Flames of Hope Read online

  “Breakfast’s on.”

  Xylvar rolled to the table in silence, looked at the food, and seemed to do his own version of stunned. “Thank you.” He put his hand to his chest and rubbed for second, then stacked his plate with butter, berries and syrup.

  With eyes half closed, he wolfed down everything until the plate was spotless. He’d done the same with the steak and vegetable dinner she cooked last night, as if he not only rarely got to eat decent food, but also couldn’t cook. He’d stared at the fruit salad and fresh cream for so long, she thought he was going to complain…until he scooped some of it into his mouth. He’d closed his eyes fully that time. Fresh fruit was expensive, and he obviously didn’t get to eat it very often.

  He looked at the empty plate, then Jasmine, and gave a small dip of his head. “Thank you. I don’t often get to eat this well.”

  “You don’t cook?”

  “I cook, some. But pensions don’t provide money for decent food. Special Ops’ way of killing us off slowly from malnutrition.”

  “Oh.” She’d heard the pensions were poor, but then so were the ones for old age, if people hadn’t been able to put a good sum aside to boost it from the interest, or by skimming off the principal.

  Xylvar made them both another coffee and brought them to the table.

  Jasmine pointed to her link and the notepad beside it. “I spent some time looking into that thread Rooster in clan thought might be linked to some sort of offshoot of, if not the Pures, at least a group with known Humans First sympathizers in it.”

  “And?”

  “I didn’t get a lot, but it might be a start. I saw the words loose and then moose. Don’t know what they mean, or might mean, but truthfully, the messages are all heavily degraded. The coding they’ve written for delete and self-destruct is done by someone with government-grade cyber skills.

  “So chatting about the Pures or a sexually promiscuous moose.”

  “Hah.” She laughed. Added to her earlier imagery, it made an even better scenario.

  From a side pouch of his wheelchair, Xylvar pulled out his Kaid-supplied cyber tablet. A minute later he put the tablet on the table and pushed and spun it toward Jasmine.

  Not the chatty type, but then she hadn’t expected inane chatter. In fact, he spoke more often, and more civilly, than she expected after her first couple of encounters. She looked at the screen and saw a small café on the far edge of Bozeman called the Loose Moose.

  “How’d you come up with that?”

  “Typed it in and that came up. Only thing that has those two words in it that I can see. Might not be anything, but we will have to check the place out.”

  “Wonder what’s loose about the moose?”

  “It’s an area frequented by a lot of ranchers, since they don’t have to come all the way into the city to shop. It’ll be casual, so dress in jeans, a button-down shirt, boots, and you’ll fit in.”

  He was in soft, well-washed jeans that did little to hide the lack of muscle mass of his legs, and a faded black tee that, though a fraction loose, in no way hid the rippling muscles of his upper body. And, paraplegic or not, she noticed he always wore boots.

  She nodded. “Okay, are we going for morning tea, or lunch?”

  “Might be both, depending on what we see, find, or hear.” He took back the cyber tablet. “We need to go over our cover once more, to really hone our story.”

  “Sure.” While they both recited their undercover version of themselves, Jasmine cleared the table and had started rearranging the cooler when someone knocked on the door. She spun and looked at Xylvar, feeling on edge even though they’d so far done nothing. He was wearing his contacts, so his silvery eyes were hidden, and she’d already put in her murky brown ones.

  “You expecting anyone?”

  “No.” She hissed back. “Probably after the old tenants.” No one would have any reason to even glance at them yet. This afternoon or tomorrow they might, yes, but now there was no reason. Jasmine settled her nerves, pulling her silver deep into her tissues. Human.

  They were both Pure human, married, and in love. “Storm.” She muttered to herself. “Todd. Got it.”

  Xylvar slipped his cyber tablet back into his wheelchair pouch and spun toward the door. Jasmine held up her hand and strode across the room to open it. Standing on their tiny stoop was a couple around thirty years of age.

  “Hi, can I help you?”

  The woman gave a bright, friendly smile and the man held out his hand. “Hi, I’m James, and this is Vanessa. We’re your neighbors, and thought we should welcome you to your half of the property.”

  Jasmine swallowed, smiled and took James’s hand to give it a small shake. Cue her acting skills…the ones she was pretty sure she’d forgotten to collect from her mother’s womb. “Storm.”

  She turned and indicated Xylvar with a fake indulgent smile. “Come and meet our neighbors, honey.” She gave the couple a what she hoped was a lovesick look. “Todd and I have only been married a few weeks. This is our first home together. It’s so nice of you guys to introduce yourselves.”

  Vanessa looked over at Xylvar and gave him a little fingery wave. “Hey, Todd. Great to meet you guys.” She glanced at the chair, then looked away, as if acknowledging Xylvar had to use it was embarrassing.

  Jasmine opened the door wider. “We are going out a little later, but would you like to come in and have a coffee?”

  “No, no. No need to put you out. We were on our way for a walk in the sunshine and thought we’d just say hi.”

  Vanessa took Jasmine’s hand. “Storm, wasn’t it? You need anything,” she glanced at Xylvar, looked back at Jasmine. “Anything, you just ask, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure. Thanks.” Vanessa and James turned, took hold of each other’s hands, and walked down the drive and away.

  Jasmine closed the door and glanced at Xylvar. “Friendly neighbors.”

  “Don’t encourage them. We don’t want the complication of neighbors gawking at our fake lives, or worse, getting suspicious about what we might be up to and starting to snoop.”

  “Not everyone is going to think like us. We look like an average couple, and I’m guessing that’s what they are.”

  “We’re a couple who know very little about each other, other than our long-ago past. Wouldn’t take much of an interrogation under the guise of friendly chat to show that. Also, they have to wonder why you’d marry half a man, one who can’t even pleasure you in bed.”

  Jasmine jerked her head back, raised her brows. Is that how he saw himself? “Not everyone’s mind is in the gutter.”

  His look said she sounded naïve at best. “Mostly they are.”

  7

  Chapter Seven

  The Drainer drove his borrowed all-wheel drive up the dirt track leading into a tract of land reserved for wildlife. Since the land was officially owned by the worldwide governing body of parks, hunting and the harvesting of plants were forbidden. Camping in designated cabins was permitted in some of the more remote areas to allow people more time to enjoy and study the wildlife, just as cabins were located throughout the hunting regions to keep hunters safe.

  But this spot was a pocket of old houses and business buildings abandoned during the ninety-one year Worldwide War. Populations had contracted so much that thousands of small towns died out. The Pures had selected this ghost town for a Prime Recruit meeting, and he’d been invited.

  He preened to himself. First the Primes, then the Elites.

  His work was paying off. Tonight, after he handed over the five pounds of gold dust, the Pure movement would remember his name, and he’d break into the ranks of the few who were honored.

  He pulled into the glade near a small white-water river. A moose looked up, studied the Drainer while he checked his directions, then went back to eating. The Drainer drove farther down what must have once been the main road, though judging from the numerous tire tracks cutting through the meadow grasses and small trees stealing back the land fo
r the wild traffic was usually of the four-legged kind.

  On each side of the road, through grasses and bushes, piles of rotted wood and stone and brick chimneys indicated where houses once stood. A few houses built of brick or stone were mostly intact, the roofs long decayed, the glassless windows sightless. He shivered. He couldn’t believe any of these buildings would be safe to walk into, let alone run a meeting from.

  He drove past what must have been a large municipal building and parked beside several other cars.

  At the door, two armed men you’d never mistake for security guards stepped forward. The one on the left looked almost albino, only his eyes were clear blue, and his eyelashes brown rather than white. At least six-foot-eight, he towered over the Drainer, and probably weighed two hundred and eighty pounds. “Private party.”

  Drainer shifted the weight of the bag he carried, before pulling out a small silver disc with the number twelve on it and handed it to the man. “I have an invitation.”

  “Hey, Tom, he has an invitation.” The pale man showed a lot of teeth in a snarl of a smile.

  Tom, who was almost as large, but with cropped black hair and cold black eyes, looked over at the Drainer. “Wow, I’m so excited.” He raised his chin, stared down.

  Oh, the entry phrase. “Of course. Earth for one.”

  Tom stood back. “Have a nice day.” He gave the Drainer another hungry smile and nodded toward the door.

  The Drainer grabbed his bag off the floor and headed inside. There’d be more respect once they saw his contribution.

  Inside, what looked like old church pews had been set up on either side of a narrow aisle, facing a stage with little or no lighting. Seven men and two women were scattered among the pews. The Drainer selected an aisle seat, the second row from the back. He slid the bag with the gold dust between his legs and smiled. Today they would see. See he was someone they could trust, could take under their wings and allow to rise.

  Within ten minutes, twenty other men and a handful of women filled the pews.

  The slam of a door and grinding click of an old-fashioned lock. The only light came through six small sash windows that were fifty percent glass, fifty percent boarded over. The pale security guard walked up to the stage and plugged a small box into a solar powered camping pack. With the flick of his finger, two narrow rows of red LED lights broke the stage’s gloom.

  The guard stalked off the stage to stand at the side of the building, legs wide, hands folded in front. His eyes constantly moved from one pew-sitter to another. The Drainer shifted, leaned forward, and patted the bag between his feet. Yes, there it was. Proof of his superiority as a leader, a thinker, and a doer.

  The dark guard walked up on the stage. “Stay quiet at all times. Do not move from your seat. Do not speak to the Pope unless you are asked to.” A gasp went through the room. The Pope. He hadn’t expected, hadn’t known. He sat straighter, widened his shoulders. He’d really get to show the top man the Drainer’s worth.

  Someone wearing white robes from head to toe, with at least a foot of fabric pooling on the floor around him, walked up on the stage. Small in stature, he looked like a child wearing his favorite ghost costume. His hands were gloved, and the hood and cowl of the robe hid most of his face. What could be seen was oddly fleshy, like he’d once been hugely obese and lost loads of weight, so only his face retained the excess flesh and loose skin. His nose was thick, bulbous, and slightly hooked, and stuck out of the folds like a flaccid penis.

  “Followers, believers, and visionaries. Welcome.”

  Many leaned forward, as if being ten inches closer to the Pope made all the difference.

  “The growth—no, the expansion—of our vision has swelled into not only the North Americas. We have reached out with our vision, and it has spread to Asia, the African and European continents, and our southern hemisphere compatriots.” He paused, and everyone clapped.

  “Pure humans have a common hate, a common goal. Earth will be returned to our hands, and the others, the ones who come from the stars, will either return in spirit, or find the ships that brought their alien DNA to befoul our world, and head back to their foreign galaxy.”

  The Drainer listened attentively, although it wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard, and said to his own handful of followers, before. Where was the maverick behind the person capable of bringing forward an uprising? Or was he merely this small, ugly man who hid beneath oversized robes, making simple statements which fed the ingrained distrust humans held for the subspecies, the Eli and Crea?

  The Pope droned on, all the usual rhetoric, the same speeches the Drainer had heard used innumerable times to entice the beginners to get behind the movement.

  “I’ve shared what I’m sure you’ve heard before. But now it is you we are taking deeper into our folds. You who will be under our scrutiny during the months to come. And you we turn to today to ask if you wish to be included, wish to advance to the second level of recruitment.

  “If you wish to operate on the second level, we ask that you take with you a disc that carries a series of encrypted messages. Each message will be available to be read only at specific time on a specific date. The first one can be opened this evening at 11:11 p.m. You will have two minutes to get into the message, five minutes to read it, and then it will self-destruct.”

  At the end, the Drainer took his bag and walked to the blond guard. “I have a financial contribution.” Pride washed through him as he held out the bag.

  The guard reached out and took the bag, weighed it with a flex of massive muscles. “What’s in it?”

  “Gold.”

  The guard flicked him a look before inspecting the bag. “Ingots?”

  He wanted to puff out his chest, but since he was built on the tall and bony side, it would only look ridiculous. “Dust. Crea dust.”

  The guard raised his eyebrows. He unzipped the bag and looked in, took out a small device from a back pocket and ran it over the contents.

  “Your contact details, please.” The guard held out a personal link. “No name, just a way to contact you.” The guard gave a toothy sneer. “We’ll contact you regarding future donations.”

  The drainer keyed in a link to an encrypted account he used for his followers and put the link back into the guard’s bear-sized hand.

  The guard slipped the link into an inside pocket. “Excellent. Please take a disc.” The guard walked off. The Drainer took a disc and waited. Surely once the Pope saw his contribution, he’d come out to talk to him. To praise him, to acknowledge the Drainer’s cleverness.

  Everyone left, several without discs. The dark-haired guard came back in.

  “Please leave now.”

  While the Drainer drove back down the track, eating the dust from the vehicles who left first, a thread of anger burned in his brain. To impress them, he’d have to do more, donate more, but he’d make sure it wasn’t anonymous next time.

  Next time, the Pope would know his name and acknowledge him.

  8

  Chapter Eight

  The Loose Moose turned out to be a family-run, log cabin-type café. A large French door opened to the street, and another to the back, facing an outdoor eating area that bordered a small woodland. Xylvar pulled into a disabled parking space and, without a word, exited the car.

  Was he always so friendly, or did he do the extra-silent just for her? She shook her head once ruefully. Doubtful she elicited such passion.

  She walked to his side. “You know, we are going to have to hold a conversation and act like a loving, newlywed couple.” Sadly, she hadn’t qualified for any acting awards, either.

  Xylvar grunted. Straightened in his chair. “What do couples talk about?”

  She wasn’t sure she remembered. “Their future, funny stuff they haven’t shared from before they met, local events, family—.”

  Xylvar rolled his chair toward the door. Jasmine rolled her eyes before hurrying ahead to open it for him, earning a dark glare for her trouble.
r />   Inside a waitress dressed in tight jeans, cowboy boots, a small blue cowboy hat, and blue and white checkered shirt tied above her waist gave Jasmine, then Xylvar, a broad smile. “Table for two?”

  Xylvar looked around the snug room and the outdoor area. “The table in the right-hand corner will do us.” Jasmine scowled at him. “Get to see indoors and out. Best of both.” He smiled at the waitress who jerked her head back and hurried toward the table he’d chosen.

  “Was that snarl meant to be a smile?”

  Once seated at the chosen table, the waitress handed them a pale blue menu folder. “Here’s the menu, and the chalkboard has the day’s specials.”

  “Black coffee.”

  Jasmine gave him a warning look. “No cake or pie?” She made her tone as cheerful as possible as she flicked open the menu. “I’ll have the peach and cherry pie with cream on the side. Is the tea leaf or bag?”

  “Leaf.”

  “I’ll have a pot of black. Oh look, Todd, honey, they have apple pie they guarantee is four inches thick. Your favorite.” She didn’t have a clue what he liked, but figured apple was safe, since most people at least liked it.

  Xylvar gave the smallest movement, then met Jasmine’s gaze. He did that snarl/smile thing again. “Think I’ll go with the peach and cherry, since you love it so much…darling.”

  The waitress took the menus and hurried off.

  Jasmine leaned closer and put her hand on Xylvar’s large one. The warmth of his skin surprised her, the awareness of him hitched a breath out of her. “We are in a café we might need to spend a couple of hours in. Act like you want to be here.”

  “I just did, didn’t I?”

  This would not go smoothly if he fought it at every turn. “This café is open from six in the morning till ten at night. We might need to come a few times at different hours to check out all the regular patrons, workers, and owners. You have to act like you think this place is great.”