CHAPTER 40

闇 Yami

Darkness

Right before Takumi’s eyes, Jet had done what he’d failed to do—fight for her ideals, not for someone else’s glory or profit. He admired her for it, but at the same time it hurt him to see how far he’d come from his own youthful dreams.

Soji’s steady voice came back to him: You’re trying to deny who you are and what you came from.

Who am I? he asked himself. A poor peasant with a false hope of freedom. He felt rage toward Soji, suddenly wanting to go to his cell and throttle him. With a shock, he realized that he’d never wanted to hurt someone so badly. He’d mastered the art of fighting the way others mastered ordinary skills like carpentry or farming. He did his job automatically, professionally, without putting his heart into it. But since he’d met Jet, his heart had gotten in the way of everything.

A thought struck him. If he really didn’t care about what Soji had said, if he really did live without illusions, why was he so angry?

His right thigh pulsed in pain. A bullet from one of his men’s guns had hit him in the pandemonium of the main hall. He didn’t think the wound was that serious, and at any rate, he had to finish the job. He grit his teeth and endured the pain. The stupidity of his own men injured him more than the wound itself.

I’m nothing but a dog. Once my job is finished, my master will take me into the forest and leave me there to fend for myself. Just like I always do.

A few men in the control room were talking about the explosion and drinking coffee, relaxing. One of them facing the hall coughed to alert the others that Takumi had come in. The room fell silent. He was used to it. Even in the Foreign Legion, or in the desert with Green Berets, he’d had the same experience. As soon as he went into a room, not only his comrades but even his superiors stopped talking. He understood that his coolness made even the most ruthless mercenaries tense.

“Did you take a nap?” Takumi asked, looking around the quiet room.

“Yes, sir. I slept for two hours,” a young man said, standing up to offer Takumi a seat in front of the monitors.

Takumi motioned for the man to sit. He stood with his arms crossed, looking at the screens. On one screen, Soji still sat on the bed facing the wall, but the screen for Jet’s room was dark. The one where the boy was imprisoned looked like it was covered in dust.

“What happened to these monitors?” he asked harshly.

The guard appeared confused.

“Oh, man! Jeez! The Japanese kid must have spit on the camera,” he said. “And the guard I replaced said he’d turned the girl’s camera off by orders from Rossi.”

“Orders from Rossi?” The blood rushed to Takumi’s cheeks. His blond lieutenant was always pushing the envelope, the insubordinate!

“Well, turn it back on, damn it!”

The screen showed Jet’s room. An unconscious guard lay on the floor. Jet was gone. Gone! Takumi’s stomach churned. Not because she was gone, but because the sickening thought that Rossi might have harmed her crept into his awareness. He clenched his fists.

“We have an emergency!” Takumi shouted. “Did any one see anything before?” He turned around, eyes blazing at his men.

“A tall man who looked like Rossi was on the third floor underground monitor. But I couldn’t tell for sure,” a young guard answered nervously.

“Was he alone?” Takumi asked.

“No, sir. He was with a shorter guard.”

“Sound the alarm immediately!” Takumi called into a tiny microphone he took from his waist. Just as he commanded his men to Harter’s suite, the emergency siren sounded, obscuring his voice. Then the lights went out, throwing the mansion into total darkness. He looked at his watch. 5:20 in the morning. Nearly dawn. The sun was still moving slowly at the eastern edge of the horizon. Sunlight wouldn’t reach the compound for another hour.

He frowned. It was the perfect environment for people accustomed to the dark. People like Jet and her kind. His kind.

Shinobi.

Ninja.