Sake Bomb (35 page)

“Let’s go.”

* * * *

Langley, VA

T
he coffee sat on
the table, close enough to reach but Fletcher was too intimidated
to move a muscle. He breathed slowly, trying both to avoid eye
contact and not shift his gaze.

“Ma’am, if I may ask—”

“Two changes of clothes in your drawer…lots
of pictures on the wall. This is home for you, isn’t it?” She
twisted her muted silver head toward the window, peering out at the
growing daylight beyond. Then she made a sweep of the office,
practically ignoring his presence on the opposite side of the
desk.

“Ma’am—”

“Oh, hell, Douglas. Stop calling me that.
Makes a girl sound old.” Sharp greens settled on him again. “Just
‘cause it’s true doesn’t mean I want to be reminded of it every
time you open your mouth.”

“Then who am I talking to? If we’re going to
have a ‘little chat’?”

“That’s my fault.” She rocked back in the
chair, but the apparent relaxation didn’t take away any of the
power she radiated. “I said chat and you assumed I meant we’d be
getting to know each other. I sometimes jump ahead in these things,
figure everyone connects the dots quick as I do. Murder on my
social life,” she said offhandedly, then sighed. “Suppose I at
least need to give you the rules. I’ll ask you a series of
questions. You’ll answer them truthfully.”

Fletcher cocked a brow. He was a
behind-the-scenes man. The closest he’d ever come to being in the
field was a simulation the Agency made operation officers run in
order to put themselves in a field agent’s shoes. It helped hone an
operator’s skills knowing the strain an agent in play felt.

In the familiar surroundings of his four
walls, Fletcher knew he was in play now. And trapped. Pinned to a
chair with an unknown opposite him, questioning him. If he answered
wrong what would be the result?

Even more frightening, what would happen if
he answered right?

Keep calm. Maintain eye contact. Are you
breathing normally?

He wasn’t; swore he could hear his lungs
fill with air; heartbeat so acute he filtered out each of the five
phases of the cardiac cycle. And she hadn’t even asked a question
yet.

Sweat prickled his hairline and the phantom
touch of a pencil between his fingers had him pantomiming the
dance.

He clenched his empty fist.

“And if I don’t?” he asked, proud his voice
sounded strong.

A thin smile curled her lips. “You like it
here, Douglas? Your cozy office with the certificates on the wall…?
That’s a
nice
window—takes a while for an officer to get a
window ‘round here. I’m sure you want to keep it.”

Fletcher crossed his arms over his chest and
leaned back in his chair, though the wood was too hard for him to
feign comfort. “The threat of losing my job might have more weight
if I knew who you were. Since I don’t, it’s a rock fight with
cotton balls.”

“Who I am is above your pay-grade.” She
laughed, a short, feminine grunt, and then twisted her lips into a
distasteful sneer. “That’s so Hollywood B-movie, isn’t it? I mean,
it’s true, but no less…overdone.

“I’ve been in these halls long enough to see
tons of agents come and go. A lot of them have the potential to go
far, and then throw it all away, shagging their bosses.” She bent
forward and whispered. “How’s that for a cotton ball,
Dougie
?”

All thoughts of bravado went right out his
little window.

They’d been careful, he and Rachel. Very
careful. If they were together at work, there were usually others
around. They didn’t take rides home together; would show up at each
other’s apartments in the early morning hours. No e-mails or text
messages that didn’t involve cases. He mentally scoured every
minute of their time together, looking for any leaks, when the
woman across from him broke into his thoughts.

“Should I hitch up my skirt, or are you
convinced I’ve got the bigger pair?” She looked at his hand. A
pencil he didn’t remember grabbing flipped between his fingers. The
playful tone left her voice. “Answers only.”

Fletcher nodded.

“A few days ago, you accessed an obsolete
database.”

Question or statement? The look in her eyes
said she wanted a reason why either way. “Following up on Intel
from an agent.”

“Who?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss the
agent.”

“But you took the liberty of breaching my
database.”

“Didn’t know it was your database. It wasn’t
very well protected, or hidden… For good reason, I’m
assuming…?”

She didn’t flex a muscle and Fletcher
thought better of pushing it.

“I didn’t do anything outside of my scope of
duty, m—” He swallowed the ‘ma’am’ about to fall from his mouth,
the word too dry to wet his throat. “Given my rank and the variety
of operations with which I’m involved, it’s important I have access
to multiple sourc—”

“What were you looking for?” He shifted in
the hard chair. “You’re going to drag this out for no reason,
aren’t you? Keep your agent safe by answering my questions.
Otherwise I’ll cast a large net and pull everyone in. Guilty or
not, just having the stench of traitor on you will be enough to
spend the rest of your miserable life looking over your shoulder.
And have no doubt I’ll make it miserable, Douglas.”

He didn’t doubt it. In fact, that she knew
he’d accessed the database—knew about he and Rachel’s
relationship—was proof enough this woman wasn’t making an empty
threat.

“Working a case on a man named Sanzio
Galletti. My agent found a possible known associate and I ran the
info through the database. Came back positive… for a woman named
Naima Karam…though she also has several other aliases.” He watched
her face, both for recognition and for any hint that she knew he
was lying, but her expression remained still.

“Why you personally, Douglas? Why not kick
it down to an analyst?”

“Didn’t know what it would lead to, and the
Galletti op is sensitive.” Damn but he was terrible at this. His
armpits were leaking like a faucet. Meanwhile, Ms. Cold-Cream
Commercial sat across from him with the best poker face he’d seen
on anyone.

“And who else knows about the woman? Apart
from you and your agent?”

Fletcher shook his head. “No one.”

“Not even that cute girlfriend of
yours?”

“She’s not my—”

“What about William Connolly?”

Fletcher’s eyes widened a hair; he shook his
head.

A tiny smile curled her thin lips. “Let’s
say
I believe you—and if you didn’t understand the emphasis,
what I’m really saying here is I don’t believe you at all—but say I
do. Here’s how this happens. Your agent stops hunting Ms. Karam and
you bury this. Personally. And never access my database again, or
the next time you see my face this chat won’t be so nice.”

Fletcher nodded quickly, and she stood to
leave, her dove gray suit falling into place. Something niggled
though. That tiny scrap of information culled from the
database.

He pressed his lips together.

Leave it alone.

She was passing behind him now, on her way
out the office.

“Ma’am?”

“Oh, dear.” She huffed, stopped with her
hand on the knob. “That sounds suspiciously like a question. Be
thankful your job is safe. You’ve got your girlfriend and your nice
office, and your window. Keep your nose clean and I won’t have to
come see you or your agent again.”

She pulled the door open.

“How long have we known? About
Harvey…about…the salted bomb? Project HRV is real, isn’t it?” Could
she hear his heart hammering in his chest? The pencil flipped
faster than he’d ever flipped it before and he waited an eternity
for her answer, praying she gave him a look that said he was wrong;
that she had no idea what he was talking about.

“Douglas, Douglas, Douglas…” she said on a
weighty sigh. The door shut. “Guess you don’t like that window much
after all.”

Tokyo, Japan

O
ne minute the
apartment was pitch black, the next there was a soft light. It came
from a room in the heart of the open floor plan, casting a glow
like a paper lantern in the night. The floor-to-ceiling walls of
the center room were made of
shoji
screens, wooden frames
covered by translucent rice paper. Traditional, a complete
juxtaposition to both the ultra-sleek glass high rise where the
apartment was located, and the modern appliances and electronics
now partially visible in the low light.

Well, it was better than a house full of
beady-eyed clowns.

Kizzie shifted her gaze to a digital clock
on the wall; back to the central room where a dark silhouette grew
larger and larger as it approached. A panel of the wall slid open,
and then a woman stood in the entryway. Lean, tall, a shocking
length of royal blue hair, the ends tipped white. Dressed in
high-end skinny jeans and a thin, silk tank top. Tattoos sleeved
both arms from shoulder to wrist. With the light backing her, it
was hard to see her face, but her confidence radiated for
miles.

Fay?

A small yip sounded from far away. A dog.
Next apartment over, possibly. Kizzie ignored it.

“The dead is arisen,” the woman said. She
brought her hand up, dipped her face, and then a small flame
appeared. It caught on the tail of a cigarette and she took a long
drag before gliding over to Sumi, who had inched away from where
Kizzie stood by the door.

“Fay—” Sumi began, but the other woman cut
her off.

“I was so disappointed when you didn’t come
after CosKink. I thought you’d taken the coward’s way out.” She
flipped on a light that flooded the apartment with the rays of the
sun, puffed the ciggie. “But, you’re too
courageous
for
that,
shinsei
.”

Shinsei
—Sacred.

Sumi nodded. “Courage, s-strength, and
d-discipline. These are the marks of a warrior.”

Kizzie sidestepped, taking the opportunity
to look around for anything that might be of use while the two
blue-headed crazies were occupied.

“And where She leads you will follow,” Fay
said, chortling. “I’m glad you came. I’ve waited a long time to
tell you this, Sumi. Found sort of a perverse pleasure in turning
it over in my head, selecting the perfect words. Actually, I wanted
to tell you all, but you got to the others…”

Sumi flicked a nervous glance in Kizzie’s
direction, wet her lips. “I…I…”

“Oh, shut up and listen.
Itsutsu
Shinseina Senshi…
” Fay chuckled. “It was all a lie. She set it
up so you’d have something to believe in, would willingly do Her
bidding. That’s how you handle the simple-minded. Give them
something bigger than themselves to fight for. Make them feel like
they’re a part of you.”

She…Her… Unless Fay was prone to speaking in
third person, she wasn’t the Mistress, just as Kizzie suspected.
Besides, how was Sumi supposed to give back the lock Kizzie already
had?

“A sloppy slut, an organized glutton, an
indecisive fool and you, the predictable blank. None of you were
ever Her true submissives. Or sacred, for that matter,” she
snorted, “You’re nothing. Just another empty cunt She used for Her
own ends.”

Sumi’s eyes widened and her chin
trembled.

“Yes, that did feel as good as I imagined
it.” Fay let the cigarette burn in her hold, continued with the
berating. “You should know why I chose you, Sumi. Because you
reminded me of my mother…”

A smile ghosted over Sumi’s face, but Kizzie
recognized the boom lowering. Judging by the earlier compliments,
this wasn’t going to go well. Her eyes darted around the apartment;
squeezed the hard metal in her pocket. Another ten, fifteen minutes
tops.

“She was a gutless woman, much like you,”
Fay said. “Easily influenced, easily controlled, couldn’t think for
herself. My father would beat her, and she’d look to me for saving.
Oh, but when he beat me, I was on my own. And when I killed the
bastard…she had the nerve to toss me away, like a stray eyelash,
lost in the fringe of a rug. Did you feel that way when Shinari cut
your leash? Unhinged, unloved… So you set out to get your revenge
on Her, by targeting everyone else.

“Pathetic. And, I suppose, that’s the reason
you’ve brought this woman here.” She spun to Kizzie. “You are?”

Kizzie shrugged. “Concerned citizen, just
happened to be in the neighborhood.”

“She is Master Duquesne’s submissive,” Sumi
supplied. Color Kizzie surprised at that slip up.

“
So
,” Fay smiled, a predatory gleam
laced with disdain, “you’re the infamous Gigi. The American’s
bitch. You look troubled.”

“Do I?” Kizzie said, a heavy dose of
indifference in her tone.

“Yes. You don’t approve of my treatment of
Sumi. You don’t like bullies?”

“I don’t like assholes. Bullies fall under
the umbrella.”

Fay laughed. “A woman with spunk. I can
appreciate that. The nothing who brought you here insisted you were
dead. Clearly she failed in that too. As usual, I’ll have to finish
the job no one else is capable of doing.” Fay turned to Sumi. “I
suspect this one will put up more of a fight than you. Have a seat.
I’ll kill you next.”

Sumi actually trudged over to a wooden
chair, and then knelt on the floor. Fay stubbed out her cigarette
in a nearby ashtray on top of a chest of drawers.

Kizzie checked the clock again. Eight
minutes or so… “Just looking to talk to your Mistress. I’m not here
to kill you.”

“And that is the difference between us.” Fay
said, sliding open a drawer. A flick of the wrist and the balisong
fanned open, sharp blade exposed. “I intend to gut you stem to
stern.”

* * * *