Sadly, I'm so allergic to research that I stumbled across the Sun Ye On and several facts about them by accident. I assure you, I never intended to include them when I began this story, but they added such a more interesting aspect than before, that I had to include them.
Oh yes, and whoever nominated me for the Orion Award, I love you dearly! I'm so excited, Hitting Hard, and The Spark, and Flame of the Gods! (extreme giddiness ;))
Disclaimer: I do not own anything except the things I own. The things I own are the things not owned by Colfer. Colfer owns everything except the things I own. The things Colfer owns are the things I do not own. :) Try that one, all you people who think you're the next Artemis Fowl.
Valerie started to struggle, feeling half-suffocated by the enormousness of him. "Hush!" hissed Zane, and shoved her down again as he slid his gun out of the holster. "Don't move and lie still, will you?"
Hearing orders from his was something she wasn't certain how to respond to. After all, not many people wanted to cross her. The last orders she remembered obeying were her father's, three years ago— almost four now. But she obeyed Zane now.
It was quiet— the kind of quiet of someone being quiet: of straining for an unnatural silence. Valerie shivered, and suddenly, Zane did not seem so heavy, and was a welcome protection from whatever, or whoever was hunting them from the shadows.
There was a sudden flurry of movement from Zane, and two quick shots, so close together that they almost melded into one.
Slowly, Zane rolled off her, reloading and returning the gun to its holster. "You didn't tell me there was someone out looking to kill you."
Valerie stood shakily. How had he reacted that fast? And why? "There isn't! Unless the Mafia figured things out and decided to get rid of me."
"And how could they have figured it out?" Zane shut his eyes and lay where he was without moving.
"I don't know." Valerie hesitated, and then edged towards where Zane had shot, every nerve throbbing with tension, adrenaline rushing through her, goaded by fear.
Zane lifted his head slightly. "It's safe— if there aren't more of them."
She almost stopped again, but she knew Zane was watching her, so she pushed through a bush to the base of a large oak tree. It was not anyone from the Russian Mafia— unless they were in the habit of employing Chinese hit men.
"This is interesting," muttered Zane. His voice, so close to her ear, startled her, and she flinched.
With a slightly laugh, Zane slid by her, and leaned over the fallen killer. "So now you're afraid of little me? What irony, hm?"
Valerie flinched again, but this time it wasn't because she was afraid. Quickly though, she regain control of her temper. When you lost it, you were vulnerable to attack all the more, because it left you careless and irrational. Anger was bad. Any emotion was bad, for that matter.
"Do you know anyone in China? Anyone? They could be friends too." Zane pulled open the body's shirt to check for something on his chest. He started visibly at what he saw.
"What?" She leaned closer.
His finger was resting on a tattoo. "The Sun Yee On. I sure as hell hope he just had some personal grudge against you! If we have to fight them and the Mafia— they've got… how many people?"
Valerie groaned, and leaned back, shutting her eyes tightly. "Forty-seven thousand. And I have no idea why they would want me dead either. A personal reason seems more likely. I did kill a certain Chinese person. If he was related to this man—"
"Much easier to understand," interrupted Zane, "but first let's consider what we want to do if the whole triad's after us. They're the biggest CO in the world!"
Slowly, Valerie leaned back. Things were so… complicated. They made no sense. And now she couldn't think. Bother. Start at the beginning, she thought. Think through your life. Any other Chinese incidents?
Six years old…
"If you ever see anyone who looks Oriental, tell me, Valerie! It's very important! Particularly if they're… Chinese." Her father patted her on the head, and rose off his knees, looking down at her. "Come on? Do you want me to push you on the swing?"
Seven years old…
Her father's hand tightened on hers, and suddenly, he was jerking her around the corner, and holding a hand over her mouth. She looked up, and followed his gaze across to the street to an elderly looking Chinese man, shuffling along with a cane towards a taxi.
Nine years old…
Valerie hurried down the school steps to where her father was waiting. "Why did you call me out? We were having art, and—"
"Hush! We have to leave the city for a few days. Get in the car, and tell me if you see a Chinese man following us in a red car."
Twelve years old…
Her mother's voice drifted quietly through the vent from the next room. "You didn't see anyone, did you? You're too paranoid, John! Every little Chinese child you see! Is it really necessary? Making us move here? Changing our names? Are you sure they really want you dead?"
"You know they do! Stop lying to yourself! I know something I shouldn't, and I'm alive! That's a problem for them! They hired me, expecting to kill me, and they couldn't! How do they know I won't sell their secrets to another government? They don't
Fifteen years old…
"Them? Who knows? Some secret foreign thing. The guy who hired us looked demonic, he said. All creepy, like those ninja things they have in movies every now and then. Maybe the target was involved in some secret government affairs."
"My father," she whispered. "He knew something he wasn't supposed to know, and they think I know too."
"Do you?" Zane looked up sharply, as he settled back onto his heels.
"No." Valerie glanced down at the body in front of her. Why? Of all the things to happen, why had her father found out? And of all the times for the triad to come after her, why now?
She knew why, though. They must have been watching her all these years. They must have figured she was getting too dangerous, particularly after The Fortress. Now would be the ideal time to attack, of course. She was weak, and there were other people after her. The chances that she would die, some way or another, were greatly increased.
With a cough, Zane climbed to his feet, and picked up the body. "I'll dispose of him. Then, we need to talk."
"Search him for anything that might give us ideas!" Valerie watched him move off into the bushes. The body would be fine there. No one would find him until they were far enough away not to arouse suspicion. Besides— they were dressed as wealthy tourists.
A few minutes later, Zane dragged himself free of the branches. "Nothing. He came clean."
"Alright then, let's go." Valerie felt a sudden urge to get as far away as she could from the area. She'd never been hunted. Never had so little control. She'd always been the one making the calls.
"I'd better change first," sighed Zane. "I wouldn't want to walk into the station with blood on me."
Her head snapped up. "Please," she breathed, "please tell me you did not seriously get hurt again!"
"Just a minor flesh wound. Besides, we can always pretend that we get a vacation to recover from some severe injuries acquired in an accident a few weeks ago.
Valerie groaned, and finally jerked off his jacket, pulling him around so that she could observe the rapidly growing red spot on the sleeve of his white shirt. "Well, I suppose it's a good thing it just nicked you. It didn't even really hurt the muscle. If it had been worse though, you'd be in a lot of trouble right now, so try not to repeat the incident."
"You're welcome," muttered Zane through clenched teeth. "Do you know what the word: 'gentle' means?"
"Never heard of it." Valerie unpacked another shirt and jacket along with a roll of bandages, wrapped up his arm, and took the bloody clothes, and trotted them over to a nearby garbage can. Half a disguise wasn't a disguise at all. They couldn't risk questions if the clothes were accidentally found.
She returned a minute later, and once again picked up her bags. "Very well then, let's be going, shall we?"
Around five, they were picked up by a taxi out early, in the tourist section of town, near a couple of hotels. The driver had broken English, but understood them well enough, and soon they were at the train station.
Though it was still dark, there were lines, and it was six by the time they were at the window. Valerie forced herself to smile at the dawdling fool at the window, and asked for two first-class apartment tickets to St. Petersburg. They been standing in open view for much too long, and it worried her. Any number of people could have seen them.
Twenty minutes later, they were inside the apartment, exhausted from trying to explain to some boy that they were keeping their baggage with them, and that they did not want to hire him to carry it.
Valerie motioned for him to put the baggage in the corner, and set about examining their surroundings for bugs, both computerized and real. "You lie down and get some sleep. You really need it. I'll wake you up if I need you. Remember we're married if anyone comes, will you?"
Zane grunted, and dropped down on a bunk with a sigh of relief. "What about escape routes?"
"I'm assuming the enemy would come through the door. Crawl out the window in that case, and climb on top of the car. Don't fall." Valerie opened the window as far as it would go, and twisted her head out, smiling in satisfaction at the rail on top.
"Get your head in here!" Zane was halfway out of the bed before she heard him. He pulled her inside with a jerk, and slammed the window shut, dropping the curtains. "Now who's acting the idiot? Do you want to risk someone seeing you again? Or worse, picking you off? That was not ridiculous, that was stupid! Do it again, and I'll hurt you!"
For some reason, Valerie found herself believing that he could, and would. "I'm sorry," she muttered sullenly.
Zane let go of her, suddenly looking tired again, and limped back to the bunk. "You ought to lie down too. You don't look so good."
"And I suppose you think you do."
Zane smiled at her in his most annoying manner. "I hate to break your pretty picture, but I always look good. In the best of times— in the worst of times. Get used to it, and give up your jealousy."
Valerie sniffed, and lay down on the bunk opposite of him. "And I thought you were the adult here. I see I was wrong. You can't get much more childish than that, you know."
"If someone sees us, will they think it's odd we're sleeping on separate bunks?" asked Zane after an uncomfortable pause. The question didn't do much to lower the uncomfortablness, thought it eliminated the pause.
"I'm sure they will." Valerie stood with a sigh, and moved across to him, grabbing hold of a chair back as the train started with a jolt. "We probably ought to come up with stories and names and everything too. Always be prepared for the worst, you know."
Zane scooted over, giving her room, and shut his eyes. "I assume you've already worked things out."
"Yes." Valerie glared at him in annoyance. "I always know what I'm doing! Why do you question that? Now shut up, and listen while I tell you who you are!"
With a superior smile, that said he knew he'd annoyed her, Zane shut his mouth, and gave every impression of being the dutiful and attentive student that he was not.
Valerie took several very deep breaths, and babbled tidbits for about an hour and a half. Zane was born in Chester, Vermont. Same date, same age. They'd met at the University of Oklahoma, where he'd been studying business, and she art. They'd married two years ago, on her twentieth birthday, and—
Someone knocked.
Slowly, Valerie got to her feet, and crossed the floor to the door. This time the knock was louder. Carefully, so as not to let anyone know she was just on the other side, Valerie leaned over, and looked through the crack at the bottom of the door. The shoes were not those of a conductor, another passenger, or an attendant.
They were military boots that had tracked an awful lot of mud across the carpet.
I want people's opinion. I have to chose one story (for the Orion Award judging), and I think I've already made up my mind, but please tell me if you think Hitting Hard,or Flame of the Gods is better in the action category.
You who do not review: Your evils will condemn you on the day of judgment. :)
