Marco rubbed his chin and shook his head. “Unfortunately, you fight as well as I feared.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded.
“You fight like a lady, which, by the way, is a compliment of sorts.”
“Sure doesn’t sound like it.”
“It isn’t really,” he admitted. “Shall we go again?”
In the second round, things got worse. This time Marco put her through a series of tactical scenarios, gauging her response to attacks from behind, being tackled to the ground, and being put in a choke hold. She failed every single one. Even Marco looked discouraged by the end of the round.
Lastly, he tested her firearms skill. This she performed better at. In all the missions she’d ever run, not once had she ever had to throw a punch. She fired pistols plenty, though. She was also fond of the gun range and practiced regularly.
After two hours, Marco gave a frank and brutal assessment. “The good news is we won’t have to work your hand to hand fighting. The bad news is, it’s because you’re basically helpless unless we put you through a yearlong program. However, your skill with a pistol is better than I expected and your accuracy is… average, which is again better than I expected.”
“So I’m hopeless?” Jill’s heart sank. She wasn’t a fan of fighting anyway, but it annoyed her that he validated her ineptitude.
“I wouldn’t say that,” he said. “I just have a different plan for you. You don’t have the strength or reflexes to match fists with the Genjix. That requires years of training. However, you are naturally quick and agile, and you can run like a gazelle. Have you ever heard of free running?”
I like his plan. It will work with your strengths.
“You mean like not running in a totalitarian country?” she joked. He gave her a blank look. Obviously, the humor was lost on him.
“I mean like this,” he said. He turned and ran toward a large boulder that was at least as tall as he was. She gasped when he jumped at the boulder and somehow scampered to the top. Then he flipped off it gracefully, landing softly and somersaulting onto his feet. He continued running toward a tree and grabbed a branch as he ran past, flipping until he perched on top of it. Jill wasn’t sure if she was supposed to clap.
“I don’t understand,” she said with a frown on her face. “You want me to do circus acts when I fight the Genjix?”
“No,” he grinned, jumping down. “I’m going to teach you to slip away from danger and become a ninja.”
SIXTEEN
THE SEARCH
The Quasing kingdom in Africa was immense. With our influence and the natural intelligence and hands of the primates, we gathered strength until we were many hundreds of thousands again. It was a far cry from the six million on the ship before the crash, but still a remarkable feat to have brought so many together.
The Council had grander ambitions, though. They wanted more, yet these primates were at the end of their evolutionary path. We could not advance further with them. It was then that several of our searchers returned with information about new species of bi-pedals, the Neanderthals and the Cro-Magnons.
Tao
Roen watched with a bemused expression as the barefoot old men in white undershirts played mahjong at the small table in the dimly lit room at the back of the warehouse. These four underworld bosses combined controlled twenty-seven percent of the docks, five percent of parliament, and sixteen percent of the chip market in Taiwan. What was even more amazing was that the bald guy on the left was blood enemies with the fat guy on the right. While both were part of the Bamboo Union, they led separate divisions that often warred over turf.
The fight between the Crane and the Tiger divisions had raged for twenty years now, yet these two still played mahjong together at least once a month. It went to show – either the Taiwanese were really good at keeping business and personal life separate – or good mahjong players shouldn’t be killed because they’re hard to find.
Contrary to the Genjix, the Prophus had no qualms cooperating with the criminal elements of human society. The Genjix never had any use for the triads, yakuza, Ordo Templi Orientis, or any other secret societies of the sort. They were considered too autonomous and difficult to control. In fact, it was the Genjix who were responsible for the destruction of several of these groups.
These conflicts made the triads a strange but natural ally of the Prophus. Over the years, they had forged a loose alliance with many of the underground groups, sometimes venturing as far as integrating them into the Prophus, as they had with the Hashshashins during the thirteenth century, or simply by keeping them at a wary arm’s length, as with the Italian and Russian mobs.
The local connection the Prophus had in Taiwan was with the powerful Bamboo Union syndicate. Though weakened by Genjix expansion, the organization still held sway over the island and was involved in many aspects of Taiwan’s society. The mahjong game the four men partook in was part of their monthly sit-down, during which the major players hashed out their differences. They must have had a lot to talk about, because they kept Roen and Hutch waiting over an hour.
Hutch, standing next to Roen, coughed and fidgeted with his jacket. Thirty-six gangsters, dressed to the nines, surrounded the small table, drawn guns half pointing at them and half at each other. Roen poked Hutch and gave him the don’t-get-us-shot glare. The gangsters were already on edge. The last thing they needed was to see an anxious foreigner making sudden moves.
Sixteen behind you. Ten on both sides. All armed and probably awful shots. Four bosses in front. Oh, and you have Hutch, the narcoleptic guard. You got a plan to get out of this?
Roen swiveled his head to his left and counted the number of armed thugs wielding bats, machetes, and guns, and then he counted the ones to his right.
He shrugged. “I got nothing.”
I find it ironic that you had a plan to fight your way out of Prophus Command, but not out of a triad warehouse. I am starting to doubt your loyalties.
“Or intelligence.”
Or will to live.
“Or delusions of invincibility.”
Okay. You win this one.
Roen and an increasingly nervous Hutch waited another twenty minutes for the four old underwear-wearing mobsters to finish their game. His faithful compatriot had taken to standing at attention as if he was in the North Korean army. Roen occupied the time by debating hypothetical historical scenarios with Tao. This debate in particular was what would have happened if Fanya Kaplan, a Genjix agent, had been successful in assassinating Vladimir Lenin. Roen believed that without Lenin, the communists wouldn’t have unified to defeat the Mensheviks. Tao believed otherwise.
“No way Stalin could have wrangled them all together. He was just a jerk with a mustache back then. What’s with all these warlords and mustaches? Maybe I should grow one.”
Because looking like a Seventies porn star will make you a better agent.
“I’m just kind of bored of my face.”
You should burn half of it off like Dylan. You would be much more interesting. Why are we discussing you again? I thought we were talking about Lenin. And, yes, having met Stalin, I believe he would still have consolidated power, though the succession might have been more bloody.
Their conversation was interrupted when Hutch nudged him. Roen looked up and noticed the four pajama-party men looking his way. The one in the far back beckoned them closer.