Jack Du Brul - Deep Fire Rising

He allowed the tide of people to push him toward Nomikos Street as he looked for Tisa. He was careful to keep one hand on his bag and the other casually draped across the shoulder holster so no one accidentally bumping into him would feel it. The crowd was too dense to pick out a single person and Mercer was drawing attention to himself by not watching the sunset as everyone else.

The faces around him were bright with anticipation, eagerly awaiting the simple delight of a setting sun. They were here to make a ritual out of the usual. Mercer had never felt more detached in his life. From the moment the gunmen had attacked him at the Luxor he’d felt a building sense of dread, like he’d glimpsed only the tip of an iceberg. Even if more of it hadn’t been revealed yet, he sensed it lurking just below the surface.

In the jostle of people still spilling onto the promontory overlooking the caldera he didn’t feel the figure sidle up to him until it was too late.

He reeled back and found himself staring into the laughing eyes of Tisa Nguyen. She’d just kissed him. He hadn’t realized she was almost as tall as he was. “I just knew you’d come,” she said with a mixture of excitement and embarrassment at her unbidden display.

Mercer didn’t speak. It was the crimson sun or the romance of the moment or maybe it was something deeper. No matter what the cause, he knew that he’d never seen anyone look more beautiful than Tisa standing there like an ancient high priestess holding rites at dusk. She wore sandals and a tight sleeveless dress that poured seamlessly down her body, rising at her breasts and flaring in at her waist. Her skin shone with a fresh tan that made the dress appear even whiter than white. She almost glowed.

“Er, hi,” Mercer managed to stammer.

“What a smooth rejoinder,” she teased. “Sorry I startled you, but you looked so serious. You were ruining the sunset by being so gloomy. What were you thinking?”

Mercer was about to tell her how hollow he felt. The words were already formed. Instead he smiled and said, “I was thinking how much better the view would be if you showed up.”

Tisa smiled at the compliment. “Wishing makes it true.”

He studied her in the dying light. It wasn’t just the outfit or the tan, he saw. Something else made her appear so buoyant. He remembered the suffering he’d seen in her eyes when she’d saved his life and looked for it again. Her sloe eyes were bright and clear. There was no trace of the agony that had made her vulnerable. Then, even as he watched, it flooded in, darkening her expression, crowding in on her simple happiness. Tisa turned away. It was as if just seeing him reminded her of her suffering.

“I suspected you’d actually come a day early,” she said. “I’ve met every ferry entering Santorini since I got here.”

Mercer hated that he’d already poisoned her happiness. “I would have if I could,” he said awkwardly. “You left some compelling evidence that I should take you seriously.”

She looked stricken for a moment. “You have to believe I didn’t know about that ship that sank. I heard it on the news. I was sick.” Her words came as a rush. “When I told you something unusual was going to happen in the Pacific, I expected that a research ship called the Sea Surveyor was going to discover the elevated levels of methane and eventually discover the tower.”

“I just came from the Surveyor .”

“Then you know they were doing studies on deep-ocean currents. Part of my job within the Order is to monitor some of our more prominent sites around the world, to ensure that nothing happens to them. I learned months ago about the Surveyor ’s mission and was sure that they would find the hydrate deposit. Please, I didn’t know about the navy ship that went by there earlier.”

Her tone was plaintive. Mercer glanced around. A few tourists were watching them. From their sour expressions, it looked as though they thought Mercer and Tisa were having a lovers’ quarrel and fouling the romantic atmosphere. “We should get out of here,” he said.

Tisa immediately understood. “Where are you staying?”

Ira’s office had handled the travel arrangements. From inside his jacket pocket Mercer withdrew his itinerary. “Let’s see, the Hotel Kavalari.”

“Okay. I don’t think it’s far.”

“You don’t know?”

“Hey,” she protested playfully, “I’ve never been here before and I’ve spent most of my time at the ferry dock waiting for you.”

Since the moment she asked him to meet her on Santorini, Mercer had believed she knew the island well and felt safe here. It was yet another assumption that had been proven wrong.

The sun was well down on the horizon and the crowd was beginning to disperse. Tisa led Mercer toward the center of town, climbing a winding set of stairs to Ipapantis Street. The narrow lane was hemmed in by bars that were just getting going and glittering jewelry shops that were just closing. The air was scented with cooking smells, lamb and beef and the light aroma of the world’s premier olive oils. Packs of rowdy teens roamed in search of the opposite sex, their mood carefree and alive.

Like so much of the town, the rambling hotel was built into the cliff face and the rooms were accessible only by walking down rickety stairs. The maitre d’hotel checked Mercer in and led him and Tisa down three flights along the serpentine steps to a private balcony and the room. The room itself had been carved into the stone, and once inside they saw the bathroom had been left as undressed rock.

Mercer tossed his bag on the bed and excused himself to use the bathroom while Tisa stared at the darkening sea lapping a hundred feet below. He shaved as quickly as he could using the tepid water, dragged a stick of deodorant under his arms, and changed his shirt.

He paused coming out of the room. A breeze had kicked up, snapping and tangling Tisa’s hair around her head. She’d removed her glasses and faced the salt-tinted wind with her eyes closed. Her mouth was slightly parted, as if tasting the air. He was struck again by her beauty and how innocent she looked when he could not see her eyes. He committed the moment to memory.

Tisa felt his presence and quickly put on her glasses. She turned to face him. She looked guilty. “Do you want to talk here?”

Mercer grinned. “Nope. I want a drink. I spotted the hotel bar two floors above us.”

Five minutes later they were seated at an intimate table overlooking the caldera. The night had turned chilly and tall gas heaters threw coronas of warmth over them both. Not trusting an unfamiliar bartender with his usual, though not usually popular, vodka gimlet, Mercer had a double vodka and soda with a standing order for at least two more. Tisa drank water.

“Okay, now we can talk,” he said, feeling the knots of muscle at his shoulders losing a fraction of their rigidity. “Tell me about the tower.”

“In order for you to understand, I have to give you a little background. Do you know anything about acupuncture?”

Mercer hadn’t expected such an odd question and was taken aback. For a fleeting moment he was back in an underground cell in Panama with a psychotic Chinese torturer named Mr. Sun, his skin pierced with hundreds of tiny needles that Sun used to induce unimaginable pain from all parts of his body. The memory was fresh and while Mercer hadn’t been physically harmed, the mental scars still felt raw. The old terror welled up, forcing him to swallow heavily at his drink to cleanse his throat. “I know a bit.”

Tisa hadn’t seen his discomfort. “Then you know that the body is connected by force lines that transfer a person’s chi, or essence, and that these pathways can be manipulated to relieve stress or pain.”