Chapter Seven
Early morning in the office of Tokyo Haven's Chief of Police. Outside, the streets were still relatively quiet; though the sun had risen and the vampires had retired to their basements and windowless rooms, the humans of Tokyo Haven were not yet swarming the streets. The police station, as well, was singularly quiet, the only noise that of the generators and the occasional sound from the containment facilities.
The stillness, however, was deceptive. Chief Hajime Saito felt little peace as he sat under the fluorescent lights, looking at Cho Sawagejo's pale face. He felt, instead, a sort of raw anticipation that permeated all the time he spent in this office, as well as most of the time he spent elsewhere.
There was no doubt in Saito's mind that something was building. Slowly, steadily, the Gentleman was building up supporters, and probably not just in Tokyo Haven. Soon, something would happen. A fight would break out between the police and the Gentleman's legion of vampires, and Saito knew that it would not end there, if Tokyo Haven were taken. He took some solace in one key resource, which might mean peace, if it were correctly tapped. The problem was, Saito, though clever, didn't know how to manage such a feat.
So, look, Chief, Sawagejo finally said, I was kinda pissed you called me so early. I mean, there I am, all nice and cozy in bed with my girlfriend, and you ring me up, and all of a sudden I gotta get up and come into work on a Saturday mornin'. So, sorry if I sound a little snappish, but I'm kinda wonderin' what the hell this is all about.
Saito sighed. I'm concerned about Sagara.
Yeah, he's a little bit - y'know, Cho said, tipping his hand from side to side. I mean, he's a good guy an' all, but maybe a little weird, if you catch my drift.
The Chief snorted. Sawagejo, I'd appreciate if you kept that sort of commentary to yourself. A pause. I hope you realize that we are on the verge of a major crisis, here. Not just for this city, but for the entire world.
No shit, Chief. I'm not stupid, y'know. Cho looked his superior in the eye. We're workin' on it. There are only so many vampires you can kill in a day. Sagara's a big help, but he's no super hero.
I got word from the Administration, Saito replied. We're to step up defense measures. I want you to start recruiting new members as quickly as possible. In the meantime, we're going to be doing some general intelligence training with the rest of the corps, so that they'll be prepared, as well. Some other cities - including Geneva, Beijing, Washington, and London - will also be doing some very basic training with their police forces, in case the Gentleman arranges for anything to happen outside Tokyo Haven.
Cho scoffed. Those guys don't know shit. He glanced at the wall. They carry fuckin' stun-guns, man. They don't know shit, and they can't do shit. No damn stun-gun has even killed a vampire. Hell - they'd prob'ly think it tickled!
Saito was silent for a moment. Cho had just verbalized what everyone already knew. The Administration, despite its reputation in Tokyo Haven, was not composed of fools. They, too, knew something was coming. Unlike Saito, however, they didn't know what to do about it, besides hand the problem over to someone else. Two hundred years of peace had bred generation upon generation of useless men, in Saito's opinion. Not that he didn't appreciate the peace the rest of the world enjoyed. Of course not.
No, they don't know what it's like, Saito said slowly. But it's better than nothing. A moment of silence. The generators kicked in again, humming slowly. In any case - I need to talk to you about Sagara.
What about him.
I'm sure you know we need him. But I worry he doesn't want to further the Administration's goals.
Yeah, well - You told him all this yet? Cho scrubbed his hands over his face. It was too early in the morning for so much intrigue.
He knows enough.
The blond laughed. I really don't know where you get off, Chief - I mean, there's reality, and then there's wherever the fuck you got off the train. Saito gave him a warning glare. I mean, we love you and all, but you gotta realize - You can't expect a guy to do what you want him to do without knowing why. Sano's the kinda guy who needs a reason, dontcha think?
Saito retrieved and lit a cigarette. After holding the smoke in his mouth for a moment, he exhaled and looked sharply at Cho though the pale grey cloud. I'll tell you something, Sawagejo, and I'll thank you not to repeat it at the coffee machine. Sagara is very important to this operation. He has the strength we've been previously been lacking. But we've received information which leads us to believe that he may not be the most trust-worthy employee.
Whaddya mean? Cho asked.
Okita pushed off the wall, where he had been standing beside Saito's chair. One of my informants recently spotted him at the Aoi, he said, a slight smirk playing on his lips. He cocked his head to one side. I trust you know what that is.
Cho said gruffly. 'Course I do.
Well, then you'll know that it's not exactly the sort of place honest police operatives hang out. Okita leaned forward and slid the cigarette from between Saito's lips. Leaning his hip on the arm of the chair, he took a long drag and exhaled before continuing. We tried to do a background search on the boy Sagara met there. Nothing logical turned up. He slipped the cigarette between Saito's fingers. The only match, he said, meeting Cho's eyes, was on a boy who died almost fifty years ago.
A tense silence fell between the three men, only the sound of the generators filling the space left empty by the absence of conversation.
So what? Cho asked. Doesn't necessarily mean a damn thing.
You seem very ready to trust Sagara, Saito said dryly. However, given the situation at hand, I can't afford it. He harbors a deep resentment for the Administration. I don't doubt that, if he were influenced properly, he would drop our cause out-right.
Cho's grey eyes widened. What, and go over to the Gentleman?
the Chief replied. Men like Sagara . . . Men like Sagara - perhaps - have lost faith in the goodness of other men.
How can you just say shit like that? Cho asked. It seemed inconceivable.
Let's just say that life has been less than kind to Sagara. Whether that's justification, in his mind, for subversive action . . . That remains to be seen.
Okita smiled. In other words, he added, climbing into Saito's lap, we have to keep an eye on dear, sweet Mr. Sagara . . . He looked at Cho again, the expression in his kohl-rimmed eyes almost a challenge. Because if we don't, we'll probably be in a whole lot more trouble than anyone could ever anticipate.
Someone was knocking on his door. Hold on a fucking minute! Sagara shouted, and put the partially assembled automatic rifle in a box at the foot of the bed. He swept the rest of the parts into another box, locked them both, and shoved them under the bed.
There was another knock, four sharp raps. Wait, damn you! he shouted, walking through his apartment towards the door.
When he opened to door, he found himself staring at someone's chin. He looked up and was faced with Aoshi Shinomori. The man was dressed entirely in black, including a black trench coat.
Mr. Sagara, he said.
Whaddyou want? Sagara snapped.
I'd like to speak with you.
Sagara looked at him for a long moment. Well, speak.
The look in Aoshi's eyes brooked no argument.
Muttering several uncomplimentary phrases, Sagara stepped back and let the tall man into his apartment. He shut the door once the proprietor of the Aoi had swept in, securing the locks behind him. Turning around, he looked straight at Aoshi and fixed him with an inhospitable gaze. Look, I know you're not a vampire, but you're no cute little lamb, either, so you're gonna hafta excuse me if I wanna make this short. I've been spending too much time with murderers recently.
That, Mr. Sagara, Aoshi replied, is exactly what I want to talk to you about.
Sagara narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. It was clear that he didn't want to let Aoshi any further into his home than he absolutely had to.
For a moment, the taller man studied Sagara. He stood there, openly hostile towards Aoshi's presence, a gun sitting in his shoulder rig, which was strapped over a dirty, white tank top. Sagara seemed powerful, all strong arms and proud height and a defiant gaze. It didn't intimidate Aoshi Shinomori, but any lesser mortal would have been a fool not to sense the determination in the man's attitude.
Well -?
Aoshi lifted his eyebrows.
I'm waiting.
You came to my club recently - I'm sure you must know what sort of people frequent my club.
I know.
You should also know that no self-respecting business-owner would let a man like you into an establishment like mine. To be perfectly honest, it is a favor I don't intend to do again. I'm not just looking out for you when I say you shouldn't come back. My patrons don't want you there, and your personal well-being is really the least of my worries.
Well, shit - Don't lay it all out on the table, Sagara said.
Aoshi sneered. I'm glad you see where I'm coming from.
Oh, yeah, we're clear. You know the way out, right?
Sagara stood still in the middle of the room once the door had shut behind the tall man. For a long moment, he did not move. The truth was, Aoshi had just revealed something that Sagara was rather sorry he had to know . . . It was perfectly obvious that Aoshi wasn't doing him any favors - which meant that his meeting with Kenshin was not only completely intentional, but was arranged by someone with connections in the vampire world. More than likely . . . Kenshin was working for a vampire. Sagara was not sure what that meant in the long run, but he was sure it didn't bode well.
He could hear someone coming down the hall. Their boots were making very little sound against the rough cement hallway, but he heard it all the same. Being surrounded by a silence so great that his own breathing was enough to grate on his nerves left him very sensitive to noise. He would wait for hours and not hear a sound until a guard came with a meal.
As the footsteps grew louder, he became aware of another sound - that of cloth swishing freely along and fluttering around as someone walked. So it couldn't be a guard coming with a meal yet. It was still too late at night, or maybe early in the morning, for that. Besides, no guard would wear something that would make so much noise. They all had tailored khaki uniforms. No, whoever it was that was approaching was wearing what sounded like a cloak. In the dark of the cell, he smiled.
I must commend your captors . . . They have certainly gone to great lengths to keep you isolated, haven't they.
His laugh was little more than a raspy noise. He didn't make a habit out of speaking any longer. Tonight, however, he decided might have to make an exception. They're doing they're damnedest, he grated out. The noise bounced off the thick metal of his cell wall and escaped out the slats at the top of the door before reverberating down the hallway.
Outside, in the hall, the man was breathing slow, shallow breaths. It really is a shame, the visitor said, that they must go to such trouble to confine such a fine man as yourself. A pause, the only sound two sets of quiet breaths. I suppose you know I have a favor to ask of you.
A favor. Yes. He knew. One of the guards had been keeping him informed. A guard who was under his kind visitor's thumb. And that one guard wasn't the exception to the rule. This man had thoroughly infiltrated his prison. I'm all ears, he rasped.
Mm. I should hope so, the visitor replied. I've gone to a great deal of trouble to be here tonight. It isn't as easy as you might imagine, coming all this way. Have you seen the landscape around this prison? . . . It's a toxic wasteland. Quite beautiful, really . . .
I thought you had a favor to ask.
The other laughed. You shouldn't be so hasty. You have, I believe, three lifetimes in solitary confinement, do you not? One might imagine such a sentence would teach patience.
He knew he was being mocked. It didn't endear this man to him any more, but, all the same, he was willing to endure a little lowering to get what he wanted. The quiet stretched out for a long moment.
After a time, there was a sound - His visitor, he realized, had put his palm against the heavy, metal door. I have gone to a great deal of trouble not only to be here this evening, but also to facilitate your liberation . . . That is, if you intend to comply to my request, Mr. Yukishiro.
Liberation. What a beautiful word. Name it.
I've done enough research on you to know you can easily accomplish what I shall ask of you. So I do not pose a challenge. Consider it, instead, a welcome-home present.
I would like you to create a series of explosives that may be planted and detonated remotely, at my command. I will need some thirty similar units, and they must be approximately powerful enough to destroy a large city. Do you wish to accept?
There was no question in his mind. Of course. He grinned. I'll give you fireworks straight from hell, if you want them.
The second man chuckled. How very quaint. Very well. I assume you're ready to leave immediately?
That goes without saying.
Notes:
Not many. Many thanks to Clarus for her graciousness and her beta-ing skills.
A ::snuggle:: to FarStrider, who has more planning skills than I do. And thank you to everyone else who keeps me writing this. Danke!
Coming up next - some more stuff.
Please leave a review! I love you!
SnM