by P. R. Adams
“You’re limping,” she finally said. “I was told you’d be ready.”
Danny’s eyes darted from Heidi to me. He’d already settled into his typical deferential mode. He avoided conflict until there was no choice.
I was different. “I had a ridiculous rehab schedule cut short. You think that might play a part?”
She shrugged. “It wasn’t my call. Our employers had a change of plan.”
“It must be something big. They spent millions on me; now they’re putting it at risk.”
“This whole thing’s been a risk. I wasn’t even sure we had a real mission until last week. Now I’m not so sure I have someone to run the team.”
There was no alcohol to be seen in the limo’s bar. That was good, as I was on powerful painkillers. “I’m walking around on artificial legs that’re still figuring out how to interface with my nervous system.” I tapped the slightly raised patch of skin over the cybernetic receptacle embedded behind my ear, which provided a constant, comforting chatter from the Grid. “I’m getting live updates and monitoring. I’ll be fine.”
She glanced out the window to her right. “You’re lucky to even be alive.”
“If you’re looking for a thank you, I—”
“I’m looking for someone who can pull off an extremely tricky operation, Mr. Mendoza. That used to be you.” She hit me with those beady eyes again. “Is it still?”
Danny didn’t meet my gaze, but he did glance up. It was clear the same question was eating at him. It was something I’d wondered a million times while recovering. “Depends on the mission.”
“Assassination of a United States politician. You in or out?”
My heart sank. Just like I’d known would happen. “I’m not political. Who is it?”
She shook her head. “I need an answer.”
“Is this Agency work?”
Those beady eyes locked onto mine. “In or out?”
“You were never one for this sort of work. What changed?”
“Everything. In or out?”
I owed her my life, and if I ever wanted to get Stovall, I needed money. “In.”
She tossed back the last of her drink and set the cup on the floor next to her feet. Nerves or alcohol made her clumsy. “Senator Kelly Weaver.”
Political or not, the name registered. Weaver had a long history with the Agency. She was pragmatic, the sort of politician who didn’t identify by ideology so much as results, and the Agency had delivered the sort of results she valued. “Why’s the Agency want her dead?”
“You’re not working for the Agency. You’re working for me.”
That drew a raised eyebrow from Danny, who apparently hadn’t been privy to the mission particulars.
Heidi was former Army Intelligence, recruited by the Agency when she was fairly young. She’d parted ways with the Agency only to become a contractor. Better pay, none of the politics. I never could get a clear read on whether she left on her own like I did or whether she was let go. But she was never the sort to run operations that needed someone like me. She was given inconsequential work that wasn’t worth Agency resources, or work so dirty it couldn’t be touched officially. Stovall had once described her as low level, someone more concerned with getting her team out alive than getting the mission done. He’d meant it derisively. After Korea, I wasn’t so sure I agreed.
The limo accelerated onto the Beltway. Cars hummed all around us, most of them battered and cracked, but a few rivaling the limo in appearance. To the south, glistening towers of steel and glass rose from the gloom.
D.C.
“I like to know what I’m doing and why,” I said as the limo changed lanes and slowed.
“Assassination is pretty straightforward, isn’t it?” She clenched her jaws, projecting bitterness and what might have been revulsion. A sigh, then, “To the why, you’re not really in a position to ask that sort of question, are you?”
Now it was my turn to stare out the window. When Stovall became too precious, I could walk, maybe get in his face. Neither was an option with Heidi’s contract.
The limo exited the Beltway as we approached the city outskirts and began a series of maneuvers that left me slightly nauseated. My head was clearing by the time we approached a parking garage adjacent to an angular gold-and-silver tower. I caught a glimpse of the sign: Glorious Shining Star. I’d never heard of it. The exterior managed what dull gleam the hazy sunlight could produce—a new building, one I couldn’t recall, and I knew the city well.
After parking between two polished, upscale rentals, the limo powered down. Danny helped me out, and we followed Heidi. I spotted his Super-Ninja, nearly hidden behind a support pillar. Moaning wind followed us to the elevator, carrying the scents of recently dried concrete and car wash soap.
We got off on the twentieth floor, and Heidi led us to a suite. Like the limo, the accommodations spoke to the seriousness of whoever was funding the operation.
The room was dark except for a slight bluish glow coming from the living room. I flicked on the lights, and a kid looked up from a curved display that had been spread out on the coffee table. The table stood in front of a couch that was pressed against the wall to my right. Stuffed between two cartoon cat-faced pillows that occupied most of the couch, and covered in baggy jeans and a hoodie engulfed by a black denim jacket, there was very little to go off of to determine details about the kid other than a general gangliness. I could make out vaguely Southeast Asian features where modifications hadn’t tweaked the soft, youthful face. Fluorescent magenta irises matched hair that stood up in spiked rows, and tattoos blinked on and off along the back of delicate hands ending in long, black chrome fingernails that looked enhanced.
“This is Chan,” Danny said. It was the first time he’d spoken since introducing me to Heidi, and he seemed uncomfortable even with that little bit.
“Systems expert?” I extended a hand; Chan just glanced at it.
“Don’t touch people.” Chan looked back down at the display. Red LEDs flickered off and on from ear lobe to top. “Dirty.”
I cocked an eyebrow at Danny as he headed for the kitchenette.
“Systems expert,” he confirmed. “Gridhound. Ran in the same snowcrash Jacinto used to.”
Snowcrash. Our little inside venery term for hacker groups.
“Better than Jacinto,” Chan mumbled without looking up.
“Where’re the others?” I glanced at the bedroom doors.
“This is it.” Heidi lowered herself into the plush chair that occupied the corner opposite the kitchenette. “You’ll put your own team together. Chan has been assisting us. All team decisions are yours to make. Including whether you keep Danny on.”
The refrigerator door rattled. I didn’t need to look to know Danny was watching us.
“I run with a tight team—people I can rely on.” I’d never had a long list of names, and it was shorter now. “What can we afford?”
“That’s up to you. You’ll be paid a flat rate for the job. How you spend that is up to you.”
“How much?”
Heidi wrapped her hands in her lap, closed her eyes, and bowed her head. She seemed tired. “Five million dollars.”
I typically operated with half that, but the team all came in at a flat rate, half up-front, half on completion. Expenses could pile up quickly. “I’ll need to put out some feelers.”
“Danny provided us with a few names already.” She sounded bored, ready to nod off. “Chan reached out to them.”
Danny handed me a bottle of water that guaranteed acceptable levels of radiation, lead, pesticides, and several chemical compounds I wasn’t familiar with. He took the chair facing the curtained window, unscrewed the cap of his own bottle, and squinted at the water. “Uh, Rivers, Tipton, Ji, Desai, and Sedokova. Rivers and Desai responded. Word is Sedokova’s dead.”
“Nitin Desai?” He was as fearless a driver as I knew. As good as Morena Porto.
Danny nodded.
“I
f Nitin’s available, get him. The only person I could have seen replacing Norimitsu was Adrianna Sedokova. I’ll have to check with some contacts, see who could do second-story work.”
“Please do be discreet,” Heidi mumbled.
I glanced around the room. “This suite it? Pile everyone into one place?”
Chan grunted. “Not my room.”
Danny tipped his bottled water toward the left door. “I’m in there—Chan’s got the other one. You’re, um, 2018, across the hall. Grab the device off the dining table. It’s all set up for you, has the codes and access into our network. Chan’s locked everything up tight.”
“Well, if it’s all right with you, I’d like to take a nap.” I hesitated when Chan snorted, then turned for the door.
“The drugs can’t be allowed to control you,” Heidi said, her voice far away.
An attaché case sat on top of the dining table, unlocked and propped open slightly. The device was glossy black plastic and palm-sized. I slipped it into my coat pocket.
The door to my suite clicked open as I reached for the knob; they already had my biometrics registered. The interior was cool, untouched by sunlight even with the curtains open. There were so many questions I wanted to ask: Who were the people who’d tortured me? What had gone wrong in Korea? How had they found me? Why had they even bothered with me?
I didn’t feel comfortable discussing it all in front of Heidi and I really was tired.
The room to my right was empty and smelled like the cleaning robot had just finished; I took the room to my left. The bed called to me and offered the slightest hint of perfume. I pulled my coat off, then tugged my sweater over my head, ready to collapse.
Movement—I heard it but just barely. Something hit me in the center of my back the moment the sweater was over my eyes. The blow was powerful, almost certainly a kick. It knocked me onto the bed. Strong hands wrapped something around my arms and dug into my wrists, and knees dug into my ribs. Powerful thighs locked around my waist, and a weight settled onto my back. It was an exceptional maneuver.
I was pinned.
No blade in the kidneys; no muffled gunshot.
I tested the strength of my new arms, but the leverage rendered them useless.
“Do not move.” Female. Soft. Muffled. Accented.
Was I dreaming? Had everything been one of the crazy hallucinations?
I stopped struggling.
The hands released me, whatever was wrapped around my arms went loose, and the weight came off my back. Something moved across the floor—quiet. I sat up and pulled my sweater off the rest of the way, then twisted around. A heavy elastic band rested on the bed beside me. At least I knew what had locked my arms up.
Whoever my assailant was wore a black bodysuit and mask. She—and the bodysuit was tight enough to make clear it was a female—stood about four inches shorter than me but had broad shoulders. I thought there might be small pockets in the arms and legs of the outfit, but there were no weapons visible.
I stood and tossed my sweater back onto the bed. “Who sent you?”
She pulled her mask off, revealing a face I had never expected to see again. Pale golden skin, big dark eyes, full lips pressed into a tight frown. Her long hair now barely covered her ears. She had aged, grown into a woman.
“Ichi? What are you doing here?” How she got there was probably even more important.
“I know my father’s contacts. They said you were alive.” She crossed thick arms over her chest and widened her stance, exactly as Norimitsu used to do when exerting self-control. “They said you were looking for people.”
“No. Not you.”
She shifted. She didn’t have her father’s cool. “I could have killed you.”
“This isn’t for you, Ichi. Your father never intended for you to do this sort of work. He wanted you to—”
“I am an adult, Stefan-san. I decide for myself what to do.” I could make out a quaver but only just.
“This isn’t a game. You don’t get to try it out and restart if you make a mistake. People die. Your father died, and he was as good as it gets.”
Ichi glared. I could see Tae-hee in that look and it hurt. Her mother always won in fights with Norimitsu and nearly did with me.
I picked my coat up off the floor. “Go home. I’ll pay for the ticket.”
“There is no ‘home.’ I am the last.”
Shit. Tae-hee! What happened? “Your mother…”
Her eyelids narrowed and she shook her head.
Her father had seen this coming—the obsession with his training, the resistance to going into engineering. He’d tried to head it off, while I convinced myself it was just a phase.
“You can stay here, but just for tonight. The other room—”
“Is empty. I know.” She snorted. “I am not interested in your bed, Stefan-san.”
The thought of it jolted me. She was half my age. Less. My best friend’s daughter. She executed a gymnast’s pivot that had all the grace of her mother during her Olympic years, stormed through the living room, and slammed the other bedroom door.
Norimitsu’s words from that final day came back to me: Sharks eat their young. Yeah.
Chapter 5
I woke to a booming knock on my door followed by complete silence. Sunlight traced a white line around the edges of the curtains. For a moment, I thought it was late afternoon, then I realized the sunlight was too dim. A quick check of the data device showed it was 7:02 a.m. I’d slept through the night.
I crawled out from the covers and spotted clothes atop the dresser: black dress slacks, a gray shirt, underwear. The door opened, and Ichi followed Danny in. They both wore jeans and a dark shirt, but hers were tight, revealing her gymnast frame. Her dark eyes were bloodshot, and her full lips were compressed. Danny’s head was bowed and his eyes were low. I could smell toothpaste on his breath as I shuffled toward the bathroom on stiff legs.
I mumbled, “Duty sergeant?”
He chuckled. “Heidi wanted you up. I thought it might be better if I was the one.”
The clothes were soft to my synthetic touch. Not cheap. “Any word on Nitin?”
“He got in late last night. He’s picking out a car right now. I told him function over style.” He glanced at Ichi, apparently as uncomfortable seeing her so grown up as I was. “Does, um, Heidi know…?”
I stopped in the bathroom doorway. “No. And Ichi’s not on the team.”
“She nearly cracked my skull when I went into her room.” Danny rubbed the back of his head. “She’s fast and packs a punch.”
I met her glare. “We need to find someone else.”
I closed the door, tossed the clothes onto the countertop, and stripped, pressing fingertips into the places where cybernetics met human flesh. The grafts were impeccable, detectable only if you knew what to look for. Even some of the scarring on my torso was gone, probably thrown in as part of the package. I twisted to inspect the bruise Ichi had left on my back.
The door flew open, and Ichi froze, mouth agape and eyes wide. Fury drained from her eyes and the door shut softly.
I activated the shower with shaking hands and stepped in the second the water was hot enough. I had hoped to work up to being with a woman again once I had accepted my rebuilt body. Ichi hadn’t been who I’d had in mind. By the look of it, the event might have broken her of the idea that it was okay to barge into a room uninvited, especially a bathroom. That was something.
There was only so much hot water and soap could wash away. I toweled off, shaved, dressed, and stepped back into the room.
I had been left alone.
Ichi lay on the couch, eyes closed, hugging herself. Faint tear tracks ran down the side of her face and into her hair, something I probably wouldn’t have seen with my organic eyes.
I settled in the chair facing the window. “Your father and the guy you just slugged were the only two people I would consider friends in all my years of doing this.”
“Friends ar
e not important.” She shook slightly and squeezed herself tighter. Control.
“Friends are important. Even in this profession. Especially in this profession. You have to learn who you can trust. You have to count on them to be there for you.”
She wiped tears from her eyes. “He said you were the only man he would die for.”
“There are safer jobs. They pay well. You can still use your train—”
She sat up abruptly, and anger filled her bloodshot eyes. “If you do not let me work with you, I will take a job elsewhere. There are offers already.”
“Ichi—”
She stood, quick and graceful, muscles bunched in her shoulders, then shot past me, disappearing into her room. Material rustled, and glass and plastic clacked; she was packing. I blocked the doorway to her room, hoping she didn’t take a swing at me or throw her travel bag at me. After a certain point, training takes over, and I didn’t know what my limbs were truly capable of. Her face was bunched up, anger battling hurt.
“You can come with us, but only to see what I’m talking about. You understand?”
She tossed the bag back onto the bed and followed me across the hall.
Nitin was finishing off a bottle of water as we stepped in. He looked about the same as I remembered—short, styled hair combed back in a black wing, heavy eyebrows swooping over big eyes. The gap between his windbreaker sleeves and the driver’s gloves he always seemed to wear was filled with ink that got lost against his dark brown skin. Maybe he was a little heavier, and maybe the expensive styling didn’t quite hide the receding hairline, but he still looked fit and ready.
He stepped into the living room, shook my hand, and checked Ichi out. “Who’s this?”
Heidi looked up from the chair she’d been in when I’d gone to my suite the day before. Except for the change of clothes—another pantsuit, this one dark blue with a slightly lighter blue shirt—she might have just woken up. Her eyes asked the same question Nitin had.
“This is Ichi,” I said. “She’s considering bodyguard work. We’re going to show her around, let her see what it’s like.”
