Chapter 3
Summer lasted three more weeks before expiring in a final cleansing thunderstorm. In the month that followed, the temperature plunged and autumn seemed destined to be short. Michelangelo secretly welcomed the change, not just for the reprieve from the pungent and inescapable humidity below ground, but because life took on a more predictable and harmonious rhythm with the approach of cold weather. Chill rain and quieter city streets meant that Raphael roamed closer to home, often returning with needed supplies. Repairs and weatherproofing kept Donatello busy and away from his computers and gadgets. Everyone showed up for daily training. Splinter was always there, sometimes running the session, but other times sitting with a blanket on his lap, watching and commenting, missing nothing, but gradually shifting responsibility, as he had in other areas, to Leonardo.
There had been no further contact from the Foot.
That made it easier for Mike to push aside the unpleasant memory of that spectacle in the ninja compound and instead look forward to the coming days when, with the city under the grip of winter, they would sleep in, eat constantly, goof off, play games, surf the internet for funny videos and porn, watch stacks of action movies, and generally act like a quartet of bored male youths.
The boredom factor would be higher this year because April and Casey would be leaving right after Christmas and not returning until the end of January. An old college roommate of April's had gotten married and moved to Spain; they were finally taking her up on her offer to host them for an extended stay on the balmy Iberian peninsula.
"Are you sure I couldn't stow away in your luggage?" Mike asked again, flipping wistfully through the travel brochures lying on April's kitchen countertop. The trip was still two and a half months away but Casey had already begun to brag about beaches and sangria.
"You'd never get through airport security," April said.
"Hey, I might consider that a dare." He grinned at her rolled eyes.
"Here." She finished loading a small duffel bag with the groceries and blankets she'd asked him to pick up. Mike never ceased to wonder at how April could care for them in such minor, practical, and much-needed ways. "Be careful, there's a couple of glass jars in there."
"Thanks April, you rock." He hefted the bag, startled her by pretending to drop it, then slung it over his shoulder, threw her a wink and dropped out onto the fire escape stairs.
It was a cool but dry night and he decided to take the long way home, passing by one of his favorite people-watching spots. The rooftop of the second-hand comic book store overlooked a strip of bars and nightclubs, and on a Friday night, the sidewalks were crowded with sexily-clad young women and posturing young men lined up to get into their chosen nightspots.
Occasionally he came here with one of his brothers, to kill time on a slow night and rate the cleavage on display, but after a while it would grow tiresome, watching people going into unseen parties, as if they had lined up in the street with the rest of the crowd but could never make it past the bouncer. Even so, Mike still came here sometimes, just to enjoy the carefree energy of all those people, roughly his own age, moving in their packs, laughing and flirting, sometimes drunk or fighting, always talking, often about things he didn't understand, like college, work, the love affairs of themselves or their friends, the politics of their complex relationships. To amuse himself, he would imagine interjecting himself into their conversations.
No way, he replied to the two young men walking past beneath his perch. Angelina Jolie is not hotter than Salma Hayek, even if she does get points for playing Lara Croft.
To the blonde asking advice from her friend: If she slept with your boyfriend, then yeah, you should un-friend her on Facebook, and no, you don't have to go to her birthday party.
Guy coming out of the BMW: Dude, I can smell your cologne from like, a block away!
One teenager, perhaps sixteen or seventeen years old, struck him as familiar. Likely too young to even get into the clubs, he was standing off to the side with a tall, twenty-something friend, who Mike suspected he'd also seen before. The friend was talking, his lips clearly readable as he spoke to a third, unfamiliar young man.
"You don't have to be Japanese," he said, "as long as you've got the right skills. No ordinary street punks. The boss would have to meet you, see what you can do." He fished a card out of his pocket and handed it over. "You know where this is?"
Michelangelo was pretty good with faces. It took him a few minutes to place where he'd seen the two men before, but when he did, he was certain of it. He had fought them. Half a year ago, he'd knocked out the older one, and broken the teenager's wrist. A week later, he'd seen them again, entering the building where Mike and two of his brothers would first meet Saito Doshida. He trained his attention on the trio of men with sudden, intense interest.
The tall friend was giving directions to the address presumably written on the card. The man who'd received the card looked down at it. "How do you say this name?"
Mike couldn't quite lip-read the answer. Ageete? Ahgitay?
###
"Agete," Leonardo said, four nights later, reading the discreet sign above the front doors of the two-story office building. "Rising Hand."
"Maybe it's just coincidence," Mike hedged. They were crouched in the shadow of a stone retaining wall across from the small empty parking lot. There was no sign of any activity. "They could be in the ornamental rock business."
"That would be agate," Don pointed out.
"Doshida's moved up in real estate." Raph squinted at the dark windows. "A lot better digs than the boathouse."
"We're not looking for trouble," Leo reminded him. "Just checking it out." He scanned the building and its grounds one more time, then signaled for them to move.
Splitting into pairs, they approached the building using the sparse cover on either side of the parking lot. There didn't seem to be much need for stealth; there wasn't a soul around. It took two minutes to scout the entire perimeter. The building had a total of three doors: the front entry, a side entry with a pass card reader, and an emergency fire exit at the back of the building. The large, fixed windows were tinted and mirrored and, with the ambient orange glow from the street, impossible to see through.
"Now what?" Mike asked.
Now they had a choice, Leo thought. They could break in, which might involve inflicting property damage or setting off an alarm, leaving evidence that they had been here. Or they could call it off, decide they didn't need to know.
Mike was exchanging signals with Donatello. "They're trying the roof," he said. They waited, keeping watch while Raphael established a climbing line. A few minutes later, they saw his figure on the roof, beckoning them up.
The three of them ascended quickly, Donatello holding his position as spotter until Mike and Leo were up, then climbing up himself. They gathered around the skylight that Raphael had discovered. It had a latch and a crank that allowed it to be opened for venting.
Leonardo's brothers looked at him expectantly as he deliberated, his eyes on the glass and the city sky reflected in its panes. Raphael frowned. After a moment, Leo nodded.
It took them working together carefully and patiently to unlatch, pry open and lift the skylight without damaging it. It was only a short drop onto the landing of a wide central stairwell. Leonardo went first and heard Raphael land softly next to him. They held motionless for several minutes, allowing their eyes to adjust to the extra darkness. There was no sign of anyone inside. No alarms went off. Still, they took up defensive point positions before signaling for Mike and Don to join them. Leo communicated in a couple quick signs for Raphael and Donatello to take the upper floor while he and Michelangelo swept the ground level.
They had barely begun to move when there was a sudden loud crackling from the building intercom. They all jumped, drawing their weapons as if to defend against the burst of static.
A voice came through over the speakers. "Well, I can't say I'm surprised. I suppose you'd like the tour?"
"Doshida," Leo said.
"Where are you, you bastard?" Raph shouted up at the ceiling.
"Go to the bottom of the stairs and take a left. There's an unmarked door next to the photocopier. You'll hear a buzzer when I unlock it."
The turtles exchanged wary glances, then did as instructed. When Raphael pushed open the door, they found themselves facing a set of stairs that descended underground into darkness.
"Yeah, right," Mike muttered.
"What's this about, Doshida?" Leo called. "Show yourself first."
There was a pause before Doshida's voice returned. "Always suspicious. As all good ninja are. Very well, wait there."
The loudspeaker fell silent. Minutes passed. Around them, hallways stretched out in either direction, flanked by rows of doors that presumably led into offices or conference rooms. A place like this was alien to them, and being watched and addressed by Doshida's disembodied voice only added to the discomfort.
A florescent light switched on somewhere near the bottom of the basement steps. A second later, Saito Doshida appeared and looked up the stairway. He probably could not see them in the darkness but he called up, "Come on then. You can see I'm alone."
Raphael shoved the door open fully and glared down at him. "What are you up to, Saito? You better not be messing with us."
"Have you forgotten that you just broke into my property?" Doshida's mouth curved in a thin smile. "You look well, Raphael. I see your health has improved."
Raphael bristled, but Doshida turned and started back the way he'd come, gesturing for them to follow. They did so cautiously, and found themselves walking down a long passageway. It appeared to have been recently constructed. Doshida's shoes clicked on unmarred tile, and the walls exuded the faint odor of new paint.
"This joins to another building," Donatello observed.
"Yes," Doshida replied without turning. When Raphael had last seen him, he had been a gaunt fugitive from the Foot. Tonight he was wearing tan slacks and a black polo shirt and looked like a Japanese businessman working late at the office. "The building back there only holds some administrative functions and acts as a place to meet clients."
"You knew we were coming," Leo said.
"When the security system detected a breach in the skylight, I figured it was either you or the Foot. Personally, I'm pleased it's you." He seemed not in the least begrudging that their last encounter had involved Leonardo holding him at sword point and very nearly running him through.
The passageway ended in a set of stairs leading up to a large steel door. Doshida punched a code into a keypad, ran his hand over a fingerprint reader, and looked into a retina scanner. The door swung open into a gymnasium-sized space that, when Doshida flicked on the lights, appeared to be a hybrid between a ninja dojo and a military facility. A section of the room was set up with mats, sparring gear, and racks of ninja weapons and tools, with video cameras and big screen televisions on the walls above. Another side of the room was cordoned off with bulletproof glass and hung with silhouette cutouts for firearms practice. A set of metal gym lockers stood against the back wall.
"Get a load of this place," Mike remarked under his breath.
"One of our training rooms," Doshida said over his shoulder as he walked past it and down a hallway with doors marked, 'Blue 1', 'Green 3', and so on. The last room was a sizable office. With a color palette of rich, earthy reds and browns, modern furniture and Asian artwork, it was considerably more impressive than the one Leonardo, Donatello and Michelangelo had stormed into much earlier in the year.
"Have a seat." Doshida gestured to the leather sofa. "Anything to drink?" He opened up a mini-fridge behind his desk as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be hosting a quartet of mutant turtles in his office in the wee hours of the night.
Leonardo shook his head, ignoring both offers. "Why have you brought us here, Doshida?"
"Why did you break into my building?" Doshida poured himself a glass of sparkling mineral water. "No need to answer that. Of course, you couldn't resist. You want to know what I'm up to and what Agete is all about. After all-" he nodded to Raphael, "you're practically a co-founder."
"Yeah, where are my stock options?" The corner of Raphael's mouth turned up sarcastically as he took in Saito's office.
"Precisely what I want to discuss." He took a drink from his glass and sat on the front edge of his desk. "Agete is growing. The Foot may pull itself back together and give us trouble, but we've had a good head start. And we're getting work. Espionage, security, covert operations." He fixed them with a meaningful look. "Skills that you have."
The turtles stared at him, not comprehending at first. Finally Don said, "You want us...to join you?"
"Why not? Think of it as being...independent contractors."
Leonardo searched for some sign that Doshida was joking.
Sudden, harsh laughter from Raphael. "You've got some nerve, Saito. After what I've done for you- and the crap you put us through- you are offering me a job?" He laughed again, humorless, ironic. Suddenly, he whirled; his sai flew past Doshida's head and thudded into the back of his armchair. "That a strong enough answer for you?"
A flash of irritation crossed Doshida's face as he regarded the weapon protruding from his furniture. "I'm not surprised by your reaction." He looked at the other three turtles. "But if you stop to consider what I'm saying, you might realize it's not so ridiculous."
"What's ridiculous is your belief that we would serve your ambition." Somehow Leonardo's words, softly spoken, held as much malice as Raphael's display of violence.
"Think about it," Doshida persisted. "How will you make use of your impressive training, now that Saki is dead and the Foot is decimated? What do ordinary people do, besides trade their abilities to make a living? You may be far from ordinary, but I'm offering you a means whereby you won't have to settle for surviving at the edge of society."
"How we live," Leonardo said, "is not your concern."
Mike shook his head in amazement. "After all that's happened, why bother trying to convince us that we're on the same side?"
Doshida shrugged. "Like any new venture, Agete needs talent. You're four of the most capable ninja anywhere. Even if you did kill my cousin."
This last sentence was delivered so matter-of-factly that Leonardo couldn't read anything into it besides Doshida's usual, inscrutable self-assurance, worn so snugly that it obscured his schemes and motives.
Raphael walked up to the leader of the Rising Hand, staring him down. "She had it coming." He reached around and yanked his sai out of the chair. "Could become a family habit." He turned and headed for the door. "I've heard enough. Let's blow this joint."
"The exit is to the right of the lockers," Doshida said. To Donatello and Michelangelo, "Pride isn't always a practical ninja trait. Think about my offer."
"Think about this counteroffer," Leonardo replied as they turned to leave. "Rising Hand Inc. stays away from us, and we won't tip off the Foot as to your whereabouts."
Doshida's expression hardened.