Chapter 5 Mallory Plantation—Remy #3
“You make it sound like they’re still here,” Clay said.
“Who’s to say they aren’t?” Elliott asked. “They told us what they wanted us to know, and then they disappeared. They wanted us to believe they’d left.”
“We saw them,” Clay said.
“We saw the lights disappear. That’s all,” David said.
“Ye’ve broken that video down and didn’t find cuts in it. They didn’t manipulate the video,” Braham said.
“Don’t ye think they had the skills to manipulate a video to show whatever they wanted us to see?”
“I doan know what Erik was or is capable of doing,” Remy said.
“If he stayed, wouldn’t he have to give up his essence like Violet’s sister?” Clay asked.
Elliott shrugged. “Would he give that up for his children? For Sam? He might not have human emotions, but his children and Sam mattered deeply to him.”
“I can’t say the same for Violet,” Clay said. “She didn’t have an emotional connection to me.” A curious mixture of anger and pain crossed Clay’s face, but quickly disappeared. “I wouldn’t want her to stay. She might hurt Rory more than she already has.”
“This is all hypothetical,” Braham said. “They’re gone, and they’re not coming back. We need to move on and focus on eliminating the Illuminati.”
“I’m ready to move on, Braham, but if I see Erik in Chicago, I woan stand by and do nothing.” Remy’s voice was rough, but he didn’t care. “Erik almost tore this family apart, and I woan let him jerk me around.”
Elliott pushed to his feet. “Then I can’t let ye go.”
“You can’t stop him, Elliott,” Clay said. “His friends are in danger. Bastien is a below-the-knee amputee. His battery only lasts forty-eight hours. We should go now, or he’ll be dragging around a lower limb that won’t work.”
“You’ve always trusted me, Elliott. Trust me this time, too. I woan screw it up.”
“Then if ye see Erik, tell him, ‘When the time comes for ye to go home, reconsider and stay.’”
Remy scratched his whiskered jaw. “That woan mean anything to the Viking.”
“It might. Do what ye need to do,” David said as he handed Clay the four photographs he’d shown Remy. “Memorize these faces.”
Clay studied the photographs before handing them back. “I don’t need these.” He walked out of the office. “Looks like everything we need is on the table.”
Braham followed Clay and Remy and slipped the pictures into Remy’s duffel. “Whatever ye asked for is here—cash, gold, gemstones, brooches, and a Derringer. Anything else?”
“A power source for Bastien’s prosthetic charger. I doubt the plugs used in 1928 will work.”
David opened a cabinet and stood there, tapping his chin. “This should work. It’s solar. Put it where it can get ample sun exposure.”
Remy added it to his duffel.
Clay slipped his pistol into his jacket pocket. Then he filled a leather pouch with half of the gemstones, nuggets, and cash, and slipped it into another pocket. “Do we need two brooches?”
“Ye should both have one. If things go sideways, come home. We’ll send someone back to find the one left behind.”
“I doan like the idea of leaving Clay, and I’m sure he wouldn’t want to leave me.”
“Then improvise.” David’s tone stayed level, but he leaned forward, palms braced on the table. “Ye’re going to Chicago when gangsters would rather shoot ye than ask questions. If ye land in hot water, get the hell out.”
Clay glared at Remy. “I’m not leaving you behind.”
“If you’ve got a gun pointed at you, I agree with David. Get out.”
“I’ll do a lateral escape, but I won’t leave town.”
Remy dipped his head in agreement, the decision sealed between them. “We need a meetup location. You know Chicago. Any suggestions?”
“The Drake Hotel,” David said, already scrolling through his phone. “It’s on the corner of—”
“North Michigan and East Lake Shore.” Clay finished it without looking up. “I’m familiar.”
David scrolled through his phone and turned it toward Remy. “This is what it looked like in the early 1900s.”
Remy nodded. “Got it. Thanks.”
“It’s at the northernmost point on the Magnificent Mile, which was only a plan in the 1920s. We shouldn’t have any trouble getting a suite there.”
“When Jack and I went back for Kenzie, we arrived together but later split up to carry out different missions,” David said. “If ye do split up, make sure ye check in daily. And don’t do anything foolish like flying on a Model 80.”
“Is that like a Model A?” Clay asked.
“The Model 80 was Boeing’s first passenger aircraft.”
“I have no intention of flying on an early-model airplane. I’ll stick to ground transportation.”
Remy stuffed the pouch of diamonds and gold into his pocket, folded the cash, and slid the bills into a vintage money clip engraved with a musical note.
“Hey, that’s classy. Where’d ye find that?” Braham asked.
“Charlotte found it in an antique shop and left it for me in the clinic with a note wishing me good luck.” Remy wasn’t sure if the good luck was for the adventure or the upcoming MCAT. It didn’t matter. He’d need luck for both.
“Whoever arrives there first, book a suite and leave a message at the front desk,” Clay said.
“Got it! Let’s rock and roll.”
“Wait,” Clay said. “Where’s the history book?”
David handed Clay two books. “One has a list of the crime families, and the other details major events that happened during Prohibition.”
“Here. Give me the books.” Remy stuffed them into the leather duffel with the medical supplies, Dopp kits, four sets of scrubs, and extra ammo. “We need a bottle of the good stuff. I doan want to drink bootleg whisky sold in speakeasies.”
Braham opened a cabinet above the coffee bar and handed Remy four bottles of The Macallan. “Drink sparingly.”
“Thanks.” Remy wrapped them in layers of blue scrubs and boxer briefs before buckling the straps.
“Wait. Ye better take this, too.” Braham handed Remy a flask. “Ye’ll want to take a flask to dinner.”
Remy packed the flask along with the bottles. “I can’t believe we’re going back to a time when alcohol was illegal. That’s the dumbest thing this country’s ever done.”
“It ranks up there with giving J. Edgar Hoover free rein to fight the enemies of America and letting him decide who they were.” Clay picked up the diamond brooch and tossed it back and forth. “It’s already warm. How’d it know?”
“If ye see Erik in Chicago, ask him,” David said.
Remy pinned the amethyst brooch to the inside of his waistband, grabbed his duffel, and moved to the back of the clean room.
“Stay safe,” Elliott said.
Braham and David stood beside Elliott, who maintained eye contact with Remy.
“See ye in a few minutes,” David said.
Remy nodded, his pulse already quickening.
His body recognized the pattern before his mind caught up—a familiar tightening in the chest, a subtle shift in balance, like the first click of a roller coaster locking into place.
There was always a sliver of trepidation, a suspended moment of not knowing where he’d come out on the other side of the fog.
Clay shifted beside him, rolling his shoulders once as if loosening before impact. He opened the brooch, the metal clicking softly in his palm, and spoke the words with deliberate care, his voice steady despite the weight they carried.
“Chan ann le tim no àite a bhios sinn a’ tomhais an’ gaol ach ’s ann le neart anama.”
The air changed instantly.
Peat-scented fog surged up around them, cool and damp, swallowing sound and distance as it coiled around their legs and climbed fast. Remy reached out without looking, his hand brushing Clay’s sleeve—a reflex, a check-in—before the mist closed in.
“Careful, lads,” Elliott yelled.
Then there was nothing but motion, scent, and the unsettling certainty that wherever they landed next, there might not be an easy way back.