Shadows of Ash (The Nameless Book 2)

by Adrian J. Smith

  Zanzi caressed the VP9 and nodded at Tilly to push the button that opened the door.

  She burst into the room, her pistol directly in her line of sight. She squeezed the trigger and Alba spun, a shiny metal instrument in her hand. Zanzi’s first bullet pinged off the instrument, deflecting the bullet. Her second hit Alba in the shoulder and her third in the neck. Alba toppled over the instrument tray, sending the metal objects flying.

  Growling at the sight of Harriet peeled open, Zanzi shot Alba twice more, this time in the head. She dropped her arm to her side. Harriet didn’t deserve this. She deserved some sort of farewell. Zanzi put Harriet’s organs back in her chest and replaced the top of her skull. If she couldn’t bury Harriet, she would burn her.

  Cleaning alcohol. Great as a disinfectant, and flammable. Zanzi spilled it around the room, over the floor, the walls, and the beeping machines. Over Harriet, and lastly, over Alba.

  As she splashed it on Alba’s face, the woman gasped, blinked, and sat up, holding her head.

  “You bitch. You shot me.”

  Zanzi went for her gun, but Alba’s superhuman speed caught her off guard. The ivory-colored woman smashed into her, tackling her to the ground. Zanzi twisted and her hip slammed onto the concrete floor. Sharp pain flooded up her back. Zanzi ignored it and brought her arms up in front of her face.

  Alba straddled her and, with surprising strength, began to pummel her. Over and over. Blows rained down, her rage never quitting. “Bitch!” she screamed with every blow.

  Most punches connected with Zanzi’s arms, each contact sending jabs of agony into her body. Alba could hit hard. Some found their way through with concussive force, exploding against her chest, her sides, and glancing off her head.

  Stars swam in Zanzi’s vision, little firework bursts of red and orange, as if each punch came with an explosion of color.

  She wanted her gun but had no way of reaching it. Likewise, she wanted to light the alcohol. Burn it all, herself included. At least Alba wouldn’t be alive to harm anyone else.

  Zanzi tried to bring her legs up and throw Alba off, but the woman was too strong. Then a scream of agony rang in her ears, and Alba suddenly went stiff, fell to the side, and convulsed on the floor.

  Tilly, taser baton in hand, stood over them. She jabbed Alba once more, under her chin. “Leave her alone you bitch!” she screamed then dropped the baton and pulled Zanzi to her feet.

  Zanzi wobbled for a few seconds as her head cleared. Retrieving the baton, she zapped Alba again, holding it against the woman’s temple as she counted to ten. She turned and looked at Harriet’s body.

  Gritting her teeth, she wedged the pistol under Alba’s jaw. “Survive this,” she muttered, and she pulled the trigger.

  Alba’s body jerked as the bullet exited the top of her skull, coating the wall behind with blood and brain matter.

  “Thanks Tilly. You saved me.”

  “Is she dead?”

  “I hope so.”

  “I always wanted to do that to her. She hurt me so much, and my friends. I couldn’t stand there any longer, watching her hit you.”

  Tilly tore her eyes away from Alba. Her face appeared to relax, like a mask she had worn for a long time had finally been taken off.

  “Thank you. We have to go, before the guards come.” Zanzi picked up the electric bone saw and, without looking at Alba’s corpse, ran it across the metal cabinet, sending sparks into the alcohol, igniting it. She threw the saw across the room, grabbed Tilly’s hand, and dashed back to the stairwell.

  Three

  North of Tokyo, Japan

  Dawn broke over the distant mountains, painting the sky with pinks, purples, and hints of yellow and orange. Allie hadn’t been able to sleep much, her mind too full of questions. Too full of doubts, whispering anxiety-laced jibes.

  You’re not one of them…

  Your name isn’t on the safe list.

  Why don’t you just run?

  It had always been like this for her. Self-loathing and doubt, never thinking she was good enough to achieve anything. Having famous parents did that to a child. Her father had been a test pilot for NASA, but he’d never made it into space – though he’d been on standby a few times. He’d been scheduled for the space shuttle flight following Columbia’s disastrous reentry in 2003. By the time the two-year flight suspension was lifted, he’d retired and joined the ground crew. Her mother was a paramedic, training recruits on combat triage. The Army flew her around the country, schooling the special forces.

  “Can’t sleep either?” Booth said, stretching.

  “Too many questions buzzing around,” Allie said, tapping her temple.

  “Like what?”

  “You really want to know or are you just making conversation?”

  “A bit of both. More the first one.”

  Allie looked around the carriage. Ryan, Cal, and Sofia were sleeping soundly. She wouldn’t be overheard.

  “I suppose this is normal for you guys?” she said quietly.

  “What? Trying to save the world?”

  “No. I meant, being in dicey situations. You seem relaxed. Calm, even.”

  “Part of our training. ‘Panic never solves anything, Mr Booth.’ That’s what one of our instructors would say all the time.”

  “That would be a good start. Who are you guys?”

  Booth sighed. “I guess there’s no harm in telling you. We work for a small agency: LK3. Don’t ask me what it means, no one has ever explained it to me. I think maybe it was its original designated number and they just left it. I’ve known Connors for over twenty years. The others we met during training, became friends, and eventually a team.”

  “LK3. Are you a government agency, like the CIA or NSA?”

  Booth laughed and shook his head. “We kind of work for the State Department – not just looking out for America, but any of our allies too. We keep a low profile. Sneak in and out. Our specialty is extraction.”

  “Extraction. Like kidnapping?”

  “C’mon, really?” Booth shook his head.

  “I’ve heard rumors of black ops kidnapping terrorists and wanted criminals, taking them to Guantanamo.”

  “Definitely not us. I’ll give you an example. Let’s say you’re the daughter of a senator or governor. You’re a good girl and go off to college, but afterward you want to travel. Same as everyone, right? Not for them; too much of a target. But let’s say you’re determined and, against your parents’ wishes, you go anyway. You go to Thailand and on to Myanmar, where some rebel group kidnaps you. That’s where The Nameless come in. We sneak in and get you out. Take you home. No medals, nothing. Barely a thank you.”

  “So you are black ops,” Allie said.

  “I suppose in a way we are. But we try really hard not to kill anyone.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, only the bad guys.”

  “And ReinCorp?”

  “Ugh. Where do I start?” said Booth. “We have friends in all the agencies. They alert us to strange, out-of-the-ordinary things. Not red alerts like terrorists. More odd things. ReinCorp came up all the time but we couldn’t get anything on them. Apart from a few unethical practices, they were clean. We kept an eye on them, which is why we knew about the satellites and codes. If it wasn’t ReinCorp, it was YamTech or Zizer Pharmaceuticals. We pulled Ryan in once Keiko, Sofia’s daughter, went missing. Now, here we are.”

  Allie nodded, taking it all in. As far as she could determine, The Nameless – LK3 – were the good guys. They’d been trying to stop this sort of madness from happening. She gazed out the carriage window. Sunlight flooded the countryside, revealing fields of rice, broccoli, and kabocha squash. Quaint villages dotted the hillsides and bunting fluttered in the light breeze.

  “What made you decide to become a pilot?” Booth said.

  “Dad took me up when I was about four years old, and I loved the feeling of freedom. It feels like it’s just you up there.” Allie winked and said, “Plus, I was a
n Air Force brat. Had to show the boys how to do it.”

  “Yeah. That would do it.”

  “You? Did you always want to be a spy?”

  Booth let the jibe pass. “Stuff happened so I couldn’t go to college. So I joined the Army, I kind of fell into this. Glad I did.”

  “Because you help people?”

  “Sort of,” he said.

  “It’s hard to put it into words, I know. When I flew aid into war-torn countries, I’d get the same feeling.”

  “Exactly. It just feels right. Your purpose?” Booth raised an eyebrow.

  “I suppose destiny, purpose. Fate.”

  The train shook violently, starting small before rocking from side to side. Allie and Booth grabbed their armrests and hung on. She frowned and looked at him. Booth had his eyes squeezed shut as the carriage rattled again, listing and tilting to the left. It took her a moment to recognize the motion as an earthquake.

  Metal screeched.

  Glass shattered.

  The train’s dampeners tried to engage, but the motion of the rolling ground was too strong. In seconds, their carriage capsized and screamed along the tracks, bucking wildly. Allie was flung against the windows and Booth crashed on top of her, knocking the wind from her lungs. Something sliced her upper thigh.

  The carriage seemed to grind along the ground for hours, throwing stones and soil into the air. Allie reached out and held onto the seat’s upright. At long last, the train ground to a stop.

  Booth rolled off Allie. He shook his head and sat up. “You okay?”

  Allie couldn’t speak. She gasped. Coughs and groans sounded from across the aisle. Allie managed to push herself upright and began combing the glass from her hair. Tiny fragments of silicon and dirt fell to the floor.

  “Nameless. Sound off,” Ryan croaked. The futon mattress he’d been sleeping on had acted as an airbag, cushioning Cal, Sofia, and him as the train derailed.

  “Booth.”

  “Cal.”

  “Sofia. I think.”

  “Allie.”

  “Check yourselves over for injuries and be ready to move. I’ll scope out what’s happened.”

  “The kids,” Sofia said.

  “Our safety first. Then we’ll go get them,” Ryan said.

  The force of the crash had buckled the main train door and popped it open. Allie hobbled after Ryan. He hadn’t heard an explosion, so death squads couldn’t have attacked. One minute they’d been cruising northward, and the next, the train had thrown a tantrum.

  Yamada’s private bullet train lay in pieces like a toddler had kicked a toy one off its tracks. The white and blue carriages were scattered, some on the rails, some down the embankment, entangled in trees and scrub. Others, like theirs, were half on and half off the track. Several Yamada guards lay prone, unmoving. The stench of burning oil and hydraulic fluid hung in the air. Exposed electrical cables sparked and hissed.

  Farther out, huge landslides had cascaded down hillsides, swamping villages and farms, long cracks disappeared into the distance. Trees and power poles had snapped in half. Houses were aflame. Roads had buckled and split apart.

  The ground shook again. Not as violently but still strong. Allie clutched the handle next to the door and rode it out. A Californian native, she understood with complete clarity what had happened. A powerful earthquake had struck Japan. She shivered, remembering footage of the tsunami that had followed the last big one.

  Were they far enough inland?

  Once the aftershock had subsided, Ryan grabbed her shoulder. “Get your things. This is our chance.”

  The other members of The Nameless were picking up their belongings and wriggling into backpacks. Booth handed hers to her.

  “Thanks.”

  “All good?”

  “A little sore but I’ll live.”

  Booth nodded. “I still prefer coffee in the morning.”

  “No arguments from me.” She liked the well-mannered agent. He had an easiness about him. She’d found herself talking to Booth like they’d been friends for years. She made a mental note to continue their conversation. She wanted to know more about The Nameless.

  Four

  Northwest of Tokyo, Japan

  Apart from the sounds of metal groaning, of liquids dripping and electricity humming, there was nothing else. No human sounds. No screams or shouts. No cries for help. No calls from survivors. Ryan mapped out the Shinkansen in his mind. They were in the second carriage from the front. Yamada’s suite was near the back of the train. Was that where Keiko and Hogai were? Or had they been taken to the carriage with the traitors? He flinched. That was the one place he hoped they weren’t. First, they needed weapons, and for once luck was on their side. The guards who’d been stationed at their doors were now dead, the force of the crash too great for even the nanites to repair. Ryan signaled to Booth and Cal, jogged to the nearest guard, and scanned the vicinity. Still no sign of the Yamadas. The guard was armed with an HK VP9 and an SP5K. An odd choice of weapons, Ryan thought, but beggars can’t be choosers. He pulled them free, rifled through the dead man’s pockets and grabbed the extra magazines.

  He handed the VP9 to Cal, scanning for threats again, ever fearful of either Yamada or any Siphons showing their faces.

  “Ready?” Ryan said, checking everyone over. Apart from a few scrapes and bruises, The Nameless appeared mostly unharmed, a few cuts and bruises that were already beginning to heal. His question was answered with nods and murmurs.

  “Keep it slow and smooth.”

  The Nameless crept through the wreckage, searching for survivors as they went. Ryan led them, methodically hunting. Eyes and ears alert. They had to shimmy down a slight bank to reach the last two carriages, which had rolled into the short trees and twisted scrub. Apart from broken windows, they were both intact. A few scrapes and gouges, bumps and dents. The train’s integrity had held.

  Ryan raised his fist, stopping the group. They had reached the carriage that held the traitors. “Booth, with me. Everyone else, watch our backs.”

  He gripped the SP5K and thumbed off the safety. Booth swung open the door and ducked back. The overpowering scent of misery and death leaked out. Ryan crouched and risked a peek. Apart from ash remains, the carriage was empty.

  “Clear,” he said, returning to The Nameless.

  “I’ll check this one,” Cal said, pointing to the rear carriage. Allie went with her.

  Sofia waved Ryan over. “The train’s still giving off a Wi-Fi signal.” She showed him her tablet. “I’ve got a map of where we are.”

  Ryan spent a few moments thumbing through the map. As fate would have it, they were close – well, close-ish – to the airport used by the wealthy to access Japan’s ski resorts such as Nagano, host city for the 1998 Winter Olympics. He ran the numbers through his head. The airport was at least a two-day hike through the mountains and into the next valley. Maybe three, depending on what assholes they ran into along the way.

  “See what the closest village is. Once we have Keiko and Hogai, we’ll find a car,” he said.

  “Already have,” Sofia said. “Five kilometers southwest.”

  Ryan’s gaze turned in the direction Sofia indicated. He could just make out the roof tops in the distance.

  Cal and Allie exited the carriage. “Clear.”

  “Eyes sharp, everyone,” Ryan said, pivoting. He raised the machine pistol and picked his way through the carnage.

  They reached Yamada’s carriage and split into two groups, each taking a side. Ryan stopped in his tracks at the sight of three heavily armed guards in black suits. The lead goon had his shirt sleeves rolled up, exposing his tattoos.

  “Drop your weapons,” Tattoo said. He grinned and gestured with his head. Ryan watched as Hogai was frog-marched around the corner. He had a bloody wound across his scalp. His eyes met Ryan’s. He blinked as he shook his head, as if to say, “Don’t do it.”

  “Where’s Keiko?” Ryan asked.

  The goon smirked and
pulled Keiko out from behind the train.

  Ryan hated losing. Hated it more than anything. Growing up, he’d played soccer. Loved it. Was obsessed with it. It was all he’d thought about before puberty struck. While he hadn’t been the most naturally gifted or technical player, he could read the game. His favorite coach had said something that had stuck with him: You don’t have to be the best to win. Just the most determined. Leave it all out there, on the field.

  Ryan gritted his teeth. He was determined to keep everyone safe. Right now, that meant not getting anyone shot. Slowly, with his free hand raised in surrender, he lowered the SP5K, signaling for Cal to do the same. Once they were unarmed, the guards took them to the back of the derailed carriage. There, Touma Yamada and his grandson Goro waited. Goro stood with his hands in his pockets. Yamada, arms crossed in front. Both men had slight smiles, as if they were amused by the situation.

  “Ah, The Nameless. For a moment I thought you had run off without your children,” Yamada said.

  Ryan stayed silent.

  Yamada rocked on his heels. “Despite the interruption, we are still going to rescue Takeshi. Ueda is a few hours walk from our location. I trust you will honor our agreement.”

  “And then what?” Booth said.

  “We’ll take one of my helicopters.”

  Ryan tilted his head. Now was not the time to test the yakuza. The city of Ueda would provide a better opportunity to escape. They would be closer to that private airport in Nagano for one. He flashed a series of quick hand signals for The Nameless to stand down for now.

  Yamada’s armed guards split up. Four covered the rear while two took up point and led the group away from the derailed train. The extent of the wreckage astounded Ryan. How had they survived that? Now that their nanites had been activated, the little robots were healing them all. The aches and pains he’d had moments ago had vanished. Not for the first time, he wished he had an expert who could explain several things to him: Why did some people swell or shrink? What caused the Siphons? Why did Yamada and Goro have ivory-colored skin?