Chapter 7

In silence we wait. I have always been a fairly patient person, but even so, my patience cannot rival that of my ninja companion. While for some time I've been bored and tapping my feet nervously, Hiroko remains sitting perfectly still and ram-rod straight. On her face hangs a serene expression. At the moment, she reminds me quite a bit of Master Splinter, and I can't help but smile a little.

Perhaps feeling my gaze, she turns and raises an inquisitive eyebrow.

"I feel exposed," I tell her quietly. "I don't like all this waiting."

"The President is a very busy man. We are lucky that he could see us as soon as this."

I grit my teeth, reflecting that a little bit of Zen master goes a long way. "I know, Hiroko, but I still don't like it."

"I understand." She sighs. "I do not like it either."

We both lapse into silence again, and I take the opportunity to glance around nervously at our surroundings. We're in an outer office at the White House, and the lights are turned rather low, casting long dark shadows across the immaculate rug in the center of the room. A good number of staffers seem to recognize Hiroko and, as a few trickle in and out of the office, they give her smiles of recognition.

Thinking for a few moments, I realize part of what has me so uneasy. Careful to keep my tone casual, calm, and neutral, I ask, "Just how were you able to arrange this meeting?"

"Oh, I simply told the President's secretary that this meeting is to be with Mr. Hamato. Mr. Hamato was a large contributor to the President's last election campaign, so it is in President Bishop's best interests to be—" The corners of her mouth twitch as she ponders over the correct word. "—accommodating."

Wait a minute … "Wait a minute. Don actually gave money to Bishop's campaign?"

"Yes, as well as the campaigns of every other presidential candidate." She glances over at me. "I believe the exact phrase Mr. Hamato used was 'hedging my bets.'"

In response, I grin. Trust Don to—oh, Don. Donny. My chest tightens in an unpleasant way. "Hiroko," I begin again, voice softer than before, "you said that Donatello's dead."

Her voice is just as soft as she replies, "Yes."

"How do you know? Did you find his … his body?"

She glances over with an insulted look on her face. "The blood. There was far too much blood for even a highly-trained warrior like Mr. Hamato to survive."

"But a lot of the blood could have been from the government agents."

Frowning severely at me, Hiroko shakes her head. "April, I am not a fool. I checked the blood. It was reptilian. All of it."

So she knows. She knows about Donatello. I turn this new information over in my mind, considering, wondering what else she's been keeping to herself. I wish I could trust her. Hell, I wish I could trust anyone at this point.

"His body was gone by the time I arrived," she continues, a hint of hesitation in her voice. "I assume that he was taken by the government agents for dissection."

I can't entirely hide a shiver. Dear God, don't let that be true. Please, not that. Then something occurs to me. Something that I know but she doesn't. "Are you familiar with an experimental bio-weapon that Don was working on?"

Confused, she cocks her head. "The outbreak virus, yes. What about it?"

"Hiroko, he used the virus. On himself. Right before I lost consciousness." I lean forward in my chair, staring into Hiroko's eyes. A tingle works its way up my spine. "That meant he was at least twice as large as usual."

Immediately Hiroko's eyes light up. "Which means that perhaps the amount of blood I found in the hallways—"

"Might not have been fatal," I finish excitedly.

Without thinking I reach forward and lay my hand on her arm. Her eyes widen, just a bit, but it's enough for me to notice. I snatch back my hand. Dammit. That whole trust thing again. She doesn't trust me either.

Then again, why would she?

"Excuse me, ladies."

Simultaneously, Hiroko and I turn towards this new, intruding voice. In the doorway stands a small and nondescript man, who smiles apologetically. For startling us, I suppose, though perhaps it's for his mere existence. I can imagine working in an administration under John Bishop would lead to a lot of placating, apologetic smiles.

"The president is ready to see you now," the man continues, still smiling. And with a little bow of his head, he's gone again, leaving the door open behind him.

Hiroko stands and almost subconsciously squares her shoulders. I follow suit and, after picking a bit of imaginary lint off my blouse, I follow Hiroko into the inner office.

The office is just about everything I might want or expect it to be: plush blue carpet, pure-white walls that seem to extend upwards indefinitely, and presiding over the whole affair, a large oak desk square in the middle. At the desk, Bishop's tall-backed chair is facing away, towards the windows opposite us. To heighten the suspense, I suppose. I fight the urge to roll my eyes.

But then, then I notice the Secret Service agents. They were stationed at both sides of the doors as we entered, and there was nothing terribly odd about that, but now they're right behind us, and for some reason it feels … off. As coldness suddenly seizes me, I take a small step backwards—but too late. Two beefy hands grab my shoulders, and I quickly glance over to Hiroko.

Too late again. She's already limp in the other agent's arms. Unconscious, but breathing.

I glance back up in time to see the desk chair slowly turn around. The single remaining eye of Baxter Stockman gleams menacingly under the fluorescent office lights.

Growling softly, I throw my head backwards with full force. The agent grunts in surprise, and his grip loosens. Just as I wrench one of my shoulders free, I feel a sharp pang in my arm. Then the agent roughly pushes me away, and I stumble a few steps towards the doors, as dizziness and nausea wash over me, before I fall to the floor.

The last thing I see are Stockman's two metal feet. His voice echoes off the high walls as he lets out a low chuckle. "Really, Ms. O'Neil, we simply must stop meeting like this."

Smug bastard, I think just as I go under, with a hazy anger that doesn't really have much of an edge because by now I'm high as a kite.

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Author's Notes: Jessiy and Reinbeauchaser were both totally right on, of course—no surprise there—so I've been thinking of what I should do. Leave the story as-is, flaws and all? Write another sequel? Take out the epilogue? Continue the story?

I don't like to take out stuff, because it seems sneaky somehow. And I hesitated to write another story in this series, because that feels really self-indulgent for some reason. I never thought I'd write sequels, but never say never, eh? So, anyways, I decided on adding a second part to this story. The former epilogue is now the prologue to Part II, and I think it'll work much better as such. Thanks for the concrit!

Update: Very slight revision 4/17.