The Second Wave by Leska Beikircher Page B

“It appears that over a period
of four months, Eugenia aged twenty years.”
    “Great Jupiter!”
    “You can say that again. I’m strongly relying
on you to lift the girl’s secret, Heath.” As an afterthought he
added, “Don’t let Captain Eleven make you nervous, by the way. As
chief protector, it is her job to view Eugenia as a potential
threat.”
    Rochester chuckled. He liked Emily, she was a
pleasant person; but she tended to overreact occasionally.
    * * * *

Chapter 12: The New Bling
    Celem, the man John waited for in the
brouhaha of the bazaar, already knew of John’s presence before the
old woman, a messenger with many contacts, came to him. Celem had
eyes all over the city these days. A necessary luxury, seeing that
he had none anymore; eyes, that was.
    John was mildly astonished but not shocked to
find the once great pick-pocket in a narrow house at the end of a
dodgy road. The man, once even taller than John, sat on a shabby
rug on the floor, a glass of tea in his hand, a samovar in reach. A
dirty cloth protected others from seeing the maimed holes where his
eyes used to be.
    “Yahya,” he rasped fondly. “Found your way
back to the great metropolis, have you? Sit down, sit down.”
    “I’d reply that it was good to see you,
Celem, but I’d just be lying to a cripple; and that’s bad taste,
even for someone like me.”
    Celem laughed heartily. “It is you, then,
indeed. I was told you had returned, but one can never be certain,
can one? Tea, Yahya, I insist.”
    John found a glass and poured both of them
from the thick, black liquid. He drank all of it, then washed down
the bitter aftertaste with a piece of candied ginger from a
jar.
    “I heard you were looking for a man about a
donkey.” Celem sounded honestly amused. “You have been out of the
loop for a long time, hm?”
    “What is it now?”
    “You don’t ask to see a man about a donkey
anymore, the police know all about it; now you ask to see a
grandmother about a chicken.”
    “How very low key.”
    Celem either didn’t hear the sarcasm in
John’s voice, or ignored it. “Yes. We must be careful. Now, Yahya,
what brings you here, if not the pleasure of seeing the one man who
stole less from you than other people and is therefore, by
definition, your bosom friend?”
    “Don’t flatter yourself, Celem,” John
muttered. The ginger tasted good, more than that—the spicy, syrupy
tang brought back fond memories of afternoons spent in tea houses,
a water-pipe on the table, a temple dancer in his lap. In this
moment, however short, he realized he missed it, had missed it for
quite some time. Which in turn made him wonder what else from his
past lives he missed. He was about to break his very own first
rule, to never dwell on the things left behind, and thus was
grateful he was not alone, but in a business meeting of sorts.
    He pressed the ticket, a tiny green diode
indicated it was active, into Celem’s hand. “I need a buyer for
this. It’s a ticket for the second wave program.”
    Celem gave a wolf whistle. “You are not
kidding? Has it been activated?”
    His fingers flew effortlessly over the small
gadget, feeling for every nook and bump. John had no doubt that
after this thorough inspection, the other man knew the ticket
better than he did.
    “It has been indeed,” he confirmed. “I need a
client quickly; I think the ticket expires in a few weeks.”
    With a resolute shake of the head, Celem
shoved it away from him.
    “What?” John demanded, more than a little
annoyed. Coming here for nothing had not been his plan.
    “Impossible. Not in a few weeks. It’ll never
be ready.”
    Confused, John inspected the ticket for what
felt like the hundredth time since it had come into his possession.
What possibly needed to be done with it that would take up a lot of
time?
    “Why?” he wanted to know.
    “Are you stupid?”
    “Celem!”
    “Okay!” Celem gave the world-weary sigh of
someone who wanted to make more profit. “Has