Allegiance

TWENTY-ONE

“This is your strike team?” X muttered. He had just finished with the new divers and had taken Miles to the edge of the pier in the enclosed marina. Only one candle sconce was burning tonight, but the light was enough for X to see the two men on the old fishing boat.

“Not the whole team,” Rhino said. “There’s one more.”

“Oh, so you recruited a whopping three total?” X said. “Well, that changes everything!”

Only one of the warriors standing in front of X could be considered a man at all. The other was just a kid. Felipe, son of Whale, stood with his muscular arms folded over his chest.

To his right, a dark-skinned man with almost as many scars as X used a cane to prop himself up in the bobbing boat.

“I thought this boy challenged you on Elysium,” X said.

Rhino nodded. “This ‘boy’ lost.”

“What makes you think you can trust him now?”

“If Nick trusts him, so should you, Your Holiness,” said the guy with the cane.

X reared back. “Holiness?”

The man tapped his cane on the deck. “You are the king of these islands and, to some, a God. As for Nick, he has never let me down. If it weren’t for his bravery in battle, I would have lost the other two limbs and my head, too.”

“You must be Mac,” X said.

“My birth name was Bill, but I’ve gone by ‘Mac’ most of my life.” He reached out his hand to X in an old-world tradition. “Nice to meet you, King Xavier,” he said.

X shook his hand. “You as well, but skip the ‘holiness’ crap. I’m about as holy as a Siren.”

Mac’s grip was strong, and if Rhino was right, the old warrior had a few tricks in his quiver. But of all the Cazadores on the islands, this was the best Rhino could come up with? Maybe he was saving the best for last.

“Nick killed twelve Sirens and then dragged me back to the boats that day,” Mac said. “I owe him my life, and he will always have my sword.”

“All right, then,” X said, motioning for Miles to jump onto the boat. “Let’s go meet the third member of the reconstituted Barracudas.”

“You sure you want to come?” Rhino asked. “Colonel Vargas will have spies on the water.”

X pulled the hood over his head. “Then you’d better not get us spotted.”

He had thought this through. This assassination had to be discreet, so they couldn’t use any militia soldiers. And he couldn’t trust any Cazador soldiers other than Rhino and whatever team he assembled. X had considered asking Ton and Victor to join the team, but he didn’t want to risk the life of anyone who had already suffered so much under the Cazadores. That left a very small pool of warriors Rhino could work with.

So far, X wasn’t impressed.

Rhino swung the lever to open the port door, and Mac steered out into the night. Storm clouds blotted out the stars and moon. Not a bad thing, X thought. The rain and lightning would keep most boats off the water while keeping theirs hidden from any spies who might be watching the tower.

Rhino took over for Mac at the wheel, and X sat beside Felipe.

“¿No hablas inglés?” X asked.

“Español,” Felipe said.

“I’ll translate if you have something to say,” Mac said.

Felipe stared at X, but it wasn’t the same hate-filled gaze that X had seen on Elysium. Whatever Rhino had said to the kid worked.

But X still didn’t trust him.

“Tell him I appreciate him risking his neck,” X said.

Mac told Felipe, who clacked his jagged teeth together.

The radio in X’s pack buzzed. He had slipped away without telling Sloan where he was going, and didn’t really want to debate the issue, but he answered just in case it was about the mission to Rio de Janeiro.

“This is X; go ahead,” he said.

“X, this is Sloan. Where are you?”

“Busy. Why? Somethin’ wrong?”

“I’ve completed fortification of the Hive. Thought you might like to take a look.”

“I will in a bit,” he said. “I’m not feeling so good after eating that pickled mullet earlier.”

He could hear her snicker over the radio.

“Going to be on the can for a while,” he lied.

“Okay, sir.”

X signed off, then grinned at Rhino and pointed at the capitol rig with its decommissioned airship. The engineers had finally added the top platform over the curved rooftop, and put a fence around the entire rectangular perimeter. Massive vertical steel beams held up mezzanine walkways on each level. Hatches had been cut into the hull, allowing residents to walk out onto balconies overlooking the water.

“Take us that way,” he said.

The boat swung around for a look. Enough lights were on inside the airship for them to make out two machine-gun emplacements and one cannon on the top level of the north side. The rectangular platform was supposed to be turned into a garden and rain catchment, but so far it looked like a military base.

A launch bay in the decommissioned airship was open, and another cannon was inside, with two militia soldiers standing guard. The weapon suddenly angled toward their vessel as they curved around the rig.

“Not too close,” said X.

Rhino turned the boat back out into open water.

“I bet Colonel Vargas has seen our preparations,” X said.

“I’d count on that,” Mac replied.

“Everyone is preparing for Horn’s return,” Rhino said. “Especially the Black Order of Octopus Lords. And we can use that to our advantage. Vargas won’t see this coming.”

X reached down and rubbed Miles’s chest. The dog normally slept easily on boats, but tonight he seemed agitated. He let out a low whine.

The journey took them another hour, and it was just after midnight when they finally reached the ancient fishing boat Isaiah called home.

The large vessel floated in the middle of nowhere, moored to an ancient tsunami sensor buoy. Tarps covered most of the deck, and a ladder of white rope clung like a cobweb to the mainmast with a crow’s nest at the top. It reminded X of pirate ships in books he had read as a kid.

Reaching down, he stroked Miles again. “You’ve got to stay here, boy,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

They pulled up on the port side of the fishing boat, and Felipe grabbed a rope.

“Isaiah speaks English, but best to let me do the talking,” Rhino said.

Felipe jumped onto the gunwale and practically ran up the rope netting on the hull. At the top, he vaulted over the rail and secured the mooring ropes.

X was curious to see how Mac handled the netting, but he got up it surprisingly fast. Miles whined as X followed, but a quick hand gesture quieted him.

Next came Rhino, with his spear and a torch. On the deck, he lit the oil-drenched wick, and the four men waited, scanning the shadows as he moved the torch back and forth. The boat rocked, the ancient wood and metal creaking.

“Isaiah!” Mac called out. “You awake?”

“Up here,” replied a gruff voice.

X looked up to the crow’s nest, where someone had popped up with a drawn bow pointed at the men below.

“Easy, brother,” Mac yelled up.

“It’s just Mac and Rhino and a couple of friends,” Rhino said. He held up the torch so Isaiah could see their faces.

The man in the crow’s nest swung his legs over the side and slid down the mast to the deck. He unslung the bow and renocked the arrow on the string.

“Who are your amigos?” Isaiah asked.

“This is all of us,” Rhino said.

Lowering the bow, Isaiah approached slowly, squinting in the torchlight.

“Ah, the new king?” he said.

This man was old, older even than General Santiago, with his receding hair pulled back into a greasy ponytail. A butcher knife hung in a crude canvas sheath from his hip.

He slung the bow over his back and dropped the arrow into the quiver. Then he reached out with a muscular, tattooed arm.

X shook his forearm in the Cazador way.

Isaiah smiled. “Welcome to the Angry Tuna,” he said. His smile was surprisingly white.

“You know why we’re here,” Rhino said, “so I’ll get down to business. I’m going to kill Colonel Vargas, and I need your help.”

Mac pulled out a bag of coins and shook it.

Isaiah’s green eyes flitted to Mac.

“You bring more?” he asked.

Mac nodded.

“How much?”

“What you asked for this morning,” Mac said.

Isaiah smirked. “Unfortunately for you, I changed my mind this afternoon. I’m going to need double your offer if you want my help.” Turning, he waved his arm around them. “As you can see, I need a new boat.”

“I told you he was greedy,” Mac said to Rhino.

“Actually I blame the sky people,” Isaiah said with a snort. “Mr. Tomás Mata sent his goons out earlier this evening. Said he is raising prices on his fleet because of the battle that sank some of his trawlers, and I’m already behind on payment.”

“Double it is then,” Rhino said, “but you get half now, and half when the job is done. That work for you?”

Isaiah walked closer to X, scratching the stubble on his chin.

“I want to do two things before I make my decision,” he said. “First, I want to have a good look at the king.”

The Cazador soldier turned fisherman circled X, looking him up and down.

“You got the scars,” Isaiah said, “and the reputation. But are you really immortal? That is the question.”

“I’m just a man with a killer instinct and a high pain tolerance,” X said.

“Perhaps a man with a lot of luck, too,” Isaiah said, halting before X. “So tell me your brilliant plan to kill Vargas. His Praetorian Guards are seasoned warriors. They won’t be easy to sneak up on.”

“We infiltrate Elysium tomorrow night after Felipe here provides a distraction during dinner,” Rhino said. “As soon as Vargas retreats to his quarters, we take him down in a dark passage.”

“Isn’t that how someone tried to kill you?” X asked.

“Yes,” said Rhino. “Lucky for me, Wendig had my back.”

“Well, she doesn’t now, does she?” Isaiah said.

X didn’t like Isaiah talking about Wendig. She had been a peerless warrior and deserved to be honored, not disrespected.

“No, but I do,” X said.

Isaiah frowned, unimpressed. “You’re talking about sneaking onto a ship with hundreds of warriors aboard,” he said. “How do you expect to get away without being seen?”

“They’re mostly just recruits,” Rhino said. “You saw them with your own eyes, and Felipe is going to create a distraction among the youngsters, then sneak away to help us. Besides, Vargas hardly ever leaves the warship, and when he does, he brings a whole entourage of guards.”

“Wait a minute,” Mac said. “Remember what I told you at the trading post?”

Rhino shook his head. “Which part?”

“Vargas patronizes the brothels regularly, and I know the owners. Maybe I could set something up where we don’t have to sneak onto Elysium at all.”

“That would be better,” X said. “Way fewer threats on the trading rig.”

Isaiah ran a hand over the chipped paint on the bulkhead.

X could still make out “Atún,” but the other word was too faded to read.

“How many of us will there be?” Isaiah asked, still looking at the letters.

“Us, minus Xavier,” Rhino said.

Isaiah’s smile dried up. “I’ll do it for the agreed price, but only if he comes too,” he said. “I don’t trust a man who pays others to do the risky stuff.”

X looked at Rhino, who shook his head.

“No way,” Rhino said.

“Not so fast,” X said. “Count me in. It’s been a while since I had a good fight.”

An hour had passed since the Sirens took wing and headed out to sea. None had returned. Discovery had blown them all back to hell.

With that threat gone, Magnolia and the Cazador team pushed down the rocky shore, battling hard wind as they looked for a way into the city. Acid rain streaked down her visor.

She brushed it away, scanning the cliffs. A Cazador scout team had already tried to climb up in several spots, but the bluffs were too steep and crumbling.

The tsunami of two and a half centuries ago had created the natural barrier around the city, making it as impregnable as an old-world castle. Since then, the tide had eaten into the ribbon of shoreline left behind, narrowing the space between the water and the earthen walls.

And the tide was starting to rise again.

For now, the team was safe on the rocky, debris-strewn beach, but the clock was ticking. Magnolia stayed back from the encroaching waves and close to the bluffs that rose a hundred feet above them.

“Mags, take a look at this,” Rodger said, pointing at a bone that stuck out of the wall. “Is it human?”

She nodded, spotting most of a skull in the rubble. Intermingled with the bones jutting out of the layers of earth, concrete, and rock were oxidized copper pipes and wrought iron, and twisted hooks of rebar. The raw ends were all potentially lethal hazards if any should snag her suit. It made climbing and falling all the more dangerous. They pushed farther down the shore, stepping over driftwood, the roof of a buried vehicle, and a flaking rusty hubcap.

Around the next corner, she finally saw a spot that looked promising. The hundred-foot bluff had partially collapsed, leaving a slope of debris that cut the vertical exposure by half. It certainly looked better than the vertical cliffs, but the jagged and unstable hunks of concrete and metal would still make it dicey.

Lieutenant Alejo was already talking to the scouts with ropes and other climbing gear. They set off while the rest of the Cazadores formed a perimeter, rifles and machine guns up.

“If there is a way up, they will find it,” Alejo said to Magnolia.

She kept against the rock wall while they went to work. The drizzling rain flecked her wrist computer as she checked Team Raptor’s progress. Their beacons again showed slow but steady movement. Since the male Sirens flocked out of the city, they had gone nearly three miles from their drop zone. If she had to guess, Captain Mitchells or Timothy had used a decoy to help them get away from a hive of the beasts.

It must have worked, because all five Raptor beacons were still active.

Rodger bent down beside her. “How are they doing?” he asked.

“Good, I think,” she replied. “They’re moving along like nobody’s hurt bad.”

Lightning illuminated the two Cazador climbers. They practically scampered up the crumbly surface. Halfway up the slope, the men reached the first vertical slab of concrete. They threw a rope with a grappling hook over the top.

The crashing waves grew louder, bringing Magnolia to her feet. Ten-footers slapped down on the rocky shore, sending frothy ripples ever closer to the cliffs.

Magnolia gripped her laser rifle and scanned the ocean with her optics, leery of sea monsters that might use the opportunity to ride a wave in and snatch an unwary Cazador. She wiped her visor clean again and slowly scanned the water, finding nothing bigger than a shoal of fingerlings darting en masse this way and that.

Something larger was out there prowling, though. She had seen it on sonar on the way in. And she couldn’t shed the feeling they were being watched from the bluffs.

A voice called out from above. She backed away from the cliff and aimed her rifle at two Cazador helmets looking down. Three ropes snaked over the side and down to the ground.

“I told you,” Alejo said, grabbing one and offering it to Magnolia. “Would you like to go first?”

“I will,” Rodger said. “Let me check it out first, Mags.”

A Cazador started climbing each of the other two ropes, and Rodger took the third. He tried pulling himself up hand over hand, walking his feet up the slab, but his boots skidded down the rock right away.

“Careful,” she said.

He tried again, this time grasping the rope between his ankles, and shinnied upward.

Behind them, the tide kept coming, each new wave sliding farther and farther inland. Magnolia turned back to the water, holding rear guard with the laser rifle.

This time, she saw something under the surface about three hundred meters out. A dorsal fin cut through the water.

She backed away, nearly tripping over a partly exposed iron block that had once been a car engine. Screaming rang out above her as she staggered to regain her balance.

A heavy thump followed, and when she looked over, a Cazador lay at the foot of the cliff. The last few yards of the rope he had been climbing slithered down on top of him.

Normally, such a fall would have killed a man, but the armor had protected him to a degree. Magnolia rushed over.

Rodger had paused two-thirds of the way up, and so had the Cazador on the other remaining rope.

“Keep climbing!” Magnolia shouted.

“¡Sigan!” Alejo yelled.

The man who had fallen lay moaning on the ground. One leg pointed in the wrong direction, and his helmet had cracked open on a rock. Blood leaked onto the wet soil.

Alejo crouched, talking in a hushed voice and holding the soldier’s hand. Then he looked up at General Santiago, who unsheathed his sword and plunged it into the fallen man’s heart.

They dragged his body over to the cliff, out of sight from above.

Magnolia glanced up to the top of the wall, but the Cazador scouts were out of sight. They were going to get a good reaming for not anchoring the rope securely.

Rodger and the Cazador on the other rope made it over the edge, and Magnolia checked the ocean again before slinging her rifle. The large life-form had gone back under, and she didn’t see a reading on her visor.

The encroaching surf lapped nearly to her boots. Turning to the wall, she grabbed the rope.

You got this, Mags.

As she inchwormed her way up the cliff, she tried to make out voices over the waves assaulting the shore. All she could determine was that their speech seemed frantic and faster than normal.

Electricity arced across the skyline, lighting up the swollen, dark clouds. They were moving in fast, dumping more acid rain on the toxic land.

Halfway up the wall, Magnolia looked down at General Santiago. Still banged up from the fight with the oil serpents back at the fuel station, he climbed slowly. He would get to the top, though, she had no doubt.

Below her, the surf lapped around the body of the fallen Cazador. When she looked again, the waves had lifted the body and slapped it against the wall. The crunch of armor against the rock spurred her on, as if she needed an incentive to avoid the Cazador’s fate.

As she neared the top, Rodger reached down to grab her by the armor. She scrambled over the ledge and followed him to a brick wall.

Several Cazadores huddled around a helmet on the ground, but she didn’t see a body. The rest of the soldiers had fanned out, pointing weapons out at the black terrain and the fog masking much of the city.

Rodger motioned for her to follow him over to the stacked slabs of a collapsed parking structure. Lieutenant Alejo crouched there, talking to several of his men. One of them held up a frayed end of rope.

The pieces of the puzzle started coming together.

Their rope hadn’t snapped or come untied. It was slashed, and whoever did it had taken the two scouts into the fog.

She unslung her rifle and brought it up, scanning the wastes. Behind the ruined structures and sunken streets, the purple and red flora pulsated, adding its glow to the wrecked cityscape. But there was no sign of any living creatures out there, nothing moving or howling in the silences between thunderclaps.

But for the bloody helmet a few feet away, she might have thought the two scouts had vanished into thin air. Whatever monster had taken them was long gone now, leaving behind no spoor of blood or tracks other than the helmet.

Rodger was lucky he hadn’t fallen to his death too. She patted him on the shoulder as they looked out over the city. Storm clouds rolled in over the fog-shrouded devastation, and with the clouds came a dazzling display of lightning.

Alejo crouch-walked over to Magnolia and handed her the frayed rope.

“It’s happening again,” he said.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Cazadores are being hunted.”