CHAPTER TEN
"He should have been trailing blood, from the looks of this accident," Damali said, her keen eyes to the ground as their Hummer bumped over the rough, off-road terrain.
"Not picking up anything," Rider said, hanging his head out the window like a hunting dog.
"Hold up, y'all," Mike said. "Tara's voice."
Shabazz brought the Hummer to a stop. "Be cool, man," he said toward Rider. "She's not alone, dig?"
"Yeah, peace, whatever," Rider said, and sat back in the Hummer.
Damali jumped out and Yonnie and Tara materialized. "What's the word?" Damali said, her gaze going from Yonnie to Tara and back.
"No sign of him," Tara said nervously, "but Yonnie picked up a significant power surge."
"Subterranean," Yonnie said, glaring over Damali's shoulder toward Rider. "Ain't felt that since the Chairman went topside."
"What does it mean?" Damali clutched her baby Isis blade tighter.
The rest of the team piled out of the Hummer.
"Everything all right, D?" Shabazz said, looking at Yonnie hard.
Rider cocked back the safety on his weapon. "Any problem, li'l sis?"
"Everybody be cool," Big Mike said. "What happened underground, man?"
Yonnie shook his head, but kept a lethal glare on Rider. "That's just the thing. I don't know and don't have an underground pass no more to go check it out."
"Where is my f**king book!" Carlos bellowed, making the table shudder as his fist tore away a section of it.
The crest rolled back, opened again to the vacant space in its vault, and began to smolder as Carlos's glare remained on the emptiness.
"I know it's not here!" he shouted. "Tell me!"
Within seconds white mist began to form within the empty space, and Carlos blew on it, sending plumes of cloudlike smoke away from the opening so he could see the bottom of the vault. But instead of gleaming black marble, blue, snow-covered mountains appeared in a wavering hologram-like form. He stared at the illusion, his eyes narrowing as he received sensations, judged distance, and homed in on a location. The Himalayas. He nodded and waved his hand over the opening, and it sealed. The crest looked at him and bowed its head, shivering.
"Very good," Carlos muttered. "Very, very good."
"Transport!" he bellowed, and wrapped his wings around his na**d body.
The doors to the chamber quickly opened, and several hooded messengers rushed through, bumping into each other, stumbling, and falling prostrate on the marble before him.
"Your Excellency," the one closest to his feet said in a shivering croak. "We are humbly at your service."
As his temper receded, Carlos's form began to slowly normalize.
"Mr. Chairman," another said, and then looked up, screamed, and covered his head as a black bolt of energy snuffed him from the floor, leaving ash in the entity's wake.
"Please, we beg you, Your Excellency, have pity on us. Do not take out his foolish mistake on the rest of us, we know who you are," the lead messenger groveled. "He was new, insane; please accept our apology on his behalf for titling you beneath your esteemed Level-Seven rank."
Carlos folded his arms, not sure how to respond. He thought he'd acquired the Chairman's title... but clearly that was not the case. He used the end of his spaded tail as a toothpick, cleaning a twelve-inch fang, thinking, then clothed himself as a distraction. The black designer suit and custom-tailored shirt felt good as they slid into place, and all evidence of his brief tryst with the throne did as well. He retracted his wings and tail, then walked around the messengers cowering on the floor, the sound of his black, alligator-skin slip-ons making soft taps against the polished stone. He smiled. Yeah, much more genteel than the clatter of hooves. A brother always had to be smooth.
"I want to check out the response on all the levels as I go up," Carlos said evenly. "Need to be sure respect is in the house across the board."
"Yes, sir," the lead entity whispered. "We assure you it is, though, sir."
"Good."