The Traveler

“The four men drove south of Los Angeles to a clothing factory in the City of Industry. The factory is owned by a man named Frank Salazar. He made money through illegal activities, but now owns several legitimate businesses. Salazar was an investor in one of Michael’s office buildings. His men are currently guarding both brothers.”

“And they’re still in the factory?” Nash asked.

“That’s correct. I request permission to attack the building tonight and take control of the brothers.”

The men around the conference table were quiet for a few seconds, and then the bald representative in Moscow began speaking. “Is this factory in a public area?”

“That’s correct,” Boone said. “Two apartment buildings are about five hundred yards away.”

“The committee decided several years ago that we would avoid actions that might gain attention from the police.”

General Nash leaned forward. “If this was a routine execution, I would ask Mr. Boone to pull back and wait for a better opportunity. But the situation has changed very quickly. Because of the quantum computer, we have been given the opportunity to acquire an ally of great power. If the Crossover Project is successful, then we will finally have the technology necessary to control the general population.”

“But we need a Traveler,” said one of the men at the table.

General Nash tapped his finger on the table. “Yes. And as far as we know the Travelers don’t exist anymore. These two young men are the sons of a known Traveler and that means they might have inherited his gift. We’ve got to take control of them. There’s no alternative.”

18

Maya sat quietly and watched the three men. It had taken her a while to recover from the electric shock, and she still had a burning sensation in her chest and left shoulder. While she was unconscious, the men had cut apart an old fan belt and used it to tie her legs together. Her wrists were chained with a pair of handcuffs passed beneath the chair. At that moment, she was trying to control her anger and find the calm place within her heart. Think of a stone, her father used to tell her. A smooth black stone. Pull it out of a cold mountain stream and hold it in your hand.

“Why isn’t she talking?” Bobby Jay asked. “If I was her, I’d be calling you a bastard.”

Shepherd glanced at Maya and laughed. “She’s trying to figure out a way to cut your throat. Her father taught her how to kill people when she was a little girl.”

“Intense.”

“No, it’s insane,” Shepherd said. “Another Harlequin, this Irishwoman named Mother Blessing, went to a town in Sicily and murdered thirteen people in ten minutes. She was trying to rescue a Catholic priest who was kidnapped by some local mafiosi working as mercenaries. The priest was shot and bled to death in a car, but Mother Blessing escaped. And now, swear to god, there’s an altar at a roadside chapel north of Palermo that includes a painting of Mother Blessing as the Angel of Death. To hell with that. She’s a goddamn psychopath, that’s what she is.”

Chewing gum and scratching himself, Tate walked to the chair and leaned forward so that his mouth was a few inches away from her face. “Is that what you’re doing, sweet face? Thinking about killing us? Now that’s not nice.”

“Keep away from her,” Shepherd said. “Just leave her on the chair. Don’t unlock the handcuffs. Don’t give her any food or water. I’ll be back as soon as I find Prichett.”

“Traitor.” Maya should have stayed silent-there was no advantage in conversation-but the word seemed to come out of her mouth.

“That word implies betrayal,” Shepherd said. “But you know what? I’ve got nothing to betray. The Harlequins don’t exist anymore.”

“We can’t let the Tabula take control.”

“I’ve got some news for you, Maya. The Harlequins are out of a job because the Brethren aren’t killing the Travelers anymore. They’re going to capture them and use their power. That’s what we should have done years ago.”

“You don’t deserve your Harlequin name. You’ve betrayed the memory of your family.”

“Both my grandfather and my father only cared about Travelers. Neither of them ever thought twice about me. We’re the same, Maya. We both grew up with people who worshipped a lost cause.”

Shepherd turned to Bobby Jay and Tate. “Watch her at all times,” he said, and walked out of the room.

Tate went over to the table and picked up Maya’s throwing knife. “Take a look at this,” he said to his brother. “It’s perfectly balanced.”

“We’re going to get the knives, her Harlequin sword, and some bonus money when Shepherd comes back.”

Maya flexed her arms and legs slightly, waiting for an opportunity. When she was much younger, her father took her to a club in Soho where they played three-cushion billiards. It taught her how to think ahead and organize a quick sequence of actions: the white ball would strike the red ball, and then bounce off the rubber cushions.