"But Godo doesn't have guardsmen" interrupted Deacon. "At least not official ones."
Vincent scowled. "This would be the young man's little spy network" he surmised. Both his Turks looked taken aback.
"You already know?"
"Preston just informed me" he answered. The three men scrutinised the drinking pair carefully, watching as the dark one passed a small bag over to the soldier. "So what we have here is not only a man secretly in the pay of Godo Kisaragi, but a traitor in the ranks of the Lord's men."
Linden nodded. "It's a right mixed up kettle of fish and no mistake" he commented dryly. "We've spotted a lot of these things happening over the past few days. The question is, what are we going to do about it?"
Vincent pondered for a moment. "Nothing" he decided. "Internal Wutai politics are not in our remit and none of our business." He held up a hand, seeing that Linden was about to protest. "As long as they don't interfere with our mission here, then we do nothing."
"And if they do interfere?"
The leader of the Turks shrugged. "Then we'll deal with it as it needs to be dealt with. Till then keep an eye out, but for Odin's sake don't act on anything unless I tell you."
Deacon acknowledged the order with a sharp nod. "And Godo?"
"Godo…" Vincent frowned. "I trust him about as far as I can throw him, and he's out to make trouble, but we can't afford to give him what he wants." He pushed himself up from the table. "Now I don't know about the rest of you, but I've had just about enough of this for the time being. I'm going to take a walk."
- - -
The streets of Wutai were very much how he remembered them. Narrow and busy, shops and stall holders littered the area, peddling their goods. There were a great many soldiers around too, not obviously so, but his keen eye spotted them lurking in the shadows. Under the circumstances, he couldn't tell if this was a normal occurrence or whether Kisaragi was trailing their movements. He meandered through the city for a while before his peace was disturbed by a voice.
"Vincent? Vincent Valentine?"
It was with a feeling bordering on dread that he turned round. This was the particular moment he'd been hoping to avoid, though all things considered he was surprised it hadn't happened sooner.
"It is you! I thought, but I wasn't sure…" The speaker was an old man, well into what Vincent guessed to be his seventies. He was dressed in the ceremonial robes of a Pagoda Master, though they appeared to be a little moth-eaten round the edges. The man's eyes, though outwardly friendly, retained the sharpness found in those half his age. It had been close to fifteen years, but Vincent recognised him.
The Turk folded his hands neatly infront of him and bowed formally. "Gorki-san" he intoned with respect.
The Master's face crinkled into a pleased smile. "So" he said, "you do remember me. And your manners."
Vincent tried to return the smile as sincerely as he could. He did indeed remember Gorki, one of the great Masters of the Pagoda. Even though a large part of him was itching to get away, he had been brought up to treat the Masters with something verging on reverence. It was said that they possessed great power, gifted to them by the God Leviathan, whereby they could take on other, stronger forms during battle. He'd never witnessed this personally (though when he was a child he'd found the idea most amusing), but his mother had been adamant. "Are you surprised?" he asked politely.
Gorki shook his head slowly. "No… and yes." The smile on his face dissipated, replaced by a look of consternation. "It has indeed been a long time since you were here but your mother taught you well, may Leviathan bless her soul." He looked Vincent up and down, taking in every detail. "But I am surprised to see you here with…" The Master trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence.
It didn't take too much deduction on Vincent's part to tell that the words 'the enemy' had been left unspoken. He witheld a sigh, knowing where this would inevitably lead. "It's my job" he explained, noticing the disappointment engraved on Gorki's face. "I protect the President."
"But that's not all, is it?" Gorki shook his head again, turning away slightly to look round at the city. Vincent's jaw tightened slightly, but he spoke no word. He didn't need to. "I know about… What do you call yourselves? Turks? Yes, I may be an old man but I know what Turks do." His gaze dropped to the ground. "I am greatly saddened by this knowledge I possess."
Vincent could only repeat his words, hollow though they seemed. "It's my job."
"You know of course that Shinra plans to destroy us? Crush us under the heel of his boot, strip away our heritage and our magic?" Gorki locked gazes with the Turk, relentlessly bombarding him with truth. "He does not want peace, he wants war! No allies, only conquest!" He did not shout his words, simply spoke his heart. "You would let him erase thousands of years of history, a city that has withstood countless threats over the centuries? You wish to see that happen?"
Truly, Vincent did not, but he bore the verbal beating stoically. That's the way it works now, Gorki, he thought sadly. It's not like the days gone by anymore, the days you remember so fondly. We do what we have to do. I do what I have to do. A bitter smirk flashed across his face. What choice do I have? Even from the beginning it was join or be killed, kill or be killed…
"There is nothing I can do" he said softly. "I am sorry."
Gorki's eyes closed in weariness. "So am I" he murmured."So am I."
- - -
Night was falling, and the city of Wutai lay cast in ever-lengthening shadows. From the Turks' room in Godo's palace, Vincent gazed out of the window at the looming presence of Da Chao, the great mountain that dominated the skyline. Behind him, Linden had collapsed on his bed and was now snoring contentedly.
Doing his utmost to ignore the noise, he sighed as he looked upon the darkening metropolis, so different from Midgar in just about every way.
His conversation with the Pagoda Master today had rattled him more than he was willing to admit. He did indeed know Shinra's true intentions. The President didn't just want Materia, he wanted to build a massive reactor here, drawing out the vast reserves of natural Mako that Wutai harboured. The inhabitants and culture he didn't care about, as long as there were servile people able to work the machinery.
Vincent could understand Gorki's objections all too well. In spite of his affiliation with Shinra, he didn't always agree with the way the company handled matters. It made him wonder if there was anything he could do to change it; dangerous thinking for a Turk and he knew it. He found himself idly hoping that Shinra and Kisaragi could come to an arrangement where both parties were satisfied and Wutai did not end up as Gorki had predicted.
He snorted, and turned away from the window. Preposterous. It was not his place to question nor to criticise. Doing so would only result in his untimely demise. With a knack perfected from years of discipline and training, he parceled up his misgivings and stuck them away in the back of his mind. He'd done this so many times before it was almost second nature now. That fact in itself ought to worry him, but any concern was tightly locked away with the thousand and one other things he simply did not want to think about. A Turk could not afford any distractions.
With Deacon and Preston out on night patrol and Linden doing a more than passable impression of a chainsaw, Vincent sat down on his own pallet and began to meticulously clean his guns. It was something of a nervous habit he'd picked up over the years, an activity to help keep his hands and mind busy when there were other matters he didn't want intruding upon his thoughts. Dissecting the weapons smoothly and efficiently, he set about the task with a will.
"Mmpf… Not now, your husband'll be home soon…"
Vincent's eyebrows shot up as Linden muttered in his sleep, but didn't stop working on his revolvers. "You're a dirty man, Linden Nelson" he said to the prone form.
He must have dozed off himself shortly afterward, since when he awoke it was pitch black both outside and in the room. Linden's snoring had thankfully abated (a fact for which Vincent was profoundly grateful) and the place was silent.
No, wait. His brow furrowed and he strained his ears. There… Something very faint. Carefully he adjusted his position to look as if he was still asleep, but in actual fact brought his hands in closer proximity to his weapons. His eyes darted this way and that, searching for the source of the noise. He was well aware that it was probably nothing, but heightened senses had kept him alive for all these years and he had every intention of staying that way.
Nothing.
Just his imagination then, he rationalised. Wouldn't be the first time and wouldn't be the last by any stretch of the imagination. He was just about to get up and change out of his suit, when he heard it again. And this time, he definitely wasn't imagining it.
Now wide awake, Vincent concentrated all his senses on pinpointing where the sound was emanating from. Closing his eyes, he found it easier to orient the direction - the door. Someone was out there, and taking great pains not to be heard. He could eliminate Deacon and Preston for starters, they wouldn't be pussyfooting around, they'd have just come straight in.
His eye was suddenly drawn to a flickering outside and he scooted his head round to try and get a better look.
A jet black shape dropped down the side of the glass, quick as a flash, nearly indistinguishable from the surrounding darkness. A shadow within a shadow.
Feeling his heart rate start to increase, Vincent forced himself to remain calm as the adrenaline kicked in. It could be innocent, it could be innocent… He repeated the phrase over and over in his head like a mantra.
A second black figure crept past the window edge, only this one stopped before disappearing from view. It reached to one side, pulled out something, then returned it's attention to the pane of glass.
It was the work of a minute, and the window swung open silently. Everything went still. Vincent also noticed that the noise outside the door had grown suddenly quiet. He breathed a curse. Linden was still out for the count and there was no way he could alert the sleeping man without giving away to the intruders that he was awake himself. His hand twitched, itching to grasp the gun that lay so tantalisingly close.
The need to hold some kind of weapon magnified tenfold as two stealthy men dropped though the open window to land in crouches on the floor. Hooding his eyes, Vincent was able to get a relatively unimpaired look at them, for what little good it did. The two ninja (he could tell now what they were) were clothed head to toe in black, only their eyes broke through the garments. Each had a short katana strapped to his side and shuriken within easy reach.
No-one entered via the door, although Vincent was positive that someone was out there. Backup, he reasoned quickly. Closing his eyes lightly, he feigned sleep to the best of his ability, keeping his breathing steady and regulated. He had to determine their intentions. Thieves? Assassins? Too little information and not enough time.
The ninja slowly stood up, blending back into the shadows as they moved, not making a sound. Vincent had to admit to a grudging respect, they were well trained in the creeping around department. Not so hot elsewhere though, as he heard them conduct a whispered conversation.
"Which one?"
"Both. The tall one first."
Oh great. 'The tall one' could only mean him as Linden was a good deal shorter than he was. And this didn't look like a social call at all. Just dandy.
The two men slid their katana out of their sheaths, and Vincent knew he was going to have to move fast.
Grasping his gun firmly in his right hand, he intercepted the falling sword arm with his left, before landing a solid punch in the gut of his wouldbe killer with the butt of the revolver. Jumping agilely off the bed he fired two shots at the leg of the other one of his attackers, who had recovered quickly from the surprise of seeing their target leap into life and was even now making a move to continue his mission.
The sound of gunfire had woken Linden - thankfully Vincent had trained him well enough that he always had a weapon under his pillow in case of emergencies such as this. The Turk looked slightly bleary eyed and worse for wear, but squeezed off a shot nonetheless. One of the ninja staggered back, an oozing wound opened up in his shoulder.
Unfortunately, Linden wasn't the only one disturbed by the weapon discharge. The assassins backup arrived swiftly, rushing through the door swords waving furiously. Immediately he went for the closer and most dangerous target available to him. Namely Vincent. Swords spinning in a dizzying dance, he slashed down at the prone Turk. Vincent, occupied with the other two men, sensed rather than saw the attack coming, and ducked out the way, rolling to one side. Landing in a crouch on the floor, he felt the blade of a sword slice mere inches from the top of his head.
A rational part of his mind told him that he needed to take these men alive. All three corpses would do was prove that the Turks had killed, and that gave Kisaragi all the leverage he needed to throw Shinra out and declare war, his brain told him coldly. Three prisoners on the other hand, would be a whole different story.
"Don't kill them! Shoot to disable!" Vincent could only hope Linden registered and obeyed his words, Odin alone knew how difficult it was to aim in a fight like this. He hated gunfights in close quarters. It was too messy, too much room for mistakes.
He noticed Linden had abandoned the gun for the time being, choosing to deal with the man he had shot in the shoulder by using his fists instead. Minus a fighting arm, the ninja was at a disadvantage to the highly trained Shinra operative.
Vincent lashed out with his leg at the newly arrived backup, causing him to stagger for a second. That second was all he needed to grab his second firearm and send a bullet spinning into the mans knee and another into his sword arm at the elbow. With a shriek of pain, the ninja's sword clattered to the floor as his hand spasmed. Reeling back, he pawed at his wounds with his uninjured hand as the other attacker closed in, intent on finishing off the troublesome Turk.
Sword flashing, the darkly clad ninja advanced. Nimbly twisting forward, Vincent was able to dodge the oncoming attack and parry a followthough with one arm. Angry, the attacker reversed the stroke. The sharp blade sliced through Vincent's suit like a hot knife through butter. He pulled back just in time from having his guts spilled all over the floor, but not enough to stop a nasty cut being carved across his chest. Hissing slightly, he ignored the injury and carried on. He would register the pain later, for now all he cared about was staying alive long enough to do so.
He had to put as much distance between him and the swords as possible. Vaulting up onto the bed behind him, Vincent took the opportunity to dart away, closer to where Linden was fighting off his man. Hard to see in the dark, he aimed his gun at where he thought the mans' gut would be and pulled the trigger. Rewarded with a howl of anguish, he rushed forward, bowling into the already injured man and taking him off his feet. Landing neatly over him, he cracked his fist against the mans' skull, knocking him out for the count.
Linden had managed to deal with his attacker, who lay sprawled over the floor. He moved forward to help Vincent take the third and final ninja, when something sharp and silver went spinning through the air, cutting into his shoulder and embedding itself in the wall behind him.
"Shit!"
Shuriken. Just what he needed. He saw another metallic disc whizzing towards him, and dived out the way as it buzzed overhead. It was going to be difficult to take him out at close quarters if he kept firing those little missiles off. That left him with only the gun option.
A third shuriken sent Linden ducking for cover. Vincent guessed it would take the attacker a couple of seconds to ready the next one, and used those precious few moments to fire his remainder of his clip in the direction they were coming from. The first and third shots missed (though he did manage to take out one of Lord Kisaragi's decorative vases), but the second scored a hit. A sharp clang indicated a shuriken being dropped on the floor, and Linden took the chance to get in close to finish the man off.
The fight itself must have only lasted mere minutes, if that, but to both Turks, it felt like an eternity. Breathing heavily, Vincent moved over to the wall and flipped on the light switch, bathing the room in a bright glow and assaulting his eyes at the same time.
"So boss" panted Linden as he surveyed the three unconscious men surrounding them. "I guess... this means they interfered, right?"