Date: Tue, 3 Jan 1995 03:08:09 -0500 Reply-To: NancySSCH@AOL.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: "N.L. Cleveland" Subject: Aloha c3.p125-130 c 1995 N.L. Cleveland "Mariko..." What could he say. How could he explain. He groped for words, for an easy casual lie that would send her on her way, and free him to go back, and find that shadow that still followed. Clearly, followed, now. The reflection of the gleaming store windows caught the shape, the persistent tag lingering at the far corner of the street, trying for all the world to look like just another low level executive, on his way home. But Jonathan knew better. "Someone is following you. I can tell." Her alert dark eyes had caught his quick glance at the window. And now she stopped, turned with him to watch another passing palanquin of another anonymous god, then leaned close to him, like a girl with her lover, and spoke fast, her voice low and quiet, her warm breath tickling his ear. "I've been getting undercover training. I'll tell you more about it, later. Right now, say what you need me to do. You saved my life, Jonathan. You helped me. Trusted me. Now I will trust you. Do what you must. Don't worry about me." "Slap me." Her eyes widened in surprise. Jonathan gritted out the words, trying to get the meaning to her, as rapidly as possible. "Slap me. Make a scene. Walk away. And forget you ever met me, Mariko. If anyone asks, I was just some drunken gaijin who propositioned you." The more time she spent with him, the greater her danger. If only she did what he said, he'd have a chance. A slender chance, to head off doom for her and her family. Her eyes narrowed in understanding, and Jonathan bent down, grasping her shoulders roughly, pulling her to him a public, brutal kiss. For a moment she melted against him, the hot, burning touch of their lips sealing a compact that had only been hinted at, when they met before. She was harder now, tougher, with more depth and more experience in the ways of the world. A woman. An equal. Someone he could have loved, in another life. If he had a life left, to live. Then she twisted away, adroitly. She smiled crookedly at him, and he recognized she had been training in aikido, and belatedly, karate, as her solid fist landed hard on his jaw. He rocked back, taking a half step to keep his balance, amazed at the ferocity he sensed in her. It had always been there, he realized now, just masked by layers of etiquette and social politeness. Without that hard central core, that focused determination, she could never have climbed the ranks of the police department. And now, she was letting it show. Letting it out. Revealing to him a deeper glimpse of her own strength of spirit, and body. "Pig. Drunken barbarian." Her eyes flashed in rage, as she shouted, attracting the attention of more than one man on the street. "Take your hands off me or I'll cut them off." Jonathan backed away furthur, holding his hands out placatingly, as she pulled a long sharp dagger from the sleeves of her kimono and brandished it at him. He just hoped she wouldn't over do it. Fall too far into method acting and actually take a swipe at him with the blade. He caught a merry twinkle in her eyes, as he backed cautiously away, and then she winked at him. "Ma'am, are you all right?" Her eager protectors were there, a breathless trio of everyday heroes, surrounding her, and looking menacingly towards him. Jonathan took the opportunity to melt into the alley behind him. His shadow was still hovering uncertainly at the end of the street, and he ran, hard and fast, down the back alley towards a point that would bring him out behind the man. He was remembering these warrens, this maze of tiny crooked streets in this older part of town. He'd trained here, and in the jumbled mountain passes above the flat, densely populated plains, with the Dragons. Had memorized every inch of the city, once. And now it was coming back to him. All the details he would need, to navigate this town. There. He pulled himself to a crouching, fast walk, his sneakers almost silent on the cobbled alley floor. The stones gleamed in the wet air, reflecting a dull sheen of light from the streetlights, far above. He turned the corner, to the street. Ahead, he could see a man's shape, moving slowly down the sidewalk, towards the tiny knot of people still gathered where he'd left Mariko. He stilled his breathing, trying for utter invisibility as he stalked his prey. He glanced behind him. The street was clear. And no one at the other end looked his way, Mariko commanding their full attention with her dramatic gestures and profuse thanks. He moved closer, and in a sudden rush, closed on the man, driving his flat hand in a hard sharp blow into the man's kidneys, and catching him as he crumpled towards the ground. Dragging him into the store's doorway, out of sight of the street. He had no time for finesse, no time to ask questions. He pulled up the sleeves of each wrist. No circle, no mark of the Watchers. His last lingering compunction vanished. This man must be one of the Dragons. Jonathan raised his hand again, ready to crush the man's throat, his face tense with concentration. A Dragon should have sensed him coming. Should have been prepared. Should have fought back. Time was running out. He could hear footsteps, ringing on the pavement. Coming closer to the hidden alcove he sheltered in. He had to decide, quickly. He pulled open the man's jacket, searching for his wallet. His hands touched smooth leather and he fumbled it out. Opened it, to see the shining star of a detective, glinting up at him. There was no more time. He stuffed the wallet into his pocket, and burst out of the recessed doorway, startling a shout of surprise from the couple passing by. He pushed the man roughly aside, throwing him to the ground, and pounded down the alley, into the hidden back streets of the city. This whole situation was turning into a mess. And was it all his fault? Was he seeing pursuit, where none existed? Or was the police force in the hands of the Dragons, as well? He'd have to find Mariko, again. And ask her about the man who had been following. He blended into the pedestrians, a few blocks away, and then headed for the shopping district. Time to change the image again. And to pick up a few more supplies. The sword was a start, but he needed something more. His experience in D.C. had shown him the potentials and pitfalls of explosives. Since he wasn't intending to come out of the Dragon's compound, he didn't care about the danger. All he wanted was raw destructive power. He still knew a few places where illicit materials could be procured, for the right price. He only needed to find the right man. And the festival gave him an idea... A few hours later, he stood in a warehouse in the western quarter of the city. A black laquered palanquin rested on the wooden floor, its false bottom stuffed with his gift to the Dragons. The innocuous looking prop from a recently closed drama carried more explosive charge than had been used to level the American Embassy in Beruit. He should know, he'd been part of the wet work team sent in to find the perpetrators, and kill them. No one had said they weren't allowed to question them, first. All he needed now were some porters, to carry his modern Trojan Horse to the door. And a way in, himself. Not that he expected to use this final, doomsday weapon. It was insurance, basically, if everything else went wrong. Which it might. The Dragons must be expecting him. They had thrown the challenge directly in his face, trying to kill him three times in his own home. They knew he would return the favor. He was on their ground, in their city. Outnumbered. All he had going for him was the initiative of choosing his own moment to strike. His Immortality. And his total lack of concern, about dying. All that held him back from destroying them outright was his burnining curiostiy about Aki. Was she indeed still alive? Was she with them? One of them or a captive? He had to know. And then, he could decide what to do. He was ready. But first, he had to see Mariko, one more time. One last time. He left the palanquin sitting in its lonely splendor, in the locked warehouse. He had his own key, and the promise that his possessions would not be disturbed for the next two days. It had been an expensive promise, but then, Shonte's money would do her no good, now. Jonathan still had a few thousand dollars in cash left, small change from the purchases he'd made today. Enough to secure him the services of some strong, uncurious men, tomorrow. Enough to serve his needs, tonight. Mariko's family was listed, of all things, in the telephone book. Her name was not too common, and it only took him three tries before he found the right Arrogatos. She was not in, just now, but was expected home shortly. Could they take a message? No, just tell her a friend from the island would call back, later. Which island, they had asked. Just tell her, the island, he'd replied. He wanted her to know he'd tried to get back to her, if for some reason he could not make it. But he fully intended to be waiting for her, outside her parent's home, before she got there herself. And he was... He arrived on the quiet residential block, and stepped out of his rented Honda Accord, into the still evening air, just in time to watch Mariko's family home explode in a thunderous clap of flame and heat. The blast lifted him and threw him back across the hood of the car, tossing him like a broken toy onto the blacktop. He lay there, limp. Deafened. Fighting to breathe against the crushing pressure that drove the air out of his lungs. Knowing that his phone call had caused all this. Damning himself for his stupidity. For his carelessness. For his murderous ignorance. The Dragons had been there. All along. Waiting. Watching. Ready. And their message to him was...we know what you plan. And we dare you to come. He would come. Oh, yes. He would come. He curled in agony around the flaring pain of a cracked rib, and then forced himself to his feet. The paint on his rented car was blistered all along the side facing the house. He pulled his singed hand away from the scorching metal, and groped for his keys. He was no use to Mariko now. It didn't matter if the police were in the Dragon's pockets, or not. She was dead, even if she still walked on the earth. She'd be dead before he saw her again. Curious faces stared at him, as the neighbors stepped out of their homes, some clutching videocameras, trying to record the fire, others talking excitiedly on cellular phones, demanding the emergency crews get here at once. He could hear no sounds, but their expressions and gestures told him what they said. A team of men and women began trying to hose down the fire, themselves, using their garden sprinklers and buckets of water from a koi pond set in an adjoining lawn. It was hopeless, but they tried, tears streaming down their faces from the heat and arcid smoke, and from grief and horror, as well. Jonathan pulled the car door open, and half sat, half sprawled, inside. He raised his trembling hands, one holding the other, trying to get the key into the ignition switch. He forced it in, finally, and started the car. The headlights flared, and swept across the ruined garden. Cherry blossoms from a late flowering tree mixed with ash and cinders, on his windshield. He leaned on the wheel, then gritted his teeth and turned it, agony lancing across his side as his bones grated against one another. Through the sudden tears that prickled at his eyes, he looked up, trying to watch the road ahead. Trying not to hit the innocent men and women who waved and gestured for him to stop as he edged the car forward. Enough innocents had died, here. There was a sharp impact on the window on the other side. It shattered in, silently, to his still stunned ears, and a hand reached through the cracked and jagged edges of the broken glass, and unlocked the door. Jonathan couldn't accelerate, not without flattening a group of nightgown clad housewives who stood rooted in shock in the road in front of him, their eyes gleaming in the reflected glare of the fire, their mouths open in horror. He swerved, instead, trying to shake off this intruder, and shot a glance to his right, darting his eyes away from the road to assess the level of threat coming through the open door. Mariko swung into the seat beside him, her long hair in wild disarray, an angry red welt on her left cheek where a burning ember had landed. Furious tears sparkled in her eyes, threatening to burst the damn her mind had erected over her emotions. She was no longer in her kimono, but wore instead dark denium jeans and a flannel plaid shirt, with a rip in the sleeve where blood oozed from an ugly scratch along her arm. She held a dark metal Ingram, with the stock cut off, between her legs. It was pointed at the floor. "Damn you, Jonathan. Didn't you hear me?" He read the words on her lips, the roaring silence in his ears only letting through a tiny distorted whisper of her voice. He shook his head and turned his eyes back to the road, an extra urgency added to his driving now. He pushed the car across a lawn, and wove across the road, missing a running child who raced into his path by a hair's breadth. The last obstacle had cleared their route, and he gunned the accelerator, trying to beat the approaching red and blue lights of the emergency vehicles to the corner. So she *was* doing undercover work. The Japanese were one of the countries that had purchased the lightweight submachinegun for their undercover operatives. *And* she was still alive. Perhaps she had a chance. A slim chance, for survival. It was the least he could offer her. Small compensation for the loss of her family. But something, out of the ashes. Some tiny victory. Her life. In his hands. He slewed the car around the intersection and headed away, towards the distant hills. Hearing the tinny wail of the sirens, behind him. Welcoming the return of his senses. Knowing he had only a very short time to move, before the net closed around him. Heading towards the headquarters of the clan. And trying to remember a place he could drop Mariko off, where she might disappear for a while. Watching in the rearview mirror, all the while, to see if they were being followed. "Why?" Her hand clutched his shoulder, her voice penetrated the fog around his consciousness. He shook his head, and shrugged, unwilling to trust his own voice just yet. She sat a while in silence, then asked again. "What are you doing here, Jonathan?" Her voice shook, but she got the words out, firmly and clear. He owed her an answer. He owed her the truth, now. They had left the burning ruins far behind. Even the faint glow in his rear view mirror came from the town's lights, not her parents' home. Her parents' funeral pyre. He pulled to the side of the road, in a crossroad that wound down out of the hills, and stopped the car. Turned off the lights. Sat, silent, staring out at the city spread across the plain below them. Felt the slow pulse of blood, in his temples. The tingling of healing in his ribs. He turned at last to the woman at his side, and looked deep into her eyes. Her bottomless, dark eyes. Eyes full of questions, and doubt. Eyes more suited to laughter, than to the tears that streamed silently forth, now. Jonathan took a deep, harsh breath, and spoke. "It is the Black Dragon clan." She nodded, recognizing the name. Waiting for him to continue. "I am here to destroy them." Her eyes shifted away from his, and she picked up the gun, running her fingers over the barrel, amost unconsciously, caressing the cool metal. She stared out the window now, her eyes unblinking, the tears sliding like drops of molten silver down her face, caught by the light of the new risen moon. Jonathan felt his heart lurch in his chest, his throat tighten. He fought to speak, to go on with the story he felt somehow she already knew. "They saw you with me....they must have assumed....I called...to warn you....I didn't think...." He could not say it. Could not continue. His voice broke, now. His sorrow, his pity, his regret all piling up, and silencing him. He bit his lips, feeling the sharp bright pain, tasting his own blood. Gathered up his courage, and went on. The inadequacy of the words, their pitiful uselessness, almost silencing him again. "I am sorry. So sorry. Mariko." The only sound in the car was their breathing. They sat, alone in eternity, each locked inside their own mind, each with their own thoughts as their only companions. Jonathan felt as if he was so far away from anyone, he could have been sitting on the distant moon that glowed softly in the sky. He felt like an alien, in this land. A mortal world he would never be at home in, at ease in, again. "Why do you want to destroy the Black Dragons?" Mariko's voice was a rasp, a grating whisper, with none of the light musical tones, none of the girlish charm and affectation he was used to. Stripped to its bare essentails. It conveyed the words. Asked the question. Waited, in silence, for his answer. =========================================================================