Jamaica Hospital Medical Center is not the biggest or the best hospital in New York City, but it is the one closest to JFK airport, located in Queens just off the Van Wyck Expressway.
That means it sees a lot of business courtesy of the DEA and Immigration, who sends them the human 'mules' flying in from South America and Africa with bellyfuls of condoms filled with heroin and cocaine.
Sometimes a condom bursts and the unfortunate courier has to be rushed to the ER. Sometimes they survive to be deported and to fly for the drug lords another day and sometimes they don't.
Joe Killian and Michelle Qwan had stayed with Melissa Martin every step of the way since she had been brought here after her rescue. Killian had only taken time to call FBI headquarters in Manhattan and get a hold put on Linda Hansen and the unidentified driver who had inadvertently clued them into the woman's arrival in the first place.
Right now, Melissa Martin was asleep in a bed, in one of the private exam rooms just off the ER. Qwan and Killian were watching her from a glassed observation alcove. They were waiting for the results of a laundry list of medical procedures preformed on her, everything from a tox screen to an MRI.
"Want to wake her?" Qwan asked.
"Let her sleep," Killian replied. "Did you see that tattoo across her chest?"
"Yeah, 34C-22-34, her measurements," Qwan replied. "This Corder woman is one sick puppy."
Killian looked at Qwan. "How's the ear?"
"Fine," Qwan said. One of the ER attendings had swabbed and cleaned the stitches she had received this morning. "It was nothing." She sighed. "I need a gun, tho. Samarkand ran off with mine."
"Yeah," Killian said. "I also noticed he tried to shoot you with your gun back at the airport. Didn't seem to be having much luck."
Qwan smiled, holding up her right hand and waving her index finger that had a silver ring on it. "See this? It holds a computer chip keyed to a failsafe on the trigger of my service pistol. Unless it's within 3 inches of the trigger, it can't fire."
Killian grinned. "Smart gun technology! I hear the Bureau is working on that too."
"The RCMP already has it." Qwan frowned and looked at her Rolex. It was past one in the AM. "I'd better call my little Kohai... see if they're okay." Qwan palmed her cellphone.
Killian got his cellphone out. "And I'll try Kudlow again... see if they've started on those Federal search warrants for Hermes Air Frieght and Imperial Security..."
***
Yukari Mei Awai groaned as her cellphone chirped her awake. She was on a couch in the Hacker Queen's Greenwich Village apartment.
"Ummmm... moshi mosh?"
"Kohai?"
"Hai, Sempai."
"What's the situation?"
"Ano... since you called last, Amanda's been working hard on cracking the ISIS mainframe. How is that girl you rescued?"
"So far so good," Qwan replied. "Did Amanda get anything on her?"
"Just the usual stuff. Melissa Martin was born and raised in Duchess County, New York. Upper income family. Graduated from Bryn Mawr with honors and then disappeared off the face of the earth! She's been missing almost five years."
"Anybody go looking for her?"
"All official interrogatives end up with the Justice Department in Washington... and then nothing happens."
"Strange," Qwan allowed. "Look, Joe and I are probably going to be here at the hospital for the rest of the night. You two okay?"
"Hai hai! I'm trying to get a little shuteye, Amanda doesn't seem to need sleep!" Yukari said.
"Well make sure she's okay," Qwan said. "And also check the apartment."
"Yokai, Sempai."
"Be careful, Kohai," Qwan said. She hung up. Yukari yawned and got off the couch which she was sharing with two of the Hacker Queen's lazy cats. She was wearing a pink Hello Kitty! sleep shirt and matching panties, with the HKMP-5k machine pistol Qwan had given her slung over one shoulder in a cross carry.
She scratched her head and yawned again as she stumbled over to Amanda the Hacker Queen who was intent on what was happening on her computer screen.
"Wassup?" Yukari asked, sitting in a chair next to her.
"Right now I'm getting into the nitty gritty of what Imperial Security Investigative Services is really all about," Amanda replied.
"Which is?"
"They're enforcers for this bitch Valerie Corder," Hacker Queen said. "They operate with impunity from Tokyo to Athens to London to... Podunk, Arkansas!"
"How do they do that?"
"Payoffs and blackmail," Hacker Queen replied. "The people they can't bribe, they get something on them to ruin their lives. And if that doesn't work... then hell, they'll just fuckin' kill ya."
Yukari sipped some of Amanda's cold coffee and made a face. "How are you finding this stuff out?"
"I'm jacked into their mainframe," she replied. "I'm getting tons of personal memos 'n shit." She touched the screen. "See this? That's their secret personnel files. They hire mostly ex-cops and ex-soldiers. Usually bounced from their jobs for using excessive force, killing civilians, taking bribes or going just plain, section-eight crazy!"
"Charming people we're dealing with," Yukari said. "But isn't there a way that they could... backtrack your meanderings through their system?" She shrugged. "I may not know much about computers..."
"You don't know much about me either, Sailor Moon," Amanda snorted. "I am the fuckin' best. Nobody tracks me down!"
Yukari shrugged. "Tabun... but my mother told me once that no one on earth is really the best at anything. That somewhere on this earth, there is always somebody who is better than you."
"Bullshit." Hacker Queen tapped into her keyboard and got up to stretch. Her bones and joints popped. "Ugggggghhh... Okay, I'm on automatic pilot for a good two hours... what time is it?"
Yukari looked at her Seiko. "Just past one AM."
"Ack ack! I'm too fuckin' keyed up to sleep." Hacker Queen walked away from her computer screens and scratched her ass. She had changed an hour ago into a long, tight nightie of black silk that made her look like Morticia Addams. "What's the latest on the Fed and the Mountie?"
"They're still at the hospital in Queens looking after this Melissa Martin woman that they rescued." Yukari joined her in the kitchen as Amanda pulled food out of the refrigerator.
"Guess we're on our own then, Sailor Moon." Amanda took a big bite from a hunk of cheese and followed it with gulps of cold milk. She offered the hunk of cheese with a bite gone to Yukari.
She shook her head no. "I 'spose."
Amanda sighed. "Yukari..."
"Hai?"
"Do you... like girls?"
Yukari swallowed hard. "Sure, I like everybody!"
"Ummmm... that's not what I meant." Amada put down the carton of milk and drew Yukari up into her arms in a tight hug.
They were a study in contrasts. Amanda was taller and leaner, with her long black hair, a few body piercings and a nice collection of Goth tats. Yukari was younger, with a little babyfat still on her frame.
"I... dunno about this..." Yukari breathed, her lips very close to Amanda's. "I have never... been, with a girl."
"Well, lemme check." Amanda slipped her right hand past the young Japanese girl's pink Hello Kitty! panties, her long, black nailed fingers going deep into the slippery folds of Yukari Mei Awai's very wet cunt and then finding the hard nubbin of her clitoris.
Amanda stroked Yukari's clit and then jabbed it hard with one long, black fingernail.
Yukari gasped and held on to Amanda tightly as her legs turned to rubber and she slipped over into a sudden orgasm, that left her dripping girljuice on the kitchen floor.
Amanda kissed her long and deep. "See! You like girls just fine!"
***
"Hey, gang!" Thad Kudlow joined Qwan and Killian at their ER alcove with a bucket
of KFC chicken in hand. "Thought you could use a little snack-a-roonie."
"What are you doing here?" Killian asked. "Why aren't you questioning Linda Hansen and the goon?"
Kudlow looked at his partner in confusion. "Cos... we don't have them. The bosslady kicked 'em both five minutes after their lawyers arrived. Before you two even made it to JFK. You guys didn't know?"
"No," Qwan said. "Why did Blackbyrd let them go?"
"Because their big shot, mob lawyers showed up with a writ of habius corpus signed by a Federal judge," Emma Blackbyrd herself replied as she strode into the scene. She looked cool and Matrix-like in a long, shiny black leather coat. She looked at Kudlow. "And what the fuck are you doing here? I told you to get over to the Brooklyn courthouse to start on those ISIS warrants."
Kudlow shrugged. "Just wanted to drop some grub by for these two. Hell, they didn't even know..."
"Anything," Michelle Qwan finished, eyeballing Blackbyrd. "Keeping us out of the loop, Emma?"
"Back the hell off, Michelle," Blackbyrd replied. She looked from Qwan to Killian. "I am not even going to begin with the goddamn laundry list of proper procedures you two walked over tonight..."
"We got the job done," Joe Killian replied.
"Bullshit!" Blackbyrd snarled. "You walk into Hermes Air Frieght without a warrant and start a firefight with licensed security guards..."
"And find a kidnapped woman, save her ass and get direct evidence that Valerie Corder is a white slaver," Killian finished.
"Yeah." Blackbyrd took a breath. "You did luck out. And that's the only reason you're not suspended," she looked at Qwan, "and why you're not on a plane back to the Great White Fucking North!"
"Lucky me," Qwan said.
"You two also left the scene of a shooting incident with four dead bodies and seven suspects to question," Blackbyrd said. "And the US Marshal's Service is wondering why you called them in to babysit these perps, while NYPD is wondering what the hell is going on, and so the hell am I!"
"NYPD security might be compromised," Killian said. "Besides anything happening at an airport these days is Federal jurisdiction."
"All right... considering what happened last night at the Plaza, I accept that," a slightly molified Blackbyrd replied.
"Where are the seven ISIS guards anyway?" Qwan asked.
"They're all at Queens General filling up the jail ward," Blackbyrd said. "But we're not geting much out of them. They're all either shot or have the shit kicked out of them!"
Killian and Qwan glanced at each other and smiled. A high five would've been inappropriate.
"So why'd you two leave JFK?" Blackbyrd asked.
"We had to leave the scene to keep up with her." Killian nodded to the exam room next door where Melissa Martin could be seen peaceably sleeping. "We sure as hell weren't going to let her get carted off in an ambulance to God knows where."
Blackbyrd looked through the window glass at the sleeping woman. "Get anything from her yet?"
"Nope," Qwan replied. "They just finished a lot of tests on her and we're waiting for the results. We thought we'd let her sleep a little."
"Okay," Blackbyrd nodded. "We're moving fast on other fronts. We're getting Federal arrest warrants prepared for Hansen and the driver. We're also running their fingerprints and getting search warrants for the offices of Imperial Security in Manhattan, plus all offices of Hermes Air Freight and the Corder Corp."
"Sounds like a plan," Killian allowed.
"Can you two hold out here for another hour?" Blackbyrd asked. "It's gonna take me that long to get a Federal Swat team and some more agents out here to back you two up."
"We can manage," Killian said.
"Good." Blackbyrd smiled at Qwan and Killian. "Sorry I went off on you two like that. You broke regs, but you got the job done. That's the important thing."
"Glad you see it that way," Qwan said.
"I gotta book," Blackbyrd said. "Kudlow, you're with me."
Emma Blackbyrd stalked off down the hospital corridor. Kudlow shrugged sheepishly and handed the bucket of chicken over to Killian before following her.
Qwan went to Killian and pried open the bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken. She selected a drumstick.
"Well?" Killian asked her. "Whaddya think?"
Qwan took a bite. "Finger lickin' good."
***
Linda Hansen knew this particular hell existed, since she had witnessed it many times and even sent others there. But this was her first time as a personal visitor.
She was naked and hanging by her arms, which were strapped to a horizontal iron bar acting as a crosspiece for another iron bar that ran from floor to ceiling.
Leather straps at wrists, elbows and shoulders melded her to the iron, while her legs were splayed wide and pulled tight by two more straps at the ankles.
The small room was all white tile and gray concrete, and existed somewhere in Valerie Corder's suite of rooms at her high-rise condo at The Colonnade on Central Park West.
Valerie Corder was busy herself, working between Linda's legs trying to get her leather crotch strap buckled to the last, impossible notch.
"There!" Corder took a breath and stepped back, admiring how the cruel leather cut so deeply between the folds of Linda's freshly shaved cunt. She knew the obscenely large dildos she had shoved up Linda's anal and vaginal orifices without lubricant were giving her a real thrill as well.
Corder looked up at Linda's pained face, distorted by the huge, rubber plug gag and strap that filled her mouth.
"Are we having fun yet?" Corder asked. She was still dressed in the shiny sheath dress she had been wearing at the party earlier this evening.
Linda looked down at her boss and blinked. No sooner had she arrived here from the Federal Building when four ISIS goons had grabbed her. She had put up a struggle taking out two of them before she was knocked out but had still ended up here.
Corder stroked Linda's cunt-strapped body, running her nails over her belly.
"Do you have any idea how complicated you have made my life?" Corder growled. "Because of you, the Feds have Melissa fuckin' Martin. And when that birdie finally sings, my life is over!"
Well, not over, Linda thought. It simply meant that Valerie Corder would have to disappear, and after a year or so in Europe and a little plastic surgery, a new ultra-rich bitch would show up.
If anybody's life was truly over, it was her own. Val wouldn't kill her of course, but a lifetime of cruel, mind-numbing incarceration in some hellhole was certainly a fate worse than death.
And the hell of it was, this was a fate she didn't even deserve. She hadn't said jack shit to the Feds or that bitch Qwan. Yet right after Qwan interrogated her, she and Killian had blazed on over to JFK and snatched up the Martin cunt. How the hell had they managed that?
She thought of Monkey, but he had been as silent as ever. Unable to even meet her eyes as she had been beaten bloody by the ISIS goons.
"Now, shall we get started?"
Linda opened her eyes to see Corder approach her while flexing a riding crop.
"I thought we'd start with the inside of your legs..." She ran the crop over one of Linda's corded, muscular thighs. She smiled as she saw the flesh pebble up with goosebumps. "Say... sixty strokes apiece?"
"Excuse me, Valerie?" Debbie Watson appeared at the door.
"What?" Corder growled. "I'm busy!"
"It's the Collector," she said. One of Debbie's gifts for long-term survival in Valerie Corder's world was knowing when a phone call was important enough to interrupt a torture session and when it wasn't.
Corder took the call, snatching the secure-line cellphone from Debbie's hand. "Yes?" she hissed.
"Well, aren't we in a chipper mood. Didn't wake you did I?" A woman's voice asked.
Corder took a deep breath to get some control. The Collector was one of her most trusted operatives. An independent abductress and transporter who had never failed her yet. Her current assignment had her out on the west coast trying to get a line on Iwana Binder.
"Not at all," Corder said. "What can I do for you?"
"Good news and bad news about this Binder woman," the Collector replied. "Good news is I can grab her tonight. Bad news is someone else grabbed her first. If you want her I'll have to take out these jokers."
"Any idea who these 'jokers' are?"
"Low level yakuza punks out of San Fran," the Collector replied. "The Seppuku Swords that run with Clan Saotome. They're slavers too. But I can't see them grabbing Binder unless they're working for someone who would make it worth their while."
Corder thought that one over. Were these Japanese bangers working for La Donia Scagnetti? If they were then that meant that her good friend Luci didn't trust Corder enough to nab Iwana Binder for her.
"Val, you there?"
"I'm here," Corder replied. "Go ahead and grab Binder. Take out these punks, but try to find out who's paying the bills first."
"That's a tall order."
"I'll make it worth your while."
"You always do!" The Collector laughed. "Okay, Val. I should be in New York with Binder by morning. See you then."
"I look forward to it," Corder said, looking up at the strapped and naked Linda. "By the way, I need a new security chief. Sure I can't offer you a job with the Corder Corporation?"
"No way, Val. You do offer a good salary with many unique bonuses... but your retirement plan leaves something to be desired. Seeya."
Corder clicked off, looking back to Linda. "Now, where were we?"
"Exuse me, Madam?" It was Debbie proferring another cellphone at Corder.
"I don't care if it's Jesus Christ, take a fucking message," Corder snarled.
"It's Emma Blackbyrd."
"Oh." Corder switched phones with Debbie. "Her I'll talk to." She clicked on. "Emma? Where the hell have you been?"
"Don't give me any shit, Val," Blackbyrd replied. "I hadda get rid of Killian's asshole partner. Now listen up. Qwan and Killian are guarding the Martin woman at the Jamaica Medical Center Hospital in Queens. She's in Exam Room 4 just off the ER. I've delayed their backup for one hour. If you can get your people over there, it'll be just the two of them."
Corder almost felt giddy. "Excellent work, Emma."
"Just don't fuck this up, Val," Blackbyrd continued. "Killian and Qwan made mincemeat of your crew at JFK. Don't try anything fancy. Just kill'em."
"I'm not used to people telling me how to run my business," Corder replied with ice in her voice. "But I will take your advice. Will you be handling the crimescene?"
"Oh yes."
"Good. Then our problems are over." Corder clicked off and tossed the phone back to Debbie. She again looked up at Linda. "See? All that worry for nothing! In less than an hour Qwan, Killian and Martin will be dead. Who says life isn't good?" She took a breath. "Debbie?"
"Yes, Val?"
"Get me Smythe at ISIS. Right away." She smirked at Linda. "I'll be back in a bit. Just... hang around, will you?"
Before leaving, Corder drew back the riding crop and slashed Linda viciously across both her open thighs. Linda screamed into her gag as her tightly strapped body shivered.
Corder watched the welts form up and shivered herself. Then she walked out with Debbie Watson right behind her. The door to the cell slammed shut and was locked, leaving Linda Hansen alone with her pain.
Only then did Linda allow the tears to come.
***
Deep in the canyons of lower Manhattan is a nameless, triangular skyscraper of black glass. Surrounded by other skyscrapers, it is cold, dark and anonymous. The perfect place for the headquarters of the Imperial Security Investigations Service.
Hugo Smythe was running things this night. A cold, humorless man with a checkered past, he sat in Main Control on the 13th floor, supervising the damage control following the snafu at Hermes Air Freight earlier this evening.
When the Red Line trilled for attention, he picked up on the first ring.
"Yes, Ms. Corder?"
"Smythe, whats the situation?"
"As good as can be expected. All incriminating evidence has been removed from known Corder facilities and ISIS offices, and fake computer files have been implanted that will send the authorities on assorted wild goose chases for months."
"Good."
"We do have another problem," Smythe said. "At 22:44 hours, a hacker got into our mainframe. So far this individual has been kept to peripheral programs, but this could turn serious. The timing of this intrusion is close to when Ms. Hansen was arrested a few hours ago."
"Is this a government spook?"
"Our people don't think so. Whoever this individual is, he or she is very good. Better than anything the FBI or CIA has in-house. We're tracking him. We'll have him. Soon."
"Good. Take no action until you check with me," Corder said. "Meanwhile, I need three people to be terminated... within the hour."
"More... damage control, Ms. Corder?"
"Call it what you like," Corder replied. "But I need it done."
"Well, Ms. Corder, you've come to the right place." Smythe allowed himself a rare smile. "Details, please?"
***
It had been a few years since Jeb Stuart had visited Fanni Hall's cabin in the woods. He got lost twice, but at just past two in the morning, he pulled his Ford van up to the cabin's front porch and got out.
He stretched and admired the crescent moon shining on to the glass-like stillness of the lake. it was just as he remembered it.
"Hello, Jeb."
Jeb turned and grinned as Fanni Hall herself walked off the porch. He got a hug and a friendly kiss on the cheek.
"Bunzie Hall!" Jeb took in her leathered curves. "Looking fine!"
"You're holding up as well, sport" Fanni replied. She rubbed his chin. "What happened to the beard?"
"That's long ago and far away!" Jeb chuckled. "How are Drew and Dani?"
"Both asleep," Fanni replied. "Drew helped with the interrogation of Weskler's cooze. We've got alot of solid info that should help us with Jessica McClintock... and Tai Anne Roper."
"Great." He started for the cabin.
"Jebster," Fanni said. "How long have you known that this Tai Anne Roper was my daughter?"
Jeb stopped and sighed. "For awhile now. A friend named Traci Tailor clued me in."
"Of course," Fanni said. "Ms. Tailor was the former partner of Andy Baltimore."
"I took it on myself to... look after Tai," Jeb said. "A few years ago when she was on a field trip to Cambodia, she got captured by local insurgents. I rescued her, and that's when we first really met."
"And you never told me?"
"That was a tough one," Jeb replied. "But Tai had her life and you had yours... and Dani." He shrugged. "I'm sorry if I made the wrong choice."
"What's done is done." Fanni came to Jeb and wrapped her arm inside his. "Right now the important thing is to get my new found daughter out of harms way."
They walked together into the cabin.
Meanwhile, a black Hummer H2 was being slowly driven up the dirt road leading to the cabin. Una Puma was driving, while Ana Puma had her head stuck out the window sniffing the air.
"Stop! We're close!" she hissed to her sister. Her ultra-sensitive olfactory senses had tracked the van and the scent she had placed on the tire across Manhattan, into New Jersey and finally here to these woods.
Una pulled the Hummer into the damp and dark piney woods. Then both sisters got out and went to the back gate, where they unzipped a couple of duffle bags.
First the Pumas changed out of their leather catsuits and into green US Army issue cammie jumpers. Although no soldier of the US Army ever filled out these clothes as well as the Pumas did as they buckled and tightened them on to their bodies.
The Pumas then went for the hardware. M16-A1 carbines with doubled 30-round clips and 40mm grenade launchers under each barrel, followed by rucksacks full of ammo and even a couple of LAWS rockets shrugged over their shoulders.
Looking like a couple of retro Rambettes, the Pumas skulked into the woods towards the cabin.
***
"Coffee?" Fanni asked.
"You know it," Jeb replied. He watched in the light of the fire in the fireplace as Fanni poured him a steaming mug followed by a dash of Jack Daniels black label. Jeb took a grateful sip.
"You want to go over the stuff we got out of Weskler's chicklet?" Fanni asked.
"Yeah." Jeb palmed his cellphone. "But first I really need to call the Missus..."
***
If it's a little after 2 am on Wednesday in New Jersey, that means it a little after 11 pm Tuesday in San Francisco.
A still straitjacketed Kate Stuart continued to futilely hum nonsense into the rubber ball that was strapped into her mouth. The only reason she had quit fighting her canvas restraints was that her crotch strap was beginning to chafe.
She still sat on the couch in Dr. Yoshiko Katsuhara Roper's apartment adjacent to her office. Her fellow captives were long gone and were no doubt getting on with their lives, while she was waiting to be picked up and taken to the Convent for Sequestered Girls.
She looked up as Yoshiko sat down next to her with a cellphone in her hand.
"You're husband wants to talk to you," Yoshiko said, unbuckling the strap and pulling the rubber out of her mouth. "Now be nice!"
The phone was put to her ear.
"Honey, that you?" Jeb's voice asked.
"Don't you honey me, buster!" Kate replied. "You tell your friends the Ropers to just cut me the hell loose! Right now!"
"Sorry, dear, but that's not in the cards."
"Really?! Who do you think you are..."
"And who do you think you are?" Jeb said. "Playing detective. Skulking around town when some very dangerous people are looking for a way to get to me. You were supposed to be home protecting our children."
"Jeb..."
"I want you safe, Katherine," Jeb said. "I love you with all my heart and if something ever happened to you..."
"Right, you love me so much you're going to have me incarcerated with a bunch of dominatrix nuns!"
Well, dear," Jeb chuckled. "That was a fate you were all to happy to impose upon Tai Anne. Now you can get a taste of your own medicine."
"Jeb!"
"I love you, Kate," Jeb said. "Don't worry, I'll be by to collect you in a couple of weeks... or months."
"Jeb!!!" But he had already clicked off.
"Perfect timing," Glenna Jane Roper said, walking up to Kate "Your ride is here."
Kate swallowed hard and looked past Glenna Jane as three women in long, fitted black leather coats stepped out of the shadows.
"Greetings, Kate." The lead woman said. She was an older black woman with a mass of dreadlocks, who spoke with a quiet authority. "I am Mother Grace." She nodded to either side. "These are Sisters Faith and Charity." She smiled. "We're here to take you to your new home."
***
Greenbrae Airfield is located about twenty or so miles north of San Francisco, up in the green headlands of Marin County. What makes it popular is that one of its runways is long enough to take small, corporate jets. It was even rumored that George Lucas used thie airfield to fly in and out of nearby Skywalker Ranch.
This night, a red Mitsubishi Eclipse and a neon green Toyota MR2 pulled through the open gates and drove among the parked private planes to the hangers. No one would see them enter or leave. It was all part of the deal Joe Weskler had with the airfield's owners.
The cars stopped before a wide hanger door that trolleyed back just enough to admit the two cars and then close back up.
Michiko Kazakami sat in the passenger side of the Eclipse looking about. The hanger lights revealed a waiting Gulfstream II private jet that belonged to Joseph Weskler. It was identical to the one she had loaded the tranked Kunta Kintare on earlier today.
The yakuza punks who were driving squealed their rides to a halt and got out. Michiko followed. There was no sign of the flight crew or Weskler's usual security.
Michiko's cruel eyes narrowed. She didn't like this one bit.
Suddenly there was a hollow slap of sound, and one of the two yakuzas dropped to the concrete dead.
Michiko and the remaining yakuza looked about helplessly. There had been no muzzleflash and the silencered weapon had been so efficient that the only noise had been the bullet smacking into the yakuza's head.
The other yakuza managed to get out his MAC-10 machinepistol, but an instant later he was dead before he could even work the bolt.
Michiko swallowed hard. She had taken cover behind the Eclipse, but she knew if she tried to make a break for it she would be dead. Besides, her only weapons were the syringes she kept strapped to the inside of her forearms in spring loaded holsters.
She knew her only hope was to get the sniper close enough for her to use them.
She smiled. Time to play the game once more.
She stood up with her hands raised, stepping away from the car.
"Please not to shoot!" she screamed piteously. "I am surrendering!"
She took a breath and waited.
There was another hollow slap and Michiko felt a sharp stab of pain in her upper right leg, just below the hem of her short skirt.
Michiko looked down and saw a long, brass trank dart jammed deep into her thigh. She yelped and yanked it out, but she could tell the dose had already been delivered and was now surging through her veins. She managed to get two steps towards the Eclipse before collapsing to the floor unconscious.
From a dark corner of the hanger, a lone woman stepped out and walked towards the bodies. She was a tall and quite beautiful in a exotic way. Dusky skinned with a long mane of flowing, curly black hair. A delicate Maori ta moko tattoo traced the right side of her face. She wore an oilskin duster over tight, well-worn leathers.
She was the Collector. A legend in the international skin trade. She worked independent, although right now Valerie Corder was paying the bills.
She carried a customized version of the USAF M-6 Survival rifle. It was made of lightweight aluminium and stainless steel with a skeleton stock. The twin over/under barrels were only eighteen inches long including the angelbreath silencer.
The top barrel fired a 7mm Remington high-velocity round. The lower barrel fired a 7mm Vertagg trank dart powered by a Co2 cartridge.
The Collector quickly broke down the rifle by snapping off the barrels from the receiver, removing the silencer and inserting them into the hollow stock. The weapon was now a slender package less than 14 inches long, easily concealed in the shoulder rig under her left arm.
She checked the bodies. She relieved the dead yakuza punks of the their car keys and the Japanese girl of the syringes strapped to her arms.
The Collector checked the trunks of the cars, finding the unconscious Iwana Binder in the trunk of the Eclipse. She touched Iwana's neck and found a pulse.
Now came the hard part. The only downside to working solo and not having a few goons to order about. She hefted Iwana out of the trunk and slipped her over her shoulder with a grunt. The girl was no lightweight.
The Collector carried her up the hatch steps and into the cabin of the Gulfstream. She placed Iwana into a comfy seat and went to get the Japanese girl, who was a considerably lighter load to bear.
She then dragged the bodies of the yakuza punks to the hanger's utility closet to join the bodies of the Gulfstream's original flight crew and the three security goons she had taken out after her call to Valerie Corder. It was getting to be quite a crowd in there.
Then it was back to the Gulfstream to get the engines warmed up and go through pre-flight. Then she went to the cabin and used some of the handy restraining devices to secure her two passengers.
Iwana got a heavy leather locking harness that buckled tightly over her shoulders, around her breasts and cinched into her belly. A nice crotchstrap finished her off nicely. Her arms were strapped behind her, right wrist to left arm and vice-versa, with straps also at elbows and forearms. More straps at knees and ankles, finished off by a head harness with attached plug gag and blinders.
The adorable little Japanese girl got a leather armbinder with straps across the shoulders and a crotchstrap that was too tight. Straps at knees and ankles for sure, a rubber ballgag that barely fit her small mouth and a latex blinder.
The Collector stepped back to admire her handiwork. A job worth doing is a job worth doing well!
She looked at her watch. It was 11:30 now. If she got airborne in a few ticks, it would be a seven hour flight to New York -adding three hours for the time zones putting her in Fun City around 9:30 in the morning, EST.
Humming to herself, the Collector went to the cockpit and keyed the remote to open the hanger doors. She taxied the Gulfstream out on to the runway and throttled up the twin R-R turbine jet engines.
There were no air traffic controllers to worry about, and once airborne the Collector could bullshit the regional ATCs who would guide her east. She even had a full load of gas that would get her to NYC without refueling.
The Gulfstream made a clean takeoff. The Collector steered the plane east on a heading of 90 degrees, ultimately reaching an altitude of 41,000 feet and a speed of 400 mph.
She set the automatic pilot and leaned back to get a little shuteye. It had been a helluva long night.