Sake Bomb (5 page)

“Two to ten days, depending on where it
broke off in the loop. Longer than you may have, my friend. If you
didn’t care about a trail, I could have it hopping in hours. I’m
surprised you’ve been able to last this long, but I think your
luck’s running out.”

Didn’t he know it. Phil reached the center
of the plaza, sidestepped quickly, narrowly avoiding capture in the
digital memories of a cheesing couple. He perched a hip against the
arched concrete wall surrounding the statue. “I’ll pass the m—”

“That’s not all.”

Their only lead was roaming about and
currently untraceable. What could be worse than that?

“Some rich American died in the act the
other day, landed face down in the sushi.”

“That’s sick, even for you.” Phil shook his
head, gaze on the young woman. More smiling, more hair
touching…

“No really.” Stix laughed. “Name’s
Hall—Avery Hall. Owned Hanabi, Inc. Fireworks supply company. They
do pyrotechnic displays for big celebrations…New Year, Fourth of
July and the like. Was balls-deep in some chick he had laid out on
his table in Shimoda. One of those deals where you eat sushi off a
woman’s naked body. Sounds fun, right? Except they both ended up
dead, and he literally landed in some sashimi.”

Hall…Hall… Didn’t ring a bell. “And the
girl?”

“Jane Doe—or whatever the Japanese
equivalent is…maybe Yamada Hanako?” Stix said, contemplating out
loud. “Or how about J—”

“The connection, Stix.”

“Oh. Right.” Stix cleared his throat.
“Tattoo on the girl’s shoulder matches the one you’re tracking.
Couldn’t get a full-body pic. My…uh…contact in the police
department thought I had some weird fetish for dead chicks. Spent
all night convincing her otherwise.” He sighed theatrically.
“Almost made me too tired for my contact at the hospital; had to
forego seeing my contact at the paper altogether. Strenuous
business.”

“You’re a real hero. Timeframe?”

“Story hit the news a couple days back. Fugu
poisoning. I’m just hearing about it or I’d have contacted you
sooner. You should have the photo.”

A few taps to the screen downloaded the
picture onto Phil’s tablet. Hard to make out—sort of blurry. Adding
to the poor quality, the image had been snapped at an odd angle,
cutting off most of what he needed for identification. “Amateur
hour.”

“My contact took it. She wouldn’t let me in
the morgue. You know how the Japanese respect the dead.”

Phil expelled a harsh breath. They needed
more. A face, hair, anything apart from a random shoulder. If the
symbol was as popular a tattoo in Japan as the equivalent was in
America, this might be someone completely unrelated to the search.
“When’d you say the last hit came on the necklace?”

“Three days ago around Tokyo. Two days ago
the deaths made the news in Shimoda. Think this is your girl?”

Phil didn’t know, and didn’t bother
commenting. “If this lead pans out, it might finally get you out of
Xander’s crosshairs.”

“Damn shame. Got that sexy new woman and
he’s hung up on li’l ol’ me. Want me to follow up on that last hit
for you?”

Stix wasn’t a man known for subtlety, and
this job required discretion. “Stay on the dead girl. We’ll be on
the ground in a few days. Have the network up; get clearance for
the plane. No footprints.”

“Into Shimoda? The closest airport is tiny.
Tokyo’s farther, but it would be easier.”

“Don’t have time for easier.”

“It’ll cost—”

“It always costs and I always pay. Do who
you have to, but get me a full body pic—face bare minimum.
Clear
this time.”

Phil disconnected the call and lifted his
head, surprised to find the woman coming straight at him. The
messenger bag slung across her body and the earbuds in her ears
made her look like the average young co-ed. Adrenaline surged
through him. Always the predator, in a couple seconds he’d be the
one to get caught.

If he went now he’d avoid her.

He didn’t move.

He wanted her to see him; hoped Zlata would
take note of him standing there.

She passed so close he could smell her
shampoo, but her gaze stayed firmly on the ground.

Phil smothered a sad smile, the useless
emotion bubbling in his veins, and the urge to turn and watch her
again. He started in the opposite direction. Zlata had
classes—Statistics, then Cognitive Science if he remembered
correctly—and a fresh start at life to look forward to, while
he….

Phil had the real world to get back to.

Footfalls on the cobblestones a little
heavier, he went over options regarding the necklace. Xander was in
the middle of a deal. Phil would update him when they met in a
couple days, which meant Paris would be a very short trip so they
could get on the road, or in the sky as it were.

Then there was the matter of a certain Dom
giving his word to a certain CIA agent. Some days Xander didn’t use
the full benefit of living on the dark side. Another harsh breath
and Phil scrubbed a nail over the stubble on his chin. Xander made
a promise, so Phil needed to find a way to get Kizzie to Japan.

Or…

A slow grin spread on Phil’s face, creased
his scar. He shouldn’t do this.
Really
, shouldn’t…

The grin widened.

Kizzie might not be available, but if this
worked out, it could solve a problem Phil had wrestled with since
she left Oman. Xander would be pissed, but what’s a good day at
work without twisting Xander’s shorts in a knot?

Still grinning, Phil ducked into a quaint
shop across from his hotel, assaulted by the rich aroma of the
finest handmade chocolates Bruges had to offer.

July 26
^th

Fortaleza,
Brazi
l

F
ace smooshed
between the luxury of two thick pillows, Kizzie groaned and
squeezed her eyes shut. She cursed the residual ache in her sore
cheek while trying to ignore the buzz of her secure cell phone. The
last time she’d had a decent sleep was while rehabbing from her
injuries at the hands of Sacha Sokoviev, and given her situation at
the time—off the grid, staying with a known criminal at his home in
Oman, and working an op she was neither directly involved in nor
approved for—she hadn’t exactly gotten much shuteye then,
either.

Wheels-up from The Land of Frankincense just
days after being in Helsinki, land of frickin’ cold, she was in no
shape to be back in the field. But the longer she stayed dark, the
more explaining she would have to do to Bill Connolly. Explaining
would only lead to more complications. So she sucked up the pain
and called in, excuse ready to fall from her lips about needing to
get away when her boss ordered her to get to Belém and await
further instructions. No “where’ve you been?” No “why the hell did
you go dark?”

Zilch.

Wasn’t that how it always happened?
Perfectly good lie and she didn’t get to use it.

She blinked in the room’s inky blackness,
and then squinted against the eye-searing radiance coming from the
device she had in a death grip.

“Yes, god?” she croaked.

“I hear Belém is beautiful in late July.”
Judging by his voice Bill hadn’t been snoozing, the usually serious
tone almost whimsical.

“Gorgeous,” Kizzie said, not bothering to
correct him about her location. Yawning, she pushed herself
upright. “But it’s even more beautiful at noon than it is at,”—more
squinting at the digital clock on the opposite nightstand—“three in
the
morning
? Jesus, Bill, these are ‘booty call only’ hours.
So either come over here and shake what Mama Connolly gave ya’, or
let this girl get some more sleep.”

Bill chuckled, something he was never quick
to do at her snarky remarks. Kizzie came fully out of her sluggish
state with a sigh. “Where am I off to now, Creator of the
Universe?”

“Nowhere. Just wanted to commend you on your
success in Brazil.”

“And…?”

A pause. “Fletcher told me you jumped the
gun and went in solo.”

“Never been a problem before.”

“Whatever gets the job done,” he agreed. And
that was all that mattered. “But it was reckless. Dangerous…”

“Does
anyone
know what I actually
do
for—”

“Going back can’t have been easy,” Bill cut
in.

It wasn’t easy and he knew it. Not
specifics, however the info Bill did have was enough. Left behind
by one of their own. When it came down to it, her life wasn’t more
important than the mission.

That wasn’t the part that rankled.

“You thought it might bother me, but you
wanted me to do it anyway?”

“I needed you. There’s no one on the ground
in Belém anymore. Wasn’t a need after…” Letting the sentence hang
almost sounded like he gave a damn. But Bill was a master
manipulator, and his dubious sincerity just another trait that made
him one of the best. He continued in a manner bordering empathy.
“Female agent, intimate knowledge of the city, fluent in the
language. You’re the only one who fit the bill.”

“Do fries come with the bullshit combo? What
about Gale?”

“Out of play.”

“There are other agents,” she insisted.

“After botching Mauritius you needed a win,
Baldwin.”

“Oh, this was for my own good? Well,
thank
you
, William. You have
exx
-or-
ciiiized
my demons!” He didn’t catch the pop
culture reference, and she groaned at the waste of snark. “If
you’re satisfied I’m appropriately congratulated, slap the gold
star on the bulletin board and I’ll fawn over it at the next PTA
meeting, m’kay? Goin’ back to sl—”

“You’re not getting off that easy. Where’d
you disappear to?”

Her exhale sounded like a popped
balloon.

Dressed to the nines in her birthday suit,
Kizzie slipped from bed and went over to the bay window that led to
the small balcony of her room; peered through the slit between the
curtains. Outside was dark and fairly still, everything with a
pulse having the sense God gave it to be asleep at this hour. The
few lights stationed on the beach cast yellow circles on the
abandoned sand, and tiny waves lapped at the shore just beneath her
window. Maybe a swim later…

“I didn’t disappear, exactly.”

“Then where were you,
exactly
?”

She padded back toward the bed, gazing at
the sheets. If she crawled in now, her spot would still be warm.
Another sigh. Per usual, sleep would have to wait. She shrugged
into a hotel robe and went to the living room. “I was soul
searching.”

“
Soul
searching?” Bill laughed, the
sound like doors moving on rusted hinges. “Let me explain something
about your soul
,
agent. Your
soul
is the property of
the U.S. government. When you sign up as a fresh-faced innocent we
take your soul, have it scrubbed and bleached to get all those
pesky stains out—back-talking your parents…fighting in the fifth
grade…that little kerfuffle at The Point….”

Kizzie poked her tongue into the side of her
cheek and drew in a long breath. “That little kerfuffle” he spoke
of so candidly was heavy as an armored Humvee. And that’s why they
worked so well together. She knew where Bill stood. He didn’t care
about her—emotions were a hindrance, after all—he cared about the
missions, about results. Reminders of The Point were a way to
constantly sharpen her mettle.

Too sharp and he’d get cut.

“Then,” Bill went on philosophically, “we
take your soul and have it pressed; hang it up on one of the racks
on the Pentagon’s secret floor for safe keeping.

“Meanwhile, off you go into the big bad
world to do Uncle Sam’s bidding. Upon approval of your request for
dismissal from this life, we stamp your death certificate and
return your soul, all shiny and clean so you’re up to snuff for
your interview on the top floor with St. Peter—or the bonfire going
down in the basement.” He huffed a short laugh through his nose.
“That’s the state of your soul, Baldwin. May God have mercy on
it.”

“You bring the chocolate, I’ll bring the
marshmallows and grahams.”

He chuckled again. “What were you
doing?”

Kizzie flopped onto the couch and fired up
her tablet computer. Thanks to two men—one a former friend, the
other a…Dom—she still had a new place to find. Now was as good a
time as any to go house hunting. Not like she was sleeping.
Nicaragua…Costa Rica…She could always go stateside. No… Dammit, she
just wanted to stay in Panama!

“Baldwin.”

“Hm? Oh. Had a lead on 3-19.”

The voice coming through the receiver was
all business now. Soulless. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I thought about it.” Her belly rumbled. Was
yesterday’s breakfast her last meal? Tablet in hand, she stormed
the kitchenette to raid the minibar.

“Do I need to remind you you’re part of a
team?
My
team. You defied a direct order and—”

“And had I waited for the green light, my
lead would be gone and 3-19 would be dead in the water. Or do you
have an alternate source you’re working?” Her anger rose swiftly.
“I know my job, Bill. Been dedicated to Crew and country since I
signed my soul away, and to you and your command since The P—” She
didn’t finish. Didn’t need to.

She took a slow breath to steady her tone.
“I know the debt I owe you, not that you’d ever let me forget. Now
don’t
you
forget I’m doing my job, exactly the way you
trained me to.”

Kizzie yanked on the door of the tiny fridge
and almost ripped it off the hinges, staring at and through the
meager offerings inside. She hated being in his pocket, but given
the alternative, this was the lesser of two evils. A way to atone
for the guilt…

She slammed the door, jangling the small
bottles of liquor inside.