by Toby Neal
Connor was very aware of the men encircling them as he and the Master sparred at the Yām Khûmkạn compound in Thailand. Around the circle that defined the practice area, ninja trainees stood five deep in the courtyard. Gray stone walls encrusted with lichen and moss surrounded; the humid jungle air smelled of flowers and sweat.
Connor spun and lashed out with his foot in an attempt to catch the Master under the chin. But, as usual, the man seemed to float just out of reach. The Master was so light on his feet that it was as if he barely touched the ground, while Connor’s breath labored in his lungs, and his body felt as heavy as if wearing a suit of armor.
The Master hit him in the chest with a blow from a closed fist, shooting Connor back three paces and stealing his breath.
Connor longed to pause, to center himself, to have room to go inside where time and space became elastic, and he could anticipate the Master’s moves.
But the man gave him no time. No space. And not even room to breathe.
Instead, the Master was a tornado, a storm moving in to batter at Connor from every direction. Connor rolled, ducked, and fled before his power.
The Master’s “Number One” was about to be humiliated in front of the entire courtyard filled with trainees. The more self-consciousness tightened Connor’s chest and shortened his breath, the more the Master’s blows and kicks registered as pain.
He was a human punching bag and unable to stop it.
The Master paused suddenly, settling into stillness, his immaculate white gi falling into place. His long black hair, unbraided today, flowed down his back in a silver-streaked river; his tawny skin gleamed like polished wood. Compelling dark purple eyes met Connor’s sea-blue ones. “Let’s take a break.”
“Yes, Master.” Thank God! He was getting freakin’ killed by the bastard!
Connor folded his hands and inclined his head, mirroring the Master’s respectful stance. His body throbbed and screamed and twitched; he worked to control his ragged breathing.
He couldn’t worry about the humiliation of being defeated in front of the men.
He couldn’t worry about how he appeared to others.
If Connor could manage his body, if he could tap into that internal energy source that allowed him to transcend time, he could make a comeback.
“Shut your eyes,” the Master said. “Don’t open them. Come at me when you’re ready, with your eyes closed.”
The men murmured among themselves at this direction. Connor felt the crackle of their anticipation to see his humiliation, their lust to see his defeat. They were young and easily excited by such things; they still loved the smell of blood. That’s what had drawn them to the Yām Khûmkạn, to train to be spies, operatives, ninja assassins. The Master knew that, but he had much more for them—mysteries that Connor was coming to know.
Connor shut his eyes.
Self-consciousness fell away.
That quiet place, that deep stillness inside him, rose up and enveloped him.
He was pure energy, a column of bright aqua blue with a white-hot core.
Connor could see the Master behind his closed eyes—a lustrous, deep violet energy form. He perceived the color signatures of the men watching and witnessing around them; the light of their presences created a pulsing container in which he and the Master would pit themselves against each other—not in a fight, but a dance.
Connor moved forward, coming in from the side, slowing time so that his movement cut through space like a scythe severing silk. The Master matched him, blow for blow and kick for kick.
They wound around each other in an intricate choreography, never quite connecting, their patterns bouncing and reflecting, variations on a theme. Around and around they went, atoms in a molecule, ever spinning and perfectly balanced: a lightning storm of energy discharges that hurt no one.
Connor opened his eyes—he wanted to see this!
The two of them were about twelve inches off of the ground, whirling like dervishes.
The second his brain processed the realization that he was aloft, floating in the air, Connor crashed to the ground—and it hurt like a mofo.
The Master drifted down to land on the stones beside Connor. The gasps and murmurs of the men were silenced as he turned to face them.
“Now you see the ultimate of what we train for. Once the martial arts forms of your training are memorized, and once you have mastered your bodies, you can transcend physical limitations. All is ease and flow; matter is just energy moving through space. If you are willing to make the sacrifices necessary, if you are willing to surrender your beliefs about what defines us—you too, can dance on the air.” The Master caught Connor’s hand, hefting him to his feet. He held Connor’s fist up into the air. “Behold, my Number One! Give him your respect.”
Hundreds of trainees fell to their knees and bowed, touching their foreheads to the ground. They rose and cried in one voice, “Number One! Number One!”
Connor shut his eyes, overwhelmed, and let their energy swirl around him, lifting him off the ground once more.
Later in the evening, Connor sat on top of the six-foot-high, one-foot-wide tiger’s eye column in the Master’s garden, his legs folded beneath him in lotus position.
The Master sat at the tea table under his favorite flowering orchid tree. He was eating, but Connor would not. That was discipline for Connor’s breach of faith in the sparring ring.
The Master finished his meal and sat back. “You have questions.”
Even though fifty feet or so separated them, Connor could hear the Master perfectly. “They are more like concerns, Master,” Connor said.
“Tell me.”
“I want a leadership partner to help run the compound when you’re away. I would like to focus on the administrative side of the Yām, and continue my vigilante justice activities via computer.” Connor saw no point in prevarication. “I had hoped Pi would be my partner, but that was the wrong choice, as you know. In his stead, I would like to nominate my man Nine. I trust him. He is completely loyal to both me and the Yām Khûmkạn.”
The Master poured himself more tea from an elegant china pot. He’d braided his hair, and his sternly handsome profile was turned toward the lotus pond, as he watched the darting of a dragonfly over the blue-purple flowers blooming on the water. “Nine is not a leader. He is loyal, yes, but he does not inspire. We don’t have anyone right now with that potential, but we will, eventually. I will resume the day-to-day leadership of the men and their training for now as we search for such a candidate, and you can develop our online presence and further our agenda from the top room.”
“Thank you, Master. I am grateful. This will be a better situation for the Yām Khûmkạn long term.”
The “top room” was the computer lab, located in the highest tower in the compound, where they could get the strongest satellite wireless signal. In the time the Master had been away with his consort, Pim Wat, Connor had re-done that room to his own specifications.
“I have another concern, Master.” Connor tried to ignore the tightness of apprehension in his chest about bringing this up, but it had to be dealt with. “It is about my servants from Phi Ni, Nam and Kupa. Nam has been helping in the garden, but does not feel like that is enough for him to do. And his wife, Kupa, is a gentle soul. She has been very unhappy in her role as Pim Wat’s personal servant.”
The Master sighed, and set down his teacup. Per usual, he answered only what he chose to. “Nine does have certain potential. Credibility, if you will. He is technically good with the martial arts forms; therefore, I will have him work with the men on their morning routine. That will free my time as well.” The Master crumbled a bit of bread in his fingers. “Pim Wat will be back soon from her surgeries, and I will spend more time with her. She torments those near her when she’s bored.” The Master gestured to the beautifully flowering beds that lined the stone walls of his inner sanctum. “I will reassign Nam to be your personal assistant since Nine will be busy with the men
. But Nam clearly knows plants. He can spend any remaining time he has assisting the gardening staff. As to Kupa, she came here as a refugee; it is unfair to use her in such a way. But she will have to endure until we can find a replacement.”
Relief loosened Connor’s spine. He inclined his head. “Thank you, Master.”
“I would assign one of the men to attend to Pim Wat, but I would not trust them to resist her allure,” the Master said darkly.
Connor suppressed an internal shiver. Pim Wat did indeed weave a spell, and it was a seductively malignant one. The woman was an amoral psychopath. He’d hoped that she was “healed” by her time with the Master on his secret island; but Kupa’s reports had informed him that, if anything, she was more lethal than ever. He would have to find a way to coach Kupa to guard her mind and emotions from Sophie’s sadistic mother. But how?
The Master spoke as if Connor had said the words aloud. “Tell Kupa that, in her way, Pim Wat cares for her. She hurts the ones she loves.”
“I hesitate to ask this, Master, but—I had hoped, for Sophie’s sake, that Pim Wat would be different after you rescued her and she healed with you on your island. But the things Kupa tells me indicate that her basic nature is—intact.”
The Master gazed at him, unwavering. Connor felt the power and weight of that gaze. “Pim Wat is who she is. I love her for her extremity, for her dangerousness, for how, as the years have gone by, she remains true to herself and becomes more and more of her essence. I would never try to change her, nor anyone. Have you not learned that yet?”
Connor blinked.
That statement was true. The Master nurtured and shaped what already existed in a person’s character. He had done that with Connor himself. “But I don’t understand how you can love someone who is—so cruel.”
“Acceptance is a form of power,” the Master said. “Maybe someday you will understand that Pim Wat is a part of the duality of all things. Without darkness, where would the light be? How would it exist?” He took a sip of his tea. “Stay where you are on that column for three more hours, and think on these things.”
“Yes, Master,” Connor said, and shut his eyes.
Chapter Four
Sophie
That evening, after working through Alika’s computer issue at the gym and slipping past Marcella to go home and change, Sophie slid into the padded leather booth at her father’s club. She settled herself across from the ambassador and accepted a large wooden menu with the specials of the day clipped onto it. “You always want to eat here, Dad.”
Frank Smithson smiled, removing reading glasses from a pocket on his tailored summer-weight jacket to examine his menu. “There’s always a table waiting for me, you can’t beat the food, and we don’t have to worry about privacy.”
“Good reasons. We’re a bit overdue for a catch-up, and there’s always something classified to discuss.” Sophie took a moment to appraise her father. He was looking dapper as always, though a bit tired around the eyes from being in Washington until this week. “I’m glad you’re back in the Islands.”
“Only for a month or so, alas. So much for retirement.”
Frank always complained, but continued to answer the call of duty when it came. He’d never really retire if he could help it—he loved his work as much as she loved hers.
The waiter approached. “Good evening, Ambassador. And who is this lovely lady?”
“My daughter, Sophie. Sophie, this is Jack.”
Jack. The name was way too close to her fiancé’s. Sophie suppressed the twinge of grief any such reminder brought. “Good to meet you, Jack. Can I get a virgin Blue Hawaii?”
“Sure. And for you, sir?”
Her father ordered a dry martini with a twist.
Frank raised his brows as the waiter walked away. “Since when do you order one of those awful drinks without even the benefit of booze?”
“The Blue Hawaii is my favorite. I don’t care how silly it is.” Sophie took a deep breath, let it out, and met her father’s gaze squarely. “And I’m not drinking alcohol because I’m pregnant.”
Her father’s eyes widened. “Oh, my dear.”
Sophie’s hand shook as she reached for her glass of water. “At least you didn’t say ‘Oh no, not again!’ I’ve already had that once, today.” She took a steadying sip. “I’m twelve weeks along. Jake is the father.”
“What a blessing to come from tragedy.” Frank reached over to cover Sophie’s hand where it rested on the table. The deliberateness with which her father spoke told Sophie that his words were thoughtfully considered—but she loved him the more for his kind diplomacy.
“Thanks, Dad. That is what I have been telling myself.” Sophie liked the rich chocolate of his skin against the tawny gold of hers, as she always had. What color would her child add to this mix of shades? She turned her hand over to clasp his. “Of course, it wasn’t planned, but I’ve come to be happy about it.”
Frank leaned forward. “How could I be anything but happy for another grandchild? Momi was a surprise, and she’s been the best thing to happen in this family since you brought home Ginger.”
“You just compared my daughter to a dog, but I appreciate the sentiment.” Sophie was able to smile, and so was he.
Jack delivered their drinks and took their dinner orders. When he left, Frank lifted his martini toward Sophie’s large, bright blue, umbrella-decorated glass. “To delightful surprises.” They chimed the rims of their drinks and sipped.
“That wasn’t the other only bit of private news I needed to discuss with you, Dad.” Sophie set her glass down.
Her father cupped his cheeks with his hands in a mock Scream face. “Not sure my heart can take any more.”
As far as Sophie knew, the ambassador was aware that the CIA had tried to recruit her a few years ago to spy on her mother, when they’d both discovered that Pim Wat was an operative for the clandestine Thai espionage organization, the Yām Khûmkạn. He didn’t know anything more, and she’d tried hard to keep it that way. Until now.
“It’s not a joking matter, unfortunately. The task force that’s digging into Security Solutions, looking for evidence that we’re involved with this computer vigilante called the Ghost, has crossed the line into harassment. I’ve been warned that they might take me into custody in order to leverage the fugitive they’re after. Just—keep me prisoner somewhere to try to force him to come for me.”
Her father’s frown was fierce. “Who’s bothering you? I want their names and badge numbers.”
“That’s not important. What is important, is that I need to be sure I’m protected, especially now.” She touched her belly. “I was wondering if I could move back in with you during the months that Momi and Armita are on Kaua`i. I can keep a security detail in the Pendragon Arches apartment next to us when they’re in town, but I want to be extra careful right now, and I feel secure in your apartment.”
Sophie caught an unguarded expression on her father’s face—it looked a lot like guilt, or relief. “Of course, darling. Mi casa es su casa.”
Sophie smoothed her own expression into a neutral mask. Why would her father feel guilty or relieved? She was about to invade his quiet apartment by re-occupying her old room, and bringing two large, rambunctious dogs along with her. “I really appreciate it, Dad. I’m happy to pay rent.”
The ambassador flapped a hand. “Ridiculous. I won’t hear of it. How soon can you come?”
The rest of the dinner passed with conversation about when and how she’d return to his penthouse apartment and her room there; Frank’s semi-retirement was not proceeding rapidly, but he swore he’d try to be in Honolulu when she was at his place. “I want to be a part of this new baby’s life, from the very beginning.”
She’d take his words at face value. She really couldn’t afford to probe for the mixed emotions her father no doubt had about her situation; feelings she continued to deal with herself. “Thanks so much, Dad. You’re always there for me.”
A flash of that expression again, quickly hidden. “Of course.”
Sophie went on. “Furthermore, I’d like to volunteer to be your plus-one at any diplomatic dinners or events you have coming up. I want to be seen on your arm—that’s the safest place I can be, right now.”
Her father’s smile was genuine this time. “Excellent. I happen to have a fundraiser dinner at Iolani Palace coming up, and I’d love to show you off.”
Sophie’s presence in his apartment was no doubt going to interfere with the ladies he spent time with, but Frank didn’t seem to mind—and Sophie couldn’t afford to worry about that. “I’ll come to your place tomorrow, Dad, and we can figure out where everything goes.”
Chapter Five
Raveaux
Day 2
Private investigator Pierre Raveaux followed Kendall Bix into the Security Solutions’ CEO’s office. The president of operations seated himself at the small round conference table. The CEO, Sophie Smithson, sat behind her executive desk in the corner. When she looked up at them, Raveaux saw puffy dark circles under her beautiful brown eyes. Three months after her fiancé’s death, it still looked like she was crying herself to sleep every night.
“I’m not interested in any new cases,” she told Bix sharply. “I’ve got my hands full dealing with this FBI multi-agency probe.”
“We need to carry on with business as usual.” Bix was calm, assertive, and well-groomed, as always. He opened a slim laptop. “Trying to anticipate the task force’s moves is driving us all nuts. Staying busy with a new case will keep our minds off of whatever shenanigans they’re dreaming up to capture the Ghost. We need to keep working.”
“I disagree.” Sophie clicked her mouse a final time. Raveaux noted her crisp white button-down shirt, worn over a pair of stretchy black dress pants with pearls at her ears—she looked fresh and professional, even though her eyes were tired and sad. She joined them at the table. “What do you think, Pierre?”
