Plague, page 15
A soft noise made her freeze. The slightest hint of a breath came from directly behind her. Despite her efforts to remain calm, she could feel the shadows close in. Evil faces appeared beyond her closed eyes. Her muscles knotted. Bile churned in her gut. Gathering her last particle of courage, she growled, “Touch me and you’re dead.”
The raspy noise formed a muffled snicker mere inches from her head, followed by an equally raspy voice. “I already have.”
Chapter 30
The Montrose Cabin
A thousand fears flashed through Suko’s mind. A whispered voice: I already have. Smug, revealing words, words spoken to her as a preteen by her best friend’s brother. I already have touched you. Now you have to let me do it again. Her friend had insisted it was just a game they played in the dark. But it felt wrong. You have to let me do it again, or I’ll tell. She’d get into big trouble because boys and girls weren’t supposed to play those kinds of games.
With her forehead still pressed against the cool countertop, Suko forced her mind to focus on the rational, but the hint of a breeze on her neck choked that resolve. Was it a breeze or a breath?
She willed her heart to slow its frantic beating and again fought to push away bad memories. Gritting her teeth, she hissed, “Back off now, or you’ll lose the ability to father children.”
Another snicker. Another breeze. Big words from such a tiny girl.
Don’t panic. Don’t succumb to the shadows.
With her elbow cocked, she spun quickly from the countertop and struck, first with her elbow then, continuing the momentum of the spin, with the opposite fist. But neither contacted flesh. Darkness loomed. In the soft glow of filtered moonlight, she found no one behind her.
Slowly, cautiously, she rose from the crouch she’d ended in. The gossamer puff of air was still there, playing against her cheek. She looked up and saw a heating vent in the ceiling directly above her. Drawing a deep, calming breath, she held it for a few seconds. Just as she was about to release it, she heard the snicker again, slipping in and out of earshot. She turned slowly, trying to pinpoint its origin. There. The small hallway next to the kitchen.
Moving into the darkened space, she followed what she knew was real—the waxing and waning of staccato bursts of emotion-strained breath. It was coming from behind the unmarked door, opposite the dumbwaiter. Placing her ear to the solid wood barrier, the husky sound clarified. It wasn’t snickering. It was crying. A man’s timbre. Being near the kitchen, it had to be Hiru’s room.
She gathered her nerves and rapped lightly on the door. “Anshin shite,” she said softly. It was a phrase her mother had used when Suko had been frightened. It meant set your mind at ease. Suko wasn’t sure why she’d voiced that saying. It simply felt right for the moment.
The muted crying abruptly stopped.
She waited for a few moments then knocked again. “Hiru-san?”
She heard a slight shuffling sound before the door clicked open a fraction. Hiru’s tear-stained face peaked out through the crack. His eyes narrowed, probably to better focus in the darkness.
“I’m so sorry to disturb you,” Suko said in Japanese. “Are you okay?”
He regarded her with a confused, untrustworthy stare for a long moment. Then he stepped back and opened his door. Bowing, he said, “If it does not cause offense, please enter my humble dwelling.”
“Thank you,” she said, stepping inside. “I am honored.”
Hiru’s large room was tastefully minimalistic in its trappings. The only lighting was from a few candles on a low center table. The quivering flames cast shadows that cavorted throughout the space, but they were not the malevolent kind. Instead they reminded Suko of home. A beautiful kamidana, a miniature Shinto shrine, sat atop a small low table against one wall.
Hiru wore a striking silk kimono. In his hand was a handkerchief with which he daubed his eyes. “Please forgive my shameful display of emotion,” he whispered, seemingly on the verge of a sob.
“You have nothing to ashamed of.”
“Please. Sit,” he said, motioning to a cushion next to the center table.
“Thank you.”
Sitting cross-legged, Suko asked, “Are you in pain? Does your back hurt?”
“No. My pain is something I have learned to live with,” he said, sitting across from her.
“Can I get you something for it? I can talk to Dr. Joiner.”
“No, thank you. I do not trust Dr. Joiner’s medicine.” The harshness in his voice implied more than a dislike of the pharmaceuticals Joiner provided.
“You don’t approve of Western medicine?”
“I believe there is good in both Western and Eastern medicine,” he said, gazing at the hypnotic allure of the candle flames.
“Me too,” she said, watching him closely. “So, then, please, will you tell me why you were crying?”
His gaze drifted up to her face. “You are an especially beautiful young woman. Please forgive my forwardness. I don’t mean my comments as a proposition. You just . . . you remind me of my granddaughter. I miss her very much.”
“Thank you, Hiru-san. I’m sure she’s much more beautiful than I am. But I appreciate the compliment.”
“She is in the Tokyo ballet.” A smile spread across his face, followed by a playful frown. “She is too thin. I keep telling her she needs to be healthier, but she insists she is at the ideal weight for her career.”
“The ballet is extremely demanding,” Suko said, trying to remain neutral to the topic. She suspected his granddaughter was only part of the reason for his sorrow, but she was willing to go along with whatever direction he took the conversation.
“She floats like a hummingbird when she leaps into the air.”
“That is very poetic. You are a very devoted grandfather.”
His eyes registered delight as he slowly rose to his feet. From the kamidana he removed a small square of paper and returned to the table. He sat and ritualistically presented the paper to her in both hands. “Please.”
She accepted the paper and immediately recognized the pattern of calligraphy on it. It was a haiku, beautifully rendered with incredibly fine brushstrokes. The English translation read:
A flight of passion
Her motion is grace aloft
Silent eloquence
“This is a beautiful haiku, Hiru-san. Thank you for sharing it with me,” she said with a low bow, handing the paper back. “I’m sure your granddaughter loves you very much. Have you given her this poem?”
He accepted the calligraphy back with a prolonged bow. When he straightened, tears again streamed down his cheeks. “I have. It made her very happy.”
Suko’s heart broke over the man’s loneliness. Despite how many questions she wanted to ask him, she knew now was not a good time. He was clearly despondent, in pain. And yet, she couldn’t simply give him a hug and walk away. She may never get an opportunity like this again.
“Hiru-san, I am deeply moved by your sadness. I did not mean to interrupt your reverie.”
His eyes slowly lowered back to the candles. “It is not good to dwell on things one cannot change,” he said, more to himself than to her.
“My parents taught me the same philosophy.” She paused briefly to gather her courage. “Grandfather, I need to ask you a question, please. A favor.”
His eyes glinted briefly at her honorific then reverted to their usual noncommittal look. He gave a small, curt nod.
“I assume you know I am trapped here against my will.”
A hesitant, small nod.
“You said you communicate with your granddaughter, send her money and such. Can you pass a message to her for me? Something she can forward to my friends?”
His eyes lowered again. “That would not be wise. All my communications are monitored. I have learned what I can and cannot write.”
“What if you write it in Japanese?”
“Even then. I do not know how, but they find a way.”
“I need to tell my friends where I am. I need to escape, but I’m not sure I can.”
“Why would you want to leave?” he asked sincerely. “There is everything you need here. I can prepare any food you like.”
“I’m certain you can. But I am being held as a prisoner for ransom. Edgar is using me as a hostage.”
He paused for a long while before responding. “I am not sure I can help you, though I wish I could.”
Suko stood and paced the room. Her feeling of hopelessness had piqued again, but she was determined not to let it win. Walking past a simple bookshelf, she stopped short when she saw that Hiru had a key remote, the same one that triggered her restraining device. Next to the remote was a small photo in a simple frame. It was a picture of a young woman who, surprisingly, did look a lot like herself.
“Is this your granddaughter?”
Hiru smiled. “Yes.”
“She is incredibly beautiful,” she commented, hoping she didn’t sound narcissistic. “What is her name?”
“Kimiko.”
“It is a beautiful name.”
Suko continued to stare at the photo, allowing her mind to drift, trying to think of a way to get an upper hand on Edgar and this whole twisted situation. She needed something she could work with, some information that might give her hope. And if not hope, at least an edge.
Then a second photo on the same shelf caught her attention. It was a picture of Hiru at a restaurant. The background was a bit out of focus, but a large sign written in Japanese stated the name of the eatery. She squinted, wishing the room were a bit brighter so she could read it, but the restaurant looked very high-end. Hiru posed in front of a large tray of elegantly prepared food: exquisite sushi, nearly transparent sashimi, breathtaking mukimono vegetables carved to look like flowers, gravity-defying stacks of rice balls, and more. He stood with arms crossed, a sujihiki knife in one hand and a gyuto knife in the other. His precision and artistry were undeniable. If it hadn’t been for his headband and his chef’s apron, one might easily mistake him for a—
The word blared in Suko’s mind like a heralding trumpet: a gekai, a surgeon. He had the means and the skill.
She returned to the table and sat.
“Grandfather. Your sashimi is tissue-paper thin. Your mukimono is the most intricately carved I’ve ever seen. There is nothing you cannot do with your knives.”
“Thank you very much,” he said with a bow.
“You have a surgeon’s skill. And I wish to ask one more favor of you.”
“Anything,” he said.
“Remove the implant from my ear.”
Chapter 31
Long Island, New York
At ten o’clock Friday morning, JFK International was thronged with passengers, airline personnel, and TSA agents. Mitch and Kiana selected a corner table at a pastry shop called La Brea Bakery. Mitch felt haggard and disconnected. He’d grabbed barely an hour of sleep crossing the Atlantic. Kiana, on the other hand, looked fresh and on her game. Mitch was equally impressed and angered by her ability to acclimate to time zones without missing a beat. Where Mitch was already on his second cup of house blend, Kiana had barely touched her foamy latté.
Nibbling at a humus-filled croissant, Kiana wiped her fingers on a napkin and then interlaced them. “I want to ask you something, but I don’t want you to be offended, okay?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’ll try not to be.”
“You seem perturbed—perhaps even angry—over the information we’ve uncovered the past three days.”
“Has it only been three? It feels a lot longer,” he said, sighing in fatigue.
“I agree,” she said. “But . . . well, I thought you’d be more pleased about the information we’ve found and how well it supports your report.”
Mitch felt himself frown. He turned away and glared at the passersby. “You say ‘we’ like this is your report too.”
“I feel I have a vested interest,” she stated boldly. “Like I said, I’ve never spent this much time on a single assignment before. We’re in this together, Mitch.”
“Well, thank you for that,” he said without ire.
“For what?”
“For not calling me a ‘mark.’”
She smiled and took a sip of latté. “Remember when I said I can read people pretty well? The more I get to know them, the better the read. I’m not bringing this up to make you feel uncomfortable. I just sense there’s something about this new information that frustrates rather than pleases you.”
He pushed his cup aside and closed his eyes. She was right. Arguing the fact was pointless. He then felt her hand rest gently on his arm. He simultaneously loved it and hated it when she did that. It made it hard to stay angry. And that bothered him even more.
“You’re right,” he said, looking back up. “I’m infuriated I didn’t think of researching ice-core samples or British legends myself.”
“It’s not like those are obvious clues,” she offered.
He forced a scoff. There was no way to hide his emotions from this seasoned handler. “I’m frustrated Edgar seems to know more about my conclusions than I do. He’s sending us to places I never thought to go, and each one has been a goldmine of information. He’s filling in blank spots I didn’t know existed.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“No. Not really.”
She smiled. “So is it an ego thing?”
Mitch couldn’t help but smile back. “I’d be lying if I said that’s not partly true. I don’t know a single researcher who doesn’t want his or her name in lights as the one who discovered something earth-shattering.” He huffed and toyed with the uneaten portion of his bear claw. “No, the thing that upsets me is that Edgar does seem to know everything.”
She took another contemplative sip. “And that’s it?”
He looked up sharply, his eyes filled with a mix of bitterness and angst. “If he does know, then what does he need me for? Why put out thousands of dollars for me to discover what he already knows? Worse, why involve Suko in this? Why kidnap and torture an innocent person?”
Kiana’s brows pulled together. She took his hand and interlaced her fingers with his. It was a very tender, very personal gesture. “Does he know everything?”
Mitch felt instantly betrayed. In spite of her insistence that they were in this together, her question revealed she was still on the job, still trying to unearth his secrets. “Whether he does or doesn’t know does not justify what he’s doing to Suko.”
“No,” Kiana admitted, staring at their joined hands. “No, it doesn’t. And had I known all of this before, I wouldn’t have accepted this assignment. But what’s done is done. I’ve already promised I will help you free Suko. When I say we’re in this together, I don’t just mean adding to your research. I hope you believe that.”
Mitch wanted to believe her. Each time she flashed him her look of compassion, he felt himself possessed by her liquid-brown eyes. That was just one more thing that frustrated him: his attraction to his kidnapper. Not in a Stockholm syndrome kind of way. More like how she made little advances, said little phrases that made his heart stutter. Her words intimated she was a friend, her actions that she perhaps wanted to be more than a friend. He wished he could believe what she professed. But there was still a specter of uncertainty challenging his ability to trust her completely.
He unclasped his hand from hers and raked both hands through his hair. There was no way to know until he took a definitive step. He needed to level with Kiana and tell her what he was thinking. Moving with a purpose, Mitch cleared a space in front of him and lifted his briefcase to the table. He opened it, retrieved the three-ring binder, and pushed it to her.
“Go ahead. Read it. Snap some pics and send them to Edgar. Let him compare it to what he already knows,” he said bitterly. “Frankly, I’m tired of this wild-goose chase.”
Kiana stared at the binder with a confused expression, behaving as if she didn’t want to touch it, as if she was afraid of it. “I don’t think that’s the answer.”
“It’s not? Then tell me what is. Or ask Edgar. What exactly does he expect me to find?”
“I—don’t—know,” she all but growled.
“You say you want to help get Suko away from Edgar. Prove it. Find out what he wants. I’m not going anywhere else until I have the complete truth.”
She considered his demand for a long time before pulling out her phone. “What do you want me to say?”
“Ask him what it is about comets he wants me to discover. He’s clearly using me to search for an answer. If I know the question, it’ll make this quest easier to fulfill. I want this ordeal to be over.”
She tapped the message into her phone and paused with her finger poised over the screen. “Are you sure about this?”
“I am.”
“Okay,” she said, pressing send. “Now what?”
“I guess we wait.”
“We can’t just sit here until he responds. Who knows how long that—”
Kiana’s phone pinged. She brought up the message and showed it to Mitch.
I will tell you when you reach the Johnson Space Center,
Houston, TX.
“Apparently, it’s not over,” he grumbled.
“I’m sorry, Mitch, but, as I’ve said before, it’s best if we see this thing through.”
“Do I have a choice?”
Kiana gave him a compassionate smile that felt like a half truth. She slid the binder back to him. “Come on. Our flight leaves in forty minutes. Let’s go see what’s at NASA, and then we’ll go get Suko.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“And I still mean it,” she said, standing.
With barely contained anger, Mitch placed his report in his briefcase and followed her to their gate.
Chapter 32
Houston, Texas
Mitch couldn’t bring himself to talk about anything during their flight to Houston. His frustrations churned and seethed and gnawed inside him. He felt battered. Kiana tried several times to engage in conversation, but Mitch found he couldn’t join in. What he sought right now was oblivion. He asked the steward for a drink—he didn’t care of what. He swallowed it quickly, as he would a nasty cough medicine, wincing at the burn, and leaned against the cabin wall, imploring sleep to overtake his angst.
