by David Bishop
Ivanov only spoke once the Tsar was out of earshot. "That bastard! He's sending us to the ends of the earth, just to satisfy his own curiosity."
The general did not notice Jena appearing in the doorway of the Map Room. "I suggest you speak about my father with a little more respect, general. He does not tolerate insubordination twice in one day, let alone from the same man."
"Forgive me, Tsarina. I did not realise you were there."
"Plainly." She walked into the Map Room, the doors closing silently behind her. "Tell me, general, what do you know about the Forbidden Citadel?"
"Very little," Ivanov admitted. "As far as I am aware, it is a myth, a legend. A supposedly impregnable fortress, hidden in the Himalayas - a fanciful notion."
"Perhaps. But as with many myths, there is a grain of truth hidden within the legend. Our analysis of the Romanov archives suggests the patriarch of that family first discovered the Forbidden Citadel some thirty years ago." Jena strolled across the room towards the holographic globe. "How he found it we do not know. According to legend the citadel may only be seen by those who have been within its walls before. A contradiction, but a useful defence mechanism if true."
"You have a precise location for this fortress?"
"No," she replied. "We know it must be high up in the Himalayas, for the flight logs of Dmitri's personal pilot show several trips to that area. Unfortunately, this is one of the few regions within the Empire that has defied meaningful investigation. The harsh terrain, remote location and lack of strategic value meant there was no reason to waste significant resources on such an investigation."
"But now you want me to lead the Tsar's most feared fighters, the Imperial Black, into this area to find a mythical fortress that may not even exist?" Ivanov asked, unable to keep the exasperation from his voice.
"Precisely." Jena smiled at the general. "If the legends are to be believed, the Forbidden Citadel is home to a religious sect blessed with special abilities, supposedly a mark of their closeness to God. This sect guards the citadel jealously, because it holds a secret so powerful any man who looks upon that secret goes blind."
"A weapon?"
She shrugged. "That is for you to find out. If the Romanovs did have a secret weapon hidden there, your orders are to claim it for the Tsar and bring it back here to the Imperial Palace. If for whatever reason you cannot remove this weapon, you are authorised to destroy it and the citadel. Better it be the property of none than fall into enemy hands." Jena folded her arms. "Any questions?"
Ivanov glared at the holographic representation of the Himalayas as it rotated past him on the globe. "I am a warrior born, I do not believe in myths or fables. Why did the Tsar choose me for this quest?"
"You are an ambitious and dangerous man. Such energies are always welcomed within the Imperial forces, but they can become misdirected if ambition overwhelms reason or judgement. My father says you can be guilty of overstepping your responsibilities, of taking more than is your due."
"I suppose I should be honoured that he takes me so seriously."
Jena laughed. "To my father, you are like the flea that bites an elephant - a minor irritant, but one that can still draw blood. Nothing more, nothing less." She made to leave, but stopped herself. "The Tsar gave me a parting message for you. Take one thousand men as your army. Cost is no object. Succeed in this difficult mission and you will be amply rewarded, Ivanov. Fail in your task and you need never return."
The general contemplated all she had said before nodding in agreement. "Very well. It will be winter soon. No military commander in seven hundred years has been foolish enough to launch an offensive into such hazardous terrain during winter. The major and I will return to Rudinshtein immediately. It will take several days to select and equip my men for the mission, but we will make ready for the mountains with all possible haste. We have but a few weeks to succeed."
"Good luck," Jena offered, before turning away from him. "You'll need it."
THREE
"Rush not at a knife, if you don't want to get cut."
- Russian proverb
"Kabuki is a form of traditional Japanese theatre that dates back more than a thousand years to the early seventeenth century. Early kabuki featured both male and female performers, but the plays became so immodest that women were banned from taking part. Instead, male actors took on the onna-gata (female roles). Over the centuries this style of theatre became increasingly stylised, with elaborate costumers and make-up, the actors speaking in a slow, monotonous tone. Popular plots involve historical events, moral conflicts and love stories. Trap doors and rotating stages were commonplace, enabling rapid changes of set. By the twenty-seventh century, kabuki was forced to diversify to retain an audience, but the use of all-male casts was retained - sometimes with unexpected results..."
-- Extract from Japanese Theatre 1600-2673,
by Floyd Kermode
"This place is like a rabbit warren," Flintlock complained, pausing to catch his breath. He and Spatchcock had been running from room to room in search of Dante, bursting into bedchambers and startling the Okiya's clientele in the midst of some impressively deviant acts. Twice Flintlock had been forced to drag his libidinous lackey away from those unscheduled peepshows.
"The guests certainly hump like rabbits," Spatchcock agreed. "But we still haven't found Dant... Mr Durward. We still haven't found Mr Durward."
Flintlock rubbed his chin thoughtfully, looking up and down the white-walled corridor. "I was certain his scream came from down here."
His ruminations were cut short by the sound of tearing paper. The body of a naked brute flew horizontally between Flintlock and Spatchcock, before smashing through another rice paper wall. He came to rest, face-down in a bubbling Jacuzzi, a long rubber object protruding from between his buttocks.
Spatchcock studied the unconscious figure with amusement. "Is that what I think it is?" he asked, thumbing at the offending item.
"Brings tears to the eyes just thinking about it," Flintlock agreed. The two men turned to the gaping hole in the wall from which the unfortunate hulk had abruptly appeared. Through the shredded paper they could see Dante standing over an Oriental woman, demanding the return of his belongings.
"You've seen what I did to your friend Genghis," he warned. "Unless you want the same treatment, I suggest you fetch my clothes and rifle. Now!"
"Yes, Mr Durward," the woman replied meekly, bowing deeply as she backed away from Dante towards the door. "Me fetch them now, husband."
"And the honeymoon's off too!" Dante shouted after her. He noticed Flintlock and Spatchcock peering in through the hole in the wall. "You took your time."
"You and her married?" Spatchcock asked.
"Not exactly."
"Just good friends?" Flintlock offered.
"No," Dante said firmly. He stopped speaking, cocking his head to one side like a dog hearing a far-off, high-pitched whistle. Dante's expression darkened, souring into a grimace.
Flintlock recognised the signs - Dante was hearing the crest's voice in his mind. That usually meant only one thing: trouble.
"We're not alone," Dante announced.
"We know," Spatchcock agreed. "There's laughing boy in the jacuzzi, for a start. Once he comes round, I doubt he's going to see the funny side of things."
"He's the least of our worries. The Crest has detected a stealth flyer hovering nearby with twelve new arrivals on board."
Flintlock shrugged. "That doesn't make them a danger to us. Could be high profile people, trying to make a discrete visit to the geisha house."
Dante shook his head. "Somebody has locked on to the Crest's presence here, they're using it to track my movements. That only means one thing - enemy action. The Crest has been forced to shut down temporarily, but we've got to get off this floating cathouse right now." He held out his hands as his skin changed colour, its natural pigment draining away to be replaced by slithers of silver and purple. The shape of each hand mutated as the hilts of
cyborganic swords emerged from the discoloured flesh and bone, stretching outwards into metre-long blades. "No need to maintain the pretence of being Quentin Durward anymore. Somebody already knows I'm here!"
The dull thud of an explosion shook the Okiya, accompanied by the rattle of gunfire. Dante and his partners in crime sighed. "So much for a quiet night of Oriental culture and copulation," Flintlock observed.
A low rumble of fury got his attention. The trio swivelled round to see the naked brute emerging from the Jacuzzi, his face flushed with rage and agony.
"Meet Genghis," Dante said. "He tried to rub me up the wrong way."
"But you got to him first?" Spatchcock asked. Genghis charged at the three men as another explosion shook the Okiya. "I think he's coming back for more!"
The strike team burst through the skylights of the geisha house's roof, dropping to the reception area below, weapons cocked and ready to fire. The Okiya's madam was first to die, cut down by a hail of bullets as she emerged from her office. Two of her personal bodyguards followed within moments, slumping back into the chairs from which they had begun to rise. The strike team's leader studied blueprints and floor plans for the Okiya, plotting the best way forward. Four fingers gestured at double doors leading into the eastern section of the structure, sending four black-clad insurgents scurrying forwards to the bedchambers. Four more fingers pointed at the madam's office door, which led into the staff's private quarters, so another group went that way. The remaining three commandos waited as their leader consulted the tiny computer display. Where a blinking light had shown the Crest's location, there was now nothing. It must have detected the signal lock. That didn't matter now the trap was sprung. There would be no escape for Nikolai Dante.
The leader nodded to the other members of the strike team, sending them through the final internal doorway that led to the geisha zone, where traditional Japanese activities like ikebana and kabuki took place. The leader remained in the reception area, guarding the main exit in the unlikely event that Dante had made it that far. Satisfied with these tactics, the black-clad figure dropped into a lotus position on the floor and began to meditate, listening to sounds of battle spilling through the brothel's paper walls.
Spatchcock stuck out a foot and tripped Genghis as the brute charged past, intent on attacking the man who had so humiliated him. But Dante danced around the brute's clumsy lunge, at the same time slicing one of his cyborganic swords across the top of the bed. Genghis tumbled into the mattress, his arrival displacing a cascade of water that drenched the room. A dripping wet Dante admired his handiwork. "I didn't know the Okiya offered watersports."
"I think his scuba-diving days are behind him," Spatchcock added.
"Didn't you say we should be leaving?" Flintlock asked.
"Good point. Crest, what's the best way out of...? Crest?"
"You told it to shut down."
Dante grimaced. "Guess we'll have to find our own way off this love boat." He stepped through the hole in the wall created by Genghis and pointed to his left. "This way, I think."
But Sang Gen was waiting for them at the end of the corridor, wearing Dante's jacket. She was aiming his rifle at the trio, one finger closing around the trigger. "You want no marriage, you pay for no marriage!"
Dante gestured for Sang Gen to lower the long-barrelled weapon. "You can't use that against me. It's a Huntsman 5000, keyed to my DNA. If anybody but me fires that rifle, the bullets will make you their target."
"You lie!" Sang Gen shrieked. "Just like you lie about name. You no Quentin, you Nikolai Dante! Tsar offer big reward for you!"
"Pull that trigger and you'll never turn another trick."
"You lie about name, you lie about gun too!" Sang Gen fired the rifle, a grim look of satisfaction on her features. A second later she was dead, the bullet having entered her forehead and removed the back half of her skull.
Dante walked over to Sang Gen and crouched down, quickly retrieving his jacket and rifle from the dead woman. "I tried to warn you," he said sadly. At that moment half a dozen discs of spinning light flew past Dante's head, slicing through the paper wall beyond him. He glanced up to see four black-clad figures running towards Spatchcock and Flintlock. "Look out! Behind you!"
The two ex-convicts twisted round just in time to see another handful of spinning discs flung at them. Spatchcock dived across the corridor, his shoulder slamming into Flintlock's stomach. The Brit was driven backwards into one of the Okiya's bedchambers, his breath still whistling out from between his teeth.
In the corridor Dante threw his hands in front of his face, the discs deflecting off his swords, taking chunks of flesh and blood with them. Taken by surprise, Dante screamed in pain. His cyborganics were all but invulnerable against most weapons. What the hell were these guys throwing at him? Before he had time to wonder any further, the first of the four was upon him, brandishing a short-bladed weapon in each hand. Dante parried the thrusts of both blades, then flashing his own swords outwards, sliced off the attacker's hands at the wrist. The black-clad figure went down screaming, blood spurting from each wound in a wide arc. Dante dived away from another shower of spinning discs, taking cover behind a corner.
"Flintlock! Spatchcock! Are you alright?"
He pulled on his jacket while waiting for a reply, but none came. "If you can hear me, get back to the boat. I'll meet you at the Sea Falcon."
The insurgents' leader studied the team's progress on his wrist computer. One of the twelve lights representing the location of each member stopped blinking, indicating they were dead. Three more were gathering on the spot where their colleague had fallen. The leader activated the comms unit in their ear. "Target has been found in the eastern section. Converge on that area, find and disable the target. Do not, repeat, do not eliminate the target. Aim to wound."
"Have they gone?" Spatchcock peered back over his shoulder, bracing one arm against Flintlock's throat to get leverage. The gangling Brit gasped in protest, his arms flailing weakly at the rancid creature on top of him.
"Get... off of me... you pestilent... oik!"
Spatchcock realised why Flintlock was choking and rolled off. He crawled over to the wall and peered out into the corridor. Dante and his attackers were gone, except for a handless corpse on the floor.
Flintlock was still coughing and complaining from where he had fallen. "What in the name of all that's holy were you playing at?"
"Saving your life, your lordship," Spatchcock replied. "You almost got sliced in two by a fistful of laser shuriken."
"Laser what?"
"Old martial arts weapon, new twist. Throwing stars made out of pure light. Can slice through almost anything. Nasty."
"Not as nasty as your body odour," Flintlock whined, his face curdling at the smell on his clothes. "It'll take a week of washing to get your foul stench out of my garments!"
"Stop your bleating for once," Spatchcock snarled. "Dante needs our help."
"You heard him, old boy. 'Get back to the boat!' For once in my life, I intend to do as I'm told. I suggest you do the same." He joined Spatchcock by the wall. "Have those chaps in the black pyjamas gone then?"
"They're called ninja, martial arts warriors. The black clothes help them blend into the shadows. They know more ways to kill you than I've got diseases."
Flintlock smirked. "Impressive. And certainly less offensive than your odour." He stepped out into the corridor. The sound of fighting and death could be heard from the left, where the ninja had gone in pursuit of Dante. The Brit turned to his right. "This way, I think. You coming, Spatch?"
"We shouldn't abandon him. He's saved our necks plenty of times."
"Discretion is the better part of valour, old boy." Flintlock strode away, Spatchcock reluctantly following him.
Dante sprinted round another corner, then slammed himself against the wall, intending to use it as a hiding place from which to surprise his pursuers. The thin white surface gave way behind him and Dante fell backwards into a darken
ed room. "Fuoco!" he cried out, tumbling head over heels. He came to rest against a row of seats, his head smashing against a wooden support strut. Blackness closed around him for what seemed like a few seconds, but when his eyes opened again three of the hunters had surrounded him. They were only visible in silhouette, the room pitch dark but for the light spilling in from a hole high in one wall created by Dante's arrival.
"Child's play," one of them said in an accent Dante did not recognise. "Why did the Parliament send a dozen of us? Anyone could bring this fool back alive."
"There's more to this fool than meets the eye," Dante replied, slicing his left hand horizontally through the air. His cyborganic blade cut across the knees of the three ninja, neatly disabling the trio with a single blow. They crumpled to the floor in agony, cursing in several languages. Dante scrambled to his feet, one hand rubbing the bump on his head where it had hit the wooden strut. "Now, who's going to tell me about this Parliament? Who is it, and why do they want me captured?" He rested the bloody tip of his left blade against the throat of the attacker who had spoken. "Start talking or start dying, your choice."
"So be it," the ninja replied. He ground his teeth together, creating a faint popping sound. Within seconds white liquid began to seep through the cloth masking his face. The other two men followed his example, their eyes squinting with pain before the pupils rolled back into their skulls.
"Suicide pills," Dante realised. "They killed themselves, rather than be captured or forced to reveal who sent them." He staggered away from the corpses, feeling his way along the row of seats. "Where the hell am I, anyway? Crest? Crest, I need you to reactivate." Dante closed his eyes to concentrate, summoning the battle computer out of its standby status.