Allegiance

NINETEEN

Magnolia hated not being in radio contact with Team Raptor. By now they would have landed on the surface and would be trekking toward the rendezvous point.

The Sea Wolf wasn’t even to shore yet.

When they made land, they would need to hide the boat and then find a way up the cliffs and into the city. Splitting up wasn’t always a good idea, but this time it made sense. It improved their ability to discover threats, and the teams could back each other up if one was ambushed.

Although she did wish Sofia were here. With just Rodger and herself among ten Cazadores, she was feeling a little outnumbered.

Team Raptor needs her more than you do.

Magnolia and Rodger shared the boat’s cockpit with two Cazador men she had to start trusting if they all were going to survive. General Santiago and Lieutenant Alejo sat to her right, on the other side of Rodger, who was watching the radar and sonar stations.

Somehow, Alejo managed to hold the map steady as the twin hulls pounded over the waves. He studied the chart while General Santiago spoke rapidly. There was anger in his tone, and Magnolia finally glanced over.

“What now?” she said.

Alejo looked up from his map. “He says this piece of shit is going to get us killed.”

“This piece of shit saved our lives and got us across the ocean to the Vanguard Islands,” Magnolia said.

Alejo translated for Santiago. The old general regarded her for a moment and then snorted.

“You’re lucky we’re giving you a ride,” Magnolia said, instantly regretting her words.

“Let’s hope there aren’t any whales out here,” Rodger said.

Alejo glared at Magnolia but did not translate her words to the general.

“Whales, sharks, octopuses, sea serpents, or anything else big enough to eat us,” Rodger added. “Maybe these waters are free of monsters, or maybe they’re all vegetarians and live on seaweed.”

Magnolia laughed. They all knew the truth: that any animal bigger than they were probably wanted to eat them.

Beneath the waves dwelled beasts large enough to swallow the Sea Wolf without even chewing. She just hoped the boat could avoid detection. Sometimes, smaller was better, especially when you were trying to be sneaky.

She adjusted their bearing two points to westward. They weren’t far from shore now—what was left of it. Most of the coastline was gone. The tsunami that hit centuries ago had swept away all the lovely beaches in the old archival photos.

Cliffs rose above the rocky shore, and the sporadic lightning revealed the skeletal frames of high-rise buildings. The city was one of the biggest she had ever seen, and for the first time today she felt a raw stab of fear.

“Where are we going to park this rig?” Rodger asked.

“Any ideas?” Magnolia said to Alejo.

He looked at his map for several moments. Then he checked their location on the dashboard. Finally, he pointed east, and she followed his finger toward what looked like an inlet.

“I think that is the spot.”

“What spot?” she asked.

“Where our expedition landed many years ago. Assuming my map is correct, there is a port there.”

“The expedition that never came back?” Magnolia asked.

“Sí,” Alejo replied.

“Yeah, no way. I think we should find a different place to dock.”

“Do you see a different place to dock?” Alejo asked. “The only port out there is east.”

“I’m with Mags,” Rodger said. “Your idea just got a rousing no-thanks.”

Magnolia swung the boat due west.

“What are you doing?” Alejo protested.

“The opposite of what you tell me, because I plan on surviving this mission, unlike your comrades. And because this is my boat. So, sit that ass down and shut up if you’re not going to be helpful.”

Rodger laughed, but his voice trailed off when Alejo glared at him.

“Easy there, buddy,” Rodger said.

Santiago looked from his lieutenant to the two divers, clearly sensing the tension.

Magnolia took one hand nonchalantly off the wheel and let it hang inches away from one of the two pistols holstered on her duty belt. She could always use one of her curved blades or her new blaster if the Cazador lieutenant got terminally stupid.

Should have kept your mouth shut, she thought.

She had been telling herself that for years but never seemed to find her filter.

Fortunately, Alejo backed down, perhaps deciding that reacting to her mouth wasn’t worth the risk of angering General Santiago.

A chirp on the sonar kept Magnolia from relaxing.

“Rodger, check that out,” she said.

“Coming from the northeast,” he said. “Not sure what it is, but it’s big. Like shark big.”

Magnolia looked right, the same direction that Alejo had told her to go earlier.

She kept her westward bearing and pushed the throttle forward, speeding in a diagonal line toward the coast.

“Tell your men on deck to get ready,” she said, “just in case whatever that is decides to try us.”

Alejo put on his helmet and moved outside, where eight Cazadores watched the sea. One was on the mounted harpoon gun, and two others manned a machine gun they had installed. If something out there wanted them, they would at least have a shot at killing it first.

She needed a place to dock the boat, but nothing looked promising. The rocky coast was close enough that she could see several buildings on the cliffs, and cascades of vegetation hanging over the bluffs.

The sonar continued to beep, and Magnolia scanned the waves, looking for a dorsal fin or a boat, but saw nothing.

“Go find out if they see anything out there,” she said to Rodger.

He grabbed his rifle and left the command center in a hurry, leaving Magnolia with her favorite Cazador. The general stroked his long beard and muttered in Spanish as his eyes combed the water.

She couldn’t help but wonder what those dark eyes had seen over the years, and what those callused hands had done. The man next to her was a murderer, and she had no doubt that if not for her people, he would have kidnapped, and perhaps eaten, the very people they were here to save.

How could someone like that ever change? It was a question she had pondered for months, all the while hoping the Cazadores had left their most barbaric traditions behind.

But one thing was certain: she could never fully trust him.

He suddenly raised his arm and pointed at the coast to her left. She followed the finger toward what looked like some sort of peninsula. Whether man-made or natural, it was better than anything she had seen yet.

She spun the wheel and piloted the boat toward the spit of land.

The sonar continued beeping, but a glance at the screen showed the unknown mass heading in the opposite direction now.

She put her other hand back on the wheel. If Santiago tried anything, she would just have to beat his old ass into submission.

Waves splashed the jagged eastern shore of the peninsula ahead. Magnolia eased off the throttle and switched to the twin battery-powered engines and began the curve around to the western shoreline.

A light flashed on the distant cliffs. Santiago saw it too, and pointed.

The white beam faded almost as quickly as it had appeared—just a flicker, like a signal.

It wasn’t mutant plants.

She kept her gaze on the spot, but the flash did not recur.

The peninsula was coming up fast, and she had to focus on getting them around the rocky spit. Jagged rocks stuck out like spears from a fortress battlement.

The hatch to the command center opened, and Rodger stepped inside, dripping wet.

“Nothing out there,” he reported.

Alejo joined him inside and closed the hatch. Both men shed their helmets.

“I think I found a spot to tie up the boat,” Alejo said. He bent down beside Magnolia and pointed at the peninsula.

“On the other side,” he said.

She turned the craft, giving a wide berth to any ripples or patches of sea foam that might indicate rocks below the surface. The depth finder showed twenty feet clear, but she didn’t want to take any chances.

Curving around to the other side of the spiky landform, she saw what Alejo had spotted from the top deck.

A metal platform extended from the peninsula, anchored by two poles.

Maybe humans had been here after all.

“Well?” Alejo said. “Does this look good enough for you?”

Magnolia studied the terrain. The narrow peninsula led right to the cliffs, but she didn’t see a way up. Worse, there were also plenty of likely spots for an ambush, with the defectors owning the high ground.

Not to mention that this was a lousy place to leave their boat. Even with its dark hulls, it would be easy to spot, but it was their best option so far.

“Tell your men to tie us up,” Magnolia said. “We’ll leave two sentries here to guard the boat.”

She reversed the engine and, after lining up with the platform, maneuvered the boat carefully toward the docking platform.

Rodger stood right beside her, making her nervous.

“Give me some space, Rodgeman,” she said.

He moved away, nearly bumping into General Santiago.

They were almost to the platform when a Cazador jumped off the deck above them, making Magnolia flinch. Another man on the upper deck tossed the mooring lines.

The soldier onshore grabbed the side of the boat and pulled them over to the dock, then tied the bow and stern lines to the metal poles.

She turned off the engine, unslung her rifle, and followed the men up onto the weather deck. Two Cazadores remained on the mounted weapons, the harpoon gun pointed at the water, the machine gun at the cliffs in the distance.

“Tell them to stay here and watch the boat,” she said to Alejo.

He gave the order and then went to monitor two other soldiers carrying a wood plank, which they laid over the razor-wire-festooned rail.

Magnolia looked at the bluffs stretching in both directions. A low haze flowed like a ghostly smoke over the edges.

The Cazadores all turned toward Magnolia and Rodger. She unsheathed one of her curved blades and pointed it at the rocky ledges.

None of the soldiers moved. She then realized that they weren’t looking at her and Rodger; they were looking at General Santiago.

“Tell them that treasure awaits,” she said to Alejo.

The lieutenant translated her words to the other warriors, who raised their weapons but refrained from voicing their enthusiasm.

She resheathed her blade and raised the laser rifle, ready to meet whatever dwelled in the haze of this mysterious wasteland. And ready to fight by her side were soldiers who only months ago had been her enemies and captors.

Dinner was always the busiest time at the trading-post rig. In the moonlight, hundreds of Cazadores swarmed the five levels of shops like locusts. All of them played a role in the economy.

The farmers carried baskets of fresh fruit, picked from their rigs earlier in the day. Artisans carried handcrafted items to barter with those who ran shops on the rig’s five shadowy levels.

Rhino climbed to the top level. When he got there, he spotted motion in the distance, where X was training the greenhorn Hell Divers. Canopies sailed down in the moonlight as the king guided the divers to the decks of several vessels. The warrior never seemed to rest, and for his sake, Rhino couldn’t either.

He turned his attention to the bustling open floors below. People traded every imaginable thing: eggs, jars of pickled fish, jewelry, medicines, fishing poles, fabric, knives, hats, and a thousand other things.

Every square yard of floor space was occupied. Even the sky people had booths now. Rhino spotted Cole and Bernie Mintel’s watch shop, where they also sold wood carvings, chairs, and tables.

But not everyone was here to shop.

Some came just for the entertainment. The music of flutes and stringed instruments provided a backdrop for the early evening, rising above the babel of different languages that had survived over time.

Some people were here for other pleasures. Off the selling floors and away from the hawkers’ cries, in the darker corners of the rig, were tents and booths where a man—or a woman, for that matter—could fulfill almost any desire in the sex trade.

And still others had come here to buy a different type of resource: people. The third floor held cages of indentured servants to be auctioned off to the highest bidder.

Rhino hated this place.

The rig was a cesspool of grifters, prostitutes, and food of questionable origins. But the man he was here to see loved the rig. The former Cazador warrior known as Mac had made his home here after retiring from the army.

Rhino finally spotted him in the throng below. Of the hundreds of Cazadores and sky people packed in the open area, it was not hard to pick out the one man missing both a leg and an arm. He walked with the support of a cane and had two metal prosthetic limbs.

Several rich merchants in their colorful, fancy clothes and dumb sailor hats walked toward Mac. Unlike the other customers, Mac made no effort to get out of the way. In fact, he waved his cane at the men as he shambled toward them.

Rhino wasn’t deceived by Mac’s ungainly posture or slow pace. He was one of the most skilled warriors in all the islands, and he could fight if it came down to it, even in his present condition. But not everyone seemed to recognize the man.

“¡Fuera, pendejo!” called out one of the merchants.

It was Tomás Mata, telling Mac to get lost and, worse, using profanity to do it.

Mac halted and turned slightly toward the councilman. He tapped his cane on the deck and started to walk over, but Tomás must have recognized him then. The merchant took off his sailor hat and gestured politely to convey that Mac could go wherever he pleased. They exchanged a nod and moved on.

Grinning, Rhino pulled his hood over his head. Mac had a reputation that scared even the richest merchant in the islands. With his features shaded, Rhino made his way down to the next level, which smelled of excrement and ammonia. Hogs grunted, and chickens squawked in their pens while potential buyers negotiated prices.

The next floor down held the indentured servants. Much like the animals above them, they were in cages and being scrutinized by potential buyers. In Rhino’s eyes, they weren’t treated much better than slaves. They were paid something for their labor, but not nearly enough for the scut work they had to do.

He avoided the sad gazes and grimy faces by pulling his hood close. He took a ladder down to the main selling floor. His nostrils filled with the reek of body odor and the oily smell of fish frying in pork fat.

The sweet scent of tobacco wafted to him from the next booth, and he almost stopped at the aroma. It was the one store Rhino would patronize if he were here to purchase goods. He liked a good joint from time to time, but he wasn’t here to get a buzz.

The crowd thickened around him as he moved. Watchful eyes turned in his direction, noting the double-headed spear that he held vertically. The weapon drew stares, and he moved faster, trying not to attract any more attention than necessary.

Several Cazador soldiers, wearing leather vests and pants, patrolled the periphery, but none seemed to have spotted him yet. These men and women were not the best of warriors, which was why they got police duty and were denied the honor of going on raids.

They didn’t worry Rhino, though he was concerned about Vargas’s many spies. This wasn’t the capitol tower, and the ambitious colonel had eyes deployed on this rig and others.

That was why Rhino had waited to come until night, when he was less likely to be spotted. He stood taller to look for Mac in the crowd. The old soldier had wandered away from the main booths and down an alley of grubby shacks and tents.

Rhino hurried through the crowd to reach him before he vanished into the interior of the rig. Unsurprisingly, the shanty shops lining the alley offered all sorts of taboo merchandise. Bottles of eel oil to increase sexual performance, shark’s teeth that, crushed and boiled in soup, were said to boost one’s fighting abilities.

It was all a load of crap, of course, but Mac had always enjoyed experimenting with things like this. Thinking back on the man’s skills as a fighter and his charm with the ladies, perhaps there was substance to the claims for some of these products.

Rhino walked head down along the dimly lit alley. Several patrons talked to shop owners, but Mac kept going, his cane clicking, toward the open hatch at the end of the alley.

“Shit,” Rhino muttered. He walked faster, nearly hitting a man who had backed away from a booth selling “surefire magical charms.” Mac went through the hatch and closed it behind him.

Rhino got there a half minute later. He tried the handle, and it clicked open. He ducked through, into a narrow passageway that smelled like piss.

He had taken two steps when he heard a whisper of noise and stopped to look down at the blade poised inches from his throat.

But he wasn’t the only one with a blade at his jugular.

Mac’s gaze ran from the spearhead under his chin, along the shaft, to Rhino’s grinning face.

“Mac, how you doing, you old wharf rat?” Rhino said.

After sheathing his sword cane, Mac shuffled forward and shook Rhino’s arm. “Aside from getting old, well enough. I heard you made general.”

Rhino looked back at the open hatch. The patrons at the stalls went right on with their business, not even glancing his way. He shut the hatch and motioned for his old friend to accompany him into the enclosed hallway.

A candle sconce at the end flickered over the rusted bulkheads.

“Things are not good,” Rhino said, “and I need your help.”

“Because of the sky people?”

Rhino shook his head. “Because of our people.”

“Brother, our people are from Texas,” Mac said, running his hand over his salt-and-pepper beard, “and don’t you forget that.”

A memory surfaced of that day when the Cazadores had invaded their underground home. The day Rhino, Sofia, and Mac were captured.

“That is true,” Rhino said. “And that’s exactly why you’re the one man left I trust.”

“Anything you need, Nick. I’ve got you.”

“I need your help putting together a strike team and bringing the Barracudas back.”

Mac swallowed. “I gave a lot to that team,” he said, raising his prosthetic arm. “Almost gave it all.”

“I know, and I’m sorry to have to ask you again, but—”

Mac put his hand, the real one, on Rhino’s shoulder. “Don’t be sorry. Like I said, I’ve got you.”

“Good,” Rhino said. “I’m also thinking about asking Isaiah.”

A silver brow rose. “I think he just got back from a fishing trip a few days ago. Might need some convincing,” he said. “You know Isaiah; he likes incentives.”

Rhino reached into his robe and pulled out a bag of silver. He had come prepared. Isaiah was never a Barracuda, but he had helped train Rhino to be the fighter he was today. The old drill sergeant was the best of the best, despite his ripe old age.

Mac took the coins and nodded.

“I’ve got one more man I need to gather before our first mission,” Rhino said.

“What’s our first mission?”

Rhino checked both ends of the passage. A civilian had stumbled in. The thin man with a long and wispy beard came unsteadily toward them. Stopping halfway, he pulled his pants down, turned, and proceeded to urinate on the bulkhead.

“Muévate,” Mac said in Spanish, tapping his cane on the floor.

The man grumbled and pulled up his pants, then stumbled past them, smelling like booze. At the end of the hallway, he stopped again and this time threw up.

“Shit,” Rhino said. He motioned with his chin for Mac to follow him back the way they had come, until they were alone again.

“Remember Colonel Vargas?” Rhino said.

Mac grimaced. “Of course. The bastard was almost as bad as el Pulpo. I still see him here from time to time, when he comes to visit the brothels. He killed one of the girls a few weeks ago. I would have killed him if it weren’t for all his babysitters.”

“Well, now’s your chance,” Rhino said. “I’m going to slit his throat while he sleeps.”

Mac laughed. “You’ll never get that close, old friend.”

“That’s why I need your help. I can’t trust anyone else.”

“What about King Xavier?” Mac asked. “Is he a good man?”

“Indeed, he is. I’ll die for him if I have to, which is why I must kill Vargas.”

“Why not just give the order to your soldiers?” Mac asked. “Send a battalion to smoke his ass.”

“Because I’m not sure they will follow the order, and I do not want this coming back to us. I had the chance to kill him a couple of days ago—had his throat in my hands. If I’d squeezed a bit tighter for a few more seconds, he would be octopus shit.”

Rhino was glad he had spared Vargas then. It would help him get away with killing him later. No one would see this coming.

“Vargas sleeps with those bug eyes open,” Mac said. “I’ve seen it, and it is some weird shit.”

“Then we’ll find another way.” Rhino handed him a chain with a key. “Meet me at the capitol rig tonight and show the guards this.”

“Where you going?”

“To talk to the third recruit,” Rhino said.

“Going to tell me who you got in mind?”

“Whale’s boy,” Rhino said.

Mac chuckled. “Which one?”

“Felipe. I fought him a few days ago. He’s got skills. I just need to convince him to follow me like his father once did.”