Bay of Sighs (The Guardians Trilogy 2)

Though nothing showed in his face, Malmon’s appearance surprised him. Pale as parchment, thin enough that the shirt hung loose over his torso, Malmon sat behind a large desk, eyes shielded with dark glasses.

“Commander.”

“Mr. Malmon.”

“I trust everything is on schedule.”

“It is. The holding center will be completed tomorrow, on schedule. Yadin arrived yesterday, and is already supervising his own areas. We expect Berger by eighteen hundred hours.”

“Excellent. I expect you to put the holding center to good use, and quickly.”

“I look to report the first capture within thirty-six hours.”

“Alive, Commander. Alive is essential to my needs.”

“Understood.”

“And where are they now?”

Trake took a device from his pocket, consulted it. “Their boat is anchored off the southeast coast. Do you want the coordinates?”

Once a man who gathered and examined all details, Malmon just flicked a hand. “Not necessary at this time. As soon as their accommodations are ready, take them.”

“Within thirty-six, sir.”

“You’ve never disappointed me, Commander.” As Malmon stared, a dull yellow glow seemed to pulse behind the dark glasses. “Don’t let this be the exception to that rule.”

“I’ll complete my mission.”

“I depend on it.” Malmon smiled, showing incisors longer, sharper, than they should have been. “Contact me when the tank is ready. I’m particularly interested.”

After another long day in and on the water, Sawyer grabbed a shower, a beer, and headed straight to the radio and recorder he’d set up.

A few minutes later, Riley leaned over his shoulder, one hand braced on his back, listening as he did.

“Rewind. Doyle and Bran are winding down playing pool. I’ll get them, and the others.”

When they all crowded in, Sawyer held up a hand. “Nothing from the parlor yet, and no conversations from the bedroom—just moving around, probably staff unpacking for him. But we hit in the office. First came in about eleven fifteen. It’s Malmon and Trake—I think Trake.”

“It’s Trake,” Riley confirmed. “I recognized his voice. And word is he’s calling himself commander now. Gave himself a promotion. Play it back, Sawyer.”

The quality leaned toward tinny, but the words came through clearly.

“Capture, not kill.” Bran considered that when Sawyer stopped the recording. “Sensible, controlled. Wipe us out, and it’s more difficult to find the star we already have.”

“That’s what Yadin’s for. Torture.” Since it was handy, Riley took a swig from Sawyer’s beer. “We give up the location of the first, any information we have on the other two.”

“But we won’t.” Annika looked from face to face. “We swore an oath.”

“I’m not saying we’ll wrap it up in a bow, but Yadin’s really good in his chosen field. We don’t want to be taken to wherever this holding center is. We don’t want Yadin to start working on us. Within thirty-six,” Riley added. “At least the wait for that’s almost over.”

“He knew our coordinates,” Doyle pointed out. “So they’ve got a GPS on the boat. It won’t be hard to locate now that we know about it.” He looked at Bran. “How far could you . . . relocate it?”

“How’s New Zealand?”

Doyle gave one of his quick, rare smiles. “Should be far enough.”

“It won’t stop them,” Sawyer said, “but it’s a finger in their eye, so I like it. Holding center. It could be anywhere, but I’m putting my money on the cave. Sasha got vibes there.”