World In Flight.

The robots pain added to his own, prayed on Jack’s mind as he made a late breakfast for his disapproving guest. The sense of expediency lay on his shoulders like an anvil of responsibility.

Jack glanced up from French toast in the frying pan before him. Steam was drifting steadily into the lounge, carried on the air-conditioned atmosphere from upstairs. DiSalle was in the shower. He stood at the island in the centre of the kitchen. If memory served, he was making Gaby’s favourite Winter breakfast. Two scrambled eggs with Canadian bacon, three triangles of French toast and a mug of black coffee. He busied himself with the cooking, hoping the meal would further deflect her anger at witnessing his arms deal. Somehow, he knew laying out his new handguns on a long rectangular chamois while loading clips, wouldn’t aid such a deflection. The German made arsenal was displayed on an adjacent counter, away from any cooking spatter.

DiSalle emerged from the upstairs bathroom wrapped in one of Jack’s black silk robes. The significance of her choice didn’t escape him; there were several other robes hanging in the bathroom she could’ve used. Her impossibly long raven hair glistened. It shone – even in dim light, soaking wet from the spray, tied in a ponytail. Her pale face, starkly beautiful without the slightest hint of makeup, was stern and silent as she descended the stairs leaving little wet footprints on the black lacquered floor. There was the frown, barely perceptible, as her eyes were drawn to the various weaponry. The open boxes of hollow point brass, as well as the custom bullets for the Mk 76 only deepened that frown.

‘Have you even slept?’ She asked. Eyeing him carefully, her gaze shifting slowly from the guns.

‘Some.’

The silent disapproval was deafening. DiSalle’s physical intensity made him more nervous than any woman he’d ever known, including Starcrosse.

‘That won’t help.’ She said simply, pointing at his drink.

‘Nothing helpful about it.’ He said, in light of her disapproval suddenly noting how tired he sounded. Still the adrenaline slowly seeped into his blood; his body attempting to fortify him for what was coming. It was no substitute for decent sleep. He’d wondered if he’d ever truly sleep restfully again. Jack rubbed at his itching forehead. Prickly skin, another sure sign of fatigue, underpinning the eagerness.

‘You’d have slept a little longer, perhaps, had you not received a visitor.’ She said, her spoken English as protracted as ever. Whenever she sang in English she was flawless, from hours of vocal training. Picking up the cup of steaming Lavazza Espresso he offered it to her, smiling uneasily.

‘You don’t miss a thing, do you?’

‘No.’ The spare response carried a hint of pain that he chose to ignore, like countless others before it. The aching in Gabriella’s heart for him, worn on her sleeve like a badge of honour, didn’t help the building nausea.

Morensky finished preparing her breakfast, tipped the mound of fluffy yellow eggs with diced bacon onto a rectangular onyx platter, alongside the toast. The aromas of fresh brewed coffee and bacon filled the air, cutting down the apprehension if only for a moment. They both surveyed the meal he’d prepared. The sight and smell of it should’ve made him ravenous. Instead he felt nothing but sickness. The acid in his stomach boiled too much to consider eating. He wasn’t hungry anyway. He quickly handed the platter over the counter. DiSalle leaned in and inhaled.

‘It looks delicious. Thank you.’ She purred, followed by. ‘Not hungry?’ Suddenly noticing no second platter. He shook his head abruptly, stepping away to attend his guns. There was another deeper frown from DiSalle when he produced a half empty bottle of Devil’s Cut from under the counter and freshened his drink.

‘It’s too early for that!’ The purr replaced by a brittle tone of stifled anger, cut with concern.

‘It’s eleven o’clock somewhere.’

Thoughts of Wanda’s butchered corpse lying in an ebony and chrome box filled his mind, chasing away any concern for Gaby. Focus, damn it, he told himself. DiSalle looked both horrified and exasperated all at once.

‘Apparently.’

He shot her one of his ‘don’t start’ looks and she turned her attention to her food. Her concern was becoming cloying. There was something else on her mind. Same thing always there whenever they were together. He could see it in her eyes – an iridescent emerald fire.

Awkward silence continued for thirty minutes while DiSalle struggled to remain enthusiastic about breakfast. Morensky meanwhile perched himself on a tall stool and methodically snapped brass into several clips. When he was finished, he loaded each pistol and chambered the first round with a click-clack before making them safe. He then sharpening his boot knife and several push daggers with a small whetstone. The chromium steel blade was holstered in his custom Dianese right boot. He then turned his black-eyed stare to the pair of Heckler & Koch 76’s. DiSalle looked on helplessly. Gabriella’s anger, fear and love emanated from her like windblown ash.

‘Look,’ She began. ‘I don’t pretend to know the depth of your feelings for Wanda. This is a private matter. I do know that I care for you. I don’t want to see you hurt – anymore than you have already been. What you’re doing will not bring back the dead.’

Morensky finished snapping huge 60 calibre titanium shells into the Barrett’s ten round clip and placed it in the case, alongside the preloaded spare mag, collapsed sniper rifle and Omniscope. He smiled inwardly, knowing DeNiro would be pleased he’d obtained what she asked for. The tension in DiSalle’s body grew exponentially as he made his preparations to leave the island.

‘You think I don’t know that?’ He asked. His tone was bitter, desolate. He stepped away from the counter, having packed the arsenal into several olive duffels.

‘I’m not suggesting you don’t. But I’ve made up my mind, I’m not going back to Quebec until this thing is over, one way or another…’

Morensky’s brow raised. He halted in his tracks, as he headed for the elevator to. DiSalle stood up from her partially eaten toast and blocked his path.

‘I cancelled a tour to bring you home with me. If you’re not coming, then I’m not leaving you alone here either. If you’re this determined to avenge this lover, my place is here.’

He interrupted her gently. ‘I appreciate the sentiment, but there’s no way I can put you in danger again-‘ Then it was her turn to interrupt.

‘I won’t be in any danger! I’ll return to my hotel, check in with the band. We’ll remain in Golgotha. I’ll play some surprise gigs. That will at least keep the label happy. I have no wish to see anymore ugliness or death – offered up by you or anyone else.

If, or rather when, you attract the attention of your former employers you’ll doubtless require an alibi of some sort. I will remain here, in this Godforsaken place, and provide that – when necessary. And you will return to me Jack!’

Morensky shook his head slowly.

‘You need to go home.’ He wasn’t aiming to patronize her. She took it that way.

‘Stop it, Goddamn it!’ Her usually dusky voice grew shrill. DiSalle put her hands forcefully on her hips, flaring the robe briefly to reveal a flash of her long milk white legs. The snaking thorn tattoo on the right caught his eye. The broken heart embedded within the thorns was burned into her flesh, a memorial to her murdered husband.

‘I’m going nowhere. If you want to argue further then you better be prepared to use one of those guns on me, because it’s the only way you’re going to get me on a plane!’ Her intense stare locked his eyes and remained there until he could take it no longer and looked away from her with a frustrated sigh.

‘Besides,’ she said with his back turned to her. ‘I can handle myself. You don’t think they have pistol ranges in Quebec?’ With the last comment, he heard her snatch up a GAP he’d left out on the dining table. The sharp click-clack as she chambered a round with the Glock 40 made him spin to face her. She stood purposefully before him, pistol held in her right hand. From the confidence, he could tell she’d had some training.

‘I’m out of time to argue.’ He conceded.

‘You can stay.’ Hoping he lived to regret the decision.

‘Just because I don’t like guns, doesn’t mean I don’t know how to use one.’ DiSalle said emphatically, letting her guard down at last. The tension eased.

‘I still have to go.’ He said simply, trying to ignore that fearful expression crossing DiSalle’s face. The thought of leaving her alone – for fuck knew how long – in Golgotha didn’t sit well with him.

‘I’m going to get dressed.’ DiSalle cut in.

‘Don’t go out today.’ He told her straight. ‘You’re safer here. Uncle had this place designed and purpose built as a veritable fortress!’ She nodded back, wet hair falling in her eyes. He went on regardless. Already he’d decided that last piece of advice was redundant.

‘I’m NOT staying here, like a fucking prisoner, while you go hunt a man down and kill him.’ She shouted.

‘I figured you’d have that reaction. Since you’ll probably ignore me, once you get bored, I’ve assigned you an access code for the AI. You’ll need it to get in or out, as well as a remote key for the garage doors.’ He went to the security console next to his Apple terminal and set up a new retina scan. DiSalle had her right eye print recorded by the mainframe of the building before the Mac printed her Datazyme bracelet.

‘Here you go.’ He said, snapping the bracelet around her right wrist. ‘When you eventually go out, you’ll need to use this. Go see the guys. You’ll be safe with them.’

‘You’re paranoid.’ DiSalle muttered angrily.

‘Here’s a spare remote for the garage doors.’

‘I’m not the same frightened girl you found on that SUB platform.’ She said softly placing her cold hands over his slowly, glancing up at him. Her bewitching eyes encircled him in their warm emerald light. His guard dissolved instantly in that second. He pulled away almost instantly, hurting her feelings.

‘Gaby.’ He whispered, staring at her long. ‘Don’t look at me like that.’

She said nothing, only fixed him in thrall with her emerald eyes.

‘Like what?’ She was whispering too, their faces mere inches apart.

‘Like that.’ He closed his black eyes and kissed her on the forehead. Her lips tingled, wishing the sensation was theirs.

‘Don’t make me weak.’ He pleaded as he stepped away. Frustration burned within her threatening to consume her composure and sensitivity. She was too aware he’d grown to love another over the months and years their schedules had kept them apart. The slain Bound Concubine had shared Morensky’s bed and heart. Things DiSalle wanted for herself, felt she had a right to. She should respect that pervading sense of loss and allow Morensky to mourn, but it warred with her own desires.

She watched him withdrawing from her again, just as this tragic act of fate had arrived to drew them closer. Tears welled in her translucent green eyes. They were unstoppably bitter. The man refused to let her love him and that would forever seer her heart. As he watched silently, a strange look of helplessness etched on his ashen face, she wiped her tears away as they rolled down her cheeks.

‘My world’s in flight, and I make you weak?’