Michael: The Mark (Airel Saga Book Four)

Chapter XVI

"FIRE IT UP, HEX." Ellie shouted at her questioning pilot as she walked right by, straight to the door. Michael and I followed suit, glad to be done with the return trip to the airfield via the Bowler insanitymobile.

Hex asked Ellie, "Where have you been? I thought you were only going to be a few hours at most." He scolded her like a worried parent, following along behind.

Ellie stopped abruptly, turning on him. He nearly bowled over her slight frame, but she stood fast. "Listen, Hex, just get us preflighted and out of here like yesterday, okay? I mean, light it up." She turned and quickly bounded onto the G550.

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

"Excuse us," I said. Michael and I made our way around him toward the door.

"Sorry," he said. He then turned to his work as we boarded and began doing all those little checks that pilots have to do in order to get the airplane ready to defy gravity.

***

Cape Town, South Africa—Present Day

AFTER THE REFUELING STOP in Jo-burg, as the locals called it, the plane carrying Airel's father had only about another hour's flight to its final destination.

The 747, a city with wings, set down on the tarmac in Cape Town on a mild afternoon. Massive thunderheads loomed in the distance and a shroud of ribbon-like clouds was draped over Table Mountain. There were patches of sunshine that lent places like Hout Bay an aspect of having been lit from beneath, the turquoise color of the sea iridescent.

Though it looked like paradise, Airel's father knew this was when the real heavy lifting would begin. As the lone sales rep for a clandestine arms and technology house, he did indeed have many tools in his arsenal. And he knew how to ply his trade, as well as the trade of those who bought his wares.

But he didn't know where to start looking for his little girl.

He knew she had to be here, though. It was clear enough, looking through news reports like the ones he had seen that led him here: Graveyard Massacre. Seventy-five men, two women brutally murdered ... Schoolyard Ripper... and all of them with something in common: the same man. Whether it was a grainy photo or a still from security camera footage, he could recognize the blond killer from the BPD report of the original incident at the movie theater. When he finally put it all together, it was like a parting of the clouds to reveal pure sunshine. This mysterious blond-haired man had crossed paths with Airel once too often. Now he would cross swords with Airel's father. To the death.

He didn't know what the killer wanted with his daughter. He could only assume she needed help and that the killer, if backed into a wall, would eventually lead him to wherever he was keeping her. He had all kinds of tools he could use that made people talk.

Now one problem remained: Where to find the bastard?

***

Somewhere Over the South Atlantic—Present Day

BEFORE I KNEW IT, we were airborne, bound for South Africa, Cape Town direct. It wouldn't be more than a few hours; Hex was flying us close to the speed of sound.

I was worried about Michael. He had obviously not fared well on our little adventure up the mountain. He sat scrunched in his seat, his eyes closed, beads of sweat on his brow. I adjusted the ventilation so that a cool stream of air washed over his face. I loosened the collar of his shirt a little so his skin could breathe.

That's when I first noticed the mark on his chest.

My mind flashed with anxiety, my hands pulling at the buttons of his shirt in desperation as more and more of the weird wound showed itself. It was like a star, purple-black at its center with spiral tendrils radiating out from there in red and yellow, that ugly bruise-yellow that attends blunt force trauma.