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“No thank you,” Timas replies. “I would prefer a cot.”
“I’ll see what I can rustle up,” Meera says, then whispers to me, “I’m going back to my room when I’m finished. This guy gives me the creeps.”
I hide a smile, wait until she’s gone, then ask Timas how he knows Shark.
“He killed my father,” Timas says in a neutral tone, studying the back of the TV and frowning with disapproval.
Timas’s English is excellent, but it’s clearly not his first language. I think he must have made a mistake. “Do you mean he worked with your father?” I ask.
“No. He killed him. My father was trying to summon a demon. He meant to sacrifice me and my sister as part of the ritual. Shark saved me.”
“And your sister?”
“He was not in time to help her.” Timas walks around the rest of the room, making a survey of the remote controls, light fixtures, telephones… everything electronic.
“Shark felt he was to blame for my sister’s death,” Timas says. “He should have saved her. He didn’t react quickly enough. Guilt-ridden, he developed an interest in my future. I was already heavily involved with computers, so he put me in touch with people who knew more than I did. I worked with them for a time, then with some others. When Shark realized I was the best in my field and could be of use to him, he re-established contact.
“I relished the challenge I was given and indicated my desire to work with him on subsequent projects. He summons me every so often. I drop everything to assist him. The people I work for understand. They know how important Shark’s work is. Do you work for Shark too?”
“Not exactly. We’re… associates.” The word doesn’t sound right, but I don’t want Timas thinking I’m Shark’s lackey.
Timas thinks about that for a moment, then sighs. “I hope they have pain au chocolat. That’s my favorite.” Then he falls silent and stares at his laptops, not moving a muscle, barely even blinking.
Four more soldiers arrive the next morning, three men and one woman. Shark introduces them only by their first names — Terry, Liam, Stephen, and Marian. They don’t show any interest in Meera or me, so we don’t bother with them either. Probably better that way. If we have to fight, some of us might die, and it’s easier to cope with the death of someone you’re not friendly with.
“Has it clicked yet?” Shark asks as we gather in my room around Timas, who’s beavering away at his laptops after a short night’s sleep.
“Huh?” I frown.
“Do a head count. Twelve of us. The Dirty Dozen. I love that film.”
“I hope that’s not your only reason for deciding on that number,” I growl.
“It’s as good a reason as any,” he chuckles. “But that wasn’t the key factor. I have access to a helicopter and it holds twelve. I could have commissioned a larger craft but I’m familiar with this model. I can fly it if I have to, though James will be doing most of the flying — he’s the best pilot I know. Handy with a rifle too. If we need a sniper, James Farrier’s our man.”
“What’s Timas like with a gun?” I ask.
“Not bad,” Shark says. “But it needs to be a high-tech weapon with some kind of computer chip. He doesn’t like ordinary guns, but if you hand him something complicated that he can play with, he’s in his element.”
“Timas isn’t altogether there, is he?” I mutter.
Shark smiles. “You think he’s a loon. Most people do. But he’s passed every test he’s ever been given. He’s been probed by experts and they’ve all come away saying he’s weird, but nothing more. In theory, he’s as sane as you and me.”
Shark moves into the middle of the room, takes up position beside Timas, and claps loudly. We cluster around him in a semicircle. Timas looks up, but keeps an eye on his laptops.
“No long speeches,” Shark says. “You know I don’t call for help unless things are bad. We need to find a woman. She might be mixed up with some seriously dangerous demons. If not, it’ll be a walk in the park.
“But if we’ve guessed right, it’ll get nasty. We’re talking direct contact with powerful members of the Demonata. We don’t want to fight. We only want to establish a link between the woman and the demons. But things could swing out of control and we might find ourselves in over our heads. If we do, you’re all dead. You should know that now, before we begin, so you have the chance to back out.”
Shark waits. Nobody says anything.
“Figured as much,” he barks. “Timas — you got everything we need?” Timas removes USB sticks from both laptops, slips them into his shirt pocket, and nods. “Then let’s go,” Shark says, and the hunt begins.
MEERA’S WAY
WE take a commercial flight. One of Shark’s contacts meets us at
the airport before we fly out, with tickets and fake passports for those who need them. The photo of me is a few years old. I don’t recognize it.
