by Wesley Chu
A moment later, the bag was pulled off her head and she was momentarily stunned by the harsh glare of a desk lamp. She averted her eyes and blinked the exploding dots away. Ella raised her arms and heard the rattling of chains. She looked down and saw handcuffs around her wrists. They were attached to a ring bolted onto the table. To her left was a large mirror that covered the top half of the wall. It looked like a scene from a bad Hong Kong cop movie.
It is exactly what you think it is.
“Wait, we’ve been rescued by the police?” For a second, Ella’s hopes skyrocketed. The police were here to serve and protect, and the Japanese police tended to be more civil than in other countries. Maybe the police had somehow caught wind of her situation and were protecting her. By kidnapping her. And throwing a sack over her head. Tossing her in the back of a van. And bringing her into an interrogation room.
OK, maybe not.
It was still better than the alternative. While Ella generally disliked cops, getting kidnapped by the yakuza would be awful. The Genjix, even worse. The Prophus was honestly hardly a better option, because they would kidnap her and throw her in a prison in the Arctic just to keep her away from the Genjix. Why did the Genjix want her anyway?
More immediately pressing, why did the Tokyo police pick you up?
Ella could name half a dozen things right off the bat: theft, gun-running, working with organized crime…
Assault, embezzlement, fraud…
“Racketeering, money laundering, forgery…”
Now that Ella thought about it, she hadn’t been giving herself enough credit. She had been awfully busy. For the past few months she had felt guilty about spinning her wheels, but she had gotten quite a bit accomplished.
Pride is not what you should be feeling. The police could throw you in prison for any of these crimes.
“Still better than the alternative.” Ella was practically cheerful.
The door opened with a stuttering creak, and a police officer walked in. Ella was almost happy to see him. She tried to wave, but her chained wrist did not make it very far off the table. He did not return the greeting.
“Hello,” she said. “May I get something to drink?”
The cop ignored her and placed a watermelon-sized disk on the table. Ella eyed it suspiciously. It didn’t look like a torture device.
It is a communication projector.
“What does it do?”
The cop pushed a few buttons, and the air above the projector began to shimmer, then coalesced into a three-dimensional bust of a person. Ella was confused. She had never seen this person before, but he was awfully handsome. Disturbingly so, like he had just stepped out of a beauty magazine. He had a shock of dirty blond hair and a chin that ran for miles, cheekbones that looked as if they were etched from a side of a mountain. That set off several alarms in her head.
Oh no.
That was when it hit Ella as well, and her stomach dropped to the tips of her toes.
The projection of the cover model looked her over and shook his head. “So you’re the Receiver’s vessel. I expected more.”
“You’re not much to look at either. Who the hell are you?” Ella shot back. That was a lie; he looked very impressive. She didn’t expect the man to answer, but he gladly volunteered.
“I am Rurik Melnichenko,” the projection of the cover model said, “and you are now my property.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Her Way
In Ella’s defense, this was who she was. It was how she had survived years on the streets. The Academy had no system in place to help her transition from her old life in Crate Town to that of a student. Because of the Host Protection Program, they were not even aware of her history. As Nabin’s presence had saved Ella, his absence doomed her.
In hindsight, that was probably a mistake on the Prophus’s part.
Shura was in a mood by the time she returned to Aizukotetsu-kai corporate headquarters. She kicked the glass door open and stormed through, nearly taking it off its hinges. Fortunately, it was late in the evening by the time she arrived, but the yakuza were a twenty-four-hour shop.
The situation had escalated quickly after Shura had her run-in with the Prophus agents. No sooner had she escaped them than the police swarmed the entire neighborhood. She had to flee before anyone managed to identify her as the Blonde Bombshell Bomber. If so, the entire district would have been locked down within minutes.
She ended up having to jump a few walls to circle back to the car. By the time she reached the place she had left it, her ride was gone. Her stupid yakuza driver, the man whose job was to chauffeur her around, had failed in his only duty. Shura had no choice but to walk halfway to the Aizukotetsu-kai office before she risked a taxi.
Hailing one in this city was brutal. By the time she finally made it back to the yakuza office, she could hardly contain her rage. Kloos and the rest of her team was waiting in the lobby. They fell in behind her.
“Where were all of you?” she spat.
“Traffic,” admitted her second in command. “And then when we arrived at Nishi Kasai, the police were everywhere. One of the cops recognized Roxani and me. We ended up having to kill him and pull the heat away from the area in order to facilitate your escape.”
Shura grunted. That was a reasonable excuse, but it didn’t make things any better. Another dead cop wasn’t helpful. She could have used the backup; she should have kept them close.
A few of the yakuza lounging in the front lobby almost drew their weapons – she was itching for a fight.
We still need them.
Shura pushed the violence out of her mind and walked to the tea room. Her path was blocked by four guards and the young tattooed woman she remembered as the boss’s granddaughter and heir.
Bashira, the granddaughter, bowed. “Oyabun is expecting you.”
They stepped aside.
Be wary.
Shura allowed herself a beat at the door before heading in. She left the simmering rage and sharp irritation outside the room, offering the elderly Tanaka Nishiki a gracious bow. “Thank you for seeing me at such a late hour.”
“The honor is mine, great Genjix,” bowed Tanaka.
“We have run–” she began.
Tanaka gestured toward the small table. “Tea?”
He is trying to make amends for today’s mishap.
“Meaning he recognizes his people’s incompetence?”
I would not go that far in your assessment. Stay humble.
“A difficult task.”
For you, especially.
Shura relaxed her shoulders and offered Tanaka a tilted bow, showing she was ready to talk. She joined him at the table, lowering herself slowly to her knees as if this ceremony was second nature to her. Shura poured them both a cup of tea. The pot was piping hot again. How many guns were pointing at her right now?
Tanaka took his time inhaling the scent of the black tea before sipping gingerly. Shura went along with the charade for several more minutes. Her patience was just starting to wear thin when the leader of the Aizukotetsu-kai spoke.
“I understand you experienced difficulties retrieving the girl.”
Shura made sure not to assign blame. “She is lost for now, but I am confident that is only a temporary setback. I need your sources to locate her again.”
Tanaka sipped his drink. “The conditions of our agreement were to locate the girl the first time, nothing more. The assistance we offered was simply a courtesy.”
“Your people were the ones who lost her.”
“An unfortunate occurrence,” he countered, “but they were attacked by your enemies. The blame cannot rest upon the Aizukotetsu-kai.”
That is a fair point.
“The men you sent with me were not your best. They outnumbered my enemies over three to one.” It took effort to maintain a steady voice. “Their boss insisted I not get involved. He ordered me to stay in the car. I could
have handled the Prophus if I were there.”
“For his failure he will lose a finger, but it was for your own protection. You are a wanted terrorist.”
Shura decided to end the charade. She hated tea anyway. She put the cup down on the table. “Let us talk plainly.”
Tanaka followed suit. “That is the preferred method in which old men wish to converse.”
“I intend to get the girl back. Failure is not an option. You will help me or there will be consequences for both of us.”
“The Aizukotetsu-kai do not take kindly to ultimatums.”
“The Aizukotetsu-kai should take kindly to facts,” she countered.
Here we go. You better make this work.
“I have a plan.”
I am reading your mind. You actually do not.
The leader of the Aizukotetsu-kai spoke in a measured tone. “You may be Genjix, but you are only one of several within your organization. We can sell this information to your rival tonight and be billions richer.”
“You do not want to go to war with me,” she said in a deadpan voice.
Several red dots painted Shura’s chest. Tanaka was stone-faced. “You dare make threats in the heart of the Aizukotetsu-kai. You forget your place.”
Shura looked down at the small dot dancing above her heart. “I can reach out and kill you before your people can pull the trigger.”
“I am an old man and have lived a long life. It would be a good trade.”
Shura hated to admit it, but she really liked Tanaka. “What about your granddaughter, Bashira?”
Tanaka scoffed. “I thought you had more honor than this. Bashira is beyond your reach. Once you are gone, we will ally ourselves with your rival, and then we will be untouchable by those who seek to avenge you.”
Shura put her hands up to her sides as if surrendering. She leaned in and whispered. “I’m not talking about my people. Who will protect her from yours after you are gone?”
To Tanaka’s credit, his hesitation was brief. If she had blinked, she would have missed it. His eyes narrowed, and he put up a hand. The red dots dancing on Shura’s body disappeared.
The yakuza boss let loose a long sigh and then stood up. The door behind him opened. His arm waved in invitation. “Would you join an old man in his garden?”
Shura kept her face even, but she wanted really badly to roll her eyes.
Stay in control. You almost have him. Here is all the relevant information regarding the factions within the Aizukotetsu-kai.
Shura followed Tanaka through the back door, accompanied by two guards. The old man offered his arm, which Shura accepted, and they strolled together to a private elevator which began to climb. They were greeted by the cold breeze as they stepped out onto the rooftop of the fifty-story building. One of the guards handed the old man a coat, which Shura helped him don, and then the two strolled down a stone path leading toward a gazebo at the far corner.
“This is my sanctuary,” proclaimed Tanaka. “I enjoy the solitude here.”
“I would find it difficult to be alone with my thoughts with such wind singing in my ears,” Shura admitted.
The old man chuckled and tapped the side of his head. “I am always alone with my thoughts. It is my words that are often shared, even when they are not meant for others. This sanctuary allows my thoughts and my words to remain my own when I desire it.”
They reached the gazebo, and Tanaka gestured to a bench at a small stone table. A pot of what Shura could only assume was more tea was waiting for them. This time, Tanaka poured. Shura was surprised to discover it was bourbon.
“I tired of tea decades ago,” the yakuza boss admitted. “But tradition and doctors dictate the life of an old man.”
“Tradition – and doctors – are harsh mistresses,” agreed Shura.
“You haven’t met my mistress,” chuckled the old man. He sighed. “In any case, my time on this world is short.”
“What stage?” asked Shura. She had suspected the man was unwell, but Tabs had confirmed it during her research. It was not a well-kept secret.
Tanaka gave a start, then nodded. “The famed Genjix spy network is as good as its reputation. It has metastasized. I have a year perhaps, no more than two.” He downed his drink. “The good news is now I can drink whatever I wish.”
According to his medical records, he will not live six months.
“And the bad?”
“The vultures are out. I fear Bashira is too young, strong as she is. She is not ready to lead. She has not consolidated the support of the other bosses. The knives will be out at my funeral.”
Shura placed her drink on the table. Bourbon had always been too sweet for her. “Help me recover the girl, and I will throw the whole weight of the Genjix behind your granddaughter.”
Tanaka shook his head. “Attacking your enemies – other powerful Genjix – will have serious consequences. I require further assurances.”
They began negotiating. Tanaka not only wanted his granddaughter set up as the next leader of the family, and for the Aizukotetsu-kai to be the only crime family in all of Japan, he also wanted them to be made legal. As in given official recognition as a Genjix entity. The man wanted to set up his descendants as rulers of Japan.
“You wish to restore the imperial family,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief.
“The surrender of Japan during the Second Great War was a mistake,” declared Tanaka. “My country’s neutrality during the Alien World War was one as well. It was our opportunity to restore the divine legacy of my country. I will, with my dying breath, set the path for future generations.”
It was completely outrageous. All Shura wanted was to capture one pitiful human, who happened to be the vessel of a valuable Holy One, and this old man, a few months from death, wanted to restore the Japanese empire. Either he was senile, or the shadow of death had freed him to pursue his real life goals.
“Go big before you go,” she murmured. Shura respected Tanaka’s ambitions. She had thought him too conservative and settled when they first met, content to simply rest on his laurels. She realized how in control of the situation Tanaka Nishiki had been the entire time. She could learn a thing or two from this old fox.
“Very well,” she replied. “Bashira will have to become a vessel for a Holy One, but we can see to that. Now, for your part of the arrangement.”
Tanaka was all smiles. “The police have the girl. Our plants have already gathered the data you are seeking and know where she is being held.” He pulled a paper from his inner pocket, placed it on the table, and slid it toward her.
A smirk grew on Shura’s face. Of course the old man already had this information in his possession. The rascally old fox had set this up from the beginning. She wouldn’t even be surprised if he had orchestrated the earlier failure in order to revisit their negotiations.
That would either make him a mastermind, or an idiot.
“Two sides of the same coin, Tabs.”
In any case, the deal was struck, although all she could do was open the door for the Aizukotetsu-kai. It was up to his granddaughter to do the rest. If Tanaka thought yakuza politics were brutal, wait until he saw how the Genjix operated.
Shura memorized the address on the paper and crumpled it, then Tabs flashed a map of the city and the surrounding area in her head. She bowed to Tanaka. “How much support can you provide?”
“I can summon fifty soldiers within the hour.”
“That should be sufficient. We attack tonight.” She bowed to the father of the Aizukotetsu-kai. “It has been a pleasure, Oyabun. Welcome to the Genjix.”
Chapter Thirty
Dwindling Choices
Without any source of income, she began to make money the only way she knew how. At first she started a gambling ring on campus, taking bets and running games. When that got busted, she escalated to embezzling, stealing from the Academy and selling items on the black market.
She did whatever it took to survive. Her education became secondary. Unfortunately, she did not understand what survival here meant.
As soon as the team realized the severity of Tarfur’s injury, they moved him into the street where emergency medical units could easily pick him up. Then, following protocol for enemy or neutral territory, they fled the scene. It was the only thing they could do, and it gave Tarfur the best chance of survival.
They moved to a safe distance and waited until an ambulance arrived, then tailed it to the hospital. Hekla stayed to keep tabs on Tarfur while the rest of the team returned to the estate. Roen started working the diplomatic channels to extract Tarfur out of the country.
The team tried to hide their worry. As agents and soldiers, all of them had experienced death, but that made it no less painful every time it happened. The military was close-knit.
Roen excused himself to his room. He stared at the comm device resting on the desk. He dreaded making this call, but it was long overdue. It wasn’t unusual for agents to be out of communication for extended periods of time. It was the nature of their business. Months could go by before he could report in. However, this particular situation was unique. Roen activated the line. Even at this age, he hated getting yelled at.
Especially by his wife.
A three-dimensional projection of Jill Tesser Tan, newly retired Keeper of the Prophus, floated in the air in front of him. The smarter and more competent half of their thirty-plus year marriage had her arms crossed: a bad sign. She also wore the same facial expression she used when she was about to order an air strike. “You’re not in Australia.”
“Hi love,” chirped Roen cheerfully. “How’s retirement? Are you keeping the garden alive?”
“Most of it was dead by the time I got home. Answer the damn question.”
“But you didn’t ask…” Roen swallowed the rest of the sentence. When you ran a global military and financial empire like Jill had for the past quarter-century, every word that came out of your mouth tended to sound like an order. “Ella Patel wasn’t there. They expelled her six months ago. I tracked her to Tokyo and made contact when the Genjix got involved.”