4. WITH AN IRON HAND
We were led to a small room at the back of a surprisingly clean looking garage. I looked through the door, feeling nervous in spite of myself. The room appeared to be some sort of office/conference room. A desk, with a laptop computer and an old-style audio-only telephone resting atop it, had been pushed off to the side. A small table next to it held a hot water thermos, a small collection of cups, a teapot, instant coffee, and tea. In the center of the room was a collapsible square game table, with a chair tipped forward against each side. A small sofa rested against the far wall.
I glanced back at the girl who had introduced herself as Linna Yamazaki. She appeared a little anxious herself. I hoped I looked calmer than she did. She gave me a sickly smile, then stepped around me and into the room.
The point of no return, I thought.
Taking a deep breath, I entered and joined her on the sofa. We both watched as our hostess followed us into the room, softly closing the door behind her. "Tea? Or coffee, perhaps?" she asked as she walked over to the thermos. "I must apologize," she added, "the coffee is instant."
Linna and I both asked for tea, and the lady poured three cups. "Thank you for coming," she said as she turned back to us. "My name is- -"
The telephone rang, interrupting her. She picked it up and listened for a few seconds, said, "Yes, send her in," then hung up the phone. "A moment, please," she apologized as she turned to the door.
The door burst open, and in walked this... creature. Well, not walked. Stomped would be more like it. Dirty black motorcycle gear with yellow trim, and oily, tangled brown hair wild about her head, and a cigarette dangled from her lips. The room was suddenly permeated with the smell of gasoline and alcohol. She looked like something that just crawled from under a rock. This person had been asked to be here?
Our nameless hostess was not amused. "I said 22:00, not 22:10."
"I'm here, ain't I?" She reeked of attitude too, all of it bad. When she flipped her cigarette to the floor without using her hands, then ground it out with her boot's heel, I thought Linna looked as if she was in shock. I know I was.
"When I tell you to be somewhere at a certain time, I expect you to be there at that time, if not before. I also said no alcohol. No alcohol, no drugs, no criminal activity."
"I'm clean," came the sullen reply.
The lady sniffed the air and raised an eyebrow, looking at her measuringly for a moment. She then turned back to Linna and me, leaving the "wild woman" standing behind her.
"This is our fourth team member, Priscilla Asagiri. And as I started to say, before we were so rudely interrupted, my name is Sylia Stingray. My late father was Katsuhito Stingray, creator of what are commonly known as Boomers. Eight years ago, employees of the Genom Corporation murdered him, destroyed his laboratory, took his work, and perverted his dream. Genom now runs roughshod over the city and is moving rapidly toward world domination.
"The four of us are going to make sure they don't succeed."
"Any questions, ladies?" After speaking non-stop for nearly an hour, Sylia Stingray finally sat in one of the chairs surrounding the card table in the center of the room. She looked... expectant, maybe? Like she thought we would be bursting with questions about her mad scheme to bring down one of the largest multi-national corporations in the world.
Questions? Yeah, I had them. But my head was spinning and I couldn't begin to think where to begin.
Poor Nene, sitting beside me on the couch. She'd gone pale about five minutes into Sylia's monologue. I don't know what she was expecting, but I'm sure it wasn't this.
A special operations team, to fight boomers and put a crimp in Genom's style. The combat bit wasn't an original idea; that's what the AD Police was for. But then again, look at where that's gotten the AD Police.
Priss, leaning against the closed door, had a funny look on her face, a crazy glint in her eyes. I suddenly realized that she was looking forward to what we'd unknowingly walked into. I shuddered inside. Did she have some sort of death wish? This could make us all very dead very quickly, boomers or not.
"Well, since you have no questions right now, I'll go on. I'm sure questions will come to you later." Sylia sounded disappointed.
"These are the rules under which the Knight Sabers Organization will conduct its business." She looked at all of us in turn as she removed a small card from her jacket pocket. "I expect you to follow them to the letter."
"Rule number one: Do not divulge any information concerning this organization. This means you do not tell anyone anything about this organization or your activities within it. You will not let anyone know this organization exists."
Seemed fair enough to me. We were supposed to be secret, after all.
"Rule number two: Do not act upon a personal grudge. Life can be unfair, and unpleasant things happen. But don't get the organization involved."
I wondered why she was looking directly at Priss when she said that.
"Rule number three: Do act upon the mutual consent of all the members. This means that everyone must agree on an overall plan of action before we begin an activity.
"Rule number four: Do not secede from this organization." She looked at each of us in turn, but it seemed like she looked at me longest of all. I tried to look back, but ended up dropping my eyes.
How did she know I was having second thoughts about this already?
"Rule number five: Members are personally responsible for any damage done to the organization's equipment unless that damage was unavoidable."
Sounded expensive. But what defined 'unavoidable'?
I was here to wipe Genom off the map and kill boomers, not be preached at with a bunch of lame rules. But Sylia continued to drone on.
"Rule number six: Do not divulge any information concerning our clients. The identity of our clients is need-to-know. Do not be surprised if you don't always know who our client is."
Who the fuck cared about clients? I wanted Genom.
"Rule number seven: Do not gather information on your own. The task of intelligence-gathering is to be distributed evenly among all the members."
Uh-huh.
"Rule number eight: Do keep in contact with the other members regularly."
Shit. Just how many of these things were there, anyway?
"Rule number nine: The members do not know each other outside of this organization."
Wait a minute! How do you keep in contact with someone you're not supposed to know? "Hey, uh..." I tried to break into her little speech, but she went on over me.
"Rule number ten: Do not get involved with a man."
Staring at Yamazaki again. Hmmm... this could be interesting.
"And finally, Rule number eleven: The penalty for violating any of the ten regulations listed above is death." She looked around at us again. "And it will be enforced."
I stared at her. Just who did this bitch think she was? Yeah, she was offering me the one thing I wanted most in the world, but this was nuts!
There was a thump, and I looked over at the sofa. Romanova had fainted.
I descended the stairs into a smoky haze and a flood of memories. Memories of alcohol induced laughter, sadness over lost friends, and late nights. Memories of wasted time and energy. The place hadn't changed much. Same dim lighting, same claustrophobic atmosphere, and the same awkward quiet, like I was being watched from a dark corner. I made my way past the billiard tables, sat down at the bar, and lit a cigarette. And waited. "White wine please."
Suddenly there was a voice behind me. A voice that sounded as if the speaker had been sitting in a dark corner a moment ago.
"It's been a while, Sylia."
I looked into the mirror behind the bar to see him standing directly behind me, a cigarette in his left hand, blonde hair disheveled. He hadn't changed one bit since that ill-fated trip to Colombia, where we'd first bumped into each other. Maybe if he combed his hair once in a while he could be considered handsome. By some women.
"Please, have a seat, Fargo. I'm paying this time."
He laughed as he sat down next to me, that same unnerving too-quiet chuckle that used to make me think he was laughing at me. He really hadn't changed.
"Thanks, Sylia. Very kind of you."
He made a quick gesture to the bartender, to which he received a silent nod.
I smiled and tapped my cigarette into the ashtray between us. "I thought you said you never stayed in one place long enough to become too familiar with the locals?"
The laugh again, this time with a smile. "Well, I suppose the jungle and a bar are similar in some ways." He continued looking straight ahead, gazing off into space. "Something about this place keeps me coming back though. Good times and memories maybe? Speaking of which, how are Rob and Sarah these days?"
"Married. Didn't you get their letter?"
"Maybe... Married eh?"
I nodded.
"Huh. I don't know why I'm surprised. After all," he turned to look at me, "nearly getting killed in the jungle is enough to drive two people into each other's arms."
I said nothing. Hmm, maybe this wasn't such a good idea.
The bartender returned with our drinks, looking expectedly at Fargo. Before I could protest, the bartender was walking away with a decent tip.
"I thought you'd given up, Fargo."
He smiled again. "And I thought you never wanted to see me again."
Hadn't changed... not one damn bit.
"Okay, look, I asked you here to discuss business. That's all. If you want to reminisce about your romantic past, then I suggest you call Sarah."
That laugh again.
"I need some information, Fargo. I need someone who can get inside Genom."
He stopped laughing and took a long drag on his cigarette, then turned and gave me a dark look. "I see you've done your homework. This wouldn't have anything to do with a certain accident from your past, would it?"
"Maybe."
"I see. I hope you're not thinking of doing something stupid, Sylia. You already know that they play hardball at the Tower."
I took a sip of my wine before speaking. "I think you know me better than that."
"Ah yes, always prepared for anything. Okay then. What can I do for you?"
I ordered him another drink, and this time I made sure that he didn't pay.