Chrysanthemum was feeling edgy. As she’d moved through the usual city pedestrians on her way to Stacy Hunter’s apartment from where the taxi had dropped her off several blocks away, she’d quickly realized that her talent for fading into a crowd didn’t work as well when most of that crowd was made up of Europeans. Or at least, people of European descent, she reminded herself. Be careful, some Americans take real offense at being called European. Either way, she was attracting more attention than usual when in her civilian garb and it was making her jumpy.
Then she turned the sidewalk corner and her stride broke, eyes widening at the sight of policemen flanking the front entrance to Stacy’s apartment building, the two men in the Kevlar vests and helmets that they usually wore for riots. Chrysanthemum quickly recovered her bearings and surreptitiously glanced around — good, the other people on the street were showing their unease with the police presence, her own reaction should go unnoticed. Keeping her pace even, she did her best to ignore how the policemen tensed up and their eyes followed her as she walked past them and kept going up the street. Why were they singling her out? Idiot, Ranma’s staying with Hunter-san, whatever happened must involve the yakuza somehow — and you’re the only person on the street that’s Japanese. Just keep going for a few blocks, then find a place to sit and check the internet for news, like you should have before you left the hotel. But in truth, she couldn’t blame herself too harshly. For the Tokyo Super Squad, adventure came to them — they didn’t have to chase it.
A few blocks later she came to a sidewalk café, and with it too early for the afternoon rush a table was available far enough from any other customers for public privacy. A few minutes later she had her order in, her tablet out, and felt herself going cold at what she found on the news sites. This makes no sense at all! The yakuza are businessmen, however ugly their business might be. Things are already stirred up, and targeting Ranma, much less the little girl, is just going to make things worse. Of course, shooting the Stanson sisters on the grounds of the US embassy in Japan hadn’t made sense, either....
She didn’t have answers, and it looked like there wasn’t going to be an easy way to get to DarkAngel to ask her for her opinion. Fortunately, Stacy and Ranma weren’t her only points of contact in Hudson City.
Sergeant Amado dropped into the seat at his desk, leaned back, and closed his eyes as he took deep, even breaths to calm the anger raging and snarling, demanding to be let out. It had been even worse than he’d feared as soon as he learned the identities of the gurentai Ranma had put in the hospital — and more important, that they worked for the Myamiji-kai, the only yakuza gang they’d ruled out so far. Losing your temper didn’t help, George. What’s this, the third superior you’ve ripped on? Sooner or later you’re going curse out one that won’t let it go just because you’re the best. And at least when he gave you a free hand he left you a few men. He snorted at the thought. Yeah, right. While he focused pretty much everything the department has back on the Myamiji-kai, I have all of four men for all the rest. And right after ... DarkAngel was able to narrow down which group of yakuza thugs —
He jerked when his desk phone rang, sat up with a sigh, and picked up the handset. “Sergeant Amado here, if you have the crime, I have the time,” he said in greeting.
There was a moment of silence (not unusual for that particular opening — something else his superiors have commented on less than favorably), then a pleasantly young female voice said, “Sergeant Amado, this is Kiku ... ah, Chrysanthemum of the Tokyo Super Squad. I just arrived in Hudson City, and was wondering if we could meet for dinner.”
George straightened in his seat. “I wasn’t aware that Japanese law enforcement had been cleared to send anyone.”
“We are not, I am here on a strictly unofficial basis ... because of Ranma and Genma.”
“I see.” George frowned as his thoughts raced. If she wasn’t in town as an official representative ... “Do you have any way to verify your identity?” he asked. While he figured she was who she claimed to be, as unpredictable as the yakuza had been throughout the whole mess it paid to be sure.
“Of course,” Chrysanthemum replied. “A few days back you received an email detailing our records on Ranma and Genma. If you open it up and read down to the paragraph that details Genma’s record, you will find that the first letter of the first sentences of that paragraph spell out his name. You will find the same thing for Ranma.”
George’s eyebrows lifted as he brought up the email in question. Sure enough, the names were there. “Do you always sign your work that way?” he asked.
“Any reports I write that I’m not putting my name to, yes, in some way,” she replied. “In this case, the police asked me to write it up, to make sure that their official records were consistent with Genma and Ranma’s actual personalities. So, how about that dinner?”
Bluejay silently coasted down toward the nighttime black-on-black shape of the mansion below and ahead of her, as her rising tension tightened her muscles and curdled her stomach until her clenched jaw was as much to keep from throwing up as it was her nerves. Hey, it could be worse. At least you aren’t following some private jet cross-country, with no idea how long the flight will be or where you’re going, she told herself. It didn’t help.
Then the roof was coming up toward her and she changed her angle and spread her wings to their maximum extension, let her momentum swing her feet down even as her speed dropped to practically nothing. Her knees flexed, absorbing the last of her momentum as she touched down, and she crouched in the dark and waited for any hint that her approach had been noticed by the mansion’s inhabitants. The minutes ticked by — nothing. Sighing with relief, she crawled to the edge of the roof and peeked over the edge. Her face tightened at the sight. There were a lot of windows, and she needed to place one of DarkAngel’s extremely high-tech bugs on the glass of each and every one of them ... and those of the other three sides of the building. The tiny devices would be facing the wrong way for visuals, but their previously unmentioned ability to pick up audio from the rooms would work just fine. And of course, she needed to get inside the garage to place a few there as well ... again. It was going to be a long night. When this is over, I’m going to hit a few fatcats for fun, then take a long vacation. She glanced around. Let’s see, the garage should be over that way.
Ryu turned from the window and let the drapes fall closed. A few memory-guided steps through the dark and he lay down on the guest room bed and stared up toward the invisible ceiling. It was good to know that his limited hang-gliding experience wasn’t wasted, and lucky that his room was on the top floor on the side of the mansion facing the best approach the current light winds dictated for a gliding (and therefore silent) approach. He didn’t know who the flyer now on the roof was, wouldn’t be able to identify him or her later — all he’d seen was a hint of outlines against the stars. But whoever it was, was perhaps an ally of the DarkAngel his current employer was worried about ... and thought Ranma was with.
Come to me, Ranma, and let us see which of us best deserves the Umisenken.
Ranma ... Cherub ... shifted where he sat on a roof across the street from the main gate in the wall surrounding the mansion Deborah Manning had been brought to, that Stacy ... DarkAngel said was the main center of the Sawakiri-gumi yakuza. He was happy to be spending time in his male form beyond the occasional spar with Peng-sensei, but was fighting something he was all too familiar with from his time in Nerima, or more specifically Furinkan High School — boredom. He had thought that the two of them would be sneaking in to bug the mansion while Bluejay kept watch from outside, and the way the roles had been reversed had been an unpleasant surprise. Now it seemed like hours since Bluejay had left to circle around for the best angle of approach to the mansion, and Cherub was eager to do something. By this time, anything.
He shifted again, and DarkAngel glanced over at him from where she crouched several yards away. She sighed, then glanced back to make sure once again that the taller building behind them masked their presence and scooted over next to her ward. “I know, it’s boring, stakeouts always are,” she murmured. “When Bluejay gets back we can move somewhere out of line-of-sight and relax while B.P’s computers do the listening for us.”
Cherub nodded. “Let’s hope she hurries.”
“No, let’s hope she doesn’t hurry,” DarkAngel replied instantly. “Let’s hope she takes as long as she needs to get it done without being seen.” When Cherub reluctantly nodded with a sigh, she added, “I managed to modify the meditation technique your father taught me, it lets me stay alert while not being aware of time passing. It helps nights like this go by a lot quicker.”
“I could have used that at my last school,” Cherub said with a grin.
DarkAngel frowned a warning. “You are not using that technique at school, not if you want to keep helping me. Your grades come first.”
Cherub grimaced as the Barstool Prophet’s chuckle at the exchange came through their ear buds. He opened his mouth for a rebuttal, only to pause, stiffening.
DarkAngel glanced at her ward as he slowly shifted up into a crouch, then she glanced around as nonchalantly as she could. “What is it?” she murmured.
“Someone’s behind us,” he replied softly, “someone pretty good, too, to get this close without me noticing.”
She nodded. “Got it, follow my lead.” She scooted away from Cherub back to her previous location. As soon as she got there she spun in place, rising and swirling her cape behind her to clear her arms, using the motion to hide palming one of her halo boomerangs and holding it out of sight by her side. She glanced over to see with approval that Cherub had also turned and risen, though he didn’t have any halo boomerangs of his own — that would come after they’d had the chance to design some that fit his own motif and he’d had a chance to practice. “It can’t be comfortable on that fire escape,” she called out, voice at regular speaking volume, “why don’t you come up and join us?”
For a long moment the two waited tensely as nothing happened, then a female figure sprang into view, spinning forward to land lightly on her feet facing them. The woman was covered in loose, mottled-dark clothing, feet in black tabi boots, hands gloved, her head and lower face covered by a mask. She straightened from her landing and slowly walked toward the two, empty hands spread. “You’ve gotten better over the years,” she said to Cherub. Her soft voice was young, without hesitation.
Cherub frowned, wracking his brain as he tried to think of who she could be. She thought she knew him, or at least had met him. What with the dark and her concealing clothing he couldn’t see any recognizable features, but her voice sounded vaguely familiar and the way she moved ... “Kiku?”
“Yes, Kiku, but not officially,” their guest replied.
“I take it you know each other?” DarkAngel asked, straightening when she saw Cherub relax.
“Yes,” Cherub replied, “this is Kiku — Chrysanthemum in English, the martial artist on the Tokyo Super Squad.”
DarkAngel slipped the halo boomerang back into its sheath. “Glad to meet you, but I thought our people told your people that we didn’t need any help just yet. And how did you find us?”
“I am here on a strictly unofficial basis, hence the lack of my usual uniform,” Chrysanthemum said with a shrug. “We were shamed by the kidnapping and murder of the Stanson sisters, and owe Ranma for what he and Genma did on our behalf. After we got involved in the mess in Nerima — Akane is safe with the Champions at Millennium City, by the way.” The cloth covering her lower face shifted as she smiled at Cherub’s sigh of relief — with the after dark stakeout, he wasn’t going to get a chance to make his usual late night call to the Tendo home. Chrysanthemum continued, “Hopefully, the public will never know I was here, or at least that I was the one to help out. As for how I found you, the very nice Sergeant Amado who asked us about Ranma and Genma suggested that this particular collection of yakuza might be the one to pay attention to. So,” she added, focusing on the blue-clad teenager, “what do I call you?”
When her ward hesitated, DarkAngel answered, “Cherub.”
“Cherub?” the newcomer repeated in disbelief.
“Cherub,” DarkAngel reiterated firmly.
Cherub ground his teeth when Chrysanthemum began to snicker. “Yes, laugh it up now,” he growled. “After I get through with that name —”
He broke off, both he and DarkAngel stiffening when the Barstool Prophet’s voice sounded in their ears. “Bluejay’s done, she’s on her way back now.”
DarkAngel passed on the message to the curious Chrysanthemum, and the three searched the star-speckled sky for the returning sort-of-villain. It was Cherub that spotted her low approach, and that only seconds before she ghosted down to a landing on the roof.
DarkAngel sighed with relief as Bluejay rose from her landing crouch and walked toward them. “Bluejay, you made it back.” At Bluejay’s obvious interest in the newcomer, she added, “This is ... a friend from Japan, here to help out. Everything go all right?”
Bluejay nodded a greeting to Chrysanthemum and Cherub, then turned to DarkAngel and shook her head. “No, it didn’t. I wasn’t seen and was able to bug all the windows, but I couldn’t get into the garage — I could have gotten past the security, but this time there was no side door and no way to open the vehicle entrance quietly.”
“Damn!” DarkAngel softly cursed, then turned to look at the upper part of the mansion visible over the estate wall. “Not good, not good at all. I was hoping to be able to catch them on the move. Did you at least put some bugs on the outside of the garage?”
“Uh ... no. No, I didn’t think of that,” Bluejay replied.
“I’m afraid you’re going back to do just that, place a dozen or so all along the wall above the garage door,” DarkAngel said. She paused in thought for a long moment, then sighed. “After that, get back to the airport and get some sleep in your own jet, just in case. B.P., after you reactivate the bugs keeping an eye on the Sawakiri-gumi’s private jets, can you set the bugs over the garage to automatically fire tracker darts at any vehicles other than motorcycles that leave?” At his affirmative response, she continued, “Do so, and track any that do. If any head for the airport, let Bluejay know. Assuming everything works out tomorrow ... today, I guess ... we’ll be going in after dark tonight. Hopefully, the bugs will pick up Deborah Manning’s voice and give us at least a rough idea of where in the mansion she is. But even if they don’t, without the bugs in the garage we can’t wait.”
Bluejay sighed but nodded, and a few moments later she was over the edge of the roof and gliding down to the alley floor, on her way to the fire escape of the same higher building she had used before to get the height needed for her silent approach to the mansion.
DarkAngel turned to the others. “We’ll wait out as much of the night as we can” — before Ranma and I have to sneak past the police to get back into our own apartment — “so get as much rest today as you can, tonight is going to be an exciting one.” She settled back down on the roof and waved the other two down to join her. “So Chrysanthemum, what’s it like to be on a Japanese superteam?”
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(Posted Sun, 01 Jul 2012 05:58)
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