Into Twilight

by P. R. Adams

  She stood, a little wobbly, as if she might have been indulging early, although I hadn’t smelled alcohol on her. “I’m not going to spoon-feed you, Stefan. You’re supposed to be good at this.”

  “You’re only ever as good as the support you receive.”

  “Maybe I can find better.”

  “How much did you spend to rescue me and get me rebuilt? You really think you can replace me?”

  She straightened. “Everyone can be replaced.”

  “Why all the secrecy? Don’t you want us to succeed?”

  She walked past, head down, fists clenched, then stopped at the door. “We all have our orders. Follow yours. This needs to be concluded before the end of March.” The door shut with a metallic click.

  Six weeks.

  I paced until Ichi stepped out of Chan’s room. Mascara and eye shadow rendered her eyes dramatic, alluring. Black lips were outlined in smoky bronze. A gray hoodie covered a light denim jacket that looked tight across her rounded shoulders. Otherwise, the outfit looked perfect. Chan leaned against the doorframe, all smug smiles.

  I had to look away from Ichi’s eyes. I was seeing Tae-hee. No. I was seeing Ichi, who was even prettier. “Let me see it with the hood up.”

  Black hair crowded her face, adding anonymity.

  “Good.” I adjusted the hood to cast a little more shadow over her eyes. Her mother’s eyes. “Call a ride. Go to an eatery at least a kilometer out from the library. Have Chan trace a route for you that minimizes camera coverage. Get into the library thirty-five minutes before the meeting. Got that?”

  She closed her eyes. “Food stop a kilometer or more out. Follow Chan’s route. Enter library thirty-five minutes—6:55.” Her eyes opened, confident.

  “Good. Chan, how’s the video?”

  “Clean. Eight cameras.” Chan settled in front of the computer system and brought it up. Eight crisp views of the room popped up, a ninth view showing a merged panoramic shot. “She’s on the Grid. Decent bandwidth. Tunneled. Secure. Watch the video through the link. Talk if you have to. She’ll hear.”

  A link popped up on my device. I activated it and saved the location.

  “I’ll want it all recorded.” I turned to Ichi. “Get moving.”

  I followed her out the door, waited for the elevator to take her, then headed into my room. The data device buzzed as I pulled a heavier shirt on. Danny. “Problems?”

  “Not… No. I just got to thinking, that’s all.” The sounds of traffic were distant over the connection. “I didn’t know this was going to be our target.”

  I checked Abhishek’s light. The connection was private. “I trust you, Danny.”

  “Five million’s a lot, right? Figure splitting half of that between us, we’re still up a half million. That’s good.”

  “We’ll have to disappear.” I pulled my coat on. Nitin would be back soon enough.

  “I’ve got places.”

  We all had places. It was the first thing we learned as contractors. No one was there for you when things went sideways. You were expendable. There was plausible deniability. So you disappeared. Even when things went well on a mission, it’s what Danny did. No family, or at least none he ever spoke about. And it sounded like he would never risk heartbreak with a woman again, something he’d only ever shared with me after he found out about me and Tae-hee.

  The traffic sounds quieted, replaced by an echo of the Super-Ninja’s engine. He was in a parking garage. “Stefan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Um, nothing.” But it was something. His microphone picked up the catch in his voice.

  “This stink to you?”

  “A lot, yeah. I would walk away, but…”

  But you agreed to the mission with the caveat that I ran the show. “So long as we know what we’re getting into. We’ll figure it out.”

  “Yeah.” The engine died. “I’m in position. I’m gonna put the bird up.”

  I thought back to Seoul. We still needed to talk about it. “Keep your eyes peeled.”

  “You do the same.” Danny disconnected.

  I headed for the elevator, turning the angles over and over. We needed to know Weaver inside and out—her entourage, her plans. We needed her history. We needed her current schedule. Capitol Hill was now called the Green Zone—sealed off by concrete blast barriers and pillboxes and protected by antiaircraft systems. That meant our only real chance to get to her was when she was out.

  Like tonight.

  Thoughts came to me, and I entered them into the data device. Priorities would have to shift around, but a plan was coming together.

  Once outside the lobby, I decided to take a walk. Nitin was still showing minutes out, and my legs needed another test. The hotel’s silver surfaces blossomed in the coral sunset, turning the facade a rose gold. I bowed into the wind, hands in my jacket pockets, and headed south. Cold wind buffeted my face, but my cybernetic eyes were unaffected. They looked real enough otherwise.

  I jumped when my data device blasted an alarm. Nitin. I’d missed his call, and he was less than a minute out. Black clouds rolled in from the east, and I didn’t recognize the area I’d walked into—more new construction as the Canyon expanded northward.

  I jogged up to the next corner and signaled for Nitin to pick me up. The 750 came out from behind a gigantic, skeletal building of concrete and brick-red steel, switched lanes twice, then braked a few yards beyond me. Vehicles hummed past, far too close for comfort. I slid in, buckled up, and studied the dying light.

  Nitin’s agitation was electric. “I tried to call. Twice.”

  “I got caught up in planning.”

  The 750 jerked and braked, jumped and swerved. Nitin kept us dangerously close to disaster. He pulled a hard turn and got us headed in the right direction, but that didn’t seem to settle him down. His gear shifts were violent, and he threw himself into the maneuvers like they were rugby scrums.

  “A fucking senator.” He was almost shouting. “Make it look like an accident. Bodyguards. Did you know that when you hired me, boss?”

  “I told you it was going to be challenging. But things keep changing.”

  “You ever work for Heidi before?”

  “No.”

  Rain thudded against the windshield. Nitin activated the wipers with an annoyed grunt. “I know some people who have. She disappeared about a year ago. People thought she’d been retired—too many failures.”

  “I guess they were wrong.”

  A car braked ahead of us, and we skidded to a stop just shy of impact. Nitin rubbed the back of his left hand hard against his nose. Rain-blurred forms moved through the crosswalk—small. Kids.

  “You want out?” I asked.

  He blinked and squeezed the steering wheel. “This doesn’t strike you as desperate? The whole thing? A last shot? They used to throw her hopeless assignments, things that would crater an agent’s career. And she kept getting worse at them. Did you know that?”

  “You said as much. Do you want out?”

  The car moved forward, and Nitin maneuvered around it. “I don’t like you bringing that kid on. Either of them, but at least the freak looks capable. The gymnast? What, we’re doing on-the-job training now?”

  “She’s had plenty of training.”

  He pushed the 750 into heavier traffic, glaring at me between maneuvers. “You fucking her? Is that it?”

  “She’s Norimitsu’s daughter.”

  Nitin straightened in his seat and squeezed the wheel. “Shit. I—”

  “Forget about it.”

  The crazy maneuvers stopped, and we settled into the flow of traffic. As we parked across from the library, the rain let up enough that I could see the entry. Weaver was due in half an hour.

  Nitin drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I could use some coffee.”

  “I’ll keep watch.”

  He pulled his gloves off, shoved them into his windbreaker pockets, and jumped out. He tugged the windbreaker over his head as he r
an back in the direction we’d come. I shared his frustration as much as I understood his discomfort. Our situation was a few degrees off from total disaster.

  I connected to Chan’s video link.

  Ichi sat at a table on a mezzanine that looked down onto the lobby. She had a physical book open on the table in front of her, something with watercolors and Kanji script. She flipped pages with calloused fingers that had probably never known much beyond the parallel bars, rock climbing walls, tree limbs, and weapon hilts of Norimitsu’s training facility outside Miyoshi. Muscles snaked beneath the pale skin of her hand with each page flip.

  Danny’s video feed popped up on the link. Traffic unsnarled as darkness settled in. Potential egress routes glowed where streets were best suited for the sort of maneuvers Nitin favored. The street in one of the videos emptied, then a convoy of three black SUVs came into view. Danny tagged them.

  Weaver was on her way and ahead of schedule.

  The rain tapered off more and started to freeze on the windshield. I cycled the wipers and rolled the driver’s side window down. A crowd gathered on the sidewalk in front of the library—twenty, maybe thirty people. Winter coats, umbrellas, jeans. They were black, mostly, smiling hopefully. A man in a tan trench coat walked out of the library, smiled, and threw up his arms. Peters or Peterson. One of the big agitators, gripping and grinning, working the crowd to keep them engaged.

  Politicians. It didn’t matter the color of their skin, or the culture they claimed, or the nation they called home, they were all the same: manipulators, confidence tricksters, leeches. It was just a matter of degrees.

  Nitin ran toward the car, his free hand covering the lid of his coffee cup. He waited for a lull in traffic, then settled in behind the wheel. Cinnamon and cardamom quickly filled the air.

  “I see she’s on her way. Whatever happened to punctuality?” He sipped at the cup.

  “Sometimes, schedules shift.” My mouth watered, and I regretted not ordering a drink. “She may be here for just a few minutes. That announcement didn’t say.”

  He took a long drink and winced, blowing out steam.

  The street suddenly cleared. Nitin set the cup into a cup holder and pulled his gloves back on. Blinding headlights announced the arrival of the SUVs. Nitin took another long drink and leaned back against the headrest.

  Across the street, the SUVs came to a stop in front of the crowd, which had easily doubled in size. Five men in dark suits exited the vehicles and moved into the crowd. Two continued on to the library entry, one of them—dark-haired, tall, with slightly large ears—continued on inside. Seconds later, Senator Weaver stepped out, bracketed by two more of the dark suits. Weaver was nearly as tall as her bodyguards, taller than one who appeared to be a woman. The senator’s hair was light brown with gray sprinkled in and cut into a no-fuss, layered bob. She wore a dark blue jacket and skirt, and when she finished working the crowd, I caught a glimpse of toned calves.

  A smaller form stepped from the middle SUV—female, brunette, shorter, not so slight as Weaver. The woman fought against the wind, trying to control her long hair. For a second she stood in profile, and I got the sense of someone far too young for politics.

  I activated the link. “Ichi, there’s a young woman following Weaver in. Not part of security. Try to get a good shot of her face. Staff member? Consultant? Chan, get a workup on her. Maybe she’s our way in.”

  Nitin smirked. “Hot, too.”

  The crowd followed Weaver and the activist inside. I studied Ichi’s video feeds, tagging each of the security team members. A good shot of Weaver popped up—late forties, wrinkles that added character, a charming awkwardness with people. A striking profile, with a prominent nose, big green eyes, and thin but shapely lips. Well put together, but a little worn and wiry, hinting at the observed fitness obsession.

  The mystery woman hung back, watching. She was attractive and younger than any of the entourage by far, with a softness that jumped out compared to Weaver and the security team. Maybe too young to be a consultant. Aide? The camera caught her eyes—emerald, beautiful.

  The Korean woman rocked against me, razorfingers replaced by delicate, manicured nails. Her breasts pressed against my face.

  I shook the memory away. “Chan, anything on that…?”

  One of the security detail—a man in his late thirties or early forties, Indian, serious, dangerous-looking—moved up the stairs to the mezzanine. I’d missed him somehow.

  “Ichi, you may have been spotted. Get out of there.”

  Her hands grabbed the book. The cameras showed the mezzanine drifting past, slowly, then more quickly. Shelves breezed by, and the book found a home. A door opened onto a hallway faintly lit by ancient phosphorescent bulbs. More doors. Her hands checking each as she moved, the door she’d come in from slowly falling back.

  “Boss, they’re moving.” Nitin started the car and began backing out of the parking spot.

  I glanced around, spotted the security team escorting Weaver to the vehicles. Controlled but with purpose. “Something set them off.”

  Nitin worked the wheel, taking us forward, then back, then forward. To the untrained eye, he probably looked like an idiot who couldn’t outwit a small parking challenge. It gave us time until the SUVs pulled out. Two of them.

  The Indian man was still in the library.

  Ichi’s cameras showed a stairwell, steps flowing past, sneakered feet whisper-soft in descent. A door opened somewhere above her.

  And then she was at an emergency exit, alarm warnings glowing to the side.

  “Chan, Ichi needs an alarm silenced.” I drilled down onto the door. “Northea—”

  “Silenced,” Chan said. “Ichi, go.”

  Ichi leaned into the door as a shadow showed someone descending. She let the door close on its own and ran. Fast.

  I looked up as the 750 lurched into traffic. The SUVs were about a hundred feet ahead of us. Nitin quickly closed the gap, once again driving aggressively but with discipline. We didn’t need to draw attention.

  “Red car, thirty feet ahead of the lead SUV,” I said. “Let’s test their response.”

  Acceleration tugged me back into the seat, and we darted into the right-turn lane until parallel with the red car. Our lane ended, forcing a turn. A baby seat in the passenger seat nearly blocked out a young mother in a winter coat staring straight ahead. Nitin pushed past the boxy car and swerved in front, braking just as he pulled ahead and a stoplight turned red. The woman honked and swerved into the center lane. The SUVs braked hard. Doors opened, two people hopped out and ran forward.

  The light turned green, and we pulled away. I watched the security team in the rearview mirror, impressed by their speed and discipline. They hadn’t drawn weapons but easily could have.

  Experts. This wasn’t going to be easy.

  Chapter 7

  I took a hot shower after returning to the hotel, but I was still wound up. Reviewing the video recordings didn’t change that. Weaver’s team was large and experienced. Four of the personnel were quickly identified as former Secret Service, another as a respected bodyguard. The Indian man and the smaller woman were still mysteries, but Chan was expanding search parameters. An infinite amount of data on the Grid meant an infinite amount of time to sift.

  I took a glass of water into the living room, settling into the chair across from the couch, and waited for Ichi to come out of her room. Despite setting the temperature down to sixty-six and wearing a short-sleeved pullover and gym shorts, I was sweating. It was as if I were still in the Canyon. The silence sucked me in, but I couldn’t fall asleep.

  Around midnight, her door opened. The mascara and eyeshadow were gone, and her eyes were bloodshot. She spotted me but marched to the kitchen. Stiff. Nervous. Dressed about the same as me, she also seemed overheated and wound up.

  As she blew past, I said, “We’ll need to talk about it at some point.”

  She froze in her doorway. “Talk about what?”

  �
��What happened. What could have happened.”

  “I escaped. That is what happened.”

  “You got lucky. You panicked.”

  She turned on me, eyes like dark lasers. “I did not panic, Stefan-san.”

  “You went into that building without clear exits mapped out. You let that door slam shut when you could have closed it without any noise. Whoever that was following you knows someone used the emergency exit without triggering an alarm. If he’s good, he’ll check the cameras and alarm logs.” I pointed to the couch. “Let’s talk this out now.”

  She plopped onto the couch and set her arms onto her thighs. Control, calm. I counted the breaths and rate. The tension was still in her eyes, though.

  “You’ve never killed before. This job involves taking lives, sometimes innocent ones.”

  “I can take a life.” Constricted throat, tension in the voice as well. She heard it, too, but she did a decent job hiding her awareness.

  “What Nitin said, it—”

  “He is a pig.”

  “It doesn’t make it any less true. If she’s a lesbian—and there’s always a chance she is—we might need you to…get close to her.”

  Ichi’s eyes widened. Trained or not, she wasn’t ready for some discussions. “I am comfortable with that. I prefer the company of women.” Stiff in the shoulders, jaw raised slightly. Defiance. Not necessarily deception, though.

  “What would you do if it came to that?” Her chin went up a little more. I needed to get through to her, to engage. “I mean how would you kill her?”

  She blinked, surprised. “Suffocation, then throw her down the stairs. Get wine into her first, if possible.”

  “If she doesn’t drink? As a fitness freak, she might not.”

  “Make it look like she has stumbled. People are clumsy.”

  “And if she doesn’t have stairs?”

  “A fall in the shower. If she does not have a shower, then a fall in the bath.” Ichi leaned forward and smiled at cutting off that line of questioning.

  “There are chemicals that can cause very normal-seeming symptoms. A toxicology screening won’t necessarily catch them, assuming one is even called for.” I couldn’t see any hint of discomfort or uncertainty at that.