"Mr. Gregor," Richards extended his right hand. "My apologies for the scheduling difficulties. It would seem I'm a busy man these days."
Gregor was many things, but petty was not one of them. With the apology given, he relaxed his shoulders and stood to shake the police chief's hand. "It's quite alright. I've only recently gotten back in town myself."
Richards lowered himself into his chair with a sigh, silently cursing his lower back pain with each movement. Yet another reason he was glad to have a desk job at his advanced age. "What can I do for you?"
A knowing smile played onto Gregor's face. "I believe I have information you'll find helpful in the Roberts case."
Suspicion tugged at Richards, but he did his best to keep it off his face. It would seem all those years of playing poker with a county judge and a prosecutor were having real-world implications. More than once, his bad poker face had left him with empty pockets; once, it meant he couldn’t get a search warrant he desperately needed. Thankfully, years of practice had paid off; these days, it was much harder to tell what Daniel Richards was thinking. He kept silent, urging Gregor to continue with a wave of his hand.
Gregor leaned in across Richards' desk, his voice low. "I know who the vigilante is." His smile grew. "And it's one of yours."
Never mind the fact that Richards already knew that. With Jill and Ramon finally coming to him with that revelation the night prior, that proverbial cat had already been let out of the bag. Richards fought back the smile threatening to creep onto his face, clearing his throat and straightening his posture. It was time for the poker face to take full effect.
"I see." Richards leveled his gaze at Gregor. "Who?"
"Andersen."
"I trust you have some sort of proof, Mr. Gregor?" Richards shrugged, resting his elbows on his desk. "Because let's be honest, that's a serious -- and highly improbable -- accusation. A cop doubling as a superhero? With all due respect, Mr. Gregor, I hope you realize how ridiculous that sounds."
Gregor straightened his tie. "I may not have proof, but I can give you my source."
Richards silently implored Gregor to continue.
"Joel Freeman."
Richards frowned. That was actually a surprise. "Army Lieutenant Colonel Joel Freeman?" He shook his head. Jill's former CO...
Gregor smiled. "One and the same."
"Does he know you're throwing his name out there to a cop?"
Gregor stood with a shrug. "Doesn't matter. It's all gonna come down on his head soon enough anyway. Captain, I don't know what your investigation has turned up, but I'm afraid Dr. Roberts' death is part of something much bigger and deeper than I think your cops can handle."
Richards narrowed his gaze. "You doubt my people?"
"I doubt that you appreciate just how massive this whole thing is." Gregor pointed at the captain. "The fact that you're so nonchalant about one of your detectives moonlighting as a vigilante tells me you don't have any idea how far this goes."
Richards smirked and folded his arms. "Is this the part where you share evidence of some grand conspiracy, only to have me sit back and ask you how on Earth you know all of this?"
Gregor shook his head, on his way out of Richards' office. "No, this is the part where I warn you to be careful."
The door shut behind Gregor, and Richards sank back into his chair with an exhausted sigh. He'd been sitting on this secret for less than a day, and already the strain of keeping it was getting to him. He couldn't imagine how Jill lived with the secret, day in and day out. Maybe it was different for her.
Still, he shared Gregor's assertion that this went deeper than anyone knew. Richards wasn't keen on his brightest detective being a part of the whole thing, either. Problem was, the second they pulled Dr. Roberts’ body out of the water, they were all sucked into the mess. No matter how deep it went.
Chapter 42
If the skies were clear enough, Jill swore she could barely make out the Washington Monument, all the way in Washington, D.C., from atop the Transamerica Tower. She realized it was likely her eyes playing tricks on her, but even the illusion of being able to see that far out from the confines of home made her feel powerful and insignificant all at once. Not that she needed much help when it came to feeling powerful; her infrared vision, coupled with the computer chip embedded in her brain, gave her a distinct mental advantage over anyone else in the city with a badge. The fact that Jill's precinct had the highest closure rate in the city was no coincidence.
The titanium grafted into her bones had saved her so many times that Jill had actually lost count. Early in her vigilante days, Jill had suffered a nasty fall -- the sort that should've snapped her ribs like twigs and sent shards of bone into her vital organs. But, some bruising and mind-numbing soreness aside, she was okay.
Her stamina was vastly improved from her days at boot camp. She was stronger than ever, though her muscle definition was still relatively lacking. Her instincts were sharper, her reflexes as quick as anyone in the BPD. Project Fusion had been everything Dr. Roberts promised -- and then some.
Granted, Project Fusion had also gotten Dr. Roberts killed.
Jill looked over her city, taking stock in how quiet it was. Both the Orioles and Ravens were on the road, which meant downtown was relatively quiet. The fact that the Inner Harbor was still surrounded in yellow crime scene tape added to the effect, and downtown Baltimore was as close to resembling a ghost town as Jill could remember.
On the one hand, there was something to be said for the quiet. Then again, quiet usually came just before a raging storm. Jill hoped this was a case of the former, but given the case she was working on, given the fact that shadowy billionaire David Gregor had put a price on her head, given the fact that she was convinced the bounty and Dr. Roberts' murder were related, she feared it would be the latter.
Tearing her eyes from the streets below, Jill glanced at the katana nestled in its leather sheath and propped against the ledge. It had been heavy on her back in the chilly night air, that chill exacerbated by the fact that she was over forty stories high. The blade had been a gift from her father, a hand-me-down of sorts. In the Andersen family since World War II, when her grandfather Wyatt served in Tokyo, the katana had been given to the family as a token of thanks.
Going against orders, Wyatt had risked his life to protect the Nasikawa family. U.S. intelligence had believed Huroki Nasikawa was involved with Russian spies, taking part in the race to create the world's first dirty bomb. In reality, Huroki had been studying peaceful uses for nuclear energy, and as the father of a 6-year-old daughter, he was hardly the type to bring about the world's destruction.
But the CIA didn't buy it. They had sent their best, most ruthless operative to Japan to take care of Huroki, but thanks to Wyatt's quick thinking, Huroki and his family survived and fled to Australia. Wyatt received a dishonorable discharge once the Pentagon discovered what he had done, but over twenty years later, in a classic case of covering one’s own ass, the White House awarded him the Medal of Honor.
That blade was Huroki's way of saying “thank you” to Wyatt. Wyatt treasured that sword, passing it on to Paul when he was on his deathbed. To the Andersens, the katana symbolized bravery, valor, and the willingness to do what was right -- even if it meant disobeying orders.
Despite being on Death Row, Paul had arranged for Jill to have the sword once she got her badge. It was a family heirloom, a symbol of strength and resilience. Like Jill, the blade was practically unbreakable. When she decided to don the leather, to turn herself into something more than she already was, putting the blade to use seemed obvious. It sure beat the hell out of using her service piece, which was messy, loud, and registered in her name. Guns were not the friend of anonymity.
The crunch of a boot against the gravely roof caught Jill's attention, and she instantly reached for her blade. Jill remained perfectly still, holding her breath, straining her ears to catch the next clue, the next indication that she wasn't alone -- that tonight, t
rouble might have come to her. There was the crunch again.
Whirling around with the grace of an experienced ballerina, Jill pulled the blade from its sheath, grabbing the handle with both hands and crouching into a defensive position. Strands of hair framed her face, and with the shadow of night, she was certain the only thing visible on her face was her left eye.
Another woman, of Japanese descent and sporting a black wool sweater and matching leggings, smirked. "Well, isn't that adorable."
Tightening her grip on the katana, Jill drew in a deep breath to steady herself. As the other woman moved, she moved -- methodically, from side to side, making sure to always keep the woman in her sights. A pair of sai rested on the other woman's right hip, and the moonlight hit them just right.
"I was wondering when someone would show up coming to collect my head." Jill smiled. "Price that high? Surprised it took this long."
With another step, Jill got a better look at the other woman, nearly releasing her grip on the katana as familiarity washed over her. It was the woman from the alley the other night: the one who had seen her and called her Patient Zero.
"Yuki."
A devilish smile crept onto Yuki's face. She was glad the leather-clad woman recognized her -- but not as glad as she was that she got another crack at Bounty. She trailed a long finger over the weapons on her hip, toying with the idea of grabbing them and immediately charging after the other woman. But patience was sometimes a virtue, and right now was one of those times.
"Was wondering when I’d see you again,” Jill said, training her weapon at Yuki. “Last I heard, though, you were in a jail cell.”
"My employer has a good lawyer. And the money means nothing to me.” Yuki yanked one of the sai from her hip, twirling it in her hand. "I'm in this for the sport of it."
Jill narrowed her eyes. “I played soccer in high school."
Yuki responded by tossing the weapon at Jill, which she deflected with a swipe of the katana. The clang of the weapons created a spark, just the diversion Yuki needed to tackle Jill to the surface of the rooftop. With her thighs pressed into Jill's hips, Yuki smashed her left elbow into Jill's nose. Somehow, Jill kept her grip on the sword, though it did little good with her pinned to the ground.
Her limbs heavy from the titanium reinforcements, Jill took silent pleasure in the fact that Yuki could not break her. Sure, her nose was bloodied, and the vision in her right eye blurred, but Jill was clearly not the sort of foe Yuki was accustomed to facing. She shrugged the other woman off of her before scrambling back to her feet, sword held level across her chest in preparation for a strike.
"Tell me something," Jill was stalling, "is it a million no matter what? Or does the price go up if I'm dead?"
Another dark smile flashed across Yuki's face. "Let's find out."
She lunged at Jill after producing her other sai, the blades clanging together again with the katana wedged in the trident. Both women gritted their teeth from exertion, trying to gain the upper hand. Whoever Yuki was, she was good -- clearly professional. The look in her eyes told Jill that not only had she taken a life before, but that she would gladly do so again.
With a grunt, Jill separated herself from Yuki before ramming the hilt of her katana into the other woman's nose. Yuki stumbled back, both hands clasped over her face, blood pouring onto her fingers even as she kept her grip on her sai. Yuki was breakable. Jill figured she'd be fine -- so long as she didn't get tossed off the roof. Even titanium wouldn't be able to withstand a fall from that high.
Grabbing her other weapon, Yuki twirled them both in her hands before the two women embarked on a deadly, yet graceful, dance. They twirled around each other, ducking under and leaping over blades, leaning just out of the reach of outstretched fists and feet. Even the sounds of their weapons clashing together found a rhythm. Adrenaline coursed through Jill’s veins unlike anything she’d experienced since her days in the service, and even as she felt the whisk of a sai barely missing her cheek, she couldn’t help but smile. Deadly as this dance was, it was actually fun.
Yuki charged, only to have Jill brush aside the blow and ram her elbow into the back of Yuki's head. Her wannabe assassin stumbled forward but used the momentum to roll, winding up back on her feet with the sai still in her grasp. She smiled, blood having soaked the tip of her nose, her upper lip, and even the top row of teeth.
"Pity what happened to Trent."
Jill flinched, momentarily startled by Yuki's admission that she knew Dr. Roberts on some level. That appeared to be exactly the reaction Yuki wanted, because she charged again, and it barely registered for Jill in time. With a start, Jill sidestepped the other woman, extending her right arm to clothesline her. Yuki lost her footing and grabbed onto Jill, her momentum causing them both to spin in a complete circle before Yuki lost her grip and stumbled over the ledge.
Jill closed the gap and leaned over the ledge with a scream, reaching out and managing to grab Yuki's right wrist. She squeezed as tightly as she could, despite the nerves in her shoulder burning. Jill dropped her sword and tried pressing her feet against the ledge for some leverage, but she couldn't bring Yuki back up.
"No!" Jill tightened her grip, feeling Yuki's wrist slack. "No!"
Indifference washed onto Yuki's face and her body went limp. She was making no effort to lift herself up off the ledge. Jill tugged again, but even with her considerable strength, she couldn't get the leverage she needed.
"Don't you dare fall on me!" Jill lifted with a pained grunt, sighing in frustration when Yuki didn't budge.
Again, Jill lifted. Again, Yuki didn't move.
"Dammit! Come on!"
Yuki's wrist started to slip out of Jill's grasp, and when she frantically reached to grab it again, Jill managed to brush her fingers against Yuki's before she watched the other woman's body plummet toward the Earth.
"No!"
In a panic, Jill dropped to her knees and pressed herself against the ledge. Her eyes were wide, tears streaming down the right side of her face. She heard the faint thud of Yuki's body hitting the pavement, closing her eyes and covering her mouth with a shaky hand. Trying to process what just happened, Jill felt her heart pounding in her temples. She had just killed a person. Not on purpose, she understood, but did that really matter?
Lifting herself up again, Jill peered over the ledge. She could see Yuki's mangled body in a pool of her own blood, practically a speck on the pavement. Blood spatter reached all the way to the median. She could already hear the whine of sirens in the distance. As mad as she was at herself for inadvertently breaking the superhero code, and scared as hell at what investigators would find once they started digging, Jill was borderline devastated over losing what was perhaps her best lead in the Dr. Roberts case. Yuki appeared to have intimate knowledge of Project Fusion, and now she was never going to share her intel.
Standing, finding her legs wobbly, Jill swallowed back the bile rising in her throat and produced a flip phone from her silver utility belt. She pressed a series of buttons before placing the device to her ear.
"Roger, it's me."
A beat.
"I need to broadcast a message to the city."
Her eyes flickered. "No. Now. Tonight."
Chapter 43
Most of the time, the press was little more than a nuisance, vultures with voice recorders, notepads, and a disturbing lack of tact. But they had their uses -- particularly as it related to Jill's less-than-official exploits, and in light of her fatal run-in with Yuki, she decided this was one of those times. Yuki's death would be all over the news by morning, and Jill needed to get in front of it.
Roger McCallister was a cameraman and part-time producer for Baltimore's flagship television station. He was also a trusted confidant for Jill's alter ego, Bounty, making sure certain stories about the vigilante never made air, while those that did were careful to hide her identity and paint Bounty in a more favorable light. The former was made easier by the simple fact that Roger didn't know
Jill's secret. The latter was sometimes a bit more complicated -- much like it would be once Yuki’s death made airwaves.
He opened the back door to the studio after Jill knocked once, checking both ways before ushering her inside. Roger wore a faded Mariners ball cap -- he was a Seattle native -- that covered his brown eyes the same way his beard covered much of his doughy face. Roger had been working in Baltimore for almost fifteen years, and he was easily one of the best in the business.
Roger led Jill to the studio in silence, and she automatically went to stand on the yellow 'x' marked on the floor. Jill watched as the portly man adjusted camera lenses, tinkered with lighting systems, and punched seemingly random keys on a computer. He stood up, stroking his beard like a mad scientist. "Mood lighting tonight?" Roger tried to keep his tone light. Ever the optimist, he chose to see things how they should be, not as they were. Jill was envious of that, if she was being honest.
"Menacing." Her voice was barely above a whisper, hands clenched into tight fists.
Roger went to work without reacting, dimming the overhead lights most commonly used for live broadcasts before flipping an unseen switch. A spotlight burst to life, enveloping Jill in hot white. She flinched and shielded her human eye before Roger tinkered with the settings and the light dimmed enough that she could finally see without spots floating in her field of vision.
Jill caught a glimpse of herself in a monitor to her left. Her brown hair was frayed, strands hanging in front of her face. Her infrared eye was visible behind the errant strands, and the way her hair framed her face gave Jill just the sort of look she wanted. She lowered her head to add to the effect, secretly glad, once again, for the concealing power of black lipstick.
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