Customs, part 8
By the time I’d finished foisting the rest of the lhiannan sidhe paperwork off on SSF officers, the follow-up reports from the airport were ready, and my trail was cold. So, I stopped in at the Nameless Diner, had a bit of coffee, and filed through them.
Absorbing data, however remotely connected, helps with the tracking process. Sudden flashes of connection can occur at any time, and it was just that sort of abrupt intuitive spark that could finish up a case for me.
There was a lot; Gideon and his crew produced exhausting amounts of information about the passengers and the plane, and nearly everything else they could dig up. I felt the tightening sensation in the back of my brain that told me something was there, but the tautness sat quietly and did nothing more.
I needed something.
I paid my tab, tipped the waitress well (a lycanthrope putting herself through school, she needed it), and meandered out into the rapidly darkening street. Rain was starting to spatter down, and I considered options.
It had been confirmed that the man on the plane with the peculiar jar was a cebuano practitioner, and contact with the Philippines confirmed that he was a proficient tracker of dangerous creatures. Why he’d given pursuit on the plane was unknown, though communications may have been lost in Singapore. I fervently hoped this wasn’t going to result in travel time for me, but it very well might; there aren’t many with my qualifications or experience with the Indonesian sector.
Though I had tons of information about the other passengers, I still didn’t know enough about the aswang herself. She’d boarded as Linda Chen, resident of Singapore, first-class ticket, one bag carry-on, one checked bag. Apparently she got away with the carry-on, and search of the other bag gave us nothing but clothes. It was noted that her wardrobe was expensive, well-tailored and no-nonsense. Divinations would be done on the clothing, though it might not even belong to her.
I wondered if she had intended to set up a legitimate business of some sort.
We knew that aswangs were solitary as a rule, but maybe this one got an idea from the berbalang migration in the 20’s; the berbalang families had done an excellent job of integrating into society.
I wondered if there was a support network for her we didn’t know about. That troubled me a bit, and though I thought it very unlikely, I noted it for further investigation.
One of the problems with being in my line of work was that everything looked suspicious after the first few months.
One of the other problems is how time-consuming it would be.
I shuffled out my phone, found a place to huddle, and made a call. Akiko picked up after a moment.
“Reed,” she said, concern implicit by the lack of concern in her voice.
“Hi,” I replied. “I’m not going to make it. Nothing to worry about, just something I have to keep on.”
“…yes, I thought it would be,” she murmured. “There was some talk about it at the department.”
“If you find anything good, send it my way,” I grinned. “I could use it.”
“I will.”
I paused, and then sighed. “I could have been an accountant?”
“You’d have hated it.”
“True. I’m off.”
“We’ll catch up later,” she said ruefully.
“Promises,” I said.
“Nothing changes,” she chuckled back, and hung up.
I tucked the phone away, and then pulled it out again without thinking, just before it started to ring.
I didn’t recognize the number. “Moshi-moshi.”
“I see you.”
I knew immediately who it was, locked the number in my mind.
“Why are you calling me?”
“Because you don’t know me, but I know you. That does not work.”
All I could see was night rain and street lights. She could have been somewhere far above. Maybe her eyes weren’t hampered like mine were, keen as they are. There was no trickle of cold needles in my spine, but I would be ready if she moved on me. She couldn’t have been too close if she actually meant me harm, and I seriously doubted she didn’t.
“Explain,” I replied, trying to memorize her voice. Soft, but rusty-sounding. There was the slightest edge of an accent. Low. Throaty, maybe, if she was happy. Gentle, but a good ear would find no empathy in it, and very little compassion.
“My name is Mayela, Reed. Now you know my name. Come and find me.”
Absorbing data, however remotely connected, helps with the tracking process. Sudden flashes of connection can occur at any time, and it was just that sort of abrupt intuitive spark that could finish up a case for me.
There was a lot; Gideon and his crew produced exhausting amounts of information about the passengers and the plane, and nearly everything else they could dig up. I felt the tightening sensation in the back of my brain that told me something was there, but the tautness sat quietly and did nothing more.
I needed something.
I paid my tab, tipped the waitress well (a lycanthrope putting herself through school, she needed it), and meandered out into the rapidly darkening street. Rain was starting to spatter down, and I considered options.
It had been confirmed that the man on the plane with the peculiar jar was a cebuano practitioner, and contact with the Philippines confirmed that he was a proficient tracker of dangerous creatures. Why he’d given pursuit on the plane was unknown, though communications may have been lost in Singapore. I fervently hoped this wasn’t going to result in travel time for me, but it very well might; there aren’t many with my qualifications or experience with the Indonesian sector.
Though I had tons of information about the other passengers, I still didn’t know enough about the aswang herself. She’d boarded as Linda Chen, resident of Singapore, first-class ticket, one bag carry-on, one checked bag. Apparently she got away with the carry-on, and search of the other bag gave us nothing but clothes. It was noted that her wardrobe was expensive, well-tailored and no-nonsense. Divinations would be done on the clothing, though it might not even belong to her.
I wondered if she had intended to set up a legitimate business of some sort.
We knew that aswangs were solitary as a rule, but maybe this one got an idea from the berbalang migration in the 20’s; the berbalang families had done an excellent job of integrating into society.
I wondered if there was a support network for her we didn’t know about. That troubled me a bit, and though I thought it very unlikely, I noted it for further investigation.
One of the problems with being in my line of work was that everything looked suspicious after the first few months.
One of the other problems is how time-consuming it would be.
I shuffled out my phone, found a place to huddle, and made a call. Akiko picked up after a moment.
“Reed,” she said, concern implicit by the lack of concern in her voice.
“Hi,” I replied. “I’m not going to make it. Nothing to worry about, just something I have to keep on.”
“…yes, I thought it would be,” she murmured. “There was some talk about it at the department.”
“If you find anything good, send it my way,” I grinned. “I could use it.”
“I will.”
I paused, and then sighed. “I could have been an accountant?”
“You’d have hated it.”
“True. I’m off.”
“We’ll catch up later,” she said ruefully.
“Promises,” I said.
“Nothing changes,” she chuckled back, and hung up.
I tucked the phone away, and then pulled it out again without thinking, just before it started to ring.
I didn’t recognize the number. “Moshi-moshi.”
“I see you.”
I knew immediately who it was, locked the number in my mind.
“Why are you calling me?”
“Because you don’t know me, but I know you. That does not work.”
All I could see was night rain and street lights. She could have been somewhere far above. Maybe her eyes weren’t hampered like mine were, keen as they are. There was no trickle of cold needles in my spine, but I would be ready if she moved on me. She couldn’t have been too close if she actually meant me harm, and I seriously doubted she didn’t.
“Explain,” I replied, trying to memorize her voice. Soft, but rusty-sounding. There was the slightest edge of an accent. Low. Throaty, maybe, if she was happy. Gentle, but a good ear would find no empathy in it, and very little compassion.
“My name is Mayela, Reed. Now you know my name. Come and find me.”