Epilogue: Island Hopping.

  [POV: Iron Mask]

  The speedboat's engine finally cut out within sight of Kiwai Island. Iron Mask lay in the boat and relaxed as the vessel slowly floated to shore, peacefully running aground on the sand.

  A chirp came through on her smart watch. She ignored the first two rings, turning off the boat engine and jumping out. The rings were incessant, and Iron Mask soon answered, voice dropping to a low hiss.

  “I told you not to phone me in the late night.”

  “Port Moonstone remains standing. Our assets on the ground have been destroyed. Curiously, you were able to answer our summons, Iron Mask. Do you care to explain your failure?”

  “Easy. First off, your boys didn’t even pay on time, and ignored my advice on everything. That’s on them. Take it up with their ghosts. Second, one of those magical girls had a secondary transformation. Capabilities unknown. I chose a tactical retreat to reassess, resupply and strike back at a more opportune moment. First rule of warfare, fighting a losin’ battle is for suckers. Besides, I’ve scored intel. I’ll send it through now.”

  A silence filled the air, as Iron Mask pressed a few buttons on her watch, uploading the intel. She snorted with derision. “You spent what, 5 or 6 years trusting the psychic sychophant to coordinate, and got washed. Then you gave the city 10 years to recover, then fought back with less firepower? What kind of moves were those?”

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  The line went quiet, but the call didn’t cut off. Iron Mask shrugged. “Anyway, I’ll bill you directly. You want us to keep working together, I’ll need time to put a team together, and I’ll need my expenses covered. And remember: I’m only there for The Major.”

  “Naturally. Good to see you’re more interested in teamwork than your predecessor. All glory to the Nest!”

  The call cut out and Iron Mask reflected on the next course of action. Step one: power nap. Step two: island hopping, at least until she could get back to Hoboken. Along the way, build a crew, one of competent professionals. She had a few names in mind, scattered through the South Pacific. Then, strike back and let the world know the message of Iron Mask.

  But first, a beach sleep, at least until morning. She set an alarm, pulled Che Saguaro’s flower out of her pocket, rested it in its comfortable spot in her hair. Then she lay on the sands of Kiwai Island, feeling it under her one good hand. Watching the sands run through her fingers, she mused to herself.

  “Strange to think how so many troubles started on such a beautiful beach.”