The Shadow Grove Chronicles - Book II: Dark Artifact

CHAPTER FOUR

Jean-Michelle Dubois stared at his ancient trophy sitting on the glass shelves behind his desk. There were other curios that sat next to it: a baseball signed by the winning team of the World Series a few years back, some pieces of corporate art and a couple of executive toys. Jean-Michelle had forgotten who had won. It wasn’t important. The only reason he had been there was to seal a deal with a large conglomerate based in India. The CEO had wanted to see the seventh and final game, so Dubois made it happen. He didn’t watch the game, but he did watch the smile beaming on the investor’s face as he watched the game.

Of all the things Jean-Michelle did to make money, the most lucrative by far and the most clandestine, was arms trading. Anywhere a small brushfire of war started, amongst the combatants you would find one of his “in-field sales agents” there with at least three thousand weapons and a few pallets of rounds just to get the ball rolling. Needless to say, with the current state of the world, business was doing exceptionally well.

He had heard from his boy down in Rio, Javier, that the Venezuelans were up in arms again. As soon as Jean-Michelle heard, a cold smile broke across his face. He had only had the Talon for a few days and yet he had managed to figure out how to use it from such a long distance. Now, onto much bigger game.

He lifted the dark pitted dagger from the display he had made especially for it months before he had hired that patsy to steal it. He handled it carefully with thin leather gloves. He didn’t want the oils from his hands damaging this new treasure in his collection. He valued things that helped his bottom line, and this new acquisition would be very lucrative indeed.

He studied it, watching as the blade absorbed the bright midday light coming in from the large windows that lined half of his high-rise office walls. It sparkled darkly despite its age as he turned it over and over, memorizing every divot in the blade and every other detail about it including the frayed and cracked wrapping coiled around the short wooden handle riveted to either side of the Talon’s tang. It almost felt to him like he was falling into the metal as he ran his gloved fingers over its ancient surface.

Amazing, he thought to himself. Such promise from such a little thing. All from an anonymous message on my voicemail. He almost didn’t take it seriously when he had heard it, but it was on a line that very few people knew about and if it had been compromised, might lead to a loss of his primary business. Only his top lieutenants, a short list of only five people, had access to this cell number. He recalled what the message said.

“I have information that would be beneficial to you,” it started. The voice had been masked with a heavy filter and was unrecognizable.

“Think of me as an angel investor. Send an email with your response to investor723567-at-neutronmail-dot-com. The information will be forwarded to you and the email account will be terminated upon confirmation of receipt. Good luck to you Mr. Dubois. You will not hear from me again.”

Angel investor, indeed! Jean-Michelle sent the email after a day of consideration. He had the intense feeling that it may well be a trap but despite that he was confident that he could side step anything negative that came his way. Money has a way of cloaking one with inpenetrable armor, especially when you know more than just a few good lawyers that owe you favors.

What he recieved was a complete dossier on the item, the house that held it and the titular owner of the house. There was blue-line schematics drawn up that showed where every security safegaurd was located and a detailed itemized list of every component. It was a lot of information to go through and Jean poured over it with a fine-toothed comb for over a week as he formulated a plan in which he could get control of the artifact without getting his hands dirty.

Once he settled on a plan, he called a contact of his, a vendor who specialized in criminal labor and let him deal with finding someone. Manuel Ibanez was just the “lucky” one in the talent pool and was picked nearly at random. The meeting between them was at one of the smaller, out of the way office spaces he owned in the city with the normal staff gone for the day on his orders.

Mannuel had an eerie feeling about taking the job, but five figures for a simple theft wasn’t something he was willing to turn his nose up at. He did have expensive habits to maintain after all. Jean-Michelle had seen the hesitation in his face as soon as he stepped into the room and was prepared to go as high as double what he had initially offered. Miguel didn’t even try to negotiate which took Jean a little aback. He had expected to have to dicker a lot more. Every good business deal always had some amount of back and forth before the agreement would be finalized. It’s just how things are done in his world in both his dayside and nightside activities.

After going over his carefully developed plan with Miguel, he handed to the thief a portable EMP generator and a thick envelope containint ten-thousand dollars as a down payment for his services with the other forty grand to be paid upon completion. Jean-Michelle wondered how Miguel was enjoying his reward now. It didn’t matter. Instead he let his mind drift back onto his wonderous new toy.

Stroking the blade again, he closed his eyes and focused his mind. Through his inner eye, Jean drifted over the globe looking for a place where he could practice using the Talon’s abilities. He had managed to flame a small brush war into existence relatively easily. Just a single illusionary gunfire rapport in the ear of a soldier on the edge in a tense situation and a fire fight is never far away. This time he wanted to see how big a fish he could hook.

Where would be a good place, he asked himself. Middle East? Eastern Europe? He wanted something that could eventually spill over into a NATO Treaty nation and the United States would have to step in. Something close to Poland… Not yet…

“Mr. Dubois?”

Jean snapped open his eyes and saw his secretary standing on the other side of his desk. There was a small bundle of manilla folders in her arms.

“I have the contracts for the Cincinatti project,” she said meakly.

She twitched subconciously as he focoused on her with his sharp eyes. She confused the feelings she suppressed with attraction; she to him. She was mistaken. It was primal atavistic fear, like a mouse to a pit viper. He took her in with those eyes, staring deep into hers, almost hypnotizing as she drew nearer.

"Set them here," he gestured to his desk blotter with his hand while the other quickly put the Talon away, his back towards her. "Thank you, Ms. Marlow. That should be all."

It was said so aloofly that it gave her pause. Her spine straightened. She had only been his secretary for only a couple of weeks. There had been roumors going around about him in the secretary pool, almost all negative. He had been through countless secretaries through out the years but once they had stoped working for him, it was said that they had left Dallas for other cities never to be seen again.

Sometimes it was because they had scored a better job, but usually the roumor mill attributed it to them being blackballed from literally never being able to work in that town again. There was another roumor though. Rarely though, only mentioned when the topic is broached when Agnes has had just one too many schnapps after work: at least one had been murdered.

Most "right thinking" people there with her at the bar would dismiss and argue the idea, claiming that she had to be nutty to come up with such a conspiracy theory. After working with the man however, Veronica Marlow wasn't too sure, at least deep down, not in the primal part of her brain that was telling her to run. On the part of her mind that she was aware of, she was excited by him and not just in the way her heart raced.

She set the pile down on the desk and made her way to the door, quick-step, trying to keep her composure. It wouldn't do to turn into a puddle in front of the boss, it would be very unprofessional. She was within two paces from the door when Veronica heard Mr. Dubois speak up.

"I plan to pull an all-nighter, Ms. Marlow. Your assistance will be required. Will that be a problem?"

She unsuccessful tried to hold back a shudder.

"Not at all Mr. Dubois." This wasn't entirely true, she had plans to meet with the girls in half an hour at the bar but it was like she couldn't say no to this man. They should forgive her for one missed chat session, she told herself in justification.

"Very good! Go head and see if there's any coffee made up and get us both some. We're going to need it!"

If she had been a puppy, her tail would've wagged at the now energetic tone in his voice. She bit her lip slightly as she walked through the threshold. He smiled to himself as he watched her step out of his office, noting the new swish to her walk as she swayed her hips more prominently.

She is such a lovely young girl, he thought. And young! I wonder just how much endurance she has. I do so hate going through the time and effort to train a "secretary" just to have to find a replacement. It's always such a mess.

This one though, he saw the eagerness in her and the need to please. He can work with that. Tonight, for him, was going to be fun. Maybe for Ms. Marlow too if he had read her right.