The Hunters

‘I don’t follow,’ McNutt said.

‘The conjugations and grammatical structure were a combination of the various languages represented. Greek words were rearranged into Gaelic formations. Sometimes the sentences themselves were inconsistent. Phrases that began in Italian ended in Swedish. It even included defunct language concepts that have long since been lost to cultural evolution.’

‘Like Middle English?’ Sarah asked.

‘No, like ancient Andorran,’ Jasmine replied. ‘Middle English is easy. Anyone who’s ever studied Chaucer has dealt with that. But some of the words in the document were taken from languages that were only briefly spoken in their prime. Today, they have been absorbed into neighboring languages or discontinued altogether. No one studies them, because understanding them doesn’t provide any more information than understanding the languages they became. The history of these places has been passed down in much more accessible documentation.’

Jasmine caught herself. She could go on with the explanation, but she doubted that the others shared her fervor.

‘No one studies them, but you do?’ Cobb asked. His tone stressed curiosity, not ridicule.

Jasmine shrugged. ‘What can I say? I like history, and words, and the history of words.’

‘Fair enough,’ Cobb replied. ‘So, what did the document say?’

Jasmine’s eyes lit up. ‘It revealed the supposed hiding place of the girls. When I offered my translation to my editor, I insisted that he introduce me to his connection, in case there were follow-up questions that needed immediate answers. At the time, I thought two young lives hung in the balance, so he arranged a meeting.’

Every eye in the room turned toward Papineau.

He met their collective gaze with a guilty smirk.

Sarah glanced back at Jasmine. ‘You played right into his hands.’

‘My driver transported Ms Park to this location,’ Papineau explained. Before Cobb could challenge his statement, Papineau anticipated his question. ‘No, Jack, her editor has no idea concerning our whereabouts. His instructions were handed down from his superiors, namely, the newspaper’s board of directors.’

‘Namely, you,’ Cobb surmised.

Papineau smiled.

‘You control a newspaper?’ McNutt asked.

‘I control several newspapers,’ Papineau answered. ‘Among other things.’ He turned to address Cobb. ‘If her editor is questioned, he is simply to respond that Jasmine is “on assignment”.’

‘Must be nice to control the flow of information and have it reported to you before it’s ever made public,’ Cobb said.

‘Quite,’ Papineau replied.

Cobb and Papineau stared at one another, each trying to better understand the man across the table. The moment lingered a little too long.

To break the tension, McNutt pointed at Garcia’s shirt. Outside in the sunlight, it had appeared to be a normal T-shirt with an ironed-on Wi-Fi symbol. But now that they were indoors, McNutt realized that the decal was actually animated.

‘What’s up with your shirt?’ he demanded.

Garcia glanced down at the symbol. At that moment, it was glowing green. ‘My shirt is actually a battery- powered Wi-Fi detector. Depending on the signal strength, the number of bars that are glowing on my chest will fluctuate between one and four. Obviously, the more bars, the better.’

‘Obviously!‘ McNutt said with fake enthusiasm.

Too bad Garcia didn’t have a sarcasm detector because it would have been beeping like crazy. Instead, he smiled with pride. ‘I bet you’ve never seen anything like it.’

‘Actually,’ McNutt teased, ‘I have something very similar in my shorts. Anytime I get horny, my sensor rises into position. Obviously, the longer, the better.’

Garcia quickly deflated. ‘Not funny, dude.’

‘And unlike your shirt, my sensor will actually help me get laid.’

14

Papineau sensed that Garcia might need an ego boost after the verbal thrashing he had received from McNutt, so he took a moment to praise him.

‘Most of you know bits and pieces about each other’s pasts, but in order to get Jasmine up to speed as quickly as possible, I thought it might be best if we spent a moment to discuss your backgrounds.’ He pointed at the young Hispanic. ‘Let’s start with Hector.’

‘Let’s not,’ McNutt grumbled.

‘Hector Garcia,’ Papineau announced, ‘is a self-taught, top-level computer genius with a photographic memory. His IQ is off the charts. He had been employed by the FBI in Miami, but once he realized how little government employees make, he decided to forgo his pension for an opportunity to make some real money in the private sector.’

Papineau paused for acknowledgements of Garcia’s abilities.

There were none.

That is, until Cobb felt sorry for him.

‘Thanks to Hector,’ Cobb said, ‘we don’t have to worry about any blowback from the Brooklyn job. Before he quit the Bureau, he created a backdoor in their computer systems, which means he can tap into their files anytime we need him to. Over the past few days, I’ve had him search their databases for any references to us. So far, all they have are vague descriptions from eyewitness testimonies.’

‘They would have turned up more,’ Hector assured them, ‘but I intercepted all of the live feeds from their surveillance van and cleaned them before I sent them on.’

‘Define clean,’ Sarah said.

Hector smiled. ‘I erased every file — audio and video — that featured you, Jack, or Josh. It’s like you were never there.’

‘Never where?’ Jasmine asked.

‘Our tryout,’ Cobb answered as vaguely as possible. ‘You had a pop quiz, and we had some homework.’

‘And by homework,’ McNutt bragged, ‘he means we actually invaded a home. You should have seen it: there were bombs, and guns, and swimwear. It was great.’

‘Wow,’ Jasmine gasped as she took a deep breath to calm down. The tension in her face and the anxiety in her eyes told Cobb a lot about her state of mind. Until that moment, she didn’t have a full understanding of the risks involved. Now she did.

‘Sarah Ellis,’ Papineau said, moving the conversation forward. ‘She is former CIA — a prodigy in her field, I might add — who is an expert in security systems and border crossings. She is our worldwide ambassador.’

McNutt picked up from there. ‘Her interests include hang-gliding, fighting giants, and skintight catsuits, but whatever you do, don’t call her a thief.’

‘Why not?’ Jasmine wondered.

‘Because she’ll kick you in the nuts.’

‘But I don’t have nuts.’

‘Then you can probably get away with it.’

Sarah stared at Jasmine from across the table. The intensity of her glare said it all. If you call me ‘thief’, I’ll come up with something even worse.

‘Moving on,’ Papineau said. ‘Josh McNutt was a decorated Marine sniper — at least until they threw him out. Where armaments are concerned, he is as experienced as they come. He is our weapons and security expert.’

Sarah shifted her gaze to him. ‘Why’d they throw you out?’

McNutt grinned. ‘I ran the table at a shooting gallery in a carnival. I wanted to win a stuffed bear for a little