Wired Strong

by Toby Neal

  She left the chopper and headed for her “bug-out bag” stashed in a storage locker at the main terminal of the Bangkok Airport.

  She had always hated that silly phrase, but was grateful that Bangkok was one of the cities where she kept one. New credit cards, a pile of cash, new identities, recently updated with her new face and photo. A hassle, for sure, but she had just completed the task through an intermediary when she’d returned to the compound.

  In the women’s room stall, sorting through her new passports, Pim Wat longed for Pali Island in the Philippines. How she wanted to walk the beaches of her beautiful island, how she longed to rest in the fabulous bed where she and the Master had spent so many happy hours while she was recovering from her ordeal in Guantánamo.

  But would Number One anticipate that? Yes. He would send men to look for her there.

  She needed to go somewhere faraway and new, where she could set up everything she would need to make sure that both Connor and Sophie paid the ultimate price.

  Today was a good day to begin the rest of her life.

  And though she would always miss the Master, she was better off without the crippling effect of her love for him. Now there was nothing to restrain her vengeance.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Connor

  Connor must have passed out but he had no awareness of that until he felt someone shaking him by the shoulder. “Master! Master!”

  He lay beside someone who wasn’t moving. He turned his head away, his nostrils filled with that awful smell. Something terrible awaited him when he opened his eyes, and he couldn’t bear to see it.

  “I’ve barred the door. You must get up. We have to make this look like something else.”

  Connor kept his eyes stubbornly closed. He refused to know what his mind was trying to tell him. “Do what you must.”

  Dimly, from somewhere he had been suppressing it, pain signals pulsed at him.

  He had been in a fight. And he had killed the Master.

  Connor rolled to his side and retched.

  Once again, he felt the hand upon his shoulder. He recognized the voice—someone who cared about him. Someone who wanted good things for him. Someone trying to help. “Master. I have an idea.”

  “Don’t call me that.” Connor felt wrung out, a husk, as if he had died too—but his sluggish mind suddenly activated. “Where is Pim Wat? She went into the bedroom!”

  As Nine hurried to look into the bedroom, Connor realized what he had been waiting for: Pim Wat’s blade in his back.

  He had been waiting for her to finish him off. He had longed for that. But she’d drunk the poison. Hopefully, it had killed her.

  How could he live with having killed the Master? And the way he had—no control, no finesse, no humanity. Just rage.

  There was no atonement for a thing like this.

  And yet he must provide proof of his deed to the Department of Justice. He took a photo of the body with his phone, and sent it to Sophie in their secret chat room.

  Nine’s voice came from above. “Pim Wat’s gone.”

  “I saw her leave and go in there. I thought she would come to the Master’s aid.” Connor said. The blood he was covered with was beginning to stiffen on his clothing, on his hands. “Do what you must,” he said.

  “Pim Wat did this—she killed the Master. You interrupted them as she was stabbing him. You tried to save him, and got blood on yourself in the process.”

  Each word fell into Connor’s mind like a separate, meaningless stone dropping into a pond. He could make no sense of it. “That’s not what happened.”

  “Yes, it is. You’re in shock.” Nine wiped Connor’s hands, his face. He straightened Connor’s robe, muttering over his bruises and cut knuckles.

  “No one will believe I didn’t do this,” Connor said.

  “They will. You loved the Master. You never expected Pim Wat to turn on him like she did.” Nine dabbed Connor’s face gently with a wet cloth. Blood must have made it all the way up to his eyes. Connor turned away, retching again, but nothing came up.

  He turned and crawled back to kneel beside the body. So many wounds. So much blood.

  “Let me handle this. Trust me,” Nine said. “Don’t say anything.”

  Connor couldn’t even nod. He wept, instead.

  Nine screamed for help.

  Feet ran on the stone stairs. Cries of horror and shock filled the room.

  Connor was picked up under the arms by Nine and held close as Nine pretended to check him over for major injuries.

  Connor kept his eyes closed, limp and unresponsive. He was hardly present in his body as they patted him down, supported him over to the low couch.

  Connor wept on, oblivious to the stream of excited Thai conversation flying over his head. And then he heard Nine yell, “Pim Wat escaped out of the bedroom somehow! There must be a secret exit! Find her! She must be brought to justice!”

  Nine was doing a very good job covering up what had happened, but Connor would always know.

  He’d always know that he’d lost control and murdered a man he’d respected—maybe even loved.

  But the Master had forced him to. Trapped him. Made him do it, and now he had to live with it. “I hate you, Master,” he whispered.

  He wouldn’t think about it anymore. He couldn’t afford to.

  Connor finally opened his eyes.

  Nine whispered in his ear. “They’re looking for Pim Wat now. Come, let’s get you cleaned up. You can’t be seen by the Healer; he will notice the injuries from your fight and know what happened.”

  Connor didn’t look at the still figure on the floor, already covered with a richly embroidered cloth. He let himself be led down the stairs, all the way into the bowels of the compound.

  Nine stripped off his bloody clothes and escorted Connor into the bathing chamber with its hot pool. “Sit in the water. Heal yourself. Come out of this room with no injuries. I know you can do it, Master.”

  Connor wanted to correct him. He wasn’t the Master! He never could be.

  But his act had made him so, and if he didn’t take that role, stepping into the place the Master had prepared for him, the ninjas would tear him apart like a pack of wolves.

  Pinning the murder on Pim Wat was a stroke of genius.

  The stone-walled room was silent but for a drip of condensation falling from the ceiling into the water of the pool. Connor had taken many a relaxing and restorative bath here. The water was warmed by an underground geothermal spring piped into the pool, keeping it circulating continually at a comfortably warm temperature, though there was a slight smell of sulfur about it.

  Connor rinsed the blood from his body with brisk strokes of a rough cloth lying folded at the pool’s edge. He scooped soft homemade soap onto the cloth and washed himself thoroughly.

  The die was cast. He had done what he had done. He was the Master, now, in charge of this entire organization. Hundreds of men looked to him for leadership. He could not abandon them for something as prosaic as joining Sophie in domestic bliss, even if she would have him—especially not when he still had to hunt down Pim Wat.

  That thought energized him.

  Connor finished rinsing the soap from his upper torso. As he looked down at his body, bruises and lumps were forming under the skin beneath the wavering reflections of the water.

  Nine had told him the truth—Connor had to be unmarked by that deadly confrontation with the Master for the men to believe the story that Pim Wat was the murderer.

  Connor had always been able to heal himself at a fast rate. Now he needed to put all of his power into healing his body within an hour. He relaxed on the stone bench submerged in the water, closed his eyes, and went inward.

  His body’s interior was the rich indigo of his energy field, a complex series of systems within systems. He tracked the pathway of his blood through his veins, rivers of blue on blue, pulsing with life. He could identify the areas of damage—dark masses and blotches.

 
Connor speeded up time, compressing it within himself, accelerating the natural effect of his body’s already powerful healing ability.

  He followed the pathways of nerves, veins, bones; he traced through the universe of his tissues, repairing himself at a cellular level—and soon, it was done.

  Connor opened his eyes and looked down at his swollen knuckles, his bruised legs, the torso that had been stippled with contusions.

  All was well; he looked perfect. In fact, he glowed with optimal health.

  This was how the Master had stayed ageless! The revelation broke over him, a secret the Master had never shared. But in the end, the Master had been mortal—killed by a blade, as any man could be—as Connor could be.

  But if he was careful, he could live a long, long time. No telling how old the Master had been.

  Connor stepped out of the pool and donned the fresh white robe Nine had left for him, reborn.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Connor

  Back in his chambers, Connor allowed Nam to dress him in a ceremonial white gi to address the men. Both of his servants were grateful for what he had done in killing the Master—he could feel it in every touch of Nam’s hands as the man tightened his robe, flicking imaginary dust from the sleeves, and he sensed it in Kupa’s gaze from across the room.

  Connor addressed Kupa. “You know Pim Wat best. Where do you think she will have gone?”

  “I would have said to her sister’s house. But the helicopter pilot did not take her to her sister’s neighborhood, and Malee is still in the hospital.”

  Connor’s brows drew together. “What did she do to Malee?”

  “She cut the Achilles tendon in the back of her ankle. She told me she was paying Malee back for the help she gave Sophie in recovering her child. I have not been able to get any more information from the hospital, though I have tried,” Kupa said.

  “Sophie will want to know this. I have to get a message to her. I already provided her with proof of the Master’s death.” Connor addressed Nam. “See what you can find out about Malee. The Yām has contacts in Bangkok Hospital.”

  Nam nodded.

  Nine knocked briefly, his coded pattern, and entered Connor’s chambers. He turned and closed the door behind him, lowering the security bar. “I have organized a team of six of our best assassins. I will lead the team to go after Pim Wat.”

  Connor turned to face his loyal lieutenant. “No. I will lead the hunt for her.”

  Nine drew himself up and put his hands on his hips. His stance was one of confidence and authority, a change since he’d helped Connor deal with the Master’s death; his energy field pulsed with rich new color. “Master. Please reconsider. You need to stay here and lead the men. Keep them on their routine, reassure them. Show them that nothing has changed.”

  “But what if I want it to change?” Connor said.

  Nine’s small, dark eyes narrowed. “You must move forward to occupy the Master’s role. It is what he wanted. And it is what the men, and the Yām Khûmkạn as a whole, need. Keep routines stable until we eliminate Pim Wat. Then, make changes when your authority is secure.”

  Connor pushed a hand through his hair, rubbing the soft bristles under his palm. “I want to deal with her myself.”

  “That is a luxury you cannot currently afford,” Nine said in his measured way.

  “We are here to support you.” Nam and Kupa, arm in arm, approached Connor. “We know how hard this has been. Let Nine deal with Pim Wat. Take the time you need to grieve, and know that we are loyal only to you, and will care for you while you’re vulnerable,” Nam said.

  “Yes,” Nine said. “I, too, am loyal only to you—but also to the Yām Khûmkạn. Your place is here, for the good of all.”

  Connor felt his agitation settling. “Let’s sit down. I need to be able to speak freely.”

  His co-conspirators joined him at the round work table. Connor spread his hands on the table’s surface, showing them his unmarked hands. “At the moment of his death, the Master revealed that he had killed the Master before him. He told me that this was how the mantle of leadership passed from one Master to the next. But I never aspired to this role. I’m not sure I want it.” He met each of his friends’ eyes in turn. “I moved against Pim Wat and the Master because they threatened Sophie and her children. I have wanted to be free to pursue a life with the woman I love.”

  The three faces looking at him were inscrutable—but he could see by the changes in their energy fields that they didn’t like what he was saying.

  Connor forged ahead, mustering his focus. “Of course, the first thing we have to do is eliminate Pim Wat. She’s a threat not only to me, but to Sophie and her family. We know from what she did to Malee that she is out for revenge against all those who injured her, and we know that she said she wants Sophie’s children. But with the Master gone, I don’t know what she’ll do next.”

  “I have a plan, Master,” Nine said. “We will activate all of our informants and their networks. I will split the team and send half of the team to the Philippines to check the Master’s island there, as I lead the group going to Bangkok. You, as the new Master, command everything that he did—and the men need you now. They will be afraid, and fearful men are angry men.”

  Connor winced—Nine was telling the truth.

  Nine went on. “Keep the routine. Do the things that the Master would have done. This transition can be bloodless and peaceful. In the end, I believe that’s what he would have wanted.” Nine met Connor’s gaze honestly. Connor saw the grief in it, a grief he shared for the man they now just called “he.” A man with purple eyes, who no longer had a name.

  Would there be a time when Connor’s name had been forgotten too, when no one alive even knew it? “If you think this is best.”

  Nine nodded briskly. “I do.”

  Connor turned to Kupa and Nam. “What do you think?”

  “It’s a wise plan, Master,” Nam said.

  Kupa nodded too. “I will comb through Pim Wat’s things. I believe she has caches of money, identification, and the tools of her assassin trade stashed in cities throughout the world. She could be anywhere, so I’ll look for any clues I can find.”

  “We all must be careful,” Connor said. “She will figure out that you had to have been the one to obtain the poison, Kupa.”

  “I know. She will want me dead as soon as possible.” Kupa addressed Nine. “Please find her quickly.”

  Connor stood up. “We all have our tasks, then. I will go and address the men. Good hunting, Nine.”

  Connor had the tiger’s eye column that had been installed in the Master’s garden moved to the center courtyard. The chore took hours, and while the team moving the column and reinstalling it worked on that, Connor drilled the men.

  He walked among them, demonstrating and correcting, as he ran them through their most strenuous combinations of martial arts routines. He wore them out with the heat of the Thai sunshine falling down upon the stones; with sweat and effort, he bound them together in unity. Finally, when their restlessness, fear, and anxiety had been calmed by the vigor of physical exertion and the triumph of their perfect unison in the ranks, Connor bade them sit in rows as he had refreshments and water delivered. Once they’d eaten and drank, he told them to meditate facing the column. Then he left to bathe and change.

  The six-foot-high, one-foot diameter plinth made of solid tiger’s eye gleamed and sparkled in the late afternoon sunshine. Nam sat at the base of the plinth and played a series of brass singing bowls, striking them gently so that their hypnotic sound rippled across the seated, meditating trainees.

  Nam signaled Connor when he felt the men were ready for his message. Connor walked out in front of them, stepping so lightly that his feet on the stones could not be heard. His inner-eye perception showed him the mass of tones of the men’s energy fields; many of them were dark with discouragement, grief, and uncertainty.

  Connor felt an unexpected tug of compassion; of genuine caring.
They needed him.

  Nine had been correct in telling him to stay at the compound.

  Connor leaped effortlessly up onto the top of the column, drawing whispers from a couple of the men whose eyes were open. He lowered himself and sat with his legs folded upon the narrow, circular top, feeling fresh from a shower and clean in his ceremonial garb, a white gi embroidered with crystals and white silk stitchery so that he shimmered in the waning light.

  He entered into meditation with the men, sending out a calming energy of peace from his place atop the column; that energy rippled over the trainees like silken ribbons.

  Was this how the Master had exerted such influence? Food for thought and practice.

  With his eyes closed, Connor could still see every individual man, and also their essence as a group.

  For the first time, he felt not just the weight of his position, but the beauty of it.

  Nam sounded a gong, and when its ringing echoes died, the men opened their eyes.

  Gasps of surprise and admiration erupted from the crowd at Connor’s feat, at his pure white, shining appearance from the top of the column.

  Connor projected his voice over the gathering. “The Master has passed on, as I am sure you have already heard. He named me Number One, his successor, and in the moments before his death, he conveyed to me that I was to take his role; that his death was the ultimate graduation within the Yām Khûmkạn.” Whispers settled into rapt stillness. “I will lead you in the way that he did. Nothing need concern you but what I put before you. We have sent a team to capture his murderer, Pim Wat. But for now, know that you are right where you’re supposed to be.” Connor extended his hands in blessing. “May our lives be in service. May we rule our bodies, minds, and emotions, as we serve the Yām Khûmkạn.”

  The men bowed forward, their foreheads touching the stones. And then they stood, and a cry rose from them that filled Connor with awe: “The Master is dead! Long live the Master!”