by Sable Jordan
She lifted a brow.
“That’s all, I swear.”
“Your word’s a little…” She wobbled her injured hand side to side. Then she located the tracer. Bad enough she’d been tagged, now her swollen knuckles would hardly bend. After a few attempts, she plucked the little bugger off and returned it to him. “Why are you here?”
“Sure you want to be drunk for this?” He nodded toward the saké.
“Maybe.” Clearly being sober didn’t benefit her rationale. Being tipsy might. “You know what they say: ‘What saké will not cure, there is no cure for.’”
“That’d be whiskey.”
“Don’t quibble, handsome. It’s been a really long night.”
Phil grinned, reached into his pocket. “He was pissed when you left Oman.”
“I have a job to—”
“Don’t defend yourself, not to me,” he said, holding up his other hand. “But job or not, that doesn’t change how X feels about you, Kizzie. So, you can come back with me, leave this…uh…” he made a show of looking around, “palace. Or…”
A small blue booklet came across the table, a plastic card protruding from one end.
“Still want to go, now’s your chance. The gift card won’t be traced—you’ll have to take my word on it. Get yourself a ticket out of here. Sorry I couldn’t grab your gear, but anything else he’d notice. I’ll hold onto it for you…and then maybe one day you’ll send me an address and I’ll ship it.
“Your call, Kizzie. Come back with me, or go now and be free of him.”
That’s exactly what she needed. Forget about what she thought she wanted and focus.
Track the Mistress.
Stop Harvey.
Get her edge back.
Be a good agent…Be a good agent…Be a good agent….
She fingered the passport, flipped back the cover and stared at the picture. Her but not her. The wig, the heavy layer of makeup. The name: Tina Thomas this go ‘round.
Soluble…
Soulless.
“Why are you helping me?”
Phil touched his forefinger to a spot over his brow, right where is scar began. Then he dragged it slowly down the marred skin, across his eye and cheek. “A present…from Xander.” He glanced away looking uneasy, met her stare again. “Maybe I do want to walk away from this one day without looking over my shoulder.”
The banging against the wall picked up again, a discordant rhythm that didn’t match the high-pitched screams.
“Back in Paris, if I wanted to stay, would you have shown me Xander’s wife?”
“Who?”
“Hottie Mc’Hot Mama? At the café?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Something like a smile hovered around his mouth. “Now I have a question for you. The woman at the apartment. You all right with that?”
Phil appeared genuinely concern. Kizzie was no saint. People sometimes left her no choice but to take them out; not her favorite part of the job—didn’t mean she wasn’t good at it. But no one had ever asked her how she felt after.
And after that first time, she really didn’t feel much at all.
She nodded.
“And Harvey? You walking away from it?”
She shook her head.
“Thought not. Akari’s laptop—she worked as senior logistics manager for Hanabi. A shipment headed to the US landed in California about a week ago. The final destination was somewhere in Kentucky.” He pulled a folded page from another pocket and handed it to her. “Driver never made it out of Missouri. Blunt force trauma to the head. Then they ran him over. His haul was ransacked.”
She studied the data on the page but didn’t really see it. The silence stretched until Phil rapped his knuckles on the table and stood.
“You need anything, you know how to reach me. Take care of yourself, Kiz.”
In a half daze, Kizzie stared from the passport to the card. She curled and uncurled her sore fingers around the glass of lukewarm rice wine. Leaving had been the only choice all along. Now was as good a time as any.
Footfalls brought her back from the future, and she glanced up to see Phil’s retreating back.
The urge to go with him hit hard, but the reminder of what she’d face on her return kept her rooted to the seat. “You did warn me, right? No competing with a force like Xander?”
“Unless you’re Kizzie Baldwin,” Phil said, turning at the door. “Believe me, sweetheart, I know everything you’ve been through, you can handle Xander. I was a little worried about what he’d do to you, but now I’m worried about what he’s doing to himself.”
Master Duquesne stood at the table across the room, his back to her, deep in focus on whatever was before him. Sumi couldn’t tell from the distance, but she’d been staring since the man named Phil had come into the room ten minutes earlier. They’d given her meaningful looks, sizing her up, but neither spoke.
That scared her.
“Be sure to watch this one,” the Mistress said. The hate in her eyes was obvious, and beneath that something like fear. “This…Yūrei. This…Privideniye. He is a very dangerous man…”
The American.
Country of origin, name, and then face. That’s how she’d been made to remember the men Sacha Sokoviev would one day contact to sell the bomb. The photo of Master Duquesne was from a surveillance camera at Papa Nikolay’s home in St. Petersburg. Even in the grainy snapshot the American had a commanding presence. Sumi would know him as a man of dominance if she’d met him on the street.
She wished she had. Maybe this wouldn’t have happened.
But if she had, she’d have missed those precious moments with her Mistress Shinari.
“What is the meaning of rope, pet?”
“It binds my Mistress and me,” Sumi said, her throat clogged with tears. “From my Mistress it is a promise of protection, love, and devotion. From me, a promise of obedience, love and trust. Promises that cannot be broken.”
Warm fingers gently cupped her chin, lifting her face to that of her Lady’s. The Mistress leaned forward so their mouths touched in the barest caress.
“There is more,” the Mistress whispered, breath hot against the seam of Sumi’s mouth. Sumi parted her lips to drink down the sweet elixir, gathering strength. “To make something sacred one ties a rope around it.”
The Mistress brought her thumb to Sumi’s pliant mouth, easing the digit against her tongue. Sumi suckled, slow and deep, aroused in spite of knowing she would leave soon. Would travel to Tallinn in hopes of catching Sacha’s eye. Would bow to him, instead.
The Mistress smoothed Her palm down Sumi’s neck, wet digit trailing. “You are sacred, kotenok, because I have made you that way.”
Nose to nose, She untied the collar and leash. Sumi whimpered.
“Shhh…” Their mouths touched again, The Mistress’s tongue delving past her lips and stroking the inside of her cheek. “Always sacred… One of five. You will return when it is time, and I will make you sacred again…”
Sumi’s eyes blurred. She wasn’t sacred, wasn’t loved. Had she ever been? Had any of them?
Fay had been, and Sumi hated her for it. Fay was loved, had been doted upon. Fay should have been sent to Sacha, should have spent 18 months made to bow and kneel and fuck that monster.
But Fay was dead.
And so were Chiho and Akari.
“You will not hate. Ever! Promise me…
“You must be…shinari. Say it.”
She clenched her eyes shut against the threatening onslaught of memories, a slew of recollections that weren’t hers. Fragments of a life she’d never lived but had faith in. The little girl with the locket, offerings bound by red string… Shinari, Itsutsu Shinseina Senshi, the In-Yo.
Memories and half-truths distorted to make her believe, make them all believe.
Three were dead because of her. A glance at her hands, pale palms facing the ceiling. She’d set up the scenes and then watched from t
he shadows like a coward.
“So, you were more cowardice than courage?” The Mistress said, her voice mocking. “You failed…. If the eye gives you trouble, gouge it out. If the tongue tells lies, cut it off. If you are not a noble enough warrior to consider death, I will do it for you…
“Don’t beg. A warrior would not beg. Be brave; be courageous. You are a warrior, and I am granting you an honorable death.”
A quick slice severed the collar, another strategic cut separated the beautiful Kinbaku. “You are no longer my submissive, no longer ‘kotenok’.” The Mistress says coolly. “That is the first death. Honor yourself and me, and die twice.”
A deep sob welled in Sumi’s chest. That memory was hers, the precise moment the darkness crowded in, her heart stopped beating and life seeped from her body. She relived it every day since, had used it as fuel to prove her Mistress wrong, stealing three lives in the process.
How many more? How many innocent people would die and how much blood would paint her palms if she didn’t help?
Tears seared her eyes and she closed them. The vestiges of her conditioning pulled at her, a tiny tendril of hope that her Mistress would take her back. Would love her. But then her gaze settled on the American.
She’d been right, he had the gaze of a Master—intense but caring—and again Sumi wished things could have been different.
The digital clock beside him read 11:47. Beyond him, the window framed Tokyo at night.
“The date?” she asked softly, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. Master Duquesne was by the table, hands busy on the surface. His bodyguard Phil stood by the door. She cleared her throat and asked louder, “The date, please, Master Duquesne?”
He spared her a glance and went back to his work. “August fifth.”
Sumi’s eyes widened. So late? She hadn’t realized…
She did the calculation in her head. It was the fifth there as well.
Her heart dropped.
The space at her back warmed, and she spun to find Phil right behind her. His hands clamped down on her shoulders and a surge of cold panic went through her. What was happening?
She zipped her gaze to Master Duquesne, approaching with a needled syringe.
Like this? She would die like this?
“Please don’t,” she shook her head quickly, “you don’t have to kill me. I’ll tell you where she is, but we must hurry.”
Master Duquesne lifted a brow and paused. “Floor’s yours.”
Would they believe her?
She had to try.
Sumi swallowed hard and relayed what she knew in six succinct sentences.
Master Duquesne bobbed his head and then the needle was coming forward again. He gripped her arm, and instead of pulling away, she simply looked at him, pleading for her life and the lives of all the others.
“Please, you must believe me. There is no time.”
Then the needle slipped beneath her skin and the darkness crowded in once more.
* * * *
An hour later, Sumi lay motionless on the bed. Phil came into the room, his duffel in tow.
“You know the shit storm this could bring down on us?”
“Well aware,” Xander said tightly, not bothering to hide his sarcasm. “I’ve determine the effects are negligible, so get ahead of it.” He bucked his head toward the bed. “Got that taken care of?”
Phil nodded, wrapped the body in a blanket and gathered it into his arms. “Kizzie?”
Xander grimaced through another headache, another bout of worry, snatched the three duffels from the floor.
“You’re the one with the line on her,” he said, the words like acid in his mouth. “She has an hour to be on that plane or she gets left.”
Itsutsu Shinseina Senshi—five sacred warriors. That’s what Fay had said during her rambling soliloquy.
Sitting at the desk, Kizzie continued to work on cracking Fay’s phone while at the same time turning over the ideas in her head.
Chiho was clay—earth in the five elements theory. Kizzie surmised that’s what the Mistress had based her mini-cult off of. Akari was gust, or wind. Sumi was mist, so water. But Fay had called her “nothing.” Several times in fact. So Sumi was more than likely “void.” Hard to know for sure, but Kizzie felt confident.
Which left two: water and fire. The problem, however, was that Fay had a large pink oleander covering the spot on her shoulder where her In-Yo would have been. It was relatively fresh, the color on it so bold it could have been done in the last two weeks. Blue hair…maybe water? Either way, there was one element, one woman unaccounted for.
The five elements theory was rooted in change that would lead to balance. Same with the In-Yo: Dynamic balance.
Which told her absolutely nothing.
What would Xand—
Concentrate on the job.
Hard to do. Her eyes kept wandering to the passport not a foot away. Wherever she ended up would be far better than this sleazy motel room, holding an unopened bottle of lukewarm saké to her stiff hand. She swiped her fingers over her gritty eyes. The adrenaline was completely gone, the cold weight of the day’s events suddenly heavy on her shoulders.
Heaving a sigh, she gave it another go. Given the information Phil had provided, the target was most likely somewhere near the east coast of the US. In fact, she was certain of it. That address the Hanabi fireworks were destined for was an abandoned warehouse in a tiny little town in Kentucky—on Oleander Drive.
Oleander Drive. Oleandrin was used to kill Chiho; an oleander on the bento box at Akari’s; oleander tattoo on Fay’s shoulder.
Of course! It could only mean one thing!
Mistress Shinari liked her oleanders.
Groaning, Kizzie slapped her palms on the table, laid her head against the back of the chair. What was she missing? Sleep. Food. Sex. Sex would be great right now.
On cue, a round of very explicit Japanese came from the room next door, followed by more banging against the wall. Kizzie turned her gaze heavenward. “I meant great for me.”
Thoughts of Xander drifted through her head. He probably thought she was a nut job, and Kizzie couldn’t blame him.
She picked up her phone and checked the web, coming upon a news story. Frowning, she checked the meeting date: August 6th. And then “dynamic balance” made sense.
Two minutes later, he picked up the phone. “Tony’s—”
“I need a hop to the states, Fletch,” she said. Protocol could wait. “From Japan, ASAP.”
“Ja—? Whoa, where’s the fire?”
“Beating down your door. I think DC’s the target. POTUS and the Japanese PM are—”
“Doing the usual grip and grin tomorrow,” Fletcher cut in. “I know. Security’s beefed up and secret service is testing out their walkies as we speak.”
Kizzie stood and paced. “And if you want to make a statement while all the cameras are rolling live, you blow up two of the most powerful men in the world.”
“Kizzie, I—”
“Too tired to samba with you over this,” she cut in. “Harvey’s real, Fletcher. Either you can help me stop it, or I can have ‘told you so’ written on your tombstone.”
“All right. You believe it, I believe it. I’ll get you here.”
Kizzie frowned. Just like that? After months of trying to convince him? “Find me a Space A. We’ve got to have a military transport headed that way in the next two hours or so. Commercial flights aren’t leaving till close to oh-six-hundred local and I need to be on the ground now.”
Suspicion and exhaustion sloughed off. She’d be moving again. Just keep moving. The thought of telling Xander crossed her mind and she let it go. They weren’t on the same team anymore. She sniffed, stubbed out the ember of sadness in her heart.
“Earliest out is at 0131 hours, local time. Leaving from Camp Foster. Where are you?”
“Tokyo.”
“How the hell’d you end up in To— Never mind. That’s almost a thousand m
iles away. In two hours? I’m assuming you won’t make it. Next up,” Fletch said without slowing, “0443, leaving Kadena—same distance, and it’s got a stop in South Korea before doubling back to land at Travis Air Force Base in California. If you high tail it, you can make a domestic flight out of Sacramento and be in DC byyyy…”
None of that would do.
“Any chance of a city-wide evac?” Kizzie asked; Fletcher snorted. “Yeah, didn’t think so.”
“We do have a bomb squad. Tell me how to stop it and—”
“Don’t know.”
“This just got better.” Fletcher chuckled. “You want to get here, we’ll get you here. And once this is over, you and me’ll go for beer and pizza. The works. Pineapples and all.”
Kizzie disconnected the call, dropped it on the table like it was a live serpent. Her heart was spending far too much time in her throat lately. She swallowed hard, stared at the door. How long had the line be open? Long enough to trace. Who was after her? Bill? The Company? Why?
Too many thoughts, not enough movement.
She snatched up Fay’s phone and Xander’s cap, headed for the door. Her phone rang on the table and she paused, staring at it a long moment. Two strides carried her back and she opened the connection. Waited.
“You’re fine,” Fletcher assured. “Sorry for the scare. Needed to make sure we were secure first. This’ll be short.”
“The hell is going on over there?” she asked. A glance down and she saw Fay’s phone finally give. She split her attention between listening and flipping through the call history, found nothing of import.
“Harvey’s legit,” he said, voice urgent. “Followed up on that photo you sent me; the cute woman—the breathing one, that is. Got a visit, and a warning for you. Leave the woman alone. Whoever she is, you back off now, understood? Or else things get really messy, Kizzie.”