Being here in the tunnels again returned all those memories and questions to her mind. She hadn’t seen her master since her youth, but she figured the man had to be quite old by now. He was in his late fifties—she guessed—when he trained her. That was more than thirty years ago.
Her father seemed on a mission.
The man stalked through the halls like a wild animal on the hunt until he reached a dark oaken door set in an arched, stone doorway.
Adriana remembered the door. It was one of the few details about this subterranean area that stuck out in her mind.
Diego paused and looked over at his daughter. “What you are about to learn is deeply troubling, Adriana. I know that I didn’t offer many answers to you when you were younger, or even since you became an adult. Unfortunately, now you must learn the truth.”
She peered into his eyes, searching him for answers. “Truth?” she asked. “About what?”
He opened the heavy door. A thick scent of patchouli incense wafted out from inside. Light from dozens of candles within radiated brightly into the corridor, spilling onto the walls and floor and ceiling.
The interior of the dojo didn’t look like something that had originated in the Far East, save for a few banners hanging from the wall with Japanese characters written on them. The room featured a high domed ceiling with baroque-style beams and columns supporting it. The stone tile floor from the hall continued into the room, though it was topped with a training ring made from smooth oak, worn down through the ages by those who trained before Adriana.
A hooded figure cloaked in a black robe stood in the center of the ring. The person faced the far wall, unmoving.
Diego led the way into the enormous room and closed the door behind Adriana once she was inside. The door hit the sill with a booming thud that echoed throughout the chamber for what seemed like a minute.
“We are ready,” Diego said.
Adriana watched as the figure remained motionless. The only hint of movement came from slow, deliberate breaths that caused the person’s shoulders to rise slightly and drop again with each exhale.
“Are you?” the raspy voice cracked, its echo rippling off the stone walls and floor, dancing into the ceiling until it faded.
“Master?” Adriana asked and dared a step forward.
The figure inhaled a long, slow breath before turning slowly to meet her gaze. His face remained in the hood’s shadows, the light unwilling to risk touching his eyes or cheeks.
The old man pulled back the hood, revealing a face that seemed unharmed by the ravages of time. He had to be in his late seventies by now, slightly older than Adriana’s father, but his skin remained smooth. Only the corners of his eyes betrayed his age, with long crow’s-feet that stretched across to the temples.
“Hello, Adriana. It has been a long time.”
“Yes,” she said, pressing her hands together and leaning over at the hips in the bow greeting she’d learned as a child.
He returned the gesture, though only bending half as much as she.
“I am certain you have many questions for me, my child,” the master said, his words slipping from his lips in a near whisper. “Where have I been? What have I been up to? That sort of thing.”
She cracked a smile. Despite the man’s utterly serious nature, he had a sense of humor that never ceased to catch her off guard and make her laugh.
“Along with,” he added, “why we are all here now.”
“Yes,” she said, rising to meet his gaze once more.
Diego remained silent, merely observing the reunion of the two who’d spent so much time together all those years ago.
Master Miyamoto Kazashi held her stare as he spoke. “It is time for you to learn your family’s purpose in this world, and why you were put through the rigorous training of your youth.”
Adriana felt her heart flutter in her chest, like a child rounding the bottom of the stairs on Christmas morning.
He turned to the back wall and glided toward a pair of swords hanging from wooden pegs. He removed them from their hangers, then faced her again. He shrugged off the black robe, which fell off his shoulders like water to the floor, revealing a white kimono tied with a golden belt.
His right hand snapped forward, and he released the sword, sending it tumbling through the air toward Adriana. She waited until the last second before snatching the scabbard. She held it aloft, waiting for his instruction.
Her father stepped back, watching the dance with the concern of a father, but the curiosity of someone watching a professional tennis match.
“Live blades then?” Adriana asked.
“As it should be, my child.”
She didn’t have to ask another question. Before Master Miyamoto would give up his answers, she would have to spar with him—a dangerous proposition with real katanas. Deep down, she believed the man would not try to harm her, and would use at least a little restraint. Then again, he’d barely used any when she was a child. Now that she was full grown, Adriana wasn’t so sure he would spare her at all.
“First we fight,” Miyamoto said. “Then we talk.”
He loosed his blade from its scabbard and surged forward. She whipped the weapon to her right, sending the sheath flying off the sword as her master darted toward her.
She raised the blade in time to meet his, and a deafening clank reverberated through the room. Bright orange sparks sprayed off the metal. The two stared into each other’s eyes, neither with anger, but both with fierce determination.
No words were said in the moment, and then Miyamoto stepped away, dropping his right foot as he spun, whipping his left foot at Adriana’s ankles.
She deftly hopped over them and raised her sword again as he brought his blade down toward her neck. Once more, she blocked the attack then countered with one of her own, flicking her wrist to one side then twisting her body in toward his as she continued to push the deadly weapon down and to the side. With one last curl of her wrist, she sent his blade flying from his hand and punched toward his chest with her palm.
Miyamoto was unfazed by the attack or the loss of his weapon. He shifted sideways, deflected the blow, then grabbed her other wrist and smashed it into his knee as he brought up his leg with devastating force.
Pain screamed through her arm, and the sword fell from her limp fingers.
He jerked her toward him and swung the bridge of his free hand toward her throat, but Adriana was quicker. She flipped over the master’s arm as he held her wrist. The maneuver freed her hand, and when she landed, she swept Miyamoto’s legs, dropping him to the floor with a bang.
In an instant, she was straddling his back, pressing her thumb against his neck just behind the ear in a painful submission move that used a relatively secret pressure point.
“Yield,” she demanded, a touch more angrily than she intended. She bent his left arm up and behind his back as he struggled, and gripped his torso with her legs as if riding a wild bull.
The man wriggled, but only for two seconds as she increased the pressure on his arm and the spot on his neck. Then his body started shaking as Miyamoto laughed.
“You have gotten faster since our last time together, little one. Stronger, too.” He grunted the second sentence.
“Is that a yield?” she asked in perfect Japanese.
“Yes,” he said in his native tongue. “I yield.”
She let go of his arm and stood up, stepping away from the older man.
Adriana calmed her breathing and pressed her hands together as he stood. Then she bowed to him once more. He returned the gesture again and smiled proudly at her.
“I don’t know how, but you seem faster and stronger as well, Master.”
Miyamoto grinned broadly. “No, little one. You’re just getting older.” He let out a belly laugh as Diego approached from the side, a relieved grin wiped across his face.
“That may be,” Adriana agreed happily.
“You have done well, little one,” Miyamoto said. “I h
ave kept up with your exploits through the years. Your choice of…hobbies was a wise one to keep you sharp for the task ahead.”
She narrowed her eyes at the statement, and at once the jovial mood that had taken over the room vanished, replaced by a more serious pall. It hung in the air as densely as the scent from the smoldering sticks spewing gray smoke into the air.
“What task?” Adriana asked. “What is all this about? Are you the reason that my father called for me? Are you sick?” She whirled to face her father. “Is he the family business we needed to discuss?”
“Not exactly,” Diego said. “I’m sorry I had to keep you for the last few weeks, Adriana. And I didn’t want to tell you everything, not until Master Miyamoto joined us. Now, I’m afraid, it’s time you knew the entire story.”
She couldn’t have been more lost in a corn maze with no exits. Adriana puzzled over the cryptic way her father and former teacher spoke.
“You two are scaring me.” Her head bounced back and forth between the two men. “What is going on?”
Miyamoto inclined his head. The Ninja, one of the last of his order, flicked his eyes toward a table next to one of the walls to the side. Atop it sat four burning candles and rolled scroll.
Adriana followed his gaze.
“What is it?” she asked.
“The answer,” he said, “to most of the questions you’ve had about your life.” Miyamoto paused. “And to so much more.”
14
Stockholm
“So, what’s this all about?” Tabitha asked. She crossed her arms and waited for an answer.
“No offense, Agent Strong,” Sean said, “but I don’t know you. That means I don’t trust you. Not yet, anyway. There are a few things I need to discuss with my colleagues in private.”
“I’m here on an official investigation, Sean,” she said, using his name with derision. She flicked her head to the side for emphasis. “So, unless you want to all head back to HQ with me, I suggest you start talking now.”
Sean winced, feigning fear for a second. “Yeah, except that you have nothing on any of us, and my friend Magnus here is a pillar of the community in Stockholm. Would be a bad look if MI6 wrongfully arrested him or any of his associates, especially after such a rousing speech given by the director of the IAA.”
“Thanks, buddy,” Tommy said from the corner where he poured a drink from the bar.
Sean replied with a wink.
“You’re going to play it like that?” Tabitha asked. There was no hiding the threat in her voice, which had been stoked by Sean’s own not-so-subtle implication.
Sean simply let his hands open wide as if he had nothing else to say.
Her eyes shot from Sean to Tommy, then to Kevin, who looked like he wasn’t sure what was happening, and then to Magnus.
“Fine,” she said and turned to leave. She reached the door and then stopped. Tabitha looked back over her shoulder, glowering at Sean. “I have an idea,” she said.
“Which is?”
“Ask Emily.”
“What?” The statement caught Sean off guard, which wasn’t easily done.
“Ask Director Starks who I am and if you can trust me.”
Sean’s right eyebrow reached upward as he assessed her request. “Okay,” he said. “You think that will change my mind?”
“Tell you what.” She reached into her pocket and removed her phone, then began typing a quick text message.
Sean sat up a little straighter, only slightly unnerved by the abrupt change in the conversation.
She hit the send button and waited, clutching the phone in her hand down by her waist.
“Did you just text message Emily Starks?” Tommy asked, sipping on his drink.
Kevin watched with the rapt attention he might watch a bizarre reality television show.
“Yep,” Tabitha answered, accentuating the p at the end.
It took less than thirty seconds for Sean’s phone to vibrate in his pocket. He rolled his eyes and drew the device out of his pants and looked at the screen. The preview said it was from Emily. Before he even opened the text, he knew what it was going to say.
“Tell her everything she wants to know,” Sean read out loud. “You can trust her.”
Sean sighed and typed a quick “thank you” before putting his phone away again.
“Fine,” he said. “But you’re not going to like what we’re about to discuss. You may not even believe any of it, which is fine. Might even be better that way.”
Puzzled, she wrinkled her forehead as she frowned at the statement. “May not believe what?”
“Yeah,” Tommy agreed with Tabitha. “May not believe what?”
Sean turned to Kevin and grinned fiendishly. “You’re up, Dr. Clark.” Sean spread his arms across the back of the sofa and watched while Kevin looked around for a second, almost trying to figure out what he should do.
“The tablet,” Sean mouthed.
“Right,” Kevin said with a nod. He disappeared back into the bedroom and returned a minute later holding the tablet within the plastic bag.
“What’s that?” Tommy asked.
Magnus’ eyes widened. “Yes, Dr. Clark. What is that?” The eldest member of the group reached into his jacket pocket and produced a pair of spectacles he placed on his nose.
Kevin brought the tablet over to the coffee table and carefully laid it down in the center.
“Well, I wasn’t sure what it was, to be quite honest, until Sean offered his…um, theory.” Kevin looked over at Sean apologetically. “No offense.”
“None taken.” Sean waved it off. “Just show Tommy and Magnus what it is.”
“Right.” Kevin removed the tablet from the bag and left it on the table for the others to inspect. “As you can see, we’re dealing with something that was written in the language of the Khans.”
“Classical Mongolian,” Tommy breathed.
“That is correct,” Kevin said, unsurprised. “But I was baffled by the mysterious message it contains.”
“Which is?” Magnus insisted.
Kevin passed Sean a glance that pretty much asked for permission to tell the others. Sean answered with a slow nod.
Permission granted, Kevin continued. “These symbols at the bottom are the ankh, which I assume everyone here knows about.” The audience nodded, except for Tabitha, who hesitated and then bobbed her head unconvincingly.
“The second symbol is one of the common emblems we find in ancient Egyptology in reference to the god Thoth.”
“It just looks like a bird,” Tabitha commented.
Magnus fired her an annoyed glare, and she pursed her lips together.
“It is, actually. It’s an ibis, much like a crane or a heron. They were sacred in ancient Egypt.”
Tommy inched closer, suddenly far more interested in the tablet than he was mere seconds before.
“The tablet was written by one of the royal scribes from the house of the Khans. It says that they are always watching, calculating, weighing the sins of man.”
“Who are they?” Magnus asked. “Angels? Demons? God or gods?”
“It’s unclear,” Kevin said with an uncertain glance at Sean. “It also goes on to say something strange. The saint guards the rose stone. But be warned. The power of the gods can it unleash, for those who mean to rule.”
Everyone exchanged confused looks, except for Sean, who stood off to the side with his arms crossed, gauging everyone’s reactions.
Tommy did a half spit take, thrusting his palm over his mouth just in time to keep from spewing the drink he’d been sipping all over the coffee table, tablet, and Dr. Clark.
“Oh, my,” was all Magnus could manage.
“What?” Tabitha asked, sincerely confused by the abrupt change in mood in the room. “What is it?”
For nearly a minute, no one said anything. Magnus straightened and removed his glasses. He held them loosely in one hand at his hip. His face was washed pale.
Tommy set the drink do
wn on a nearby counter and returned to the tablet, scanning it even though he couldn’t read the ancient script. “It can’t be,” he breathed.
“Can’t be what?” Tabitha demanded. “Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on here?”
“It’s a warning,” Tommy whispered. “And a challenge.”
Tabitha’s shoulders inched upward, then fell again in an instant. “Okay. What does that mean?”
Sean leaned against the wall with his arms crossed casually, as if unbothered by the revelation contained on the tablet.
“I assume they know about this?” Tommy asked, his tone still muted, but frosted with terrified concern.
“Two days ago,” Sean answered, “Valentin Svoboda was killed in a flat in Prague, along with a woman they have identified as his mistress.”
The answer came as a surprise to everyone in the room, and for each person, for a different reason.
It was Magnus that reacted first. “What did you say?” The Swede took a step backward as if he might lose his balance and pass out, but he regained his footing and stayed upright, albeit with considerable effort. “Valentin is…dead?”
“Yes,” Sean answered without emotion. “That’s what the reports say.”
“It was a murder/suicide,” Tabitha added. “He killed the girl. Then he killed himself.” I only heard the report myself earlier this morning. A few of my colleagues were brought in to work the case, primarily as observers. Svoboda’s dealings around the world made him a well-known businessman, and also created many enemies.”
“That may be,” Sean said, “but it was not a suicide. Murder? Definitely. But Svoboda didn’t kill himself.”
Tabitha’s head retreated back an inch at the suggestion she was wrong. “What are you talking about?”
“Svoboda was murdered, just like his girlfriend. That’s what I’m talking about. The timing of the discovery of this tablet by Dr. Clark’s team and the death of one of the most influential and wealthy businessmen in the world is no coincidence.”
The Milestone Protocol Page 13
