"I can't believe that," said Mona. "Besides, Ash Templeton had wealth. He didn't need anyone to help him to acquire more of it. He wouldn't have done this. He would have contacted Rowan and Michael had he needed help. " She was fast becoming hysterical.
"Get a grip, Mona," I said. "The information's five minutes away. As for Maharet's advice, I'm overruling it. I'm going straight to the other end of the island. You can proceed through the jungle towards the back of the building if you like, but I want to enter by the front door. My blood's too hot for waiting. Are you with me?"
"You're not leaving us here," said Mona. She clung to Quinn all the same. "Can we follow your lead?"
"That's what I had in mind. "
Quinn was plainly reticent. "I say we do what Maharet told us to do. "
"Come on, Little Brother, get into the action," I said. "We're on the moral high ground. "
We came down right above the airport-control building. Empty. Went around it, walking in a leisurely manner until we reached the enormous runway where the drug drones were just finishing their work with the little plane.
You couldn't have imagined more dangerous-looking creatures than this trio, in their cut off T-shirts and jeans with knives visible on their belts, guns stuck inside them, plus the big automatic weapons slung over their lean muscular shoulders.
When they happened to see us, they nodded and politely looked away. The clothes completely blinded them. Obvious presumption we were guests. Unwise to stare at us.
Then came strolling along the pilot, a cut above the little crowd, but just as mean, burnt brown from the sun, a human raisin, armed to the teeth but wearing a dirty bill cap instead of a bandanna.
They were all talking fast and a little hostile to each other in Spanish, a generally resentful and bristling bunch. Had the plane been overloaded? Was anything pilfered? What took them so long? I caught the greed and the impatience and the universal distrust. Nothing at all about any tall children who inhabited this place before.
The pilot glanced at us, checked us out from head to toe, nodded, then went back to his conversation with the trio.
"I get it," said Mona under her breath, meaning the clothes. I nodded.
I walked across the distance between us, ignoring Mona's desperate plea for me not to do it.
"So where's the boss?" I said.
"Man, if you don't know, how should I know?" countered the pilot. Snarl for a face. Empty black eyes. "I'm off schedule. Don't hold me up. "
"Where you headed?" I asked.
"Get that info from Rodrigo," he said. "You shouldn't be down here anyway. Get back to the villa. "
Rodrigo.
I whipped him away from the others, sank my teeth, sought the blood fast and drew it out: Where are the tall ones, the ones who lived here first? Know nothing. Whoa, delicious rush of blood to my brain and eyes. Floating for one second. Heart exploded. Flung him down on the tarmac, dead, staring up at me, last breath of air through his dead mouth.
The trio of bandits stood trapped, then bolted. I hooked one and held him.
Mona and Quinn caught the remaining pair, quickly seeking for the blood. For a second Mona had a struggle on her hands, the bandit going for his knife of all things, but she hung on, pitching it away, and finally subdued him, using more nerve than innate strength.
Quinn was lithe and silent and perfect.
"Tell me about Rodrigo," I said to the man I held helpless by the neck, my fingers getting tighter. I jerked him around and sank my teeth. Who is on this island? The boss, his mother, his women, this is his sanctuary, he'll cut you to pieces-. The heart and the blood went dead. I had had enough.
The fresh blood swam up in my eyes, ignited my brain. I savored it, savored the tingling in my arms and legs. Battle juice.
" 'They are corrupt. They have done abominable works,' " I quoted with a sigh as we came together. Quinn was dazed by the feeding. Mona was reeling.
"They've been here for over a year!" she whispered. "That's all I could get. But where in the name of God is Morrigan?"
We passed the heliport and its adjacent building. Two inside, breaking for coffee before takeoff. Same mold, heavily muscled arms, jeans low on their hips, looked up at me calmly from their steaming cups.
I sauntered to the table, Mona and Quinn inside the door. I sat down:
"You know what I'm talking about. The tall people who owned this place before Rodrigo took over. What's happened to them?"