A/N: This story has been plaguing me for years. I first started writing it shortly after Casino Royale hit theatres. It has seen more revisions than any story I have ever written and picked over again and again. It was never good enough to publish nor was I in a position to commit to updating it. Right now I am sort of picking through the stories I have yet to finish and am using this as a reason to keep writing something fresh and new. I hope everyone likes it. It still feels a little erratic but that's the nature of intense action scenes in literature. Please review and tell me what you think. This story takes far more original research and planning than any of my other work. This has not seen any eyes but my own so if there are any grammatical errors I apologize. I have rated this T in conjunction with the standards of tv parental guidelines and the mpaa's rating system I chose these American systems because I know Americans tend to be twitchy about the severity of content. I only mention the rating because the descriptions given in the guidelines are vague and hard to understand. if there is a problem with the rating I will change it.
Disclaimer: All recognisable characters are the property of their creators. Military jargon, history, and procedures are lifted from a combination of sources most heavily the Ministry of Intelligence.
Spectres of Chaos
Bloody hands shook in the dim light of the public restroom. Tiny droplets of blood splattered against the dirty tiled floor. Small hazel eyes trembled as they gazed at the gore and the mess left in its wake. The slumped form of a small blonde girl sat staring in morose horror at hands which now felt alien. A loud thud sounded to her immediate right. Taking her gaze off her hands for the first time in several minutes she found a large manila envelope had been slid to her and pant suited legs were retreating from the occupied stall. Seeing the envelope and knowing what it would contain her focus was sharpened. She had a job to do. No one cared about the life she had taken nor did they care that the act was difficult for her. All that mattered to her employer was she finish her assignment. Bending forward her blood stained hands lifted the heavy package. The sealed flap came open with little resistance and its burden was soon in her hands. The cold steal of the Beretta M9 was heavy and dead in her right hand. The glint of the metal revealed it had been recently cleaned. The already drying blood smeared across the guns hand grip as the blonde took a firm hold of the weapon.
At thirty-one the young woman had fired a weapon but always in the line of combat. After two successful tours in the Middle East she had seen bloodshed but never had it been as personal as killing someone with her bare hands. When she had joined the Royal Navy she hadn't expected to be in this situation. Her orders had been sent from the office of the Minister of Defence and who was she to argue with the chain of command.
Staggering to her feet she slipped out of her small leather jacket and wrapped the weapon tightly clutching the garment close to her chest. Unsteady on her feat she slowly made her way out of the public building into the cold Tokyo night. The man she had just killed was the aid of a successful Japanese business man. The aid had been relatively innocent, all things considered. He knew the location of certain meeting places frequented by his employer and that was enough. After tailing the aid for several days she knew that his employer would be in the back room of a nearby restaurant. The business man a gentleman in his mid-fifties was named Yakamora Kurou. Comparatively on the world stage Yakamora was of little importance. On occasion his shipping company was known to look the other way when members of the yakuza paid enough. Recently the section chief in japan was able to link the kidnapping of young British nationals to shipments out of the country by Yakamora's company. When all was said and done the death of this one business man would do little to the overall operation of such crimes. It would, however, force the yakuza to change their operating procedure creating a trail the foreign office could follow.
The follow through on such matters didn't affect her. The assignment ended when the man was dead and she was on her way back to England.
Why a soldier in the navy would be chosen for such an assignment was beyond her. A member of the defence office must have seen something in her performance that made her an ideal candidate though she wasn't sure exactly what. She was certain, having reviewed her file not long ago, that she had no confirmed kills. As a commando she mostly saw urban combat and any kills she may have made could not have been directly attributed to her in the heat of combat. While in Afghanistan she rarely fired her weapon until serving as a scout her final tour.
After her service she had hoped to be assigned to a quite naval base somewhere with minimal likelihood of being shot. The sensation of being wounded was not a thing she relished experiencing again.
Crossing the street the young Brit tried to ignore the chill in the air and the weight of the gun bundled in her arms. Making her way into an ally she slid next to a dumpster and waited. From her perch in the shadows she could see the door to the restaurants rear entrance and the automobile outside. The aid was supposed to pick up his boss after a meeting which should be concluding soon. Yakamora would emerge from the restaurant to find his aid missing and a bullet in his frontal lobe.
Crouching and waiting the young woman wished that she had the foresight to clean the gun before coming to the ally but what was done was done. Almost twenty minutes passed before her target walked out of the ally door. To her shock he was not alone but followed by two large men. It was impossible to determine if the goons were armed but it didn't matter. She was under orders to make the kill and she was going to follow those orders. Bracing herself with her left hand on the dumpster the British commando raised the semi-automatic weapon and took aim. Once the sound registered in her ears she pushed off from the painted metal of the dumpster and ran. As the blonde woman retreated she caught the image of the bullet striking her targets temple and gore spraying the brick wall behind him.
Killing a man from ten feet with a gun was much easier she reflected than being upfront with one's victim. Having your hands around their neck as life left their eyes was decidedly less pleasant. At first she had tried to strangle the young aid to Yakamora before giving up on the endeavour and instead striking him repeatedly with whatever sharp instrument she could find. In the dimly light alleyway it had been at first a discarded glass bottle and finally a splintered piece of wood when the bottle had broken over his head.
Once he was dead it was an easy matter of tossing his body behind some crates and walking into the nearest restroom to clean up. It was only after having gotten to the restroom that the adrenaline wore down sending her into shock. Her hands which had seemed so strangely bright and red from blood were now dark and almost black as she sprinted from the scene of her second murder.
She couldn't get rid of the gun just yet because of what evidence it might prove to Japanese intelligence nor could she discard the jacket held in her other hand. She was now running through the streets of Tokyo with a weapon clearly visible to onlookers. The CCTV cameras should be inoperable if her dossier was accurate. None of the people screaming as she ran would remember enough details about her to make a valid witness. All she had to do was find a way to dispose of the gun and hide before the local police were able to find her. As she left the alley she had heard gunshots following her but now that she was on the street there weren't any signs that the bodyguards were tailing her. Continuing her flight from the scene of the crime she saw the perfect cover.
Barrelling down the street she crossed a busy intersection and continued east down a sloped road at full speed. Never slowing she sprinted down the tarmac street across the pavement and collided with the safety rail. The momentum carried her body forward flipping it over and tumbling into the icy river bisecting the city.