“No,” Alex cut him off. “That’s not a Clan blade.”
Masters slumped, more than a little relieved. He had briefly entertained a vision of one of his own team members being an undercover Clan assassin.
“It’s a lot older than that, if I’m guessing correctly.”
Masters snapped over to glare at Alex, eyes wide. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ve seen drawings of that sword before, and I recognize the symbol on the hilt,” Alex said. “They were etched on stone tablets, so either your friend is holding a replica of something most people don’t even know exists, or you’ve got a really interesting group here.”
Masters really didn’t like the slightly feral smile on Alex’s face, but there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it at the moment.
“But since the attempt to assassinate you isn’t a huge priority right now, care to tell me why we’re flying to Alaska?” Alex asked, changing the subject abruptly enough that Masters knew there was little point in pressing for more information.
Not that he knew what information he should be pressing for. He finally just filed Alex’s comment about the sniper’s sword aside for the moment, returning his focus to the mission.
“We don’t know.”
Alex closed his eyes. “I hope you realize that I had to ditch the hottest pair of coeds you’ve ever seen in order to catch this flight…and I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but I hate flying. So if this is some sort of false alarm, you and me are going to be having some words. Clear?”
“Clear.” Masters smiled, glancing around the plane.
The rest of the team, Captain Andrews included, were either sleeping or trying really hard to sleep. Outside, night was falling again as they winged north, and he knew that the Canadian border was still some distance away.
“Look, we don’t know what’s going on up there, but something is.…Probably something big,” he told Alex. “We’ve got what looks like bodies in the streets, and we just lost contact with a National Guard unit that was sent up to help the state troopers deal with riots. The last contact from the troopers was nothing but screaming. So whatever it is, a false alarm it isn’t.”
“Well, I guess that’s a good thing, for you anyway,” Alex said with half a smile. “I won’t have to kick your ass in front of your navy buddies.”
“You can bring it on any time you like — the day I can’t take you and that French pansy bullshit is the day I retire.”
“That was about ten years ago, as I recall.”
“Asshole.”
“How is what you’re telling me even possible?”
The shivering man bowed his head, trying not to look any more scared than he already was, but failing miserably.
“We don’t know,” he said finally. “Most likely the target got…lucky.”
“Lucky?”
The elderly woman sneered down at him, eyes burning.
“Robert Black died at the hands of a gene-trash buffoon who got lucky? Say that to me again,” she demanded.
The man swallowed, but kept his head down and remained silent.
“Say it to me again!” she snarled. “I defy you to have the sheer gall to say that to me again.”
When no response was forthcoming, she quieted down, sinking into the old antique chair from which she could survey the room.
“Where is the sailor now?” she asked softly after a time.
“He was deployed, Matriarch. We do not know where at this time.”
She let out an annoyed chuff of breath, but nodded. “Find out.”
“Yes, Matriarch.”
“And, Ruben?” she hissed.
The man turned back, his eyes wide with fear. “Yes?”
“When you do, do nothing. Contact me. Do not send anyone after this man, do not have anyone check up on him, do not even think in his direction. I will deal with this myself. Yes?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Go. Now, before I do something drastic to improve the blood.” She glared at him, sneering as he stumbled and fled from her sight.
When he was gone, she sank back, her face drawn and tired.
“Is it truly possible? Could Robert lose to some random gene trash?” she asked of the empty room.
“Luck favors no man,” a voice said softly from behind her, as a young man appeared from the shadows. “Even the mightiest can be felled by the lowest. You’ve told me that many times, Matriarch.”
She sighed. “Indeed, I have. So, Michael, what would you have the Clan do in this case?”
“Sending Black was perhaps a bit presumptuous, if I may say. We don’t yet know what this man is doing for the navy. Karson is not one of ours, and he holds his secrets closely,” Michael said.
“Masters knows The Black,” the old woman replied testily, “which means he has information that cannot be given to the likes of the United States, nor any government. The time is not right. The time will, by the grace of the all power, never be right.”
“Yes, but what has he told Karson? Must we eliminate Karson too? Has Karson told others? If so, who?” the man offered logically. “Must we eliminate the joint chiefs next? The president himself? If it must be done, we can do it, but we need to know. Sending assassins after that many people would require a great many preparations.”
“So you think my order to eliminate Masters was premature?”
Michael hesitated just briefly, sensing the razor’s edge in the woman’s voice, then went on. “If it wasn’t then, it would be now. He’s had time to speak with the admiral, and we cannot silence him if he has already talked.”
She smiled thinly. “Very good, Michael. Confident, assured, decisive. That is what you need to be if you are to survive as a Clan patriarch. However, you made one mistake.”
Her eyes narrowed as she turned to look at him, and he paled.
“I…I did?”
“You should have given me this council before I gave the order,” she hissed. “Thinking you would make me look the fool, were you? That if I made an error you might be elevated early?”
“N-no, Matriarch I would never…I…,” he stammered out, losing his composure entirely as the woman got up and slowly advanced on him.
When she was within arm’s reach, her hand slashed out, blindingly fast, only to land on his cheek in a gentle caress.
“I know, Michael. You didn’t consider it at the time, nor did I.” She smiled; then that edge appeared in her eyes again. “In the future, however, I warn you to take care how you present your ideas. Not every matriarch would be as understanding, and almost none of the patriarchs would consider your inexperience as a reason or an excuse.”
“Y-yes, Matriarch.”
“You have much to learn, but don’t fret so much, child. I am far from ready to give you up as a cause lost.”
“Thank you, Matriarch.”
CHAPTER 8
The Gulfstream banked as it circled the town below, lights shining up at them through the darkness.
“That place is lit up like a Christmas tree,” Alex said from his window seat. “You sure there’s anything wrong down there?”
“No contact from the guard unit, the troopers, or the air-traffic controllers,” Masters replied dryly. “Yeah, something’s wrong.”
“Are we putting this sucker down, or are we jumping?” Nathan Hale asked from farther back, not bothering to look out the window. Lights in the darkness or not, he just wanted to get boots on the ground.
“Jumping?” Alex snapped up. “Whoa. No one said anything about jumping.”
Eddie Rankin chuckled behind him. “Is the all powerful Oz afraid of heights?”
“No, the all powerful Oz is afraid of slamming into the ground at terminal velocity!” Alex hissed. “Do I look like The White to you?”