Harrison smacked his dry lips. He could go for another beer, but that wasn’t happening.
“Is this the part where you threaten to torture me?”
The lead drew his weapon and pointed the pistol between Harrison’s eyes. “Unnecessary. We’ll find them.”
Harrison stared down the barrel and sneered. “Just do it already.”
Somebody knocked on his door.
The lead put a finger to his lips.
“Somebody order a pizza?” asked a gruff voice.
The lead shook his head at Harrison, indicating he was supposed to send the pizza boy away. He did, not to save his own life but to save the delivery guy’s.
“Wrong address,” he shouted.
“Look, I got a pepperoni here that will be taken out of my tips if I don’t deliver it to someone. Don’t suppose you’d be interested?”
“No, thanks!”
“I’d eat it myself, but I hate pepperoni. Hate everything about pizza after three years on this job.”
“Get the fuck out of here!” shouted Harrison.
“No need to be rude, pal. I’m just trying to work something out.”
Harrison shrugged.
The lead nodded to Agent B (or C or D), who moved toward the door. He peered through the peephole. A moment later, the door came crashing in, smashing his face and knocking him back. He went for his gun, but Connie punched him in the throat and broke his hand with a twist. To credit his professionalism, the agent didn’t make a sound as she kicked him senseless and to one side.
The other agents went for their guns as Connie shut the door, disappearing in the shadows of the darkened apartment. Shots rang out. Harrison shut his eyes. He should do something, but he’d never been in a firefight. He wasn’t that kind of secret agent. He had the training, somewhere buried inside, but by the time he accessed it, the fight was already over.
He opened one eye, just in time to see Connie plant her knuckles in the lead agent’s gut, who crumpled in defeat. She took his gun away from him and pushed him into the corner with the other agents.
“How did they not shoot you?” asked Harrison.
“That’s what they get for wearing sunglasses in the dark,” said Connie as she pulled him out of the chair. “We should get out of here.”
“Give me a second.” Harrison grabbed a beer out of the fridge and followed her. “I didn’t know you knew where I lived.”
“Detective,” she replied. “You’re lucky I dropped by when I did.”
They boarded the elevator and went down.
“What did they want with you?” she asked.
“I have some files they want.”
“And did any of those files have anything to do with me?”
“Sort of. They’re about the Engine. Why did you drop by, anyway?”
Connie said, “I wanted to talk about this theory of yours. Not that I buy it.”
“It’s not my theory,” he replied. “And you buy it. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here. Nick of time. Like you do. Like you were made to do, spell or no spell.”
“Give me a break. There’s nothing magical at work here. I know. I’ve seen plenty of magic. This is just dumb luck.”
“Is it?” He cracked a smile.
She struggled for a rebuttal, but it had worked out like he said. Was it coincidence? Did she end up in adventures because her fate was out of her control, or because she’d been getting involved with them for so long that she couldn’t turn off a reflex? Magic had pushed her life one way, but now that it was gone, could she ever be rid of her knack for getting into trouble?
“Give me a break,” she said.
“I’m sorry, Verity. Sorry for not telling you the truth sooner. Sorry for treating your life like a playing piece on a chessboard. But I believe in you. I think there’s still hope things will work out.”
She was halfway to telling him to piss off when the doors opened and a gunman fired twice into the elevator. Connie spun around in a dodge, twisted the attacker’s arm around, and elbowed him in the face. She yanked the gun from his hand and fired a bullet into each knee. Professionalism be damned, he shrieked as he fell over.
She swept the lobby for any more signs of trouble, but it was empty.
Harrison stumbled out of the elevator, clutching his gut. Blood spread across his shirt. She braced him as he nearly fell over.
“Well, shit,” he gasped.
“How bad is it?”
“Feels bad.” The color was already draining from his cheeks.
Connie helped him, his arm over her shoulder, exit the building. Each step was heavier than the last.
Tia opened the car door. “What the hell happened? I thought you were just going to talk to him.”
“Guess I wasn’t the only one.” Connie helped him into the backseat and joined him. “Go. There’s a hospital nine blocks from here.”
Tia pulled out of her parking space. “There isn’t going to be a car chase, is there? Because I can barely parallel park.”
Connie opened Harrison’s shirt. The bullets had hit him in the stomach, but one wound was near his heart, and it was bleeding a lot. It might have nicked his aorta. She pressed down to staunch the bleeding.
“Fuck. I’m a goner,” he wheezed. “Guess you can’t save everybody.”
It was already a grim truth she’d had to accept. She’d lost people. Good people. She wasn’t about to lose another.
“It’ll be all right,” she said. “I’ve seen worse.”
He smiled painfully. “Connie, there’s an accounting office across town. Burns and Waylain. Third floor. Human resources. Filing cabinet. Under E for ‘everything.’ You’ll find what you need there.”
“Don’t talk. We’re almost there.”
He coughed. He tried to cough, but it was a wet gurgle as blood went places it wasn’t supposed to go.
“Fucking Engine. Guess it’s done with me. Gonna have to find a new bolt.”
With a sharp gasp, he closed his eyes. His heart kept beating under her hands, but it was faint and growing fainter.
There was no car chase. They dragged Harrison’s unconscious, possibly dead body into the emergency room. A team of doctors and nurses loaded him onto a gurney and rolled him away. Connie and Tia slipped away before questions came up.
“That’s a lot of blood,” said Thelma.
It was everywhere. On their clothes. In the backseat. On Connie’s hands. The smell filled the car.
“Damn it,” she said.
“I don’t think that’s ever coming out of my upholstery,” said Tia. “We should’ve used your car.”
Gallows humor kept everything from being too real. Connie wasn’t in the mood. She’d seen people die before, but this felt different.
If she’d been a little faster, a little less sloppy . . .
“Geez,” said Tia. “Poor guy.”
She’d been debriefed by Harrison on those occasions when she’d been involved in Connie’s adventures. She didn’t know him well.
“He didn’t deserve that. He’ll be all right, won’t he?”
Connie rubbed her hands together. The dried blood ground against her palms. “I don’t know.”
The world was a long string of conditional statements, of grim possibilities diverted by improbable last-minute saves.
The blood on her hands said maybe those saves were a thing of the past.
28
The service station sat in the middle of nowhere, and Connie and Tia parked half a mile down the road from it.
“Are you sure this is the place?” asked Tia.
“If Harrison’s notes are right, it’s there,” replied Connie.
“If he was wrong?”
“Then we look elsewhere, but we have to start somewhere.”
“Are we going to walk in and ask them for it?” asked Thelma.
“Not a bad plan,” said Connie.
“Sometimes, I wonder if this life of yours hasn’t made you reckless,” said Thelma
.
They drove up to the pumps. A round, attractive woman in a crisp uniform jogged over to the car. “Afternoon, folks. I’m Jill. How can I help you?”
“Full service,” remarked Connie. “Just when I thought I’d seen everything.”
The attendant smiled with perfect straight and white teeth. “We aim to please, ladies.”
“Fill ’er up, please,” said Connie, getting out of the car. “Don’t suppose you have a public restroom?”
“Yes, ma’am. The finest public facilities in a hundred miles. Cleaned daily by the finest staff this side of Los Alamos, if I do say so myself. And I do.” Jill winked.
The store was as thoroughly polished as the second attendant behind the counter. This one was a tall, attractive man with the same Stepford grimace masquerading as a smile. His nametag identified him as Jim.
“Howdy, Jim,” said Connie.
Jim tipped his hat at her. “How do, ma’am.”
Connie sauntered over to the freezer of sodas and ran her fingers along the glass. Jim’s reflection shifted into view as he stood behind her.
“Looking for anything in particular, ma’am?” he asked.
“Oh, just something to wet my whistle, Jimbo.”
“It’s Jim, ma’am.”
“Beg your pardon, Jim. But which one of these triggers the secret entrance?”
He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed hard. “I’m afraid you aren’t authorized for that information, ma’am.”
She turned, waved a small, flashing device in front of his face. He let go of her and with a smile said, “Authorization code acknowledged. How may I help you, ma’am?”
“Just wait here.”
Connie walked outside. Jill was happily pumping gas, humming to herself.
Tia held up her own reprogramming flasher. “It worked.”
“Of course it worked.” Connie pocketed her device. “Score one for Harrison’s intelligence. Jill, we’re going to be infiltrating your secret vault. That okay with you?”
Jill flashed a thumbs-up. “Hunky-dory, ma’am.”
“Kind of a weak security system, if you ask me,” said Thelma.
“They’re top-of-the-line security robots,” said Connie. “Jill, demonstrate what you can do.”
“Sure thing.” Jill lifted the car’s back end with one hand. The robot never dropped her smile.
“Formidable,” admitted Thelma. “Unless you flash some lights in their face.”
“These are optical command transmitters. They only work because Harrison programmed them with the right override code.”
“What if he’d been wrong?” asked Thelma. “What would you have done then?”
Connie shrugged. “I’d have thought of something.”
Jim was happy to show them the vault elevator hidden behind a potato chip shelf.
“Keep an eye on the place,” said Connie as they boarded.
“Will do, ma’am.”
“What other dangers are lurking down here?” wondered Thelma aloud. “Automated lasers? Scorpion pits? One of those puzzle tile floors where you have to step on just the right pattern or else everything comes crashing down on our heads?”
“Don’t know,” replied Connie. “Harrison’s notes don’t say.”
“Those doors could open to a room full of commandos, and you don’t even have a weapon? I’m already dead,” said Thelma. “What’s your excuse for following her into this deathtrap?”
“She’ll think of something,” said Tia.
The elevator dinged, and its doors opened into a narrow corridor serving as a security checkpoint. A dozen guards lined the hall. They all had their rifles at the ready and pointed at the elevator.
Connie raised her hands and stepped out of the elevator. “Don’t shoot.”
“This is a stupid plan,” said Thelma.
“Give it a minute,” said Tia.
A woman in a black trench coat and a severe face stalked down the hallway. A scar ran down her left cheek, and her hair was put up in a tight bun. “Miss Verity, we’ve been expecting you. They call me the Countess.”
“We haven’t met before?” asked Connie.
“No, I haven’t had the pleasure.”
“Are you sure? You look familiar. Although I might be thinking of the Duchess. Or the Contessa. Or the Czarina. You’ll forgive me. I run across a lot of stern, royalty-themed dominatrix types.”
“The Contessa,” agreed Tia. “That’s who she reminds me of. I guess there are only so many royalty-themed names to go around.”
The Countess raised an eyebrow. If she’d had a monocle, which she really should have, it would’ve dropped with her lack of amusement.
“So, what now?” asked Connie. “Are you going to threaten us? Shoot us? Lecture us?”
“God, I hope they just shoot us,” said Tia. “I’ve had enough villain lectures to last a lifetime.”
The Countess frowned more severely, which seemed like it should’ve been impossible. “You will be taken to the cells, where you will be locked away for the rest of your lives. There is no escape from this vault. Nothing leaves here without my permission. Nothing and no one.”
“Okay. Sounds good.”
“You think me boastful? This vault is a labyrinth of such deadly efficiency that even you would be unable to navigate it.”
“Do you have laser grids?” asked Tia.
The Countess chuckled and smiled. Her smile barely turned the right corner of her mouth up, and even then, she still looked displeased. “I don’t believe you are taking this seriously.”
“I’m not,” said Connie. “I’ve been in a dozen inescapable prisons. Two floating in space. Three at the bottom of the ocean. One sat in the center of a pocket universe void where time and space were nullified. I’m sure your vault has some tricks, but I’ll beat it, too.”
“You’re not the same anymore. The rules have changed.”
“I haven’t.”
The Countess laughed. “You have spirit, Miss Verity.”
“You’ll enjoy breaking it,” said Connie.
The Countess’s face went blank.
“That’s what you were going to say next, right?’ asked Connie.
The Countess snarled. “Seize her.”
The guards moved forward. One spontaneously fell to the floor.
“What did you do?” asked The Countess.
“Me?” said Connie. “I didn’t do anything.”
A second guard collapsed.
Connie raised her hands. “Honest. Not me.”
The remaining guards toppled over, leaving only the Countess standing. She pulled a pistol from her hip and pointed it at Connie. “Make another move and, orders or not, I will shoot you.”
The Countess slapped at her neck. She pulled a tiny dart and studied it with heavy eyes. She was on the ground a moment later.
“I must admit,” said Thelma. “That’s impressive. How did you do that?”
“I didn’t.” Connie removed a dart from the Countess’s neck and sniffed it. “Damn it.”
“Poison?” asked Thelma.
“Sedative. Extracted from a rare flower that blooms on Mount Okuhotaka every nine years.”
“That’s in Japan, right?” said Tia. “Does that mean ninjas?”
“God, I hope not.”
Connie had fought an unreasonably large number of ninjas in her life. They weren’t different from most other goons she ran across. They tended to be more annoying than standard-issue mob thugs or jack-booted soldiers. You were going to get a smoke bomb in your face when fighting a ninja. There was no way around that. But she could handle ninjas. Ninjas didn’t worry her.
Except this one.
“Hello, Connie,” said a smooth voice from behind her. He’d sneaked up on her again. He was one of the few who could consistently.
She swore under her breath. Of all the secret vaults in all the world, he’d had to walk into hers. The ninja, wrapped in black, winked at her before vanishing in a p
uff of smoke, and she had no doubt he’d taken the caretaker spell with him.
29
Connie and Tia caught a flight to Hong Kong. Connie didn’t have a lot to go on, but it was the ninja’s last known home address.
“His name is Hiro Yukimura,” said Connie. “And he’s the best. He gets in. He gets out. And nobody ever knows he’s there. Nobody knows what he looks like. Not even the people who hire him. And there’s no place he can’t infiltrate, nothing he can’t steal.”
“I thought ninjas were all about killing people,” said Tia.
“The art of stealth has many uses. Thievery, bodyguard work, intelligence-gathering, corporate espionage, pizza delivery. Anything someone needs done, there’s probably a ninja out there that specializes in it. The truth is that the assassin-type ninjas are probably the worst at stealth, because they want to be seen. Their reputation depends on it.
“If an assassination is too stealthy, then there’s no proof it was actually done by an assassin. Unscrupulous people, the kind that hire ninja assassins, will often try to use that as a loophole. Maybe the target died via flawless ninja execution. Maybe he just keeled over on his own. Why should anyone pay for an assassination that could’ve simply been a fortuitous accident?”
“I would think not paying ninjas would be a bad move,” said Tia.
“And you would be right. Many an employer wound up dead after failing to pay up, but ninjas are like everybody else doing a job. They want to get paid. The assassin variety stopped being so subtle, started using exotic poisons, daggers with clan logos carved in the handles, leaving little scraps of paper with fortune cookie sayings scrawled across them. Problem solved.”
“I thought fortune cookies were Chinese.”
“They’re an American invention. And ninjas aren’t strictly Japanese anymore. They’re more inclusive. It’s a requirement as part of a global economy.”
“Good for them. Though I didn’t expect it to be so mercenary. I thought there were honor codes and ancient traditions.”
“There’s that too, but ninjas have to eat, just like everyone else. Even the Pale Oni clan, though they do subsist on shadows and forsaken souls.”
The Last Adventure of Constance Verity Page 19
