Sake Bomb (44 page)

Did her Mistress speak the truth? Did She
want them to be together?

As though reading her thoughts, Vanda
nodded. “Are you alone?”

“The…the
Privideniye
is h-here.” Sumi
pushed her slicked blue hair from her face. “And his submissive,
Gigi. They’re—”

“Shhh,” Vanda soothed. She lifted her phone,
showing it to Sumi. “It’s okay. But we must leave now.”

Sumi took a step back, unsure, but her
Mistress didn’t relent.

“Come, pet. Come let me make you sacred
again.”

Sumi whimpered. She wanted that so
desperately.

Using you…

No.

Sumi inched forward, lowering the gun to her
side. Mistress Shinari slid Her palm along Sumi’s cheek, and then
pulled her into a soft kiss. “How I’ve missed you, my good little
pet.”

Yes, Sumi was a good pet. “D-do you love me,
Mistress?” she whispered.

Mistress Shinari gave a slow bob of Her
head, fingertips gliding down Sumi’s arm, en route to her wrist.
“Give me the gun.”

Sumi stiffened. “Why?”

“You question me? I’ll have to cane you
harder for forgetting your place.” Mistress Shinari pecked her
mouth again. “Would you like that,
kotenok
?”

“Please, say it… Do you love me?”

“Let me
show
you,” She whispered
against Sumi’s parted lips; breath filling the hot cavern of Sumi’s
mouth. “Give me the gun and we will go.”

Tears in her eyes, her Mistress’s hand
curled over hers. The weapon rose in the scant space between
them.

“Yes, pet,” She said, “I will make you
sa—”

Mistress Shinari jerked once, twice.

Her eyes rounded, mouth parted in a tiny O
as she sucked in a gasp. Her gaze connected with Sumi’s and then
She fell forward, sliding down her submissive’s body until She
sprawled on the ground.

Sumi drew in a breath and screamed.

L
ess than six
minutes remained until Harvey exploded, the tension only amplified
by the soothing sound of the rain. Thoughts of Kizzie entered
Xander’s mind exactly once, and then he pushed it aside. Had to
assume she was okay.

Without question they were all going to
die.

Just not this morning.

He was shaking uncontrollably now, soaked
through with freezing water and adrenaline. His head pounded with
the sound of his own heartbeat and his muscles were heavy with
fatigue. Through bleary eyes he scrutinized every inch of the
diagram on the laptop’s screen. They’d cut the right wire. So why
was the countdown still going?

4 minutes…

“Xander…?” Phil said hesitantly.

“If the next words out of your mouth are ‘I
love you, man,’” he replied calmly, “I’m gonna let this timer run
out.”

Phil chuckled nervously. “Just wanted to say
you smell ‘purdy.’”

Xander reviewed the options again. Then he
studied the bomb itself. All of the charges were set in alignment
with each other, exhibiting a sort of perverse beauty with its
symmetry.

All the charges except one.

On closer inspection, Xander picked out the
reason for the slight anomaly. Another set of wires disappeared
behind a little black panel on the base of the device. Hard to make
out through the jumble of spheres and plastic explosives and red
threads.

“There. See that?” He circled the area with
the jittering flashlight. “Open that.”

Phil reacted, wedging back the lid on the
hidden cubby with his knife. The cover didn’t pull free completely,
but it was enough for him to force two fingers in to the knuckles
and lose the skin. His fingertips brushed something hard, plastic,
but the rain made them slip away.

3 minutes…

He dove in again, ignoring the slices to his
fingers as he speared them deeper into the space. Snagging a corner
with just the tips, he wriggled out another cell phone, the
countdown synchronized with the first. A bevy of wires came with
it.

2 minutes 18 seconds.

“
Now
cut the wire.”

“You’re sure this time?”

“A strong fifty-percent,” Xander said,
bobbing his head.

Phil located the thread, double-checked it
and then, wincing, snipped it clean through.

The timers stopped.

Thirty seconds of held breath later, Xander
and Phil hadn’t been vaporized.

Resting on his haunches, Xander threw up his
tired arms like he’d scored the winning touchdown. “Who’s the
brains?”

“Cut it close enough, asshole,” Phil barked.
“My fuckin’ balls are in my belly!”

“Have I
ever
gotten you killed?”

“Not for lack of trying.” Phil set about
dismantling the bomb, easing the wires from the charges.

Xander was too numb to help, flexing and
fisting his fingers and toes to keep the circulation going. Christ,
he hadn’t had it this bad in years, and hoped he didn’t have to
repeat it anytime soon.

“When were you planning on telling me about
Kizzie?”

Phil paused a beat, then picked up working
again. “I wasn’t,” he said plainly.

“Because…?”

“Wasn’t my secret to tell. Had an idea, but
no proof.” He peeled a ring of RDX from a sphere. “Re-read her
dossier before she came back, did a little digging. Sophomore year,
things started getting…odd. Grades were fine, skills-testing fine,
but some of her behavior reports were…inconsistent.” He shrugged.
“Based on what I saw…I made an assumption of trauma and,
unfortunately, was right.”

Inconsistent?
Sophomore
year?

“You’re sure that wasn’t Junior year?”

“Sophomore. Third year was a breeze: still
top of her class, no more behavior problems. Like she was a
completely different cadet. And then, mid year, poof! She drops
out. And the crazier part: There was no reason listed. No nothing.
Model student one day, the next, a ghost.

“You don’t just drop out of the Point, X,
not without repercussions. And then dive headfirst into the CIA,
under Connolly’s command. Something big happened…”

Xander started to ask about any mention of a
woman named Jo, but thought better of it. There was a lot he was
missing when it came to Kizzie, but he wouldn’t make the same
mistake twice. He’d let her tell him when she was good and
ready.

Phil peeled a ring of RDX from the fourth
sphere. “She’s one of us, X. Walking wounded, but walking. That’s
all that matters. Even if she was involved with what went down, she
doesn’t deserve to be screwed over, not to get to Connolly or the
rest of them… Short term, maybe, but it wouldn’t have set right
with you in the long run.”

“Covering my six?”

“I’m always covering your six,” Phil echoed,
bumped knuckles with his brother, went to work on the last sphere.
“She promised me an out, by the way. So long as I give up
everything. Seems the CIA’s Intel on you is slim.”

Xander had figured. “And…?”

“I left the door open, of course. Even let
slip who the bastard was who cut my face open and then did a shit
job stitching it back.”

“Jesus H, Phil, you’re killing me.”

“Just a slave to the truth, Xander.” Phil
chuckled, bucking his head toward the spheres. “Can you
manage?”

Fighting off another bout of shakes, Xander
reached for the first gold sphere.

Sleep tugged at his tired eyes, and the cold
was getting worse, but he had his bomb. A bomb he was supposed to
give to Kiz—

Gunshots. Two of them, followed by a loud,
agonized scream.

Phil jerked his head toward the sound.
Jamming his fingers into his mouth, he let out a shrill, sharp
whistle and hopped to his feet. “Sirens are next; park police HQs
aren’t far. We gotta move.”

Heart in his throat, Xander shoved himself
to standing, staring in the direction Kizzie had gone. Was she hit?
Fear curled in his gut and sprinted through his veins, edging out
adrenaline by nanoseconds. He stumbled forward, first one awkward
step then another, until he was moving at what felt like lightning
speed.

He hadn’t gone six feet.

He wouldn’t get to her in time.

A shadow peeled away from the darkness,
dressed in black from head to toe. The man pulled alongside Xander
and started packing up Harvey’s components with an economy of
movement.

“Saddle up and bug out,” Phil said, the
command encompassing both Xander and the new man. Knife in his
grip, he bolted in the direction Kizzie had gone and dissolved into
the night.

* * * *

F
rom
the cover of a thin tree trunk, Kizzie squeezed off three quick
rounds.

Two hit their mark; the third never left the
chamber.

She squeezed the trigger again.

Click
.

Jammed.

Shit.

Five meters away, Shinari lay face down in
the wet grass and Sumi paced back and forth. Gun still in hand, she
tugged at her blue hair, muttering to herself.

“No…no no no… She didn’t say…” Sumi’s head
snapped up and their eyes locked. Sumi leveled her weapon.

The world around Kizzie slowed.

Three in the morning and head in the path of
a loaded gun handled by a deranged civilian. Déjà vu?

Too far to reach Sumi before the weapon
fired, and too close for the woman to miss.

Trapped.

Kizzie didn’t lower her Beretta. Her slim
chance at survival rested on a useless pistol, bravado, and logic.
She’d have to reason with the woman. But for someone with a
limitless supply of snappy comebacks and fast-talk, the words froze
in Kizzie’s dry throat.

“What have you done to her, Gigi?” Sumi
wailed. The weapon shook in her hold. She glanced down at Vanda.
“My Mistress…Shinari…”

“She’s not—” Too soft. Sumi wouldn’t hear.
Kizzie swallowed, the sound a sonic boom in her ears.

Sumi looked up again, and the distress in
her face melted to determination. “Courage, strength, and
discipline,” she recited stiffly, “these are the marks of a
warrior. We, the
Itsutsu
Shinseina Senshi,
vow our
lives to the restoration of balance through our Mistress. And where
she leads I will follow. ”

“Listen to me,” Kizzie urged.

Sumi flicked her gaze up, features relaxed,
peace settling over her face.

There was nothing Kizzie could do but brace
for the bullet.

The gun bucked once.

Sumi dropped to the wet grass.

And the five sacred warriors were no
more…

T
he rain still fell
but with far less anger. Sirens crying behind her, Kizzie made it
to the SUV.

Empty. No Xander, no Phil.

The door was unlocked, a wet backpack she
recognized as Phil’s was in the backseat. Beside it, the rucksack
she’d left behind in Oman and her duffle. Keys dangled from the
ignition and dread sunk like a lead ball in her gut.

She hopped in the driver’s seat and took
inventory. In Phil’s bag: a flash drive, six gold spheres and
enough plastic to make her nervous.

She moved to the rucksack. Hard to be sure
in the dark, but the money and documents looked undisturbed; “Big
Girl Panties,” the Glock, and SOG throwing knives all present and
accounted for. She pulled the Glock out and eased back the familiar
slide, the smells of solvent and grease faint but there. The weapon
had been cleaned recently. They both had.

So there it was. Promise kept. She got
Harvey and Xander was in the wind.

She fixed her gaze out the windshield. In
spite of knowing how this would play out, his abrupt departure was
a visceral ache in her chest.

No use crying over it.

She pulled her phone from her back pocket
and updated Fletcher on the Galletti op. It’s amazing how clear the
mind gets when facing certain death. It came to her in a flash,
Galletti’s stupid mumblings—“Pal…Pal…”—coupled with the veritable
circus in his house, the password could possibly be
palhaço
,
Portuguese for clown.

Once that was done, the ache in her chest
settled in again, heavier.

Then the
Mission Impossible
theme
song cut through the sadness, and Kizzie whipped her gaze around.
Was it coming from her bag? Searching the depths turned up a
pre-paid that didn’t belong to her. She read the display: UNKNOWN.
The song picked up again from the top and she smirked.

Cute.

“Where are you, Xander?”

“Harvey’s yours, as promised.”

Fighting a smile, Kizzie strained to hear
anything on the other end of the line, trying to pinpoint his
location. “Where?”

Xander stayed silent and she started the
SUV, leaving the lights off to decrease the chance of being seen
but flipping the wipers on low. Stopping the bomb and its maker
were all well and good, but nothing blows an agent’s cover like
making
the cover of the Post. “Don’t do this to me, Xander.
We had a deal—”

“I didn’t sleep with her. You know that,
right? And save the gravy boat.”

Was he talking about his wife? She couldn’t
care less about the woman…right now.

The airport was less than 15 minutes away.
It would take longer than that to have the plane refueled and get
clearance for takeoff. But she’d been out there for close to half
an hour, waiting on the authorities to arrive for Vanda.

Kizzie had deliberately shot the woman in
her shoulder and leg, missing vital arteries. Ohayashi would rot
for her crimes. And she’d told the vile woman as much when she’d
begged Kizzie for help. On her way back to the truck she’d spotted
another dead body, a woman, right near the water’s edge. She’d
stopped to check the woman’s shoulder, and sure enough an In-Yo had
been tattooed there. In the dragon position: Resistant to bending.
In tiger: Rain.

Xander might be gassed up and ready to go by
now, and if he went this time, she’d never see him again. Something
about that threatened to make her sick. “All right. Where does this
leave me and 3-19?”