Shadow Dragon (34 page)
Authors: Lance Horton
Maryland
The geisha filled the tiny porcelain cup with sake and handed it to General Colquitt, careful to make sure that none was spilled. She wore a pink kimono adorned with purple nightingales in flight up and over her shoulder and a gold satin obi around her waist. The obi, embroidered with gold thread in an intricate pattern of cherry blossoms and pine branches, hung down to her feet, upon which she wore the traditional white
tabi
socks with six-inch-tall, wooden
okobo
sandals.
The general bowed in appreciation as he took the cup from Miko. It was a taste he had acquired—both for the sushi and sake as well as the geisha—during his time stationed in the Pacific. He admired the attention to detail and dedication to perfection that personified the geisha, ranging from the ritualized
chanoyu
, the tea ceremony, to the formal social interactions of an
ozashiki
to the precise, structured movements of the
mai
, the traditional dance of the geisha.
Fortunately for the general, the Kyoto Rose was one of the finest establishments found anywhere outside of Kyoto. On the outskirts of Annapolis, the Rose
—
as it was affectionately known by the regulars—was frequented by many of the professors and officers from the naval academy who, like Colquitt, had served extended tours of duty overseas. The décor was authentic, with dark teakwood beams and rails and a pine floor polished to a brilliant white. The bamboo walls were festooned with brightly painted scrolls, each one a highly stylized depiction of Japan during each of the four seasons.
Downstairs, the common dining area was a large, open space with a bar and a stage for public performances. Above, colorful paper lanterns hung from the rafters of the high ceiling. Upstairs, a balcony ran around the room, off which the private ozashiki were located. Unlike the typical Japanese
ochoyas
, however, the partitions between each of the ozashiki as well as the
fusuma
, the sliding entry doors, were of solid, soundproof construction instead of merely linen or rice paper.
The ozashiki was lavishly decorated in the style of the Gion Kobu District of Kyoto, with
tatami
floor mats and short, square tables with linen cushions to sit upon. In the corner was a small rock garden with a gently gurgling fountain, the water trickling over layers of carefully arranged stones before lightly splashing into a shallow pool stocked with colorful koi.
Colquitt took a bite of sashimi, savoring the exquisite flavor of the raw tuna and wasabi. The cell phone in his pocket began to vibrate, shattering his blissful reverie.
Who the hell could be calling me at this late hour?
he wondered as he checked the display. It had been transferred to his cell from his secure line, which meant that it was encrypted but offered no caller ID information. As much as he hated to, he had to answer it. As he held up his hand for the geisha to wait, Colquitt answered the phone.
“Anderson, are you intentionally trying to fuck me up the ass?” It was Wade. The man spoke so loudly even Miko heard him, her eyes widening in shock before she could look away.
Colquitt’s face flushed.
“Miko, would you excuse me for a moment?” he asked, struggling to maintain a pleasant facade.
“Yes, general-san,” she replied courteously as she bowed. With little, shuffling steps, she made her way out.
“
Arigato
.”
As the fusuma slid closed, the general spoke. “How dare you talk to me like that,” he snapped. He was sick of Wade’s vulgar bullshit. He could just imagine what kind of pervert the man must be, probably an ass-fucker himself.
“Don’t give me any of that righteous indignation crap, Anderson. I know how you boys in the military talk to one another.”
The bastard was intentionally trying to piss him off. And he was doing a damn fine job of it. “What do you want?” the general growled.
“Do you even know what the fuck is going on in Montana? I just got a call from our contact raising hell because one of the agents out of Seattle got whacked. Said he didn’t sign up for that. The bastard actually had the balls to threaten to go to the feds with the whole story. So do you know what the hell he’s talking about?”
“No, I don’t,” Colquitt replied. “But if there was collateral damage, then I’m certain it was unavoidable. My man is very conscientious. He would not complicate things unnecessarily.”
“Well, he
has
complicated things. Considerably. And now he’s going to have to clean up his own mess.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that he needs to take care of the mole—that’s what. And I want it done by the time my men get back with your little present. I want this thing over and done with, do you understand me? My balls are in a vise right now, and if that son of a bitch gets cranked any tighter, I’m coming after yours for replacements. You got me?”
“I’ll take care of it,” the general responded flatly.
“You’d better, or it’s your ass,” Wade replied and then hung up.
The general snapped the phone shut. The moron couldn’t even be consistent with his anatomical threats. But that didn’t mean they were to be taken lightly.
The general slammed down his sake and then poured another, allowing time for his anger to wane while thinking the situation through. He would not be hasty in regard to this matter. Hasty decisions led to mistakes. Mistakes led to casualties.
In the end, however, as much as he hated to admit it, the general came to the same conclusion as Wade. With one
minor
exception.
Colquitt opened his phone again and dialed into his secure system. Once it connected, he had it forward the call to Nathan’s phone.
When Nathan answered, the general didn’t question him about what had transpired—that could be handled later. He simply gave him the information about the new target and told him to call back after he was finished with the job. There was one more person for him to visit before his return.
The general slammed the remaining sake, imagining Wade’s surprise when Nathan showed up on his doorstep.
I wonder if he’ll be worried about his balls then,
he mused, a satisfied grin slowly spreading across his face.
He clapped his hands twice, signaling for Miko’s return.
The fusuma slid open, and she shuffled back into the room, her head bowed respectfully. “General-san is happier now, yes?” she asked.
“Yes, much happier,” he replied. “But I seem to be out of
sake
.”
Montana
Carrie jerked awake. Confused, it took her a moment to get her bearings. She was in the dark, but she felt safe. She was in a bed of fresh cotton sheets. To her right, a thin strip of light from the hallway slipped beneath the bottom edge of the door. Beyond, other sounds filtered into the room: muffled voices, the squeak of rubber-soled shoes on linoleum, and a persistent, steady beeping from down the hall.
The hospital,
she thought as fragments of the night before began to come back to her. She remembered being attacked at the motel, and she seemed to remember riding in a car, but it was all such a blur it seemed less real than the dream that had just awakened her.
It must be near morning
. Her bleary eyes slowly adjusted to the wan glow bathing the room in a palette of muted blues and grays. She looked to the window and was startled to see someone slouching in the chair next to her bed, asleep. Her heart leapt and thumped against her chest. She grabbed for the call button, but before she could press it, she recognized who it was.
It was Kyle. He was too tall for the chair. He had slumped down in it until he was in danger of falling to the floor. His head leaned against his left shoulder in what appeared to be the most uncomfortable position imaginable. His clothes were rumpled and filthy, his hair stuck out in every direction. The sight of him caused a relieved smile to cross her face. It was both touching and comforting to have him there beside her. It was something she hadn’t felt in a long time.
He mumbled something, his head lolling about as he spoke in his dreams. This continued for several moments, and he gradually became more and more animated, his head tossing back and forth and his voice rising until he suddenly woke with a start.
“Bad dream?” Carrie asked softly.
Kyle shook his head to clear the cobwebs and blinked several times before his eyes appeared to focus on her. “No,” he muttered. “God, how I wish that were true.” He leaned back, looked up at the ceiling, and sighed deeply.
“What’s wrong?” Carrie asked, although she was suddenly afraid of the answer.
Without answering, Kyle asked, “How are you?”
“Fine, I think, aside from a splitting headache.”
“Hangover from the chloroform, I guess,” he said. He took a deep breath and leaned forward, looking at her through the bed rails. “How much of last night do you remember?”
“Not much,” she admitted. “I remember someone grabbing me in my room and then … you in the car. That’s about it.”
Kyle nodded. “I got to your room just as you were being attacked. The guy hit me and took off. As he ran, he shot Lewis.”
Carrie struggled to piece together the events of last night, but there was nothing there. “I don’t remember any of it,” she said. “Is Lewis all right?”
Kyle shook his head and looked at the floor. “Lewis is dead.”
Oh, God, no
.
“I am so sorry,” she said, her voice trembling. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision of him, but he didn’t respond. He just sat there, staring at the floor.
She slipped her left hand, the hospital’s plastic ID band on her wrist, between the bed rails. After a brief moment, Kyle took her hand. She squeezed it gently and held on as he squeezed back. Neither one spoke.
Carrie’s heart broke for him. It was obvious he had been hit hard by the loss. She wished there was something more she could do for him, but all she could think to do was to keep holding on to him.
“After I brought you and Lewis to the hospital, I called the sheriff and told him what had happened. When the men got to your room, your computer was gone.”
Carrie felt horrible. It was as if he was confessing his failures to her. “It’s all right,” she said. “It had already been wiped out. Kyle, if you hadn’t come to my room, I wouldn’t be here now. You saved my life.” But then she remembered that if it hadn’t been for her, Lewis wouldn’t be dead. “Oh, God, Kyle, I didn’t mean—”
“It gets worse,” Kyle interrupted. “Agents found your friend Charlie dead on his sofa. A syringe was found next to him. They say it looks like a drug overdose.”
No, no, no. Not Charlie
. Her heart caught in her chest. “Charlie
never
did drugs. They killed him just like they tried to kill me. Those bastards,” she cried. “He was just a kid. A sweet, innocent kid.” Racked with guilt and full of anger, her grip on Kyle’s hand tightened until the muscles in her arm trembled from the effort. Kyle held on, his grip strong and firm without ever hurting.
She reached out with her right hand. Kyle stood and leaned against the rail. As she reached around him, he put his arm around her and held her while she cried into his shoulder.
It felt good to be held like that. She never wanted to let go. She wished time would stop so she could stay there forever, sheltered from all the pain and loss and loneliness of the outside world. But she knew it couldn’t last. It never did.
After she cried herself out—and even though she didn’t want to—she forced herself to let go. Leaning back, she asked, “What now?”
Kyle looked at her without speaking. He just looked into her eyes. She began to feel warm inside. Maybe she was wrong. Even if it wasn’t forever, maybe having someone to hold on to just for now was good enough. Someone to help shut out the rest of the world for even a short time. She was about to reach out for him again when he pulled several tissues from the box next to the bed and handed them to her.
“I don’t know,” he said.
Myles Bennett woke with a start, the remnants of a scream echoing in his head. Somehow, he must have dozed off. He looked around the cabin. Things appeared unchanged. Ramirez was still propped up in the corner. The FTU’s alarm system remained silent.
He got up to check on Ramirez. The sound of the chair scraping against the wooden floor woke the young man. Wide-eyed, he looked at Myles and then settled back down when he recognized him.
“How’s your head?” Myles asked.
“Hurts. Bad,” Ramirez whispered. His eyes closed sleepily.
He checked Ramirez’s pulse and pressure again and frowned at the readings. Not good. They were elevated from the last time, which could indicate a subdural hematoma. He needed medical attention immediately. But how?
Myles returned to the FTU and called up the operating system. For almost half an hour, he tried to find a way to bypass the code, but it was no use. He was locked out.
Outside, it was nearing dawn, the cracks around the boarded windows slowly fading from black to purple. It should be safe now. If any of the creatures still remained, they would have returned to their roost by now. But it was a long way to the Spotted Bear Ranger Station. There was no way he could make it with Ramirez.
Quickly, before he could change his mind, Myles began gathering the items he would need for the trip, hastily shoving them into his pack—medical supplies, water bladders, and a couple of MREs. He would have to travel light. It was a long way, and if he didn’t make it out of the wilderness by dark—
He zipped up the pack and was reaching for his helmet when he heard a sharp
cha-click
behind him.
“Where you think you’re goin’?” Ramirez asked, his voice slurred.
Myles turned around to find a Glock 9mm pointed at him, which nearly caused his bowels to let go right then. “I, uh … I was just going to try to get help,” he stammered. “I’ve tried everything. There’s no way to override the com system.”
“Not without me,” Ramirez said.
“It’s a long hike. I … I don’t think you can make it in your condition,” Myles said, his eyes never leaving the gun. In Ramirez’s state, he feared it might go off at any moment.
“You’re going to help me.”
“But it would be much faster if I went alone,” Myles said. “I swear I’ll come back with help.”
“Not without me,” Ramirez repeated.
“Okay, okay,” Myles conceded, trying to remain calm. He didn’t dare risk antagonizing him further. “Just let me get some more supplies, and we’ll be on our way.”
Myles gathered up a few more water bladders and MREs and added them to his pack. When he tried to lift it, he winced. It was so heavy. He had never been the athletic type, and now, not only was he going to have to try to lug it for miles in the snow, but he was going to have to help Ramirez as well. He would never make it. In an effort to reduce the weight, he took out most of the water bladders. As he did, he saw the case with the tranquilizer syringes. He snuck a glance over at Ramirez, who was carefully watching him.
“It’s too heavy,” Myles explained nervously as he zipped up the pack. “If we have to, we’ll eat snow.”
Ramirez nodded. He sat up slowly and then weakly dropped his legs over the side and sat there, clutching the edge of the bed.
There’s no way we’re going to make it
, Myles thought. If Ramirez’s injuries were as bad as he feared, Myles wondered just how far they would get before he faltered. And if he did, he would have to leave him behind. He just hoped Ramirez retained enough of his senses to let him go. If not, then he would be forced to try using the syringes—an option he did not relish.
As Myles helped Ramirez to his feet, he tried not to think about what lay ahead. It was going to be a long, painful day. Progress would be slow at best, and the chances of making it to the ranger station by dark were slim, with dire consequences awaiting them if they failed.
But Ramirez had left him with no other choice.