“If you say so, sir.”
After a moment, Roux made up his mind and said, “I want her kept under surveillance twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Here and in the States, until I say otherwise. And she isn’t to know that you are there unless there is trouble.”
Henshaw nodded. “Understood—24/7, no interference unless her life is threatened.”
As Annja’s car finally disappeared from sight around a bend in the road, Roux turned to face his employee. “I want you to find me everything you can on the Dragon’s movements in the past two months. Use whatever resources are necessary. If he’s after Annja, I want to know how and why. In the meantime your people have authorization to do whatever needs to be done to keep her safe.”
“And you, sir?” Henshaw asked.
“Me?” Roux replied. “I’ll be perfectly fine, Henshaw. I’m not the target.”
Henshaw hoped those words wouldn’t come back to haunt either of them.
9
Kyoto, Japan
1993
Those who knew better disappeared like rats from a burning ship the moment the two men appeared at the mouth of the alley. Seen with the naked eye, there wasn’t anything noticeably strange about them, but those who had been on the street long enough developed senses different than the usual and something about the pair screamed danger like an air-raid siren.
It was a feeling that spread quickly, like a virus passed from one street hustler or teen runaway to another, and those who encountered it made themselves scarce if they knew what was good for them. Those who were too sick or stoned or weak to move on their own were grabbed, swiftly examined and then either tossed aside like garbage or trussed up like turkeys headed for slaughter and left where they lay for collection once the men were finished.
Most of them ran, but the girl near the end of the alley in the large cardboard box did not.
She’d only left home a few days before and already she was bone weary from all the hiding and running and scavenging. Life just shouldn’t be this hard, she’d told herself time and time again, and at last she had begun to believe it. Life that was this hard just wasn’t worth living, it seemed. When the owner of the box, a thick-faced Chinese boy named Wu, suddenly deserted his home, she wasted no time rushing in to get out of the rain. Flopping down among the discarded cushions and bags of trash that did double duty as Wu’s bed, Shizu sat there, waiting for the newcomers to get to her, too tired and worn out to care anymore.
It didn’t take them long.
Much to her surprise, when they reached into the box, seized her about the ankle and began to drag her back out into the rain, she discovered that she wasn’t so tired, after all.
Suddenly she wanted to live.
She kicked and screamed, fought them tooth and nail, threw everything she had into getting away, and none of it did the least amount of good.
When she got to be too much to handle, one of the men simply reared back and smashed her in the face with his huge, meaty fist, sending her plunging into the swirling darkness of unconsciousness.
SHIZU HAD BEEN IN THE cage for just shy of a week when the big man arrived to claim her. She didn’t know that yet, of course, being kept in a room all alone, without light, and inside a six-by-six-foot steel cage, but she would meet him soon enough as it turned out.
The guards came for her sometime after breakfast but before lunch, if you could call the cold gruel they fed them anything even close to the definitions of those words. Still, despite its horrible taste, she ate it when she could; every ounce of energy was important in a place like this. They dragged her out of the cell and stripped her clothes from her, an act which required several of them to hold her arms and legs down while they cut the material off her bucking form. If she had been a little older, if she had learned of such things at home the way most young girls do, she might have been afraid for her virtue, but these men were acting under orders and the thin, featureless body of a twelve-year-old girl did not excite them in any way.
When they were finished removing her clothes they dragged her into another room, still kicking and screaming, and left her on the floor in a heap.
They were gone only long enough to get the fire hose.
The water shot out of the nozzle, slashing across her body, pushing her about the floor like a discarded toy until she smashed into a nearby wall. She’d been through this once before, on the night she’d been brought here, and she understood what was happening enough to force herself to her feet and brace herself against the wall with her back to the water to keep from drowning. Her captors apparently took this as a good sign, for the force of the water eased off a little and she was scrubbed clean by the pounding water without too much difficulty.
When they were finished they gave her a light smock to wear over her naked form and led her down a series of hallways to another room. Inside were ten or twelve others girls who were dressed just like her in pale-colored smocks and bare feet. None of them said anything to her, their eyes cast dutifully downward as weeks of captivity had taught them was correct, and so Shizu didn’t bother speaking to them, either. Instead, she took the time to examine her surroundings and to wonder just why they were all gathered here.
She didn’t have long to wait to find out.
The guards came back a few minutes later and ordered the girls to line up shoulder to shoulder, facing one wall. From the door before them came an overweight man in his mid-fifties, surrounded by bodyguards. Shizu figured, rightly so, that this was the man in charge of kidnapping them in the first place.
With him was a tall gaijin, or foreigner, dressed like a sarimanin a gray suit the color of river rock. His hair was long and he wore it loose about his face, his eyes alight with curiosity and fire.
Shizu couldn’t stop looking at him.
She hadn’t seen many gaijin before and so for that reason alone he was a curiosity in her eyes, but it was the sense of power that emitted from him that truly caught her attention. This was a man used to being in control, used to having his every word obeyed without question; even Shizu’s young mind could figure that out quickly enough. This man was a predator, her instincts screamed, and all that was left to determine was the identity of the prey.
He sensed her interest, though he didn’t acknowledge it in any way. Instead, he walked with the fat man to the end of the line and slowly began to move along it, looking at each of the girls, in turn. Sometimes he would ask them to do simple things—stand on one foot, touch their fingers to their noses—and other times he would examine them the way a doctor might, turning them this way and that, looking into their eyes, asking them to open their mouths and feeling their teeth.
When he got to her, he stopped and looked her over, just as he had the others. But rather than ask her to do any of the things she’d seen so far, he spoke to her in passable Japanese instead.
“What is your name?” he asked.
Afraid, she did not speak.
“Come, come, girl. I’m not here to hurt you. What is your name?”
This time she told him. “Shizu.”
“Would you like to leave this place, Shizu?”
Daring to meet his gaze, she said, “Very much.”
“Would you like to go away with me, Shizu?” he asked, softly this time.