UNDISCLOSED LOCATION

A few lights brightened the lobby, allowing the security guards a dim passage through the halls and side rooms. Takeshi Ishikawa strolled past a night watchman on the ground level of the high-rise and entered an elevator. His destination was an office on the twentieth floor where he owed a report to the man behind the scenes, the one who orchestrated the operations in Tahiti and The Bahamas. While waiting for the elevator doors to close, Ishikawa stared into the three-story atrium. The daytime employees had already gone for the evening, leaving behind floors of empty cubicles, offices and meeting rooms.

Too many people filled these corridors between the hours of nine to five. He preferred the peaceful calm that came with the night. He hated the looks he got from the staff when he showed his face during the day. Their eyes were always on him, as if they could sense his dark side, the part of him that could snap their necks with a flick of his big hands.

He watched the elevator doors close and prepared himself for the meeting with his superior. Ishikawa stood three inches taller than his employer and outweighed him by a hundred pounds. He feared no one on Earth, but there was something different about the mysterious businessman he gave his allegiance to.

Something sinister lurked in his veins. Ishikawa imagined if the venom had an odor, it would have a vile and putrid stench. It was a metaphor for what lay at the heart of the man. To the average person, his boss appeared to be nothing more than a wealthy CEO with an excellent taste for designer suits and beautiful women, but to those in his inner circle, he was a man without a soul, a cold and devious taskmaster. But he wasn't always like that.

Something changed him.

The hum of the elevator ceased at the top floor, and a bell chimed. Then the doors parted and gave a view to a darkened lobby with an empty desk in the far corner. Past the neat workstation, a mahogany paneled door with a gold thumb-levered handle, stood like a gateway to some lonely and foreboding place.

Ishikawa strode across the ceramic tiled floor, his hard-heeled shoes clacking on the polished surface. At the door, he tapped three times. His knuckles echoed through the sturdy frame and rang out in the expansive atrium.

"Come in," said a voice from the other side of the door.

Ishikawa paused, contemplating. The news he bore was both good and bad. He only hoped the former would outweigh the latter.

He gripped the door handle, pressed the thumb lever and entered.

The office opened up wider than the lobby, the back wall lined with a set of dark stained bookcases. In front of the vast volumes of encyclopedias and various archives from around the world sat an enormous desk, also made of reddish-brown mahogany. On it rested a single lamp with a gold hood, pointed down. Its soft light angled toward a pair of guest chairs on the other side of the desk. Ishikawa strode across the floor and took a seat in a chair.

The lamp illuminated his figure in the otherwise dark room. To his right, tall windows loomed. A glare from the moon shone through the dark tint and cast the room in an eerie light—and in his mind—he heard the howl of a bloodthirsty wolf. He knew the predator was ready for a report.

Across from Ishikawa sat his employer with his back turned. The crest of a leather chair blocked sight of his head. He was doing something, shuffling paper on the credenza behind his desk. Without a word, he spun gracefully. With light shining in Ishikawa's eyes, he saw a familiar outline of the man's body with a piercing gaze cloaked in the shadows.

The man's elbows rested on the arms of the chair, his fingers clasped together, sagging in the middle above his lap. He remained silent for about twenty long seconds, and then he spoke with a clear American accent. He mastered the vocabulary and the accent during his time in the States, his words precise and confident.

"I believe the crescent moon is a sign of things to come. A fortuitous revelation from the gods, if you will."

"I never thought of it that way."

"I hope you spent your time in Tahiti well," the man said. Seemingly, his voice came from a head with no mouth.

Ishikawa tried to focus his attention on the spot where the obscure figure's lips should be. Still, he couldn't discern the movement in the poor lighting. He knew his employer enjoyed the calm and quietness of a dark room.

"Do tell," his boss said.

"The Sea Lab employees were on assignment, as suspected. I saw to it that they—"

"Do you think I have no means of tracking the progress of my charges aside from you?"

"I only tell you what happened."

"And I have to give it to you. Their demise was brilliant." His superior's tone brightened. "It looked like an accident, I suppose?"

"As I planned."

"Did you leave any loose ends by chance?"

"I severed the only one."

"Good. How did we fare in The Bahamas?" A sarcastic gloat hid behind the words.

"Not like we hoped."

"I'm aware of that as well. Do you comprehend that the men under your command are a direct reflection of your own competence?"

I could say the same for you, Ishikawa didn't say. "We killed the female's assistant, but men who appear from nowhere rescued her."

"And who were these gents who assisted our damsel in distress?"

"One of them was Jake Soloman and the other Tony Cruze. We learn from records of Jeep rental they left behind. We trace an information trail to Atlantis Paradise Island Resort where they were staying. There, we found our SUV they stole."

"The men work for Sea Lab." A statement, not a question. The boss swiveled his chair and swiped at the credenza behind him. Then he spun around again.

"Maybe they were in area?" Ishikawa gave a questionable shrug of his shoulders.

"I doubt it." He slid two pieces of paper across the desk. "Go ahead, read it."

"What's this?"

"Dossiers on the men who helped Sarah Lawson. And yes, I know who she is."

According to the first document, Jake Soloman served four years in the Navy, mostly as an intelligence specialist aboard the aircraft carrier USS Ronald Reagan. After the military, he studied at Scripps Institution of Oceanography. Spent two summers as a volunteer on the anti-whaling ship, the Sea Marshall, location, the Southern Ocean near Antarctica. Ishikawa glided his finger down the page, scanning the details highlighted in yellow. Soloman kept tabs on Japanese whalers, conducted missions to interfere with their progress and even snuck aboard one of their ships to sabotage their harpoon guns.

Ishikawa peered up at his superior.

"Go on, read the other page."

The second document covered Tony Cruze, a former Army paratrooper. He met Soloman at Scripps Institute and volunteered aboard the same anti-whaling ship. It listed his thrill seeking hobbies and other interests on the side. Avid skydiver. Mountain climber. Occasional treasure hunting enthusiast, with Soloman's help, of course. Even sailed across the Pacific from San Diego to Hawaii with Soloman one summer during their college years.

"Is this supposed to worry me?" Ishikawa said.

"Not at all. But I wouldn't underestimate them if I were you."

Ishikawa set the dossiers on the desk. Snarled his nose. "They have since checked out of resort and have surely left island. I believe they will be of no further threat to us. As for Sarah Lawson, with her assistant dead, she is certain to head back to Sea Lab headquarters in Orlando." He choked back a cough, trying to keep his frustration in check. Sometimes, the way his employer talked irritated him; the loftiness of his words and his arrogant line of questioning often threatened to push him to the brink of madness. Ishikawa looked straight ahead, resolved to bring this meeting to an end. "As precaution, I put our men in Nassau on alert in case they resurface there."

"Perhaps you are right about the woman and her heroes. She could, however, be a hindrance to our operations in the future. I want you to silence her," his superior said without emotion. "It's personal."

Ishikawa wondered what connection his boss might have with Sarah Lawson.

"And if Jake Soloman and Tony Cruze get in the way, dispatch of them too," the man added with an unattached casualness, as if ordering an extra topping on a pizza.

"With great pleasure," Ishikawa replied. "Are we through here?"

After a long pause, came a cheery reply. "That we are, my friend." Ishikawa rose from the chair and turned for the door. His men were not as thorough as he was, and now he would have to finish the job, a thought that brought the thrill of the hunt rushing back to the forefront of his mind. Then there was Sarah Lawson. The beautiful scientist would be yet another trophy to add to his illustrious list of kills.

"Your father will soon appreciate the work you do for the corporation," his employer said.

Ishikawa stopped and ground his jaw tight, his back turned to his superior. He understood the threat, but resisted the urge to comment, and left the room.