She could hear the shouts of Energúmeno’s men as the islanders surrounded them and attacked. Their frantic thoughts and emotions hammered against her mind, but suddenly Samuel was there, too, pushing them away and protecting her.
He stopped a short distance from her, his bloodied hands at his sides as he looked over at the islanders, who were finishing off the last of Energúmeno’s men. “You weren’t supposed to be here.”
“None of us were.” She closed the gap between them and touched his battered face, then surveyed the rest of him. Despite the blood loss most of his wounds had already begun to close, but she could feel the rawness of his emotions. “You okay?”
“I am now.” He bent his head, resting his brow against hers.
“He was like you were before we came here,” she said softly. “Pain filled every moment of his life, and he suffered it for so long he forgot what it is to be whole and well and sane. His last thought was how wonderful it felt to finally be free of it.”
Drew came to them, his trousers soaked to the thighs. “You two okay?” As Samuel nodded, he glanced at the vampire’s remains. “Can we get off this fucking island now?”
“Yes.” Samuel looked out at the bodies on the sand, and the tired faces of the islanders walking toward them. “Let’s do that.”
“We didn’t find a match for the woman’s fingerprints, but the DNA from her saliva tested positive for three alteration markers.” Marlow handed Genaro the lab reports.
Genaro flipped through the pages. “There should be six markers.” He glanced at the screen of his laptop, which displayed a video call screen. “You’ll have to retest the sample, Eliot.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary, sir,” his geneticist said. “She would show three only if one of her parents were human. My guess is she’s second-generation Kyndred.”
“Test the sample and make sure.” Genaro rubbed his tired eyes as he ended the video call and handed the reports back to Marlow. “Has Delaporte faxed the results of the property searches?”
“No, sir, but our background check on Foster Stanton turned up something interesting. He’s been receiving a large annual grant from the U.K. to study bird migration patterns.” Marlow went to the wall map. “The site where he’s supposedly conducting these studies is an island here, about two hundred miles out.” He tapped the spot, and then moved his fingertip a short distance to a tiny cluster of islands nearby. “PROFEPA backed legislation to establish a protected area. No boat is allowed within six nautical miles of these islands.”
It appeared to be the perfect place to conceal the Kyndred, but he wasn’t convinced. “Get me satellite images.”
Marlow left, and returned a short time later with a sheaf of printouts. “These were the last images recorded by our satellite before it moved out of range about twelve hours ago. There’s a large structure that looks like some sort of religious temple on Stanton’s island.” He put one image on the desk, and then placed another atop it. “The satellite also picked up a fifth island that doesn’t appear on any of the maps, but appears to be inhabited.” He pointed to the seven large structures forming a ring around the island.
“That’s it.” Genaro closed the laptop and got to his feet. “Call our pilots at the airport and have them prepare the helicopters. We’ll be leaving as soon as they’re ready to take off.”
“How many choppers will we need, sir?”
He wasn’t letting the drug lord escape him again. “All of them.”
On the way to the airport, Genaro placed a video call to Delaporte to tell him they were relocating. “I don’t know how many we’ll be able to recover from these islands, but have the lab in Los Angeles make arrangements for a dozen new acquisitions. Also, have them prepare interrogation rooms for Taske, Riordan, Flores, and Marena.”
“Sir, I checked satellite images of those islands last night,” his security chief said. “There’s nothing on them but some palm trees and birds. You’re wasting your time going out there.”
Delaporte didn’t know that Marlow had pulled the satellite images, or that he had just betrayed himself.
Fury erupted inside Genaro, but he kept his expression bland. “Well, then you’ve saved me a long and uncomfortable flight. Good work, Don.”
His security chief looked satisfied. “I’ll continue with the property searches, and get back to you as soon as we find anything of interest, sir.”
“You do that.” Genaro ended the call and immediately dialed Eliot Kirchner’s private line. “Don Delaporte just tried to divert me away from the Kyndred. You were right. He’s a traitor.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Jonah.” The geneticist sighed. “I’ll take care of him personally.”
“Keep him sedated in isolation until I return,” Genaro told him. “No one is to have access to him but you and me.”
At the airport Marlow directed all of his men into the waiting transport carriers before joining Genaro. “We’ll have to move quickly. I just got word that the Mexican army is on its way down here to take back the city.”
More of Delaporte’s handiwork, Genaro guessed. “Once we have the acquisitions secured, we’ll fly directly back to the States.”
In the air, ten minutes away from the islands, Genaro saw black smears, too dark to be clouds, marring the bright blue sky. He put on the headset that allowed him to talk to the helicopter pilot. “Is smoke coming from a ship?”
“No, sir.” The pilot pointed toward the horizon. “It’s coming from that landmass over there.”
Beside him, Marlow checked the map, and then swore. “It’s the unmapped island,” he shouted over the noise of the rotors.
“Don’t try to land,” Genaro instructed the pilot. “Make a low pass so I can see what’s down there.”
“Yes, sir.”
The helicopter descended to fly through the drifting smoke, dissipating enough of it to provide a partial view. The remains of the structures still smoldered, but from the amount of scorched rubble it was clear they had been burned to the ground. Unmoving bodies littered the beach in front of one of the houses, and smaller fires had broken out over the remainder of the island.
As the pilot completed his final pass, something exploded behind them, sending a shock wave through the helicopter. Genaro looked back to watch a small mushroom cloud of fire and smoke billow into the air.
“The survivors may have retreated to Stanton’s island,” Marlow shouted.
Genaro nodded, and told the pilot to change course, but from what he had seen he knew they were too late. Whatever battle had been fought was finished, and the victors were long gone.
Several hours later Marlow emerged from the Aztec temple on Stanton’s island and confirmed Genaro’s suspicions. “They left everything behind: money, drugs, artifacts, and enough weapons to outfit an army division. The Mexican government is sending a couple of navy ships out to investigate the source of the fires.”
The sounds of three more distant explosions made Genaro glance out at the sea. “Recall your men. We’re leaving.”
Marlow nodded and gave the order over his handheld.
On the flight back to California, Genaro brooded over the events of the day. The complete failure of the mission had created a substantial setback, but had also resulted in exposing the most dangerous spy in his organization.
Delaporte’s military training wouldn’t protect him from the barrage of drugs and torture Genaro planned to use on him. Given his level of access to GenHance’s operations, the lengthy time he had spent working for the company, and the number of crimes he had personally committed, his security chief was not working for the government or the authorities. Instead Genaro felt sure that Delaporte reported directly to a competitor interested in stealing the transerum; as soon as Kirchner came up with a successful formula, Delaporte probably would have taken it and the geneticist. But if that were the case, why was he trying to prevent the Kyndred from being captured?
After landing at one of the secluded airstrips GenHance maintained, Marlow escorted Genaro from the helicopter to the limousine waiting at the edge of the runway.
“I’ve got to debrief the men, sir,” he said. “I’ll fly back to Atlanta tonight.”
“Report to my office first thing in the morning,” Genaro told him before he climbed into the back of the limo. He would need someone to replace Delaporte, and Marlow had proven to be reliable, if somewhat unimaginative.
Marlow gave him a casual salute and trotted off toward the hangars.
Genaro waited for the car to move, and when it didn’t, he pressed the intercom button. “Take me to LAX.” When no reply came over the speaker, he reached for the button to lower the divider. “I said—” He fell silent as he saw the empty driver’s seat.
Delaporte’s familiar voice came over the walkie-talkie strapped to the small bundle of gray bricks and wires sitting on the center console. “Good-bye, Jonah.”
Genaro turned and grabbed the door handle.
As the limo exploded, flying shrapnel forced Marlow to drop to the ground and cover his head. He waited until the rain of twisted metal and glass ended before he raised his head to look back and get to his feet. Men started running out of the hangars, shouting as they hurried toward the burning vehicle.
He took out the satellite phone he had used only once in Mexico, and pressed redial.
The voice that answered was not the one he expected, and its dark beauty sent a trickle of cold sweat down Marlow’s spine. “Is it done?”
“Yes, my lord.” He looked once more at the burning wreckage that had become Jonah Genaro’s funeral pyre before he gave Richard Tremayne a final assurance. “He’s dead.”
Chapter 23
Agraciana had suggested going to her village after discovering the boat engines contained only enough fuel to take them back to the mainland. “We can take shelter in my father’s house while I arrange transportation for you back to America.”
