Linnear 03 - White Ninja (53 page)

The hallway on the second floor was dark. The door to her bedroom was ajar, just as she had left it, but a thick wedge of light streamed out into the hall.

Keeping to the shadows close to the mahogany banister, Shisei went silently past the half-open door without attempting to peer inside. Instead, she went into the adjoining bedroom which shared the huge, luxurious bathroom with her bedroom.

She entered her bedroom through the bathroom. She could look at the full length of the room in this way, saw the vanity unit closest to her, her evening bag sitting on its marble top just where she had left it. She saw the drawers to the antique oak dresser piled hastily one on top of the other, their contents strewn in a jumble across the Oriental scatter rugs and the polished oak floor.

David Brisling was rummaging in her closet, frantically pushing aside her hanging clothes. Soon, she knew, he would reach her shoes and, behind the carefully piled boxes, her computer, headphones, her entire cache of clandestine equipment.

She went across the room so silently that an animal would not have heard her. But in so doing her shadow was thrown partly into the closet's interior.

Just as she came upon the figure, it turned. She saw the muzzle of the pistol and Brisling's face in the same instant.

Shisei ceded all conscious control of her body to Kshira: her mind emptied, to be filled with the Void, the sound-light continuum that was Kshira.

Her left foot blurred out and upwards even as her upper torso twisted away. Her rigid toes struck the inside of Brisling's wrist at the vulnerable juncture where nerves and veins come together.

Brisling's hand went numb even as his brain, in shock from surprise, gave its sluggish command to his forefinger to pull the trigger.

The pistol flew out of his hand, and Shisei dropped down, cupped her hands and, jamming them under his chin, drove upwards with strength emanating from her

hips, her lower belly - her hara - forced upwards into her shoulders, her arms.

Shisei shouted, one quick bloodcurdling cry, a kiai, a giving voice to the spirit, more than a battle cry, a martial art in its own right. At the same time, she shoved Brisling's head backwards with such force that the top of his skull shattered against the edge of the closet door.

Only then, with the threat ended, did Kshira recede, did the Shisei familiar to Cotton Branding reappear. She blinked once and, within the space of a heartbeat, took in the entire scene, ran through her plan again in her mind. She recalled with delight Branding telling her where Howe would be tonight; it was perfect. Plausible deniability. She could find no flaw.

She picked up the phone, completed her preparations.

Four minutes later, she was back in the Jaguar with Branding. 'Sorry I was so long,' she said a bit breathlessly.

'I was getting worried about you,' Branding said, putting the car in gear. 'I thought I heard something, I don't know what. I was just about to come in and get you.'

'It was nothing.' Shisei leaned across, kissed him on the mouth. 'My boss called just as I was leaving. I had the answering machine on but I had to pick up.' She put her hand on his thigh. 'By the way, he says to thank you for taking me to this party. I wouldn't've got in otherwise, and I'm certain I can break some new ground with the people who'll be there.'

'Good,' Branding said, grinning. 'Now you can say I've done my bit today for environmentalism.'

'It's something, Cook. But don't think it's enough. It won't ever be enough until "environmentalist" stops being a dirty word in American politics.'

Outside the tinted windows, northwest Washington - the Washington tourists saw - glittered like a million-dollar necklace. But Branding knew that for the magician's illusion it was. Hidden from sight was the

poverty, the crime and unemployment running rampant in the predominantly black neighbourhoods. While tuxedoed politicians like himself gorged themselves nightly on fine food and power, the real Washington simmered and, like an unwatched kettle, threatened to boil over.

A police car heading in the other direction, its cherry lights flashing, its siren screaming, gave physical weight to his thoughts.

But for this night, at least, Branding wanted to put all that out of his mind. 'How did you get into being a lobby for the environmentalists, anyway?' he asked.

'Murder,' Shisei said. She saw Branding looking at her from the corner of his eye. 'Too many whales slaughtered by my people. Too many seals clubbed to death on the ice and the beaches. The dumping of hazardous wastes into our streams, rivers and oceans. The senselessness and evil in greed was never more apparent to me. I wanted - I needed - to do something. It was important to me to know that what I was doing was making a difference.'

Branding thought about Shisei's life, how she had been imprisoned, tortured, how Zasso, the mad artist, had attempted to remake her in the image of the demon woman. Branding thought mostly of how Zasso had failed, of how Shisei had overcome her past, becoming a strong-willed woman.whose work did make a difference in the world. He realized then just how proud of her he was.

The State dinner was one of those affairs where protocol and diplomacy were the only acceptable currency. Branding had both of these to spare, and he was soon one of the few around whom knots of people congregated to listen, laugh and be seen.

He kept an eye on Shisei as she drifted through the gilt and cream ballroom, a glass of champagne in one hand, talking to one diplomat after another, who listened intently to what she was telling them. They would nod

sagely, smile and in the end give her their cards as if delivering an offering on the altar of a goddess.

An hour after they arrived, Branding drew her aside. He winked. 'Having a good time?' he asked.

'Successful,' she said.

'I noticed.' It was for Branding, too. All the ranking Republicans were in attendance, and they were never far from him, engaging him in conversation, always bringing up the Ascra bill, pledging their support.

Hie only sour note was delivered by Tricia Hamilton, the wife of Bud Hamilton, the senator from Maryland, a good friend and often an ally of Branding's. Like a herald announcing the approach of a still distant army, Tricia arrived at Branding's side with a flourish.

'You're my escort into dinner,' she said.

She wore a formal silk and crinoline dress that must have cost a fortune but made her look ten years older than her fifty-three years.

Her eyes flashed, and he could see her eyeing Shisei with the kind of predatory avidity raised to a high art by Washington wives.

'What a perfectly lovely girl,' Tricia said in a tone that made it sound as if she had said, What a perfect tittle tart.

Branding laughed, in too good a mood to allow Tricia's bitchiness to disturb him. 'She's smart, too,' he said.

Til bet.' Tricia smiled sweetly at him as they headed for the dining-room. "That's an interesting suit she's wearing. A Louis Feraud, isn't it?'

'I have no idea,' Branding said. 'But I like it.'

'Oh, so do I,' Tricia said acidly. 'Funny thing, though. It looks terribly familiar, and I know there aren't too many Louis Feraud suits around these parts. I mean, only Saks Jandel carries them hereabouts and they only get in one in each size. I know because I was there just the other day trolling for a new outfit and, do you know, I believe

I saw that very suit there,' She pulled herself closer to Branding, hugging herself against him. 'Yes, it was that suit. I'm sure of it.' She looked into his face. 'But, do you know, Cook, Senator Howe was buying it. Douglas didn't see me, I'm happy to report, he was in too much of a hurry. A repugnant little man, isn't he, Cook? The thought of him touching me sends shivers down my spine.'

Branding said, 'Despite what you say about Saks Jandel, that can't be the only Feraud suit in all of Washington. I don't know what you're getting at, Irish.'

'Me? I'm just making small talk, Cook.'

He tried not to let what Tricia Hamilton said bother him but, despite his best intentions, he found himself brooding over dinner. Afterwards, he could not remember what he had eaten or what he had talked about with his dinner companions. The President made a speech, then the West German chancellor, but Branding paid them no attention.

In the car on the way home, he was so quiet that Shisei touched him, said, 'Is anything the matter, Cook?'

He thought, then, about asking her where she had got the Louis Feraud suit. Had she bought it herself or had it been a gift? He almost did but, at the last instant, bit back the words. The fact was that he did not want to hear her answer because the chances were it would be a lie.

'Nothing,' he said.

What Tricia Hamilton had told him, her 'small talk', had rocked him. Tricia was a gossip only in the sense that she liked to talk about other people because it furthered her belief that knowing as many intimate things about the power pols as possible put her in the centre of things. But she only passed on verified gossip. She wisely let other Washington wives indulge in innuendo and semi-truths.

What bothered Branding was that if Tricia said she

saw Douglas Howe picking up Shisei's suit from Saks Jandel, that was exactly what had happened.

At first, he tried to think of an innocent explanation, but soon abandoned the idea as improbable and foolish. Then he began to work out the strategy behind Howe and Shisei as a team, and got nowhere. For the life of him, he could not imagine Shisei's personality meshing with Howe's. Something didn't feel right. Not unless Shisei was the greatest actress on earth.

He pulled up at her house, but did not turn off the engine.

'Aren't you coming in?' Shisei asked.

'I don't think so. Not tonight.'

In the almost silence of the engine purring, there was a gulf between them that had not existed when the night began. The street was quite deserted. Arching streetlights cast pools of diffuse illumination at regular intervals. Shadows from the leaves on the elm trees fell across the long hood of the Jaguar.

Shisei put a hand on Branding's arm. 'Cook, what is it? Your entire mood changed during dinner.'

He closed his eyes for a moment. 'I'm tired. I want to go home.'

'Please, Cook,' she said. 'Come inside, if only for a moment. I can't bear the thought of the night ending here.'

Branding waited a moment before turning off the ignition. Inside, Shisei went through the first floor, turning on all the lights as a child will ask to be done when awakened by a nightmare. Branding watched her at this ritual with opaque eyes.

'Drink?'

'I'd rather not,' Branding said. He had not sat down, was standing in the centre of the living-room.

'For God's sake, Cook, won't you tell me what you're thinking?'

'I don't know what I'm thinking,' he said. 'Not yet.'

'You want to go,' she said. 'I can see it in your face. You can't wait to get out of here.'

'It isn't like that at all.'

'Don't lie to me,' Shisei said.

Branding choked on his words.. He was furious at her accusing him of lying. Especially because it was true. 'How dare you say that to me, you lying bitch!' he shouted wildly at her. 'Where did you get that new suit?' He strode into the hallway.

Shisei's heart thudded heavily. Had he found out that the Feraud suit had been a present from Howe? How could he have?

Branding heard her calling his name, then the phone started ringing. He went out of the door. His legs felt oddly stiff, the muscles jumping beneath his skin.

Shisei picked up the phone, shouted, 'What?' into it, and her breath caught in her throat because she heard her brother's voice.

'Senjin,' she whispered, 'I thought we had agreed - '

'Our agreement is at an end,' Senjin said.

'But you'll put into jeopardy everything we - '

'Quiet!'

'What is it?' Shisei said. 'What's happened?'

'Life's liappened.' Senjin's voice was like an engine about to explode. 'The unimaginable has happened. I realize that I need you.'

'What do you m- ?'

'I'm coming,' he said. 'To Long Island, West Bay Bridge.' He gave her an address. 'Meet me there.'

Shisei was about to reply, but the line had already gone dead. She put down the receiver, and shivered. Unconsciously, she fingered her emerald ring.

Outside, Branding had got into the Jaguar, fired it up. As he nosed out into the quiet street he noticed that his hands were shaking. His heart was beating fast, and an

anguish he could identify almost as pain racked him. He longed for his wife's counsel; she would know what was right and what was wrong; who was, figuratively speaking, in bed with whom. She always had.

The thought that Shisei had been sent by Douglas Howe to somehow undermine him in order to send the Ascra bill down to defeat was almost too much to bear. It wasn't until this moment that Branding could admit to himself that he loved Shisei. Almost immediately, he realized just how much he loved her. She had penetrated deep inside his defences, touched the core of him as no one else, not even Mary, had. To find out that it was all a lie was beyond comprehension.