на главную | войти | регистрация | DMCA | контакты | справка | donate |      

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
А Б В Г Д Е Ж З И Й К Л М Н О П Р С Т У Ф Х Ц Ч Ш Щ Э Ю Я


моя полка | жанры | рекомендуем | рейтинг книг | рейтинг авторов | впечатления | новое | форум | сборники | читалки | авторам | добавить



16

And Now, the Weather Report

The High Priestess sat on the lanai watching the sunset, taking sips from a glass of chilled vodka between bites of a banana. The intercom beeped inside the house and she cocked an ear to the open window.

“Beth, can you come down to my office? This is important.” The Sorcerer was in a panic.

He’s always in a panic, she thought. She put her vodka down on the bamboo table and tossed the banana out into the sand. She padded across the teak deck, through the french doors to the intercom, and laid an elegant finger on the talk button.

“I’m on my way,” she said.

She started toward the back door of the house—a two-room bungalow fashioned from bamboo, teak, and thatch—and caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror. “Shit.” She was naked, of course, and she’d have to cut across the compound to get to the Sorcerer’s office. Life had become a lot more complicated since they had hired the guards.

She stormed into the bedroom and grabbed an oversized 49ers jersey with the sleeves cut off out of her closet, then stepped into some sandals and headed out the back door. She wasn’t really dressed, but it might keep the Sorcerer off her back and the ninjas off her front.

The compound consisted of half a dozen buildings spread over a three-acre clearing covered with white coral gravel and concrete and surrounded by a twelve-foot chain-link fence topped with razor wire. At the front of the compound was a pier and a small beach that led to the only channel through the reef. At the back a new

Learjet sat on a concrete pad, just inside the fence. Outside of the fence, the concrete runway bisected the island. Past the runway lay the jungles, the taro patches, the villages, and the beaches of the Shark People.

The office was a low concrete building with steel doors and a roof covered in solar electric panels that shone red in the setting sunlight. She nodded to the guard by the door, who didn’t move until she passed, then tried to get a glimpse in the side of her jersey. She slammed the door behind her.

“What’s up? You almost done with the satellite dish? My shows are coming on.”

He turned from a computer screen, a piece of fax paper crumpled in his hand. “We’ve hired an idiot.”

“Do you want to be specific or should I assume that one of the ninjas has distinguished himself above the others?”

“The pilot, Beth. He missed the Micro Trader on Yap.”

“Shit!”

“It’s worse.” He held out the fax to her. “It’s from him. He’s chartered a small boat. He says he’ll be here tomorrow.”

She looked over the fax, confused. “That’s sooner than he was going to get here. What’s the problem?”

“This.” The Sorcerer pushed back in his chair and pointed to the computer screen. The image looked like a blender full of green and black paint.

“It looks like a blender full of green paint,” she said. “What is it?”

“That, my dear, is Marie.”

“Sebastian, you’ve been out here too long. I know you like abstract art and all…”

“It’s a satellite picture of typhoon Marie. And she’s a big one.” He pointed to a dot to one side of the screen. “That’s Alualu.”

“So it’s going to miss us.”

“We’ll catch the edge of it. We’ll have to put the jet in the hangar, tie everything down, but it shouldn’t be too bad. The problem is that the eye will pass right over where our pilot is going to be. I can’t believe he went to sea without checking the weather.”

She shrugged. “So we have to get a new pilot. Tucker Case, meet Marie.” She smiled and her eyes shone like desolate stars. Too bad, she thought. The pilot would have been fun.


15 The Navigator | Island of the Sequined Love Nun | 17 Foul-Weather Friend