Occidis: Sophia Moreau, Book 1

by Aisha Tritle

  Her breath became stunted. Her fist hung in mid-air, not sure where to go. But she wasn’t ready to forgive him. She wasn’t even ready to tolerate him. All the events of the morning before had replayed through her mind all night.

  “It didn’t mean anything,” said Ilya. “We mean something. But whatever happened before didn’t. You have to believe me.”

  Her fist uncurled and her hand went straight as a board.

  “Sophia, I—“

  She brought her hand across Ilya’s face, unleashing the most powerful slap she was capable of.

  He kept his face turned to the side, jaw clenched.

  Sophia stood up. Her hand was covered in the blood from Ilya’s face, and she wiped it off on her pants. She looked at Saren, awaiting further instructions. But the voluptuous instructor stood up with an air of finality.

  “Alright,” she said. Her green eyes surveyed the situation, resting on Ilya’s defeated body on the floor.

  “Good.” Saren nodded and headed towards the door.

  “That’s enough for now. We’ll break for lunch. Meet back here at 1:00.”

  Sophia’s jaw dropped in confusion. The morning had barely started. What was Saren playing at?

  Then, it dawned on her. Everything that just happened had been all for her. Her rage was gone.

  Ilya picked himself up. He let out a pained groan.

  Sophia shot him a pitying glance. She’d really done a number on him—perhaps an unjustified number. But she wasn’t going to stick around and apologize. Sophia picked up her jacket and left the room.

  As she walked down the hall, the weight on her shoulders lifted. The fight had expelled all the bitterness she’d felt towards Ilya. A tinge of irritation struck her as the blood left on her hand dried into a sticky film.

  “Ugh,” she muttered.

  “Sophia?”

  The voice behind her was a welcome distraction. She turned around.

  There was the slightest hint of dark circles beneath Jonathan’s eyes. But besides that, he looked fresh, dressed in khaki slacks and a blue dress shirt, and Sophia wondered why. His immaculate appearance contrasted starkly to her disheveled appearance.

  Jonathan calmly took her in. Her bloodied hand attracted most of his attention. He raised an eyebrow. “Training going well?”

  “Yes.”

  “Whose blood is that?”

  “Ilya’s.”

  Jonathan’s face was hard to read, and Sophia nervously bit her lip.

  “I see,” was all he said.

  Sophia shifted her weight from foot to foot. Jonathan’s scrutiny made her uncomfortable, and suddenly, she felt guilty.

  Jonathan cleared his throat.

  “Where are you heading to at this time of the morning?”

  “Saren wrapped up training for the morning,” said Sophia. “We’ll start again after lunch.”

  Still, no readable expression crossed Jonathan’s face. “Did she, indeed?”

  Sophia stood, still shifting from side to side. “Indeed,” she said, then felt like kicking herself for the awkward reply.

  A chuckle from Jonathan lent a much-needed break to the awkwardness. Sophia exhaled in relief.

  “That’s actually good,” said Jonathan. “It’ll give me time to discuss the plan with you before lunch.”

  Sophia perked up. “Oh, great.”

  Jonathan nodded. He checked down the hall. “Where’s Ilya?”

  Sophia’s nervousness returned. “In the practice room, I think…should I go get him?”

  Jonathan waved her off. “I’ll do it,” he said. “Go to my room. I’ll find Ilya and meet you there.”

  He went one way down the hall, and Sophia went the other.

  So, Jonathan had finished his revision. A wave of excitement came over Sophia, mixed with…anxiety.

  Her pace to Jonathan’s room quickened. The sticky remnants of blood on her hand bothered her, and she needed to wash it off.

  Jonathan’s room was well-furnished in comparison to Sophia’s. She wondered if he stayed there often. All the items looked like he had handpicked them. Everything was leather and wood; a smooth modern style that contrasted with the traditional tatami mat. He even had a flat-screen TV mounted on one of the walls.

  Sophia went into the bathroom. A small selection of expensive glass-encased potions rested on the shelves.

  She turned on the faucet and scrubbed. Just as she was drying her hands, Jonathan entered the room with Ilya in tow.

  The dark-haired man paused in the doorway of the bathroom. “You alright, Sophia?”

  Sophia vigorously rubbed her hands with the towel. “I’m fine.”

  Ilya didn’t look at her as he situated himself on the sofa. He’d managed to clean the blood off his face, though there was still a red mark on his cheek where Sophia had slapped him. But the only real wound he had was the one inflicted on his pride.

  Sophia perched on the arm at the opposite end of the sofa. Jonathan stood in the middle of the room, looking hesitantly at both of them.

  “If either of you disagrees with anything, please speak up,” he said. “I value your input. At this point, it’s crucial.”

  For the first time since practice, Ilya and Sophia exchanged glances. Jonathan wanted their input? That was surprising.

  “Now, as I’m sure you’ve already concluded, the people we’re going after will have amped up surveillance at the Royal Hotel Tokyo and the surrounding area. It’s safe to assume their personal security teams will be conducting sweeps of their rooms before and during the meeting.”

  Jonathan sighed before he went on. “This limits our options. We can’t keep tabs on them for very long before the meeting. Benny will be on hand, but only for basic technical manipulation and emergencies. Considering the additional safeguards, it’ll be impossible to hack security without them finding out. This is where you come in, Sophia. You’re going to have to get close to Max Kwon.”

  Sophia leaned forward. “How do I do that?”

  “While we won’t be able to hack hotel security on the day of,” said Jonathan. “I was able to hack into the schedule of the Royal’s spa—of which Max Kwon is known to frequent on his visits. He has an appointment for a massage three hours before the meeting.

  “He usually requests a massage therapist named Yukiko—“ a smile lit up Jonathan’s face “—thankfully, Yukiko just quit. It took some monetary encouragement, but she’s gone. Which means he’ll be getting you.”

  Sophia’s jaw dropped.

  “How are your massage skills?” asked Jonathan.

  “I mean, decent. But…”

  “Saren will be able to give you some pointers if you like.”

  “No. N—no, it’s alright,” stammered Sophia.

  Ilya spoke up. “Won’t they recognize her?”

  Jonathan turned to Sophia. “Don’t worry; we’ll make sure you don’t look like yourself.”

  Ilya and Sophia exchanged glances again.

  “I suppose…” Sophia’s voice drifted off; she cleared her throat. “So what happens once I get in there?”

  Jonathan pulled a small wooden box out of the pocket of his khaki slacks and opened it. Inside lay a tiny plastic bag containing what looked like very short, very thin needles. Also, a small vial of clear liquid.

  Sophia was at a loss. “What are those?”

  Jonathan held up the plastic bag. “These are trackers,” he said. “You insert them under the skin.”

  “Won’t he feel it?”

  “Come here,” said Jonathan.

  Sophia complied. He carefully pulled one of the trackers out and inserted it under her skin. She barely felt it.

  “What’s in the vial?”

  Jonathan picked it up. “Nanoparticles in this liquid enable us to use it as a tracker for twenty-four hours.”

  Ilya snorted. “Seriously?”

  “Yes,” said Jonathan, not amused. He turned his focus back to Sophia. “The sliver-trackers are still in the developmen
tal stage. Try and insert two of them into Kwon’s back if you can. The nanoparticles are for backup. Unfortunately, they die a bit too easily. Put it where you can. His shoes, his back, anywhere.”

  He closed the wooden box and put it back in his pocket. “I’ll keep them for the time being.”

  Sophia sat back down, eager to hear the next part of the plan. Jonathan turned on the TV, and a top view blueprint of the hotel with small columns running across it lit up the screen.

  “What’s that?” asked Ilya.

  “Vent system,” Jonathan replied.

  “Are you kidding me?”

  Jonathan held up a hand. “Just wait a minute. Let me explain.”

  Ilya huffed and crossed his arms.

  “There are three conference rooms in the Royal,” said Jonathan. “Sir Nathan Ransdell, Mira Weisz, and Max Kwon have never publicly done business with each other or Norbert, which means they’ll want to keep this meeting quiet. There are two conference rooms on the second floor, and one on the top floor, the 27th floor.”

  He continued, “I think the conference room on the 27th is a very safe bet. But still, we don’t know for sure. When I hacked the Royal’s conference room rentals a few days ago, there was nothing listed for that day.”

  “So that’s where the trackers come in,” said Sophia.

  Jonathan nodded.

  “Going back to the vents, we’re going to have to cordon them off with special-fit metal panels.”

  “Why?” Ilya asked.

  Jonathan shot him an annoyed glance. “Just wait. Let me finish explaining.”

  Ilya sat back, looking rather abashed.

  “I’ve booked the hotel rooms on either side of the top conference room. The ones on the second floor, however, are right next to each other. They’re flanked by a business center on one side and the spa on the other.”

  Ilya looked like he was about to ask a question again, but Jonathan’s eyes shot daggers as he quickly continued, “The reason we’re going to have to cordon off the vents is because of the method of execution, toxic gas.”

  Sophia felt her heart drop. Gas was a messy business. “It’s going to seep out under the doors,” she said.

  “That’s why I’ve chosen a slow-moving one,” replied Jonathan. “And after five minutes, we ring the alarm.”

  Sophia rubbed her forehead. She had known it wasn’t going to be easy. But this wasn’t quite what she envisioned.

  “We wait until the tracker tells us where Max Kwon is, then we go in and cordon the vents. Sophia, you’ll take one side. Ilya, you’ll take the other.”

  “And how do you plan on introducing the gas into the room?” asked Ilya.

  “There are two possible options for that,” said Jonathan. “Option number one: Max Kwon and the hotel manager go way back. It’s unlikely that he’d turn down a complimentary cart of delicacies and wine.”

  Sophia saw Ilya was unconvinced. She herself was a bit doubtful.

  “And the second option?” asked Ilya.

  Jonathan’s face took on a grim hue.

  “Option number two,” he said, “is that we get a canister and release it in the vent, then cordon it off. But that’s dangerous.”

  “How so?” asked Ilya.

  “Even if whoever was going to release the gas had a gas mask, it wouldn’t completely protect them,” sighed Jonathan. “They’d have to wear complete protective clothing…things could go wrong. And we don’t have time for things to go wrong.”

  Ilya stared, deliberating his answer. “Soo…back up plan?”

  “Yep,” said Jonathan. “Back up plan.”

  “So I plant the trackers, we close off the vents, gas them—then what?” asked Sophia.

  Jonathan sat down, a calm intensity shone in his green eyes. “Then, we disappear.”

  25

  Sophia basked in the warmth of the afternoon sun. It had been a day since Jonathan had told them the plan, and they were due to leave the next day.

  Training had been cancelled, and they’d been given a much-needed day off. Sophia knew the next few days would be some of the hardest in her life.

  First thing that morning, she’d grabbed a towel and bikini and dashed to the beach. Both parts of her suit were too tight, but she was enjoying herself nonetheless.

  She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the ocean waves.

  Everything was so peaceful. She’d never really known peace. And here it was, in its purest form.

  “Wow, you’re getting really tan.”

  The words shattered Sophia’s serene moment. Shading her eyes from the sun, she sat up.

  It was Saren.

  The woman sat next to Sophia and nudged her with her shoulder. “That’s good, though. If you get brown enough, maybe the bad people you’re going after won’t recognize you,” she winked.

  Sophia glared—partially because of the sun and partially because she was annoyed. “What do you want?”

  Saren studied her for a minute. “I have to explain something,” she said.

  Sophia sighed. “Well?”

  “I’m just going to lay it all out on the table.”

  “Just say whatever you’re gonna say, Saren.”

  “I meddle.”

  Sophia stared at the voluptuous woman.

  “I meddle,” repeated Saren.

  Sophia scoffed. “I’ll say…”

  “That’s what I was doing when you first got here.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “No,” said Saren. “I wasn’t meddling in the way you think.”

  The woman was too enigmatic for Sophia’s taste. She stifled an urge to roll up her towel and leave.

  Saren continued. “I wanted you and Ilya to get together. Of course, I didn’t realize he was a bit of an asshole. That was my mistake. I apologize for that.”

  Sophia was baffled. Her jaw hit the sand. “What are you talking about? You didn’t want us to get together.”

  Saren shook her head. “No,” she protested. “As soon as I met you two, I knew what was happening. You liked him, but you weren’t going to do anything. He liked you, but he wasn’t sure you liked him. So I did what I thought was best.”

  “What was that?”

  “I decided to make you jealous, so you’d actually do something.”

  A wave of confusion came over Sophia—along with disbelief. “You couldn’t have just talked to me about it or something?!”

  Saren gawked at Sophia, her eyes wide.“ Of course I couldn’t have done that!” she exclaimed.

  “Why not?”

  “You wouldn’t have listened.”

  “I might have,” protested Sophia, fighting the suspicion that Saren was right.

  “I thought I was doing you a favor.”

  Sophia looked for the right words to say. “Yeah, well, you didn’t.”

  She winced. Her answer had come out more bitter than intended.

  Regret filled Saren’s voice. “And I’m sorry,” she said. “Truce?” She held out her hand.

  Sophia gazed blankly at the peace offering. There was no reason why she shouldn’t shake Saren’s hand…but she didn’t want to. Saren's reasoning was convincing, but it still bothered her.

  With a reluctant sigh, she shook Saren’s hand.

  A grin lit up the auburn-haired woman’s face. “Good,” she said. “Glad we got that out of the way.”

  “Yeah,” muttered Sophia. She pulled her knees to her chest and rested her head on top of them. She wasn’t sure how much longer Saren would stay. She hoped the woman would leave and let her return to her tranquil state.

  But the woman stayed. Saren crossed her legs and leaned back on her hands. It looked like she was going to stay awhile, much to Sophia’s chagrin.

  “You know,” said Saren. “I knew about you before you came here.”

  “Well, yeah, Jonathan sent you those files before we arrived.”

  “No, no, no. I’m not talking about those.”

  “Then what are
you talking about?”

  “All those years ago, when we were working together,” said Saren. “He mentioned you.”

  Sophia was taken aback. She barely remembered Jonathan’s presence in her early youth. What could he have possibly said?

  Saren went on, “He said you were the sweetest little girl he’d ever met. Apparently, he was really close to your family. And he said you’d been taken—he didn’t know by who—but that he was going to find you.”

  Sophia’s head snapped up. “What?” She was stunned. She didn’t know Jonathan had valued their previous connection that much. Then again, Saren did say she was prone to meddling. There was a chance that she was exaggerating, or even made it all up…

  “He talked about your father a lot.”

  Sophia stared, as if in a daze. Maybe Saren was telling the truth.

  “Sounds like your father was a huge influence on him. Something of surrogate father. An uncle, really.”

  “Apparently,” murmured Sophia.

  Saren turned to her. “Whatever happened to him?”

  “My father?”

  “Yeah. Jonathan used to talk so much about him, then one day he just stopped. I can’t remember why.”

  Sophia wanted to bury her head in the sand. Why did Saren have to keep bringing up her family? Why couldn’t she just leave them alone? “He died,” said Sophia.

  Saren let out a disbelieving laugh. “No, no…that wasn’t it.”

  Sophia glared, aghast. “Really. He died.”

  Saren’s face froze. “When?” she asked.

  “Eight years ago.”

  “Eight years?” Disbelief still covered Saren’s face.

  “Yeah, he died when I was nine,” said Sophia.

  Saren pursed her lips. She gazed thoughtfully into the distance. “That doesn’t make sense…”

  Sophia took a deep breath. She was getting more and more uncomfortable. “What doesn’t make sense?”

  “Nothing,” replied Saren quickly. “Never mind.”

  She smiled and laid a hand on Sophia’s shoulder. “You know, Jonathan is the best man I’ve ever met.”

  Sophia resisted an urge to shy away from Saren’s touch. The woman was getting too close. Again.

  “Is he?” asked Sophia, feigning interest.

  “I miss working with him,” said Saren. “We were so good—him, Yasuo, Ingrid, and I. He and Ingrid were amazing together.”