“Is Gecko talking?” said Roman, still pushing forward with the questions.
“Stop deflecting,” said Ryoji. “I may just lose my patience and step out, taking any chance of a shorter sentence with me.”
“All right,” said Roman, leaning back. “What does my sentence currently stand at and what would it be reduced to if I co-operate?”
Ryoji scrunched his mouth up as he moved through the file, eventually landing on a sheet that was labelled up as being from ParCorp head office. Roman noticed a small detail, and stored it away for future reference.
“It would seem that your current prison sentence prior to co-operation is life imprisonment.”
“Life?” asked Roman incredulously. “Why?”
“Seven deaths in the past month, all attributed to you,” said Ryoji. “That is also not to mention the suspected five other deaths that we are still gathering information on.”
“And if I co-operate?” asked Roman, curious despite the bleak outlook of the situation.
“Sixty years,” said Ryoji, though he at least had the temerity to look down when he said it.
“For fuck's sake,” laughed Roman. It was all he could do. “You need to work on your plea bargaining. You should tell Ozawa that too...”
Ryoji's face shot up and his eyes narrowed.
“I'm under orders to-”
“I know, I read the report. Reading as fast as I do is a hard skill, but reading upside down is elementary stuff Ryoji,” said Roman. “You're under orders to offer me none of the usual bargain ratios, as the old man wants me locked away until I die.”
Ryoji leaned back, an obvious dislike crossing his features.
“In which case it puts you in a tough position, as you obviously need something more from me. You wouldn't bargain with me for redundant information, such as my motives. What are you after?”
Ryoji closed the folder slowly.
“The formula,” said Roman carefully, as if prodding a hole in a tooth that could flare into pain any minute. “You want my formula.”
Ryoji breathed deeply, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.
“Bargaining with criminals for corporate gain? Isn't there a law against that?”
“Not now, not since we started policing ourselves,” said Ryoji, his voice clipped as if he were trying to keep his true feelings in check.
“What about the formula you no doubt retrieved from the park?” asked Roman. “Can't retro-engineer it?”
“I've been told it's not the same. You changed your formula for something far more unstable and more dangerous. We want the original.”
“Ozawa wants it,” said Roman.
Silence.
“He wants that, and his daughter.”
The door burst open and Ozawa charged in, his suit jacket flared out behind him. He grabbed Roman about the neck and pushed him back off his chair onto the floor. The strength of the old man was terrifying and Roman felt the muscles in his neck spasm as Ozawa gripped them.
“Where is she?” the man screamed, spittle flying as Ryoji grappled him from behind and tried to pull him off. Roman lay back, unresisting as the man continued to squeeze his neck, feeling himself slipping away into peaceful darkness, before the pressure was removed and Ryoji dragged Ozawa back. The old man wrestled his way free and threw a sharp kick at Roman's ribs, causing one to snap.
“Sir, please,” said Ryoji in Japanese, pulling Ozawa back again. “He can't say anything if he's dead.”
“I won't kill the scum, I just want him to hurt,” said Ozawa.
Roman’s broken rib burned in his side. He tasted blood on his teeth. “I'll never tell you where they are.”
Ozawa's eyes went wide with rage and he lunged forwards again but Ryoji was aware of the danger this time and pulled him back before he had a chance to do further damage.
“Why? Why would you protect them? You know nothing of my daughter or that disgrace of a man!” screamed Ozawa. The fury of a betrayed father was truly a sight to behold. Roman crawled away before pulling himself to his feet using the wall as support. His body felt ready to fall apart but he managed to stand, facing Ozawa eye to eye.
“Helping them was the only worthwhile thing I have done in my entire life. I won't sully that.”
Ozawa stared at him for what seemed like an age before shaking himself free of Ryoji's grasp. He straightened his tie and turned on his heel, storming out into the corridor. Ryoji took a deep breath and closed the door behind him, before setting Roman's chair upright and directing him to sit again.
Roman sat down gratefully, his body wracked with pain.
“Well, that broke my concentration somewhat,” said Ryoji, pulling his files back together.
Roman gave a humourless laugh. “At least you get to go home after this.”
Chapter 9
Hours later, it became clear to Ryoji that Ozawa had ruined any chance of the Black Cat revealing anything about the points that they wanted. He sighed as he looked through the two way mirror at the slumped, emaciated form of this mystery man, whose name no one could trace.
“He looks broken but he's still holding out,” said Ryoji. “What do you think, Tavisi?”
Tavisi looked in at the man who had somehow made her feel more in the past few weeks than she had felt for years, ever since Roman had suddenly left. Her new identity as Aarati, built from the ground up over months after selection for her background in chemistry had almost been for nothing. All those months of training, including a facial alteration to assist in the capture of the Black Cat had almost been thrown away as her heart had overruled her head. If he would have come into her house, out of sight and into her comm dampened safe haven, she would have told him everything, but that would probably have been a mistake, according to what she knew. She knew what he was supposedly capable of, judging from the reports over the last month, yet she still found it hard to marry the details they contained to the man who she had shared so little time yet so many words with. The way they held each other, it was something magical. She had felt nothing like it.
Until earlier today.
He had come back into her life, just like that. No feeling, numb for years, and then two men had set her soul on fire.
One was now out of reach, but Roman… Roman was back, and she was seeing him within the hour.
The night was restless, full of dreams of blood. Idalia falling. Too much, all too much.
The sound of the keypad beeping brought him around. The heat in the cell was stifling, the air conditioning having been turned off overnight. He struggled to sit up, propping himself up painfully on his elbows as Aarati came through the door. Her suit was creased and her eyes seemed red, glittering around the edges with tears as she closed the door behind her and faced him
“Get up,” she said quietly. Roman looked around himself, still exhausted from the last few days' physical trials. The small window showed only darkness and the occasional glint of light from the beacon of a building in the distance.
“What time is it?” he asked, falling back onto the hard mattress from exhaustion.
“Two in the morning,” replied Aarati. She didn't move from the foot of the bed. Her face was ashen.
“The guards let you in?” he asked, curious despite his pain.
“I outrank the guards,” she said. Her voice sounded dead. There were words there, waiting to be said.
“Can't you leave me alone? Isn't it enough that you've managed to reel me in hook, line and sinker? I must say, you don't seem like the usual ParCorp agent.”
“I'm not,” she sighed, moving closer to him though still seeming wary. “I didn't used to do this.”
“I don't know if I believe that,” said Roman. “I've believed everything you’ve said so far, and look where it's got me.”
“You deserve to be here,” she said with bitterness, her hands clenching at her sides.
Roman rubbed his tired eyes. “You're probably right...” he said, sighing.
; “All of those deaths.”
“I never killed,” he said firmly, sitting up. The memory of Sandrine and Idalia swam around his head and made him so dizzy that he almost vomited onto the cold concrete floor. “No, not directly. Not intentionally. No.”
“I've seen the evidence-” she started.
“Not me, no,” he said, having to lie back down to protect himself from the nausea that was wrapping a band around his gut.
“Not you?”
“My face,” he said, pointing at the cuts and their peeling plasters. “Not me. Facial alteration.”
He had no idea why he was revealing the truth to Aarati but despite it all, something pulled words from him. The woman who had stolen his heart now stole his secret, dragging it from his mind, kicking and screaming into the light. He loved her. Love was weak, and love was stupid.
She sat down slowly on the bed. She was breathing deeply, closing her eyes as if preparing to step off the edge of the cliff into the blue void.
“What's your real name?” she asked, her voice quiet but carrying a power that cut through him somehow.
“My name?” said Roman. It had been his, shared only with Idalia and Luis. Both had betrayed him but he had kept his name, it had stayed a secret. “Why should I tell you?”
“I'll tell you mine, if you tell me yours,” she said simply, as if trading secrets in the playground. As a child, a secret was the only real power you had, and to reveal it was a great gesture. Such a power was carried in her words.
He told her.
Her eyes closed, tight and hard for several minutes before she threw her arms around him. After she had whispered into his ear, his heart melted into hers.
“It came to me in a flash,” she said later as they lay together in the bed after simply embracing each other for almost an hour. The sheets were cool, a welcome contrast the burning passion that was running through both of them. “I was waiting at the park, not knowing how I would know you if you had changed so much. I started to realise that I'd have to rely on my sense of you, your personality, your soul, if you believe in such a thing. As I focussed on that, I knew who you were, and why I had felt so close to you every time we had seen each other. If only I had known, really known that last time. Instead, I…”
“You placed a bug on me,” said Roman, following the chain of logic. That was how ParCorp had known, they had heard every conversation with Seita. She had certainly lost none of her guile in the years apart.
“I did. I placed it within one of your cuts. It was my job. Part of me didn't want to activate it, but after I was given a dossier on your activities, I had to.”
“Luis' activities,” said Roman. “I got out of the game a month ago. I tried to anyway.”
“If I hadn't seen you when I was infiltrating the Marketplace, then I might not have even thought of you,” said Tavisi. “I was found and booted off so quickly. It was such a small window, a coincidence.”
“There are no coincidences.”
They passed a few more minutes, trading details, building a picture of what had happened and where they could hope to go. A sudden thought struck him, one that would have brought him to his knees had he been standing.
I almost dosed her, and she already loved me. She would have ended up the same as Sandrine, insane and lost.
“I don't deserve you,” said Roman, his eyes welling up as he held her, aware that it could be the last time. “The things I've done.”
“I forgive you,” she whispered. Her eyes showed a love that demanded a return, a depth of feeling that was infectious.
“I don't forgive myself,” he said, tears running down his cheeks, salt in the cuts. The pain stirred something in his mind, a shadow of Sandrine, thoughts running around and into themselves. “But maybe I can make things a little better.”
The helicopter swept quickly over the water, a shadow in the dark night. The guard reached over and put in the code to remove Roman's handcuffs, whilst keeping his other hand on the semi-automatic on his lap. He was obviously thinking that Roman might try something when he was free, though in truth Roman was saving his energy. He would need it all to continue with his plan, as foolhardy as it was. The sea was dark around them, the lights of the distant city running in strings across the crests of the waves. Soon the huge bulk of the cho-freighter became visible, ploughing through the water towards Korea, eight decks of quarters, cars, shopping and mobile residences. All or nothing.
The helicopter touched down at helipad two and Roman stepped out onto the colossal city-on-the-water, his hair whipping around his face.
The words had tasted of deceit when he had said them to Ozawa, but they had been necessary.
“I will help you find your daughter.”
It had been a gamble, relying on many factors. His last great bet.
It felt good to be in a suit again, even though his body was still bruised and battered, and his rib would take a while to heal. The fresh sea air stung his skin in the most welcome way. He was free. Perhaps not for long, but for now.
He made his way through the security gate, showing the ID that he had been given by Ozawa to guarantee him free movement on the journey. The walk was a long one, and each step was making his heart pound in his chest. He had been training as much as he could to get his body back into its previous condition, but he still felt rough around the edges.
Down he went, into the writhing crowds. He headed into the main thoroughfare of the cho-freighter, a place that revelled in its status as being under no sovereign rule. People would travel aboard the freighters simply for the entertainment and the unrivalled hedonism of international waters. He pushed his way through the fashion hungry bodies, being reminded of Crash/Burn with every step. Lights, music, thrashing and waving. Drinking, kissing, laughing, and crying. The building blocks of humans, but all sensations paled into insignificance when faced with Love. He would do anything for Love.
He slipped away from the revelling and into the sea soaked residential block. He made his way through metal corridors and rows of virtually identical doorways until he found the one he needed. He paused for a moment – going over the details in his head – before he finally raised his hand and knocked.
He was greeted by the smiling face of Jun, who ushered him inside. The room was sparse but tastefully decorated, one of the most expensive rooms on the cho-freighter – the presidential suite. Intricate silk hangings were placed along the walls, interspersed with tasteful ink illustrations. This reminds me of Ozawa’s. How ironic. How fitting. Kuri was lounging on the bed reading a magazine, looking far more relaxed than the last time he’d seen her. She smiled when she saw Roman enter, bowing her head respectfully.
“How's the trip so far?” asked Roman, looking at his surroundings as nonchalantly as he could manage. He wandered over to wall at the far side of the room and opened the large double doors that led out to a balcony overlooking the side of the ship. The sea air tickled his nose as the distant sounds of revelling made their way down to him. It was like Mardi Gras.
“This place is the best,” said Jun, grinning widely. “The entertainment, the room, the food. Oh man, and the steak. Kobe beef my friend! Do you know how rare that is?”
“I don't know how you can eat that,” said Kuri, screwing up her nose.
“Algae-Vegetarian,” whispered Jun conspiratorially to Roman. “Can I get you a drink?”
“No, I'm all right,” replied Roman. Keep a clear head. He tapped his cuff link carefully, activating the signal. It was time for Ozawa to move in.
“How's life together?” asked Roman, feeling his gut wrench at the knowledge of what was about to happen. Kuri smiled again, her eyes shining with that glow that had pulled in the hearts of Japan's youth throughout her manufactured career.
“The best,” she said. “Better now we're heading to Korea. No chance of anyone interfering. A clean break. Thank you so much for getting us the ticket so we could head over with you. It was a great idea.”
“You're
more than welcome,” said Roman.
The door flew inwards and Ozawa marched in. His face was set into his usual emotionless stone mask, though his eyes clearly showed his anger at the scene. He was wearing the same combat gear as the two armed guards that followed him, the muscle-bound ex-military men that Roman had seen before. They weren't going to win any prizes for thinking but then again they would deal with most problems the same way, with a boot and a bullet.
Jun's eyes widened in shock but wisely he didn't decide to go for his gun. That’s right. There’s nothing to be gained from raising the stakes.
“Father no!” screamed Kuri, her eyes filling with tears. Ozawa looked unresponsive, an icy mask of indifference. Jun simply sighed, throwing his hands above his head.
“Can I just say, I love and respect your daughter more than life itself,” he said carefully. The guards’ guns were aimed at his head. Please don't fire.
“You can say all the words you want to,” said Ozawa, “though not one will make the slightest bit of difference.”
He looked over at Roman, a strange look in his eye.
“Take him. I don’t want him leaving this room alive.”
Roman didn't even bother to waste time registering any surprise on his face, mainly because he wasn't surprised in the least. So predictable. Of course Ozawa wouldn't let go the grievances of the past. He hated Roman more than Jun. He wanted to kill him here and now, under pretence of trying to escape. Well then, I should at least do my part.
Roman darted sideways as the guards brought their rifles around to bear before leaping forwards, taking himself out of the target zone as he slammed the palm of his hand into the nearest guard's neck, snapping the man’s head backwards. With the guard now off balance a swift knee strike sent him reeling into the other guard and the way was clear. He leapt out of the doorway at an angle, narrowly missing the door frame before sprinting away.
He could hear the yells of the guards behind him and as he reached a staircase that ran both up and down he craned his neck back, spotting the guards in full pursuit. They were lightly armoured and had left their rifles behind in favour of smaller handguns, easier to use in the tight corridors.
The Real Thing Page 14