Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Natsuki had never been as happy as she was now, walking the streets of New York with Shizuru.

She'd been in many excercises that felt like true assignments at the time, but walking down Park Avenue toward the Fordwal-Aristoria with such a show of security as far as the eye could see swept away any lingering suspicions, however small, that this, too, was simply an excercise.

She really was here to kill Simm Rosfez. And that was good. Better than she'd dreamed. She told herself so on many occasions.

Shizuru had taken care of a number of details that facilitated her mision, but in the end, it would be Natsuki's finger on the trigger, sending the bullet on a trajectory determined solely by her. It would make them both proud, Natsuki decided. This was now an emotion that she embraced whenever it presented itself.

As with any assassination, it wasn't only the oppurtunity to kill but the oppurtunity to kill and then escape to one day kill again that drove the preparations leading up to this day. Prior to leaving, Natsuki had spent dozens of hours with Shizuru, viewing video footage provided by the X-Group and planning the hit. They had a good plan.

She made her way toward a security line at Park Avenue and Fifty-second Street, two full city blocks from the Fordwal. She wore a foreign press badge that identified her as Ami Tesler, KYYTP Television. Beside her, Shizuru was identified by a similar badge as Shelly Petriv. We play our roles flawlessly, Natsuki thought.

But not as flawlessly as all the others who had delivered them to Park Avenue as two reporters. This feat had required substantial support from Ishigami and his host of contacts, none of whom Natsuki knew or cared to know.

First order of business: establishment of an operations center out of a hotel in Manhattan. This task required renting three seperate rooms in their assumed names. Two were dummy rooms, in which they'd hidden miniature video cameras that sent signals to the third room, which they would actually sleep and operate. One of this dummy rooms, they'd left several spent rifle catridges and a red message painted on the wall "Death to America." They'd made the room appear lived in and demanded that housekeeping not disturb them. Strategically planted clues that would lead investigators to this room and slow down the post-assassination investigation. The delay would buy them time to chart an alternate escape if their planned route was cut off.

The other dummy room was reserved in the event that they needed to switch operational centers. They'd bagged several weapons and hidden them in the toilet tank. Otherwise the room was left undisturbed.

The hotel they selected as their actual operations center was a seedy place in Chinatown called the New York Dragon.

Second order of business: weapons. There was only one weapon Natsuki needed for the actual operation: a rifle. Anything else she might need, she could fabricate out of materials at hand.

Shizuru had obtained the rifle Natsuki would use from a contact in New Jersey. An M40A3, nearly identical to the one Natsuki preferred back at the base, sighted in at four hundred yards, with a Leopold Vari-X 4x12 scope, three-inch eye relief, and nonglare lens. The rifle had been modified for quick disassembly. It fit neatly into a soft-sided tripod bag normally used for a camera.

The host of assassin's tools common to the trade was useless in this setting. No vest, no night-vision equipment, no knives, nothing that smelled or looked anything remotely like something an assassin would wear. In this kill, Natsuki would simply be a shooter who pulled off a shot that only a couple of living souls could pull off.

Third order of business: reconnaissance of both the kill zones and the general area of operations. They'd spent the better part of the previous day walking the streets of midtown Manhattan, riding the subway from Central Park to Chinatown and taking taxis to a dozen destinations both in Manhattan and the two kill zones.

Fourth order of business: rehearsal of execution. Essentially a walk-through of the actual assassination. Natsuki had developed two alternate plans: one for a dinner of dignitaries at the Fordwal, which Simm Rosfez was expected to attend; and one for a press conference schedule at Central Park the following day, which Rosfez would also participate in.

Each zone had been identified by Ishigami- how, Natsuki didn't care. Her task had been to find a place from which to shoot and escape during a narrow window of oppotunity. She'd scouted both zones on foot in the dead of night, and then again the following day while the streets were crowded with cars and pedestrians. One shot would be made from a hotel room. The second, if required, would be made from a garbage bin.

Fifth order of business: performance of their roles, which they were doing now. Part of the X Group's training had involved role-playing. not simply on a conscious level, but deep down where belief was formed. Because she'd frequently been manipulated into assuming a particular identity, Natsuki now found that willfully playing her role came easily.

Natsuki took a deep breath and regarded the bustle of the crowd around her. She judged each face that passed into her field of vision to determine if any threat might hide behind their eyes.

"We should go into the hotel," Natsuki said softly.

Shizuru cast her a natural glance. "It wasn't planned."

"Then we should change the plan. We have time."

Shizuru didn't respond. Any changes were Natsuki's perogative- she trusted her. Her trust made Natsuki proud.

A line of police cars and construction barriers cut off the street ahead. Natsuki walked toward the security check.

The guard eyed her with a steely stare, and Natsuki smiled gently. "Busy day, " she said, shifting to a nondescript European accent. With the blending of cultures in Europe, nearly any would do.

"Yes, it is. Can I see your identification?"

Natsuki unclipped her badge and handed it to the man. They were using a scanner that matched the thumbprint on the card to the thumbprint of the person carriying it.

The guard held out a small scanner, and Natsuki pressed her thumb on the glass suface. A soft blip sounded. After a few moments, the man nodded.

"Thank you, Ms. Tesler."

It took only Shizuru to pass in the same manner. Then they were in the outer security barrier. They would have to watch what they said here. Randomly placed recording devices monitored conversation. According to CNN, not all in the press were thrilled with the new security measure. Evidently they wanted to keep their comments private.

They'd passed through the second security checkpoint and were approaching the entrance to the Fordwal when Simm Rosfez stepped out with a small entourage and was swarmed by journalists.

Natsuki felt her pulse spike. Beside her, Shizuru stiffened slightly- she felt it more than saw it.

It was the first time they'd seen the target in the flesh. Tall, gaunt, dark-haired, Iranian. This was the life Natsuki would end, because that's what she did.

For a moment Natsuki wondered why they wanted him dead. Who wanted him dead? What had this man done to invite the bullet? And why was she agreein to kill this man?

The last question came out of the blue, uninvited and unwelcome. The answer was obvious, of course- she wasn't so much agreen to kill this man as she was agreeing to be herself. She was a killer. She was a woman who knew nothing except killing. She could no more not kill than a heart could arbitrarily not beat. If she hadn't always been a killer, she was one now. And she'd been one for as long as she could properly remember.

Her exposure to this noisy, confusing city was interfering with her focus. She blinked and shut out the thought.

"Closer, " Natsuki said, angling for the man who was now taking questions from an ABC correspondent. Shizuru followed, pulling out a notebook.

Natsuki slipped between a heavyset reporter and a woman in a purple blouse, eyes fixed on the man. They were behind and to the right of the Iranian defense minister and the camera that captured the interview.

It took little effort to work her way to the front of the other journalists who were yielding space to ABC for the moment. Natsuki stopped ten feet from Rosfez.

This was her prey. From his right, the scent of a flowery perfume. From his left, the smell of the asphalt and pollution and cooking meat. Rosfez himself had practically doused himself in a spicy cologne laced with nutmeg.

Natsuki stepped from the circle, eyes fixed on the man's dark hair and gently working jaw. Simm's jaw was sharp and pitted, from acne, perhaps. His voice was low and gravelly. His dark, purposeful eyes cut through the crowd.

"...not rest until we have peace. How can one man stand againts so many? Now the whole world will unite and bring peace where there has been no peace for centuries."

An interesting voice. Natsuki wouldn't risk detection, despite the strong urge to pass closer to this man in his perfectly tailored suit.

Natsuki turned back and eyed Shizuru. She stared back at her, emotionless.

Natsuki started to face Rosfez again, saw that the camera was panning, and thought better of being caught in a full shot in the proximity of the target. Their appearances and identities would be changed immediately after the assassination, but her instinct warned her off.

A thin sheen of sweat covered Shizuru's face. She wasn't comfortable with Natsuki's admittedly unorthodox approach in this surveillance mission. They'd come to walk the perimeter, not enter the hotel. They hadn't expected to see the target, let alone make such a bold approach in the event that they did.

Natsuki guided Shizuru to the Fordwal's revolving entry doors.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Shizuru said.

"I wanted to know who he is."

She didn't respond.

I want to know him so that I can know myself. I am a killer. Who and how I kill define me.

They waited in line fifteen minutes before security would allow them to enter the hotel. It seemed that only a limited number of people were allowed inside at any given time. They walked up marble steps and entered a large atrium with towering pillars. Exotic floral arrangements that stood twice the height of a man blossomed in huge urns every seven paces.

Natsuki stopped below the arches that opened to the lobby and allowed the room to soak in. Magnificent. The old walls and ceiling were inspiring.

She scanned the room, detected no threat, and walked out to the center. Being taped by the hotel security cameras was actually to her benefit. The typical assassin would never be so bold. She faced the ceiling, were she knew the cameras hid, and examined the intricate designs etched into the wood.

Here was a building with a history. Unlike her.

Natsuki turned, refreshed by a sense of destiny. She was going to find herself here, in New York. The ceiling seemed to be staring down at her like a proud father. Rotating to her right like a camera on a wire. And in the center, her, staring up, lost to the world.

Are you my mother?

A hand touched her elbow. "We should go."

Natsuki lowered her head. Shizuru was right. They'd come inside to see the reception hall on the tenth floor, where Simm Rosfez would die this very night.

But a single sign made that impossible. A white placard etched in black calligraphy that read "No press above Lobby Floor." Two guards stood at each elevator and beside the stairwell to enforce the restriction.

Natsuki walked toward an archway that led to specialty shops, the first of which she could see at the hall's end. "Should we go shopping?"

Shizuru walked abreast and talked quietly. "Are you feeling all right?"

"What do you mean?" Natsuki asked. There were fewer people back here. "I'm feeling what I choose to feel."

"You seem a bit erratic."

"Because I'm making erratic choices. If it's any comfort, I can assure you that every one of these guards has been trained to pick out the calm, cool behavior of a potential assassin. It's better to play the part of an awed foreign correspondent, don't you think?"

"It just feels...odd. The way you're acting."

"I don't feel odd. This building fascinates me."

"And that's not odd? When was the last time you were fascinated by anything?"

Natsuki gave her a shallow grin. "I'm fascinated by you."

Shizuru's face went red, and try as she might, she couldn't hide a grin. It was the first time Natsuki had ever seen her so embarrassed, and strangely enough it thrilled her.

They walked by a shop window displaying gold and silver jewelry, something that held no fascination for her at the moment. The next store looked as if it sold dolls and stuffed animals. Toys. More fascinating.

"We should get back to the hotel," Shizuru said.

"I agree."

A tall, dark-skinned man in a black suit stepped from the toy shop and faced them, eyes skittering along the hall. Secret Service.

A boy half Natsuki's height walked out after him, holding his purchase: a pair of compact binoculars. Polaroid XLVs- Natsuki knew of them. From where she couldn't remember, but she knew the binoculars. Perhaps she'd owned a pair herself when she was younger.

The boy turned blue eyes toward Natsuki and stopped. For a moment they exchanged stares.

"You're from Japan?" he asked in a small but confident voice.

Natsuki wasn't sure how to respond. She should acknowledge the guess, but something about this boy struck a reverberating chord deep inside her.

"Yes," Shizuru said.

"That's good. I hope you support our president's position on Israel."

Had she seen this boy before? No, she didn't think so. As far as she knew, she hadn't really known any boys before. At least none she could remember.

The sound of feet clacking down the hall reached her. Seven, maybe eight pair, she thought absently.

The Secret Service agent stepped around the boy, shielding him from Natsuki and Shizuru. "Your father's coming, Jamie."

Jamie.

They came around the corner, five agents and a lean, blond-headed man whom Natsuki immediately recognized as the president of the United States, Randy Stenton.

The boy was his son. Jamie.

The boy's guard put a hand on his shoulder and eased him forward, toward his father, who beamed at the sight of his son.

"What did you get?" the president asked, stopping twenty yards away.

Jamie hurried to his father and held up the binoculars.

Secret Service agents circled father and son like hens gathering chicks. Natsuki and Shizuru had been scanned by every one of them, including the two responsible for the president's back.

Randy Stenton took the binoculars and held them up. "Fantastic!" He peered through them, past Natsuki, down the hall. "Perfect choice," the president said.

Then he put his arm around his son's shoulders and walked back the way he'd come. The entourage disappeared around the corner, trailed by Jamie's dark-skinned agent, who turned and cast one last look at them before following.

Natsuki stared after them, mesmerized by the interaction between father and son. What was it about them that confused her?

Natsuki smiled at the guard, dipped her head, and turned around. "We should go," she said.

"Yes. We should."

so the characters finally meet...

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