A Dangerous and Cunning Woman

by Ethan Johnson

  Booker turned away from the comm, his eyes wide with terror. He picked up his gun and pointed it in Diane’s general direction. “Diane what? Hey, you owe me big time. Don’t think I’ll forget this. I’ll come after you and everything you’ve—”

  Diane pulled her trigger. Booker’s head spurted blood as a single bullet tore through it. He dropped to the ground, dead. Diane lowered her rifle, then slung it across her back. It was useless now until she could afford more ammo. She drew her sidearm and got to her feet. She kept the gun trained on Booker as she slowly advanced on him. She kicked his gun aside and glanced at the comm unit. She expected to see the person Booker had been speaking to. Instead, the screen displayed a single word in white block lettering on a black background: SUCCESS.

  Diane heard tires squealing behind her. She spun around and saw a black SUV heading straight for her. It stopped sharply at the edge of the abandoned lot. Diane nodded to it, then crouched beside Booker’s lifeless body. She ran her gloved fingers over him and pinched a silver ring he wore on his right thumb. She slipped it off his hand and held it up to the fading light of day. It was plain, with rounded edges. She doubted it would fit any of her fingers, which wasn’t her intention.

  She placed the ring in a spare pouch on her belt and sealed it shut. She enjoyed the satisfaction of taking a totem from him; something denied her for quite some time. Another trophy for her collection.

  She walked up to the SUV and climbed into the back seat. The lead operative put the vehicle in reverse and stomped on the accelerator. The second operative turned his head to address her. He patted his helmet. “You lost your comm.”

  Diane shrugged. “Whatever. It’s not like you guys were saying anything interesting anyway.”

  The lead operative put the SUV into gear and sped away from the scene. “The sanitizing units will dispose of it. That’s not a good habit to be in, Pembrook. Keep your assets secure at all times.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” she huffed. “Besides, I was a little preoccupied with not getting my head blown off. Somebody should come up with a better design.”

  The second operative nodded. “They did.” He rapped his helmet. “Wear one of these next time.”

  Diane rolled her eyes. “And mess up my hair? No, thanks.”

  “Suit yourself,” he said. “But Control doesn’t appreciate exposure. Word to the wise.”

  Diane stared out the window at a line of police cars heading for Booker’s hideout. She figured the InTelNet would have a big story to tell well into the night. She frowned at the realization she wouldn’t be mentioned in any of it. Or would she? Maybe Goodwin would call her out for shooting him. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t want to tell the world he wasn’t half the man he used to be, thanks to her choice of targets.

  She wondered why she didn’t kill him. After all, he intended to kill her. It was only because of his incompetence that she was still alive. Wasn’t she justified in putting a bullet in his head in return? No, she concluded, this was better. Much better. No more bragging about the women he was going to rape. No more golden boy status at Panther, or anywhere else. He was going to have some work done down there. With any luck, she thought with a satisfied smirk, they’d turn him into a woman. That would be the cruelest revenge of all.

  Her thoughts turned to Booker. She had expected more of a challenge. Perhaps she would have gotten one if he hadn’t made the mistake of going airborne and giving her a clean shot to take him down. His bad leg was his own fault. She consoled herself for the easy victory by noting that Booker was holding his gun. He had no chance of beating her, but he wasn’t technically defenseless. One shot, as promised.

  The SUV meandered through the city for a long time before pulling into an unmarked blonde-brick building beside an auto shop. The garage door slid shut behind them, and the operatives signaled to her to get out. She followed their lead and found herself face to face with the masked man. He wore a light gray suit and his signature featureless white mask. He nodded curtly to Diane.

  “Miss Pembrook. You have completed your mission.”

  Diane nodded back. “I told you: just one shot. Done as promised.” She spat blood on the floor.

  “Indeed. I am frankly more impressed with your tenacity than the relative ease of your success. Matthias Booker has been eliminated. For this, you have our gratitude.”

  “Just doing my job.”

  The masked man nodded again. “Remove your armor.”

  Diane looked at the operatives, who stood stiffly at attention. She wasn’t sure what to make of this request, but she recalled she was dressed underneath it. She expected to remove it when she returned home. She unhooked her breastplate and began the process of removing the scratched and dinged armor.

  When it was completely removed, she reached into the utility belt and removed the ring she had taken from Booker. The masked man shook his head. The lead operative took it from her and handed it to him. The masked man tilted his head as he considered the ring in his gloved hand. “This does not belong to you.”

  Diane felt a flash of fury. “Yes, it does. I killed him, and now it’s mine.”

  “This is unnecessary exposure.” Diane stomped her foot on the ground in frustration. The masked man raised his other hand. “A compromise can be reached. We will keep it for you in a special vault. You may visit it whenever you wish. But it must never leave our direct control.”

  Diane fumed. “It’s just a stupid ring. Like anyone is going to give a damn where it came from.”

  The masked man raised the ring. “It bears an inscription. You may inspect it before it is quarantined.”

  Diane took the ring back and squinted at it. Sure enough, the inside of the ring was etched with something. She puzzled over the strange words, as they were unlike anything she had ever seen before. She tried to memorize them, so she could look them up later and learn their meaning. Two simple words: UMBRA SUMUS.

  She handed the ring back as ordered. “What’s that got to do with anything? Is that ‘Booker’ in some other language?”

  “It is Latin, and no, it does not directly concern the late Mister Booker. Just know it can compromise us in the wrong hands. Now: we shall tend to your wounds.” His voice was impassive.

  Diane inhaled to protest. Her face hurt, but from what she had been able to see when she looked at reflective surfaces she figured she just needed a shower and bed rest. A damp cloth was pressed to her nose and mouth from behind and held fast until she fell unconscious. The masked man nodded to her limp body. “Proceed.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Diane awoke in a blank room. She laid on a wooden table. She felt… strange. She couldn’t focus on her surroundings at first, but as her eyes began to adjust, she found that there was precious little to see. The ceiling, walls and floor were large panels that radiated soft white light. She balled her hands up into fists and squeezed. They flared in pain. They also felt slimy. She raised her arms to inspect her hands and saw only blood, muscle, and bone. She sat bolt upright and planted her feet on the cold floor. She heard a sickening splattering sound as they touched down. Pain shot through her calves. She looked down at her flayed body. She pressed her palm to her face and didn’t feel her nose. She screamed, and the room went black.

  The next time she opened her eyes, she was in a bedroom somewhere she had never been before. The bed was large and plush, covered with pillows and soft fluffy bedding. The walls were covered in gray pinstripe wallpaper, with white wainscoting, trim and crown moldings. A round table sat in the left corner of the room across from the bed. It was covered with a regal burgundy fabric. An antique lamp sat on the table beside a brass magnifying glass. Sunlight shined through the windows. Diane raised her hands and felt relieved to see skin and fingernails. She touched her hand to her face. She felt the tip of her nose. She ran her fingers through her hair and sighed.

  A harried woman wearing a billowing gray dress, white apron and white bonnet rose from a chair beside her bed. �
��About time you’re up and cracking. Come on then, mustn’t keep Master waiting.”

  Diane cocked her head. She didn’t recognize the woman. She spoke funny. It wasn’t twang; her voice was… refined. Diane pulled the bedding aside and touched her feet to the bare floor. It was hardwood now, scratched and polished, showing its years with an ages-old pride. She stood up and yawned. The woman in the apron returned to the room and gave her arm a sharp tug. “Up with you. You’ve been sleeping since the bloody Dark Ages. Move.”

  Diane didn’t feel like she’d been sleeping that long, but she did feel strangely content. She wondered where she was. The floor was cool under her bare feet. She looked down and saw that she was wearing a blue nightgown with lacy white trim around the edges. “Where are we going?”

  The woman huffed. “Same as we do every morning, love. Master expects you to join him for breakfast, and that’s what you’ll do. I’ve got to get you on horseback after, and that’s half a day’s laboring in itself. Come on, before the daylight’s wasted.”

  Diane stumbled through a long hallway, covered in oversized oil paintings of monarchs and scenes of dogs chasing foxes while men on horseback aimed their rifles. Despite her bare feet, her footsteps made glass clatter and pictures go askew. The woman who led her along wore laced-up ankle-high boots with flowy material around her legs. Her footsteps were a steady click-clack on the marble floor. She led Diane to an immense room with a small table at the center. Two chairs were placed on either side of it. A silver candelabra stood in the center, surrounded by cups and plates. A thin man wearing a gray suit wiped the corners of his mouth with a linen napkin and set it aside. He scooted his chair back and stood as Diane was seated by the woman in the apron. A napkin was tied around her neck after she sat, and her chair was nudged forward. The man in the gray suit gave her a thin smile and a faint nod, then returned to his seat.

  He looked up at the woman and clapped his hands twice. The woman curtseyed and hurried out of the room. Diane listened to the click-clack of her boots fade away as she vanished into another hallway. The man raised a goblet to his lips and sipped from it, then raised a concerned eyebrow as he put it back on the table. He sat in his chair stiffly and looked at Diane. She tried to read his body language for clues as to who he was and why she was there. Why had the woman in the apron told her she did this every day? She had no memory of this place, or this man.

  “I’m awful hungry,” she said, effecting a thick drawl. The man looked at her like he had sniffed a foul odor. “Y’all got any biscuits or nothin’? Grits, maybe?”

  The click-clack of the woman’s feet returned, but were joined by others, and a wooden cart with brass accents. The cart held a large silver serving tray that was covered by an oversized shiny dome, topped with an ornate ring. The servants—that word popped into Diane’s head as she watched them—parked the cart beside the table and sat large white plates before each of them, taking care to set Diane’s place first, then attending to the man. His napkin was laid neatly across his lap and his goblet was topped up from a dusty wine bottle. He nodded his approval to the proceedings.

  The woman signaled to her fellow servant to serve their meal. The dome was pulled away with a flourish. Lyssa’s head sat on a porcelain plate, surrounded by leafy greens and garnished with radishes and potatoes. An apple was stuffed in her mouth. The man heaved a disappointed sigh. The woman in the apron fidgeted and fretted at the sight of him.

  “It’ll have to do, sir. We was all out of the good stuff, begging your pardon.”

  The man nodded gravely and gave her a wave. She signaled to the other servant to take up a carving knife and fork.

  “No, Lyssa, what have they done to ya? What have y’all done to my woman?”

  The servant gave her a perplexed stare, then shrugged. He stabbed Lyssa’s head with the fork and began cutting it in two with the gleaming knife. Diane screamed and clawed at her bedding.

  “Lyssa, no! What have they done to you?”

  Diane looked up into the masked man’s unblinking visage. She swore she saw him give her a wry smile, but his mask always looked that way. He patted her forehead with a gloved hand and nodded. He addressed two people in blue scrubs and green surgical masks. “Miss Pembrook has returned. Thirty percent sooner than anticipated.”

  Diane reached up to pull his stupid mask off his stupid face. She was angered at the sight of it. All of this super-secret nonsense. She’d reveal he was Griggs and put an end to the whole… whatever it was. She was sure there was a word for it, but she couldn’t think of anything that fit.

  She chafed against her restraints. The bed rattled and shook as she tried to pull free from her thick padded cuffs. The masked man shook his head slightly and patted her head. “She requires another sedative. One more dosage should get her through her recovery.” The surgical people nodded and hurried about, preparing a syringe and jabbing it into her IV line. She struggled against her restraints again, but soon the overwhelming urge to sleep filled her, taking the fight out of her and with it, her consciousness.

  Diane awoke in a grassy field. The noonday sun beat down on her like a hammer on an anvil. She sat up and saw strange leafless trees in the distance. An elephant threw dirt on its back with its long trunk. She turned to see a herd of giraffes eating leaves from the highest branches on a well-groomed cluster of trees. She wiped sweat from her brow and began to stand up. She heard rustling in the grasses. The elephant sounded a warning. The giraffes turned their heads quickly, then ran away.

  Diane turned to her left. She saw something tan moving amid the pale-yellow grasses. Something crunched as it moved, then let out a low growl. Diane felt a spike of adrenaline shoot through her, which gave her enough momentum to grab a lion by its jaws as it leapt and wrestle it onto its side.

  She heard a voice in her head as she battled the terrifying beast: The Panther is stronger than the lion.

  She let out a sharp growl of her own. Her hands morphed into glossy black paws, tipped with curved claws that tore into the lion’s flesh. She sank her long fangs into its neck and tasted blood. Yes, she thought as she ripped away its throat, I have become the Panther. I am stronger. Faster. Smarter.

  She opened one eye and saw a woman wearing a surgical mask give her an intent stare as she dabbed at her with a wad of gauze. “She’s bleeding again. We’re going to need to re-suture.”

  The room went black once more.

  Bright lights shone in Diane’s eyes. She squeezed them shut and looked away. She was lying flat on a hard surface but knew little else about her surroundings. A mix of technical and medical staff took turns poking and prodding her with various instruments. When her eyes were able to focus, she found herself in a room filled with technical components mounted in glossy black cabinets. The ceiling was made up of glowing white panels, which suggested she was still in a Special Operations facility. The staff stepped away from her after the masked man’s dispassionate voice filled the room. “Status report,” he said.

  “All systems operational. Ready for live testing,” said the lead technician.

  A medical staffer shined a penlight into Diane’s right eye, then her left, and nodded her approval. “Subject is active and responding to light,” she said.

  “Bring her online,” said the masked man. A technician nodded and pressed a series of buttons on a flashing panel. The slab she laid upon tilted downward. Diane couldn’t move her arms or legs, but she didn’t feel wrist or ankle restraints. Something else was keeping her immobilized. The slab stood nearly upright, then clicked into place. Diane could see the masked man clearly now, along with the rest of the room. The medical staff packed up a cart filled with an assortment of strange implements and bloody bandages. The female medic stayed in the room and observed Diane intently. The masked man wore a black suit now, with his signature white mask. His hair was neatly coiffed and shined under the overhead lights.

  Diane watched two technicians flick switches on either side of her. She suddenly lurched f
orward and found herself standing on her own two feet. She looked down to find herself encased in gleaming black armor. It was similar to the armor she had worn previously, but as she inspected what she could see of it, she saw changes. Her name wasn’t on the breastplate anymore. Neither was the Panther Division logo. Her hands were covered in what appeared to be rubber. It fit tightly, whatever it was. She didn’t seem to be wearing removable gloves anymore. Whatever had been done to the armor was, well, slick. She couldn’t think of any other word to describe what she was seeing.

  A technician stepped forward and tapped at a tablet. He nodded to Diane. “Go ahead and say something, please.”

  Diane squinted at him. “Like what?”

  “Just talk normally. We’re checking the on-board communications.”

  “I’m pretty out of it right now. I can’t think of anything to say.”

  The technician nodded and turned to the masked man. He raised his hand in acknowledgment of whatever he was being shown on the tablet. The second technician stuffed something into Diane’s right ear and gave a thumbs-up to his partner, who in turn tapped away at his tablet. “Testing alpha channel,” he said.

  A high-pitched whine sounded in Diane’s ear. She grimaced and clapped her hand over her ear. The technician tapped at his tablet again, and the whine ceased.

  “Okay, I have identified and corrected the issue. Testing now,” he said.

  Diane expected another sharp tone, but instead heard a female voice speaking softly. “Diane, can you hear me?”

  “Yes, I can hear you,” she replied. The voice seemed familiar.

  “Lieutenant Kenner would like to see you. Report to his office as soon as possible.”

  “I uh, I’m a little busy right now.” Diane didn’t know what to make of this.

  “He knows. When you’re done. He’ll be expecting you.”

  “Okay, sure.” Diane looked at the masked man, who gave no indication of his reaction to this development. “I might be a while.”