John Hawks - The Traveler

By the time Boone’s plane flew over Pennsylvania, the monitoring center had sent a message to Boone’s computer. Drop-off address corresponds to residence of Thomas Walks the Ground-nephew of a terminated Native American Traveler. Computational immunology picked up negative remarks concerning the Brethren placed by this individual on a Crow tribe Web site.

The jet plane banked steeply as they approached a regional airport near the Evergreen Foundation’s research center. Boone switched off his computer and glanced over at Michael. The Brethren had found this young man and saved him from the Harlequins, but he might refuse to cooperate. It annoyed Boone that people still refused to recognize the truth. There was no need to worry about religion or philosophy; the truth was determined by whoever was in power.

THE CORPORATE JET landed at the Westchester County Airport and taxied to a private hangar. A few minutes later, Boone climbed down the steps of the plane. The sky was gray with clouds and there was a cold autumn feeling in the air.

Lawrence Takawa was waiting beside the ambulance that would transport Michael to the Evergreen Foundation Research Center. He gave orders to a team of paramedics, and then walked over to Boone.

“Welcome back,” Takawa said. “How’s Michael?”

“He’ll be all right. Is everything ready at the center?”

“We were prepared two days ago, but we’ve had to make some last-minute adjustments. General Nash contacted the psychological evaluation team and they’ve given us a new strategy for dealing with Michael.”

There was a slight tension in Lawrence Takawa’s voice and Boone glanced at the young man. Every time he saw Nash’s assistant, Lawrence was carrying something-a clipboard, a folder, a piece of paper-an object that proclaimed his authority.

“Do you have a problem with that?” Boone asked.

“The new strategy does seem rather aggressive ,” Lawrence said. “I don’t know if that’s necessary.”

Boone turned on his heel and looked back at the jet. Dr. Potterfield supervised a team of paramedics as they eased the stretcher onto the tarmac. “Everything has changed now that the Harlequins have taken control of Gabriel. We have to make sure that Michael is working for our side.”

Lawrence glanced at his clipboard. “I’ve read the preliminary reports about the two brothers. It sounds like they have a close relationship.”

“Love is just another means of manipulation,” Boone said. “We can use that emotion like we use hatred and fear.”

Michael’s stretcher was placed on a steel gurney and pushed across the tarmac to the ambulance. Still looking worried, Dr. Potterfield remained with his patient.

“Do you understand our objective, Mr. Takawa?”

“Yes, sir.”

Boone made a quick motion with his right hand that seemed to take in the plane and the ambulance and all the employees working for the Brethren. “This is our army,” he said. “And Michael Corrigan has become our new weapon.”

Vicki Fraser watched Hollis and Gabriel grab the motorcycle and lift it into the back of the van. “You drive,” Hollis said as he tossed the keys to Vicki. He and Gabriel crouched beside the motorcycle while Maya remained in the front passenger seat with the shotgun on her lap.

They turned west and got lost on the narrow residential streets that cut through the Hollywood hills. Gabriel kept asking Maya questions about his family’s background; he seemed desperate to find out everything as quickly as possible.

Vicki knew only a few facts about the Travelers and the Harlequins, and she listened carefully to the conversation. The ability to cross over into other realms seemed to be genetic, inherited from a parent or a relative, but occasionally new Travelers appeared without a family connection. Harlequins keep elaborate lineages of past Travelers and this was how Thorn had known about Gabriel’s father.

Hollis lived a few blocks away from his storefront capoeira school. The single-family homes in the area had front yards and flower beds, but gang graffiti was spray-painted with dripping lines on the walls and billboards. When they turned off Florence Avenue, Hollis told Maya to move to the back of the van. Sitting up front, he instructed Vicki to slow down whenever they saw groups of young men wearing extra-large clothes and blue bandannas. Each time they stopped beside these gang members, Hollis would shake hands with the young men and use their street names.

“Some people might come around and ask about me,” he told them. “Tell ’em they’re in the wrong neighborhood.”

The driveway of Hollis’s two-bedroom house was blocked by a chain-link gate woven with plastic strips. Once they drove the van down the driveway and closed the gate, the vehicle was concealed from the street. Hollis unlocked the back door and they went into the house. Each room was clean and uncluttered, and Vicki didn’t see any signs of a girlfriend. The curtains were made out of bedsheets, oranges were stored in a clean automobile hubcap, and one bedroom had been filled with barbells and turned into a gym.

Vicki sat down at the kitchen table with Gabriel and Maya. Hollis took an assault rifle out of a broom closet, snapped in an ammunition clip, and placed the weapon on the counter. “We’ll be safe here,” he said. “If someone attacks the house, I’ll keep them busy. You jump over the wall to my neighbor’s backyard.”

Gabriel shook his head. “I don’t want anyone to risk their life for me.”

“I’m getting paid for this,” Hollis said. “Maya is the one who’s doing it for free.”

Everyone watched as Hollis filled up a kettle and boiled water for tea. He opened the refrigerator and took out bread, cheese, strawberries, and two ripe mangos. “Is everybody hungry?” he asked. “I think I’ve got enough food.”

Vicki decided to make a fruit salad while Hollis made grilled-cheese sandwiches. She liked standing at the counter and slicing up the strawberries. It was uncomfortable to sit next to Maya. The Harlequin looked exhausted, but she couldn’t seem to relax. Vicki thought that it would be painful to go through life always being ready to kill, always expecting to be attacked. She remembered the letter that Isaac T. Jones had written to his congregation about Hell. There was a real Hell, of course. The Prophet had seen it with his own eyes. But my brothers and sisters, your main concern should be the Hell you create within your own hearts.

“You told me a few things about the Travelers when we were in the van,” Gabriel said to Maya. “But what about the rest of it? Tell me about the Harlequins.”

Maya adjusted the cord on her sword’s carrying case. “Harlequins protect Travelers. That’s all you need to know.”

“Are there leaders and rules? Did someone order you to come to America?”

“No. It was my own decision.”

“But why didn’t your father come with you?”

Maya’s eyes were focused on the salt shaker in the middle of the table. “My father was killed a week ago in Prague.”

“The Tabula did it?” Hollis asked.

“Correct.”

“What happened?”

“That’s not your concern.” Maya’s voice was controlled, but her body was almost rigid with anger. Vicki felt like the Harlequin was ready to jump up and destroy all of them. “I’ve accepted an obligation to protect Gabriel and his brother. When that’s done, I’m going to hunt down the man who killed my father.”

“Did Michael and I have anything to do with this?” Gabriel asked.

“Not really. The Tabula have been hunting my father for most of his life. He was almost killed two years ago in Pakistan.”