed. “I understand that, Frankie. But I didn’t bring two bottles like you did.”

She took a step to the left, ran forward, and swung the sword at the back of his neck. The man fell forward like a slaughtered steer. The only sound was the clatter of his weapon falling onto the concrete. Maya leaned over the body and pulled the radio headset off the dead man’s ears. She heard other voices whispering to each other.

“Here they are,” said a voice with a South African accent. “See the headlights? They’re coming up the hill…”

Hollis drove his truck up the driveway, stopped in the parking lot, and switched off the engine. There was just enough moonlight to see his silhouette inside the truck cab.

“Now what?” an American voice asked.

“Do you see a woman?”

“No.”

“Kill the man if he gets out of the truck. If he stays there, wait for the Harlequin. Boone told me to shoot the woman on sight.”

“I only see the man,” the American said. “How about you, Richard?”

The dead man wasn’t answering questions. Maya left his weapon on the ground and hurried toward the community center.

“Richard? Can you hear me?”

No answer.

Hollis remained in the pickup, distracting them from the real danger. Maya found the next Tabula at the second point of the triangle. Kneeling by the community center, he pointed a sniper rifle at the truck. Maya’s footsteps were silent on the hard-packed ground, but he must have sensed her approach. The Tabula turned slightly and her sword blade hit the side of his throat. Blood sprayed from a cut artery as the man collapsed.

“I think he’s getting out of the truck,” the South African said. “Richard? Frankie? Are you there?”

She made the quick, certain choice of a Harlequin in combat and sprinted toward the women’s dormitory. And yes, the third man was standing near the corner of the building. The Tabula was so frightened that he was talking loudly. “Can you hear me? Shoot the man in the truck!”

Emerging from the shadows, she slashed at his right arm. The South African dropped his rifle and she attacked again, cutting the hamstring tendons behind his left knee. He fell forward, screaming with pain.

Almost over. She stood beside the man and gestured with her sword. “Where are the two prisoners? Where did you take them?”

The mercenary tried to get away, but she swung the sword again and cut the hamstrings on his other leg. Now he was flat on his belly, crawling like an animal, his fingers digging into the soft dirt.

“Where are they?”

“They took them to Van Nuys Airport. Loaded them on a…” He groaned and his body jerked forward. “Private jet.”

“What’s the destination?”

“Westchester County, near New York City. The Evergreen Foundation Research Center.” The man rolled onto his back and raised his hands. “Swear to God, I’m telling you the truth. It’s the Evergreen…”

Her blade flashed through the shadows.