Spy High (11 page)

“I apologize.” Stemp sounded as though
he meant it. “I had forgotten about the fireworks. We only had them
on a couple of occasions in the eighteen years I lived there.”

There was no further sound or movement
from the woods and I started walking again, casting nervous glances
around me. “Do you know why they do it or how they decide whether
it’s fireworks time? And why do they set them off when everybody’s
in the building so we can’t even watch them?”

“I have no idea.” Stemp’s emotionless
tones dissolved into uncharacteristic frustration. “As far as I can
determine, the Earth Spirit is entirely a fabrication of my
parents’ imagination. When I questioned them as a teenager, their
explanation was nothing but hyperbole and circular reasoning. The
Callings
…” He gave the word a sarcastic inflection. “…appear
to be completely random, at whatever interval my parents
arbitrarily decide, however inconvenient that may be. The use of
fireworks also appears entirely arbitrary. We would go for months
or years without them, then sometimes have them several times in
succession.”

“The ritual was a little different
tonight, too,” I said. “They brought the crystal down onto the
floor in the main building, and they turned on spotlights and some
kind of noise generator in the field afterward.”

“Yes, those details are consistent with
what I experienced as a child. Again, I don’t know why, and my
parents provided unsatisfactory explanations.” He hesitated before
continuing, “The maddening thing is that my parents are otherwise
brilliant people. They each hold several academic degrees and
doctorates in various disciplines, and the education they provide
in the commune’s school is second to none. It escapes me why they
choose to waste their lives in pursuit of some imaginary deity,
surrounded by drug-wasted losers and vapid directionless seekers of
Truth and Meaning.” I could hear the acerbic capital letters in his
tone.

I’d seen Stemp remain completely
unaffected in situations that would have made any normal man rant
and tear his hair. If his parents annoyed him enough to express
actual emotion, I definitely didn’t want to get into it.

“Well, I guess as long as they’re
happy,” I mumbled.

“Yes…” Stemp hesitated. “Is that
all?”

I held back a groan at the invocation
of the secret code. Dammit, another clandestine session on my
laptop tonight. All I wanted was peace, silence, and my bed.

“Ye- Wait!” I interrupted myself as a
sudden thought occurred. “Hang on. Are you still there?”

“Yes, what is it?” His voice had
returned to its usual clipped efficiency.

“I just realized what’s been bothering
my subconscious. You know how I said Orion seemed to know more than
normal about the workings of the commune? Well, tonight when we
were talking about the special Calling, he said ‘we hardly ever
have fireworks’. But I’ve been here longer than he has, and this is
the first time we’ve had them. So how would he know?”

“An excellent question,” Stemp said
slowly. “Maybe he lived at the commune before.”

“No, when I asked him, he said he’d
found it online and joined because the Earth Spirit called
him.”

“The commune doesn’t have a website.
Newcomers hear about it strictly by word of mouth.” Silence hovered
between us for a moment. “It’s possible he stumbled on someone’s
blog or made some other personal connection online,” Stemp added,
but he didn’t sound convinced. His voice firmed into his usual
crisp authority. “It seems your instincts are as good as ever.
Continue to investigate, and keep me posted.”

“I will.” I hung up and turned to
trudge back to the commune.

The return trip seemed longer. I strode
along the ribbon of pale moonlight in the centre of the road,
casting wary glances into the blackness of the undergrowth on both
sides. A fitful breeze rustled the trees like a big cat moving
stealthily through the undergrowth.

Several times I spun, certain I’d heard
the padding of lethal velvet paws on the gravel behind me, but
nothing was there. At last the rough poles of the commune’s gate
traced straight moonlit lines against the dark forest, and I drew a
deep breath and crept reluctantly into the blackness beside the
road.

Moving a few steps at a time by the
light of my tiny flashlight, then halting to peer into the darkness
and strain my ears, I made slow progress. When I neared the
encampment, I detoured warily around the scattering of tents,
reassured by the snores emanating from several of them.

Near the path that led to my tent, I
chanced a quick flash of light on my wristwatch. Past midnight.
Surely Orion would be asleep by now. I could probably walk up the
path. Even if he poked his head out and caught me, I could just say
I’d been down to the latrine.

But if he was wide-awake enough to hear
me coming up the path, he’d wonder why he hadn’t heard me going
down.

Shit.

I exhaled a quiet breath and stepped
cautiously through the undergrowth, describing a wide arc around
Orion’s tent and easing my feet down to avoid snapping twigs.

When a sudden crack disturbed the soft
night sounds, my breath stopped, my heart lurching into my
throat.

That twig hadn’t snapped under
my
foot.

Peering into the moon-dappled darkness,
my pulse began to hammer at the sight of a black shape moving
around my tent. I eased my hand onto my gun butt, praying my jacket
wouldn’t rustle. My need to breathe returned with a vengeance and I
panted open-mouthed, trying to stay silent.

The black figure moved closer and the
jackhammer in my chest accelerated again when I realized it wasn’t
a cougar. This was a two-legged predator circling my tent.

The intruder paused to bow his head as
if listening, and a shaft of moonlight slid across his cheek.

Orion.

What the hell was he doing sneaking
around my tent?

Oh shit, had he searched it?

I did a rapid mental inventory of the
incriminating objects inside. Could he have gotten into my lockbox?
I had my holsters and spare magazine with me, but the boxes of ammo
would be damn hard to explain. And I’d stowed Stemp’s new box of
phones in my duffel bag, too. Orion wouldn’t know who I was calling
or why, but a dozen burner phones were bound to raise some
questions.

My mind hurtled through the possible
ramifications while I strained my eyes against the darkness. A
breeze rustled the trees, and the shifting moonlight glinted off
something in his hand.

Shit, was that a weapon? My grip
tightened on my Glock.

He stood motionless a few more moments
before moving at last, creeping past my tent and avoiding the
gravel path. Moments later he disappeared into his own tent, and
the sudden glow of his flashlight illuminated the canvas from
inside.

I drew a long slow breath, then
another, standing completely still while my mind raced. If he had
actually gone into my tent, he knew I wasn’t there. Would he be
watching and listening for my return? I could brazen it out and use
the latrine excuse, but how long had he been out there? I’d have to
claim a hell of a case of constipation if he knew I’d been gone for
over an hour.

But if he had searched my tent, he
wouldn’t be listening outside it, would he? So he probably hadn’t
been inside.

But why was he sneaking around this
late at night? There was no benign explanation for that. Either he
was a creepy pervert who liked to whack off outside my tent while I
slept, or else he was up to something more sinister.

I eased out a sigh. I would have
actually preferred the ‘pervert’ explanation, but I was damn sure
that metallic glint in his hand hadn’t been his dick. Unless he had
some truly extraordinary plumbing.

My dirty mind disgorged an
inappropriate ‘man of steel’ joke but before I could let it
distract me, the light in his tent went out. I tensed, frozen in
the deep shadows of the undergrowth. A rustling sound from his tent
ratcheted my heart rate up still higher. Was he coming out
again?

When he didn’t appear, I drew a slow
breath. Maybe he was just going to bed. The chilly breeze ruffled
my hair, sending me into adrenaline-laced shivers. Dammit, I was
freezing. How long would I have to wait to be sure it was safe to
move?

A few minutes later a light snore from
the vicinity of Orion’s tent freed me from my immobility. My
paranoia reminded me that he might be faking it just to draw me
out, but I ignored that. If he suddenly popped out in front of me,
I’d deal with it. Anything was better than standing out here in the
dark with the wind whistling up the crack of my ass and my feet
falling asleep.

Hell, at least they were getting a nap.
It was going to be a long time before I got any sleep tonight.

It took nearly ten minutes for me to
sneak the last several yards to my tent, stopping and listening
with every step. By the time I closed the tent flap behind me I was
shivering uncontrollably. I stripped and burrowed into my cot, but
the damp chilly blankets only increased my frozen misery. Muttering
curses, I quivered out again and pulled on sweats and a T-shirt
before grabbing my laptop and retreating under the covers once
more.

I pulled the blanket over my head to
conserve heat and hide the glow of the screen, hoping I’d be able
to hear any incoming threat over the chattering of my teeth. The
little square began blinking as soon as I logged in, and I
performed the Alt-Shift-Click sequence to activate the text
window.

Too unnerved to wait for Stemp to
initiate a message, I typed, “Orion was sneaking around my tent
tonight. He seemed to be listening, but he might have been inside
searching it earlier. I caught him outside when I came back.”

The cursor scurried across the screen.
“Did you confront him?”

“No. He didn’t see me.” I thought for a
moment, then typed, “Along with the other gear would you please
send me a waterproof storage box big enough for my lockbox and
phones, and the smallest night-vision webcam you’ve got?”

“I’ll courier it tomorrow. It should be
at the depot in Port Renfrew the next day.” The cursor hesitated at
the end of the text for a moment before continuing, “Is that
all?”

I typed ‘yes’, wondering what was
coming.

Apparently he was having difficulty
formulating his question. The cursor blinked in place at the end of
the line for several moments.

I was about to ask what he wanted when
it moved at last. “You said ‘as long as my parents are happy’. Are
they?”

It was my turn to hesitate. “Mostly, I
think,” I typed finally. “But they miss you and wish they were part
of your life. I told them you love them and that seemed to help,
but maybe you could call more often. Your mom was really happy to
hear you had houseplants so that might be something you could talk
about.”

I stared at my words on the screen for
a long moment, my finger hovering over the Enter key. Should I
really offer personal advice to my cold-fish boss? Hell, who was I
to advise anyone on family matters? My parents were both dead, I
had no siblings or children, and my personal life wouldn’t exactly
win awards for wholesome normalcy. Maybe I should just say ‘yes,
they’re happy’ and dodge the whole thing.

Moonbeam’s tear-bright eyes rose in my
memory and I swore softly. Dammit, Stemp might tell me to butt out,
but I had to try. And he must care about their happiness, or he
wouldn’t have asked.

I gritted my teeth and sent the
message, braced for a scathing dismissal.

The cursor blinked innocuously.

It didn’t move for so long I wondered
if Stemp had dropped dead of apoplexy on the other end. Was he
sitting there in a rage, trying to calm down enough to type one of
his trademark emotionless responses? Or maybe he was composing an
icy rebuke.

The cursor kept blinking, giving away
nothing.

Or maybe my message hadn’t gone
through…?

I was considering re-sending it when
the cursor moved at last, its short message zipping across the
screen: “Thank you. I’ll try that.”

My jaw dropped as the text window
vanished. Of all the responses he could have given, that was the
one I had least expected.

I sat staring at the screen for several
moments, but the connection had closed and there was nothing else
unusual. No flying pigs, and I was pretty sure there would be
icicles if hell had frozen over.

But… Stemp acting like a human being…?
I emerged from under the covers to check for flying pigs one more
time.

My tent remained pork-free, and I shook
off my bemusement and stowed my laptop under the bed. Burrowing
back under the covers, I tucked my gun into its accustomed berth
between my cot and the tent wall before squeezing my eyes shut and
letting out a long breath.

Okay, relax. Sleep.

Yeah, right.

My tense muscles refused to ease and I
lay wide awake, listening for the crunch of footsteps on gravel or
the rustle of my tent flap. Or gunshots. It would be easy for
somebody to fire a few rounds through a canvas wall…

Oh, for chrissake, shut up.

I hauled myself off the cot with a
groan and quietly relocated my wooden crates in front of the tent
flap before crawling back into bed. At least if somebody tried to
sneak in, I’d get some advance notice. That would have to be good
enough.

My fingers crept over the edge of the
cot to seek the reassurance of my pistol grip.

No, dammit, I refused to go to sleep
with it in my hand. If I had a nightmare I might shoot some
innocent person before I woke up enough to realize what I was
doing.

I tucked my hand back under the covers
and rolled over, yanking the blanket up around my ears.

Settle down. Belly breathe…