Michael: The Mark (Airel Saga Book Four)

Chapter VII

Boise, Idaho—Present Day

"HONEY, I HATE TO do this to you, and especially now, but ..." He searched for a way to say what he needed to say, "...but I've gotta take another sales trip."

She didn't react at all. That was not a good sign. If at least he could get a rise out of her he would feel better, feel like she wasn't completely overwhelmed with the situation. After more than twenty years of marriage, he knew her well enough to know that.

"Honey? Did you hear what I said?" He knelt down in front of her easy chair. This was her spot in the house. Nobody else sat here. She read her gardening magazines in this chair in the summer, crocheted in this chair when the weather was bad. "It's out of town ..." He placed a hand on her knee.

She snapped out of her trance and looked away from the window, finally meeting his eyes. "What's that?"

"I said I have to take another sales trip. Out of town."

Realization dawned upon her features, and her countenance both brightened and fell.

It struck him that she was just as beautiful now, if not more so, than she had been on their wedding day. If beauty was in the eye of the beholder, it was mostly up around the eyes, held within the light that dwelt there. It was love, it was intellect, it was ...well, it's kind of saucy. Sometimes.

"I love you. I'm sorry to do this now. But I don't have much choice when the company comes calling. At least if we want to, ah—" he gestured to the house they had built "—live here. Still." He felt lame. He found it amazing that she could fluster him with a glance even after all these years.

"Oh," she responded finally. "Well, it's okay, hon. I'll manage." She didn't sound very convincing. "How long?"

"Well . . ." He stood and rubbed his neck with one hand, looking contemplative, hoping she would buy it if he didn't overact. "It depends on what happens. The executive team will be there, the whole enchilada. The board, some important shareholders, so there's going to be a meeting of the minds, a strategy session, you know, and then a seminar when some of the more junior sales personnel get there. So it could take a week. Maybe two. But you might consider calling your sister, honey. Maybe see if you can crash there while I'm gone. I just don't want you to be all alone right now. With all that's ... that's going on, you know?"

"Do you think she's still alive?" she asked him abruptly.

Anger and pain pierced right through him. She wasn't talking about her sister. "Honey, the FBI is all over this. I'm sure Airel's fine." He knelt before her again and took her hands in his own. "Hey." He looked her purposefully in the eyes. "She's fine, okay? We're—those people are going to find her and bring her home. I promise."

She looked away and squeezed her eyes shut, pressing the tears out. She let them fall freely, unashamedly. "You really have to leave now?"

He tightened his lips into a straight line. "I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't have to."

She sighed heavily. A quiver of grief made it stutter as it came out. "It's out of town? How far out of town?"

"It's international, unfortunately. I have a long flight ahead of me. Plus I have to get down to Central District Health and get inoculated. These guys want to meet up in South Africa."

"Oh. Is it safe?"

He smiled. "Yes, dear. Of course it is. But you really ought to call your sister, honey. Really." He stroked her hair away from her face.

"All right, then. I suppose ..." She looked at him with brief vague suspicion, but let it drop in the end. She sighed heavily again. "I suppose you know best." Another sigh as she contemplated the situation. "I guess it would do me good to get out of here anyway."

He nodded. He didn't want to oversell it.

They stood.

"Okay, then. Africa? Amazing. I didn't know they did anything in Africa."

"Oh, wow, hon. You should Google it. You'd be amazed."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Use Google Images. Search for Cape Town, two words. You'll be stunned."

"Really? Where are you staying there?"

"Oh, it's in a nice out-of-the-way spot called Simon's Town. They've got a few little hotels there right on the water. Little café called Bertha's. Should be fun."

"Wives can't come?" She gave him an elbow in the rib.

Oops. "Ah ... no. Sorry. The company just wants us men."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Just you barbarians. Fine, go. Go and smoke cigars and drink Scotch and gawk at bikini-clad women. Just come home to me, all right?"

"Hey," he said, "have I ever told a lie?"

Again, the eyes rolling. She turned to walk to the kitchen for the phone, talking over her shoulder at him. "Just bring the man I married back home to me. That's all."

Conversation over. Whew.

"And one more thing," she said, wheeling back toward him suddenly and walking directly up to him. "I love you," she said, and kissed him savagely.

When she pulled away, he was quite breathless. "Whoa, Nelly."

She turned back to the phone with a wicked smirk on her face.

He swatted her butt as she walked away, making her howl in shock. He cackled devilishly and then stalked away toward the den. God, how he loved to flirt with her.

But now it was down to business.

He ducked into the office and turned around quickly, listening for the sounds of his wife talking to her sister on the phone. Yes, she had called and they were talking. He closed the door most of the way and began to pack a single black duffel.

The bookcase pulled out from the wall in an arc, hinged like a door, revealing a hidden safe behind. He turned the dial of the combination lock. It opened to his touch, revealing his passports, his stash of various currencies, and a matched set of daggers. The South African passport, a stack of about a quarter million rand in large notes, and the daggers—these all went into the duffel.

His passport was diplomatic, naming him as a South African national. Security checkpoints would allow him to pass completely unmolested when he flashed the document. He closed everything up, replacing the bookcase and rubbing his foot over the carpet where it had left a sign of its movement in a perfect semicircle. Smart was so simple sometimes.

The FBI had of course been either infiltrated or fallen prey to its own considerable bureaucratic girth. That was inevitable. Idiots. In any case, it was now time to take matters into his own hands.

His beloved wife would be safe at her sister's house, he would fly to Cape Town based on intel he had gathered from his own sources, and things would play out however they would play out. No matter what. Daddies didn't leave their children at the mercy of murderous kidnappers, slovenly predatory teenage boys, weird, unexplainable news stories with bizarre common threads, or any other malicious force under the sun. He would rescue his little girl, by God, come hell or high water.

Time to pack the clothes.

And you know what, it probably wouldn't hurt to pack the twelve-gauge in there, either, on second thought. Follow up on that threat I made to that boy. He stopped and thought for a moment. I'd better grab the pipe cutter in the garage and shorten the barrel. With that, he also made a mental note to grab the hollow-point rifled slugs for ammo. They could blow a pie-pan-sized hole in a bull elk at fifty yards. Imagine what one of them might do to a kidnapper. Or an unfortunate boy, should he prove to be guilty of harming one hair on his little Airel's head.