SIX DEGREES
A Gunslinger Girl fanfiction, based on works by Yu Aida.
Chapter 13|Stepping Stones
With the fall of night, Hong Kong's rain had returned with a vengeance, lights softening under low cloud, reflected in the mirror of slick, shimmering, pavements. Not that it did much toward deterring Wan Chai's nightlife, which continued about its business beneath a crowded sea of umbrellas. That turn of fortune Jethro was very glad of, combination of poor weather and seething masses conspiring to obstruct those whom may wish to root him out.
Which was all well and good, but it still did nothing toward reinstating his ability to hide in plain sight, and he slunk farther under the food market stall eave, rivulets sluicing past his nose off tin roofing.
At least in the summer heat, one dried out quickly.
Attention turning from bustling shared tables, the former SIS spy let eyes drift across glowing alley depths to John's apartment building beyond. Scoff though he might at the poor quality of information gathered by Monty's urchin, tonight it was looking rather worryingly like he would have even less luck getting eyes on their target.
Sticking out a hand brought rain splashing against his palm. If it were getting lighter he frankly could not tell, and it would be worse at street level, forest of overhanging signs seeming only to concentrate the deluge rather than protect from it. Counting through that flickering canopy from slick tarmac a second time to ensure he had the correct window, the handler grimaced. Seemingly he was indeed out of luck, someone having sealed the curtain slit, eliminating even that tiny peephole. That he did not like at all, and Monty never had managed to locate Vito's phone.
Another thought caused his expression to sour further: and who said the original view in had even been accidental? If their opposites were tiring of the hunt, leaving that chink would be a simple enough ruse by which to draw them into position and, danger aside, unwittingly taking bait would be an affront to professional pride.
Pick the time and place for action.
That was the official line at least, the Moscow Rules' anonymous author leaving absent the unspoken second part: unless you don'thave a choice… which was why Katherine was currently hidden somewhere in apartments opposite, rather than here where he could keep an eye on her. At the end of the day, it had been quicker to let her take point rather than argue, a decision he was now beginning to rue.
Monty would have to make the call whether to go or not, and he could only hope their co-conspirator would listen.
Mobile appearing in one hand, Jethro stepped away from the stall, melting into the crowd.
Face illuminated by her phone's screen, Monty's eyes flicked across her partner's message, lips drawing thin as she read its single line of text. They had been here too long already, current hiding place's stench of bleach and ammonia biting into her nostrils, and a tetchy Katherine was going to be even less co-operative than normal. Pocketing the device again, her gaze flicked toward where her companion was sitting atop an upturned bucket, surly expression hinting displeasure at not being Jethro's designated point of contact, and the corresponding insinuation that she, Monty, was in charge.
"He can't see a thing from up there."
"Someone closed the curtain?"
"Yes…" another thought struck her, "…he wants more information before proceeding, so my call."
For a moment there was silence, emphasis seemingly not lost on her opposite, but then the British woman spoke again. "And so just what would that call be?"
Frankly, there were not a whole lot of options.
"The walls here are thin, I'll see what can be heard from outside."
"What, and just stand in the corridor waiting to be spotted?"
"Breaking in would take longer, and I'm sure the boffins gave you some contrivance to see inside if we drag on."
It was hard to tell, but she was sure there was a fraction of a second's hesitation before the calm reply. "They did."
Internally, Monty grimaced: this was getting more dangerous by the second. Her face however remained impassive and, rummaging through store room shelving, she extracted a glass measuring cup.
"You're the less displaced looking here; check the corridor. I will follow."
That elicited little response beyond a curt nod, but rising, Katherine doused the single bulb, disappearing through the door and, enclosed by sudden dark, the cyborg waited, counting. Reaching ten with no indication things had gone awry, she followed in the other agent's wake.
That drew a dry expression, because right now she was trusting some signal would be given. Presuming Katherine was telling the truth, and was indeed here at Algy's behest, then Algy obviously had faith in her. Jethro had faith in Algy so, little as she liked it, the other woman's professionalism she was just going to have to give the benefit of the doubt… at least enough to back herself over betrayal to the Orchid or Station H.
No, her professionalism, here and now, was not in question, it was her judgement leaving something to be desired.
Outside was barely better lit than their storage room, defunct bulbs left un-replaced but, scanning the corridor's length, Monty quickly found her temporary companion's figure silhouetted before the next junction. Gliding silently up behind her, the young agent listened intently, before moving forward a few more steps to draw into the other's peripheral vision. Receiving a wordless nod, the girl moved again, turning from where Hong Kong's neon night streamed in from the terrace she had entered via on her previous visit, to move deeper into the building proper.
Stopping short of John's door however she knelt down, cup placed gently against the wall. The description of it as 'thin' bordered on understatement, plasterboard doing little to muffle sounds within. Zhang would have to be aware of that as well and, were he inside, her current position should put her closer any sotto conversation.
Hesitating, she closed her eyes, listening hard. Katherine had better be paying attention. Shuffling steps and muffled voices...
The sound of another footfall, closer this time, caused eyes to snap open, finding their SIS hanger on now crouched beside her.
"Anything?"
Monty removed her improvised stethoscope from discoloured paint, voice similarly hushed. "There's definitely someone there, but it's a job to work out whom. You had a way to look inside?"
"That I do." Getting to her feet, Katherine moved to the door, fingers lifting her loose shirt. "This won't take long."
"Careful, we can't be sure if it is actually them not."
"You may not be, but I am."
With that her hand withdrew, clasping her chunky Glock and, realising what was about to happen, the cyborg darted forward.
Too late. Katherine's boot met timber with a resounding crash, lock tearing from its fitting and sending the panel clattering away, woman following moments later.
'Way to look inside'. Droll.
Whatever her feelings though, they were committed, and the cyborg stepped quickly behind, chambering a round as she went, heavy Type 54 dropping smoothly in beside her rampant colleague to rest on four stunned faces: three standing, one bound, seated, and showing signs of interrogation. Vito and his captors.
Weapon not moving, she ran an eye over the remaining occupants. Lau she recognised, and Zhang. The third was slightly less expected, though only apparently for her, and it was Katherine who spoke. "Martin Case… I wish I could say this was an unpleasant surprise, but sadly I will have to settle for just the unpleasant part."
Previously agreeably bland, Case's features were now beset by an ugly sneer. "Well, Fuji, you will be happy to know the feeling is mutual." His eyes flicked to the younger woman. "I see you've acquired Vesper, which I presume means Algernon's other failure is floating around nearby?"
At the words, Monty felt her grip clench but, forcing it to relax, she let her companion carry on the conversation rather than rise to the bait.
"Who knows, I only met up with half Vauxhall's current preferred gossip topic, no idea where the rest is." Her tone changed, next sentence obviously being addressed backward. "I don't think I told you, but you're famous, at least insofar as fame within a closed community can be. 'Jethro Blacker's mystery girl', be glad I didn't ask for an autograph."
SIS famous: that was the last thing she needed.
Katherine though had already redirected her conversation back to the other agent. "Lovely though it would be to chat, Martin, I have a job on, and I suspect you're not the one in charge here, so continuing is a bit of a waste of my time… Captain Zhang, I believe you have something of ours and we'd rather like it back. Here is what is going to happen: you are going to release your captive, and walk him over. Then we are going to leave, all nice and civil. Keep it so, and me and my mysterious friend here won't need to make a mess. Clear?"
There was a pause as Zhang studied her, People's Liberation Army uniform traded for a simple suit and tie. Between that, and his lackeys' rolled up sleeves revealing faint sheens of perspiration, it was a fair bet who had been doing the dirty work. Finally, though, he spoke, moving forward to begin freeing Vito from his chair.
"You seem very confident, Ms. Fuji."
The tone was cold, and hearing it Monty took a step back, putting a little more space between herself and Katherine, clearing her firing arc into the corridor. Something in that set her on edge, and if reinforcements were on the way, she needed to see them sooner rather than later.
"I'm good at that."
Unfortunately that movement also limited her view into the room. She could still hear though, and it sounded like Vito was already up, shuffling footfalls suggesting he was either very weak, or still bound, or both. That had been quicker than expected, disassembling the knots would have been an easy way for Zhang to drag things out…
She was already turning when the muffled yelp of surprise emanated from inside, just in time to see the Padan come stumbling toward Katherine. His distraction was momentary, but it was enough as Lau bolted in under the SIS agent's other side, palm strike smacking her gun away, following elbow driving into exposed solar plexus.
He was fast, really fast, far quicker than she had realised facing off in Mong Kok, but right now he was Katherine's problem. Zhang had gone the other direction, darting up the room's far flank, gun already drawn, and Monty ducked away as flimsy plaster exploded above her head. Rolling back to her feet the girl leaned around the corner again, loosing two shots in return before retreating. Hopefully Katherine would be bright enough to keep Lau close and not make herself a target, but there was no way they were going to get Vito out with the other three here now.
"Vesper!"
Rounding at Katherine's shout, the girl felt her pistol belted away, clattering across the floor, Zhang close behind the sweeping palm. She barely avoided his following strike, using its predecessor's momentum to spin clear. The effect was the same however, putting space enough between them for the captain to take aim, forcing her to dive back toward the T-junction and out of the line of fire which tore through aged vinyl.
Shouted Mandarin echoed down the corridor, and she stuck her head out once more, quickly withdrawing again as another shot ricocheted off hard flooring. Zhang was out of the apartment now, Martin herding Vito's battered form ahead as they made for the exit. If the army officer was half the fighter his henchman was then she had no chance engaging him hand-to-hand. She needed her gun back, and quickly.
Fighter or no though, it was a fair bet he would have her corner covered, charging out now would be suicide, and the girl counted off seconds. They couldn't be moving fast, not with Vito in tow; let them get a little farther ahead. Reaching zero, she rolled up into a crouch and, taking a deep breath, dashed out.
Nothing came to meet her, the hallway empty and, racing forward, she swept up her weapon on the way through. Hitting upper balustrade at a run, she looked into the stairwell.
Nothing. Empty. Had she let them get too far ahead?
Shuffling the Type 54 to her off hand Monty bolted down the stair, vaulting its centre to land on the lower flight, tumbling forward as shots zinged over her head. Her quarry was only the next landing down, Vito sandwiched between his captors, moving faster as he was dragged and pushed along. Martin's free arm cranked around again, firing blindly to keep her occupied as his companion turned, taking up station to cover the escape.
Not that the effort was needed, she couldn't return fire while they were so close, not in the stair's tight confines, not without risk of hitting Vito and hobbling her own escape.
Zhang had worked that one out also and, as she swung into view once more, he had changed positions again, keeping the Padania agent behind himself as they dropped another level.
And the next would be ground.
Awkward backstop or no, her next rounds went high, forcing the trio to duck also and, in the momentary distraction, Monty dashed forward, down onto the landing they had so recently vacated. Whipping around the concrete divider she fired wide again, sending lead zinging past Martin's ear, and he turned away, pistol reports echoing off concrete walls.
Ejecting her magazine she slammed a fresh one into place. She might not dare shoot too close, but she could herd them toward the alley exit and, glancing around again, she caught heels retreating that direction.
Finally, something going right.
The narrow gap dividing John's apartment window from food market walls offered a less frenetic evening pace, dim neon of laneway eateries serving only to deepen shadows, rather than match the bright night glowing at either end. Standing in one such darker patch, Jethro tried not to wince as more gunfire rang from the building behind.
So much for a quiet job.
Shifting, his eyes moved to the dark S-Class parked close to this flaking wall, black shape dusted in diamantes of rain, sparkling technicolour under flickering signage: not that there had ever been much hope to begin with, and slashed tyres or no, the Hong Kong taxi parked farther along was going to have a tough time outrunning it.
All the more reason to get it started then, rather than wait keeping the door clear, especially if Monty and Katherine were to be leaving in a hurry. Ensuring his movements remained relaxed, the handler started to turn away…
He never made it. Behind him, the exit slammed open, bouncing off crumbling concrete.
"Get him in the car!"
The words were terse, heavily accented by their urgency; a man's voice, and the spy whirled back. Vito was ejected first, thudding against the limousine's bonnet, Martin close behind, and Jethro froze. He wasn't the only one surprised, Station H man stopping mid-stride, face cracked in similar shock. It didn't last long however, and he was already blocking as the handler's first jab arrived. Slapping it away he caught the follow up, sliding through the open gap to land an elbow heavily into his opponent's chest. Jethro doubled over, gagging for breath as a knee rose to connect hard with his chin, sending him staggering backward.
Case's face was contorted into an ugly sneer as he advanced again, foot lashing out to whirl past his nose as he retreated another step.
"You always were shithouse in the ring, Blacker. Nice to see nothing's changed."
The SWA agent however was looking past him, grunting words out between laboured breaths.
"Your ride's… leaving."
Martin's head snapped around as, sure enough, tumbling from the building Zhang took one look at the disabled Mercedes and bolted toward bright lights, firing back as Monty emerged in his wake, taking aim but unable to reply into suddenly scattering crowds beyond. The distraction was again only momentary, but Jethro dove forward, driving into his opponent's kidneys. It was a clumsy movement, and elbows crashed down on his back in reply, sending him sprawling.
No follow up came however as a pistol's report sent the other man retreating behind the limousine's tall bonnet, more rounds smacking into thick metal.
"Skipper!"
Somewhere in the confusion, Vito had clambered upright, and at his partner's yell he launched himself at the fleeing Padan instead, bringing him crashing to sodden tarmac once more. Scrambling forward, Jethro pinned the man down, drawing him into a headlock, both arms still bound. Unfortunately though, he could only deal with one problem at a time and, seeing his chance, Martin fled, crashing through the door of a restaurant farther up as, from behind, came the sound of Monty's flat frustration.
"Bollocks."
Too public for her to act, the gun was bad enough.
Catching his own breath, the handler hauled his mark to wavering feet, voice low as he leaned forward, letting a hint of the North creep into his words.
"You're nicked, sunshine."
There was no reply, and only thin resistance as he thrust the man toward their waiting transport. A glance back found Monty shoving a fresh magazine into her pistol, looking a little the worse for wear. Any concerns however were reluctantly cast aside: address the problem at hand first.
"Where's Mary?"
Still short of the car, his girl stepped ahead, opening a rear door. "Entertaining Lau."
"Well she had better hurry up. The police won't be…"
His sentence never finished as, from above, came the crash of glass, a dark figure plummeting amongst glittering shards to land with a sickening crunch through the waiting S-Class's windscreen, setting its alarm wailing.
"So not precisely Camberwick Green then."
Dry commentary seemingly ignored, it took a moment to identify the motionless new arrival as Lau, red beginning to seep through his white shirt, and Jethro turned back to his limply goggling captive. "I wouldn't even consider running in your shoes."
Monty was already slipping into the taxi passenger seat, away from prying eyes and, a minute later, Katherine emerged, plaster dust beginning to clog a bloody gash on one cheek. Twisting hair up behind her head she shoved a chopstick through it, limping to a halt before the waiting handler, and gestured to his current burden.
"I said the car was theirs. You want me to look after that?"
Helping shove Vito in beside her on the back seat, Jethro moved quickly to the driver's side and, headlights blazing to life, he tore out onto night time streets, slithering across slick asphalt, for now content to put as much distance between themselves and the market district as possible. Not until they were a comfortable few blocks away did he slow, pulling from another side road more sedately to melt into the throng and, taking that cue, the SIS woman behind finally spoke.
"What happened to the other two?"
"Got away." Monty's voice was flat, and from the back seat came an exasperated sigh.
Strangely though, it was accompanied by a weak chuckle, and a male voice, twanging of Irish New York. "Well, I got bad news for you guys then, because you won't beat them getting anywhere."
"Fucking brilliant. This wouldn't have been a problem if we went earlier."
"And it also wouldn't have been a problem had someone not rushed in like the proverbial china-shop bull."
Reaching over, out of sight behind the front bench seat, Jethro gave his partner's hand a calming squeeze but, again, it was Vito who replied. "What are you people? SIS?"
"For us to know and you not to." Monty's voice had returned to its natural rounded purr. "And how about you? I would say ex-CIA, except I was under the impression they still encouraged at least some mild level of competency."
Ignoring that jab however, the other continued his previous line of conversation. "I thought the other guy was SIS as well. This does confuse the issue."
"Well, it's a big world." Katherine's words cut in behind his, dripping condescending sarcasm. "I'm going to say he's probably corporate. That's how the Italians would have hired him."
No response.
The crack was sudden as it was violent. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, Jethro found their captive sprawled against his door, eyes round in shock, a new red welt already rising on his bruised cheek and, across their companion's knuckles, metal glinted once more.
"Allow me to rephrase that: was it corporate?"
"I'd answer." Put in the handler casually. "There's good reason she is back there with you rather than up here."
A mumbled reply, lost behind traffic and street noise.
"Didn't catch that."
"Yeah, it was corporate."
Even without looking, Jethro could feel smugness radiating from the rear seat, and his hand tightened on Monty's again as Katherine continued.
"And does Mister Corporate have a name?"
Another mumble, quickly cut off as his temporary warden spoke once more. "We know you've been helping run the Italians' forging operation, so it needn't be your real one just yet… though that would be nice at some point too, and any others you might care to offer up. For now though, whichever you've been feeding them will do. I hope you have at least been bright enough to give them an alias."
Silence, filled only with the click of an indicator as Jethro turned down another street. Finally, quiet words wafted over his shoulder from behind.
"It won't do you any good. Sorry to say, they already know where to go."
When it came, Katherine's reply was a growl. "Maybe so. However, unless you want a repeat of your time in Second Department's care, I highly recommend you start talking anyway, beginning with where we should be headed."
Even at this hour there was always someone willing to swap money for transportation, the fall of darkness over Causeway Bay's sampan village sheeting it in bobbing, twinkling lights. Seemingly this was not Vito's first time on the water either, and it had not taken long for a tiny vessel to be signalled from that matted raft, captain greeting him by name. Not the Padania alias either, but as Vivian Makely… which at least aligned with that confessed under Katherine's tender hand.
Compared to Monty's last trip, the little craft rode steadier as they headed for Victoria Harbour's western entrance, more human scaled enclave of its home now lost at the base of Central's shifting cyberpunk skyline. Even here though, rainbow lights still washed across passengers in the darkened cockpit, and her eyes flicked up to contemplate Vito's outline, slender fingers massaging at one shoulder. Even with bindings released, Chinese attentions seemed to have drained him of fight and, with minimal prodding, he had leaked information like a sieve. It was just a pity none of it had been of a variety particularly useful to her, and nor would it be until their SIS companion could be removed from the picture.
Damned if she knew how that was going to happen.
And, of course, that presumed information given so freely was indeed accurate and not simple game playing, a theory she may have entertained more readily had he actually been ex-CIA. As it stood however, while a cut above what the Padania mustered generally, he still showed all signs of being very much a pub league player, one who suddenly found himself on the stadium floor, though there were better judges of that as well.
Voice remaining low, she leaned toward her partner, stretching up to bring soft lips closer his ear. "What do you think?"
"Hmm?"
He slouched down, letting her speak more easily.
"What do you think, are we headed the correct direction? Or are we being fed a line?"
There was a pause and, in it, fingers brushed against her knee, giving it a quick, comforting squeeze. "Gut feel? I don't think there's enough fight left in him to lie, not while we are all rubbing shoulders at least."
"He couldn't be sending us to some pre-arranged setup?"
Another pause. "I doubt so, he didn't say much when we boarded, and he didn't seem to be reaching for specific words either. Even the SIS struggles getting its agents to slip in code phrases without sounding artificial… and that's presuming he even thought to organise one in advance."
"He did appear somewhat surprised to have run into trouble this far from home."
Silence again, sounds of closely packed humanity distant behind the engine's slow vibration and, in the darkness, her thumb once more began to circle the former bullet wound. As it did however, a strong hand clamped over hers, lifting it away to be guided back to her side.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
Feeling her partner's arm withdraw she gave him a thin smile, its accompanying words wry. "That would be the first time you paid me anything."
"Only because you're stingy with my pocket money."
That elicited a small snort, but the look remained. "The comment regards being short on fight with all of us present; if we are going to the right place, I can't help but note there will probably be more of his friends present than ours."
"That had occurred to me, yes. How are you for ammunition?"
"Just what's in the gun."
Reaching behind himself, Jethro withdrew a slender stick of metal, brass glinting at one end. "Here."
Accepting the eight round magazine gratefully, she slipped it into a pocket as he spoke again. "Look on the upside, if his intention really is to trap us, we're likely closing in on where we need to be."
That earned another unimpressed expression but, squeezing her knee again, he continued, this time in slightly louder tones. "Either way, we should find out soon enough."
Behind, rainbow skyscrapers were finally beginning to fade under misting rain, replaced by warm light forward. Not homely boat lamps, but the sickly ooze of sodium, glowing behind silhouetted coastal freighters as they swung at heavy moorings. In the murk of towering steel, riding lights and the occasional window glimmered as skeleton crews went about their business on high floating, empty hulls. The more modern would probably find employment soon enough, but scattered amongst those, spindly deck cranes stood atop vessels unlikely to put to sea again, and the rotting break bulk tramp toward which Vito's sampan steered most certainly fell into that latter category.
In the dimness, strong eyes picked out rust-streaked hull plates, formerly black, a thinner belt of red below indicating some variety of cargo… or leaks kept barely under control. Graceful lines however still curved back from a raised forecastle to meet at the rounded stern, long, mid-set superstructure dividing the ship's holds, serviced by a clutch of wood-boomed derrick cranes. What was surprising was that the Padania had been willing to pay for such a large vessel, though her condition would probably have made a decent bargaining chip.
Eyes running back toward the prow, Monty's gaze settled on white script beneath Chinese characters, 'MV Nanking Queen', but, as they did, another thought struck her. Of course, a ship this age and design would have been designed to take passengers as well, and she would certainly be large enough to appear sparsely populated, even with a print shop staff running in shifts.
There was a bump as their tender nosed in beside the towering hull, into strong light shining from above, its wielder lost in the glare. Standing from his seat, Vito waved up, and the lamp snapped off, replaced by a wood and flax pilot's ladder tumbling over the side and splashing into water at the sampan's bow.
The light came on again and, catching Katherine's eye, Monty jerked her head toward the Padan. "Come up after me, someone's going to need to haul this one along."
Fortunately, for once, the other woman did not argue, instead standing to drag her captive aside. As she did, the cyborg's sharp hearing picked up muttered words. "I hope you remember your part now, because if not you're liable to be taking a long walk off a short plank."
Not waiting to hear the reply she continued past, reaching for heavy rope as it slapped lazily against corroded steel. Before she got any further however a hand settled on her shoulder, squeezing it and, turning slightly, she found her partner there, deck boards wallowing as his weight came forward. Flashing a quick smile in return, the girl swung out onto wooden rungs.
Relieving. The last thing she had wanted was Jethro going up first.
Moving quickly across faded paint, the girl was soon slowing as she neared its top. Closer now, she could just make out faces behind of the light, Chinese faces, so either they were in the wrong spot after all, or the Padania had not considered it worth shipping their own labour out from Europe. Either way, she could probably assume they would not be on her side.
Clambering aboard with both hands occupied was thus not ideal but, reaching the final rung, she paused briefly, allowing strong arms to haul her over the gunwale. It was a fine balance, let them help too much and her weight may be noticed, too little and she lost the protection of proximity and, clearing wood railing, she glanced around. Helpers notwithstanding, only one other figure stood on the deck, just before wide cargo hatch doors, his hand resting inside an overall pocket.
Feet landing with a clunk, she moved aside to clear the access, using the moment to study her opposite further. He did not look happy to see her. However, he had also not shot her, so that was probably a start.
Katherine was next up, turning immediately to assist in hauling the injured Vito aboard and, as he straightened, the man stepped forward, speaking in accented English, eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"Néih hóu, Mr. Makely. I hope the climb was not to… difficult?"
"It gets harder every time, you could really do with installing a boarding stair."
Still to one side, Monty quietly noted the not entirely natural delivery, face remaining impassive. Well, at least it gave her something to measure against. Whether that be good or bad though, there would be no backing out now and, as Jethro clambered up, Vito continued. "I would like to see Roberto if he is around."
"Of course, are you armed?"
"No, but they are… fortunately."
The crewman's eyes ran quickly over the three assembled spies. "You will need to hand over your weapons."
"I would prefer we were paid first." Monty's voice was flat.
This time there was the slightest hesitation in Vito's response, and the girl gave an internal wince as he glanced reflexively toward Katherine, face obviously concerned over the prospect of receiving another thrashing.
"Sorry, house rules... no-one but the guards. You can ask Roberto for them back once we meet him, he runs the operation here."
"Not likely." The other woman sounded even less enthusiastic.
"Then don't expect to move much farther."
Now it was Jethro's turn to speak, hand giving his girl's shoulder a squeeze. "Go on, play along for now. We're all on the same side here."
Somewhat reluctantly, the cyborg drew her Type 54, handing it over with its spare magazine, while her partner did the same. Katherine took a little longer, a second Glock appearing from her ankle and, as that was surrendered also, Monty felt rough palms settle on her, working their way down. Reaching a boot, probing fingers found the folding knife wedged there and, extracting it, their owner seemed to decide that warranted a second, more intimate, inspection, and her face hardened as he stretched the experience out.
Their British compatriot did not fare much better, however finally the searchers seemed to have satisfied themselves, standing back as the head guard looked them over once more.
"Is that it?"
"Yes."
He did not seem entirely convinced but, devoid of an excuse to repeat the exercise, gestured for them to follow.
"Come. Roberto is below."
Allowing Katherine and Vito to take the lead, Monty fell in wordlessly with her handler, conscious of the two pairs of boots tramping immediately behind. From here she could get a better look at Nanking Queen's layout, what appeared to be two holds forward, derrick cranes positioned ahead of each. Two smaller booms flanked the superstructure, their twins aft servicing a single stern hatch, spindly forms catching dim light from the few illuminated deckhouse windows on its four storey face, shaded by walkways on each side above raised hull plating. The bridge occupied its top level, backed by tall vents before an even higher funnel and, glancing up at it as they were guided toward steep ladders, the cyborg thought she could see shadows move behind darkened glass.
That made sense, quite possibly the Padania would have positioned a sniper to cover the welcoming committee's innocent public face.
Letting her partner go first, Monty put herself in the single file between him and those bringing up the rear, before being ushered inside past faded life rings. Ducking through an open door, the girl grimaced again as it became evident they would remain strung out for some time yet, and she heard heavy steel close behind.
Despite being out of sight, their guide did not slow, directing the party down through an open hatchway into thicker scents of oil, salt, and mildew. Seemingly Nanking Queen was just as ill kept below as she was above decks and, as they descended another level, Monty maintained close attention on her surrounds. Somewhere in the background could be heard the thrum of a diesel generator, though its power was obviously being sent some place other than lighting, those bulbs still operational dimly illuminating once white paint.
Other mechanical sounds could be heard now, the unmistakeable rasp of a printing press going about its business and, pushing open another door to the squeal of protesting hinges, the little party was ushered onto a wide tween deck, gaping hole at its centre offering crane access into the lower hold. Crates and pallets were stacked up against hull plating, but it was what lay below which caught Monty's eye.
Moving to stand beside one of the slender pillars running from keel to main deck, she peered down. Someone had rigged up bright floodlights to point inward, probably adding much to the hold's stifling atmosphere and, under white light, overall-clad humanity bustled, tending to the antique mechanical train churning away at their centre. Here, finally, lay the Padania forging operation's beating heart.
To one side of flowing workers stood a pair of men, both patently a long way from home, height and features marking them of European stock, pouring over a large paper sheet: freshly produced, properly intaglio printed, forgeries, spread across a long wood table amongst lamps and tins of ink. Literally hot off the press.
"Roberto!"
At Vito's shout one looked up and, excusing himself from the conversation, hurried toward another steep ladder. Confined to ship or no, Roberto was apparently still perfectly fit, and it was not long before he reached their own deck. As he approached, Monty took a moment to study him more closely: a shirt with sleeves rolled up and olive skin, dark, short cropped hair marking him as likely from more southerly heritage. However, when he spoke, it was with a distinct Lombard accent.
"Vivian!" Halting, he embraced the American, causing that latter to wince. "I had all but given you up for dead!"
Vito managed a weak smile. "I gave myself up for dead a few times…"
He seemed about to continue, but the forger was already talking. "I reported to the old men you'd been snatched but, well, you know what they are like…"
Another weak smile. "That I do."
"…and I would have pulled us out already, if the Lea-king here was safe to move. How did you escape?"
Standing aside, Vito now gestured toward the Blacker group. As he did however, the watching cyborg noticed their former guide had disappeared and, glancing around, she found him headed for the ladder, descending its steep steps. Attention remaining politely on the conversation, she watched as he began to move through workers below. It could be he was simply a foreman for the operation, but still…
"Roberto, let me introduce Shaun, Vesper, and Mary. Apparently your message got through, they were sent to extract me."
"We patched him up as best we could," put in Jethro, "but the Chinese did quite a job."
"That sounds surprisingly agile for the old men."
The words were light, but at them Monty winced internally again, noting that opinion on the Padania leadership's responsiveness away for later reference.
It was, however, Vito who answered. "Well, I'm working on them, and they're getting better, finally realising field ops do not wait for the boardroom."
"You would think this operation warranted slightly higher priority…" that was Jethro and, this time, both Padans turned as he nodded toward the press, "…all things considered."
That got a wry snort from Roberto. "They like the product, it's having to pay for it that seems to slow them down."
"Nice to know that does not change wherever you are…" her handler's voice suddenly became harder, "…though I hope they are not so parsimonious when it comes to our own compensation."
The guide was back now, a group of workers in tow loaded down with ink rollers, headed toward a stack of crates. At the last sentence however, the forger's expression froze, and his eyes snapped back to Vito.
"They're not ours?"
"I suspect your leadership did not have anyone in the area."
Monty's words were dry, quite in contrast to their opposite's reply.
"You can be quiet!" He rounded on Vito. "So they aren't ours! What the fuck did you bring them here for?"
"Settle, we're here to do a job, and I like my reputation intact." Jethro's words were calm. "Pay what we are due, and we will be on our way, nothing seen. Though if you could give us our kit back that would be appreciated."
"You brought them here fucking armed as well Vivian? I thought you were supposed to patch holes, not do dumb shit like this! Why?"
"Because I needed somewhere to lay low, so did they, and the Lea-King is about as low as it's possible to get..." Vito's words were calm, but laced with vitriol and, as he uttered them, his eyes flicked toward where the group of workers had gone.
Monty's heart sank.
"…Also, I thought it would be easier to dispose of them here, they're fucking SIS."
"Down!" The word was shouted and, fitting actions to it, the cyborg leapt, tackling her handler as fire scythed over their heads. She wasn't the only one moving either, both guards diving, as did Roberto. Vito began to duck, but Katherine was suddenly there, swinging the Padan in front of herself just as the first volley arrived. Some tried to check their shots, but it was too late, and Monty bit back a curse as bullets slammed into him, kicking up puffs of red. That pause however was all the SIS agent needed. Dropping her dying shield she charged, keeping low, sweeping up one of the discarded rollers as she went.
Two more steps, and the heavy bludgeon came around, slamming into the side of one assailant, knocking the wind from him. Using the impact to reverse her turn, Katherine continued on, impromptu weapon tracking up and over to hammer down on the next man's rifle. Gunfire roared as he reflexively yanked the trigger back, lead ricocheting off steel plating, almost immediately silenced by the heavy boot which rose to meet a lowered chin.
The crack of bone was audible even from where Monty lay, snapping her back to the present. Her guards were up now, trying to flee, and a foot lashed out, catching one around the ankles, toppling him over. Releasing her own partner, the girl leapt forward to smash her victim's head into the deck.
One un-resisting hand gave up her pistol and, drawing a bead on the second guard she put two rounds cleanly through his retreating back. Two more dropping him for good.
The other direction, Katherine had already dealt with another assailant, but that had been long enough for the others to recover, and she dove for the protection of ransacked crates as fire shattered them to splinters above her. Rolling up into a crouch, Monty swung her pistol up. Her first shot went wide, but its followers caught the farthest man, and as he fell the Type 54's slide locked back.
Their SIS companion however had not been moving blindly and, emerging from cover at a run, she drove the roller full force into the base of their final assailant's spine. He crumpled instantly, and the bludgeon rose again, landing on his skull with a sickening crack.
The whole thing had lasted maybe ten seconds, shouts from lower decks all the louder for silence left in its wake.
Whatever else she might be, Katherine was certainly handy in a fight, probably more so than many cyborgs… Monty hid a wry smile… and likely more stable to boot.
Salvaging what she could from their dead guards, the girl held out her partner's pistol.
"You okay?"
Roberto had, unsurprisingly, disappeared and, turning from where the forger had lain, Jethro reached out to take his weapon. "Always, you?"
"So far."
That was met with a wry grin as she fell into step, spent magazine dropping to make way for her final spare. Heading for where Katherine was inspecting one of the discarded rifles she watched it thrown away in disgust and, as they approached, Monty cocked an eyebrow.
"No good?"
The woman shook her head, scowling. "Not unless your primary aim with a rifle is to have it blow up in your face. I thought the Italians were meant to be well funded."
Holding out the smaller Glock, Monty's voice was dry. "I get the distinct impression this side of the planet is still a mystery to them, they might as well be trying to buy ray guns from Narnia."
"You only found the twenty-seven?"
"Afraid so. I suspect someone already nicked your other."
"Not for want of trying…" interrupted Jethro, "…but, I doubt you managed to kill quite everyone just now. We need to get moving."
"What and leave empty handed? You've got to be shitting me."
"Beats burial at sea. You heard them, they won't move the ship and she's not seaworthy anyway. Now we know where to, I'm sure Algy can rustle up reinforcements quickly enough."
"I'm sure he can, but I also want that press in one…"
She never finished the sentence.
Wherever Roberto had gone, apparently it had been to get help, and now that was arriving from the upper decks, carrying crowbars and axes appropriated along the way.
The press really must have been running in shifts. No wonder only the guards were armed, it would be that or risk mutiny.
Monty's first shot caught the lead man, but then Jethro had fingers around her arm, dragging her after him.
"This way!"
Katherine however was already firing the other direction as more closed in from the forward hold, and her slide locked back, empty. Dropping the Glock she swept up a discarded rifle, sending it scudding through the air to catch another attacker in the stomach, continuing her turn to face the Blackers.
"Go down!"
Not that they really had much a choice and, dropping another enemy the cyborg swung onto the ladder, sliding toward the lower hold. Feet had barely hit deck sole however when her gun was slapped away, clattering into the distance, and she was already ducking, next strike glancing from steel rungs as she spun around behind.
Her new assailant was not the only one present though, and strong arms closed, pinning hers in place.
The next strike didn't miss, catching her hard in the stomach, its follow through however kicked aside. Doubling up, she lashed out with both heels, slamming its deliver into the ladder. Unbalanced also, the worker behind tottered and, landing again, boot soles skidded on steel, pushing them both backward to crash through waiting wood and bamboo.
Using the fall, Monty brought her head back hard, rewarded by the crack of breaking cartilage, and the bear hug relaxed. Scrambling clear of its grasp, she saw the remains of what they had landed on, chop sticks and crockery strewn amongst shattered planks. Probably the shift's break area.
No time to rest though, and another impact sent her sprawling face first into the wreckage. Coughing, she rolled aside, heavy ink roller bouncing again off the deck where she had lain. Dodging another strike, desperate fingers reached out, closing around the first thing they touched, hurling it at the wielder. Whatever had been in the little pot was apparently hot, and he screamed as it smashed across pockmarked features, hands flying to burning eyes. Catching his dropped weapon, Monty was back on her feet, swinging hard into the side of his skull.
By now however those remaining were crowding around the ladder, some already beginning to climb and, turning, the girl jabbed her impromptu club between rungs, catching the uppermost man in the stomach. He dropped, landing on the next in line to send both tumbling atop compatriots below. That was another few seconds in the bank, but she had to keep the entry clear and, stepping forward, the roller was brought scything vertically across its face, forcing those at its base tottering back. Another swing, this time low and broad, raking enemies in front, widening the clearing further, and again.
That was all she was getting though, and the group was suddenly surging once more, a giant of a man erupting from its face to bring his axe crashing into suddenly raised metal. Cyborg or no, the impact forced her down, a following boot sending her sprawling, head rebounding off corroded steel, own weapon bouncing away as the axe rose again.
Pistol shots rang out from behind, and the blade paused, red blossoms appearing on its wielder's chest. He paused, eyes wide, and suddenly she was being dragged backward as he toppled.
"You okay luv?" Crouching above his partner, Jethro watched her head loll back.
Not waiting for a response he hauled her farther away, crowd scattering under his fire until the pistol's slide locked open. Empty. Looking at it in disgust, the handler threw it aside just as Katherine landed on the lower deck. Rolling forward the SIS agent ducked under her enemy's reach, driving an elbow into the sternum of one, continuing the motion to kick another hard in the groin. Not even she could fight that many however, a powerful return knee strike sending her tumbling into the access's base.
She needed something to even the odds.
Glancing behind himself, the handler's fingers closed around a length of bamboo, once part of the demolished break area.
"Mary!"
Bringing his arm forward sent the pole skidding over uneven metal, and the woman was up again, torqueing it in a wide arc, smacking hollowly across encircling faces to halt in a low fighting stance, new weapon once more at her back.
"Head for the press! Get away from this bloody ladder!"
With that she brought the impromptu stave through again, pounding it into the deck, causing her opponents to jump back. Pivoting on that point its tail came around, and she held the pole low, thrusting forward to push off-balanced fighters back with a roar, opening a path.
Hoisting his still dazed partner up, Jethro charged for the still running press as sounds of fighting erupted again.
Laying Monty beside it, he turned whence he had come. The table Roberto had been working on could be seen more clearly now, but that was for later. Katherine was headed their direction, retreating from the mob as it was reinforced by decks above, bamboo still whirling and jabbing into their midst.
A noise from the recumbent cyborg however made him spin around, just in time to receive the lone remaining operator's blow clean across the face which sent him crashing onto the table. Not pausing, the worker fell atop him, hands tightening around his neck, face contorted in fury, chocking breath away. Return punches found ribs and kidneys to no effect, but flailing fingers brushed something and, not caring what it was, the handler swung hard. The lamp's bulb shattered as it scraped across his assailant's face, and again, forcing the bloodied man away. Seizing that respite, Jethro lashed out, felling stumbling feet and, scrambling upright once more, he brought the exposed contacts down atop his opponent's chest.
The scream didn't last long.
"Shaun! A little help!"
Katherine was backed up against the press now, pole still whirling but, as he watched, it was torn from her grasp, and the woman dropped, ducking under the next blow to drive a fierce uppercut under her victim's chin. She was back to fists again, one on one, more than she could handle alone and, glancing around, Jethro sent the table crashing over, throwing his weight behind to charge into the crowd.
Shouts erupted as he slammed into their front row, a one-man rugger line… and one man wasn't going to get far, no matter how surprising his arrival. Grinding to a halt he ducked as piping splintered the upper edge. Its owner wasn't done yet however, slamming it down again and, fingers closing, the spy yanked it away, reversing to strike hard across the protruding face. Scuttling back he brought the pipe up, waving two handed before him.
Then the lights went.
There was no warning, the hold plunged into darkness and confused shouts but, seconds later, gunfire erupted from above, orange flashes leapfrogging their way forward to completely encircle the tween deck. No shots replied and, as the last volley petered out, silence fell, broken only by the still rasping press.
"On your knees! Hands behind your heads!" The voice was loud, twang of South London cutting through the dark as it repeated its order in Cantonese.
From somewhere else in the ship came the heavy clunk of a breaker closing and, as high intensity lamps glowed to life once more, he could see black-clad commandos ringing high railing, submachineguns trained down into the lower hold.
"I said on your knees!"
Around him, surviving Padania workers were already complying and, eyes still on the group above, Jethro raised his own hands, placing them on the back of his head to also kneel. At best count there were maybe ten around the upper reaches, probably half that number again already dropping into the lower hold, gathering to move through the silent crowd. As they did however, one of the new arrivals stopped, looking his direction before placing fingers to a balaclava clad ear.
Whoever the soldier had been talking to was quick to respond and, grabbing another, similarly garbed, man, he made his way over, hands folding atop the MP5 slung from his neck.
"Well, well, Jef-ro Blacker…" he sniffed, "…got me sum-mun wants to see you. If you could kindly hold still…"
The man's subordinate had disappeared from view, but now fingers like bananas grasped him roughly, hauling arms down to be zip-tied behind his back. Glancing up he could see the ship's former crew being herded toward the shattered remains of their break area, compliant despite their lack of bindings. Obviously the commandos knew who they were after though as, while he watched, Roberto was also brought in to be dumped with the workers.
Another thud sounded as Monty was deposited beside him and, keeping his voice low, he muttered quietly.
"You okay?"
The reply was dry, reasonable sign she had suffered no lasting trauma. "For a given value of okay."
"Out of the frying pan and all that."
"Quiet, the pair of you." Those words were growled, and the fratello lapsed into silence as Katherine was placed also into their midst. "Don't worry, the boss'll be along shortly."
'Shortly', as it turned out, was a relative description. Trussed up and guarded, finding a comfortable position was not on the cards, and Jethro's knees were well and truly aching by the time hard soled shoes sounded above. Giving up meagre attempts to try and relieve pressure, the spy returned to stillness as a suited figure began to make its way down the ladder. Clanging to a halt, it moved aside as Martin and Zhang both descended in its wake, the former still, insofar as he could tell, looking slightly worse for wear.
Not that he was going to get a better view, as the Station H man was quickly intercepted by a commando, both turning toward Padania prisoners, leaving Zhang and his companion to begin toward the press.
Charlie.
While his Chinese associate was by no means short, the Far East Head of Station stood a good half foot taller, snowy white hair slicked back from a prominent brow to match the finely waxed moustache sprouting beneath a boxer's nose. Even in the hold's heat, his three piece suit remained immaculately fastened over a classically broad shouldered physique, grey-brown fabric set off by the Harrow School tie and matching navy pocket square.
Not that the running ambivalence between him and Algy could be rightly attributed to simple public school rivalry.
That was all the thinking he had time for however as the area's chief spy came to a smart halt, gaze running over the press before settling on his kneeling captives.
"So, this is the best Algernon could throw together was it? Nice to know he's still incapable of doing something tidily. Still, I should thank him, you three have saved me some significant amount of effort..." now, he turned directly on Jethro, continuing in clipped, sneering tones, "…though, despite paining me to say it, not as much effort as I hoped. You've made this far more bothersome than I would have preferred Blacker, maybe getting away from the old fool has done you some good after all."
"It's nice to see you again too, Charlie."
"Pity I cannot say the feeling is mutual, though it is rather pleasant to have so many problems gathered neatly in one place… especially as we are no longer on the same side."
"Wilkes…" Zhang's voice was sharp, and the SIS man turned as he continued, "…our deal." Stepping forward he knelt before Monty, bringing his face close and grasping her chin to turn it left and right. "You can take the larger cut, but I want them alive. There is something, special, about this one, and I want to know what it is."
"Ah yes, our deal, our new deal… are you still sure about that? You do realise simply being pretty doesn't make a girl special. Fun, yes, but not special… or was it just the fun you wanted?"
"No, more than that. I do not know what, but it is something, and I suspect The Party would reward anyone who could find out what she knows and how… highly."
Still bound, Jethro kept his expression flat, not an easy task and, in the corner of his vision, Monty looked similarly wooden. What had it been? Her run in with Lau? His partner was brighter than to give herself away so easily. Or was the Orchid man just working on a particularly strong hunch? Either way, he was fairly certain any investigation of specialness was not something she would greatly enjoy.
He had to get her out of here.
Charlie's sneer however had returned. "Getting cold feet are we? Prefer to buy your way back into the chairman's pocket? If so, I hope you've not been spreading that plan around."
"Of course not."
"Good. Captain?"
Zhang's head turned slightly at that, presenting his temple neatly to the suppressed shot which cracked from behind the kneeling row. For a second nothing happened, but then he crumpled, shock still spread across movie-star features.
Letting the moment drag out, Charlie finally turned a contemptuous smile on his subjects. "Stupid boy. No matter how tall their buildings are the whole place is still just bloody savages. Useful, but still stupid."
"Is that your plan for the rest of us?"
Katherine's words were surprisingly calm, conversational almost and, turning his eyes as far as they would go, Jethro found her now looking up at their captor.
There was a pause, and the reply which broke it shared the same tone.
"Sadly not, there are a few things I wish to learn myself first. I already know your sins, Katherine, but offing you too early might upset Vauxhall, and Blacker I couldn't really care less about except…" Now it was the Station Head's turn to crouch before Monty, one hand brushing her thigh, before working its way over small breasts to run up her neck, finally settling beneath her chin, and Jethro fought down his own quivering rage. Not that it showing would have mattered, Charlie now staring intently into the girl's eyes, inches from her scowling face.
"…except there is you. Jethro Blacker's mystery girl, the black box, Vauxhall's flavour of the month for locker room gossip and idle speculation. Just what could entice the famously frivolous Jethro Blacker to hang on to you? It can't be just fun and games, he bores of playthings too quickly. So why have you not ended up on the rubbish heap, or in a casket, with all the rest?" The tone had changed now, no longer conversational, words once more laced with vicious contempt. "The Chink was right about one thing: you are special. You I should very much like to know more about."
Releasing the girl, Charlie stood again, voice taking on clipped superiority as he addressed the commando still standing to their rear. "Put them somewhere safe Captain, and get this ship checked over. I want to be underway within the hour."
"And the forgers?"
Pausing, the SIS man looked languidly toward where Roberto's crew was placed.
"Find those willing to help, kill the rest."
"Can do, boss."
From behind Jethro came a swish of air, and the world went black.