To The Motherland Chapter 7: The Threat, a sakura wars fanfic

Rated PG

The Threat

It was several hours past midnight, but Ohgami was not tired in the least. He looked very dapper, for a change in a formal suit rather than his military uniform. He smiled across the café table at his companion for this very late dinner.

"I cannot tell you how good it was to see you, and how wonderful you were."

The beautiful Japanese woman blushed delicately and set down her wineglass. "Chuui…" she murmured. "You are still over-flattering to me."

"Never, Sumire-san, you brought down the house."

Sumire picked up her fan for a moment, its light breeze ruffling her shoulder-length hair. "I could not turn down this one offer to sing in Paris, not when I knew it would afford me the opportunity to see you again. How are your new girls doing?"

Ohgami cleared his throat and covered his momentary silence by putting his napkin to his mouth and then laying it back on his lap. "They… are passionate… but…"

Sumire lifted a thin brow.

He sighed. "They are driving me crazy, Sumire."

"O-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho! You forget, Chuui, we drove you crazy, too, at first!"

"Yes, but I had no desire to repeat the experience!" Ohgami laughed.

The waiter set the bill in front of Ohgami without a word, and left.

"I suppose it is late," Sumire conceded, and rose from her chair.

Ohgami stood when she did, laying money atop the bill and folding his wallet back into his pocket. "I will get you a taxi back to your hotel."

Sumire blushed in gratitude, preceding him toward the door when gestured to do so, her head bowed slightly in gratitude, and her fan sending a waft of lilacs toward him in her wake.

As they headed toward the door, three gentlemen at a table near the door were also leaving.

Ohgami lifted a hand to hail a cab when a voice from the restaurant door called, "Miss Kanzaki?" The voice was calm and foreign.

Sumire and Ohgami turned, Sumire's smile standard to her usual role of the gracious star of stage and screen, acknowledging her adoring audience.

"A wonderful performance, tonight," the man said, flanked by his two companions. All three were dressed appropriately to have attended the concert at the Paris Opera. And they were speaking in English.

"Why, thank you very much," Sumire handed her satin gloves, handbag, fan and bouquet of roses to Ohgami to accept the offered pen and program. "I simply could not resist the opportunity to visit such a charming city."

With Ohgami's hands full and Sumire's attention on the program, the other two gentlemen reached into their coats as well. But they did not pull programs from their pockets, the click and cocking of hammers gave that away.

Sumire looked up in shock. One gentleman was already removing her things from Ohgami's arms. Ohgami was keeping his hands where they could be seen, his narrowed gaze scrutinizing, but unable to find a course of action that would put neither his nor Sumire's life at risk.

"I would instruct you not to scream, Miss Kanzaki, if I didn't know you were more than just an actress. This cannot be an unusual tactical situation to you." His soft voice did not pass the small group of the five of them.

Then he turned his gaze to Ohgami. "Ichiro. Try anything heroic and she dies. You will both be getting into this limosine."

A car door opened behind them.

"Turn around slowly," one of the two gunment spoke for the first time, his accent much thicker. And as Ohgami obeyed, he suddenly recognized the accent.

Russian.

Behind him was indeed a limosine, its suicide door open for them. The front of the car held the driver, and one of the two flanking men had gotten into the passenger seat. In the back, two bench seats faced each other. Ohgami and Sumire were gestured into the backward-facing seat, and the remaining two Russians got into the back, forward-facing seat and closed the door, guns still trained on their two hostages.

"Chuui…" Sumire murmured uncertainly.

Time was that they both would have made short work of these thugs. But Sumire's spirit powers had left her. Ohgami was unarmed and unprepared. And both had the feeling by the car, the suits and the efficiency, that these were no common thugs.

"What do you want with us?" Ohgami dared through fiercely controlled anger.

"Very little," answered the man now in possession of half of Sumire's autograph. "Consider yourselves… collateral."

"To catch a firebird," the man with the gun smirked.