XIX. White Wolf and Mongoose
In the golden light of the Van's chamber, Marcus looked sallow and drawn, gray shadows accentuating the lines in his face, the blood on his clothing a matte black where it dried. He was forced to stand on the injured leg, flanked by Mato and Lao, who jerked his shackled arms upward none too gently whenever his strength flagged and he began to crumple. The waiting crowd consisted of those who'd been aware of the transfers and threats to Spike; it was only the third time Julia had been in the chamber, and she stood a respectful distance behind and to the side of her lover.
Wang Long addressed Vicious. "Present the evidence you wish for us to hear."
He stepped forward, mindful of his attitude. What he wanted most was to be assigned the further interrogation of Marcus, but he knew he would not be permitted to participate if they thought he could not control his personal motivations. Clearing his throat, he spoke slowly, in the formal cadence of a courtroom. "Marcus Britt, who stands before you now, was present at the announcement of the Red Dragon's intention to enter into a distribution agreement which would make us the sole suppliers of Red Eye in Tharsis City. His supervisor in the Financial Division, Ichido-san, informed him that night of his assignment to a team, as he told me the following day when I asked him to be my second.
"Britt had an intimate knowledge of Red Dragon banking and an excellent grasp of computer programming. His previous specialty under Ichido-san was the automation of transactions, in order to minimize their visibility in the legitimate flow of currency."
Wang Long interjected, "We are aware of Marcus Britt's previous assignment and activities."
"I apologize." Vicious inclined his head and waited for further commentary. When none came, he went on, "Spike Spiegel received a large bank transfer the day we met with Yenrai-san to discuss the formation of our teams. At that time, Britt did not know to whom he had been assigned. When I formally offered the position of second to him, he expressed pleasure that he would work under me, rather than Spike Spiegel, stating his agreement with my previous declarations regarding the elimination of the White Tiger."
"Declarations that have no place in this chamber," Sou Long said in a cautionary tone.
"Again, I apologize. Were the information not relevant, I would not speak it here." He took a deep breath, trying to focus on the goal of time alone with Marcus, rather than his annoyance with the archaic old men in front of him. "Over the course of the past three weeks, Britt has been part of an ever-narrowing circle of informed persons. He was aware of Spike's location at times when no one else would have been. Most damning, aside from his ability to carry out the bank transfers that Spike Spiegel received, was his knowledge that Yenrai-san and I were going to move Spike from Julia's apartment to a more secure location. I charged him with meeting Julia when she arrived at the tower. He had ample opportunity, and unique knowledge, that enabled him to contact the two men Spike Spiegel killed when they ambushed him."
Mao stepped forward. "With your permission," he said, bowing, and when no one objected, he continued, "the young man who contacted Spiegel regarding the unauthorized transfer of Red Eye was instructed to do so by one of those dead men. It was after he revealed this information that Britt attacked him."
"Shin." Sou Long said, sitting forward. "We would like to speak with this young man."
"He will recover, though not tonight." Mao looked across the room to Lin, nodding slightly.
"What do you have to say in your defense?" Wang Long asked, looking at Marcus.
He did not raise his head when he spoke. "Vicious has proven nothing."
Vicious felt the eyes of the Van on him, and shifted slightly. "We need to review communications records, but now that we know where to look, I believe proof will be easy to find."
Marcus stumbled, dropping to one knee, and did not stand again when Lao attempted to yank him back up.
"Shackle him in the chamber." For the first time that evening, Ping Long spoke. "A review of communications and finance shall be completed before morning. We will discuss the findings then. Vicious, you will return for that meeting. Until then, Marcus Britt is in the charge of the Vanguard. None of you will have contact with him."
Vicious managed to keep his reaction to a slight twitch of one cheek. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mao watching him closely, and he held his breath until all three of the Longs had sat back in shadow, signaling dismissal. Then he turned on his heel and stalked out, Julia looking after him.
***
Through the cover of tree branches, the stars and faintly glittering glowboards high in the atmosphere seemed to ripple, as though buffeted by the wind. It was a pleasant, drowsy illusion, and Spike smiled to himself as he watched. After a few moments, though, it occurred to him to wonder why he was staring up at the night sky, and then the cold began to seep into his limbs from the ground. "Shit!" he exclaimed, and tried to sit up, but his ribs blazed with pain at the attempt and he fell back again, tasting copper when the back of his head connected with the hard-packed dirt.
Groaning, he rolled onto his uninjured right side, and after a brief struggle, managed to sit up. Without the comm., he had no way to know how long he'd been laying there; at least it was still fully dark, so most likely less than an hour had passed. He vaguely remembered thinking he should stop to rest, but nothing after that.
Groping in the darkness, he managed to find Mao's lighter and his cigarettes in the bag, and lit one, keeping the flame burning to take in his surroundings. It seemed like the trees thinned about a hundred yards on down the faint trail – an overwhelming relief, since he didn't think he could travel much further, and couldn't remember where he'd been when he passed out. He crushed out the smoke in favor of some water and a few crackers, and then hauled himself to his feet. Closing his left eye helped with the limited visibility, though the lack of perspective made him queasy, and he began trudging forward again, down the trail toward what he hoped was the clearing of Laughing Bull's encampment.
He emerged from the tree cover to the welcome sight of a campfire, though it was unattended. Three tents surrounded it, the largest being Bull's familiar hovel. Judging from the position of the stars and the faint glow in the west, it would be morning soon, and rather than disturb anyone in the encampment, he sat down next to the fire and lit another cigarette, intending to sleep when it was finished.
"Am I dreaming, or is it really you?" The voice made him nearly jump out of his skin, and he turned, wincing, to see a dark-haired woman peering out through the flap of one of the smaller tents.
"Astrid?" He beamed – he had not seen Bull's oldest daughter since she was barely sixteen, but her features were branded in his memory. She stepped out through the flap, and as she pulled it closed behind her, he could not help but notice her enormous belly. When she faced him, she grinned at his expression. "Time moves forward, Swimming Bird," she said lightly.
He chuckled and looked down, blushing. "I didn't mean to stare. I just had this picture in my head, you know?"
"You still look the same. It is so good to see you again." She came to sit beside him, looking hard in the light of the fire. "You're injured," she said with a frown.
"I came for some good medicine," he replied. "I'll live, I'm sure. Your face alone is a strong painkiller."
Astrid put a hand on his arm. "Let me get Father. He would be angry if I did not wake him." She stood again, and he watched her walk, swaying and deliberate under the extra weight, to Bull's tent.
He had not expected her to be here with Bull; after so many years of no contact, he counted himself lucky she was pleased to see him. Their brief encounters, from childhood until the last, before he returned to the Syndicate, had always crackled with the electricity of attraction. But they were from two different worlds, and for all that it fed the flames, the gulf had been impossible to cross. Bull never addressed the subject directly, but he had sent her away the day Spike arrived last time, and the message had been clear. The tangible proof that she had left him in the past made the reunion bittersweet.
"Swimming Bird!" Bull stooped under the tent flap and nodded, something like a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. "I have been expecting you. Come in."
Spike smiled in return and slowly stood, trying not to telegraph the pain or exhaustion. "As always, it is good to see your face and hear your voice, Old Man Bull." He stumbled as he started forward, and Astrid stepped around her father to come and take his arm.
Bull scowled. "You have managed another narrow escape, Swimming Bird. I watched your star flicker and fade these past four nights." He looked upward. "Even now, it wanes."
"Nothing a pipe and a rest won't remedy," Spike said as lightly as he could manage.
The old man moved aside to let them through, gesturing to the cushion in front of his sand painting. "You will sit, and I will determine what remedy you need." He went back to his own seat, lowering himself into the Lotus position with grace that belied his age, and took up a handful of blue sand from a bag beside him. At least a minute passed before he spoke again.
"The yellow-haired mongoose set a trap for you, but you disarmed it," he declared.
"Close. I think you mean white-haired."
Bull shook his head. "The White Wolf found the mongoose in his den."
"This mystical babble can lead to serious misunderstandings," Spike grumbled. "Can't you just tell me who's trying to kill me?"
Though he kept his eyes closed, Bull's eyebrows rose. "The stars and the wind do not foretell the future or hear the treachery in men's hearts. They merely report what they witness. It is up to you to understand their stories. He dusted off his hands and reached into a fold of his robe, pulling out a leather pouch and a long pipe. "Astrid will make tea," he said, packing the pipe. "Then you will see what your dreams unravel."
"A cup and a bowl," Spike replied, smiling up at Astrid as she rose to start the kettle. "Just what I came for."
***
Julia let herself into the Syndicate suite, throwing the deadbolt and setting the electronic lock behind her. She turned the light on and started when she saw Vicious sitting on the end of the bed, looking up at her through a tangle of white hair. His furious expression gave her pause, but he smiled a little when she met his eyes and extended a hand.
"I want nothing more than to cut Marcus Britt's beating heart from his chest," he said in a low voice, "but second to that, I am glad to see you."
She nodded as she sat beside him. "I hope the proof is easy to find," she said. "The thought of him makes me sick, if you're right that he was behind this."
"He was not the only person involved, obviously. I need to speak to Shin about the men who went to your apartment. Even so, I am certain Marcus orchestrated it. No one else, besides you, Mao, and I, knew enough to carry out the plan." He ran a hand through her hair, appraising her as she turned to look at him. She seemed pale, smaller somehow, and he felt the familiar tug of desire and protectiveness deep in his chest.
She lowered her eyes. "Do you think Spike is safe?"
"He will have to keep himself that way. He did not want to tell Mao or I where he was going. When I left him, he did not trust me." He sighed. "And I suppose I would feel the same, in his position, though I wanted to shake him by the lapels and make him understand that he was wrong." He rubbed her shoulder, kneading with his fingers as though he played a piano.
"He told me about his eye," she said, letting her head roll forward as the muscles in her back relaxed under his touch. "You never mentioned any of that. You never told me about his father."
His hand froze, and she felt a jolt of fear that she'd raised a taboo subject – but he exhaled slowly and pulled her close again. "It was not my story to tell." He pressed his face against her neck. "I betrayed my father and lost him. Spike stayed true and lost his father all the same. We have not spoken of Anthony in years."
"What was he like?"
"Anthony?" She nodded. "Generous. Loyal."
"I know that from the stories," she said. "What was he like to you?"
"Like a lion at rest. I never heard him raise his voice. He took pleasure in being still, but it was the stillness of a predator with no natural enemies. That made his demise all the worse - he was Mao's equal in every way. He mastered his instincts so well they could not protect him from his loyalty."
Warmth spread out through her body at the movement of his lips against her skin. She wanted to concentrate on the conversation, but she was weary to the bone, spread thin and out of touch. He felt solid, like a safe anchor in a strong wind, and when he spoke to her gently as he did now, she could forgive him every curt reprimand or blistering look he'd ever given her.
She turned toward him, putting a hand on his chest to push him backward on the bed, and he smiled to himself as he pulled her down with him. "You must be exhausted," he whispered. "Everything has depended on you these last few days. My angel of mercy."
"Is that a compliment?" she asked, curling up beside him.
He wrapped an arm around her, kissing the top of her head. "I have the highest admiration for those virtues that escape me."
"If you can recognize them, they do not escape you completely," she said.
"If I have you with me, I do not feel the lack."
In the golden light of the Van's chamber, Marcus looked sallow and drawn, gray shadows accentuating the lines in his face, the blood on his clothing a matte black where it dried. He was forced to stand on the injured leg, flanked by Mato and Lao, who jerked his shackled arms upward none too gently whenever his strength flagged and he began to crumple. The waiting crowd consisted of those who'd been aware of the transfers and threats to Spike; it was only the third time Julia had been in the chamber, and she stood a respectful distance behind and to the side of her lover.
Wang Long addressed Vicious. "Present the evidence you wish for us to hear."
He stepped forward, mindful of his attitude. What he wanted most was to be assigned the further interrogation of Marcus, but he knew he would not be permitted to participate if they thought he could not control his personal motivations. Clearing his throat, he spoke slowly, in the formal cadence of a courtroom. "Marcus Britt, who stands before you now, was present at the announcement of the Red Dragon's intention to enter into a distribution agreement which would make us the sole suppliers of Red Eye in Tharsis City. His supervisor in the Financial Division, Ichido-san, informed him that night of his assignment to a team, as he told me the following day when I asked him to be my second.
"Britt had an intimate knowledge of Red Dragon banking and an excellent grasp of computer programming. His previous specialty under Ichido-san was the automation of transactions, in order to minimize their visibility in the legitimate flow of currency."
Wang Long interjected, "We are aware of Marcus Britt's previous assignment and activities."
"I apologize." Vicious inclined his head and waited for further commentary. When none came, he went on, "Spike Spiegel received a large bank transfer the day we met with Yenrai-san to discuss the formation of our teams. At that time, Britt did not know to whom he had been assigned. When I formally offered the position of second to him, he expressed pleasure that he would work under me, rather than Spike Spiegel, stating his agreement with my previous declarations regarding the elimination of the White Tiger."
"Declarations that have no place in this chamber," Sou Long said in a cautionary tone.
"Again, I apologize. Were the information not relevant, I would not speak it here." He took a deep breath, trying to focus on the goal of time alone with Marcus, rather than his annoyance with the archaic old men in front of him. "Over the course of the past three weeks, Britt has been part of an ever-narrowing circle of informed persons. He was aware of Spike's location at times when no one else would have been. Most damning, aside from his ability to carry out the bank transfers that Spike Spiegel received, was his knowledge that Yenrai-san and I were going to move Spike from Julia's apartment to a more secure location. I charged him with meeting Julia when she arrived at the tower. He had ample opportunity, and unique knowledge, that enabled him to contact the two men Spike Spiegel killed when they ambushed him."
Mao stepped forward. "With your permission," he said, bowing, and when no one objected, he continued, "the young man who contacted Spiegel regarding the unauthorized transfer of Red Eye was instructed to do so by one of those dead men. It was after he revealed this information that Britt attacked him."
"Shin." Sou Long said, sitting forward. "We would like to speak with this young man."
"He will recover, though not tonight." Mao looked across the room to Lin, nodding slightly.
"What do you have to say in your defense?" Wang Long asked, looking at Marcus.
He did not raise his head when he spoke. "Vicious has proven nothing."
Vicious felt the eyes of the Van on him, and shifted slightly. "We need to review communications records, but now that we know where to look, I believe proof will be easy to find."
Marcus stumbled, dropping to one knee, and did not stand again when Lao attempted to yank him back up.
"Shackle him in the chamber." For the first time that evening, Ping Long spoke. "A review of communications and finance shall be completed before morning. We will discuss the findings then. Vicious, you will return for that meeting. Until then, Marcus Britt is in the charge of the Vanguard. None of you will have contact with him."
Vicious managed to keep his reaction to a slight twitch of one cheek. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mao watching him closely, and he held his breath until all three of the Longs had sat back in shadow, signaling dismissal. Then he turned on his heel and stalked out, Julia looking after him.
***
Through the cover of tree branches, the stars and faintly glittering glowboards high in the atmosphere seemed to ripple, as though buffeted by the wind. It was a pleasant, drowsy illusion, and Spike smiled to himself as he watched. After a few moments, though, it occurred to him to wonder why he was staring up at the night sky, and then the cold began to seep into his limbs from the ground. "Shit!" he exclaimed, and tried to sit up, but his ribs blazed with pain at the attempt and he fell back again, tasting copper when the back of his head connected with the hard-packed dirt.
Groaning, he rolled onto his uninjured right side, and after a brief struggle, managed to sit up. Without the comm., he had no way to know how long he'd been laying there; at least it was still fully dark, so most likely less than an hour had passed. He vaguely remembered thinking he should stop to rest, but nothing after that.
Groping in the darkness, he managed to find Mao's lighter and his cigarettes in the bag, and lit one, keeping the flame burning to take in his surroundings. It seemed like the trees thinned about a hundred yards on down the faint trail – an overwhelming relief, since he didn't think he could travel much further, and couldn't remember where he'd been when he passed out. He crushed out the smoke in favor of some water and a few crackers, and then hauled himself to his feet. Closing his left eye helped with the limited visibility, though the lack of perspective made him queasy, and he began trudging forward again, down the trail toward what he hoped was the clearing of Laughing Bull's encampment.
He emerged from the tree cover to the welcome sight of a campfire, though it was unattended. Three tents surrounded it, the largest being Bull's familiar hovel. Judging from the position of the stars and the faint glow in the west, it would be morning soon, and rather than disturb anyone in the encampment, he sat down next to the fire and lit another cigarette, intending to sleep when it was finished.
"Am I dreaming, or is it really you?" The voice made him nearly jump out of his skin, and he turned, wincing, to see a dark-haired woman peering out through the flap of one of the smaller tents.
"Astrid?" He beamed – he had not seen Bull's oldest daughter since she was barely sixteen, but her features were branded in his memory. She stepped out through the flap, and as she pulled it closed behind her, he could not help but notice her enormous belly. When she faced him, she grinned at his expression. "Time moves forward, Swimming Bird," she said lightly.
He chuckled and looked down, blushing. "I didn't mean to stare. I just had this picture in my head, you know?"
"You still look the same. It is so good to see you again." She came to sit beside him, looking hard in the light of the fire. "You're injured," she said with a frown.
"I came for some good medicine," he replied. "I'll live, I'm sure. Your face alone is a strong painkiller."
Astrid put a hand on his arm. "Let me get Father. He would be angry if I did not wake him." She stood again, and he watched her walk, swaying and deliberate under the extra weight, to Bull's tent.
He had not expected her to be here with Bull; after so many years of no contact, he counted himself lucky she was pleased to see him. Their brief encounters, from childhood until the last, before he returned to the Syndicate, had always crackled with the electricity of attraction. But they were from two different worlds, and for all that it fed the flames, the gulf had been impossible to cross. Bull never addressed the subject directly, but he had sent her away the day Spike arrived last time, and the message had been clear. The tangible proof that she had left him in the past made the reunion bittersweet.
"Swimming Bird!" Bull stooped under the tent flap and nodded, something like a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. "I have been expecting you. Come in."
Spike smiled in return and slowly stood, trying not to telegraph the pain or exhaustion. "As always, it is good to see your face and hear your voice, Old Man Bull." He stumbled as he started forward, and Astrid stepped around her father to come and take his arm.
Bull scowled. "You have managed another narrow escape, Swimming Bird. I watched your star flicker and fade these past four nights." He looked upward. "Even now, it wanes."
"Nothing a pipe and a rest won't remedy," Spike said as lightly as he could manage.
The old man moved aside to let them through, gesturing to the cushion in front of his sand painting. "You will sit, and I will determine what remedy you need." He went back to his own seat, lowering himself into the Lotus position with grace that belied his age, and took up a handful of blue sand from a bag beside him. At least a minute passed before he spoke again.
"The yellow-haired mongoose set a trap for you, but you disarmed it," he declared.
"Close. I think you mean white-haired."
Bull shook his head. "The White Wolf found the mongoose in his den."
"This mystical babble can lead to serious misunderstandings," Spike grumbled. "Can't you just tell me who's trying to kill me?"
Though he kept his eyes closed, Bull's eyebrows rose. "The stars and the wind do not foretell the future or hear the treachery in men's hearts. They merely report what they witness. It is up to you to understand their stories. He dusted off his hands and reached into a fold of his robe, pulling out a leather pouch and a long pipe. "Astrid will make tea," he said, packing the pipe. "Then you will see what your dreams unravel."
"A cup and a bowl," Spike replied, smiling up at Astrid as she rose to start the kettle. "Just what I came for."
***
Julia let herself into the Syndicate suite, throwing the deadbolt and setting the electronic lock behind her. She turned the light on and started when she saw Vicious sitting on the end of the bed, looking up at her through a tangle of white hair. His furious expression gave her pause, but he smiled a little when she met his eyes and extended a hand.
"I want nothing more than to cut Marcus Britt's beating heart from his chest," he said in a low voice, "but second to that, I am glad to see you."
She nodded as she sat beside him. "I hope the proof is easy to find," she said. "The thought of him makes me sick, if you're right that he was behind this."
"He was not the only person involved, obviously. I need to speak to Shin about the men who went to your apartment. Even so, I am certain Marcus orchestrated it. No one else, besides you, Mao, and I, knew enough to carry out the plan." He ran a hand through her hair, appraising her as she turned to look at him. She seemed pale, smaller somehow, and he felt the familiar tug of desire and protectiveness deep in his chest.
She lowered her eyes. "Do you think Spike is safe?"
"He will have to keep himself that way. He did not want to tell Mao or I where he was going. When I left him, he did not trust me." He sighed. "And I suppose I would feel the same, in his position, though I wanted to shake him by the lapels and make him understand that he was wrong." He rubbed her shoulder, kneading with his fingers as though he played a piano.
"He told me about his eye," she said, letting her head roll forward as the muscles in her back relaxed under his touch. "You never mentioned any of that. You never told me about his father."
His hand froze, and she felt a jolt of fear that she'd raised a taboo subject – but he exhaled slowly and pulled her close again. "It was not my story to tell." He pressed his face against her neck. "I betrayed my father and lost him. Spike stayed true and lost his father all the same. We have not spoken of Anthony in years."
"What was he like?"
"Anthony?" She nodded. "Generous. Loyal."
"I know that from the stories," she said. "What was he like to you?"
"Like a lion at rest. I never heard him raise his voice. He took pleasure in being still, but it was the stillness of a predator with no natural enemies. That made his demise all the worse - he was Mao's equal in every way. He mastered his instincts so well they could not protect him from his loyalty."
Warmth spread out through her body at the movement of his lips against her skin. She wanted to concentrate on the conversation, but she was weary to the bone, spread thin and out of touch. He felt solid, like a safe anchor in a strong wind, and when he spoke to her gently as he did now, she could forgive him every curt reprimand or blistering look he'd ever given her.
She turned toward him, putting a hand on his chest to push him backward on the bed, and he smiled to himself as he pulled her down with him. "You must be exhausted," he whispered. "Everything has depended on you these last few days. My angel of mercy."
"Is that a compliment?" she asked, curling up beside him.
He wrapped an arm around her, kissing the top of her head. "I have the highest admiration for those virtues that escape me."
"If you can recognize them, they do not escape you completely," she said.
"If I have you with me, I do not feel the lack."