Chapter 8

Everything hurts. I do not fear the pain nor do I whimper because of it, but the pain does worry me. Pain means that something is wrong. For the life of me, however, I cannot think of what might be amiss.

So, despite the ache developing at my temple, I force my eyes open. Though the light is very murky, I can still see somewhat. April is lying a few feet away from me, eyes shut, her breath slow and deep. The color gray is all around her—gray stone-tiled floor and gray concrete walls.

"Sir, one of them is awake."

I push myself up onto my elbows and ignore how the sudden movement sends my vision reeling and my head swimming. Gingerly I turn to face the voice. On the other side of black steel bars stands a man with a gun. A government agent, doubtless.

Turning away, I crawl over to April much more slowly than I would have liked and shake her by the shoulder. Her eyelids open just a fraction. "Hmm?"

"Wake up, April," I whisper. "We have visitors."

She blinks sleepily at me, confusion creasing her brow. "Visitors?"

I glance away. April rolls over and manages to scramble to her hands and knees, looking a bit wobbly but mostly stable. Once that's accomplished, she follows my gaze.

"Shit."

I nod. I agree perfectly with her assessment of our current situation.

The armed man steps to the side, allowing NSF Director Stockman to come into full view. I find the man unnerving. Though I have less than twenty years to my life's credit, I have spent many of those years learning how to read people. Reading people—friend and foe alike—is essential to a ninja's wellbeing. But Stockman has no recognizable face, only the one too-bright eye. I cannot read him at all, and that unnerves me quite a bit.

Meanwhile, April pulls herself to her feet, leaning heavily against a nearby stone wall for support. Unlike Stockman, I can read April reasonably well, and at this precise moment she is radiating unease. She stares at our captors.

"Welcome to the District of Columbia," says Stockman with a laugh in his voice. Immediately I grasp why my father has always disliked this man. "I'm sorry President Bishop wasn't available to meet with you, but I'm sure you understand why I couldn't allow that to happen." He turns, and his eye focuses on me. "Surely you didn't think that Donatello was the only one with informants in the administration?"

A set-up. I bite the inside of my cheek so hard that, after a moment, I taste blood. A set-up. I should have known better. I should have seen it coming. Father never would have fallen for this.

Beside me, April coughs. I look over to her—she is staring at Stockman, the anger I feel mirrored in her face, without even an attempt to hide it. "And where is Donatello?" she demands in a soft rasp.

Director Stockman approaches our jail cell and reaches a clenched fist through the bars. Slowly he unfolds his hand, revealing a deceptively simple steel wristwatch.

My father's holoprojector.

April glares darkly, speechless with rage, so it is left to me to ask, "Is Mr. Hamato alive?"

"For the moment."

My composure snaps, and I leap from the floor to launch myself at the bars. But I am not quite fast enough. Before I can get close enough to snap the robotic arm clean off this hateful man's body, Stockman has fallen back, chuckling, safe from my reach.

"Don't worry, my child," he soothes, "dear Donatello is safe and sound right at home. In fact, he hasn't even left the Saki building."

I gasp. That … that is impossible.

"And now that you two are otherwise occupied, I'm free to return to New York to complete my business there."

Seemingly satisfied, Stockman turns his back to us and walks purposefully towards the door opposite our cage. The man with the gun smirks briefly in my direction before following. I look again to April, but she is staring down at the floor.

"Oh, and Ms. O'Neil?" Stockman says with false casualness, opening the door. The gunman disappears through the doorway, leaving only the three of us. "No need to return those stolen files to me. I've no need of them anymore. The project's complete." He glances over his shoulder, and the white of his eye is the only thing fully visible in the dim light. "In less than twelve hours, the entire East Coast will be a radioactive wasteland."

Then the door closes, and I am alone with April. She is still staring at the dirty floor of our cell, a blank expression dulling her facial features, her shoulders sagging. She suddenly looks very old. But when she catches me looking at her, she straightens up.

There is fire in her eyes as she says, "First things first. We have to get out of here."

I nod my agreement. The tension in my muscles, in my bones, loosens a bit. April hasn't given up yet. It is a small achievement, but it is a start. As I intently study the bars of our cell, I marvel as how low-tech the jail cell appears. "It seems to be a simple pin tumbler system," I murmur to her.

She steps towards the cell door. "Hmm. I wonder if it's hooked up to an alarm system."

"Perhaps. But I see no electronics. Nor any casing for wires to run." Frustrated, I shake my head. "But that cannot be. Director Stockman wouldn't leave us in such insecure confinement."

"I wouldn't bet on that, actually," April replies, eyes narrow in thought as she runs a hand experimentally along the cell bars. "You don't know Stockman. He's cocky. Too cocky." She sighs almost silently. "Also, even if we get out of here, he's probably banking on the assumption that we won't be able to get back to New York in time to stop him."

That is actually not an unjustifiable assumption. Our helicopter has certainly been impounded by now. It would be difficult to borrow or steal transportation swift enough to get us to the city. Difficult—but not impossible. Especially not for the heirs to Saki Industries.

"April."

"Mmm-hmm?" She is crouched beside the door, squinting into the keyhole of the lock.

"If you'll take care of freeing us, I can take care of our transportation needs."

She turns to greet me with raised eyebrow. "Oh?"

"I know of someone who owes me a favor." I allow myself a small grin. "Someone who has possession of a helicopter very much like the one we ourselves had."

April's eyebrow does not move from its position near her hairline. Her eyes cloud over, and I can tell she is trying to decide whether or not to trust me. Finally she holds out her hand, palm facing up.

"Give me your hairpins," she commands.

Startled, I comply without question. She puts a few in her mouth—for safe keeping, I suppose—and begins threading the others into the lock. "Old trick of the trade," she mumbles, teeth still holding onto the pins. "Learned it from one of the best. Guy could open a lock in two seconds flat with nothing but the point of a sai."

My mouth goes dry. Taking a quick breath to calm myself, I ask, "What was his name?"

"Raphael. One of Don's brothers." She takes a pin from her mouth and jams it into the lock. "Though I guess you probably already knew that, huh?"

Raphael. Uncle Raph. I falter, just for a moment, until April lets out a sudden whoop. A second later, the door to our cell swings open. April stands up and grins at me, brushing her hands on her pants. "Leave it to a bunch of men to forget to confiscate hairpins from—"

She is cut off by a loud, clanging alarm. We glance at one another. "On the bright side," I tell her, not entirely able to hide a grin of my own, "now we know whether the door was wired to an alarm."

"I'm thrilled." She runs to the door that leads to what, I hypothesize, must be a hallway. She gives the knob a try before exclaiming, "Damn, it's locked. And it's not a pin tumbler, so it'll take me a few minutes to get this open"

Unfortunately, we don't have a few minutes. Fortunately, I already have an alternate plan. I point towards the ceiling. "Look. Ventilation shafts."

"Oh, that's gonna be fun."

Ignoring the sarcasm, I take a running jump and, after a somersault off the wall, grab onto some overhead pipes. One swift kick is all it takes to knock in the grated cover to the ventilation shaft. Then I let go of the pipes and drop back down to the floor.

I motion April over, while lacing my fingers together, and instantly she understands. Without a word she accepts the boost up, grabbing onto the lower ledge of the shaft before pulling herself inside. I repeat my earlier maneuvers to get back up to the pipes, then I swing myself over to the shaft. Once I'm inside, April begins crawling, and I follow her.

Then she suddenly comes to a halt. "The grate," she says, as much to herself as to me.

Ah. Reversing course, I pick up the grate and carefully replace it over the opening of the ventilation shaft. Right on cue, as soon as the grate is correctly positioned, the door bursts open down below and three armed men spill into the room. They look around, puzzled.

There is no time to lose. It will not take the men very long to realize where we are. Up ahead, April has already crawled onward. I hasten to catch up while remaining absolutely silent. Time is of the essence for more reasons than one, however.

The bio-weapon that Father was working on had a built-in failsafe. We designed it so that the effects would only last a few hours at most, and it has been many hours since April and I have left New York. Even if under that secondary mutation, he would be weak from the blood loss … but if he has reverted back to his normal state …

I must find him. I will find him. I am ninja. I am Hamato Donatello's daughter. And I am going to save my father and stop this madman—no matter what.

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Author's Notes: The owner of the helicopter shall be introduced next chapter, as well as one of my favorite couplings. Thanks for reading and reviewing!