Le Rouge et le Noir
A Noir fanfic in the Apres Noir series
by hkmiller
25 November 2006 - first draft completed
The characters of Noir were created by Ryoe Tsukimura and Yoko
Kikuchi, and are copyrighted by A.D.Vision, Inc. in the USA and
Ryoe Tsukimura / Bee Train / Victor Entertainment in Japan.
No disrespect intended by my unlicensed usage.
This is the fifth story in my "Apres Noir" series. Aditi, Tati,
Sigourney, Simon, and Charlotte were introduced in earlier
stories. Previous stories in the series are archived at:
http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Dojo/5058
For D.B.Sommer, who asked for worthy opponents.
- - - - - - - - - -
Through the red-tinged viewfinder, the closed front doors of the
Frankfurt Opera House were clearly visible. The cross-hairs moved
slowly, teasingly, across the doors, as if patient but eager for
fulfillment. A tug from inside, and one door began to open, then
another.
Soon all were open, and many of the opera-goers began pouring out
for the intermission. Dozens of elegantly-dressed people stood
around chatting, some sipping from glasses of wine. The cross-
hairs skipped lightly across most of these, pausing now and then
for a closer look at one or two.
Presently the cross-hairs settled on a couple just emerging from
the door, both exchanging nods and amiable words with their
fellow spectators. The man, tall, slightly overweight, with
thinning blond hair, positioned himself just outside and to the
right of the exit doors, then lit a cigar. The woman, perhaps a
few years younger, began languidly fanning the smoke away as, with
a rueful smile, she make some remark to another nearby woman.
The cross-hairs zoomed in for a closer look as the man smiled
shrugged sheepishly, then smiled at the woman in affection. They
paused on the man's face for several second, then moved up and
centered on the man's forehead. Another moment passed; then the
man jerked backward, even as a spurt of red erupted from his
forehead.
The cross-hairs quickly moved over to the woman, whose mouth
was opening wide in a scream, and centered on her forehead. She
too jerked backwards suddenly.
On a rooftop across the street, a slim, clean-shaven man,
dressed in a black turtle-neck sweater and slacks, knelt and
began to dismantle a 7.62-mm SVD Dragunov sniper rifle with quick,
precise, well-practiced movements, repacking the components in
their case.
Leaving only a scrap of paper bearing a red Rorsach-style inkblot,
he ignored the sirens he heard from the street below, as he
carefully descended to an alleyway one block over, using a well-
scouted path. As he emerged into the alley, he nodded to the
other man awaiting him there, a larger, hawk-nosed, bearded man.
The latter was just retrieving a large knife from the chest of a
dead policeman lying nearby. He wiped the knife clean on the
policeman's uniform; then, together, they departed.
- - - - - - - - - -
The housewarming party celebrating Sigourney Lawley's and
Charlotte Merril's new, larger apartment was in full swing. Aditi
and Tati, who were now moving in with their court-appointed
guardians, were sulking, but obligingly gave Kirika a tour,
including the new bedroom the girls had to themselves.
While Charlotte chatted with a few of her colleagues in the
kitchen, Sigourney chatted with her brother's wife Genevieve, who
slowly rocked her one-year-old. "Simon must be quite busy these
days, with the G-8 summit coming here next week," Sigourney
remarked.
"He's not assigned to that," Genevieve replied. "He's working on
another case, an international one. I think it worries him, but
he hasn't said much about it."
"Ms. Bouquet," Simon Lawley acknowledged as he stepped out onto
the balcony of the apartment, sliding the glass door closed
behind him. "I'd been hoping for a chance to speak with you
alone."
Mireille Bouquet raised one eyebrow. "And now that you have?"
Simon waggled one hand briefly. "This conversation is unofficial,
of course. In my line of work, one must cultivate many sources of
information, you understand."
Mireille pursed her lips in an amused smile. "And on what matter
are you seeking unofficial information at the moment?"
"I am investigating a series of assassinations of prominent
industrialists. You have undoubtedly noticed the furor in the
sensationalist press, and their invention of this 'Rouge' name."
Simon lit a cigarette and inhaled, looking out at the lights of
the city. "Since the second company hit was French, the case is
of great interest to us."
"The flashy name is due solely to the red inkblot signatures?
Has no organization claimed credit?"
"Only the usual after-the-fact crank calls. The first to claim
credit on this most recent, the shooting of Jurgen Schmidt in
Frankfurt, was the United Front for the Abolition of Disneyland."
Simon gave a wry smile.
"I've followed the case in the papers, but you police must have
withheld many details."
"A few, perhaps. The pattern is clear enough: a large
corporation receives an amateurish-looking letter, probably a
joke, threatening death for the company's executives unless
blackmail is paid. These letters, I should mention, are NOT
signed, by red inkblots or anything else. Of course the company
ignores the letter. Shortly thereafter, the top executives of the
company start dying: shot by a long-range sniper, knifed in a
crowd, strangled in an elevator. There have been no attempts to
disguise the killings as accidents or anything like that; this is
clearly professional work."
Mireille furrowed her brow. "So the assassinations themselves are
the work of polished professionals, but the blackmail letters look
like amateurish jokes? How can they make money if nobody pays?
What's the motive?"
"The leading theory is that the next letter WILL be signed, since
the people involved will now believe they have credibility. And
that the next company targeted will pay. The three companies
targeted so far have been hurt horribly, not even counting the
costs to the individuals and families involved."
Mireille frowned, tapping a finger on the balcony ledge as she
thought. "Well, I can't offer a better motive, but that seems
weak. And I have no leads to offer you at the moment; I've been
too busy to stay in touch with what's happening. But I will ask
around a bit, and let you know if I hear anything."
Simon nodded. "Thank you."
The door to the apartment slid open. "Are you two going to stand
out there all night?" Sigourney Lawley asked. "Simon, you're
ignoring your wife. Go put that horrible cigarette out and go
sit with her. And you, Mireille, come help us get the girls
back under control; they're on another rampage."
Inside, Aditi tackled Mireille and wrapped her arms around her,
bawling her eyes out. "We don't wanna live here! We wanna live
with you!"
"Aditi, we've been over this," Mireille replied, stroking Aditi's
hair gently. "You need to live with your legal guardians, and no
court will appoint Kirika or I to that role." Further inspiration
came to Mireille, so she bent to Aditi's ear and whispered. "It's
part of your cover story," she whispered. "Nobody will suspect
who you really are if you live with a lawyer and a scholar."
That got Aditi to relax a bit. Still sniffling, she released
Mireille, but looked up and asked in a quavering voice, "Promise
you won't leave us? You'll come visit? Can we visit you?"
Mireille ruffled Aditi's hair. "Schtick wit' me, kid, and I'll
show yas the ropes," she said in English.
Finally, Aditi smiled.
- - - - - - - - - -
The next morning, a Saturday, Mireille went on-line early.
"You're looking at job offers for us?" Kirika asked, puzzled,
looking over Mireille's shoulder.
"It occurred to me that the people Simon is looking for might have
tried to hire us, since we never posted any 'out-of-business'
notice," Mireille replied. "But no; all the offers we have queued
up are from parties who either identify themselves, or whose
identity is easy to guess from their chosen targets. No offers
targeting corporate C.E.O.s, or even with targets to be named
later."
Mireille thought for a few moments. "This suggests that the
people responsible have permanent hires doing the work, instead
of contracting out each job individually."
"That would be expensive," Kirika commented, "keeping professional
assassins on permanent salary. And risky too; permanent hires
inevitably learn more about their bosses."
Mireille thought a bit more, frowning. "Our website could be a
good source of information when things like this come up, so we
should keep it open. But we ought to give a reason why we're not
taking any jobs these days." After a little more thought,
Mireille posted a notice that Noir would not be taking any work
for the next few months due to an unusually big job in the offing.
- - - - - - - - - -
Later that day, Mireille sat in Pauline's shop, having her hair
done. "No, I haven't heard anything about any big jobs lately,"
Pauline said thoughtfully, as her hands lathered up the shampoo
in Mireille's hair. "Most of the people in your line of work
are in town at the moment, unemployed. Why do you ask?"
Mireille gave her prepared story. "I've come up with an idea for
something myself, a bit out of my usual line, but the potential
reward is fabulous. I was just curious if the same idea occurred
to anyone else."
"No details?" Pauline asked playfully, combing out Mireille's wet
hair.
"Oh, if it comes off, I may tell you a few tidbits," Mireille
replied, waving her fingers idly.
- - - - - - - - - -
The next morning, an elegantly dressed, dark complexioned man
sat in a luxury hotel room sipping his morning coffee while he
was on his tenth call of the day. "Oh? Mireille Bouquet is back
in Paris? Asking questions? What kind?" He set the coffee cup
down to jot down a note. "Anything else new happening? Well,
then, thank you, ma chere; you are too kind. Let me know if you
need anything!"
He hung up, then paused, thinking, rather than making his next
call. The two men with him, accustomed to his patterns, perked
up. "Has something happened?" asked the shorter and slimmer of
the two.
"Probably not," the dark man mused. "But one cannot be too
careful in this business. If her name comes up again..."
"Yousuf and I could use a little exercise. Your plan calls for
two much idle time."
The larger, bearded man grunted in agreement.
"Patience, patience, my good Goran."
The dark man then opened up a new, high-end laptop computer and
went on-line. After a few minutes work, he frowned. He flipped
over to check another program, and frowned deeper, muttering to
himself. "Noir is busy on a big job. Mireille Bouquet is asking
questions and hinting at a big job. My model already had a 45
percent probability that she is associated in some way with Noir.
I don't like the looks of this."
He stared into space for a moment, then brought up a third program
and typed furiously for a few minutes. He stared. "A two percent
probability that Noir is after the same goal we are, and might in
fact strike first. Unacceptable; timing is everything. Goran,
you have your wish: you and Yousuf go eliminate her."
- - - - - - - - - -
Mireille and Kirika spent the afternoon giving Aditi and Tati
lessons in what Kirika considered to be basic self-defense skills,
alternating with Mireille discussing basic social engineering and
planning skills.
Afterwards, the four met up with Sigourney and Charlotte for
dinner at a nice restaurant adjacent to a wooded park. After
dinner, the six left went for a stroll through the moonlit flower
gardens. Abruptly Charlotte stumbled and groaned, her hands
flying to her head. Mireille and Kirika, out in front, stopped
and turned their heads to look. At that instant, a shot whizzed
through the space Mireille's head would have occupied, missing her
by centimeters and clipping the hair on the left side of her head.
"Everybody DOWN!" Mireille yelled, matching her own actions to her
words. Kirika darted forward, hunched over, and vanished behind
a row of bushes. Mireille paused only to whisper instructions to
the other four before heading off in another direction. "You
four move into the shadows beneath that tree and STAY THERE!
Tati, just sit on Aditi if you have to!"
"We have to protect Sigi and Char," Tati whispered furiously to
Aditi, who looked all too ready to dart off herself after the
sniper.
"Are you all right, Char?" Sigourney asked desperately. "You
weren't hit, were you?"
"I'm... all right, Sigi," Charlotte managed. "I'm not sure what
happened..."
Meanwhile, Kirika was rapidly reaching the sniper's position, gun
out. Just before she cleared the last bush between her and the
sniper, however, a burst of automatic fire peppered the bushes.
She hastily dived behind a nearby stone fountain, then fired two
shots back in the direction the burst had come from. Judging her
moment, she broke cover, running a zig-zag path to crouch in
the shadows behind a moonlit statue. Another automatic burst cut
through the area she'd just vacated.
Kirika quickly ran down the back of the line of statuary, looking
for another approach, firing at the shadowy figure as she ran.
One burst of return fire grazed the front of her right thigh and
her left arm. Bullets splintered the stone plinths and
flagstones at her feet. She darted across the open walkway
between two rows of statues and hurdled the bushes on the other
side, then concealed herself behind a thick tree.
Mireille, meanwhile, approaching the same point from the opposite
side, found herself confronted by a big, bearded man wielding
a knife. Mireille raised her arm to shoot, but the man threw the
knife too fast, knocking her Walther out of her hand and cutting
the fleshy part of her hand, between thumb and index finger. The
man was close behind the knife, charging Mireille.
His first punch was to Mireille's stomache. Mireille managed
to block the next strike, to her face, and the one after that,
but another strike to her solar plexus almost paralyzed her.
Desperate, Mireille backed up one step and swung one leg in a high
kick to her opponent's head.
In the instant of launching the kick, Mireille realized with a
sick sensation that it was the wrong move. The guy had only to
duck the kick, and he then had an open shot at sweeping her
standing leg. And he'd already demonstrated more than enough
skill for the move.
Strangely, though, her opponent didn't react that way. He did
duck the kick, but then froze momentarily, eyes widening, his
mouth moving back and forth between revulsion and glee. Mireille
fixed the man's face in her mind as she tried to decipher what
had just happened.
The moment passed, however; with one last feint at Mireille, the
man turned and fled, running faster than she could. By the time
Mireille had recovered her gun, he was gone.
Kirika, meanwhile, had crept silently down the line of statues.
The shadowy figure was to her right. She leapt out of hiding,
gun poised, and squeezed off three quick shots. To her surprise,
however, her target had moved at the same instant she had, and
she missed. He was now facing her, his automatic pistol pointed
straight at her; his finger squeezing the trigger.
In the instant before Kirika leapt to safety behind another tree,
she glanced at her opponent's face, now well-illuminated by the
near-full moon. Whoever he was, he was staring fixedly at her
thighs, and not moving as quickly as he had been.
When she landed hard on the packed ground behind her chosen tree,
Kirika was astonished to find herself unperforated. She fired
three more shots back at where the man would have to be standing
to hit her, but he wasn't there. Instead, she could just make out
the sound of footsteps rapidly receding towards the far side of
the park, then the roar of a car departing.
- - - - - - - - - -
"But you guys are the best!" Aditi protested fervently.
"Look, it happens, Aditi," Mireille remarked tiredly on the ride
home. "There's always somebody better out there. And if you ever
DO find yourself on top of the heap, you don't stay there long;
someone younger quickly comes along and displaces you. It happens
in sports all the time; it happens in our line of work too."
"I had a good look at the sniper, Mireille, but I've never seen
him before," Kirika noted. "I think he must be one of your
enemies. Or someone hired to kill one or both of us."
"I didn't recognize my opponent either," Mireille mused. "So it's
probably the latter."
"You MIGHT consider reporting this incident to Simon and the
police, you know," Sigourney ventured. "It's not like you were
up to anything illegal at the time."
To Sigourney's surprise, Mireille appeared to give the suggestion
some consideration. "Simon would be able to arrange for us to see
a lot of mug-shots, that's true. We might get some idea of who
these men were, if nothing else. I wonder if Simon can arrange
something unofficial?"
Sigourney sighed.
- - - - - - - - - -
"These are the best matches for my man," Mireille said to Simon
Lawley, "and Kirika thinks hers may have been one of these
others."
Simon frowned, looking at the pictures. The three were in his
office, with the door closed. Simon entered the identifying
numbers on each picture into his on-line criminal history system.
"Three of these men are currently in prison," he commented. "No
match on the fourth."
"Try the remainder again, but in your terrorist watch database,"
Mireille replied.
"Ah. Your remaining picture is of one Yousuf Khodadad, current
whereabouts unknown, a Pushtun tribesman from eastern Afghanistan.
Known to have received training in explosives at an al-Qaeda camp
in the late '90s. Said to be a formidable infighter, especially
with knives.
"Kirika's remaining picture matches Goran Senka, a Serb wanted by
NATO for questioning on certain atrocities. A crack sniper and
a very fast and accurate shooter with a variety of handguns. And
there's nothing on record to tie these two men together."
"A Serb and a Pushtun working together?" Mireille asked, brow
wrinkled. "That doesn't sound very likely."
"That's all we have." Simon shrugged. "If they're anyone else,
we don't have their pictures on file."
"Why would a wanted terrorist and a wanted war criminal try to
kill you?" Kirika asked.
Mireille drummed her fingers on Simon's desk. "No reason I can
think of," she replied. "I've never met either man, and for that
matter have never had anything to do with either Serbia or
Afghanistan. Could they have mistaken me for someone else?"
"We mustn't assume that," Kirika replied. "Too dangerous if it's
not true."
"Well, I can get the word out that these men have been spotted in
Paris," Simon said, "but the chances of catching either are remote
if they're keeping a low profile. Oh, any word on that other
matter?"
Mireille shook her head. "Nothing, except that it seems unlikely
that any of the usual Paris talent is involved. Or any of the
better-known talent in western Europe, for that matter. One of
the top Sicilian mobs was heavily invested in Lamberari, the
first company hit, and they're said to be furious."
"Any chance of it being a matter of gang rivalry, then?" Simon
asked.
"It seems doubtful, not given the three companies hit, in three
different countries. There doesn't seem to be any commonality in
who'd benefit. And since the M.O. is the same, it can't be tit
for tat."
"True." Simon frowned. "Well, thanks for your efforts, anyway.
You've ruled out a number of possibilities."
"You're welcome," Mireille replied, standing. "And we'll continue
to keep our ears open, just in case."
"Be careful," Simon advised. "Stay indoors, all of that."
"We'll do what we have to," Mireille replied as she turned to
leave. "Thank you for your concern."
- - - - - - - - - -
"You failed?" The dark-skinned man raised one eyebrow. "Really?"
Goran Senka grimaced. "My first shot missed because she stopped
suddenly. They all dropped, and then we were into a firefight.
Bouquet's Jap companion isn't bad; she reached me and kept me
from attempting a second shot on Bouquet. I must have grazed her
at least twice; I saw the blood seeping through where her outer
skin had been torn away. Her blood was beading up-"
"Yes, yes," the dark man interrupted. "And what was Yousuf doing
all this time?"
"I intercepted the woman on her way to Goran," the tall Afghan
replied. "She dodged my knife. Women should not do that, nor
should women try to fight back, even if badly. This woman is
very, very sinful, dressing so as to sway men's thoughts."
"It was taking too long," Goran broke in. "Yousuf had to break
off before more people arrived, even if it meant leaving her
alive."
"True. Keeping the two of you free is a prime consideration.
But we need to finish what we started. This time, I'll do the
planning."
- - - - - - - - - -
That afternoon Simon called Mireille. "I know this is a bit of a
stretch, but I could use your help again. I've been interviewing
CEOs and CFOs of companies which haven't yet been hit, trying to
figure out the angle. One of the CEOs I spoke with asked for a
recommendation on local security experts, preferably female. This
may not be quite your usual line, but I'd like you to come along
to the interview anyway. No further obligation."
"As long as Kirika can come too, I'll do it. Safety in numbers."
"Fine. Tomorrow at 9; we'll go together from my office."
The next morning, Mireille and Kirika showed up, dressed in their
best business suits and low heels. They drove together with Simon
and two other men to a gleaming skyscraper in one of the Ville
Nouvelles on the outskirts of Paris. They were met in the lobby
and escorted to the top floor office of Lily Wong, the Hong Kong
construction billionaire. While the group waited in the outer
office, Mireille strolled around, looking at the various paintings
and plaques on the walls. Prominently displayed between artwork
of not inconsiderable value were letters of appreciation from a
number of charity organizations.
The door to Miss Wong's inner office opened and a Chinese-looking
assistant bowed his way out. A voice could be heard carrying
after him. "I don't care how much we're already holding! Keep
buying yuan! We're going to need it for the new complex in
Shanghai!"
The secretary ushered Simon's group into the inner office. "Mlle
Wong," Simon bowed briefly, then introduced his team, including
Mireille and Kirika. Lily Wong's eyes studied the two women
briefly, then turned back to Simon. She got up and circled her
desk, gesturing at a cozy group of easy chairs and a sofa placed
next to a large floor-to-ceiling window with a view of several
nearby skyscrapers and, more distantly, the center of Paris.
"Please sit down, gentlemen, ladies. Can my assistant get you
anything to drink?"
All five guests demurred. Miss Wong asked for a glass of tonic
water for herself.
"Now, Mlle. Wong, I want to begin by assuring you that you are not
the target of any investigation yourself. We're interviewing a
number of top officers in companies yet to be hit, as well as
large stockholders in the companies which have been hit. Am I
correct that you are a major stockholder in Baden-Wurtemburg
Maschinewerkzeug, and that you have consequently lost money in
the wake of the assassination of Jurgen Schmidt and his top men?"
"Yes, certainly. My company holds 27.5 percent of the outstanding
shares; to date we have lost over a million euros on paper from
the stock price as of three weeks ago. And the price is still
dropping."
"And do you hold either of the other two companies affected so
far? Lamberari or Elf Avignon?"
"Certainly no major holdings." Miss Wong typed into her deskside
computer briefly, then looked at the results. "No, we are not
currently invested in either company."
"Have you heard anything, any rumors at all, which would indicate
that any investor has benefited from these events?"
Miss Wong frowned. "No. The very thought seems abhorrent."
Mireille spoke up. "No rumors about anyone short-selling any of
the three companies just prior to the assassinations?"
Miss Wong pursed her lips. "No. Certainly not. But I don't
follow market rumors as closely as many."
"And has your company received any anonymous, possibly childish-
looking, blackmail notes?" Simon asked.
"Just this one. It came today." Mlle Wong held up what looked
like a child's scribbed message, complete with odd-sized letters
and misspellings, demanding a ransom.
"Now, Mlle. Wong, given that you asked us for recommendations for
your personal security before this note arrived, I have to ask you
if you have any particular reason to be concerned. Are you aware
of any reason to be unusually cautious here in Paris? Do you have
any enemies?"
Miss Wong smiled dismissively. "No, nothing so dramatic. But as
long as these assassinations are going on here in Europe, and the
police don't know the motive, I couldn't be sure that I won't
become a target myself. So a bit of extra security seemed
prudent."
Simon glanced over at the second policeman accompanying him and
nodded. The second man spoke. "Miss Wong, are you sure that
you're in no danger from a certain..." The man glanced down at his
notepad. "...V.S. Chandrashiva? We understand that you recently
fired him for embezzlement. Prior to that he was said to be quite
a rising superstar in your organization. He is known to be in
Paris at the moment, reason unknown."
Mlle Wong looked sad. "Ah, V.s. Yes, he was... is... quite a
financial genius. He designed some very innovative investment
strategies for us. Unfortunately, we found out that he'd been
embezzling on the side, and were forced to fire him about six
months ago. It hurt a lot to have to fire him, but he'd really
left us no choice. However, I really doubt that I'm in any
danger from him. He's not the type to carry a grudge, and in
any case I think his firing probably damaged his self-confidence
considerably. I always thought he was brittle that way."
Miss Wong raised her glass to take a sip. The window shattered,
followed by the glass in her hand. She hastily dropped the
remains and looked down at her suit in dismay, even as her five
guests leapt to their feet.
"I see him," Kirika noted, standing just to one side of the
window, out of view from the outside. "It looks like the same
man, the Serbian one. He's at a window across the street, in that
building." She pointed at a neighboring skyscraper, which bore
the name of a high-tech Japanese consumer electronics company.
"Reinforcements! Everyone you've got!" Simon shouted into his
cell phone. "Close off all exits from the Panasony building!"
"C'mon, Kirika!" Mireille shouted, as she darted out the door for
the bank of high-speed elevators.
Mireille kept careful track of elapsed time as she and Kirika
exited the elevator one level below the ground floor, into the
underground parking lot. "This lot is continuous with the one
under the Panasony building," Mireille said and she and Kirika
sprinted down a row of cars. "The easiest way for an assassin
to get away would be down here. And we only have one level to
search; they couldn't build any deeper because of the Metro line."
"Should we try to take them alive?" Kirika asked.
Mireille grimaced. "That gives them an advantage," she replied,
"but I guess we'd better. Simon'll want to question them."
"I'll move over a row," Kirika said, ducking and running between
two cars as she spoke, to emerge running parallel with Mireille.
"I see movement over to the right."
Mireille and Kirika began angling that way, but it turned out to
be a young couple walking toward a car, arms around each other.
Mireille and Kirika kept moving.
"Over there, Mireille, in that dark corner," Kirika hissed in a
loud whisper. "Movement. Two men."
Mireille nodded and gave a couple of quick hand gestures. Kirika
moved a bit farther apart and both women slowed slightly.
A bit closer, and Mireille could make them out. It looked like
the same two men; at any event, her adversary of the other evening
was keeping watch while a smaller man slammed the trunk on a dark
brown Peugeot, then looked up.
Mireille came to a stop, gun aimed, and opened her mouth to shout
when the pair suddenly split apart, both ducking away. Cursing,
she pursued the larger man. A couple of shots just missed his
heels as he turned abruptly.
Kirika found herself in another run-and-shoot duel. She fired
over the top of a parked Jaguar at where her target would
logically be, and hit nothing. A bullet from a totally unexpected
direction just missed her nose in return. She dropped and rolled
under the car next to her, and came up running.
Mireille cursed again as she missed with her last bullet in this
clip. She released the clip and began to reach for another when
she realized that her adversary had stoppd on a dime the moment
she'd fired the last bullet, turned, and was now coming for her at
a dead run, knife out and poised.
Her eyes widened and she stepped back quickly, still fumbling for
the next clip of ammunition. No time! She brought her gun up
quickly and blocked a knife-thrust with it, then side-stepped the
man's rush, looking for openings.
Kirika fired again at where her man HAD to be, based on where his
last three shots had come from, and hit nothing. A faint noise
tipped her off that he'd changed direction; she altered her aim
and fired. This time she'd at least come close, she saw, and her
quarry cursed and dropped behind another car. Maybe she'd do
better at close range?
She wriggled quickly under two adjacent rows of cars, and doubled
back, crouched over. Rather than coming up behind the man, as
she'd hoped, she found she was facing his side, as he was rapidly
turning to face her. She fired at the wrist of his right, gun-
holding hand; he dropped the gun, whipped that hand up, causing
her to miss, and caught the gun with his left and fired at her
in the same motion, grazing her left leg. Kirika winced, but
fired again, missing as the man vaulted a car hood dropped to the
floor on the other side.
Mireille hammered at her opponent's kidneys with her gun-butt and
then her knee, then dropped and tried to sweep his feet. He
anticipated the move, however, and hopped over the swinging leg,
the smile one his face of a man who knows his opponent has just
made a fatal mistake. He kicked her spare ammunition clip
out of her hand, sending it spinning thirty yards away into the
darkness. Grinning, the man poised himself to slide his knife in
between her ribs.
In sheer desperation she rocked back on her shoulders and raised
her legs to try to kick the knife out of his hands. Rather than
evade, she noted with astonishment, he suddenly froze, his eyes
wide, his smile rapidly alternating beween a disapproving frown
and a dementedly delighted grin. Her foot met the butt of his
knife and sent it flying.
Coming to his senses, the man cursed as she hastily got to her
feet, then stepped forward and slapped her hard across the face,
sending her staggering. By the time she straightened again, she
saw only his rapidly-receding back; by the time she'd sought and
found her last clip of bullets, the roar of an accelerating car,
two rows away, signaled the man's get-away.
Kirika was circling around again toward where she hoped her target
would be, aware of how often she'd guessed wrong with this foe,
when she noticed the pair of headlights bearing down on her. She
rolled out of the way, then took aim at the car's tires, firing
underneath the other cars. Her eyes widened when she missed;
after a moment's study, she realized that the driver was varying
speed and turning from side to side rapidly to avoid just such a
tactic. But he'd have to slow down to pick up her own quarry;
she rolled to her feet and ran quickly towards the anticipated
pickup, arriving just as the passenger-side door slammed shut.
The tires squealed as the driver floored the accelerator. Kirika
fired her last shots at the rear tires, grazed one and hit the
other square on, but the car didn't slow at all as it headed up
the steep incline of the exit ramp.
Kirika's shoulders slumped as she turned off to find Mireille,
absently emptying and discarding her empty clip as she did so,
then wiping her gun. Simon wouldn't order her searched, but she
couldn't count on him ignoring her illegal possession of a gun if
the fact were to be shoved under his nose.
- - - - - - - - - -
"Definitely the same man I encountered the other evening,"
Mireille confirmed to Simon. "The one we identified as Yousef
Khodadad."
"And mine was the same also," Kirika nodded. "Probably this Goran
Senka."
"You can positively identify both, but they got away?" Simon
replied, summarizing. "Not too dark down there for a defense
lawyer to cut your identification to shreds?"
Mireille grimaced. "Maybe. We did get the license plate, but
the car was almost certainly hired or stolen."
"Probably," Simon agreed. "Still, we'll follow it up. Oh, by the
way, Mlle. Wong was quite impressed by your response time, and
wants to meet with you two again tomorrow about putting you on
retainer."
Mireille opened her mouth to decline.
"I do hope you'll accept," Simon said quickly. "The assassins
missed her, after all. They'll probably try again, and the more
protection we can give her, the better. And it's your best lead
to men you know tried to kill you."
Mireille weighed the notion, glanced at Kirika, then agreed.
- - - - - - - - - -
Late that afternoon, Mireille and Kirika dropped in at a certain
bar, at an hour when she knew it would be largely empty.
"Ah, Mireille; long time no see," the elderly barkeeper intoned,
nodding affably at Kirika.
"One finger of MacAllen 18-year for me, Jules," Mireille replied.
"Sake," Kirika added. "Any brand."
"I don't know if I have any of that," Jules noted to himself as
he searched the shelves. "Ah. Here's some; a little old, but all
we have."
"Jules, I'm curious as to whether you've heard anything lately
about illegal stock manipulation? Or possibly just unusual
strategies for manipulating stocks? Or possibly just currency
exchange markets?"
The bartender paused to think. "Well, more of my patrons are
interested in currency exchange than stocks. And there are always
rumors flying. But I don't- oh, hang on. That fellow the other
day. Bit of an odd bird from analysis, so I hear, but a whiz with
computers. Something about unusual statistical fluctuations in
the futures and derivative markets, but I couldn't really follow
the details."
Mireille nodded, then she and Kirika paid and left, leaving a
hefty tip and most of their drinks untouched.
- - - - - - - - - -
After a few questions about how they happened to know Simon
Lawley, and some polite conversation about the news and the arts,
Miss Wong concluded the next day's meeting by offering Mireille
and Kirika retainers as security consultants for the duration of
her stay in Paris. Mireille listened carefully, pleased and
surprised at the liberality of the terms, then agreed.
Outside the skyscraper, Mireille and Kirika made their way towards
the metro station through the lunchtime crowd, when both women
abruptly felt hard shapes thrust against their backs. Mireille
glanced back quickly; it was the same two men. "Ahead," said the
Serb. "Into the next alley."
Mireille consciously relaxed her muscles and did as ordered.
Beside her, Kirika did the same. Unfortunately, anticipating
questions about gun permits (which Kirika didn't have), neither
was armed, but Mireille was confident that she and Kirika could
cope.
The alley into which they were guided had a large garbage
container near the entrance, blocking the view from the street of
most of the alley. Behind the garbage container the alley turned
towards a side-street; a non-descript truck sat parked at the
turn.
As soon as the foursome had cleared the container Mireille and
Kirika acted in unison. Mireille whirled left, away from Kirika,
using her left arm to block her attacker's gun hand; Kirika
simply dropped, simultaneously kicking backwards at her man's
crotch.
Mireille quickly found herself outmatched. The big Afghan side-
stepped Mireille's kick at his crotch, took her knife-hand strike
at his throat on his left forearm, and swung his right hand, still
holding the gun, at the side of her head. Mireille, stunned,
dropped back two steps, her vision blurring. Now her assailant
had a bowie knife in his hand and was casually swinging it at her
low. She dodged desperately, but the edge of the knife caught her
suit jacket and blouse and ripped both open. Mireille grimaced,
but retreated another step, doing her best to keep her guard up.
Her assailant's eyes blazed at the sight of Mireille's exposed
skin and he stepped quickly forward, ignoring Mireille's blows
as he grabbed her neck and lifted her one-handed. Mireille
tried to box his ears, but her aim was off slightly. The Afghan
swung his head irritably, then struck her again on the side of
the head with his gun, and Mireille's consciousness fled.
Kirika, meanwhile, was astonished to find her kicking foot caught
and held, then abruptly yanked backwards. Kirika caught herself
with her hands on the pavement, ignoring the broken glass and
sharp pebbles, then used her other leg, kicking, to free her first
leg and flipped backwards to regain her feet. Unbelievably, her
attacker was right on top of her, grabbing both hands while they
were still up in the air for balance and holding them together in
one of his own hands. Kirika struggled briefly, but the Serb was
too strong for her, as well as being as quick a fighter as she'd
ever seen. She tried raising her knee for a kick to his crotch,
but he foresaw the move and met it with a strike by the butt of
his gun to a nerve cluster in Kirika's leg, which went numb. The
man then gave Kirika's bloody palms a quick, furtive look, smiling
oddly, before using his free hand to strike the side of Kirika's
head carefully with his gun, knocking her out.
With both women down, the two men carefully tied them up with
wire, then loaded them into the back of the truck and departed.
"On to the next target?" Yousuf asked.
"That's what the boss said," Goran agreed.
- - - - - - - - - -
Aditi and Tati Sarkhovsky were taking their time walking home from
school, cutting through a largely deserted neighborhood. They'd
stopped for ice cream and were licking their cones as they argued
the pros and cons of various handguns.
"You can't top the Desert Eagle for stopping power," Aditi
announced. "I want one of those!"
"You'd break both wrists if you tried to fire one of those," Tati
remarked drily. "And maybe bruise your chest from the recoil."
"I could do it," Aditi insisted.
Just then two men stepped out of a doorway in front of the girls.
The shorter of the two leveled a silenced pistol at Aditi and
started to pull the trigger.
Tati dropped her cone and yanked hard on Aditi's arm, pulling her
mostly out of the line of fire. Aditi grunted as the bullet
passed in and out of the edge of abdomen, but the two girls
ducked behind a parked car, then continued running in a zig-zag
fashion across the street. Two cars screeched to a halt in an
effort to avoid hitting the girls.
"C'mon, we can take them," Aditi insisted, one hand clutched to
the hole in her tummy.
"Just RUN!" Tati insisted. "These are probably the guys that
gave Mireille and Kirika trouble! We have to hide!"
The girls ducked into an alley and around a corner. There Tati
spotted a ground-level ventilation outlet leading into a level
shaft. "Help me get this cover off!" Tati exclaimed, her own
fingers busily prying. With fear lending them strength, the two
girls pried the cover off and began crawling into the shaft,
confident that the two men couldn't follow.
"Where'd they go?" The two girls heard the men approach more
quickly than they'd hoped.
"Must be in that shaft," the other voice remarked. "No problem."
Tati heard an ominous racheting sound coming from the alleyway at
the same time she felt a slight downdraft coming from above her.
"Jump!" she whispered urgently, coming to a crouch and leaping up
into the downshaft above her. Desperately she braced both arms
against the opposing sides of the shaft. Aditi had barely entered
the downshaft when both girls heard the sound of automatic fire
slicing through the air below them. Tati, imagining herself hit
by that fire, gave a deliberate scream, followed by a low moan of
pain. The fire kept up for seconds, then a pause to switch clips,
then a second burst reverberated through the shaft below them.
Finally the sounds stopped.
"Is it safe now? I can't hang on much longer," Aditi whispered,
her voice cracking with pain.
"Hang on as long as you can, Aditi," Tati replied. "We can't be
sure those men have left."
- - - - - - - - - -
When the back of the truck opened, over an hour later, Mireille
and Kirika found the same two men pointing guns at them and
gesturing for them to get out of the truck. This wasn't easy with
the two of them tied together face-to-face, but with their hands
wired together behind them, but they managed. Looking around,
they found themselves at a small private airport, a little way
outside Paris by the look of things, parked next to a small
private jet. Standing by the side of the plane was a dark-skinned
Indian man, perhaps thirty, very sharply dressed, just stubbing
out a cigarette.
"Ah, ladies," the latter said, nodding. "Permit me to introduce
myself. I am V.s. Chandrashiva, former chess champion of India,
former Go champion of the United Kingdom, discoverer of three
significant theorems in higher mathematics, and your captor."
"And a whizkid investor, from what we hear," Mireille replied.
"These men work for you?"
"They do," V.S. nodded amiably, but then continued, "but you are
not hear to ask me questions. You are here, and alive, because I
have questions of my own."
Yousuf drew one of his knives and began sharpening it idlely,
still watching the two women closely.
"My sources say that you are up to something, Mireille Bouquet,
a big job, supposedly. The timing is somewhat disturbing to me,
you see."
"Because your own big job is just coming up?" Mireille raised
an eyebrow.
"Let's just say that any details I can glean about your job may
prove useful to me. Plus, it might be interesting to leave your
own bodies behind, freshly slain and holding certain compromising
weaponry, should I in fact have any such plans."
"That's as much as admitting that you do," Mireille rejoined.
"A little preliminary pain, Yousef, if you please," the Indian
man requested. "Then we shall remove these two to a place from
which they won't be able to escape while we move on to the next
step."
"No pain is too great for these shameless tarts," Yousef replied,
as he sliced down the side of Kirika's outside thigh, shredding
the outer skin and leaving blood to ooze slowing through the
inner flesh. Kirika heard a sudden intake of breath from the
direction of the Serb, but couldn't manage to turn her head in
that direction.
Yousef next slashed the remainder of Mireille's jacket and blouse
off her body, then proceeded to make a series of small cuts up and
down her stomach. Finally he drew a thin red line under her
chin, careful not to cut too deep. "Harlot!" he snarled as he
finished.
At V.S.'s nod, the two men herded the women onto the plane, which
soon took off. The two women were blindfolded and seated face to
face in the middle of the plane. V.S. entered the cockpit,
apparently piloting the plane himself.
- - - - - - - - - -
"They shot and shot at us, but we weren't hit because we were in
the upshaft!" Tati explained. "'Cept they hit Aditi first thing."
Tati finished explaining to Charlotte and Simon across Aditi's
hospital bed. Simon replied thoughtfully, "And you're sure it
was the same two men who attacked Mireille and Kirika?"
Charlotte wrung her hands. "Sigi is going to be very upset."
"They fit the description exactly!" Aditi insisted.
"If they're bothering to target the girls, then you and Sigi need
to take your own precautions," Simon said imperatively. "But
the girls just moved in with you, and they have been living with
Mireille and Kirika. It's certainly possible that these men have
made no link to you and Sigi yet. So it might be best if the
girls don't return to your place right away. Maybe we can put
them in a safehouse somewhere, if we have one free. By the way,
have Mireille or Kirika been in touch?"
"No, I've left messages for them everywhere, but there's been no
word," Charlotte replied sadly. "I think they're in very grave
danger somewhere."
"Then we gotta rescue them!" Aditi insisted from her hospital
bed, fist raised in the air.
"You aren't going anywhere, stupid!" Tati replied, sticking out
her tongue at Aditi.
A brief noise at the door caught Simon's ear and he carefully
opened it, checking with the plainclothesman posted outside.
"A messenger, sir."
Simon opened the letter, surprised to find that it was from Lily
Wong. "In light of the injury to a dependent of my new
employees," he read, "I feel compelled to extend my own
protection. If I can be of any assistance, you have but to ask."
Simon raised an eyebrow. "This might be handy," he mused.
- - - - - - - - - -
When the plane landed, Mireille estimated that an hour and a half
had passed, which could put them almost anywhere in France and a
good bit of several other countries. V.S. had been on the radio
almost the entire flight, apparently checking in with various
contacts when he wasn't dealing with aircraft control. Mireille
had suspicions that a few of his contacts duplicated her own.
V.S. left the plane last, stretching his arms to the sky and
happily inhaling the clear, fresh air. The two women looked
around; they were on a short, deserted airstrip in the middle of
a pine wood. In the distance could be seen some higher ground.
That still left too many places they could be.
"Goran, Yousef, you missed your secondary targets, it turns out,"
V.S. remarked, as he took a few drum-major's steps up and down the
airstrip.
The two men grunted in surprise. Goran wrinkled his brow. "We
sprayed the whole shaft! We had to have hit them!"
"They're alive, nevertheless. But never fear; we now have a way
to strike them down tracelessly. At the moment they'll serve us
best as hostages against good behavior on the part of these two.
Ladies," V.S. raised his voice slightly, "you'll be pleased to
know that those two orphan girls you are so fond of have survived
one assault on their lives. However, I have now arranged things
so that those lives will be snuffed, with no action on my part,
should I fail to call in every four hours."
Mireille inhaled sharply. Kirika's eyes widened in shock.
"Now that we're out here in the great outdoors, let's proceed.
Yousef, Goran, tie the two ladies a bit closer together and check
the wire on their wrists. Then uncover the old well."
Yousef walked over to the pine wood, searched a bit with his feet,
then uncovered a sod-covered hole in the ground, barely a meter
square. Goran check both women's bonds carefully, then tied their
ankles together. The two men carefully lowered Mireille and
Kirika into the pit until they were standing on the bottom, facing
each other.
"Now, ladies, I regret that my cohorts and I must leave you for
a time. But never fear, we'll be back for you late tomorrow."
Mireille thought furiously about what the timing implied. "Your
plan wouldn't have to do with the G8 summit, would it?"
"Ah, you guessed? Then I was right; your own job probably does
as well. Yes, now that you're helpless, I'll admit that much.
Certain currency speculations in which I have been engaged should
do very nicely when two specific heads of state, plus the heads
of another two central banks, die untimely deaths."
"And the three companies whose top men you killed? How do they
fit in?" Mireille ventured.
V.S. grinned knowingly. "I don't admit to any such thing. But
one could certainly speculate about derivative investments, held
at arms length using a few hundred fake identities. These
hypothetical investments would not be so crude as to actually
short-sell the afflicted companies, of course; they would be more
along the lines of betting on a relative rise in price of their
competitors's shares. Then there is the perfection of an M.O. to
consider, just in time for the big strike. The police have
financial analysts, true; but normal accountants have as much hope
of unraveling MY investment strategies as a groundhog has of
understanding how this airplane works."
"Somebody understood them, or you wouldn't have been caught
embezzling by your last employer," Mireille snapped.
"Ah, well, yes," V.S. replied smugly. "There was that little
incident. Perhaps I was a bit careless there, but that was the
first and only time that will ever happen! Anyway, ladies, adieu;
I am due back in Paris shortly. Cover the pit, Yousef, and let's
go." The last sight the women saw was V.S. carefully brushing off
his elegant suit.
In the utter darkness of the pit, with blood dripping slowly from
their cuts, Mireille and Kirika took stock of their position.
They were tied face to face, but with their hands behind them,
unable to reach any of the other ropes or knots. There wasn't
enough room in the old well to stoop to untie their ankles. There
wasn't enough slack in the ropes to enable them to press against
the walls behind them with enough force to climb.
"I think we're stuck here until those men return," Kirika remarked
finally.
"Yes. So we'd better start thinking about what we're going to do
then. We'll have one chance, but these men have beaten us three
times now. This time we have to win. What do we know about
them?"
"The Serb is extremely quick, and stronger than I am. I've never
seen anyone as quick as he is."
"And the Afghan is stronger than I am, and a skilled combatant."
Mireille grimaced in the darkness. "What about switching foes?"
"That leaves me facing someone I'd have a hard time hurting at
all without a weapon, given his size, and you facing someone who
might be as quick as me, or quicker."
"Right. That's out. Given a choice, we keep the playmates we
have. What do we know about any weaknesses they have?"
Kirika thought. "The Serb acts a little funny at the sight of my
blood. The first time, he visibly hesitated for a moment when he
could have had me. And now I have this big skinned patch on my
thigh."
"The Afghan may have a similar weakness, but it isn't blood he's
reacting to. It seems to be just skin, or my underwear. Ah,
that's it; he stumbled in our first fight because my high kick
flashed my panties."
"We still have to make sure it's just the two of them. The Indian
could easily tip the scales."
Mireille slowly thought aloud. "He is arrogant, certainly. What
else?"
"He's fastidious about his appearance."
"True. He won't want to be around any real unpleasantness, then.
He might order a nasty death or torture for us, but won't watch
it for fear of getting blood on that expensive suit of his."
"If he orders us tortured, the Serb might skin me further,"
Kirika said thoughtfully.
"And the Afghan will struggle manfully against temptation as he
shreds my clothes completely, while claiming the entire time that
his temptation is my fault," Mireille said sarcastically.
"I think that's just his culture," Kirika remarked seriously.
"The Pushtun have the most restrictions on women of any people in
Afghanistan."
"Yes, Kirika, I'm aware of that." In the darkness, Kirika could
not see Mireille roll her eyes.
Course set, the two women waited patiently in the darkness,
occasionally talking about the reading course Kirika was
attempting, with Mireille's guidance, or plans for redecorating
their apartment, or how the girls were doing in school. Once
Mireille leaned her head forward to gently kiss Kirika's forehead,
murmuring "We WILL get out of this, Kirika."
Kirika replied, "I know," even as she tilted her own head upward
in the darkness.
In the old well the two women had no way to track the passage of
time. It was with a sense of relief that the moment had come at
last that the two saw the shaft of light heralding the opening of
the well. Goran carefully lowered the rope with the hook and
shared the ropes binding the two women together, then he and
Yousef lifted the two women to the top. Up above, it seemed to
be about midday.
"Now that you've ripened a bit, ladies, shall we have a little
chat about your own plans?"
"Let's not bother," Mireille replied nastily. "Our plans will go
forward without us. In fact, it's due to occur shortly: within
a couple of hours, I'd say. Too bad things will be too thoroughly
disrupted for your own plans to succeed."
"Looks like you've been outsmarted for once," Kirika remarked.
"So you might as well let us go," Mireille requested sweetly, "or
our allies might just be wondering who they ought to be killing.
We promise to make your ends quick and painless."
V.S.'s nostrils flared as he straightened, glaring at the two
women. "Nobody outsmarts ME," he asserted angrily, then turned
and strode towards the plane. "Go ahead and kill them," he
ordered over his shoulder. "Any way you like, as long as it's
painful."
Goran took out a pistol and casually shot away the ropes binding
the two women's ankles, leaving their wrists bound behind them.
"Go ahead with your harlot, Yousef," he nodded, then herded Kirika
into the trees.
"Please don't skin me any more," Kirika pleaded. "I can't bear
it."
Goran showed little reaction, but his eyes flickered to the patch
on Kirika's thigh where Yousef had sliced off the outer skin. He
licked his lips briefly.
"Sit down on that log," he ordered, taking out a pocket-knife and
kneeling next to Kirika's legs. His left hand still held his
machine pistol pointing at Kirika's heart as he scraped away with
his right hand. Kirika ignored the sensations as she studied the
ground behind Goran Senka. There, that rock. Giving a small
gasp, she shuddered, shifting her position on the log slightly.
The Serb's finger tightened reflexively on the trigger, but he
looked up to see Kirika apparently swooning in pain, eyes closed.
He smiled.
After ten seconds Kirika repeated her action, shifting her
position even more to her left. Goran shifted his own position
slightly in response, but didn't look up this time, his eyes
apparently fixed on the slow seepage of blood from the flesh he
was exposing on Kirika's lower leg. Kirika waited another fifteen
seconds, then shifted her position again. Again, Goran shifted
his own position slightly in response.
Kirika inhaled sharply, then yelled a kiai as she kicked hard with
both legs at the Serb's chest, knocking him backwards. If he
didn't hit just right... but he had. Goran Senka lay motionless.
Kirika stood, then stooped next him, listening closely at his
mouth and chest, then inspecting the wound on the back of his
head. She reversed her position and carefully felt with her
fingers at his neck. No pulse; good.
Meanwhile, Mireille feigned a mixture of fear and boldness she
calculated would inflame the Afghan. "You wouldn't DARE undress
me! The Indian would flay you alive!" she proclaimed haughtily.
Yousef grunted. "He just gave me carte blance, as you infidels
say." He sliced through the remains of Mireille's jacket and
blouse, then hesitated, his fingers approaching Mireille's bra
but unwilling to quite touch it. "Harlot! Temptress! There is
a special place in hell reserved for women like you!" Furious,
he pushed Mireille down on her back, then knelt beside her.
Mireille grimaced as her weight pressed down on her bound hands.
"No man may look under my skirt!" Mireille announced emphatically.
In response, Youself cut Mireille's skirt from her body with a
single stroke of his knife, then discarded it. His eyes gleamed
as he stared at her panties.
"No! No!" Mireille pleaded, apparently horror-stricken. "My
virtue! Please don't!" She curled her legs up to her chest,
then spread them as she straightened them again. Yousuf slowly,
with pauses and hesitations, lowered his mouth and nose towards
Mireille's panty-clad crotch.
When his face got to within an inch of her panties, Mireille
struck. Wrapping her thighs around the man's head, she twisted
her body furiously, ignoring the pain in her hands. Not until she
heard the 'snap' of the Serb's neck breaking did she finally stop
twisting and rolling.
Taking a deep breath, Mireille released her thighs' death-grip,
then slowly sat up. Reversing her position, she checked for a
pulse with her bound fingers, but found nothing. Picking
up the Afghan's big bowie knife from inside his jacket, she
stood, pursing her lips, and whistled a very good impression
of a common finch's call.
In response, the call of a bluebird came from the trees to her
right. Mireille headed in that direction, meeting Kirika a
short way into the woods. Back-to-back, the two women worked
away at the wire on their wrists with the knife, finally freeing
each other, at the price of more blood on their wrists.
"We still have to rescue the girls," Kirika whispered.
"Which means we need that son-of-a-bitch Indian alive, able to
fly us back to Paris, and intimidated into doing so. We're going
to have to utterly shatter that ego of his, and do it pretty
quickly." Mireille sighed. "Not easy with a man that arrogant;
this is going to be messy."
"But we have to do it," Kirika nodded, determined.
"While keeping his hands unimpaired," Mireille agreed. "Let's
go."
V.S. Chandrashiva was idlely wondering what was keeping his men
when he heard the sound of brush stirring. Looking up, he began
an angry comment at the sight of Goran's and Yousuf's clothes,
then suddenly squelched it when he realized who occupied those
clothes. His eyes widened at the sight of the two women, side by
side, very much alive.
"We assumed you'd have fled like the coward you are," Mireille
remarked smarmily.
"He's too stupid for that," Kirika replied. "Too stupid to
realize that we'd win."
V.S. clenched his fists in reflexive anger before suddenly
realizing the danger he was in. He had a gun, of course, but it
was in the plane. He turned to climb the stairs, but a hand on
his wrist stopped him. A foot against the back of his knee
overturned him and he fell on his back at the feet of the two
demonesses.
Smiling kindly, Mireille began slicing away V.S.'s expensive suit
with Yousef's knife, her every slice timed with insufferable
comments about his intellect. Kirika ground his left hand into
the dirt with her foot.
"You didn't REALLY think..." slice "...we couldn't free ourselves
at any time, did you?" slice "It just seemed the handiest way to
keep you out of the way..." slice "while our allies completed my
plan." slice "I imagine that the G-8 summit is in utter chaos
right now..." slice "with most of the heads of state having
gone home."
Kirika, expressionless, gave a vicious mulekick to his solar
plexus, driving the wind out of his lungs, followed by one to his
groin. He gasped as his face blanched.
"Did they break?" Mireille asked pleasantly.
"I'm not sure; I'll have to try again," Kirika replied, shaking
her head. "Make him stand up."
"On your feet," Mireille ordered, knife to the Indian's windpipe.
"Let me skin him for a bit, Mireille," Kirika requested, hand out
for the knife.
Mireille passed the knife over, then grabbed V.S.'s ear to hold
him upright while Kirika cut into his inner thighs, all too close
to the one thing he least wanted cut on his body.
"Yousef cursed your name before he died," Mireille whispered into
V.S.'s ear, "for dragging him into this. I cut his balls off as
trophies, while he still lived; Kirika's about to do the same to
you."
"We'll make you chew them slowly," Kirika noted absently. "And
like it."
His breath coming in short gasps, his wits scattered, V.S.
Chandrashiva looked into the faces of his two tormenters, looking
for what, he couldn't have said. Their gazes seemed to sear his
soul as he looked, desperate for any hint of mercy. But both
faces seemed to him to hold an utter implacability; a blackness
transcending humanity. No mercy there, except the mercy of utter
oblivion.
"Now," Mireille whispered into his ear seductively. "We might
keep you alive a little longer if you prove yourself useful. Can
you fly us back to Paris?"
V.S. nodded vigorously. Anything, anything they wanted.
Grabbing his arms, the two women hustled him aboard and into the
pilot's seat. Kirika sat down in the co-pilot's seat, licking
the knife thoughtfully and she gazed at him.
Once aloft, Mireille stuck her head into the cockpit and said
sweetly, "Oh, V.S.? Do make that deadman call to keep the girls
alive, won't you?"
Kirika leaned forward with the knife to make sure he had no time
to think. "Now," she said, knife held under his throat.
Whinneying with fear, V.S. Chandrashiva complied.
- - - - - - - - - -
Back near Paris, Mireille and Kirika left the Indian thoroughly
tied up in his airplane while they hailed a cab and sped for the
city.
"But we don't know where the girls are, or who's threatening them.
We should have questioned him some more," Kirika complained.
"I think I know exactly who has them," Mireille replied. "And,
if I'm wrong, well, that's why we left him alive."
"You do?"
"We were snatched just leaving a private meeting. Who knew we
were there? Who else do we know who's engaged in currency
speculation, buying massive quantities of yuan? Who did the Serb
miss while she was holding up a convenient target? And finally,
the stories don't match up. V.S. didn't even react when I
mentioned his 'firing' by Lily Wong, whereas she claimed the
firing might have shattered his ego completely. But such a
failure not bothering the man at all? No chance; he wasn't, can't
have been, fired at all; he's still working for Lily Wong to this
day, just in a different capacity. But still in investments."
Kirika nodded slowly as it all sunk in. "I think you're right.
Is that why you brought the Serb's sniper rifle?"
Mireille nodded. "It may come in handy. By the time anybody
discovers his body where we hid it, nobody will be able to prove
he wasn't alive today." Mireille paused. "Okay, we should be in
range now; call Simon on the cellphone we took. Ask if he knows
where the girls are, but make sure he says nothing about our
return to anyone."
Simon answered the phone on the second ring. Kirika responded
quickly. "Do not react; say nothing. Mireille and I are back,
but the girls are in danger. Do you know where they are?"
Simon reacted quickly, even though puzzled. "The girls? You
know where they are, Sigi," he replied. "They're still in St.
Sebastien's Hospital, room 2112, well guarded. I'm sure they're
safe; we have both uniformed police and some of Lily Wong's
security people guarding them. And her private physician is
tending Aditi's wound."
Kirika replied, "Thank you, but her people may not be as reliable
as you think."
"I see. Well, everything should be fine, Sigi; just relax and
take it easy." Hanging up, Simon turned to the guest in his
office, one of Lily Wong's executive assistants, and smiled wryly.
"That was my sister; she worries about any lost children she hears
about."
His guest's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, but he said nothing.
Back in the taxi, Kirika turned to Mireille. "How do we handle
this? We don't know how many of Wong's people there are, or how
they intend to kill the girls."
Mireille smiled nastily. "We'll just have to take them all by
surprise."
- - - - - - - - - -
Jean-Michel yawned. Truly, a sad duty, but at the moment very
boring. It would be easy to distract the policemen should the
order come. He disliked orders like his present ones, and had not
passed the details on to his men, but orders were orders. He
nodded as Miss Wong's physician entered the girls' hospital room,
just as he'd nodded at the cleaning ladies who'd entered the room
a few minutes earlier. His gaze strayed momentarily to the
hypodermic needle in the doctor's hand, but he quickly caught
himself and snapped his eyes back to center.
After a few minutes, he frowned in puzzlement; Dr. d'Estrang was
usually finished by this time. He waited another minute or two,
then cautiously knocked on the door. When nobody answered, he
opened it, frowning.
What he saw woke him up completely. The window was shattered,
with a rope of tied-together sheets thrown out the hole. The two
girls were gone, as were the cleaning ladies. Dr. d'Estrang was
tied up on the bed, out cold. "Someone took them!" he shouted,
then waved to his men. "Downstairs! QUickly! They can't have
gone far!" He moved aside long enough to let the policemen in
the room, then walked away himself, seeking enough privacy to
report in. With his back turned, he missed seeing the police
open the room's bathroom door, untying the two cleaning ladies
and freeing them and their and their trolley of dirty laundry.
The two cleaning ladies, one short and black-haired, one taller
and blonde, pointed in horror at the window while babbling a story
about what had happened that the police found very hard to follow.
After taking the women's names, the police let them go about their
cleaning duties.
Shortly afterwards, two floors up, Mireille carefully opened the
door from inside an empty hospital room to admit a familiar face,
her own physician, Doctor Breignant. "Check them for poison, just
in case," Mireille said urgently.
Doctor Breignant nodded, unsurprised, and began unpacking his
test supplies.
Fifteen minutes later, Kirika opened the door to admit Simon
Lawley. "Anything I can use as evidence? My men have them all
under surveillance, but that's all I can do. They're tearing the
neighborhood apart looking for the four of you, by the way."
Finally Doctor Breignant nodded. "Found it. They have been given
poison, one with an antidote which must be taken every four
hours."
"Is that the only antidote?" Kirika asked in horror. "Isn't there
a permanent one?"
"There is a permanent antidote, but I don't have any with me.
And it's not the kind of thing this hospital is likely to stock.
But I know where I can get some in about four hours."
"Then we'll just have to make sure they get the next four-hour
shot," Mireille said grimly, "while you procure the permanent
antidote."
Simon nodded. "I'll arrest Wong's doctor and bring her here."
Doctor Breignant nodded. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
Inspector Lawley led a party of men to arrest Miss Wong's
physician. During questioning, the woman revealed where her
supply of the temporary antidote was, but it turned out that her
orders had been very indirect. Lily Wong would easily be able to
claim that she'd simply been misunderstood.
"I'm heading out to airport to arrest V.S. Chandrashiva," Simon
told Mireille and Kirika as he left. "We can hold him easily, if
necessary on the old accusation of embezzlement. But I don't see
how we can hold Lily Wong for long. We don't have that much on
her, unless V.S. talks; and even then, given the embezzlement
accusation, any competent defense attorney will shred his
credibility as a witness. And she'll have the top lawyers."
Kirika looked at Mireille worriedly. "Are the girls still in
danger from her if she goes free?"
Mireille pursed her lips. "Someone ordered them pursued in the
first place. Does that strike you as something V.S. would
order?"
Kirika considered the question. "That was risky. Something
might have gone wrong, and the Serb and the Afghan might have
been captured by the police. V.S. wouldn't order that without
the possibility of a measurable return on his investment."
"So he didn't order it. Someone else did. Someone who might
issue the same order again, unless we stop her."
- - - - - - - - - -
Once more, Simon Lawley sat down on the sofa in Lily Wong's
office, facing Lily Wong and a couple of lawyers. Mireille
Bouquet stood over by the just-repaired window, keeping watch.
"Mlle. Wong, once more, let me assure you that you are not under
investigation personally," Simon began, adding an internal 'yet'.
"I wished to bring you up to date on the results of our
investigation so far into the conspiracy masterminded by your
former employee V.S. Chandrashiva, and to see if you have any
possible insights to share."
Lily Wong nodded. "I see. Please continue."
"From our questioning of V.S. Chandrashiva, we have determined
that he definitely hired two individuals, a wanted Serbian war
criminal, Goran Senka, and a man on our terrorist watch list,
the Pushtun Yousuf Khodadad, to carry out the 'Rouge' series of
murders of leading corporate officials around Europe. We have
not located either of these men yet, although we have a dragnet
out for them."
Again, Lily Wong nodded, smiling sadly. "I had no idea that poor
V.S. was capable of such villainy. Has he, by any chance, tried
to implicate me in anything? Possibly to get back at me for
firing him?"
Next to her, one of her lawyers frowned and nudged her slightly.
"So far our investigators have been focusing on the earlier
assassinations," Simon said smoothly. "He did say, however, that
the Serb and the Afghan were told to continue trying to kill you,
in the event that anything happened to V.S. himself."
Lily's eyes widened and she surged to her feet. "That's imp-"
At that moment, her office window shattered. Lily looked vaguely
surprised, then slowly slumped sideways, away from the window.
Blood seeped out from under her body.
Mireille turned and scanned the office building across the
street. "There! It's the Serb again!" she pointed to where a
slight, dark-haired figure was pulling the barrel of a rifle back
into the building, then ran for the door and the high-speed
elevator.
Again, Simon barked orders into his cell phone.
Twenty minutes later, Simon and a squad of police caught up with
Mireille and Kirika standing over two bodies on the twentieth
floor of the Panasony building.
"They were like this when I found them," Kirika, now dressed,
like Mireille, in a professional business suit, told the police.
"It looks like they had a falling-out," Mireille commented. "The
Afghan seems to have struck the Serb on the back of his head with
a blunt instrument, possibly the butt of this sniper rifle."
"Which must have gone off at the same time and shot him through
the heart," Kirika added soberly. "It's very sad."
Simon gave the two women a sharp look, then waved his men to take
charge of the scene. "Did the two of you touch anything?"
"We don't think so," Mireille replied, "although it was quite
shocking to both Kirika and myself to come upon such a scene."
"Right," Simon replied drily. "And how did the Afghan manage to
get his neck broken?"
"Who knows?" Mireille replied. "Is it important?"
Simon pondered the bodies. "No, perhaps not. We can get any
other questions we need answered from V.S., I suppose. Well,
thank you for your assistance, ladies. I'm sorry that your job
with Mlle. Wong seems to have come to such an unfortunate end;
having your client killed won't look good on your resume."
"Comes with the job," Mireille remarked soberly.
End.
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