Twenty-One

My hospital-room phone rings, right on time.

“Anderson,” I say with as much energy as I can muster.

“I’m still not so sure about this, Anderson,” Petrov says.

“Come on. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, Anderson.” He pauses. “But we need to hand over some of your tasks and that’s the only reason you’re part of this update.”

I’m tempted to argue, but I know not to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Okay.”

“Hey, Sophie.” It’s Hana’s voice. “How you feeling?”

“Much better, thanks.”

“Good to hear.” I recognize De Luca’s voice.

“Great to hear your voice, Anderson,” Williams says.

“Thanks, guys.”

“Okay, let’s get this moving.” Petrov takes command of the meeting. “I don’t want to keep Anderson too long.”

Again, I resist the urge to protest and reassure everyone that I’m fine.

“So, our list from Friday. How’s everybody doing with their tasks? We’ll start with you, Agent Kim. How’d you go with the follow-up on Corey Casey?”

“The doctors couldn’t pinpoint the cause of the liver failure. According to family and friends, Casey never took drugs and wasn’t much of a drinker. There was no sign of hepatitis or any other primary cause.”

“So maybe Lee’s right,” I say. “His death was a result of the 1996 attack.”

Petrov clears his throat. “I’m going to touch base with Grove on this. You were thinking he’d be up to speed by now, Anderson?”

“Yes, sir. He was planning to read up on the dim mak techniques on the weekend.”

In fact, Grove is probably more up to speed than me now. Lee’s remaining three books sit on my bedside table, but I didn’t feel up to reading on the weekend. Hopefully today my concentration will be a little better.

“Anything else, Agent Kim?”

“The wife did notice bruises after the attack, but can’t remember exactly where they were.”

I nod. “So they could have been targeted on pressure points or they could have been generic bruises from the attack.”

“That’s right.”

Petrov takes over. “Okay, next on the list was looking for any link between the two Yakuza victims, Matsu in 2000 and Saito. That was yours, De Luca.”

“I’ve pulled everything we’ve got on Matsu, and spoken to the cops that investigated his death. We’ve been going through Matsu’s movements in the 1980s and 1990s, seeing if maybe he ran into Saito, visited Japan, but nothing so far.”

“Okay. Keep on it.” Petrov pauses, presumably looking up the next task. “Williams. Li Chow in New York. Did he know his killer?”

“I’ve been in contact with New York and they’re sending me his file today. I’ll let you know.”

It is only nine o’clock Monday morning, so it’s not surprising that we haven’t had any major breakthroughs in the past forty-eight hours.

“Okay, next was me, looking into the Russian victim and why he may have been killed with the butterfly swords. I spoke to San Diego on Friday afternoon. Apparently the victim, Alexander Ivanovich, was known for his obsession with knives…blades. He’d been suspected in four homicides and all victims had been cut up—bad.”

“So whoever ordered the hit wanted him to go the same way?” De Luca suggests.

“That’s the logical conclusion,” Petrov replies. “It’s why our killer would have departed from his standard MO. Would that fit, Anderson? Psychologically speaking?”

“Yes. Our guy’s a professional, and if a client asks for the murder to be carried out in a certain way, he’d satisfy that request. But he still marked the victim as his own by using the Tiger Leopard Fist to severely disable and disorientate him first. Plus he didn’t use a regular knife, he used martial-arts weapons.”

“Okay,” Petrov replies. “So that anomaly makes some sense now.” He pauses. “Next on our list was the Jun Saito victimology, but that was you and Ramos, Anderson.”

I manage a chuckle. “Yeah, we haven’t got to that yet.”

“I can work on that now, sir,” Hana says.

“Great. Where were you at with Interpol, Anderson?”

“Contact Latoya Burges for an update, Hana. She requested info on Saito and on his alias of Jo Kume and was hoping to get something late last week, but nothing came through.”

“Okay.”

“And I’ll give you what I’ve got on his history from fifteen years ago,” Petrov says. “A lot of what I told the task force at the briefing last Thursday was from memory, but I should be able to dig up some historical paperwork, too.”

“Thanks, sir.”

“Anderson, it was you and Ramos for the next one, too. Trying to find Mee.”

“Do you want me to take that now, sir?” Williams asks.

“No, I’ll look after that one,” Petrov replies.

But I know he won’t have to do any actual work—he knows where Mee is.

“We’ve also got Saito’s hotel and Mee Kim’s house. I’ll follow up with the lab on those results.” Petrov pauses, maybe writing his task down, before moving on. “The next three items were all yours, Anderson. The offender profile, giving us some generic psych material on contract killers and following up the pressure points with Grove.”

“I’m afraid it’ll be another few days before I’m up to the profile, but I can organize to get you that generic info. It’s just a collection of documents.”

“That’d be real useful.” Hana’s voice is light. “But only if you’re up to it.”

“I’ll be fine.” I move on. “As you know, we did find evidence that dim mak was used on Saito, with four pressure points showing trauma. I’ll follow up Grove with a quick phone call today to see what he made of the dim mak book I lent him.”

“I can take that, Anderson.” Petrov’s voice is slightly protective. “I’ll ask Grove when I contact him about Casey’s liver failure.”

“I’m feeling okay, honestly. And I’m soooo bored!”

Petrov gives an amused sigh. “Let’s do it as a conference call. I still want to hear Grove’s opinion firsthand.”

“Yes, sir.” I try to lean forward, but find the movement painful. “There is one other thing.”

“Yes?”

“I was thinking we should get a list of all Chinese nationals who entered the country within, say, a month prior to Saito’s murder. If our hit man is Chinese and was flown in for the job, his name would be on that list.”

“Great idea, Anderson. Who wants that one?”

“I’ve got a contact over at US State,” I say. “It’s only a phone call.”

Petrov’s silent, but then sighs. “Okay, Anderson. But don’t even think of going through that list. Get it and pass it on to us.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay, that’s it, people. Keep me in the loop.” Petrov’s wrapping up the meeting and, although I should also flag the need for some new ViCAP searches that focus on dim mak without the use of the Ten Killing Hands, I keep my mouth shut. Given my kung fu knowledge, I’m the best person to do those searches and I don’t want Petrov handballing the task to someone else.

“And Anderson,” Petrov says, “get some rest.”

“Yes, sir.”

As soon as I’m off the phone, I dial Lara Rodriguez from State. “Hey, Lara. It’s Agent Sophie Anderson.”

“Oh, my gosh. Are you okay? I saw it on the news…you were shot.”

“Yeah, just a flesh wound.” I downplay my injuries.

“Really? Are you sure?”

“I’m fine.”

“You back at work already?”

“No, still in hospital, unfortunately.”

“Hospital? Then what the heck are you doing ringing me?”

“I’m working on the case from here.”

“Sounds crazy to me. How did it go with your vic? Did his ID help?”

“Actually, Jo Kume wasn’t his real name.”

“Get out of here.”

“His real name was Jun Saito, and he used to be Yakuza.”

“Whoa. Is that who shot you, Yakuza?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re messing with some serious people, Sophie.”

“I know.” I pause. “Anyway, we’re looking at a professional killer and we think he may be Chinese and have flown in for the contract on Saito’s life.”

“Really?”

“Yup. Can you do another search for me?”

“Shoot.”

“Can you e-mail me through a list of all Chinese nationals who entered the country from November 6 until December 6?” It’s unlikely the killer only flew in on December 6, less than twenty-four hours before Saito’s murder—it wouldn’t have given him enough time to plan the hit—but I may as well keep my date range broad.

“You just want names, or full immigration details and pictures?”

“You may as well give me the works, if that’s okay.”

“No problem. It’ll be tomorrow or Wednesday. Okay?”

“Sure.” I thank Rodriguez and hang up. I’m about to call Grove when my parents walk in.

“Hi, darling. How are you feeling this morning?” Mum comes in first, and behind her is Dad, laden down with an overnight bag for me.

I push myself more upright. “Much better.”

She nods but doesn’t look convinced. “You look tired, darling.”

“I’m fine, Mum.”

“You sleep okay?”

“Yes,” I lie. In fact, I tossed and turned all night, thinking about who the mole is in the Gang Impact Team. It’s a large team, but it’s also possible that the leak is Williams or Hana. In fact, if Tomi Moto got Moon’s details from the mole, it must be one of them. I push the thought away. According to Young, Moto had lots of people looking for Mee, and Williams and Hana are only two people out of a twenty-four person task force—the statistics are in their favor.

“What you got there, Dad?”

Dad places the bag down and moves in, kissing me on the forehead. “Your mother organized a few more clothes for you. And a couple of books.”

“Books…great. They’ll be the only thing keeping me sane in here.” Although I won’t be reading any books until I finish the dim mak titles.

Mum unzips the bag. “I could only find two sets of pajamas, so I brought them in and picked you up a nightie at Macy’s.” She pulls them out of the bag. “Which do you want to wear first? The pajamas have got buttons but the nightie’s low cut, so they’ll have no problems checking your wound.”

“Red pj’s.”

She nods and folds the other set of pajamas and nightie, before placing them in the top drawer of my bedside locker. “I also bought you a dressing gown and a tracksuit, for when you’re up to walking.”

“I can walk now. You know the doctors want me up several times a day.”

“Yes, darling, but just short walks. I’m talking about down to the café or newsagent.”

“Okay, but I could walk that far now and I’ve only got four nights left.”

Mum bites her lip.

Dad puts his hand on her shoulder. “Let your mum fuss, Soph. You know it’s what she does best.”

“Bob,” Mum says, brushing his hand off her shoulder. But she is smiling.

I stifle a laugh. “Thanks, Mum.”

There’s a short rap at the door. I look up to see Darren Carter’s slim, five-eleven frame at the door. His black hair looks a little more tousled than usual.

“Darren, hi.” I instinctively push myself up higher and wish I had a mirror to check out my hair…and face…and…

In one hand he holds a bunch of flowers, and in the other an overnight bag. “Did I come at a bad time?”

I’m speechless, focused more on his midnight-blue eyes, but Mum more than makes up for my silence. “No, not at all. I’m Sophie’s mum, Jan Anderson, and this is my husband, Bob.”

Darren shakes both their hands. “Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson. I’m Detective Darren Carter.”

“Please, call us Jan and Bob.”

“Likewise, it’s Darren.” He smiles.

Mum turns back to me, eager. “You didn’t tell us Darren was coming up.”

Now that Mum’s seen my reaction to Darren—and his to me—I know I’m going to have a hard time convincing her that we’re just professional acquaintances. “I…I didn’t know.”

Darren grins. “I told you I might come up on my days off.”

I vaguely remember a conversation to that effect on Saturday afternoon, but I guess I was still coming out of the general anesthetic, not to mention the pain meds, and it all seems a little hazy.

Darren’s face falls. “I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have come.”

“Don’t be silly, dear boy.” Mum puts her hand on Darren’s arm. “Sophie needs her friends and family around her now.”

“You sure? I don’t want to intrude.” Darren’s half talking to me, and half to Mum.

“Sorry, Darren. I do remember now. Saturday’s a bit hazy, that’s all.”

The grin returns.

“So, where are you staying?” Mum asks.

“I’ve booked a hotel around the corner.”

“You must come and stay at Sophie’s apartment with us.” Mum turns to me. “That’s a sofa bed in the living room, isn’t it?”

I nod, caught in the headlights of a runaway train. Darren staying with my parents…without me there…man-oh-man, this is bad.

I give Dad a look. He’s usually my ally in these situations, but this time he just gives a slight smirk and even has the audacity to give me a wink. Oh, that’s cruel.

“I don’t know…I don’t want to impose.” Darren gives her a boyish shrug. “And I’m booked and all.”

“No, no, no. And it’s no imposition. You don’t want to stay in some impersonal hotel when you could stay with us.”

Darren also seems a little like a kangaroo stunned in full beams.

“Mum, some people like staying in hotels. They prefer their own space.” My voice is polite, but I hope she gets the message.

But she doesn’t. “Don’t be silly, darling. No one would want to stay in hotel if they could stay in a home. Besides, Darren looks like he could use a few home-cooked meals.”

I let my head fall back into the pillow for a second, then mouth “Sorry” to Darren.

He grins, obviously seeing the humor in the situation…or my mother. “Sounds like an offer I can’t refuse.”

Please tell me this isn’t happening. I’m dreaming, right? Mum will have Darren and me married off by dinnertime—and I won’t even be there!