Chapter 2

As I wander along the perimeter of the luxuriously-appointed office for Saki Industries' head honcho, I reach out and run my fingertips over everything I see. The last time I was here, I came with a very specific, important mission—to kill Don Hamato. I didn't have time to stop and take in the sights. Now I'm here for a very different reason, and I've decided to take full advantage of the opportunity.

Also, it buys me time. I haven't decided yet whether I'm going to show Don what's in my bag. I haven't decided whether it's worth it to even try to trust him.

I touch a leather-upholstered armchair, then its matching mate. The leather is as soft as butter. My fingers trip along the antique oak of a an intricately-carved end table, along the polished steel of filing cabinets, along the gold frames of oil paintings hanging on the walls. Then I pause. In front of me is a small glass display box, containing what looks like—a ponytail? Yes, it is. It's a cropped blonde ponytail.

Suddenly all the pieces fall into place for me, and I whirl around towards Don. He is standing by his desk, watching me with dark, attentive eyes. "Did you kill him?" I blurt out, knowing that he'll understand perfectly what I mean. "Personally, that is."

Donatello quirks an eyebrow in my direction. Then he shrugs. "After I took over Saki Industries, we had a round of … lay-offs."

Silently I digest this. So. He killed Hun. I try half-heartedly to muster up some outrage at this and, unsurprisingly, I fail. But I don't know whether it's because Don has committed such worse crimes or whether it's because I might have done the same thing.

"It was Hun who killed Casey," I say aloud.

Don nods and glances away. "I know. He almost killed Raph, too."

I'd forgotten that. I wonder who Don was avenging—Casey or Raph. Or heck, maybe even me. I don't ask because I'm not sure he'd answer. Also, I'm not sure I want to know. For a moment I study him, his falsely human features bathed in shadows, and find myself saying, "Turn off the holographs."

His attention snaps back to me, and I can see the surprise in his expression. But Don doesn't say a word, doesn't protest or toss off a witty retort. Instead, he slowly lifts his wrist. His hand looks white under the moonlight. Then, with a swift press of a button, the shadows flicker, and the hand turns a sickly gray-green, five fingers replaced with three.

"And for my next parlor trick," he says, with a soft chuckle, "I shall pull a rabbit out of my hat."

"You don't have a hat." Smiling, I think about where I was an hour ago. I'd been ready to leap off a building. So maybe it's only fitting for me to take a more metaphorical leap right now. "Say, Don, would you like to see what I have that's made Stockman sic his goons on me?"

Immediately his eyes brighten. "I thought you'd never ask."

Twenty minutes later, we're both seated at Don's large desk, squinting at his computer screen. Though it's been many years since I'd officially retired from the tech industry, I still have contacts. And I still have ears. After hearing of some of the dark events surrounding the current NSF administration, I'd managed to sneak into my old boss's new office, to steal a few computer files. But the files—to neither Don's nor my surprise—are heavily encrypted.

"You know, April, we could just assassinate the bastard," Donatello grouses, leaning back in his chair. His frustration, at having so far failed to crack the code, is palpable.

"It's not enough to just take down Stockman. We have to take down the entire NSF. Maybe Bishop's entire administration." I throw up my hands in frustration. "What do you propose we do about that? Blow up all of Washington, D.C.?"

He shoots me a grin. "While that'd make for a spectacular light show, I suppose you might be right."

I almost die in shock. Me, right about something? Egads. But before I can pursue the topic, he's already lost in his own world, eyes narrowed, hand thoughtfully rubbing his chin.

"Actually," he says slowly, cautiously, "we might not have to kill anyone. You'd prefer that, I assume?"

"Yes. By all means, feel free to assume that."

"It does put us at a distinct disadvantage—I'm quite sure Baxter won't find it necessary to operate under similar moral constraints—but so be it." He cocks his head. His eyes burn with an old, familiar fire. "We don't need to kill. We just need to discredit."

I see where he's going. "A scandal. Or a serious political misstep."

"Exactly."

That settled, we return our attention to the matter at hand. Don runs another decryption program, while I glare at the incomprehensible lines of characters. This is ridiculous. With two old pros like us, this should be easy. Or at least easier than it's been so far. Then, it hits me like a freight train. It's not about computers. It's about Stockman himself. Because, despite his various physical manifestations over the years, the essence of Dr. Stockman never changes. He's egotistical, petty, overly self-assured.

And, most importantly, Stockman holds one helluva grudge.

"Oroku Saki," I say, feeling confident I'm right.

Brow furrowed, Don looks up from the computer. "What about him? He's dead."

"I know that," I reply impatiently. "I meant, 'Oroku Saki' is the encryption password."

Don looks dubious and raises an eye-ridge as if about to challenge me. But then he simply shakes his head and types in the password. I hold my breath. If I'm wrong about this, I'll never hear the end of it. But then, a moment later Don grins wildly and grabs me in a quick hug. On screen, the mysterious characters dissolve into paragraphs of blessedly readable text.

"Jackpot," I crow in triumph. I grin back at him for a few seconds before I suddenly pull away. I can feel the blood drain from my face. Don looks at me with a confused expression, his head slightly cocked to one side.

"You know what this reminds me of?"

Donatello's confused look slips away. He nods solemnly. "Old times."

"Yeah. Old times."

Despite not wanting to, my mind flashes back to those days, so many years ago now. Back when we weren't just friends, we were family. I think of all the times, against so many different enemies, we plotted together and hacked together and fought together. Back when we lived, and we died, together.

God. I hadn't realized just how much I've missed that. How I've missed him.

Softly Don clears his throat, and my mind jumps back to the present. "Let's not talk about it," he says, looking and sounding every bit as uncomfortable as I feel.

"Eyes on the prize, eh, Mr. Hamato?" I force my tone into a cockiness I don't even remotely feel.

"Indeed, Dr. O'Neil." With a wan smile, he shakes his head. "Eyes on the prize."

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Author's Notes: So this chapter's a bit longer. (And yes, I must admit to feeling a bit smug about President Bishop. It was pretty cool.) The "action" in this action/adventure picks up a bit more starting next chapter, by the way. As always, thanks for reading!