Shadowline Drift: A Metaphysical Thriller Read Online Free

on the ground, to push the images away. He had work to do.
    They sat quietly and sipped their drinks, both men pretending it was companionable. Bits of dried palm frond came loose from the roof and floated down. Flies buzzed past their ears. Jake’s mind whirled ahead, planning, considering, choosing words. He was sure Mawgis was doing the same.
    “ Do you enjoy your work?” Mawgis asked, breaking the silence.
    “ I do,” Jake said. “I like helping two sides find an agreement that benefits them both. I believe my work brings good to everyone involved.”
    Mawgis set down his cup. “We’ll now talk about benesha.”
    Jake started to rise. “I’ll get Joaquin.” He wanted the FUNAI representative there to witness the terms he and Mawgis agreed on. To ensure that the Tabna got what was promised to them. He’d seen too many promises broken, too many people cheated out of what was theirs.
    “ We will talk,” Mawgis said, the sudden scowl on his face enough to stop Jake from pressing further.
    “ World United,” Jake said, sitting back down and keeping his voice casual, “is prepared to trade well with your people for benesha.”
    Mawgis spread his hands, pa lms up. “What do you have to offer that might interest me? What could you offer for benesha that is worth its value? What can you pay equal to a full belly for a hungry child?”
    Aspirin. Antiseptics. Steel trowels and shovels. Machetes. Fishhooks. Jake felt foolish. The air was hot and muggy. His shirt clung to his armpits. He worked at looking cool and comfortable, in control.
    “ You have only one thing,” Mawgis said. “Yourself.”
    Jake tapped at the translator. This was a bad time for the machine to spit out the wrong word.
    Mawgis leaned slightly forward. “Tell me a tale from your life and I will judge its value. If it’s good enough, you will have your benesha.”
    “ What kind of story?” He’d done enough deals with different sorts of people to be only mildly surprised at anything anyone said or asked for. In Kazakhstan, a farmer had insisted Jake arrange a marriage for his homely son before he’d agree to placement of a cell phone tower on his land. Telling a story would be easy.
    “ A true one. Why are you small? You were not born stunted, I think.”
    “ No.” Jake fiddled with his watch. Usually when some fool asked about his size, he answered, “Hormones” and let it go at that. He’d never told anyone the real story. He considered several answers he could give now—and decided on the truth.
    “ It happened when I was five, just a few months shy of my sixth birthday, about the same time from the womb as Marl is now,” Jake said, naming a young boy in the camp. “A nervous age, when a child is leaving babyhood behind, looking forward with excitement and fear to finding his place in the grown-up world. I was bright—I’d taught myself to read when I was four. I loved watching baseball and ice hockey and playing violent video games. I thought the sun rose and set on my mother’s smile.”
    Mawgis nodded, his eyes closed as if seei ng Jake then, a skinny kid who, except for softer facial features and a slighter frame, looked the same as Jake did now, doing things Mawgis could not conceive of—reading, video games. Was the machine in his ear crackling with static at the untranslatable words? Jake wiped his sweaty hands against his shorts.
    “ It happened in what we call April, the time in my country when the land begins to warm again after the cold season. When I woke that morning, my mother was already up. From my bed, I heard the light rustle of turning pages as she read the newspaper in the living room. My father was away on business. My older brother was still asleep in our room. Half-asleep myself, I stumbled out of bed and down the hall and crawled into my mother’s arms. She kissed the top of my head and said, ‘Such a big boy you’re getting to be, Jake-Jake, but you still fit in my lap.’
    “ My heart began