Arachne's Challenge: Book 4 of the Peacetaker Series, #4

Chapter One

Mayri could have handled the pain. Other than a few years of incredible grace, there’d been nothing but pain in her eighteen years of existence. She’d long learned how to deal with pain, especially the physical kind. She let the knapsack slide off her shoulder, careful not to drop it because her laptop and Trim’s junkie old game box was inside. She put a hand against her left side, just above her hip, and applied pressure. When the burning pain turned into sharp, stabbing agony she eased off. Bruises, maybe a broken rib but no sticky moisture. She wasn’t bleeding. That was good. The bad part was that she had no idea what to do next.

The explosion knocked her down. She rolled on the concrete sidewalk, trying to protect the knapsack. She came up on her knees, inches away from her neighbor’s steel mesh fence. There was no lawn behind it but for some strange reason the neighbor had put up a garden gnome. She let her body sag because the knapsack had turned into an anchor. A few seconds of staring at the chipped red hat of the garden ornament planted in concrete helped her to regain focus. A few more seconds and the realization that their house blew up sank in and she struggled to get up, letting the knapsack slide off one shoulder. The sidewalk seemed to be tilting even as she tried to put one foot ahead of the other. Her ears were ringing. There was no rhythm to the ringing but she used it anyway to count her steps. Then suddenly the sun set below the horizon. She must have passed out. She came to in the back laneway, her knapsack digging into her side. Her ears were no longer ringing, but the sound that rushed in was just as unpleasant. Her first instinct was to get up, grab her knapsack and follow the sirens and use the horrible orange glow in the early evening sky as her guide, when a voice whispered to wait and first test the source of pain.

However, once she determined that her injuries were no more serious than what she’d carry away from a ‘disciplinary’ session with her last foster father, she found her feet shuffling on one spot. She had no idea where the feet should carry her. She only knew where they could not—should not—carry her and that meant she was homeless…again. She’d parked the car up the street, in a legal spot but she could not go back to get it. Not just because the police and the firefighters would have blocked off the street but because the Jeep still had its ownership in the glove box and her name was not on it.

I told you, I told you not to mess with these people, she whispered, swallowing hard because suddenly everything hurt, not just her ribs. I told you I’d get you your rotten venture capital. I just needed more time. Her throat shut down and it was the last thing she could afford now. Two weeks ago she had a place to live and two guys she loved like brothers, who patted her on the head when she tried to give them a wad of cash—her share of the last ten vehicle acquisitions that Darian let out on ‘tender’ to all his crews.

Meredith, we truly appreciate your generosity but I’m afraid we must decline. Trim used a line he borrowed from some British flick, since he liked to showcase his talent for accents.

Asshole, and the name’s Mayri, she’d said with a grin and went to the fridge to get a beer. When Trim wasn’t looking, she stuck the wad of cash into the lettuce crisper. Just then, Troy came into the kitchen.

Is it safe to leave you here for a week or two, alone, or should we call that agency that provides pedigreed babysitters? He took the bottle from her hand and drained it.

You’re both such assholes, she said, taking out a fresh bottle of beer. Where are you going?

We have a presentation for our venture capitalists upstate, in Eureka, Trim said.

Guys, why can’t we just go see one of the large software developers in San Francisco or even down in Los Angeles? She tried to push what had been her agenda ever since Trim-and-Troy came up with a ‘global game-changer,’ as they called their new tri-dynaflesh software.

Because they’d screw us over, little one, Troy said and tried to take the bottle again. She swatted his hand.

You do know what happened to the guys who came up with a 3D printer, don’t you? Trim was always full of dire warnings. She thought he should incorporate the word ‘doomsday’ into their company name.

That’s urban legend, guys. Seriously, if you think this new reality software is that good, let’s patent it and then we’ll go to one of the outfits in the Silicon Valley….

Never! they exclaimed in one voice. They’d done it so often that by now they’d mastered the performance.

Never as in ‘no’ to patenting or ‘no’ to Silicon Valley? She tried to goad them into an argument. If they argued, she’d be able to figure out what it was they really feared because Trim’nTroy were very complex nerds. She’d met them six years ago, in a foster home. They were teenagers and tried to escape just as social services was bringing her in. The social worker called the cops and foiled their plan. Mayri knew it was just a matter of bad timing but something about the way they both hung their heads, shuffling ahead of the cop in silence, made her feel guilty. Two days later, she waited for them outside their high school.

Here, she handed each of them an iPad. I’m sorry that my arrival put a hole in your escape plans.

Are these hot? Trim was oddly reluctant to take the stolen hi-tech tool but Troy made a sound like a baby, crying for the first time.

Yeah, do you care? For some strange reason she decided to be truthful.

Not one bit, Troy declared and then took the iPad and pressed it against Trim’s chest. Take it bro, it ain’t going to get better than this. We’ll scrub them clean, not to worry.

You know our…caretakers must not find out about these tools, she said.

Fear not, little one. We’ve got your back and always will, Troy promised and neither of them ever broke that promise. Until tonight.

Troy and Trim came back from upstate California somehow changed. She’d never before seen them looking out the front window as often as they did these past few days. She’d never seen them wipe their foreheads as much as they did either. At first, she thought now that they had a great promising product, they worried about her ‘chosen vocation,’ as Troy put it. He could have just said ‘car thief’ because she didn’t mind. She was a car thief, and a great one. But then she caught them watching the news—something they seldom if ever did. When a suicide bomber blew up a department store in Eureka during a Black Friday sale event, they shut off the TV and started packing up their workshop, which meant everything that had a microchip went into boxes filled with plastic bubble wrap. Two days later they calmed down but did not unpack their toys. She was about to ask if they planned to move and was she a part of their plans, when Darian released the ‘tender.’ Like all the other times he took an order for ‘demand items,’ he made it into a game—a scavenger hunt. She had to put in her bid. Finding cars that were on Darien’s menu and using her imagination to part them from their owners was her chosen vocation.

Guys, it’s my turn to go and score some venture capital, she told them, heading for the door.

Meredith, don’t do anything foolish, Trim said, wiping his forehead with the micro-cloth that he usually reserved for his monitors and screens.

Foolish? Guys, I’m a car thief. How much un-foolish can I get? She tried to lighten the mood because they were really wrung out, like dishcloths.

We don’t need the money, Mayri. In fact, I think it’s time to go and see one of those large software developers that you keep pushing at us, Troy said.

Are you all right? She knew they weren’t. She just needed to hear it.

Fine, fine, they answered as one voice. That’s when she started to worry.

I could stay…

No! One voice boomed at her.

Guys, look…. She wasn’t allowed to finish.

Go make your living, little one, Troy said. Be careful and don’t worry about us. If you need to text, use the burner—yours and ours.

She started to leave when something occurred to her. You never told me how that meeting with your venture capitalists went?

Fine, just fine! One voice, loud but the loudness could not hide the tremble.

You didn’t get the money, did you? she asked, tilting her head to stare at them. It was her means of getting them to confess. This time it didn’t work.

Go Mayri, Trim said, dry-voiced. We’ll keep in touch. Don’t worry. And those turned out to be his last words.

It wasn’t my vocation that blew up our house, guys. It had to be your venture capitalists, she said, making her way down the lane, keeping in the shadows even though the moon was not out yet. Ahead, the traffic was zipping up and down the street so she had to be heading for Carstairs Avenue, a two-way street.

She wasn’t a nerd or anything like Trim and Troy, but she could hold her own with a laptop, cell phone and iPad, all nicely beside her, inside the car. Then again, she was a great mechanic and didn’t need the electronic tools to do her job. Darian’s enterprise specialized in ‘rare’ or ‘collectible’ cars, those built before the 1980s. To get inside one of those vehicles and drive away in it, as if it was your own, took a good screwdriver and not much else. If she had to boost something that was a special order—and those were usually for brand new cars—then she’d just do her homework before she took possession. Anything that threatened to disable the starter would be located near the ignition, the rest under the dashboard panel and that nest of wires had always made her smile. She was all smiles tonight when she disabled everything that would have made the custom-paint, iridescent blue Jeep Cherokee traceable. Darian said there were only three of these custom jobs in California and one was right here, in the Bay area. Whoever brought it to the shop first would get a very nice bonus. She did her homework, and didn’t even have to bribe the valet—just put on a white shirt and black pants, jam one of those chauffeur hats on her head and drive off with the Jeep since its owner had literally handed the keys to her. She was half way to Darian’s when Troy texted her to pick up a package for him at Coronado’s Convenience.

Tell your brother that I’m not a post office, Jimmy, the sour-faced store owner said to her.

Thanks, Mr. Hernandez, she said, refusing to be drawn into an argument. Troy appreciates that you let him use your post office box. He asked me to give you this, she handed him a Benjamin. Her gesture did not make the man smile but at least he stopped frowning.

As long as it’s just parts for his games and laptops, I’m okay with it, the man said, holding up the bill to light, as if that would tell him whether it was real or not.

It’s all just games and Xbox parts for Troy, she said, smiling since it was mostly true. Trim and Troy bought all their stuff off the Net and did not want it delivered to their address. Mayri thought they were way too paranoid about the Silicon Valley spies who lurked on the Web, pretending to be tech suppliers.

Like I said, as long as they’re not building bombs… She didn’t wait to hear the rest of the man’s sentiments. She texted Troy that she’d picked up his ‘strange brown-wrapped package.’ She was being only mildly facetious. The package was strange because it didn’t have a shipper’s label. It was addressed to T. Wexler, in Troy’s handwriting. He must have balanced the package on his knee when writing the address because his normally neat cursive was messy. She waited another minute or two and re-sent the text.

Open it up, finally, Troy texted back.

Okay, she thought, frowning at the uncharacteristically terse message. It turned out to be some collectible game unit, probably manufactured before she was born.

Looks like an ancient car radio or a DVD player. Are you now into collecting old car memorabilia, Troy? she texted back. The fact that he did not reply made her swing by the house—in a freshly boosted custom paint job Jeep. At the last moment, she sped by their house and parked the Jeep way up the street because she didn’t want the boys to see that she brought her ‘job’ home with her. They were already spooked about something that happened upstate, during their venture capital quest. She was about twenty feet away from the fire hydrant that sat on a sidewalk, in front of their neighbor’s aluminum siding shed, when their house blew up.

She took a bus to North Richmond and walked back down to the last bus shelter before the loop then sat down on the bench. It was nearly midnight. There had been only two people on the bus and one of them was the bus driver. For a moment he looked as if he wanted to ask her if she was all right, then he must have remembered that he had a schedule to keep and just opened the door. The street was deserted. She would have chanced boosting a car—any car—had she seen even one parked on the street. However, all the cars she saw in the meagre street lighting were parked behind steel fences that were stronger than the aluminum siding houses they sought to protect. She was tired and her ribs hurt. There was a strange metallic taste in the back of her throat. She could have used a bottle of water but there were no convenience stores around. Well, there was no use stalling. She could not spend the night on a bus shelter bench. Police were known to patrol in the strangest places.

She fished out her burner cell from the knapsack and called Darian. She was at the pick-up spot. He was the one who had selected it but stressed it was for emergencies only. This was an emergency…but she had also failed to deliver the product that Darian expected to see. Considering how much he stressed the fact that there were only three iridescent blue custom paint Jeep Cherokees in the area…he might not feel inclined to pick her up. She’d failed him. What was even worse was that she actually abandoned the ‘product’ in a place where the cops were sure to find it.

I’m sitting on a bench in a bus shelter. I need a lift, she said when Darian’s voice sounded. She heard him breathing but he didn’t say anything.

I had the product in hand but circumstances prevented me from delivering it to you, she said.

I’m listening, he finally said, flat-voiced.

Things went sideways, she said, stifling a groan because the flashes of burning pain in her ribs were coming faster and faster.

I’ve six TVs, all around me. I can see just how badly things went—sideways, he finally said.

I don’t know what happened. I just stopped by to pick up something and…well, if you’re watching news you know what happened. I need to come in.

I’m sending Rosario to pick you up. Make sure you stay alone where you are, Darian said and she could almost visualize him flinging away the cell phone. His fury was always directed at technology, never people. He was strange that way.

Rosario came in a tow truck. She was Darian’s partner or his wife. The way she ordered him around she could be both.

Are you hurt? she asked when Mayri got in.

No, just tired, she lied.

Kid, are you shot? Rosario didn’t even turn her head to look at her.

No, no. There was no shooting. It wasn’t about me.

What was it about then?

She didn’t feel like explaining about Trim and Troy’s quest for venture capital because she wasn’t sure herself what happened. It could have been a gas leak…except it wasn’t. Trim and Troy did not keep the shades closed because they feared a gas leak. But Rosario wanted an answer.

I think it was this, Mayri opened up the knapsack and took out the old gadget.

An old car radio? Rosario barely turned her head.

I don’t know what it is, Mayri said, grimacing. Every breath she took was agony. It could be an old DVD player or something antique from a car. I don’t know. My brothers ordered it on eBay and asked me to pick it up for them from the post office box.

As long as it’s not a bomb, Rosario said, this time turning her head to look at her.

Mayri laughed and regretted it immediately. She never knew laughter could be so painful.

It’s not a bomb. Trim and Troy are…were Xbox worshippers. They spent every free moment gaming with something…someone. It could be an old prototype of an Xbox or some early version of a video game player. I’ll look at it when we get to the warehouse.

We’re not going to the warehouse, Rosario said grimly.

Why not? Where are we going? Mayri shrank away from her.

Darian took an order. You went on a treasure hunt and didn’t deliver the prize. If he fails to deliver what the supplier in Marseille ordered, his reputation will suffer. No one will order from him again. We’re going to get what the customer ordered, Rosario said.

Where? Darian said there were only three iridescent blue custom paint jobs like the Jeep that’s sitting on my street, blocked by police and fire trucks.

There are but we don’t have time to scope a job to get one of the remaining two. The shipment has to leave tonight to make it to the air field. We’ll have to settle for a different color custom job Jeep, that’s all.

What color? She tried to take shallow breaths so as not to move her ribcage much.

Cerise-mother-of-pearl.

Who owns a Jeep Cherokee in that color? Her breath stuck and she wanted it to stay that way because it was the only way it didn’t hurt.

No one, Rosario said. At least no one yet. But there’s one waiting for us in a car dealership in San Pablo.

We’re going to boost a brand new car out of a car dealership’s lot? It won’t be prepped. It won’t….

Rosario cut her off. It will be ready and waiting for us. And we’re not boosting it. We’re buying it—and we will have it shipped to Marseille, air-freight.

It’ll take me years to work off an expense like that, Mayri whispered, pressing her back into the seat.

Rosario chuckled. That it would. But Darian’s not charging you. He saw what happened, from all angles. All six TVs in the warehouse were tuned to the mayhem on your street. It wasn’t a gas leak, kid. That would have blown those trailers off their cinder blocks to the left and to the right of your house. But none of those sheds had as much as a damaged shingle. It was a shaped charge, kid; the kind that only the military uses….

Or terrorists, the thought flashed through Mayri’s head but it was one thought she could not afford to let out. Not even as a whisper.

Chapter Two

Carter stared at the map of Europe trying to find a safe spot where an absent-minded American professor might be left alone for a few hours to do research, and couldn’t settle on anything. His laptop screen was covered with sites rich in medieval history. However, where safety was concerned, nothing much had changed in the thousand years since people were beheaded, hanged or burned at the stake. The modern man upgraded the language of violence but to Carter it was just a game of alphabet soup. People still burned or were blown up or were shot or even hanged. Man might grow old but violence never did.

He sighed and tapped the screen. Cathedrals in Spain, he said and waited for the idea to sink in. Stella would like that…except cathedrals were drafty, cavernous edifices with horrendously tall ceilings that would make him feel as if he was in a meat locker.

He tapped the map of France. Crumbling castles and other assorted ruins spread throughout the French countryside. Once again, he let the idea sink in but it didn’t even burn-off the upper layer of his indifference. Stella would want to have picnics amongst the ruins and he no longer hankered after such ‘simple’ pleasures. It reminded him too much of his days when rations was the only word used for daily meals. He wouldn’t have minded spending a couple of weeks touring Sweden or Denmark or even Norway but Stella said her ‘Viking period’ had not yet matured. He had no idea what she meant by that and feared to ask.

Seventy years of old Soviet regime may have knocked the religion out of its people but all the fragments of the old Soviet Union that were now ‘freehold-countries,’ as he thought of them, had a generous assortment of history—museums, old churches and basilicas. Stella would love to tour them but was he brave enough to venture into regions that were about as stable as nitroglycerin? England…well, he’d seen all the England that he’d ever want in any given lifetime. Oh, there were cathedrals and ruins and old cemeteries and old houses all over England. Stella would find them appealing. Could he pretend that he did too…for more than a day?

Nah, not England, not Ireland and not Wales or Scotland. He hesitated with his finger pointing at Germany. The country was a treasure trove of history. It had castles, ruined and in good shape. It had cathedrals, mostly in good shape and it was hosting a truckload of soccer matches this summer. The last thing he wanted was to be in a country besieged by soccer fans.

Slavic countries would have been a great compromise. They had tons of history, any kind of history. They had churches and cathedrals and castles and dungeons and palaces and museums and even monasteries. There was only one thing they did not have—size. Stella would want to do them all because to Stella everything had to be American-sized. He did not want to spend eight hours a day crossing three countries, and listening to Stella correlate cultural influences.

Balkans…? He watched his finger slowly move toward Turkey. Hell, no! Spain it is.

He knew that once he reached a decision, he would not go back and re-select. Stella probably didn’t even remember their anniversary. He was surprised that he did but once that odd little detail sank in, he set to planning a ‘surprise’ for her. Just then his cell phone buzzed. He rose, stretched and started to walk for the door, then remembered. He returned, powered down the laptop and then it was time to go and pick up Gabriel from the bus stop. Stella was down in Great Falls. She went to visit someone who used to be her graduate student. The woman contacted her by email, naturally, but he did check her out. She was teaching at the private Roman Catholic university in Great Falls and she was married with two children. He pretended that he didn’t like it when Stella said she might stay a couple of days, but ‘relented’ and said it was okay. He needed two days of peace and quiet—Gabriel and his friends didn’t make much noise—to plan the ‘anniversary surprise.’

A week later, he had the itinerary all worked out and Gabriel was giving him the thumbs up sign behind Stella’s back.

Really, but really? She kept shaking her head, opening and closing the folder with their itinerary and plane ticket confirmation printouts.

I thought we should celebrate our anniversary. It’s our first. Traditions are important—so you keep telling me, he said.

Absolutely, absolutely, she kept repeating and then something in the folder caught her eye. Santiago de Compostela, she said.

Who? Chills ran down his spine.

She laughed. Not who, what. Santiago—it’s the capital of Galicia. That’s where we should start. Northwestern Spain.

He had planned to start in Monaco and take in some of its splendid scenery. They could do a casino or two, spend time on the beach and then slowly make their way toward Marseille or more precisely make a little detour to visit Kanat in his castle. They had an open invitation to visit the ex-KGB-thug-turned-French-entrepreneur whenever in France, never mind when in his neck of the woods. Kanat would be insulted if they didn’t drop by his magnificent castle and enjoy his hospitality for a few days before continuing on their quest to tour all things medieval and crumbling in Spain.

What’s in Santiago? He long ago stopped asking ‘why.’ With Stella it was always ‘what.’

A magnificent cathedral.

"Of course. How silly of me. Big church…in good repair?’

Restored—magnificently restored. Oh, thank you, Carter, thank you. She rushed over to him, hung herself around his neck, kissed every part of his face and neck she could reach, then rushed off because there were colleagues in Spain to shock with the good news of an impending visit.

Carter became aware that the boy stood in the kitchen, leaning on the table.

Do you…? He started to ask. Gabriel didn’t let him finish.

Dad, would you mind awfully if I stuck to the original plan—for me that is?

That’s when Carter remembered that the three of them had a family discussion of what Gabriel was going to do with his summer. He was going to camp—where Adam, Stella’s son was going to be a senior counselor.

You want to go to camp? Carter asked, grinning at the boy.

Oh, absolutely—unless it upsets Mother, the boy added.

Mother will get over it. Besides, she already agreed that you’re going to camp where Adam will watch over you…though I have a feeling it’ll be the other way around because you’re a hell of a lot more mature than Stella’s son.

Gabriel relaxed and smiled. Adam’s all right. He’s lots of fun. I’ll behave. I’ll make him proud of me.

Settled then, Carter said. Now, do you think we can pry your mother away from her computer so we can go out to eat? I think we should celebrate…something.

The summer was around the corner. Gabriel had less than a week of school left. Stella picked him up from school early and they went down to Billings, to shop for things he would need for three weeks of summer camp and two weeks he’d spend afterward, in Michigan, with Stella’s ex and his wife. Stella and the boy wouldn’t be back until late, so Carter had the whole day to himself—which was perfect since he wanted to go and spend a few hours in the newly opened Hardware Depot in Shelby. The pick-up truck was already parked nose down the driveway, ready to roll. He started it, then remembered that he had a ‘job-jar’ and he’d better go back and dip his hand in. He might as well pick up whatever materials he still needed to do the fixing that Stella wanted him to do around the house.

He wasn’t gone long but when he walked outside, a black SUV sat on the bottom of the driveway, blocking his truck. He sure as hell wasn’t going anywhere today.

I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I said this was a social visit, Special Agent Saunders said, walking up the driveway.

Not unless you’re about to swing up the tail gate and your wife jumps out, Vern. But hey, you’re always welcome up here. How about you move your SUV and we’ll go spend a day in Shelby, walking around the new Hardware Depot that’s just opened up, Carter said, heading for the truck. He knew what the answer would be. He didn’t plan to do anything other than shut off the engine and invite his guest inside.

I wish you’d make your retirement into semi-retirement, Saunders said.

I’ve retired, Vern. I’m no longer taking contracts. I promised Stella and, in a sense, myself that part of my life is over.

I need your help, Saunders said.

If you have something that needs fixing, I’d be more than happy to help but that’s the extent of my involvement these days, Vern.

You’re getting ready to go to Europe…

Carter tipped his head at the approaching agent. Tell me you haven’t been monitoring me up here in Sunburst.

I haven’t.

Tell me the FBI has not been…

I said no and I don’t lie. That much hasn’t changed between us.

Then how do you know…?

Stella emailed my wife.

Carter bit back a curse that rose on his lips