Hi gang. Just a reminder that this is the second chapter I've uploaded within the past few days. Make sure you've read the previous one.
Spoiling you this week. Gotta get it all out of my head.
Only Shadows Ahead
Chapter Fifty-Three
"Off the ground, idiot," Plunder sniped over his shoulder. "You're dragging ten-thousand dollars worth of Italian leather."
Bleak muttered something under his breath, lifting the heavy luggage and increasing his stride to keep up with his employer. They walked quickly through the busy airport, negotiating their way through the baggage claim and heading towards the border check area.
The lines were moderate. Bleak followed Plunder to the US nationals section; dumping the bags and folding his arms while the the boss-man barked orders into his cell phone. The chain-link barriers held signs that were very clear regarding the use of technology whilst waiting in customs, but Looten Plunder had never been one to follow rules.
The man just couldn't give a damn.
"Just sign the damn document! Forge my name if you have to. I need it sent by yesterday," Plunder barked. "No, it can't wait! I'll rip your damn throat out if you even think of —"
Bleak shoved him and Plunder glared back, cupping his hand over the receiver. "What the hell are —"
He indicated towards the people in front — the line had moved. Plunder huffed, continuing his phone call and moving forwards.
With his back turned, Plunder's shiny new luggage was dragged forward. Bleak dumped the handles, glancing around. The flight had been a relatively short one. He'd gotten a few decent hours sleep — mainly due to flying cattle-class while the boss relaxed in first-class luxury.
He didn't mind. At least he got time to himself.
Things had always been that way. Bleak was simply a means to an end when it came to Plunder. There was no loyalty there — never had been. Bleak was an enforcer. A hired thug, capable of carrying out orders with deadly efficiency. He served a purpose, but even after all this time, it had never been an arrangement with personal attachments. Never a beer after work or amiable back-slapping. No weekend barbecues or golf games. No shared jokes or prowling bars together for women.
Not so much as a 'please', or a 'thank you' for services rendered. His only consolation were the little white envelopes handed to him after each job. Strictly off the books, the wads of cash were always generous.
"Don't you fucking tell me how to close the sale! I've been trading property since before you were an itch in your daddy's pants, you dumb —"
Bleak yawned, tuning out. Plunder never 'talked' on the phone. He barked, ordered and generally sent the recipients running for cover.
"Stupid," he said sharply, snapping the phone shut. "That's the third time now that Selfridge has tried to pull a deal out from under me."
Bleak grunted in response.
"Might have a new job for you," he said in a low voice.
"Uh huh."
"Getting out of hand."
"Want him to disappear?" Bleak asked. "Accident?"
"I'm sure you're capable of surprising me," Plunder said smoothly. He ran a hand across his face, watching an attractive blonde approach the customs desk in front of him. "Let me think about it. May be too many loose ends that are capable of coming back to bite me in the ass."
"Mmm hmm."
"Speaking of disappearing — any news on our missing guest?"
"Nope."
"Disappointing." Plunder's eye twitched. He'd been furious to discover Blondie missing the next day. Bleak had maintained his usual sullen disposition as the boss had wrecked havoc through the factory. "Reckon she had help from her pals, or one of the workers?"
"Dunno."
"Security system been replaced?"
"Yeah."
"Little punks destroyed the feed," Plunder mused, flicking the edge of his US passport with perfectly manicured fingers. "Nothing to go on?"
"Nope."
Plunder grunted. "I'll need you to —"
Bleak gestured again towards the customs employee waiting at the spare desk. Plunder straightened, grabbing the luggage roughly from Bleak's hands and striding to the available counter, tossing his passport and arrival card at the attendant impatiently.
Bleak followed, handing over his paperwork and passing through. He tried (and failed) to suppress a smirk as his employer was pulled over to the side for a more thorough search of his bags and clothing. He could hear Plunder's protestations as he was led away.
It happened a lot. He supposed Plunder's passport had been blacklisted, or marked due to his unsavoury international track record.
Bleak took a seat near a duty-free shop, watching Plunder's face turn bright red as he complained about the unfairness and injustice of it all. The surly-faced guards took no notice, tossing the contents of the bags onto a stainless steel counter and rifling through his belongings.
Bleak chuckled, entertained by what he was witnessing.
The headaches were fading. His mind was clearer. He was feeling more like himself again — still sore and a little tired, but better. Didn't stop Plunder from continually grilling him about his whereabouts for the past few months, but the answer was still the same.
He was unable to explain (or justify) his absence. It frustrated him just as much as Plunder.
He sat quietly, eyeing the families browsing the duty-free shopping. With the week he had experienced, Bleak considered buying himself a large bottle of Jack Daniels. Getting rotten, pass-out drunk tonight in the hotel was definitely on the cards. He took a moment to contemplate his options.
Ah, fuck it.
He strode over, grabbing a bottle and paying cash. Heading back towards the seat, he ignored Plunder's irate voice resonating from nearby.
"God-damn harassment," Plunder spat, meeting him on the way back and dumping his bags at Bleak's feet. "Every fucking time."
"Any dead exotic birds? Usual money laundering?" Bleak stuffed his whiskey into a side pocket. He juggled the bags, hoisting them up as he followed Plunder out. "Diamonds sewn into the lining?"
"Fuck off."
Plunder turned the corner and Bleak made sure to scrape the Italian leather across the exposed brickwork for good measure. Plunder's phone rung and he increased his pace, leaving Bleak trailing behind as they headed towards the meeting area.
Plunder's driver was waiting at arrivals with the usual sign. Allan raised his hand when he saw them and Bleak sighed with relief, tossing one of the bags at the driver's feet. The trio pushed on, heading out the doors and towards the public transport bay.
The cold air hit them. Bleak readjusted the bag, glancing towards the street. Plunder stepped out without looking as Allan hurried along behind him.
Screeching brakes.
A bus halted, honking it's horn; the driver shaking his fist but Plunder paid him no attention. He strode on without a second glance, as if he owned the road, still screaming into the phone as he headed towards the lifts to the multi-story car park.
Bleak remained outside the arrivals doors, however; frozen in place. His face paled as a moment of clarity hit him, something drawn forth from the depths of his subconscious.
He dropped one of Plunder's fancy ten-thousand-dollar-Italian-designer-leather bags onto the filthy pavement, watching the bus turn the corner and disappear in a haze of black smoke.
His eyes flicked towards Plunder's retreating figure. Bleak clenched his hands into fists; oblivious to the steady stream of foot traffic. People bustled and surged around him but he paid them no mind. Another bus approached the terminal and he took a step back — a stunned expression on his weathered face.
"HEY!"
A voice broke through the mental haze and Bleak flinched. Plunder stood on the other side of the road — hands raised in frustration and disbelief.
"GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE, MORON!"
Bleak shook himself, grabbing the bag and taking his time to wander through the traffic; head lowered and lost in thought.
They'd spent a week on the mainland. It had been a whirlwind of hospital visits, paperwork and tense, emotional reunions with family and friends.
Mishka had broken down, sobbing at her feet. She'd never seen him cry. Not when her parents died, not when their beloved babushka had passed away peacefully in her sleep. He'd pulled her into his arms and squeezed the breath out of her for almost an hour, unwilling to relinquish his hold.
Kwame had picked her up the next day. It turned out that being assumed dead held a lot of implications of the 'red-tape' variety. Questions galore from suited men and women — more so about Doctor Blight and the compound rather than anything.
She wasn't able to add much.
The debriefing with Gaia had been much less stressful. Gaia had been biding her time, allowing her the opportunity to recover and settle back in before entering her hut. They'd talked for over an hour, and Linka had recognised the way Gaia's eyes had swept over her, lingering around her throat with palpable sorrow.
She knew Gaia was frustrated. She was an all-seeing, all-knowing entity and the mystery of Linka's disappearance was weighing heavily on the Earth spirit's mind. Her condition even more so, but Linka had assured Gaia that she was getting stronger every day.
Movement was easier. Her feet were still a little painful but she could at least hold her weight while walking on them. The cuts and bruises were healing. Her voice had returned. The worst damage that remained was the cut to her palm. She'd been left with some nerve damage but yesterday's day-surgery had hopefully cured that.
Linka sunk onto her bed, thankful to be back on Hope Island again. Her pillows and cushions were just as she'd left them. She busied herself with returning her clothes and possessions to the wardrobe. Many of her things had been returned to Mishka after her disappearance. Linka had diligently brought them back again; thankful that her brother had been sentimental, if not hopeful of her eventual return.
It was late afternoon. Sludge's laptop lay in the same place as she remembered — on her study desk, gathering dust. She remembered the last completed mission. Remembered the discovery of the SAIP file. She recalled a conversation with MAL on the stolen computer, however elements of the subject matter alluded her.
A HP charging cord lay within her bandaged hand; purchased during her time on the mainland. Hobbling across the floor, she dropped down to her knees and fiddled with the port; connecting the cable to the power outlet.
"Do you need anything, Lin —"?"
Bang.
Linka yelped as her head made contact with the underside of her desk.
"Oh goodness," Ma-Ti exclaimed, rushing forward and helping her up. "Sorry, I didn't even —"
"It is all right," she said as Ma-Ti clutched her arm, guiding her towards the bed. She sat down, rubbing her head and grinning up at him. "I seem to be the queen of mishaps, lately."
Ma-Ti laughed. "I noticed."
She settled back against the cushions, drawing her feet up and reaching for the belcher chain on her bedside table, running it through her fingers. "What can I do for you?"
"Just checking in on you. Do you need any —"
"I am fine," she insisted.
Ma-Ti nodded, slipping his hands inside his pockets and leaning against the window. "Are you sure you are ready to go back to —"
"I just want to feel normal again," she said. "I have been… what is the word? Inactive for too long?"
"Dormant?"
She laughed. "I am not a volcano, Ma-Ti!"
"Wheeler would probably say you have the temperament of one."
"Only when it comes to him!" She grinned, rubbing her thumb over the chain and settling back. She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them with a sigh. "I need to get back to work."
"You are looking better, my friend. So much better."
"I am feeling good."
"How is your hand?"
She flexed her fingers, feeling the slight pull from the stitches. "They have given me medication. It is feeling fine."
"Good."
"I am happy to be home."
"Okay." Ma-Ti ran his touch down the smooth metal of her telescope. "Do you ever use this?"
"Da," she replied. "I have always been interested in astronomy."
"Family heirloom?" he asked. "It looks old."
"It belonged to my father," she said, watching on as he squinted through the lens. "You will not see much at this time of day, Ma-Ti."
"Do you believe in constellations?" Ma-Ti asked, perusing her star charts. "I mean the zodiac? The animals? What are they called?"
"Horoscopes," she said, unable to suppress the eye-roll that followed. "And nyet, I do not believe in them."
"Why not?"
"I believe in science, not make believe," she said simply. "Astronomical hocus-crocus designed to delude impressionable half-wits into thinking they are not in control of their own destinies." She gave a small huff of disapproval, waving her bandaged palm in the air theatrically. "People spend millions of dollars – "
"Fair enough," he laughed, holding out his hands in defeat. "I am sorry I asked!"
She blushed as she smiled up at him. "We make our own way in life, Ma-Ti. We are responsible for our path. We choose our future."
"You are nothing if not passionate, Linka," he laughed, raising his hand as he left the room. "Give me a yell if you need anything."
"Okay," she said as he closed the door behind him. "Spasiba."
She reached for a magazine, one of many Gi had provided over the past few days but had been too distracted to read.
"Adorable sentiments."
A saccharine voice floated over from the desk and she glanced up, unsurprised to hear MAL's voice.
"What sentiments?"
"Oh, I don't know," MAL replied. "All of that 'being in control of your destiny' vomit-inducing clap-trap."
"Vomit-inducing clap-trap?" she said, wincing as she rose to her feet and returned to the desk. Dropping into the chair, she raised the cover, blinking at the brightness conveyed by MAL's glowing green face. "So poetic, MAL."
"I should consider writing for Hallmark," he said blandly, looking Linka over. "You don't seem surprised to see me."
"I was hoping we might talk," she said, clearing her throat nervously. "I have some quest —"
"She's dead, isn't she?"
Linka sat back, staring at the screen and unsure how to proceed. "How do you —"
"Accessed online newspaper articles. Medical records. Bank accounts. Four went in — only two appear to have returned."
"Went into what?" she whispered, her heart skipping a beat.
"Is she dead?"
Linka bit her lip. "Da."
"How?"
"I do not know."
"Hmph," he said, rolling his luminescent eyes. "There's that vomit-inducing clap-trap rearing it's ugly head again."
"I do not know," she assured him. "Ma-Ti said that her body was being stored somewhere downtown."
A beat passed. "Did she suffer?"
Linka shook her head, frustrated. She simply didn't have the answers for him. "I do not remember anything."
"She was brilliant, you know," he said softly. "Built me from the ground up. Started when she was seventeen, back when a single computer took up an entire room."
"Oh?"
"Her life's work. She was devoted to me."
"Okay."
"That silly girl." MAL lowered his head, tutting softly. "I guess the appropriate emotion is sadness, right now."
"I guess."
"Were you successful?"
"Successful in what?"
"It was a mistake, you know."
Linka leaned forward, needing clarification. "What was a mistake?"
"The technology."
"At Blight's lab?"
"That pony-tailed imbecile had requested a straight hop, but the test run data suggested a second branch, if you will. Barbara didn't have the heart to tell him."
"What?" The revelation floored her. "I —"
"There were no guarantees on the outcome once the first time jump had been achieved. Lottery numbers, stock exchange shares —"
Linka listened in mounting horror, touching her throat self consciously. "MAL, what are you —"
"— and any information brought back would directly influence the second timeline, not ours. Small variations would exist as a result of any meddling. The whole point of Plunder's request became invalid."
Linka's jaw hung open. "MAL, what are you —"
"Did she suffer?" he asked again. "How did she —"
Linka gritted her teeth. "I have already told you, I do not re —"
"Stupid, Barbara," he said bitterly. "I warned her. Surprised any of you made it back at all."
"Back from where," she cried, resisting the urge to shake him. "Where did we go? MAL, I have no memory of anything that —"
"Eleven years, silly girl," he said. "You've been hopping through time — like a modern-day traveller from a H.G. Wells novel. Making history."
She sat staring at the screen, wiping her mouth with the back of her shaking hand. "Time-hopping?"
"Yes."
"We went through time?"
"Eleven years into the future. You were summoned."
"Summoned by who? I do not under —"
"Wait," MAL instructed. His face minimised to a smaller screen as dialogue boxes opened. Lines of coding appeared. "Ugh. We have company."
"What?"
"Our conversation has a third pair of ears," he said with a resigned sigh. "Time to sign off."
"Someone is listening in?"
"I've had cowboys trying to break my encryptions ever since you all went through the portal," he said. "Government, I assume. Probably military."
"Who?" she said desperately, gripping the monitor as if trying to hold him there for longer. "Why? Is it to do with SAIP? The program we found on this —"
"They're hacking my firewall," he said quietly. The dialogue boxes began to close one-by-one.
"Wait, MAL," she cried as the screen faded to black. "Oh no… no, no, no, come back."
She fumbled with the keyboard, reseting the computer — waiting for the windows screen to boot up. The wallpaper flashed up beneath the icons and Linka barely noticed the swimsuit model leering suggestively in front of her, posing on the beach.
"Come back," she whispered, making the switch to DOS and typing a variety of executable commands but the effort was redundant. "Come on, MAL."
MAL was gone.
"Dyermo!" she cried, slamming the laptop shut and sinking back into the seat. She dropped her forehead into her hands in frustration. "Chert poberi."
So close. Tidbits of information that stretched credibility. She rubbed her face, staring at the monitor, feeling the overwhelming urge to make contact with someone. The only person who may have the ability and the knowledge to help bridge the gaping holes in her memory.
With trembling fingers, she opened the laptop again, moving the mouse and entering the SAIP directory. A few keystrokes later and she was in, using the platform to negotiate the DMV registry. It took her about ten minutes to find what she was after — perusing licence photos on file until the right one popped up.
She scribbled furiously onto her notepad, cross-referencing the information with other servers, checking that she had the right contact details.
Tossing the pen down, she returned to her bed, falling onto the duvet and curling up on her side. Reaching for the necklace once again.
She closed her eyes, rolling the thin chain between her fingers and contemplating MAL's words until sleep finally took over.