Whiteout (Aurora Sky Page 11

  Alfonso’s driver, Benito, picked us up in front of the hotel lobby. He too wore a suit—slate with a matching bow tie.

  On the short drive through town, I drummed my fingers against my leg.

  “Are you nervous, Francesco?” Alfonso asked.

  “Impatient,” I answered.

  “Ah,” he said in understanding.

  The Donados were a friendly, boisterous bunch, but our patience and tempers were easily provoked. Mine had been pushed to the limits, starting with Valerie Ward and her violent tantrums. Every headache during the past year originated from the agency and the man running it, especially in regards to the wench he’d sent after me. If only I’d trusted my instincts when the redhead first began pursuing me at Denali High School rather than give in to curiosity and boredom.

  We drove past the cemetery, followed by Merrill Field Airport and Northway Mall before a brief drive on the Glenn Highway.

  Benito got off and took the first left, crossing a bridge over the highway. It led straight toward the entrance of the base. Wood beams formed a triangular arc above the manned gate. It didn’t look that intimidating compared to the fortifications I’d seen in past centuries. Then again, today’s weapons and technology were much more impressive. Who needed stone walls and turrets when they had machine guns and drones?

  As we pulled up to the booth, Benito rolled down his window. A young military man gave him a measured stare before asking that he roll down the back window. Benito complied.

  “Ciao,” Alfonso said with a grin as his window came down.

  The guard gave Alfonso the same measured stare before moving over him to look at me. I offered no greeting or smile, same as the military man. I’d never cared much for authority, even assumed authority.

  The guard looked back to Benito. “What is your purpose here today?”

  “My employer, Alfonso Donado, and his cousin Francesco, have an appointment with Lieutenant Pearlman.”

  “And you are?”

  “Benito Lombardi, Signor Donado’s pilot and driver.”

  “I’ll need to check all your IDs,” the guard said.

  “Si, of course,” Benito said. He turned away from the guard, broad shoulders twisting to face Alfonso and me.

  Alfonso handed him a thin leather wallet. I reached inside the suit jacket pocket and pulled out my skull-and-crossbones wallet, studded around the edges. The billfold was badass, or sick as my friend Zeke once said. Alfonso wasn’t the only one who appreciated statement pieces.

  My cousin’s lips twitched in amusement when I set my wallet on top of his.

  Benito handed them to the guard, along with his. An amused smile of my own tugged at my lips as the guard went to work opening each wallet to dig out our IDs.

  He looked at them quickly, almost as a formality, before handing the wallets and IDs back to Benito.

  “Do you have any weapons on your persons or in the vehicle?”

  “No,” Benito answered.

  The guard looked through the back window at Alfonso and me. “Do either of you?”

  “No,” Alfonso and I answered in unison.

  I half expected the guard to order us out of the vehicle to have us searched. Instead he said, “Lieutenant Pearlman is waiting for you in the visitor’s parking.”

  “Grazie,” Benito said as he set our windows into motion rolling up.

  The gate lifted and we went through, taking an immediate right into a long parking lot leading to the visitor’s center. Benito parked halfway in. A man in a navy blue dress uniform approached the car. He had dark hair cropped close to his head, dark eyebrows that seemed to fade at the ends, and eyes shaped like sideways tears. He was the type of man who aged well. He could have been in his mid-forties or fifties. It was tough to tell.

  I stepped out of the car, knowing this must be Lieutenant Pearlman. The man’s smile was pleasant as he walked up. As he approached, I could see from the medals attached to his suit jacket that he was highly decorated. And if there’d been any question as to who he was before, there certainly wasn’t now. A long, narrow name badge had PEARLMAN engraved into it above his right chest pocket.

  “Mr. Donado?” Pearlman asked.

  I inclined my head in acknowledgement.

  “I am Lieutenant Vince Pearlman.” He reached his hand out as he introduced himself.

  We shook hands as Alfonso joined my side.

  “I am Francesco and this is my cousin Alfonso,” I said.

  Pearlman extended his hand to Alfonso.

  “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Alfonso said in his most charming voice.

  Pearlman straightened, perfectly poised. “I am sure you are eager to see your friend. I will take you to Mr. Josslyn Taylor.”

  Right down to business. That was more like it. I appreciated Pearlman’s style.

  “I have also been informed of the two missing agents seeking amnesty. I am here to make sure that happens. Please instruct your driver to follow me. I am driving the gray Jeep Cherokee.”

  As Pearlman returned to his vehicle, Alfonso shot me a pleased smile. “This is going very well, si?”

  “So far, so good,” I agreed. “But until I’ve gotten Joss and Aurora back, I’m saving the champagne and victory lap.”

  Alfonso placed an arm on my shoulder as we stepped up to his rental car. “We must celebrate the moment we rescue them. A grande festa with the family in Venice. I’ll even let you fly the jet back. You still have your pilot’s license, si?”

  “Si,” I said, grinning at the thought of flying the Gulfstream across the country. “I’ve always wanted to fly something bigger than a Cessna 172.” Never mind that measuring the two was like comparing a bumblebee to an eagle.

  “Nessun problema,” Alfonso said as we got inside the car. “Once you’ve flown one plane, you can fly them all. Isn’t that correct, Benito?”

  “Eh?” Benito replied, squinting at us in the rearview mirror.

  Several spots down, Lieutenant Pearlman pulled out in his Jeep.

  “Follow that car,” Alfonso instructed Benito in Italian. Once we were following the Jeep out of the visitor parking lot, Alfonso picked up where he’d left off. “I promised my cousin he could fly the jet if he comes home after we settle things here. You don’t mind, do you, Benito?”

  “Not at all,” Benito replied in our mother tongue. “I would be happy to serve as Signor Francesco Donado’s copilot.”

  I leaned forward to look at Benito in the mirror. “A wise suggestion,” I noted. I sat back against the seat, watching the passing trees—a mixture of mountain alder, western hemlock, and Alaska’s state tree, the Sitka spruce. The foliage was thick inside the base—as dense and integrate as camouflage.

  “When we return to Italy, you must let me show you and your guests around. Maybe, if we’re lucky, we’ll make it back in time for Dolce and Gabbana’s spring runway show.” Alfonso clapped the tips of his fingers together gleefully. “The winter show blew my mind.”

  As much as I loved my cousin and missed seeing him, I had to tune him out. The season’s latest fashion trends were the furthest thing from my mind. Each rotation of the tires brought me closer to Joss, closer to answers I desperately sought—namely, what was the agency doing to get Aurora back?

  Alfonso, undeterred by my disinterest, spent the remainder of the—thankfully—short drive describing the winter lineup.

  “The men wore bejeweled crowns with gloves and shoes that sparkled with such glitz, such splendor. It was like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I challenge Victoria’s Secret to top that.”

  Just as I was beginning to rub my temples, the Jeep’s blinker flashed. Benito followed it to a parking lot leading up to a windowless one-story building.

  “So this is where the magic happens,” I muttered.

  Alfonso shuddered. “Tell me this isn’t where they’ve been keeping Josslyn?”

  I turned my head sharply. “He better be here.”

  “The poor man,” Alf
onso said, placing a hand on his chest as if to keep himself from fainting. “If the exterior is anything to go by, the conditions inside must be deplorable.”

  Benito followed the Jeep from roughly ten feet behind. Pearlman pulled into a parking spot near the front of the building. Benito sidled up to him and turned off the ignition. We exited the vehicle and joined Pearlman.

  Upon entering the building and passing through the first security checkpoint, we followed the lieutenant down a long, shabby corridor. A fluorescent light flickered over one section of the hall. The place wasn’t what I’d been expecting. I thought the facility would be high tech and modern. A little more sci-fi futuristic. This looked like an underfunded mental ward from the sixties or the set of a horror movie… or both.

  Alfonso pressed his arms to his sides, hands clasped against his chest, not taking any chances of brushing up against the dingy walls.

  Lieutenant Pearlman strode forward, a man oblivious to his surroundings—a man with a purpose. I matched his steps, equally determined. Alfonso fell back with Benito, the pair of them glancing side to side with obvious distaste.

  We rounded a corner. Ahead, the hall opened into a room with a long, low desk. A woman in camo sat on a rolling chair, perfect upright posture, speaking into a phone that looked like it should have been updated three decades ago.

  There were doors along the walls of the room—most closed—and the kind of woeful waiting chairs found in forlorn places like the DMV.

  Pearlman walked up to the woman at the desk, looming over her as she finished her call.

  “Lieutenant Pearlman here to see Agent Melcher,” Pearlman said in a no-nonsense voice.

  I was really liking Senator Davis’ choice of envoy.

  “He’s been expecting you,” the woman responded. She lifted the phone and punched a button, speaking into the receiver a swift second later. “Lieutenant Pearlman and his guests are here.”

  Guests. Right. The cavalry had come to take this sad excuse for a fortress by storm.

  The secretary set the phone down and stood up. She walked around the desk, dressed head to toe in uniform, from her military cap to her combat boots. I watched Alfonso’s eyes slide appraisingly up and down her, latching themselves onto something of far more interest than interior design. Her ensemble was in stark opposition to the bejeweled crowns and glittery shoes he’d described earlier.

  No one noticed these things more than an Italian, and no other nationality appreciated making a fashion statement more than we did. The French might like to think they were the fashion chieftains of the modern world, but we could take them in a walk-off any place, any time.

  At the moment, I had much more serious matters to worry about.

  The secretary approached one of the doors, opening it halfway. “You may go inside,” she said to Pearlman.

  I stepped in front of the lieutenant, done with niceties, and blasted through the opening. My patience and manners flew right through the door with my blunt entrance. I didn’t give a damn about protocol or pecking order. Melcher was on the other side of that door and I wanted the fire in my eyes to be the first thing he saw.

  11

  Ancient Evil

  Melcher, as though equally ready to go head to head, was already standing behind his desk, spine stiff, chin lifted. He wore a simple black suit. No name badge. No decorations. No tie. He had trim brown hair, neither thick nor thin. He was clean shaven and appeared to have stopped aging sometime in his early thirties. I assumed this was the one who called himself Melcher. Or maybe it was Jared. It could be someone altogether different, a spokesperson. The man known as Melcher might be too cowardly to face me, even on his own turf.

  But my gut feeling told me this was Agent Melcher. Gabriel.

  He stared at me, unblinking. The shadows beneath his eyes looked like the kind that took more than one good night’s rest to fix. Maybe this meeting had put fear into him. One could hope.

  I intended to study the man with all the patience of an alligator at the watering hole—ready to strike at any hint of movement. I didn’t plan to take my eyes away from my quarry, not when he was finally in sight… until I noticed Joss seated on a chair in the far corner of the room.

  “Joss?” I said, not quite trusting my eyes.

  He wore the same shirt and trousers as he had on the night he was abducted. They looked clean—as though mere hours, rather than weeks, had gone by. There was more color in his cheeks than usual, and for a moment I wondered if the agency had forced him to drink blood.

  A look of relief washed over Joss’ face. He stood, arms opening as though to hug me, which would have been a first if he hadn’t stopped a foot in front of me and let his arms drop.

  “Francesco, thank God you’re alive!”

  My chest heaved in relief. A smile crept over my lips. “Shouldn’t I be the one saying that?” I asked.

  Joss’ expression turned serious. “The redheaded she-devil told me she’d killed you.”

  My hands tightened to fists.

  “Agent Ward is undergoing rehabilitation,” Melcher interjected calmly.

  Rehabilitation for psycho bitches. This was the kind of decision-making that went on at the agency?

  Pearlman’s voice carried across the room. “From what I’ve heard, this particular agent is beyond reform.”

  Someone read my mind, though he said it nicer than I would have.

  “That is for Agent Ward’s instructors to decide,” Melcher said, moving his gaze from me to Pearlman.

  Pearlman stepped forward, stopping a foot from Melcher’s desk. “Actually, that decision, along with all agency operations and recruitment methods, now requires my approval. You should have already received the orders from Senator Davis’ office.”

  “Indeed,” Melcher said without flinching. “I have not yet had an opportunity to look them over. There are matters of greater importance that take precedence.”

  In other words: he screwed up royally and was trying to play clean up before anyone caught on.

  “Why was Josslyn not returned to me immediately?” I demanded.

  “We did not know what had become of you,” Melcher answered. Other than a quick blink and parting lips, Melcher’s face made no additional movement.

  I strode up to Melcher’s desk until my legs touched the edge, spread both hands on the surface, and leaned toward him.

  “I find it extremely hard to believe you didn’t know I was in town when you’ve had eyes on me all along.”

  “As I said, we’ve had matters of great importance and we were not certain what had become of you until the senator contacted us.” Melcher looked past me. “May I inquire as to who these two gentlemen are?” he asked, pointing his nose at Alfonso and Benito.

  I leaned farther across Melcher’s desk, irked by his quick dismissal of my question. I wasn’t one of his agents. He couldn’t push me aside. He wasn’t running the show anymore; he just didn’t know it yet.

  Even as I loomed toward him, he kept his eyes at the back of his office.

  Pearlman cleared his throat then spoke. “This is Mr. Alfonso Donado and his trusted employee, Mr. Lombardi.”

  Melcher pursed his lips. “I’m going to ask that they wait outside in the hall,” he said.

  “My cousin isn’t going anywhere,” I said through my teeth. They were gnashed together so tight I couldn’t move them. The voice that came out would have scared a normal human, but Melcher wasn’t either.

  “Francesco,” Alfonso said lightly. A gentle hand pressed against my shoulder. “Non c'è problema. We will be right outside the door.” He gave me a reassuring squeeze before backing up.

  “I will wait in the hall with them,” Joss said.

  That was likely for the best. Joss didn’t like violence, and I couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t cause bodily harm to Melcher before the meeting concluded.

  I didn’t watch them leave. I wasn’t taking my eyes off Melcher again. But I did hear Alfonso’s final comment, spoken with
humorous inflection in Italian. The American equivalent was something to the effect of “rip that prick a new one.”

  I smirked upon hearing the words, only removing my hands from Melcher’s desk and straightening after I heard the door close.

  Melcher frowned. “I am disappointed that you have shared your status with your family and their employees, Mr. Donado. You must realize it puts them at risk.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “Are you threatening my family?”

  When Melcher made no answer, Pearlman jumped in to say, “No.”

  “Good,” I said to Melcher as though he’d been the one to answer. “Because I would tear the House of Meltechener limb by limb until nothing remained of the family tree if so much as a shoe got scuffed on any of my relatives or their employees.”

  Melcher’s lips twitched. “I see I am not the only one who has done his research.”

  “You are lucky Joss was unharmed.”

  “He has always been free to roam,” Melcher answered evenly.

  My teeth ground together and I nearly lost my cool. Free to roam? Like some kind of zoo animal? They may not have tossed Joss in a cell, but that hadn’t made him any less caged in.

  Pearlman coughed. “The important thing is no one got hurt,” he said.

  “That’s not true,” I said, my voice dropping. “Aurora got hurt.” My eyes bore into Melcher’s. “Where is the one you call Jared? I would like very much to speak to him.” And by speak I meant beat to a bloody pulp.

  “He is not presently on base,” Melcher said.

  How convenient for him. I cracked my knuckles to keep from smashing them into his desk or face.

  “You allow this maniac to come and go as he pleases; meanwhile, you hold undead citizens against their will.”

  The man didn’t even flinch.

  “Citizens,” he repeated coldly. “Is that what you call yourselves?”

  “What else would we be?”

  “Hostiles. Killers. Terrorists.”

  I raised a brow. This man was a bona fide nut job—one with military backing. Wouldn’t be the first time in history that a fanatic had his own armed forces.