by Wesley Chu
“She’s not,” said Makita, beckoning her to follow.
“Then what are we doing here?”
“Following a lead.”
They followed the map on their comms until they reached a large and busy commercial plaza nestled between several skyscrapers. Makita stopped and stared. “These coordinates must be wrong. According to the GPS, this building in front of us is the safe house rendezvous point.”
“Why do you think it’s wrong?”
Makita pointed at a large sign off to the side. “Because this is literally the Four Seasons Hotel.”
Josie looked up at the glass-paned, gold-and-silver building that curved taller than the eye could follow. She double-checked his numbers and codes, and then scanned their surroundings. “This looks right.”
An astonished grin slowly grew on Makita’s face. “Finally, a decent place. I was expecting some wooden shack behind a dumpster or a hole in the back of a laundromat or an underwater cave underneath the fishing dock. Could you imagine if we can get room service?” He was positively giddy.
They entered the massive lobby of the richly adorned hotel. A towering piece of gleaming metal and stone resembling a staircase climbing into the clouds was on display to their left. The art piece formed a babbling waterfall that cascaded into a pond on the ground level. Then, through some optical illusion, the water continued to stream down another set of staircases beneath the water’s surface.
“Fancy,” said Josie, leaning forward and looking into the depths.
“You should see some of the stuff they have in Hong Kong,” said Makita. “They might be world-destroying assholes, but the Genjix love their art.”
“You’ve been to the heart of the Genjix Empire?”
He walked away from the elaborate display. “The entire city looks like it’s from another planet.”
They first stopped in the front lobby, and then at the concierge, and then down to the lower levels where the maintenance and support staff worked. Two bribes and one comedy sketch of them playing lost tourists later, Makita and Josie finally made it to a small laundromat reserved for employee uniforms in the far corner of the second basement.
Makita walked up to a tiny gray-haired woman. “Are you Madam Lucy Ong?”
The old woman crossed her arms, saying nothing. She looked as if she were etched from marble.
Makita coughed and bowed. “A man who falls off a cliff…” He waited for a response. Nothing happened. A few uncomfortable seconds passed. Makita tried again, this time with looping hand gestures. “A man falls off the cliff…”
Still nothing.
“Uh did I do it wrong?” He muttered. “Was it dives or fall? A woman? That’s what I get for not writing it down. Stupid rules.”
Josie palmed her face and pushed him aside. “A man who jumps off a cliff…”
“…Jumps to conclusion,” finished Madam Lucy Ong. She beckoned for them to follow. The three proceeded through the room filled with thousands upon thousands of uniforms and past an unobtrusive door in the back that led to a dusty unfinished cement staircase. At the bottom was a rusty metal door that opened into an underground walkway.
Any hope that Makita had harbored regarding staying at a five-star safe house evaporated as they walked through the long, drab tunnel under a seemingly endless row of harsh fluorescent lights, a chorus of water drops joining the echo of their footsteps.
He sighed. “We are definitely not at the Four Seasons any longer.”
Josie looked around. “It’s not so bad. During the war, we were often lucky if we slept with a roof over our heads.”
“That’s a pretty low bar. During the war, we were just lucky a day passed when no one got gassed.”
They continued for several more minutes. By his calculations, they must have traveled a good kilometer underground, which meant this walkway had likely taken them several city blocks out of Downtown Core. Along the way, he noticed several metal supports rigged to collapse. This must have been one of the forgotten tunnels used during the war, when the city was a heavily contested hot zone.
“What are we doing here?” asked Josie. “The last known whereabouts of Victoria Khan was Manila. At least that was the one-way ticket that we purchased for her at her request. You’ve seen how tight security is. There’s no way any host can avoid detection in this city.”
“Manila is a neutral city and a major hub for illegal smuggling throughout the entire South China Sea,” replied Makita. “She likely went there to find a way to smuggle herself home. If that’s the case, she’ll be near-impossible to track.”
“So I ask again: what are we doing here?”
They reached a set of damp stone stairs and went up one level through a rickety wooden door, appearing in a small restaurant kitchen filled with line cooks and dishwashers. None paid them any heed as Madam Ong circled around the back to a rickety stairwell.
After climbing what seemed like six or seven stories, they reached a door at the top. Makita had lost count. He was slightly embarrassed to see that he was the only one among them breathing a little heavily.
He knocked on the door and turned to Josie. “I don’t know where she is, but I know someone who should.”
The door creaked open a sliver and a squat, dark-skinned man poked his head out, the barrel of a pistol floating just below his chin. He saw Madam Ong and the gun disappeared immediately. His gaze drifted to Josie and then to Makita.
His eyes widened. “What are–”
Makita stuck his hand out. “Agent Nabin Bhattarai, I’m special operative Makita Takeshi, under special instruction from the Keeper. This is my associate, Colonel Josie Perkins. You’re Ella Patel’s boyfriend, right? We’d like to have a word with you.”
Chapter Eight
World-Famous
Cameron Tan and my former host, Emily Curran, were old friends. He had disobeyed orders and came to India to investigate her death. With his help and guidance, Ella and the Prophus began investigating the Genjix presence in Crate Town. They managed to uncover the plans for the Bio Comm Array facility under construction.
The rest of the events that unfolded are well-documented. In the end, the Genjix Adonis vessel Shura gained control of India. Ella Patel fled the country with Cameron. Crate Town was eventually demolished to pave the way for the Bio Comm Array facility.
Ella struggled with balancing the eight bottles of beer on a serving tray as she carefully tight-roped across the bar to the corner booth. Eight may have been a little ambitious, but Tsuki, the regular waitress, had carried far more than eight at any one time using only one hand. Ella was a trained secret agent. Well, sort of trained. Regardless, waiting tables should be a piece of pie.
Cake.
“What?”
Now that she had been kicked out of the Academy, Io was using cooking and lifestyle blogs to teach Ella English. The results had been mixed.
The American saying is “piece of cake,” and just because you can throw a knife does not mean you can wait tables.
“Isn’t a pie and cake the same thing?”
Ella carefully placed the tray on the table and distributed the beers to the same number of men clustered in the booth. She caught eyes with Hinata as he laughed and negotiated with the Akai Baku leader seated across from him. He looked completely relaxed and at ease among the seven murderous gangsters, but she knew his tells: that fake overly wide grin, the exaggerations and overacting, that super-annoying laugh as he tried to act cool, and his intensely wide-eyed enraptured stare when any of the gangsters spoke.
Ella listened, understanding maybe a third of the Japanese. Io filled in the rest. One thing that was perfectly clear, however, was the numbers.
Two crates of American-made military assault rifles, four cases of ammunition, and six sets of body armor. All for a million yen and change, no protection levies for the bar for the next two months, and the Burglar Alarms would stay in the clear with the Akai Bakus if any prob
lems arose. The Kabukicho District was their turf, so a lot of the underworld activities had to run through them.
Close the deal.
“You sure?”
Why do you always ask me if I am sure?
“Because you’re always wrong.”
Look at the one on the far end. He is about to jump out of his seat.
Ella did. Io was right, this one time. The Bakkas weren’t the savviest bunch, often restless and easy to rile. If they got rowdy, things would get unpleasant for everyone else. She caught Hinata’s eye and tapped her middle finger and thumb together twice. The terms were good enough. Wrap it up.
He finger-tapped back and continued drinking with the Bakkas. Ella grimaced; she was footing the bill for all of those drinks. Eventually, Hinata and the Bakkas got around to making their final toast to seal the deal. Ella turned away and signaled to Kaoru and Lee waiting in the back room to start moving the goods from the storage room to the loading area.
Ella put the tray down and kept her hands near her knives as the payment was made. She stayed tense and alert until the merchandise was loaded onto the Bakkas’ bikes, and they rumbled loudly down the alley. She was half-expecting a rival gang to jump them before they made it out to the streets. Military guns attracted that sort of attention in Tokyo.
Once they were out of sight, Ella allowed the tension out of her shoulders. She pumped her little fists and high-fived the Burglar Alarms. “Are you guys staying?” she asked.
Hinata shook his head. “Talking to the Bakkas was stressful. I need to go home and stare at a wall for a few hours.”
Kaoru and Lee exchanged looks, and then excused themselves. Ella let a small grin grow on her face. The two were trying to keep it a secret, but it was getting harder to hide every day. She wondered if she could get a matchmaking fee for putting them together. She sent everyone home and stayed back to take inventory on the still-unsold goods.
Well done. That should keep us afloat for a while. We almost have enough to get our own place. We should go aground for a few weeks at least and make sure there is no chatter from the Prophus. There is bound to be blowback from your little heroics.
Ella doubted it. What were the Prophus going to do? Try to find her in the largest city in the world? Please. She allowed herself to breathe as she turned back to the bar, staying in character as she wiped the counter with a rag.
Asao Sato, the owner of the World-Famous Bar & Udon came up to her from behind the bar. “Are the Bakkas gone? Is the deal complete, Beektoria?”
Ella grimaced. For the life of her, she didn’t know why she had chosen that stupid name. She hated it. Hated everything about it. It sounded ugly. It had too many syllables. Worse of all, like Asao, she couldn’t even pronounce it half the time. It unfortunately was the first thing that popped into her head when the stupid Prophus signed her up for the Host Protection Program and asked what alias she wanted to go by. She had blanked and the only thing she could think of was that stupid song from the silly British girl band that was playing in her head at the time.
I told you not to be hasty. Take your time and think it over.
“I know. I panicked, and now I’m stuck with it forever.”
“Yeah, we got a fat million yen for the stash,” she said aloud.
“You said you’d clear one and a half.”
“Don’t be a greedy asshole, Asao. That’s still five hundred thousand more than you were going to get. I also got you out of protection money for two months.”
A gravelly grunt erupted from deep within the ex-bosozoku bar owner. Asao cut an imposing figure, but Ella knew better than to judge him by his bulk and his tattoos. Asao was a fraud, a big fluffy coward who nearly soiled himself the first time she pulled a knife on him. She had later learned that although he looked the part of a bosozoku gang enforcer, he had actually only been their accountant and had wanted to fit in.
Ella was also surprised to learn he had two Masters degrees, one in Waka and one in the Muromachi Dynasty, which made him far more educated than she would ever be. Even criminal enterprises needed good bookkeeping and poetry, she guessed.
The two had worked out a pretty unreasonable business arrangement. Asao allowed her to use the back of his bar as storage and for the Burglar Alarms’ home base of operations. In return he got half of all business done on his premises. It wasn’t a remotely fair deal by a long shot but when she first arrived in Tokyo six months ago, nearly homeless, penniless and very much not Japanese, Ella had been shunned by practically every other disreputable business. It was this arrangement with Asao and a couple free nights sleeping in the storage room that had kept her safely off the streets. It also gave her the base she needed to start her own crew.
“Good job. If you’re done, quit taking up space and get on out of here,” said Asao. “Unless you want to keep working. I’m a server short.”
Ella thought about her busy schedule that night, and then slung the rag over her shoulder. She checked the chalkboard with the specials, which was really the week’s leftovers: tempura udon. She slapped a smile on her face and got to work.
On top of being allowed to run her deals through his bar, Asao allowed her to network and scope out new jobs. The World-Famous was where she had met and recruited Hinata, her first Burglar, and also where she found leads for clients to buy her ill-gotten goods.
Unfortunately, the bar wasn’t big, and Asao didn’t allow loitering, so either she had to be buying drinks the entire time or working. Ella chose to work, mainly because she couldn’t hold much liquor. Working also allowed her to keep her ear to the ground on new leads and contacts. She didn’t have a network like she did back in Crate Town – that took years to build – so this was the next best thing.
For the next two hours, Ella hung around, lazily cleaning up the place and half-heartedly serving drinks, mostly to a few regulars and folks stopping by after work. Business was fairly light, but slowly improved as the night progressed. Asao occasionally threw her scowls from behind the bar, but only because she kept raiding the salty finger foods he laid out for the customers.
During her shift, she learned that the Akai Bakus had been losing ground in their turf war with their neighbors to the north, and that the local yakuza, who supported both groups, had decided to sit this one out to see who came out on top. That was probably why the Bakkas needed more guns and armor. One of the factories making counterfeit tablets had a surplus they were looking to unload. Ella wondered if she could use her newfound money to buy the lot and then sell that to the night markets. Or better yet, if she got ahold of some of her old contacts from Crate Town…
Do not even think about it. We are not going to risk that level of exposure simply to make a little side money on cheap knockoffs. To your right, the two women sitting by themselves are talking about needing to find a fence for gear and recruiting a getaway driver for a museum robbery. Perhaps they could use some surveillance equipment.
The two women sitting at the table were at the far end of the bar. Too far for Ella to make out what they were saying, but a Quasing could leverage a host’s senses better than they could themselves. Ella continued pretending to wipe a table with a rag as she craned her head to the side.
How very subtle.
The two women looked as if they were up to no good. Their body language made clear that they preferred to be left alone. That didn’t stop a few idiots from trying though. Each was sharply rebuked.
Perhaps it was time for a woman’s touch.
Ella grabbed a serving tray and was about to scoot over closer to make a casual introduction when a commotion caught her attention. It was the unruly group of six who had come in an hour earlier: four weirdly dressed men in their early twenties and two girls who looked a little younger, probably in their late teens.
One of the girls had refused her drink and tried to stand. The boy sitting next to her had grabbed her arm and tried to pour the shot into her mouth. When she shied away, the d
rink spilled all over the table. He yanked her back into the chair and began to yell.
Ella, no. Remember what we agreed about. Keep quiet. Do not stick your neck out.
Ella bit her lower lip. Her fury burned like the sun, but the damn alien was right. Mind her own business. Remember what was at stake. Look out for number one. Not doing that was what had gotten her this stupid alien in the first place. She forced herself to look away and focus on the two art thieves in the corner. She almost succeeded. Almost. Then the punk went ahead and smacked the girl. A loud sharp slap.
Ella, no, no, do not–
“Shut it, Alien.” She stomped over to the table.
The boy had let go of the girl and had a bottle of beer raised to his lips. He saw her approach and pointed at the mess of alcohol pooled on the table dripping off the side. “Just in time. Clean this up, and get us another round.”
Ella gave him a cold glare and then looked at the girl. “Are you all right, sweet potato?” That wasn’t actually what she was trying to say but her broken Japanese needed a lot of work and sometimes Io was a little late with the translations and pronunciations.
“This is none of your business, gaijin,” the boy spat.
If he makes a move, it will be with his left hand. His right is holding a drink.
Ella leaned in and offered her hand to the girl. “Why don’t you go home? Come on. I’ll walk you out. The rest of you scram.”
“Who the hell do you think you are? Do you know who I am?” The foolish boy grabbed at Ella’s arm. Almost before his fingers clamped around her wrist, she twisted out of his grasp with a sharp tug. At the same time, her other hand, the one holding the serving tray, swung out and smashed his face with the flat side. The boy’s head snapped back, and a spray of blood splattered down his shirt.
To your near right. Just above your head.
One of his friends had stood up and was reaching into his jacket. Her long dagger appeared in her hand almost like magic, and she pressed it to the center of his chest.