Sake Bomb (39 page)

Warm fingers gently cupped her chin, lifting
her face to that of her Lady’s. The Mistress leaned forward so
their mouths touched in the barest caress.

“
There is more,” the Mistress whispered,
breath hot against the seam of Sumi’s mouth. Sumi parted her lips
to drink down the sweet elixir, gathering strength. “To make
something sacred one ties a rope around it.”

The Mistress brought her thumb to Sumi’s
pliant mouth, easing the digit against her tongue. Sumi suckled,
slow and deep, aroused in spite of knowing she would leave soon.
Would travel to Tallinn in hopes of catching Sacha’s eye. Would bow
to him, instead.

The Mistress smoothed Her palm down
Sumi’s neck, wet digit trailing. “You are sacred,
kotenok
,
because I have made you that way.”

Nose to nose, She untied the collar and
leash. Sumi whimpered.

“
Shhh…” Their mouths touched again, The
Mistress’s tongue delving past her lips and stroking the inside of
her cheek. “Always sacred… One of five. You will return when it is
time, and I will make you sacred again…”

Sumi’s eyes blurred. She wasn’t sacred,
wasn’t loved. Had she ever been? Had
any
of them?

Fay had been, and Sumi hated her for it.
Fay
was loved, had been doted upon.
Fay
should have
been sent to Sacha, should have spent 18 months made to bow and
kneel and fuck that monster.

But Fay was dead.

And so were Chiho and Akari.

“
You will not hate.
Ever!
Promise
me…

“
You must be…shinari. Say it.
”

She clenched her eyes shut against the
threatening onslaught of memories, a slew of recollections that
weren’t hers. Fragments of a life she’d never lived but had faith
in. The little girl with the locket, offerings bound by red string…
Shinari
,
Itsutsu Shinseina Senshi
, the In-Yo.

Memories and half-truths distorted to make
her believe, make them
all
believe.

Three were dead because of her. A glance at
her hands, pale palms facing the ceiling. She’d set up the scenes
and then watched from the shadows like a coward.

“
So, you were more cowardice than
courage?” The Mistress said, her voice mocking. “You failed…. If
the eye gives you trouble, gouge it out. If the tongue tells lies,
cut it off. If you are not a noble enough warrior to consider
death, I will do it for you…

“
Don’t beg. A warrior would not beg. Be
brave; be courageous. You are a warrior, and I am granting you an
honorable death.”

A quick slice severed the collar, another
strategic cut separated the beautiful
Kinbaku
. “You are no
longer my submissive, no longer
‘kotenok’
.” The Mistress
says coolly. “That is the first death. Honor yourself and me, and
die twice.”

A deep sob welled in Sumi’s chest.
That
memory was hers, the precise moment the darkness
crowded in, her heart stopped beating and life seeped from her
body. She relived it every day since, had used it as fuel to prove
her Mistress wrong, stealing three lives in the process.

How many more? How many innocent people
would die and how much blood would paint her palms if she didn’t
help?

Tears seared her eyes and she closed them.
The vestiges of her conditioning pulled at her, a tiny tendril of
hope that her Mistress would take her back. Would love her. But
then her gaze settled on the American.

She’d been right, he had the gaze of a
Master—intense but caring—and again Sumi wished things could have
been different.

The digital clock beside him read 11:47.
Beyond him, the window framed Tokyo at night.

“The date?” she asked softly, wiping her
eyes with the backs of her hands. Master Duquesne was by the table,
hands busy on the surface. His bodyguard Phil stood by the door.
She cleared her throat and asked louder, “The date, please, Master
Duquesne?”

He spared her a glance and went back to his
work. “August fifth.”

Sumi’s eyes widened. So late? She hadn’t
realized…

She did the calculation in her head. It was
the fifth there as well.

Her heart dropped.

The space at her back warmed, and she spun
to find Phil right behind her. His hands clamped down on her
shoulders and a surge of cold panic went through her. What was
happening?

She zipped her gaze to Master Duquesne,
approaching with a needled syringe.

Like this? She would die like this?

“Please don’t,” she shook her head quickly,
“you don’t have to kill me. I’ll tell you where she is, but we
must
hurry.”

Master Duquesne lifted a brow and paused.
“Floor’s yours.”

Would they believe her?

She had to try.

Sumi swallowed hard and relayed what she
knew in six succinct sentences.

Master Duquesne bobbed his head and then the
needle was coming forward again. He gripped her arm, and instead of
pulling away, she simply looked at him, pleading for her life and
the lives of all the others.

“Please, you must believe me. There is no
time.”

Then the needle slipped beneath her skin and
the darkness crowded in once more.

* * * *

A
n hour later, Sumi
lay motionless on the bed. Phil came into the room, his duffel in
tow.

“You know the shit storm this could bring
down on us?”

“Well aware,” Xander said tightly, not
bothering to hide his sarcasm. “I’ve determine the effects are
negligible, so get ahead of it.” He bucked his head toward the bed.
“Got that taken care of?”

Phil nodded, wrapped the body in a blanket
and gathered it into his arms. “Kizzie?”

Xander grimaced through another headache,
another bout of worry, snatched the three duffels from the
floor.

“You’re the one with the line on her,” he
said, the words like acid in his mouth. “She has an hour to be on
that plane or she gets left.”

I
tsutsu
Shinseina Senshi
—five sacred warriors. That’s what Fay had said
during her rambling soliloquy.

Sitting at the desk, Kizzie continued to
work on cracking Fay’s phone while at the same time turning over
the ideas in her head.

Chiho was clay—earth in the five elements
theory. Kizzie surmised that’s what the Mistress had based her
mini-cult off of. Akari was gust, or wind. Sumi was mist, so water.
But Fay had called her “nothing.” Several times in fact. So Sumi
was more than likely “void.” Hard to know for sure, but Kizzie felt
confident.

Which left two: water and fire. The problem,
however, was that Fay had a large pink oleander covering the spot
on her shoulder where her In-Yo would have been. It was relatively
fresh, the color on it so bold it could have been done in the last
two weeks. Blue hair…maybe water? Either way, there was one
element, one
woman
unaccounted for.

The five elements theory was rooted in
change that would lead to balance. Same with the In-Yo: Dynamic
balance.

Which told her absolutely nothing.

What would Xand—

Concentrate on the job.

Hard to do. Her eyes kept wandering to the
passport not a foot away. Wherever she ended up would be far better
than this sleazy motel room, holding an unopened bottle of lukewarm
saké
to her stiff hand. She swiped her fingers over her
gritty eyes. The adrenaline was completely gone, the cold weight of
the day’s events suddenly heavy on her shoulders.

Heaving a sigh, she gave it another go.
Given the information Phil had provided, the target was most likely
somewhere near the east coast of the US. In fact, she was certain
of it. That address the Hanabi fireworks were destined for was an
abandoned warehouse in a tiny little town in Kentucky—on Oleander
Drive.

Oleander Drive. Oleandrin was used to kill
Chiho; an oleander on the bento box at Akari’s; oleander tattoo on
Fay’s shoulder.

Of course! It could only mean one thing!

Mistress Shinari liked her oleanders.

Groaning, Kizzie slapped her palms on the
table, laid her head against the back of the chair. What was she
missing? Sleep. Food. Sex. Sex would be great right now.

On cue, a round of very explicit Japanese
came from the room next door, followed by more banging against the
wall. Kizzie turned her gaze heavenward. “I meant great for
me
.”

Thoughts of Xander drifted through her head.
He probably thought she was a nut job, and Kizzie couldn’t blame
him.

She picked up her phone and checked the web,
coming upon a news story. Frowning, she checked the meeting date:
August 6
^th
. And then “dynamic
balance” made sense.

Two minutes later, he picked up the phone.
“Tony’s—”

“I need a hop to the states, Fletch,” she
said. Protocol could wait. “From Japan, ASAP.”

“Ja—? Whoa, where’s the fire?”

“Beating down your door. I think DC’s the
target. POTUS and the Japanese PM are—”

“Doing the usual grip and grin tomorrow,”
Fletcher cut in. “I know. Security’s beefed up and secret service
is testing out their walkies as we speak.”

Kizzie stood and paced. “And if you want to
make a statement while all the cameras are rolling live, you blow
up two of the most powerful men in the world.”

“Kizzie, I—”

“Too tired to samba with you over this,” she
cut in. “Harvey’s real, Fletcher. Either you can help me stop it,
or I can have ‘told you so’ written on your tombstone.”

“All right. You believe it, I believe it.
I’ll get you here.”

Kizzie frowned. Just like that? After months
of trying to convince him? “Find me a Space A. We’ve got to have a
military transport headed that way in the next two hours or so.
Commercial flights aren’t leaving till close to oh-six-hundred
local and I need to be on the ground now.”

Suspicion and exhaustion sloughed off. She’d
be moving again. Just keep moving. The thought of telling Xander
crossed her mind and she let it go. They weren’t on the same team
anymore. She sniffed, stubbed out the ember of sadness in her
heart.

“Earliest out is at 0131 hours, local time.
Leaving from Camp Foster. Where are you?”

“Tokyo.”

“How the hell’d you end up in To— Never
mind. That’s almost a thousand miles away. In two hours? I’m
assuming you won’t make it. Next up,” Fletch said without slowing,
“0443, leaving Kadena—same distance,
and
it’s got a stop in
South Korea before doubling back to land at Travis Air Force Base
in California. If you high tail it, you can make a domestic flight
out of Sacramento and be in DC byyyy…”

None of that would do.

“Any chance of a city-wide evac?” Kizzie
asked; Fletcher snorted. “Yeah, didn’t think so.”

“We do have a bomb squad. Tell me how to
stop it and—”

“Don’t know.”

“This just got better.” Fletcher chuckled.
“You want to get here, we’ll get you here. And once this is over,
you and me’ll go for beer and pizza. The works. Pineapples and
all.”

Kizzie disconnected the call, dropped it on
the table like it was a live serpent. Her heart was spending far
too much time in her throat lately. She swallowed hard, stared at
the door. How long had the line be open? Long enough to trace. Who
was after her? Bill? The Company? Why?

Too many thoughts, not enough movement.

She snatched up Fay’s phone and Xander’s
cap, headed for the door. Her phone rang on the table and she
paused, staring at it a long moment. Two strides carried her back
and she opened the connection. Waited.

“You’re fine,” Fletcher assured. “Sorry for
the scare. Needed to make sure we were secure first. This’ll be
short.”

“The hell is going on over there?” she
asked. A glance down and she saw Fay’s phone finally give. She
split her attention between listening and flipping through the call
history, found nothing of import.

“Harvey’s legit,” he said, voice urgent.
“Followed up on that photo you sent me; the cute woman—the
breathing one, that is. Got a visit, and a warning for you. Leave
the woman alone. Whoever she is, you back off now, understood? Or
else things get really messy, Kizzie.”

She eased onto the edge of the bed, hopped
up and went to the chair. If the Agency wanted her to back off a
target, that meant she’d bumbled into another field agent’s
playground. If they knew about the wife, did they know about
Xander? If they had an agent on Xander, were they now watching
her
?

She flipped through the text messages,
coming across a butt ton of Fay selfies and random pictures of
different places around Japan. “Does Connolly know?”

“Seems to be the question
du jour
,”
he chuckled. “No. But assume they’ll be watching me. Closely. I
didn’t give you up—don’t make me.

“Next, Sanzio Galletti. Followed up on the
pictures of the boys. All stock photos with messages coded in.
Steg—”

“Steganography,” Kizzie said dryly. She
should have thought of that. Instead she had her head so far up her
ass over Xander she couldn’t think straight. “Got the
password?”

“Hoping you can help me out there. Anything
you remember from his place or hearing him say?”

With the kids no longer a risk and a massive
need for sleep—and there was that
teeny
tiny detail about a
salted bomb in DC—passwords didn’t count as important right now.
“I’ll think about it.”

The last text messages sent from Fay’s phone
went out nearly two weeks before. But they all went to one number.
No name was listed in the contacts and she asked Fletch if he could
do a triangulation on the cell, get the owner’s name from
there.