Disclaimer - Nope, still turtle-less. Sorry for the wait. This chapter was a bugger to write. And, the fact that my PC froze up during my proof-reading time - taking with it all my wonderful additions and changes, I had to start over with my revisions. I usually make a half-dozen or more changes to any chapter that I've blocked out before I upload it. So, yeah, I had a lot of work to redo.

Italicized font for thoughts and flashback scenes. Within the flashbacks, regular font denotes thoughts. Kind of goes without saying, but…anyway, enjoy!

x x x x x x

Chapter 10 - The Way of Secrets

The moment Marie charged into her dojo, the door to the room locked shut behind her, and the automated lighting system activated. It flooded the room with blinding light, compared to the near lightless interior of the tunnel she had just exited. The results revealed her weapons rack and a solitary display case standing against the east-side wall. She gave none of it any notice, though, and continued running towards the second door across the way and at the northwest corner from the tunnel, a door separating her training room from the basement. When she reached it, Marie came to a quick stop and, at the same time, slapped her palm against the electronic key pad embedded into the wall. It immediately recognized her handprint, quietly initiating the release of four deadbolts into the steel-re-enforced door. Now, no assault coming from the other side would open it.

Rather than go back through the tunnel and to relative safety, however, Marie stood there and waited, panting. While she caught her breath, the minutes ticked by, but the longer her door remained unchallenged, the more the woman began wondering if the turtles had even discovered the basement, yet. Then, she had another thought and Marie's eyes widened.

Maybe they heard the squeak from that stupid hay bale and are now in the barn!

Marie made a mental note to oil the contraption once things calmed down…if things calmed down. She sighed and knew right away that whatever 'calm' she had had before today would be something of the past, now that her 'visitors' were intimately knowledgeable about her and her home and, more than likely, her secret.

Once more, the woman gave serious thought to moving.

Instead of grumbling to herself, though, she quickly pushed another button on the same keypad, activating a security breach sensor. Now, anyone lifting the phony block of hay would set off an alarm, which was nothing more than the dojo lights flickering off and on. At the same time, the automated opener embedded into the floor just outside the dojo disengaged, keeping anyone from inside the tunnel from breaching the security of her underground room. However, other than the basement, the door, now locked tight, barred her only escape route to the outside. Marie now found herself between that proverbial rock and a hard place, since, with two known turtles on property, she knew that the chances were good their curiosity would have one of them checking Sudan's shelter while the other focused on the secret room.

Nevertheless, she wanted to make sure, absolutely positively certain, that if either of them managed to discover her well-disguised door, her room would remain unmolested.

With her heart racing and her hands perspiring, Marie stood there, back to the wall. Standing to the door's right side, she listened and held her breath, and as she did, she found herself staring across the room to the closed tunnel. Suddenly, she closed her eyes and chuckled, rather amused with herself. Given what she knew about the street smarts of her adversary - especially one in particular - Marie wouldn't put it past them to discern how best to compromise it.

"Well, guess I'll find out soon enough just how good that system is."

As she tried to put her worries aside, Marie casually glanced over to the display case. The moment the dojo lights came on, the lights in the mahogany, glass-fronted case had activated as well. Now it glowed from within like a museum artifact.

Inside and adorning a black marble life-size mannequin were an armored head set, a pair of bladed shoulder protectors and a breastplate, with bladed gauntlets strapped to each 'arm'.

Marie scowled at the collection and the helmeted, eyeless head appeared to stare back from behind the protective glass, as if mocking her. She shot out a frustrated breath and narrowed her eyes even more. It wasn't that she kept the suit to reminisce about the 'good old days'. No, Marie kept her father's armor to remind her about her roots, where she had come from, and to reinforce the importance of never going back there, again. Contrary to how she once believed, how he raised her to think, she now saw the bladed costume as a monstrosity, a reminder of a life wasted on the whims of a mad man and one who nearly drove her to the same fate.

And he would have, too, had it not been for the discovery that caused Marie to seek refuge from his influence.

Her mind reeled back to that moment, the moment she knew to be the beginning of the end to a life whose sole purpose was in serving him.

In reflex, her throat tightened. Marie tried refusing the emotion, damning it to hell, but her throat constricted nonetheless and she felt an overwhelming sense of repressed grief. Her training from years ago had forbid her to cry…at least back when they had killed her father. Rage and the need to avenge his death replaced tears, no matter how deep her grief - and no matter how dark her room at night.

Now, three decades later, Marie allowed a single tear to escape, if only to rebel against him, and it trailed down her face, a solitary silvery line of insurrection.

As she stood there, waiting by the door, she breathed lightly, and again thought back to that first decade following her father's demise. During that time, Marie had committed herself in tipping the scales of justice…to avenge his death. And avenge she did, employing every means at her disposal, chasing her enemy throughout the endless maze of tunnels beneath New York City. She committed herself to making it impossible for them to find any refuge, too, at least not for long. Just as soon as they found a place of safety, she would quickly discover their new lair and the hunt would begin all over again.

Still, despite her persistence, they always managed to get away. Regardless of whom Marie hired to find her elusive quarry, she always failed in capturing them. In no time, it became status quo for one failure to follow another, and it didn't take long before she found herself on the brink of madness…and she would have plummeted to its depths, too, had she not discovered her father's secret chamber…

She had spent a week running nearly nonstop in her hunt for the enemy. Yet, no matter where she looked, no matter what evidence given to her that said they were here or there, she came up empty. Frustration was hardly a word that described how she felt. Marie was livid.

Finally, needing to focus her mind, Marie took refuge from her worries by visiting the great hall where her father would often go to conduct business. Since his death, she only visited it when clan needs demanded its formality, but rarely would she go there for any other reason. Now, she felt drawn to it, seeking its solace, to gain a moment of peace, to find some way to focus her mind.

Before taking to the one lone chair, the very chair where her father would sit, Marie went about closing all the windows and doors, not the least bit interested in the city that mocked her. Instead, she wanted to believe she was far away and in a land more akin to her upbringing than this bustling, garish city that never slept. Marie needed sanctuary from such distractions. Where it crowned the pinnacle of her father's skyscraper, it offered an almost unlimited view of New York City, but it only reminded her of how much she had failed, of how many times her enemy proved itself more clever than her best spies and soldiers.

With the grand hall decorated in distinctive Japanese and encircled by the large, wrap-around deck, it announced to all who looked upon it as something unique, something special. Yes, her father had certainly carved quite an empire for himself, Marie knew that much.

Now, with the room's uncluttered and clean décor, it imbued order and calmed her tortured soul. Yet, before she took to his chair, Marie first offered respect for what it represented. She lowered herself to the ground, sitting on her knees, bowing low, with her forehead to the floor.

As she remained there, contrite and submissive before her father's memory, all of Marie's failures came unbidden to her mind, teasing her, with an image of her father's face scowling in disapproval. The woman growled under the weight of his ghostly condemnation and soon she found herself complaining about the ineptness of her soldiers, giving excuses to an audience that wasn't there.

How could it be my fault when it was others who have failed? she grumped loudly. It boggled her mind with the uncanny way her adversaries continued to slip beyond her grasp, no matter how close she came to finding them, no matter who she hired to hunt them. She mumbled to herself about how unfair it was, something she never did, and it only caused her to feel more frustrated as a result.

With hands clenched and fisted atop her knees, Marie finally had to accept that her one, singular fault was in putting her trust in those who continued to disappoint her. Something needed to change and unless she implemented a stricter response to her minions' inadequacies, failure would continue to follow. She was certian her father would agree with her, too.

However, Marie had a sudden realization, like an epiphany. Even if she could destroy them, she knew that her grief would remain. No amount of killing would bring her father back. His chair would remain empty, just like it was now. Yes, she would still run his many businesses and lead his organization to greater accomplishments, but gone forever would be his influence.

Then, another thought occurred to her. Whether she succeeded in bringing honor back to the clan or not, Marie was still leader, holding a position accepted by all who served her. No one would challenge her, even though in her culture in Japan, women did not hold leadership roles. Marie knew that to have such a position as she did was a rarified gift.

She smiled, and her anger slowly cooled. As Marie relaxed her hands, she now had a clearer understanding about her role in the clan. She suddenly realized that she had a purpose bigger than avenging her father's death. Simply put, Marie had a business to run.

Yes, throughout the past decade, she had maintained her father's enterprises, but only to provide payroll to the clan and to those underlings she hired to find the turtles. Was it worth it, though? She certainly had enough under lords that managed such enterprises.

Maybe I need to cut my losses, though, and dispense with hiring outside the family, she thought, they have obviously been of little use to me.

Yes, she had to agree with that fact. Most of the failures were because of others unrelated to the Foot clan.

Then, Marie stared hard at the ornate chair before her. She knew she would have to be the one to fill it, for no one else in the clan was even remotely qualified. Since her father's demise, she had sat upon it when entertaining visitors or conducting clan business, but it never felt right to her. She felt too small. She only took to it whenever she had to and, lately, Marie had to more often than not when interrogating those who had failed her. Unlike her father, though, she rarely decreed their death and it was in that moment when Marie wondered if that was the reason for her many failures.

I am too soft! she declared, teeth clenched, Well, things are going to change around here, she vowed.

Resolutely, Marie quickly rose to a stand and gave a curt bow towards the chair. Then, as she marched up the steps of the dais and turned around, Marie hesitated slightly, holding her breath. When calm once again claimed her soul, she eased slowly into her seat. She smiled, an arrogance blanketing her face. The woman sat there for a while, her posture straight, her head tilted proudly. Staring out across the open room, Marie studied the shadows, mindful of spies, her spies, but spies nonetheless.

To gain better insight to her surroundings, she closed her eyes and fell into a light meditation, bringing her to that plane where she could sense intruders, but she found none in the room.

Marie was alone.

More relaxed, now, and confident that no one would disturb her, the incumbent leader of the Foot allowed her guard to drop, and it was then when she realized the absence of padding in the chair.

Rather than complain against its hardness, she scoffed, "Only the weak need padding."

That was what her father would say, anyway. It was still hard, though, and so she squirmed a bit, until she found a comfortable position. When she did, Marie finally relaxed again. Soon, her thoughts had her reassessing the past year, going over all the many lost opportunities in trying to apprehend her prey. She thought of other ways to snare them, mentally recalling what little she knew about them. Distracted in thought, Marie sat back against the chair rest and began drumming her fingers of her right hand along the top part of the armrest. As she considered each idea and each failure associated with it, she became more agitated. Her lip curled into a snarl and she drummed the armrest harder. At one point, she changed the tempo, not consciously, but more out of agitated boredom. She drummed harder still, from pinky to forefinger, and tapped the armrest once, then tapped it twice more as another failure and then a second came to mind…drumming, tapping twice, and then repeating the second cadence again as she rehashed her past mistakes.

Suddenly, the chair vibrated and gave a small backward lurch and at the same time, the curtained wall behind her parted in the middle. Marie heard the soft whoosh of pressurized air sing out and then move past her. Next, the chair began moving backwards at a relatively quick, smooth pace, as if riding on well-oiled rollers. She stiffened slightly in surprise, but then relaxed, realizing in the next instant that she had triggered a mechanism embedded into the armrest.

She smiled, Father is still full of surprises, it seems.

With eyes wide and expectant, Marie stared straight ahead, riding the chair as it slid silently, speedily, into what seemed to be a hidden but lightless room. The moment she passed through the once-drapery lined wall, now opened wide like a doorway, it close quickly in front of her. Then, the darkened room instantly blazed with light.

Facing the wall now separating her from the main hall on the other side, Marie looked around and found herself in a small, but well-appointed office. Recessed lights in the ceiling illuminated the room. She sat there, amused, looking around. She noticed to her left the outline of a door in the wall, probably an escape route, just for emergencies. She was about to get up to go and inspect it when the chair made a sudden, one-hundred eighty degree turn-around. When it stopped, she found herself parked in front of a desk. It was quite ornate and she was certain it was an antique, maybe French in design. She noted drawers along each side, the area directly in front of her recessed, allowing room for the chair. Yet, Marie was certain that her chair wouldn't fit, not with the armrests in the way.

Almost on cue, the pair suddenly dropped down and Marie instinctively pulled her elbows in. At the same time, the chair moved forward towards the desk and slipped Marie's lap underneath the work area. It was a perfect fit!

The woman smiled, again, thinking how clever her father had been, not only to create such a chair, but also such a room at his disposal. She wondered how he would extricate himself had he a need to use the emergency exit, but for now, she reveled in the fact that she had learned something new. She was certain that no one else in the clan knew about this hidden room. Marie certainly didn't know about it. In fact, she was quite certain that whomever her father had hired to build it, he had that carpenter killed after completing the job. After all, in her clan, it was the way of secrets. Leave no trail and leave no trace, which often meant disposing of those who served such secrets, if only to keep them that way.

Now, his secret was hers.

Committing to memory exactly how many times she had drummed her fingers and tapped the armrest, Marie tentatively reached over to one of the side drawers, preparing to open it.

Suddenly, just short of touching the wooden handle, she stopped, and wondered to herself, What if Father had everything rigged to explode if the wrong 'touch' or fingerprint found its way on the pull.Would he install such devices if this room were so secret that not even I, his own daughter, knew about it?

Marie contemplated that thought, but the more she did, the more she was certain her father would have been sure its existence would go undiscovered. Confidently, she took a deep breath and opened the drawer…

And as Marie stood there in her dojo and thought back to that moment two decades earlier, even with the freedom she had gained since that time, she wished that she had never found the hidden room. What she discovered there rocked her world and in more ways than a bomb ever could.

x x x x x x

TBC