The Falcon Prince

Chapter 25

Kristor looked up when someone knocked. Ria hadn’t said she was expecting anyone. He glanced down at the towel still knotted at his waist. A promise was a promise and he tried never to break a promise. He sauntered to the door and opened it. Three men stood on the porch, all wearing the same kind of black suit, white shirt, and black tie. An uneasy feeling washed over him.

“Are you Kristor Valkyir?” the oldest of the men asked.

There was something about him that immediately put Kristor on his guard. He looked at the other two men, then quickly dismissed them as followers, rather than leaders.

“Yes, that is who I am.”

“I’m Agent Adam Richards. May we come in for a moment?” Without waiting, he pushed his way inside. “We have reason to believe you might be in the United States illegally.”

“Why would you think that?”

Agent Richards smiled, but he looked more pleased than anything. “An anonymous phone call alerted us to the possibility. Of course, if you can produce papers, then we’ll be on our way.”

Kristor glanced over the man’s shoulder and saw the black van. If they were only here to check for papers, why have three agents and a van, when one agent and a car would have been enough?

Kristor smiled. “Of course. My papers are in the bedroom. I will get them.” His database was on Ria’s nightstand. He could produce a set of papers in only a moment or two.

He turned and walked toward the bedroom. In the mirror above the sofa, he saw Agent Richards motion to the other two men. Kristor grabbed a chair and flung it toward them, but they must have been expecting something because they dodged it and tackled him.

“Cuff him,” Agent Richards said.

With the biggest of the agents sitting on top of Kristor, he could barely breathe let alone try to move. As soon as he was cuffed, they dragged him to his feet. The towel slipped to the floor in the process.

Agent Richards wore a look of disgust. “Get him some pants on.”

The two agents led him toward the bedroom.

“Wait!” Richards said and walked closer. “That’s an unusual birthmark on your ass.”

It was the mark all Symtarians wore: A small rose. But it was not just any rose. No man could ever duplicate the mark.

“Not so unusual,” Kristor said.

“Oh, you think not?” His words rang with superiority.

His gut clenched. There was something about the man. A knowing smirk. Kristor wondered how he knew he was an alien. And he did know. Kristor was almost positive.

“Get him dressed. I want him out of here pronto.”

While they helped him pull on a pair of jeans, Kristor wondered if he would ever see Ria again.