by Wells, Jack
The last thing Joe saw was a blinding flash of light. The last thing he felt was deadly heat. Svetlana had rigged all the ordinance on her sub to explode on command and Joe was at ground zero. The entire arena was obliterated in a tremendous ball of fire. The only remaining evidence that wooden docks ever existed were the jagged tops of a few charred pilings that barely cleared the water.
From a block away, Svetlana listened to the thunderous blast and pulled the cover-up closed with its terrycloth belt. No one will be able to determine that I came ashore here. She flipped the remote control over in her hand a few times. It didn’t look lethal. It could have been a garage door opener. She was too close to the explosion site, so it went back into the cover-up’s right pocket for disposal later.
“Sir, excuse me. Where’s the entrance to the subway?” Svetlana radiated warmth.
The man stopped at her European accent and stared into her eyes. “Two blocks that way,” he smiled.
He pointed down the street to her left and waited, hoping she’d say something else. No longer having to act, her face turned hard and the man hurried away. She checked the address she had been carrying since Switzerland, turned left, and walked the two blocks. By the time she descended the subway’s steep stairs, the wig and contacts were in the nearest trash receptacle. Svetlana rubbed the dryness from her eyes caused by the green contacts and studied the subway routes. They were displayed on the white tile walls just above some nasty-looking graffiti. There you are, Mansfield Avenue in Darien. Svetlana felt mild success and absentmindedly scratched at a wig-inflicted itch. Still close to the water. Maybe I should have kept my sub. She picked the subway line that would let her off closest to Martle’s street and got on board.
Dean sat in the Leer jet’s plush leather seat with his cell phone at his ear and stared down at the fluffy white clouds floating a hundred meters below. He had been trying to reach Martle and warn him about Svetlana. Third time’s a charm, he hoped. He would leave messages on all of Martle’s communication devices and at every location the general went if he had to.
The Coast Guard and Department of Homeland Security were already placed on high alert for Svetlana’s attack. Now Dean had a clear time frame and needed to let everyone know. Traveling at seven hundred knots, a kilometer above the Earth’s surface might not be fast enough to stop her. She had a two-day lead on them. Dean’s only hope was that her travel time and Martle’s security would slow her down enough so that he could catch her.
Wystl looked anxiously at Dean. “Leaving another message?”
“Yeah, I’m just waiting for the damn beep. General, this is Forge: we could have less than twelve hours. Call me.”
“Aren’t you going to tell him the rest?”
“That tells him enough and gives nothing away to anyone who might be listening.”
Wystl’s eyes widened with realization. “Oh. She might be listening.”
Dean shook his head and shrugged. “You just never know who is listening and what information they may already have. Intelligence gathering is about putting bits and pieces of data together like pieces to a puzzle. Give people enough information and they will make a picture.”
“That sounds like a scientific method. Piecing together data gained through experimentation to see how something works.” Something was bothering Wystl, so she decided it was time to change the subject.
“Colonel, why are you trying to leave messages?”
Dean was used to Wystl’s surprises, but he thought she understood why they were in such a hurry to contact Martle. He looked at her dumbfounded and the pitch in his voice rose. “Because Martle’s death may be imminent!”
“No, not that.” Wystl was amazed that he thought she couldn’t keep up. “I mean, why call when you can just be there? Have you forgotten how fast the pilot and her fighter traveled from ninety kilometers above your Moon to its surface?”
Dean was still dumbfounded, but for a whole different reason. He hadn’t forgotten about Amy, but he had forgotten that he was traveling with an alien and she had the Dimensional Shifter.
Wystl continued. “I think we should leave this plane and travel to Martle’s office in the Sit Room. This plane is very slow, don’t you think?”
“I think you’d better do the thinking from now on.”
Wystl recognized Dean’s weak effort at humor but remained serious. “It would be highly unusual for one person to be able to think of everything, Colonel. I believe that’s why we make such a good team.”
So, we’re a team now. Because of the problems with his partners in the past, Dean took teaming up very seriously. With her Shifter control pad, Wystl was formidable and would make a strong partner, at least for the time being.
“You want to be my partner?”
Wystl knew what he meant but couldn’t resist. “Yes, thank you for asking,” she teased.
Dean shook his head and sounded resigned. “You’ve picked up on our sense of humor pretty quickly. I guess we can try it for a while and see how it goes.”
“It will be more interesting than sitting around waiting for the University to rescue me. This way, I can be productive and continue to study your species at the same time.”
“Okay, let’s go find Martle.”
Darkness enveloped Dean. The last thing he saw before arriving in Martle’s office was Wystl’s reassuring blue eyes.
“He’s not here,” Dean growled angrily.
The large white two-story house was trimmed in hunter green and had red front double doors. The eight tall columns that lined its elegant veranda and the ancient shade trees reminded Svetlana of a mansion in the American South. A circular driveway swept past the broad porch and back out to the street. Part of the driveway broke to the right and led to a multicar garage that peeked out well behind the house.
She sat at the bus stop across the street from the house and considered the last question on her mental checklist: Will he be in a hurry and park his car in the front, or will he be anal retentive and park it in the garage? Waiting in the open wasn’t an option; someone might recognize her, so she crossed the street and headed for the garage. Either way, I’ll kill him in the garage, or I can enter the house easily enough from the garage and kill him there.
An original desert-camouflaged military vehicle that still looked like it could win a war sat one space over from a classic cherry red 2027 sedan. A late-model glossy deep blue European coupe sat on the far side. Nice cars. She took turns testing each machine’s comfort ratio and finally settled on the fast European coup. It was parked next to the outside wall, away from the empty slot Martle would use. He will never even know I’m here until it’s too late. She settled into the driver’s seat, took a sip of water, and focused inwardly. The melody softly rose in her head, taking on more of a drum cadence that helped her mark time. She patiently began the wait.
“Master Sung,” Svetlana whispered, “I am waiting to kill the general.”
Svetlana, he is a good man. You should not kill him.
“It’s not my decision; someone else will just come after him.”
But they will be less likely to succeed.
“That may be true, Sensei, but I have given my word to kill him and placed my honor on the line. I cannot break my personal oath.”
Have I taught you nothing? Your actions must change with the situation just as you must adapt your fighting style to your opponent or…if the dart fails you.
“The dart has never failed me!”
That is true, but nothing is forever, Svetlana; even the rope dart can be tamed.
When her parents were murdered, Master Sung’s idyllic world ceased to exist for Svetlana. Hard and cruel was the world she found outside the school’s sanctuary. Psychologically, she had grown completely dependent on the rope dart now and needed the security of knowing that would never change. Her master pulled dangerously at a very fragile foundation, and what he foretold normally came to pass.
Desperation mixed with fear, straining
her voice. “You believe I will lose with the dart?”
What you believe is what matters, and justice is what you should believe in.
“Justice…I should believe in justice?”
Before Svetlana could finish her thought, the garage door began to creak open. I guessed right. He is anal retentive.
“We must discuss more of this later, Master.”
The general’s classic white four-door rolled slowly through the door and came to an easy stop. At the same time, Svetlana quietly cracked open the coupe’s passenger door and slid out onto the concrete floor next to the outside wall. Indeed, she was right: he had no idea she was there. Crouched on all fours, Svetlana looked under the cars and watched his black shoes touch the floor. At that moment, she grabbed the dart off her back and leaped onto the hood of the coupe. The dart whistled a meter above her head, ready to strike.
The Sit Room was powered down after the Moonbeam incident. It was completely deserted except for a sergeant and a lance corporal. Strangely, from the general’s office, a voice echoed out into the auditorium. Both guards were surprised and wondered how someone got through so many tons of steel and concrete undetected.
The corporal shot a questioning glance at the sergeant and received a slow head shake in return. Pointing his 9mm sidearm at the sound, the sergeant used hand signals to direct the corporal to follow him. Two steps behind with his M45’s muzzle aimed at the floor, the corporal kept close. At the office door, the surprised sergeant stopped abruptly when he saw a beautiful brunette in a tight red dress talking to Colonel Forge. Not ready for the sudden stop, the corporal bumped into the sergeant and pushed him through the door.
“Uh…Colonel Forge, I wasn’t expecting you!” The sergeant was obviously amazed and struggled to maintain his professionalism. “Sir, how…how did you…get in here?”
Wystl went silent and smiled at the intruders. Dean didn’t have time to explain everything and decided to keep his response simple.
“We’re testing a new device. Dr. Wystl is the inventor.”
The sergeant blinked at gorgeous Wystl in disbelief. “You’re a scientist?”
Dean cut him off. “Where is General Martle?”
“He went home, sir.”
Dean looked at Wystl and she began to “play” with her control pad. The air around them grew dark. The astonished sergeant and corporal looked at each other. When they looked back, the darkness was empty and already dissipating.
Svetlana released the shiny silver dart just as Martle slipped on some oil that he had intended to clean up. She watched the dart miss his forehead but shred his right ear as he fell roughly to the concrete on the far side of this car.
Dazed, Martle lay on the floor and held his hand to his damaged ear as blood ran between his fingers. A metal-crunching sound one car over told him the assassin was almost on him. He needed to get her attention before she finished the job or he went into shock.
Svetlana had already leapt to the long, low hood of the coupe. One more leap and she would look down at her quarry from his hood.
“I have information about who killed your parents!” he yelled through the pain and desperation.
Of all the things that he could have said, she never expected him to say that. The majority of her victim’s begged for their lives at the very end, a few became defiant, but no one had ever said anything like that. She froze with her knees bent, ready to finish him, but she couldn’t. Surprise, distrust, and curiosity all seized her body and mind at the same time.
“You know about my parents?”
Martle heard her uncertainty and fought to control breathing that was becoming labored. He would throw everything he knew at her and hope something would get through to her.
“I know that your father was Russian and your mother was Chinese. They both worked for the Chinese Secret Service before Jonathan Visen began his efforts to convince the Chinese government to join him.” He paused long enough to catch his breath again and was glad she didn’t interrupt. Hopefully she’s listening. “I had Network agents check your parents’ background. They found out that your parents’ murderers worked for Visen.”
His mouth hung open silently and his jaw quivered in anticipation, but there was nothing else to say. He was out of information. The annoying twitch at the corner of his eye was back. Silence was his only response as he strained to hear her response. He told himself that quiet was good, that it meant she was thinking. But have I convinced her?
Can I trust him? Can I finally get justice for my parents? Revenge would be sweeter! Her master told her to believe in justice, but to do that, she had to believe this general first. His information intrigued her. She would trust this stranger, for now.
She finished her jump to the sedan and looked down at the bloody man she had almost killed. If he was lying to her, she would finish the job with a lot more pain than she would have inflicted here in the garage.
“Apply pressure with this,” Svetlana said without emotion. She handed him a small red shop towel. “I’ve got to keep you alive long enough for you to prove what you’re saying is true. I don’t have to tell you how disappointed I’ll be if you’re lying to me.”
“You won’t be disappointed, trust me.”
It was the last thing Martle managed to say before he passed out.
“Trust me,” Svetlana repeated softly as she tied up his nasty wound.
The phrase reminded her fleetingly of Joe, the arena manager. I didn’t have to kill him. It was just faster and easier than dealing with him.
Using Martle’s keys, she loaded him into the military vehicle and started the engine just as a dark cloud began to form in front of the garage door. What the hell? A well-built-man and a tall brunette walked out of the black mist and up to her vehicle. Well, that’s something new.
Svetlana’s mouth gaped open as she realized that she was looking at the U.D.C.’s Colonel Dean Forge. She couldn’t let him know that she had the Network leader and got out of the vehicle, still deciding what to do. She had to bide her time until Martle could prove his accusations.
“Am I glad to see you, Colonel Forge. Interpol has me looking for the Network’s leader, but he’s not around here. Who’s your friend?” she asked, eyeing Wystl’s red dress.
Dean’s adrenaline increased as he studied the beautiful but deadly Asian woman. He had finally caught up with Svetlana, but where was Martle?
“Yeah, the U.D.C. has me looking, too.” He pointed at Wystl. “Her, she’s just an observer.” Wearing a poker face, he gave no emotion away. “So, you didn’t find General Martle?”
“No,” she said innocently, but reflexively, her eyes darted toward the old military vehicle. That was all Dean needed to realize she had Martle in the idling machine. You almost got away.
“I need to look in your vehicle.” His tone changed to serious resolve, and he began moving toward the machine.
Svetlana stepped in front of him. “I really don’t have time to show you an empty truck.” She matched his tone and her face hardened.
She was too close to pull the rope dart and instead threw a straight jab at his throat. Dean blocked it with his left elbow, shifted his weight, and threw a roundhouse kick at her head with his right leg. Svetlana was already moving to his left, away from the kick, and his foot barely brushed her bobbed black hair. She faked a left jab. Dean threw another elbow to block. While he was focused on that, she caught him with a spinning sidekick that almost cut him in half.
He fell sideways and Svetlana pulled the concealed dart off her back. She circled like an intent lioness while he got to his feet. Still facing him, she backed slowly out of the garage and into the open where her weapon had room to operate.
Dean stood slightly twisted to favor his painful right side and tried to catch his breath. He hadn’t taken too many body blows harder than that. The dart she was spinning so confidently gave her the advantage of reach. To beat her, he had to get inside that reach. She should have finished me while I w
as down. He was getting his second wind.
Svetlana knew that he was preparing to strike as he straightened to his full height, so she sent the dart straight at him like a long jab. Dean somersaulted forward under the spearing dart and came up, running straight at her. She twisted her body to jerk the dart back, but Dean got to her first. About a meter and a half from her, he launched his body into a flying knee strike to her chest. The full weight of his body crashed into her and she flew backwards, off the driveway and onto the grass.
Dean landed on all fours and watching Svetlana’s supine body for movement. She stared up at the tree limbs that hung low above her head. No one has ever gotten inside the dart’s reach before! Clearly, he was different – a worthy opponent. She would not underestimate him again, but she still had to get away from the colonel with Martle.
“Colonel, I’m hurt,” Svetlana sounded weak and in pain.
Still on his hands and knees, Dean blinked at her motionless body and looked with uncertainty to Wystl. She was no help. Apparently, Consortians were unfamiliar with martial arts. Wystl remained where she had been, fixed to the garage, wide eyed and mouth gaping. His attention returned to Svetlana’s limp form.
He got up and cautiously approached her. With about two meters to go, he stopped.
“Can you get up?” he asked warily.
“I think I can, with your help,” she said softly.
“Wystl, come here,” Dean called out, breaking her trance. “I need you to be ready to freeze her. Can you do that?”
“Of course I can, Colonel.” Wystl pulled out her pad and punched it a couple of times.
“If she tries anything, do it!”
“I think you broke…my ribs.” Svetlana struggled to get the words out. “I’ll be no more trouble.”
She wrapped her left arm across Dean’s shoulders for support and hung there heavily. When they stepped onto the concrete driveway, Svetlana spun in front of him. The hand that had been on his shoulder slid to the back of his neck. She quickly brought up her right hand and grabbed him behind the head with both hands. Hanging onto his head, she dropped to the concrete, pulling him forward and down. As he fell into her body, her right knee exploded up into his chin and she dropped his unconscious body heavily onto the concrete.
