Vissarion Page 4

  But thankfully, despite their continued differences in rank as the three progressed over the twelve-month training, they remained friends, and had even taken to boarding in the same lodge. His friendship with Celestra Avesta had grown too, from friendly arrival to blossoming affection.

  Max had fallen into a routine, training, studying, downtime with his new friends.

  Until Max was called away to see Aurelia.

  Chapter 11

  A helicopter arrived for Max during one of their training sessions. It had been the first urgent call in the twelve months since he’d entered the military and Max had progressed from Miles to Decanus and been placed in charge of a group of eight milites which had included both Marcus and Les.

  They’d just entered their barracks after a long day of training when a messenger stormed into their galley and yelled for Max.

  “Vissarion! You’re to come to the airfield, Site 3 H for immediate takeoff.” The messenger yelled then turned on his heel and fled.

  Marcus, who had been lifting a forkful of peas to his mouth, paused and frowned. Looking over at Max he said, “So if you weren’t here to hear him, guess you’d miss the chopper?”

  Max grunted and pushed aside his plate of boiled corn, peas and bland strips of what appeared to be chicken but tasted like feet. “Sorry, milites. I have to go. I should return in a day or so.”

  He got to his feet and hurried away, not lingering to explain where he was going or why. He’d not revealed his role with the Pythia to either Marcus or Les, and he was worried it would set him further apart from them than he’d already been placed. His role as Decanus, being put in charge of his friends, had made him tense and worried that perhaps one day their relationships would crumble because one or both of them would not be comfortable working under his authority.

  Until now, that hadn’t happened, but Max suspected that once he revealed his position as NGS Liaison to the Pythia, his friends may see him in a different light.

  The helicopter took him to an airfield near the training ground, and Max caught a small plane over to Argentina. They stopped to refuel twice which annoyed Max and amped up the anxious feeling he had building inside his gut. If the Pythia needed him urgently, the hours wasted on traveling to see her, could likely amount to a dangerous waste of time.

  Max had slept in fits and starts, and had risen from his seat long before the pilot had given the okay for him to stand. As soon as the door opened, he was hurrying down the steps and into the car that was waiting for him, engine running.

  Max entered Aurelia’s private room, searching out the hunched form of the oracle as she reclined on the seat beside the window. The sun was low, and the rays lit her hair, turning them into strands of gold. When she looked up at Max, he paused at the sight of her pale eyes.

  “Are you well, my Lady?” he asked softly, going to her side.

  She waved him off. “I’m am fine. But you need to hurry.”

  “What is it?” Her tone worried him, saying that whatever she was about to reveal was terribly urgent.

  “A cruise liner in the Mediterranean is going to sink. All eight hundred and twenty passengers and crew will die.”

  Max stiffened. “How will I stop them from sailing?”

  Aurelia shrugged. “Sink the boat before it leaves? Raise an inquiry? Pull their licenses? I don’t know.” Aurelia tossed her hands in the air and got to her feet. She was muttering something to herself, then turned to Max. “Mara will send someone with you. I’d much prefer you have some protection just in case.”

  Max laughed. “I don’t need protection. I’m sure I can do this alone. You need not trouble your warriors. Besides, don’t I have a magic boar to look after me?”

  The old woman lifted her rheumy eyes in Max’s direction. “You don’t understand, do you. Xales will protect you, but only to a certain extent.”

  “Certain extent?”

  Aurelia nodded. “Xales’s main role is the protection of the Pythia. Given a choice he’d choose to save her life over that of the Immunis.” She shrugged. “He will perform his core duty.”

  Frowning, Max shook his head. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “There is one more responsibility of the Immunis, my boy. But don’t worry. This does not apply to me. I believe I’m a little too old for you.” The old woman let out a soft chuckle. Max’s brow furrowed as she continued to speak. “Through the ages, the Oracle’s Immunis—especially because he is immune to her prophetic touch—has served as more than translator. More than just companion.”

  She smiled, her lips curling into a smirk.

  “The Immunis will also be husband to his Pythia.”

  Max gritted his teeth as he settled into the seat, strapping himself in for takeoff. He’d left Aurelia, filled with anger at her words, at what she’d held back from him.

  He remembered his anger, and her attempts at making him understand. What did he need to understand? That he was destined to be the husband of the next Pythia?

  What crazy nonsense was the old woman trying to sell him? She’d convinced him that he was this Immunis, the translator to the Pythias, but to be the destined mate of an oracle he had yet to meet?

  It was preposterous in the extreme and Max was not about to bow to the prophecy, or to the oracle who spoke it.

  His last words to her had been filled with anger and disappointment. He’d promised to continue to help Aurelia because he believed in the oracle and her duty to the people of the world. He’d even assured her that he would remain loyal to the next oracle after Aurelia transferred her powers. But his last words to her had been spoken from the heart.

  “Nobody tells me who I’m supposed to marry. And nobody tells me who I’m supposed to love.”

  Chapter 12

  The flight to Morocco was bumpy and uncomfortable and far too long. When Max arrived, still in the crumpled pants and shirt he’d worn on arrival in Argentina, he was greeted by a wave of suffocating heat. Mara had advised Max that the Moroccan liaison to the Pythia had been notified of the urgency of the situation and would arrange a car for him.

  True to their word, a dusty old Hatcher 62 was waiting for him as he descended the stairs. There was no checking of passports either, just a wave at him to jump into the open-backed, roofless vehicle. Max obeyed, no time to waste as he considered his options.

  Sink the ship before it left the dock. He liked that idea simply because—from what Mara had expanded on as she’d accompanied him to the plane—the ship-owners were aware of the issue with the engine. Some sort of malfunction of the portside engines that would result in an explosion mid-sea.

  Why not find a way to trigger that explosion before the vessel departed, before staff and passengers arrived onboard? Max’s single attempt at conversation with his blue-turbaned driver had been met with a shake of the head and a wobbly wave which he’d interpreted as the man was unable to speak to him.

  Max waited until he was dropped off at the NGS embassy where a thin, tall man was waiting at reception, pacing a narrow stretch of carpet.

  “Greetings, you must be Max Vissarion?” the man reached for Max’s hand and shook it vigorously. “I’m Giran Solam. I’ve spoken to Mara, and I’m here to confirm I’m at your service. The Moroccan council of Elders are aware of the dangers and are offering you every assistance no matter the requirement. The ship-owners have license to dock here but should we revoke that license we risk them sailing out to open water and still transporting passengers onboard.”

  Max nodded. Giran had answered most of the questions that had been spinning around in Max’s head. “Do you have a submersible?”

  Giran smiled and nodded. “We have a fully functional prototype. How deep and how far will you need it to go?”

  Max smiled. “Not far at all. I just need to get near enough to the ship that should I have to jump over the edge, I’ll have it close by. Close enough for me to get inside before the explosion.”

  Giran nodded, his expression thoughtfu
l and somewhat impressed. “I’d come with you, but I’m unfortunately not skilled in such tactical warfare.”

  Laughing, Max said, “Neither am I. I’m just fulfilling my orders.” Giran motioned for Max to follow, then began to walk to the entrance of the hotel.

  “I’ll need schematics for the vessel, and I’ll need you to make a call for me too. Get someone else to do it. Whatever works best. But you need to make a call to dock security. Something that will have the cruise liner pull away from the dock. I’d prefer the vessel as far away from the landing as possible to limit damage from the explosion.”

  Giran drummed his fingers on his thigh. “How will an evacuation of heavier vessels sound? Maybe because water levels in the port area will be dropping due to an issue with the locks?”

  Max was impressed at the man’s ingenuity. “Can you pull it off?”

  “Absolutely. It doesn’t have to be true. Just needs to sound true.”

  Chapter 13

  Giran headed to the very same Hatcher, and Max jumped in.

  “I’ll drop you off at one of the export facilities on the east dock. It’s two berths away from the cruise liner in question—The Principessa. I’ll have the submersible delivered to the closest dock, along with the explosives.”

  With that the man braked and rolled to a stop in front of a darkened warehouse facility, a dusty sign proclaiming Honoria Export Goods.

  Max jumped off as the man slowed, barely clearing the vehicle before he took off. With the darkness falling over the city, all Max could see of the vehicle were two pale orange brake lights. He hoped Giran would hold up his end of the plan, but Max had to focus on his part.

  He hurried closer to the entrance, ducking behind a stack of barrels marked with Honoria’s initials. An hour later, a small truck swayed into view and came to a stop near the water’s edge. It backed up against the ramp, and the driver alighted, rounding the vehicle to unhook something large and metallic. A low grinding echoed across the way as the submersible slipped into the water.

  Then the driver calmly closed the back of his truck and jumped back inside, driving off without a glance backward.

  Max was up.

  He scurried across the wide road, using the boxes and crates scattered randomly along the way to hide his progress. The dark night only served to aid him, and before long he was sliding into the submersible, and guiding it quickly underwater and out of sight.

  Inside the small space, Max found the explosives fitted inside a wide bag no bigger than the purse Les carried when she wanted to get all dressed up and feminine. Giran had obtained a full body wetsuit as well, complete with face mask and mini double oxygen tank, as well as the ship’s schematics protected by a thin envelope of plastic.

  Giran had thought well ahead of Max. Either that or diving gear was standard issue with a submersible.

  Max changed into the diving gear, looped the explosives over his shoulders and guided the sub out toward the edge of the pier. From there he waited, watching the sonar as the minutes ticked by. Forty minutes later, he detected movement as The Principessa began to back away from the dock. Max had to wait only a little longer, before gliding out beside the ship and closing in near where the schematics had indicated the engine would be.

  Max attached the sub to the ship using the giant suction pads on the side of the sub. Even though the ship was still moving, Max exited the sub and climbed up the side of the ship using metal handholds carved into the vessel’s body. At the top, he jumped lightly onto the deck and hurried to the nearest door. Inside he turned left then right, then took the stairs down two flights.

  Max moved fast, setting the charges around the engine. He knew it would have been far better to mess with the engine itself, but he hadn’t had sufficient time to find a ship’s engineer who would be willing and able to help him. He was a foreign element, easy for him to disappear without a trace. Not so easy for the likes of Giran and his contacts.

  Work done, Max set the timers and turned to leave, and walked straight into a large, barrel-chested man wearing blue oil-stained overalls.

  Well, Max had asked for a ship’s engineer after all. Brought new meaning to the phrase be careful what you wish for.

  Chapter 14

  Max ducked in time to avoid a left hook, then slammed his heel into the enormous man’s knee. Max felt the bone shatter beneath his heel and weaved to avoid a second punch, one that had the power of pain and fury behind it.

  Max ducked another punch and landed one of his own upward to the man’s chin, glancing at the timers on the explosives.

  Three minutes.

  He had no time to waste with this brute, but he couldn’t risk the man following him out of the engine room or raising an alarm. The punch to the jaw had done some damage and blood streamed from the man’s mouth.

  Max charged slamming his full weight into the man’s torso then jabbed him twice in the throat as his momentum shoved the man into a railing. The engineer flailed backward, and Max stepped away allowing the man’s weight and momentum to pull him over the railing.

  Max didn’t wait to confirm the man’s demise. Instead, he ran for the door, snicking it open to check the hall. Racing for the stairs he climbed them fast, moving on his toes. Marcus would be impressed at Max’s grace.

  Reaching the outer door, Max heard a shout from behind him. Throwing all caution to the wind, he raced for the edge and dove over and straight into the water, praying all the way down that he’d judge correctly as to where the sub was.

  Thankfully, he didn’t dive right into it and flatten his brain as he’d imagined. Instead, he entered the water two feet from the sub, and dived beneath it to hide his movements. He unhooked the suction cups using the exterior manual levers then guided the sub down and away from the ship. Above him, the security scanned the water with spotlights as Max counted down another minute.

  Two minutes to go.

  Underwater now, he had no way of entering the sub again until he was certain he wouldn’t be seen. He had no choice but to swim, and guided the sub back to the dock outside Honoria’s. It felt like ages had passed, and Max was tapping out the last of oxygen tank one, and just switched to tank two when he rounded the dock and came to the surface.

  Sucking in deep breaths, Max guided the sub to the edge of the dock then submerged it two feet beneath the water. He kept the black wetsuit on and emerged from the water, another shadow to add to the night. Weaving between the crates and boxes, Max landed behind the barrels only to hear the sound of booted feet hitting the ground.

  With nowhere to hide, the door to the office behind him tightly locked, Max had no choice but to try the lid of one of the barrels.

  He gagged and dragged on the oxygen mask and dived into the barrel full of fermented seafood. Probably destined for some far-off town where fermented sea slugs were a delicacy that probably aided in one’s virility.

  Max submerged himself within the barrel’s contents and waited as what sounded like a small team searched the area.

  They’d almost reached Max, when an explosion rocked the dock eliciting yells from the men who had been tossed to the ground. Someone backed into Max’s barrel, and it tipped over spilling the foul-smelling muck onto the ground, the lip rolling away and hitting the door to the store.

  Voices echoed, and Max froze as shadows swayed back and forth. Then after what felt like ages, the team retreated, probably called back to deal with the aftermath of the explosion.

  It felt like another age until Giran arrived to retrieved Max.

  Max was not amused when the man insisted that Max remained inside the barrel and proceeded to seal it securely. Max was forced to travel all the way to the embassy, and be transported through the kitchen and into an interior washroom before he was allowed to get out.

  As he peeled off the wetsuit, he wrinkled his nose.

  Cerberus’ balls! This stench was going to take forever to get rid of.

  Chapter 15

  Max had had a hard time living
down the taint of the rotten sea slugs.

  The odor hung around him for more than a week, and no amount of bathing helped. Celestra had taken to lighting sticks of incense around the barracks and Max had had to suffer his milites turning their noses up at him even when he was handing out orders. He’d seen the comedy in it, but hadn’t shown his amusement to his infantrymen.

  Marcus and Les though, had enjoyed poking fun at him, and had only agreed to sit at the same table with him for dinner when the stench had faded.

  Les’s amusement had brightened her blue eyes, making them twinkle. And Max thought back to Aurelia’s edicts. Max was twenty and ready to transition to a non-service position.

  And when Aulus had visited to offer Max a place in his newly formed division at the NGS, Max was hard put to refuse the offer.

  “You can continue to be liaison to the Pythia for as long as she will have you,” Aulus had said, dangling a carrot Max could not ignore. The man had come down to the barracks and had sequestered Max in his private office, a small space, but one that befitted his rank as Decanus.

  Aulus stood at the window, his back to the night, his dark face brightened by the overhead light. “How long do you need to make your decision?” Aulus asked.

  “I don’t know what the position it yet sir. Will there be a debriefing?”

  Aulus reached out, turning his hand over to reveal a scroll wound around a wooden rod. Each end bore a carving of the standard of the NGS, confirming it as an official document.

  Max cracked the red wax seal and rolled the scroll open, reading as he went. “FAPA?”

  “Federal Agency for Paranormal Affairs. It’s a specialist branch of the Federal Investigative Services.”