December
Beirut was a whirlpool of traffic and skyscrapers, a far cry from the dusty small city bricks and mortar of Hermasillo and Agua Prieta. As soon as Mitsuru made her way out of customs with her expertly made travel documents, she made contact with Josue, who promised to relay her safe arrival to Alejandro in Mexico. He issued directions to her living quarters and information about how to reach a man named Yusuf. When Mitsuru pressed Josue for a last name, he deflected and only revealed that her contact was a doctor with an affinity for plants.
"Do mind yourself around the Doctor," Josue cautioned softly. "He is generous beyond words, but can display a thorny temperament."
Mitsuru gave her word that she would do her best.
She took a taxi to a neighborhood where the apartment buildings were crammed into narrow streets and telephone wires dangled in clumps against the smoggy sky. At first, Mitsuru wore a headscarf, but took it off in the cab and switched to a loose beret when she observed other women showcasing their modern hairstyles.
Her apartment was a one bedroom unit sandwiched in the middle of a ten story building. While slightly more spacious than the above-bar unit in Hermasillo, it was decidedly colder without Alejandro's large personality and stature beside her.
She cast off the nostalgic sentiment as best she could and sat down on the bare mattress to flesh out her plan of attack. There were Kirijo Labs that operated out of Beirut, but if Maeda hadn't moved his operation to a different location before Mitsuru dismantled operations in Mexico, he certainly had after. Mitsuru didn't waste time thinking the children were being kept in the city. She'd keep her distance from the Kirijo labs stationed along the industrial fringes of the city until she found the children and returned them to safety. Then she would dismantle those horrid labs, one brick at a time.
Perhaps it was the feeling of being in a large city once again, but Mitsuru suddenly felt crushed under a wave of hopelessness. She was looking for a needle in a haystack. Mitsuru sat with her despondency for a moment before standing up and tucking her hair under her beret.
She had successfully shut out imaginings of Akihiko's voice since Hermasillo, but now as she left the small apartment, Mitsuru heard his voice telling her she was in far over her head.
In a society that thrived around mall culture, the ABC Mall was a pinnacle of the posh Beirut lifestyle. There were cinemas, French pastry shops, pet salons, and luxury car stores where patrons could customize Porsches and Bugattis.
Mitsuru checked the time.
Her contact was thirty minutes overdue. She had precious little information about Yusuf, so Mitsuru decided to wait on the second level where she could at least observe the entry and exit points for a large, older man with thick rimmed glasses.
Mitsuru found her mind wandering, focusing on the elaborate fountain in the center of the mall. It was decorated with a small cluster of cherubs, which Mitsuru normally found tacky, but here there was something endearing about the fountain. It reminded her a little of the iconic water spout in the center of Paulownia Mall.
Of a sudden, a sharp rattle, like a horde of snakes filled the mezzanine level. A strange flute like instrument joined in and suddenly the crowds were in an uproar as a lone dancer entered the space beside the fountain. She wore a revealing beaded halter with silk drapes along her back and legs. The entire mall seemed to come alive at the sway of her hips as a loyal band of musicians trailed behind her.
Mitsuru found herself equally enthralled, not just by the dancer's seductive charm but by the scimitar perfectly balanced on the crown of her head. Transfixed, Mitsuru watched as the dancer plucked the sword by its hilt and began swing the blade with impossible precision across her hips and shoulders, a blend of balance, power, and grace all set to hypnotic that captivated the mass of people congregating around the fountain. Mitsuru could not tear her eyes away from her.
"The only time a woman should have a weapon," remarked a deep voice beside her. "Is when she dances with it."
Mitsuru turned carefully to meet the doctor, raising her eyes just slightly to assess his height. He was a tall man, but not thin. Yusuf was shaped like a giant pear, and his peppered mustache obscured whatever smile or frown he wore when he spoke.
"Salaam Alaikum," she nodded to him.
"Salaam Alaikum," he replied.
"I must say it is an impressive performance," Mitsuru said carefully, turning back to the dancer. "Even if it is somewhat of disrespectful display for one's weapon."
"Disrespectful?" scoffed Yusuf indignantly. "This delicate flower is far too critical of other cultures. This dance is to honor the power of the sword, to display the critical balance between life and death."
"In other cultures, a weapon in hand is display enough."
Yusuf chuckled mirthlessly.
"And what would a lovely creature such as yourself know about the business of battle and bloodshed?"
"Perhaps nothing," Mitsuru laughed brightly at the insult, turning to him head on. "I do know dancing, however. It's more more than elaborate balancing acts and glamorous costumes."
"Oh?" Yusuf's curious eyes encouraged her to go on.
"A dance is about opposition and mental acuity: Reaction time and manipulation of tempo. When I dance, Doctor, I do not rely on props. I rely on a partner," Mitsuru concluded, speaking to the sword in the dancer's hand with admiration.
"Perhaps," Yusuf purred and his mustache pushed up in a faint smile. "We are just different dancers."
"Perhaps," Mitsuru countered blithely. "We prefer different partners."
Yusuf peered back at her strangely, as if trying to muster a rebuttal. He ultimately decided to nod in agreement.
"Would you care to follow me? A simple florist such as myself could never aspire to conduct business in such a majestic warehouse such as this."
Mitsuru smiled wryly at his sarcasm and let him lead the way out of the mall.
The Iranian Flower Market was beside the waterfront, and the muggy sea air and midday sun made it difficult for Mitsuru to concentrate on Yusuf's sonorous voice as they drove through the clogged arteries of Beirut traffic.
"Extremists are in the business of fear," he said when Mitsuru inquired about how he came to be involved with the countermovement inspired by the Al Boutul kidnappings. "Unlike your enemy in Mexico, these dogs do not strike in the dead of night. They prefer daylight, where their actions can be witnessed. Fear spreads better that way."
This was a stark contrast from Mexico. Mitsuru would need to build from the ground up this time, which meant unlearning the rules from Hermasillo and relearning those of Beirut.
"Tell me about your resources."
Yusuf refused.
"The lady is too insistent," he said, not quite smiling. "Josue and I are old friends. If he trusts his operation to a woman, then I have no choice but to trust his judgement. However, your work in Beirut will be done on my terms."
"Do not misunderstand me, Doctor," Mitsuru said with a frank smile. "I have no desire to take your place at the front of your men. I am, however, curious to know how well have 'your terms' have proved for your operation?" Mitsuru asked, eyebrows raised.
Yusuf gave a sour laugh in response, but said nothing more for the duration of the drive. They arrived at the flower market and Mitsuru found it difficult to concentrate in the muggy air.
The flower shop was a vibrant contrast from the bulk displays of sod, artificial turf, and trees displayed in front of the other shops. Mitsuru saw long stemmed irises, colossal sized lilies and sunflowers, and trays of hybrid seeds. Yusuf led her to an office that seemed remarkably similar to Josue's cluttered desk in the back of Poco Hermasillo. She needed only to replace the stacks of papers with vases of plants and flowers.
Yusuf asked her a few questions about the operation in Mexico, all of which Mitsuru answered succinctly and without evasion.
"He knows you're here," Yusuf said pointedly. "Maeda."
"I gave him the courtesy of advance notice," Mitsuru acknowledged.
Yusuf raised his eyebrows.
"Do you RSVP to all of your enemies by torching their schools?"
"My school," Mitsuru corrected him.
"Apologies," Yusuf amended in earnest. "Your actions are honorable, but have a haste appearance that gives me pause. Particularly when you are asking for the reins of a budding rebel counterstrike. Now that you've cornered Maeda, are you prepared for swift retribution?"
"I'm counting on it," Mitsuru said sharply. "Mexico was the first pawn moved on the board, Doctor. Lebanon will be the implosion. Help me finish drawing Maeda out."
Yusuf appraised her listlessly for a moment before reaching into his desk. He retrieved a map and unfurled it on the table, sweeping away a few excess leaves and dried flower petals.
"My men have been monitoring the extremist's movements," he explained, his voice suddenly morphing into that of a weathered advisor. "We believe Maeda is working to move the children out through individual shipments via ports and checkpoint villages on the Syrian border," he tapped the map firmly.
"How many of the kidnapped children have left Lebanon?"
"We have no evidence to indicate any have been trafficked outside of Lebanese borders - yet," Yusuf said carefully.
"Then if Maeda's operation is hit with a threat, he may attempt scatter them into shipments all at once," Mitsuru said thoughtfully to the map. "Would you agree?"
"Given proper planning," Yusuf shrugged, anticipating where the conversation was going. "My men could trap a diaspora of enemy targets around the compound."
"Show me."
"Here, dear rose," Yusuf slid his finger on the map. "Near Aarsal. Or so we believe."
Mitsuru raised an eyebrow.
"Information is treacherous around these parts," he relayed with a smile. "Even the most loyal of men find the line between us and the extremist to be thin at times."
"I see," Mitsuru murmured. "Allow me to be blunt, doctor."
"As opposed to what?" he jabbed.
"I'm here for reconnaissance. I need access to your resources to help the innocent people my company has harmed. What can you offer me?"
Yusuf settled back in his seat and folded his hands neatly over his stomach. He was ready to bargain.
"Anything the lady desires."
"Coordinates to the bunker where you believe the children are being kept," Mitsuru stated. "A firearm for cover, and the tools necessary to monitor the extremist's activity en route to the border. It's a more than reasonable, considering your men are currently accessing these resources."
"The lady wishes to use these resources on her own?"
"Reconnaissance," Mitsuru repeated with a professional smile. "Information only. Dancing comes later."
Yusuf grunted but Mitsuru did not hear a 'no'.
"Anything else?" he asked, twirling his mustache.
"Where can a precious ruby such as myself find a transport for purchase?"
"Shall I procure the lady a palanquin?" Yusuf condescended. "In these modern times-"
"Ducati," Mitsuru interrupted. "1200."
Yusuf chewed on the inside of his mouth.
"Does the ruby have cash?"
Mitsuru politely stacked a pile of bills on the counter.
"Return to the ABC tomorrow at noon," Yusuf sighed at the money. "I'll have one of my men meet you with your purchase."
The polluted city skyline made for a brilliant sunset, and Mitsuru opted to walk back to her temporary home. The opulent malls and French boutiques began to peter out into boxlike dwellings and pop up shops. A wide mix of jewelry, clothing, handbags, and food for sale were crammed together in a narrow side street. While this was hardly the time to shop, (to which Yukari would undoubtedly reply, 'There is no such thing as a bad time for shopping, senpai'), Mitsuru allowed her curiosity to lead her down the dimming alleyway.
The evening crowd was dense enough that Mitsuru's appearance went unnoticed. Still, she swapped the beret for the baseball cap Alejandro had given her in Mexico City.
She perused the goods aloofly, never stopping to pause more than a few seconds in front of a display. When the sly vendors began their well-crafted solicitations to Mitsuru, she demurred and quickly moved on. Near the end of the stalls, however, Mitsuru was hopeless drawn into the lights of a tent.
"Hand-crafted," said the elderly woman. A man, her husband presumably, worked in silence in a brightly lit corner of the small booth.
"May I?"
"Allow me," replied the woman. With a tenderness and poise that made Mitsuru's heart ache for Japan, the woman collected the bracelet and fastened it around Mitsuru's wrist. Enchanted, Mitsuru's eyes devoured the minute details and craftsmanship of the bracelet.
A row of ice crystals were arranged along a black strand that resembled a tree branch. The delicate spindles were sharp and exact, not made of diamonds she saw, but Mitsuru never cared for those. She was enamored more with the sharp fragility of the ice crystals, painstakingly shaped to imitate nature perfectly.
"We are from Serbia," said the woman. "Winters are harsh there, but we miss the stillness. Do you like the bracelet? I am willing to part with it for less than the listed price."
"It is the loveliest bracelet I've ever seen," Mitsuru smiled at the object on her wrist her hand before carefully unfastening it and returning it to the shopkeeper's open palm. "I'm afraid that in my current line of work, I would only ruin it."
"Ah," said the woman with a kind smile, closing her fingers around the bracelet with a mysterious wink. "Then I shall keep it here for you for safe-keeping, until your work is finished. I see you are also drawn to the fragile beauty of ice."
Mitsuru's smile faltered. She uttered a quick thanks before fleeing the alleyway and hailing a cab.
The sweltering Beirut night left Mitsuru staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. The upstairs neighbors were laughing and listening to music.
Thoughts flashed in and out of her mind - Alejandro. Ava. the blind boy in chains. Josue and his family. Yukari and the others. Her townhome. Her company, Fushimi. Her now-certainly-dead plant. Akihiko. Her father, Shinjiro. Akihiko.
Mitsuru sighed and tried to focus on sleep. Thoughts were allowed, but she was not to chase them. She was not to follow them.
Akihiko.
"It doesn't matter," Mitsuru whispered to herself and sighed, pushing her palm to her forehead. "He doesn't matter."
She fell asleep with the lie.
Mitsuru was small again.
She looked down, the perfectly pressed pleats of her uniform skirt swaying with her movement. Her hair was arranged into pigtails that were curled into bouncy waves. She stood on a playground, surrounded by other children. All around her they were laughing, playing, chasing each other, and twirling jump ropes.
A girl in a hijab stood across from her, smiling. Mitsuru smiled back and the girl pointed to her wrist.
"Use it," she instructed.
Mitsuru looked down at her wrist and saw the tree branch bracelet encircled with ice crystals. She held her wrist up to her eyes and shook her head.
"Use it," said another boy. Mitsuru looked into his eyes and saw pale blue orbs surrounded by a cinnamon complexion. She had met this boy before. Mitsuru hugged herself and shrank back. Suddenly, she was no longer in a playground but in a tiny room. The children from the playground were crammed in all around her, closing in on her and pushing her into the corner. Frightened, she tried to pry the bracelet from her wrist but the branch tightened around her skin and clamped down against her bones.
"Use it," the children commanded Mitsuru together with urgency, and though they had not raised their voices, Mitsuru felt punctured with fear as they urged her on.
"I can't," she explained, shaking her head. "I'm not supposed to-"
"It's the only way," the girl said with a desperate hiss. "We won't ever see the light if you keep it to yourself."
Mitsuru felt herself crying the tears of a little girl. Suddenly a hand seized her wrist and pulled her up. She looked down at the children. They returned her glance with silence, eyes large with hope and admiration.
She looked at her wrist, now longer and leaner. An adult once again, she looked up into the eyes of her father.
"Use it," he whispered gently, cupping her face in his hands.
"That's what they want," she shook her head. "I'll only hurt them."
"No," he said sternly. "You will save them."
The dream woke her up hours before her pre-arranged meeting with Yusuf's envoy. Rattled, Mitsuru tried to write the dream off as a scrambled subconscious relaying back images and thoughts from the previous day.
She arrived at the ABC Mall, as instructed, and waited for a Ducati 1200 to appear. Mitsuru did not have to wait long. A young man in plain clothes pulled up carefully along the curb where Mitsuru was waiting.
"Ducati 1200?" he asked, removing his helmet. Mitsuru was temporarily halted by his dazzling smile and fine features.
"Yes," Mitsuru nodded.
He tipped his head to her as he dismounted the motorcycle.
"Have you eaten?" he asked politely, offering her a bottle of water. She took it carefully from his hands.
"Yes," she lied.
"Excellent. We'll want to start heading out to the border now if we want to get there before noon. I went ahead and drew up some paperwork for you. It's not Shakespeare, but it will get you through the checkpoints-"
"I beg your pardon," Mitsuru interrupted. "We?"
"Sorry," the young man laughed. "I am Ayad. I'm here to escort you to Aarsal."
Mitsuru shifted her glance patiently to a traffic packed intersection, a shallow cover for the seething rage she currently felt. A few deep breaths later she returned her sights to Ayad, who was looking at her with growing discomfort.
"I see. The Doctor purports the stereotype of women getting easily lost," Mitsuru said sternly. "Correct?"
"You are his guest," Ayad scratched the back of his neck, trying to alleviate the tension with his smile. "As your host, he only wishes to ensure your safety."
"So be it," Mitsuru said, knowing that protesting this remarkable display of sexism and paternalism would only waste time. "I hope you drove separately."
"I'm parked just around the corner," Ayad nodded vigorously. "Wait here for me and I'll lead us out."
Mitsuru's stomach churned with turmoil as they passed through the checkpoints. The stakes were different in Lebanon than in Mexico, particularly when it came to crossing borders. Military personnel, IEDs, and traps made Mexico's border crossing seem childlike. Mitsuru followed Ayad's truck at a careful distance.
Yusuf was proving himself an increasingly difficult ally.
In her business mindset, Mitsuru would have been perfectly at ease with this fact. When potential business partners expressed hesitation, Mitsuru was apt at the art of wooing and persuasion. It took patience, certainly, but Mitsuru always took the risk in order to better her company's process for acquisition.
This was far from a normal business venture. Patience was a luxury Mitsuru did not have, particularly when crossing a desert full of enemies.
Ayad signalled her to turn onto a side road. She followed him to a ridge and parked the bike behind his truck.
"Over here," he motioned to a dune with a cement platform. "There's a lookout."
He offered her a pair of binoculars as they hunched down on the cement block. They flattened themselves down on the hot slab and Mitsuru immediately noticed the perch was hardly obscured from the enemy's line of sight. Mitsuru dismissed the feeling of trepidation and replaced it with stalwart focus on the bunker.
"How many guards?" she asked.
"Thirty, at least," Ayad responded softly, resting his chin on his hands. "We think the bunker goes at least three stories underground."
"How many children?"
Ayad paused.
"We think a dozen, perhaps two."
Mitsuru swallowed the number bitterly, her eyes locked onto the black rectangle in the distance. The heat was rising in waves, giving the building a gelled texture through the binoculars.
When an armored truck turned the south corner of the building and and pulled up alongside a freight door, Mitsuru had a clear eye on what was about to happen.
Her fingers tensed around her binoculars.
"They're taking one of them," she thought aloud.
Beside her, she felt Ayad inhale sharply.
"Are you armed?" Mitsuru turned to him. He nodded to her quietly and revealed a pistol, secured in a holster inside his jacket.
She looked back in time to peer through the lenses and glimpsed a man hauling up the small frame of a child into the truck. He slammed the doors and pounded his fist against the doors. The truck was off.
Mitsuru shot to her feet.
"We need to intercept that vehicle before it reaches the Syrian border," she ordered.
"We'll be outnumbered-" Ayad said, even as he hustled to the truck and opened the driver's side door.
"We do not need to take down the entire compound," Mitsuru said as she buckled herself into the passenger's seat. "Just the truck."
Ayad thrust the truck into gear and careened down the ridge into the sprawling desert.
They gained on the truck quickly, and Mitsuru felt a twinge of fear as Ayad methodically weaved over invisible obstacles in the eroded road. She reminded herself that Yusuf's men had most likely had identified all of the mines in the area and let the urgency of rescuing the child override the sudden suspicion of her driver.
"Pistol," Mitsuru stretched out her hand. Ayad kept a hand on the steering wheel as he removed the gun from its caching with the other. Mitsuru took it from him, rolled down the window, and perched herself on the frame.
She steadied her breath first, and her arms followed. She fired the shot and the report was lost in the waves of sand. The back left tire sagged and Mitsuru retreated to inside the vehicle, expecting an immediate retaliatory strike from the vehicle ahead. Even with one flat tire, the truck surged on. Military grade. She was going to have to do better than one tire to stop the truck.
Mitsuru frowned.
The truck carried on - No one emerged to return fire.
"Only one guard?" she pondered aloud.
"I don't understand it either," Ayad said tersely as he pushed down on the accelerator. "I'll line you up to take out the back right."
Use it.
A girl's voice filled her head. Mitsuru hesitated before returning to the ledge. She emptied another bullet into the back right, and with precision that would certainly elicit a grunt of approval from her teacher Alejandro, flattened the tire.
The truck swiveled slightly, just as the truck had swerved and pivoted horribly in Mexico, before coming to a halt. It seemed too easy, but Mitsuru wasn't going to hesitate here, not now.
Mitsuru opened the door when Ayad seized her wrist.
"Here," he opened his hand for the gun. "I'll cover you."
Use her, the voice said frantically. Mitsuru complied.
Mitsuru and Ayad exited the vehicle. She went for the doors of the truck, her feet hitting the sand heavily. Something tugged at her, and Mitsuru found herself suddenly fighting to close the distance between herself and the truck.
USE HER OR YOU'LL DIE.
Mitsuru pulled the doors open and locked eyes with the headscarved girl from her dream.
Mitsuru opened her mouth to speak and reached out to take her in her arms when the little girl shook her head frantically, mouth covered with a strand of fabric.
"Turn around," Ayad's soft voice mocked. "Hands up."
Mitsuru obeyed, tearing her eyes away from the little girl. A swell of angry tears filled her eyes and she blinked them back. Think, think.
Use her. Use the ice queen.
No, Mitsuru shook her head. That's what they wanted. They wanted Mitsuru to defend herself with Artemisia. They'd force the girl to summon a counter-attack. With forced summoning, malnutrition, and a host of other maladies this girl had certainly suffered, the effort of conjuring a cobbled together persona could seriously injure or even kill the inexperienced child.
"Over there," Ayad flicked the muzzle of the gun. Mitsuru cast another look back at the truck as she walked away, hoping that the girl could forgive her for what was about to happen.
Ayad marched her to the top of a dune's crest, just yards away from the truck. He flashed his dazzling smile at her as she watched, helpless, as the driver exited the truck, roughly removed the girl from the back of the truck by her arm and dragged her to Ayad's vehicle.
"Just going to stand there?" Ayad taunted.
Mitsuru held her arms, bent ninety degrees at her elbows, and stared back at him in silence.
"Go ahead. Save yourself," he coaxed, fingers curling around the trigger.
"How, exactly?" Mitsuru said haughtily. "You're the one with the gun, not me."
"Do you need a gun?" he cooed, tapping the trigger maddeningly.
Mitsuru stared back defiantly.
In her mind, Artemisia howled. The deadly persona laid out all of the ways she could destroy the petty creature in Mitsuru's mind, but Mitsuru pushed them away. Whatever secrets Maeda wanted from Mitsuru's persona, how to formulate the forced summoning procedure without ill consequence, without maiming or killing the subject, would not be torn from her through the petty baits of a henchman.
"Just as I thought," Ayad sighed. "You don't have the power of persona. Not only is Maeda an idiot, but he's chicken shit for being afraid of a cocky bitch. Still, I guess there's only one way to find out for sure," he squeezed the trigger with a flippant sigh.
Her ribs exploded with pain. Mitsuru dropped to her knees, gasping. Ayad said something to her, but Mitsuru's head was filled with shrill screaming. Artemisia twisted and clawed at her, demanding to be set free, to heal, to retrieve her mistress from the edge of death. Still, Mitsuru did not yield to her persona's demands.
Ayad was simply staring at her now. Mitsuru squinted up at him. Her mouth filled with a metallic taste which she stubbornly swallowed down.
He stood expectantly as Mitsuru's breathing escalated with stress. She urged herself not to panic, that a rasping, broken breath was still breath. With her pain laid bare for Ayad to enjoy, Artemisia's despairing pleas erupted in her ears and Mitsuru had to close her eyes to shut them out. If she did not keep a tight rein on her persona, Artemisia was not beyond emerging of her own volition.
Mitsuru slumped over into the sand. She cracked her eyes open just wide enough to see Ayad frown at her with disappointment.
"Even if I had another bullet in here," he sighed, tossing the gun into the sand. "I wouldn't waste it on something so pathetic."
He was walking away from her, but Mitsuru was transfixed on the truck. She watched it pull away from her and return to the compound, the sting of failure and metal burrowing deeper in.
Artemisia's cries of anguish fell sharply silent.
Mitsuru blinked up at the rising desert sun and summoned enough energy to lick the dirt away from her lips. Underneath her, the sand was painted red. Exit wound. No bullet to fish out, she considered, but double the blood loss. She was bleeding steadily below her left ribcage, and by the way she labored to breathe, Mitsuru knew the bullet had at the very least clipped a lung. She cupped a hand over the wound.
She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she knew the sun had climbed upward, but couldn't recall exactly where it had been prior to her losing consciousness.
Her lapse in being had been marred by one unusual occurrence. In the shallow oblivion that preceded death, Mitsuru's mind had buzzed with a strange vision. She had seen Fuuka, huddled into a fetal position and trembling. A cloud of strange whispers had filled Mitsuru's ears. The voice was familiar, but too far away to hear clearly. Fuuka was mouthing something and Mitsuru realized that her friend had not only heard the whispering, but also the message it contained.
Her brain was reconfiguring itself, preparing for a total shut down, she realized. Images of her loved ones should not be entirely unexpected.
The soft swishing of footsteps drawing closer filled her ears and Mitsuru willed herself to swallow the lump in her throat. His silhouette blotted out the blazing sun.
"What was it I said again?" Shinjiro sighed, sniffing. "Something about you dying in a godforsaken desert?"
"'There is no need to gloat," Mitsuru murmured. "Show a little decency."
Shinjiro scoffed at the tepid reprimand and continued to revel in being proved right.
"How do you like the sweet kiss of lead?"
"I do not care for it," answered Mitsuru, eyes determinedly closed. The sun was too bright but Mitsuru couldn't quite place the warmth falling over her body on the desert.
"Loss of blood," Shinjiro helped. "Gives you the warm and fuzzies. It's your body going into shock, covering you with a warm blanket before hitting the emergency shutoff valve. Anything to spare you from skull-splitting pain."
Mitsuru acknowledged him with a non-committal hum.
"Still, sucks you gotta wait it out," Shinjiro said, staring directly into the sun. "One to the chest, one to the back. That's the way to go."
"Why are you here?" Mitsuru croaked and then hissed. A sharp, nettling pain pushed against her nerves.
"Well," he slumped down into the sand beside her with a tired sigh. "It really helped that I didn't die alone. Thought I'd return the favor."
"Does this mean you and I have a problem?"
"Looking forward to our reunion that much, Mitsuru?" Shinjiro teased, picking up a fistful of sand and letting it slip through his fingers. "Don't get too excited. It won't be long before Aki finds out what you've done."
"Stop that," Mitsuru rebuffed. She instantly regretted spending energy on the retort. She could feel her blood slowing down in her veins, the pulse of life reaching a mere whisper. Akihiko would not be confronting her unless he wanted to take issue with a dead woman.
"You still don't think he'll come after you, do you?" Shinjiro said, his voice childlike.
How could he? How could anyone? Mitsuru coughed, feeling too sleepy to argue with the dead teenager.
"I-"
"Oh, believe me, I know. You thought you had this all figured out," Shinjiro chortled. "You'd settle your affairs, tie up those loose ends so that in the likely event of your death, no one would risk their neck to look for a dead woman. Bravo, sweetie."
Shinjiro applauded insultingly before laying back in the sand beside Mitsuru.
"Did you ever consider the possibility that Artemisia might have different plans?" he asked, turning on his side to give her an odd smile.
Mitsuru forced her eyes open, squinting weakly at the sky.
"She's-"
"Gone. The second that bullet hit you, the second you refused to summon her power to heal yourself, didn't you feel the tiniest bit alone?"
Shinjiro sighed impatiently.
"Artemisia bounced, honey. She turned tail and reached out to the only person who wouldn't dismiss her pleas for help as a bad dream."
Mitsuru blinked.
Fuuka. Artemisia was speaking to Fuuka.
"Still think I'm bluffing?"
Mitsuru laughed scornfully, the spots of light in her eyes doubling.
"Yes, now that I'm inches from death's door, I feel confident calling your bluff. I'm assured that the only person I have to deal with now is you."
"Now how am I supposed to keep from gloating when you are always so wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong?" Shinjiro lamented as he brushed a few strands of hair from her eyes. With a smile, he leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek.
It fell against her face with a sick crack, and Mitsuru felt her head swing back into the sand.
A firm pressure hovered over her right cheekbone.
Mitsuru groaned and shook her head. She opened her eyes once again and identified Alejandro, wearing the most serious and angry expression she'd ever seen on a human being. Judging by the way Alejandro's hand was positioned, he must have hit her fairly hard.
"Alejandro?" she croaked.
"Damn it, boss! I told you not to get shot!"
"Here now, dear boy, that is no way to revive a patient," came a patronizing voice. "Gather her up, try not to jounce her too much-"
Mitsuru hissed in pain as she felt Alejandro's arms hoist her up with dizzying speed. Her mind snapped off a light that only returned with a wild round of shouting.
"Why ain't she talking?!"
"Bullets don't make for happy conversationalists," sang Yusuf, even as he took a hold of Mitsuru's neck and pinched a nerve just below her skull. To his clear satisfaction, Mitsuru inhaled sharply.
"You know that better than anyone. You just focus on finding cover, and I'll focus on keeping her alive," the doctor finished.
Mitsuru blearily scanned her surroundings and found herself on the swaying bed of a moving truck. She looked up at Yusuf, the accusation in her eyes ringing clear. She spotted a needle, thread, and tweezers in his hands. He relaxed slightly and smiled at her.
"What a hardy rose you are, Kirijo-san!" he smiled. Mitsuru did not fail to notice the honorific, but felt less than inclined to give the doctor credit for what was clearly too little too late.
"Traitor," she spat.
"Try not to speak," Yusuf said calmly. "You're in very poor shape."
Mitsuru's eyes fluttered on Yusuf's fuzzy outline above her.
"Keep her talking, Doc," Alejandro contradicted.
"Mind the road, Alejandro. Kirijo-san, did you know I have a daughter?" Yusuf queried politely, threading the needle.
"My sincere condolences to the young lady," Mitsuru muttered, her vision flickering on the surreal new scene before her. She swallowed the painful lump in her throat and concentrated on minimizing the harsh rasp in her breath.
"Are you hearing this, Alejandro? Remember, there's no surer sign of life than feistiness!" Yusuf laughed brightly.
"Shut the hell up and stop the bleeding!" came Alejandro's booming reply.
"Her name is Mariam," Yusuf continued loftily, and Mitsuru spotted a small square of blood-soaked gauze pinched between the tweezers. Mitsuru's senses were slowly returning to her and she realized Yusuf was pressing down firmly on her ribcage. The uncertain state of her lungs had to be the reason he was delaying closing her wounds.
"Punctured?" Mitsuru weakly placed her hand over his for reference.
"Just grazed, I believe, but I'm not completely certain," Yusuf nodded seriously. "Normally, I would hesitate to take any action until I can confirm I'm right. Unfortunately, you've lost a good deal of blood. I will need to suture you up right away."
"In a moving vehicle?" Mitsuru murmured, more impressed with the idea than afraid.
"Hopefully our dear Alejandro can locate a straighter road, but yes. Waiting is out of the question, I'm afraid. Now, before you quite rudely interrupted me, I was boasting about my daughter. May I continue?"
Were Akihiko here, Mitsuru could have relied on him to say 'Knock yourself out'. Even at death's door, she thought the retort wouldn't have the same effect coming from her. She closed her eyes in a drawn out blink.
"Mariam is about your age and has all your spice and stubbornness. Thankfully, she does not share your zeal for two-wheeled vehicles, but can ride well enough from point A to point B."
Mitsuru swallowed hard and resisted the urge to shut her eyes again. Yusuf applied another hard push to her wound and elicited a strangled yelp from Mitsuru.
Alejandro cursed at Yusuf and Yusuf cheerily cursed right back. Mitsuru refrained from cursing, but just barely.
"Mariam, not Ayad, was to meet you with your transport this morning. When I found her at the flower shop this morning, I inquired after the reason for her presence. She accosted me with a very rude comment about my age and reminded me that I had told Ayad to meet you instead of her."
Something sharp pressed into Mitsuru's skin. Her body signalled her of the pain, but Mitsuru felt the sensation come and go too quickly to express the scream in her throat.
"Did that hurt?" Yusuf asked kindly.
"Yes," Mitsuru grit out. She bit her tongue to avoid adding the words 'obviously' and 'you chauvinist idiot'.
"That's good and bad," Yusuf chirped. "Good that you're coming out of shock. Bad because I need to seal the entry and exit wounds, and I lack a proper anesthetic to get you through the next fifty miles of road."
She closed her eyes, this time for an extended span of time.
Mitsuru felt a cold slap on her cheek. Lighter than Alejandro's panicked touch, certainly, but still remarkably painful. Mitsuru swore that if she lived-
"You'll pay for that," Mitsuru murmured weakly.
"Where was I? Oh yes. You can imagine my surprise upon hearing this, as I had issued no such order to Ayad. As I disclosed to you earlier, even those I believe to be loyal can find the line between themselves and the other to hard to discern. As luck would have it, Alejandro arrived just as I had discovered Ayad's betrayal. Your Ducati led us to you, and not a moment too soon, I might add."
Mitsuru lost focus on the doctor's words and realized she was about to slip away again, this time, she knew, there would be no flickering in and out between lucidity.
She recognized this sensation immediately, having experienced the yawning chasm of unconsciousness many times in Tartarus. A slap to the face would hardly be enough to wake her. Only a Samarecarm or the skilled hand of a medical professional would bring her back from this brink.
"What is your specialty?" Mitsuru murmured hazily, regretting her question immediately.
"Botany," replied the doctor blithely as he placed a warm, blood spattered hand over her forehead. "This is going to hurt."
The steel bite of a needle pushed into her skin and Mitsuru felt herself jerked into a deep and rich nothingness.
January
It didn't take him long to get directions to the Iranian Flower Market, but just as Akihiko slipped into a taxi, he turned on his phone a collection of three voicemails from Kurosawa and a fresh incoming call from Yukari.
"Someone followed me home last night," she said, her voice raw. "And another guy has been waiting at my bus stop all day long. I called in sick."
"Where are you?"
"A girlfriend's house," she whimpered.
Akihiko could tell she had waited until the tears had dried to call him.
"Senpai, I'm so freaked out-"
"After we hang up, call Kurosawa," Akihiko rubbed his eyes. "Then call Junpei and tell him to get Chidori and Koromaru packed up. If I had to place a bet, Kurosawa is working with Fuuka, Fushimi, and the Chair to get together an op to catch the Board Treasurer, which means you all need to go to a safehouse."
"Geez, Fuuka, shit, I completely forgot. I haven't heard from her since she went into the police station with Chihiro and the Chair," Yukari breathed. "I can't believe this-"
"They're fine. Kurosawa's probably asked them to stick around until he can warrant putting in protective measures-" Akihiko bit his lip in frustration as the taxi driver laid on the horn and shouted out an open window to a pair of careless pedestrians.
"Do you understand?" Akihiko said hoarsely. "You've got people hanging around your place, which is all Kurosawa needs to justify pulling everyone involved off the radar."
Kurosawa have been calling him right now, but his superior had clearly given up on contacting him, judging by the pattern of the voicemails. The first being urgent, the last being short and a simple dictation of time and orders to hurry up and stop dawdling. Kurosawa was moving forward on his own and was without a doubt putting some Port Island's best Detectives onto an operation intended to catch Akabe in the act of a wire transfer.
"Senpai, I'm scared. These guys just don't seem like they're afraid of police-"
"So ask Kurosawa to personally pick you up and drive you to the station. You're an old friend, Yukari. He'll do it for you and the others. Besides, no one, no matter how highly paid by the Treasurer, is going to risk crossing him on the street."
Yukari started to sniffle through the line and Akihiko closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"Yukari, listen to me. Get ahead of this before it blows up. I'm close to finding Mitsuru, I know it. Kurosawa and I just need a little more time to unravel this whole mess. In the meantime you have to round everyone up and lay low."
"Okay," Yukari breathed slowly into the receiver. "Okay, so what do I do again?"
Akihiko told her to call Kurosawa's direct number.
"Right, duh, sorry. Ask for an escort, right?"
Ask for Kurosawa to pick her up directly, he stressed.
"Don't forget to tell him about the men hanging around your place. Tell him you know Fuuka's been working with the police about an embezzlement scheme that's directly linked to Mitsuru's disappearance. Tell him you believe you and the others are in danger. That's all he needs to bring you, the Ioris, and Koromaru in, I promise."
"Okay," Yukari sighed shakily. "You're right. Are you in Beirut?"
"Yeah, following up on a possible lead."
"How will I know if you've found her? If you're okay?" Yukari asked of a sudden, a new urgency rising in her voice.
"You won't," Akihiko said carefully. "You'll be sequestered in a safe house."
"I hate this-"
"It doesn't matter," Akihiko interrupted her. "Hang up. Call Kurosawa, then the Ioris."
Yukari responded with characteristic frustration, but reluctantly agreed.
"See you when the dust settles, senpai?"
"Absolutely," he promised as the cab pulled up the seaside flower market. "Stay strong."
He hung up, assured that Yukari and the others would be safe under the watch of Kurosawa and Akihiko's fellow Port Island police officers.
Akihiko found himself wandering a maze of exotic smelling trees and shrubs. With no flower vendor in sight, he scraped together a few coherent transactions between shoppers and store owners and discovered there was indeed a small flower vendor on far end of the market.
The shop was a forest of exotic blossoms. Through the thicket of petaled curtains, Akihiko just barely caught a glimpse of a young woman pruning a rose bush.
"Can I help you, sir?" she asked shortly. Her hands were covered with garden gloves and a pile of thick hair was piled behind her head. Her dark eyes flitted on Akihiko suspiciously.
"I'm looking for the owner of this shop," Akihiko tried, tightening his fingers around the jacket slung over his shoulder. "I'm searching for something very specific."
The woman's appraised him with unveiled annoyance.
"Is there a reason I cannot assist you, sir?" she asked defensively, dropping the pruning shears with a thud onto the workbench. She propped her hands on her hips defiantly, daring him to speak again.
Akihiko laughed nervously, realizing he had trapped himself.
"Well, I. . . Sorry, it's just that-"
"What specific item are you looking for, sir?" she cut in abrasively, leaning forward impatiently against the bench. Her authoritative body language reminded him instantly of Ava, and Akihiko couldn't help but step back a little. With a black eye on the mend, he'd been reminded to mind his mouth and manners around strong women.
"Uh-"
"Mariam?" a weary man's voice called from the back.
Mariam rolled her eyes and sighed.
"One moment, please," she said in an exasperated tone as she marched to the back of the store and disappeared behind a cloth curtain.
"No problem," Akihiko murmured to himself. As he took in the wall colored by diverse flora, Akihiko heard the sounds of an argument emanating from the back office. The argument was mostly carried by the woman, he noted, with minimal restraint. He didn't know a word of Arabic, but Akihiko got the gist of the conversation all the same. Mariam was very unhappy about something.
Mariam re-emerged, glowering at Akihiko.
"Come on then," she gestured him back, clearly displeased.
Akihiko had to turn sideways to make it through the cluttered corridor leading to the shopkeeper's office. He walked in and was met by a tall man with a jovial frame and black rimmed glasses. He stood up to assess Akihiko and offered his hand in welcome. Akihiko shook his hand, glancing down furtively at the blood spatters on the shopkeeper's otherwise pristine white sleeve.
"Please do not judge my daughter's temperament too harshly," the shopkeeper began, quickly pulling his arm and tucking it away under his desk. "She is very protective of this senile old man."
Akihiko smiled.
"I'm not from here," he shrugged. "I guess I didn't know florists in Beirut were in need of protection."
The shopkeeper laughed heartily.
"Botany is a passion of mine," he explained, turning on an electric kettle. "Please, have a cup of tea with me."
"Thank you," Akihiko nodded. He hated the stuff, but knew a kind gesture when he saw one. He scanned the office and upon initial inspection, found nothing out of the ordinary. However, a second review of his surroundings revealed a set of finely sharpened scalpels protruding from a thicket of tiger lily blossoms.
"Is that what you use to dissect your plants?" Akihiko tipped his head toward the medical apparatus.
The shopkeeper did not follow his gaze.
"Botany is a passion of mine," he repeated. "But I have other specialties that make me a popular target for unfriendly visitors," he smiled.
Akihiko was stunned at this admission, but was careful to keep his expression in check.
"That's an interesting thing to say to a customer," he responded indifferently. Thoughts of torture flashed through his mind. Keep it steady, Akihiko reminded himself. Remember who had the home court advantage.
"Almost as interesting as a customer who asks for a specific item but is unable to articulate what makes his item so specific."
They stared at each other blankly, the electric kettle rustling gently.
"Who are you and what do you want?" the shopkeeper asked patiently, his posture just as relaxed as the smile on his lips.
"I'm Lieutenant Akihiko Sanada with the Tatsumi Port Island Police in Japan," Akihiko said bluntly, sounding just as tired as he looked.
He realized suddenly that his foul stench and haggard appearance from the twenty plus hours of travel hardly made for the cut and style of a dignified police officer, but Akihiko had nothing else to leverage but honesty.
"Lieutenant," the shopkeeper replied evenly, betraying no indication of disbelief or deception in Akihiko's statement.
"You have traveled quite far to play games with an old bumbling florist in a pathetic little flower shop. Perhaps now you remember the details of this specific thing you are searching for?"
The electric kettle shook with pressure and the shopkeeper flicked the kettle off without releasing Akihiko from his piercing gaze.
"Someone very important to me. I think she might be in danger."
"And you are here to rescue her?"
Akihiko laughed - his first genuine laugh in a month.
"No, God no. She doesn't do well with rescues."
The shopkeeper raised his eyebrows curiously.
"I want to help her," Akihiko said simply.
"I see," nodded the shopkeeper, tracing the contours of his mustache. "And what makes you believe your friend is here?"
"Let's just say I ran into an acquaintance of hers in Mexico," Akihiko said carefully.
"Indeed?" the shopkeeper's expression revealed nothing as he poured the steaming hot water into an old coffee mug and deposited a teabag. Akihiko nodded and accepted the mug with a slight raise of his arm.
"What makes you believe that your friend is in danger?" the shopkeeper asked, not bothering to obscure his bloody sleeves as he sipped his own mug of tea.
"Crazy stuff," Akihiko sighed, leaning back into his chair. He rubbed his eyes - he knew he shouldn't, but they were burning for sleep.
"A mutual friend of ours had a dream where she was shot in a desert. Someone else who met her told me that if I didn't come here, someone else would put a bullet through her heart."
"Those are indeed disturbing descriptions," the shopkeeper murmured. His eyes waxed sharp as he spoke. Seeing his opening, Akihiko quickly latched on.
"The blood on your shirt," he pointed out quietly. "Is it hers?"
The shopkeeper's eyes took on a steely edge.
It was a gamble.
Roll with the punches, Akihiko thought, returning the cold stare. He risked losing some vital information if he flat out accused the shopkeeper of something violent, but since Akihiko had left nothing but truth on the table, he had to play the only card he had. He needed this man to give him something and straightest path was through a forced hand.
The shopkeeper reclined slightly in his seat, his jaw clenching and unclenching with indecision.
"Yes," he ultimately replied with a dark smile. "I believe it is."
Akihiko placed the mug on the table, careful not to make a sound as he did so.
The rational, well-groomed mindset he had spent years cultivating on the police force fled in an instant. A flood of anger, fear, and panic filled its place. He planned his route: lunge up, seize him by the neck or arm, pin him, break something, find another appendage to break, break it, repeat. After that, whatever the hell Akihiko felt like doing-
"Is she alive?" Akihiko's soft whisper was filled with venom and a clear warning for the shopkeeper to answer carefully
The expression on Akihiko's face must have been lethal, for the shopkeeper suddenly leaned forward with a warm smile.
"When last I checked."
Akihiko was hardly comforted.
"What did you do to her?" he growled. "Where is she-"
"Perhaps you might be curious to know about my 'other specialties' I mentioned earlier?" he interrupted Akihiko slowly.
"Please," Akihiko balled his fists in his lip, squeezing them of all color. "Enlighten me."
"You see, I have always been fascinated with botany, but my true calling has and always will be medicine."
Akihiko's trembling ebbed slightly, but the gratifying images of breaking the shopkeeper's bones still played vibrantly in his mind.
"In a place like this," continued the doctor. "In times like these, medicine is a dangerous field to practice. Your enemies exploit your talents for repairing broken bodies by kidnapping you, your family, your loved ones, and forcing you to pervert your talent into torture. They force you to break the vow of 'do no harm'. To protect those dearest to you, you to maim, break, saw, and stretch the human body to its most excruciating limits. When even this is no longer possible - when your patient is empty of their soul and voice, they force you to break your vow. They force you to use your power to heal to murder."
Akihiko released a shallow exhale.
"My doctorate in Botany allows my closest allies to refer to me as 'doctor' without implying that I am anything but a man who made poor educational choices."
The doctor sipped his tea, eyes twinkling on Akihiko.
"That being said, when your friend was shot in the desert by a treacherous associate-"
Akihiko shuddered, feeling sick to his stomach. He recalled his initial doubt of Fuuka's dream, and how he'd tried to dismiss her warning as a mere nightmare. It wouldn't have changed anything, he knew. Mitsuru would still be here, but damn it, he should have been more open all the same-
"I helped find her," the doctor continued gently. "I closed her wounds. Perhaps most remarkably, I ensured her path to recovery, despite her proving to be the most difficult patient I've ever had the pleasure of treating."
"Where is she now?"
The doctor fixed him with a frank stare.
"Safe," he said dully after meditating on a mouthful of tepid tea.
Akihiko sighed. With his head now clear of fantasies of torture, his shoulders slumped in exhaustion. The doctor eyed him carefully.
"I need to find her," Akihiko said, his voice raw. His police sensibilities returned to him, but he was too exhausted to paste on a professional expression of objectivity.
The doctor cleared his throat as he poured fresh hot water into his mug.
"I'm afraid I've already said too much," the doctor offered apologetically. "I do not believe you wish the young lady harm, but I do know that she has worked ardently these last months to avoid detection. I need to honor that much at least."
Akihiko shook his head.
"There must be something you can give me," he said, trying not to sound like like he was pleading. "Just a hint, somewhere to start-"
"Not I," the doctor waved his hands.
Akihiko slouched back. Dead end at an Iranian Flower Market. Beirut was a big city, and Mitsuru had the resources to hide. Exhausted, he rubbed his face and shook his head.
"However," said the doctor lowly. "There is a young man who may lead you where you want to go. "He has a very important appointment tonight at the shipping dock at 7pm. He would be your best chance for such information. I do not recommend threats as a means of obtaining this information, however."
Akihiko sighed, relieved.
"Thank you," he reached his hand out to the doctor, who gave it a firm shake. "I. . I'm sorry. I didn't catch your name."
"Dr. Yusuf Bahar, at your service," Yusuf said, handing him a plain white business card. Akihiko glanced at the phone number before nodding his thanks and slipping the card into his pocket.
"Call anytime," Yusuf said warmly.
"Thanks," Akihiko rose from his seat. He paused, looking down at Yusuf with sudden confusion.
"Doctor. . . why did you tell me all of this?" Akihiko queried. "I mean, you didn't have to. You could have lied. What made you decide to trust me?"
Yusuf licked his lips and smiled.
"Besides the temperature drop in the room when you noticed the blood on my sleeves?" he laughed. "And the murderous look on your face?"
Akihiko rubbed his neck sheepishly.
"Right, sorry about that," Akihiko muttered, shuffling toward the door.
"She called out your name," Yusuf said off-handedly. Akihiko stopped in his tracks and turned over his shoulder slowly.
"While I was suturing her wounds," the doctor continued. "She was delirious with pain, you see. Unfortunately we both had to make do without anesthesia until we reached access to supplies."
Akihiko's heart began to race again, this time with a strange sentiment that resembled fear, but lacked the same devastation and anxiety of grief.
"Later, when she was conscious and sufficiently medicated, I asked her about this man, 'Akihiko'. She denied knowing such a man," Yusuf grinned.
"She is a very poor liar."
