Maelstrom Page 2

  Vachlan stared at the small tooth in his son’s outstretched hand. He reached out and took it between his thumb and forefinger. He held the incisor up and stared at its silhouette in the dimly lit room. He looked back to the gap-toothed grin of his little boy, and felt overwhelmed by emotion. The desire to share the experience of the lost tooth with Visola was so strong that it hurt. Feeling a prickle in the back of his eyes, he closed them briefly and cleared his throat, where a lump was developing. “I’m proud of you, champ.”

  Ronan was surprised when his father enveloped him in a giant hug, but he quickly returned the embrace, curling up against his father’s side and nestling his head in the crook of the man’s shoulder. “Daddy, do I get a prize if I put it under the pillow? Is that how I get the flamethrower, from the tooth-fairy?”

  “Yes,” Vachlan said, kissing his son’s forehead and placing the tooth under the pillow, beside Visola’s gun. Then he wrinkled his brow in thought. “Well, maybe not a flamethrower. Maybe a crossbow, or some grenades.”

  “Yay!” Ivory shouted, violently seizing her spot on Vachlan’s other side to avoid being left out. She smiled and wrapped her tiny arms around Vachlan’s chest with as much strength as she could muster, giving him a vicious hug.

  The older man could not help but smile at her aggressiveness. Ivory’s energetic ways clearly betrayed her to be her mother’s daughter. Receiving a Visola-style hug from this miniature version of his wife should have eased his agitated heart, but it just made him miss her even more. He slipped his gun back under the pillow so that he could ruffle Ivory’s auburn hair. Feeling the soft red curls beneath his rough hand, he frowned. The organs in his chest felt like they were spinning around within his ribcage, and smashing into each other like bumper cars. He could not remember ever having felt so unsettled.

  “Why are you mad, Daddy?” Ivory whispered in the dark. “Did we do something wrong?”

  “No, sweetheart,” Vachlan said, sighing and hugging her against him. He reached down to kiss her forehead as well. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

  “Can we sleep here tonight?” Ronan asked. “Please!”

  Vachlan found himself nodding before he could vocalize his assent. “Sure, kiddo. There’s a lot more room here in this big bed, lately.” He realized that, in this moment, he probably needed the touch and cuddles from his children more than they needed his affection. The two adorable innocents had bundled around him, bringing plenty of love and good energy—it was easing his headache and anxiety much more than any medication had managed to do in the past few days.

  “When’s Mommy coming home?” Ivory asked again, in a sleepy voice.

  Vachlan studied the ceiling, seeking answers. “I don’t know,” he said miserably.

  “Is she on her way back from outer space?” Ronan asked. He put his thumb in his mouth, poking around at the spot where the tooth used to be.

  Tightening his arm around his son, Vachlan sighed. “I certainly hope so, Ronan.”

  Chapter 2: She Deserves Retribution

  A pair of black combat boots pounded the pavement with surefire purpose. Dozens of armored boots followed soundlessly, keeping in perfect stride behind their leader. Filling the steel-reinforced footwear were solid calves that rippled in flawless synchronicity. Attached to these calves were thick, burly thighs, which heaved and alternated in a dogged, relentless rhythm. Erect torsos, with abdominals not too dissimilar from brick walls, floated gracefully forward, presenting the illusion of being carried on liquid limbs. Most importantly, severe faces with utter devotion to their objective, and sinewy arms carrying the necessary tools and weapons for success, drew nearer to their destination, moving as a single, unstoppable unit.

  These warriors were not driven by motivations of a financial nature, or patriotic duty; they were not compelled by any tangible force. It was the woman spearheading the operation that filled them with fire and bile. They drew on her emotions, inspired by the way she clenched her jaw and fist. They clung to her decisions, recognizing something holy in her altered mental state. All her capacities were heightened in her madness, and she was somehow more than just a woman. Her warriors had each become an extension of her body. They felt what she felt. They moved according to her will. Their purpose was the purest of sorts. Revenge. Revenge on a nation. Revenge on a people. Revenge of any kind; damage of any conceivable measure that could possibly amount to the loss that had been suffered. Punishment. It was only fair. It was merely what the universe owed her. She was from a place where the holy people taught balance in all things. They said that everything the earth took from a person, the sea would someday return. But this time, the land had taken too much. There was nothing else to do.

  She would punish the world.

  Marching stealthily in the darkness, the woman turned back to her warriors. She waved her hand to indicate where each person should move in order to properly penetrate the power station. Their Japanese features displayed acknowledgement, but their boots did not even squeak as the men swiftly dispersed. The woman crouched down as she approached the gates, and waited for a full minute for all of her men to take their positions. Once she felt adequately covered, she pressed a button on a large panel on her forearm to indicate that she was about to take action. Dozens of green lights appeared on the small LCD screen, signaling that the coast was clear.

  The dark-haired woman reached into the holster at her thighs, removing a small weapon with one hand, and an electronic master key. She used the key to open up the gates, and placed her gun in the crack between the doors, using the barrel to push it open. She carefully slipped her body inside, positioning herself behind her weapon and making sure to check every angle from which she could be approached. She frowned when she saw that there were several security guards in the courtyard who had already been killed. They had not been killed by her men. Her own weapons contained a fast-acting neurotoxin in tranquilizer darts, not lethal bullets. Lately, she had been feeling rather insane with rage—but not this insane. Frowning, she quickened her pace as she began to jog toward the central control room of the power station. More and more bodies seemed to litter the area, and it was obvious that the security guards of the power station had fallen hard and fast—before they had even been able to draw their weapons.

  It was evident to her that this could only be the handiwork of one person. One very dangerous, volatile person. Lifting her gun to eye level, the woman cautiously crept forward, trying to ignore her heart beating in her ears. She saw a door that was slightly ajar, and heard large smashing noises coming from within, followed by electronic beeping. Moving forward rapidly, she tried to breathe as quietly and calmly as possible. Shoving her weapon into the tiny space between the door and the wall, she carefully advanced into the room.

  Before she could take a step, a large hand had clamped around the barrel of the gun and pulled her forward. She found an elbow slamming into the back of her neck, and a knee against her lower back. Her face smashed against the cold, sticky floor, and she gasped as the air was forced out of her lungs. She felt the chilled circle of a gun nozzle placed against her temple.

  “Don’t shoot!” she said desperately. “It’s me.” She felt the shooter hesitate, and she was almost sure that her opponent’s finger had already begun to squeeze the trigger before being halted by the sound of a familiar voice.

  “Yamako.” The voice that spoke this acknowledgement was as cold as steel and much more bitter. “Why are you here?”

  The Japanese princess exhaled and shifted her body on the ground so that she could stare up into the expressionless face of General Visola Ramaris. For a moment, her heart caught in her throat—the empty jade eyes and grim red lips were identical to those which had belonged to her dead lover. For a moment, she wanted to go to her, and trick herself into believing that Sionna still lived. Instead, she managed to croak out, “You’re doing it wrong.” Taking a ragged breath, she cleared her throat. “I’m here to help shut down the electrical grids.”


  Visola turned away, and headed back to the control panel. She picked up a giant sledgehammer and returned to smashing the machinery.

  “That’s not effective!” Princess Yamako shouted in exasperation. “For Sedna’s sake, Visola.”

  The furious redhead turned to look at her sharply. “Get away from me. You shouldn’t be here.”

  “This is precisely where I should be.”

  Swinging her arms one final time, Viso plunged the entire power station into darkness. The only light in the room was the dim glow of the electronic arm band worn by the Japanese princess. Yamako could see the green glint of Visola’s eyes flashing at her with fury.

  “I know what I’m doing,” the general said. “Don’t fucking get in my way.”

  Yamako sighed. “Will you listen to me for a moment? This is temporary. You destroyed the hardware, but it can be easily repaired. Granted, it’s pretty important hardware, and the parts will take some time to replace. But there are tons of backup generators. This won’t slow them down for as long as you need.”

  “How did you find me?” Visola snarled.

  “I can find anyone,” Yamako said with a shrug. “Listen, Viso. You need me. I can get you way more intelligence than you could possibly find on your own.”

  Visola was hoisting a weapon against her shoulder as she peered through the window of the control room. “Why are there guns pointed at me?”

  “I brought a team with me,” Yamako explained. “They’re covering us.”

  Visola arched an eyebrow. “They’re amateurs. I could spot them from a mile away.”

  “They’re not just warriors. These men are field engineers and programmers. I went to school with some of them in Japan, and others are specially trained Ningyo warriors. We can help you, Viso.”

  “I don’t need your help,” Visola spat. “What do you take me for? I don’t need fucking electrical-engineer-ninja-mermaids.”

  “Yes, you do!” Yamako insisted. She used her elbow to push herself off the ground and pointed at Visola accusingly. “With your methods, you could put about eight million people out of power for a week. Sure, it’s no small feat, and it will allow you barely enough time to carry out your plans. But with my methods, you could have eighty million people without power. For several months.”

  Visola hesitated.

  Seeing her opportunity, Princess Yamako rose to her full height—which wasn’t much—and stepped closer. She pulled a small microchip out of her bra. “See this? Just one small bug, Viso—one tiny little virus is enough to give you what you need. Something similar caused the Northeast blackout of 2003. You want riots and massacres? You want mayhem and anarchy? I’m your woman. Take away their refrigeration and they’ll lose their civilization. We can sit back and watch as they turn on their neighbors and kill each other for a bit of a food. How else does one bring down a giant?”

  Visola narrowed her eyes.

  “It’s easy,” Yamako whispered. “Just give me the word, honey. You don’t even need to go anywhere and get your hands dirty. The entire electrical grid is run on software. It can all be accessed remotely. And hacked remotely. Just trust me, sweetie: This tiny bit of metal in my hand is enough to start the end of the world.”

  The general’s pink tongue darted out and slowly ran over her top lip. Her lips then pressed together to share the moisture, as if hungrily preparing for a scrumptious meal. Even in the dark silence of the control room, where the only sound and light came from the fizzing and flickering of destroyed equipment hissing its final breaths, the microchip in Yamako’s hand seemed to glow with the promise of far greater destruction. Visola looked into the eyes of the Japanese princess, and saw the reflection of the dancing sparks, along with a glimmer of sadism—the latter might have been her own emotions mirrored back at her, but she could not be sure. A few gunshots distracted Visola from her thoughts, signifying that it was time to go. The redhead stepped forward and pushed past Yamako. “I work better on my own,” she stated simply.

  “Viso!” Yamako shouted, following after the woman frantically. “You can’t do this without me! Most of the organizations you intend to target specifically have backup generators anyway. Even after I mess with the RTOs and ITOs, cutting the power for almost 100 million people, we will have more work to do. We’ll need to carefully plan the attacks on the big boys, once they are too focused on protecting their people to remember that they’re sitting ducks. If we plan this correctly, we can…”

  “There is no we!” Visola shouted, swiveling sharply. She slung her weapon over her shoulder, sending Yamako a finite look. “Do you understand me? I’m doing this alone. Get the hell out of my face, and keep out of my way.”

  “I can give you Washington D.C.!” Yamako shouted. “I can give you D.C..”

  Visola turned back to look over her shoulder in a skeptical but interested way. Her lips parted slightly, as though she were considering the offer—she looked as though she might be deciding between having waffles and pancakes for breakfast. “No,” she finally said. “I will take it on my own. I can get around more quickly without you and your band of nerdy-ninjas getting underfoot and slowing me down.”

  “Damn you!” Princess Yamako said bitterly, flicking a few tears from the corner of her eyes. “You and your fucking selfish pride! You act like you’re the only one who lost her. You act like you’re the only one she meant anything to. I loved her. I deserve my own chance at retribution, Visola Ramaris. You won’t deny me that!”

  Visola swiveled suddenly and put her hand to Yamako’s throat, slamming her into the wall. Sirens began blazing throughout the hallway, sending red flashing lights over the faces of the two women. The coloring enhanced the bloodshot veins in Visola’s eyes, accentuating the madness that had taken over every corner of her being. “You’re a child playing at vengeance, Yamako. This isn’t a game that you can win with your fancy gadgets and gizmos. This is fucking war. Get. Out. Of. My. Way.”

  Princess Yamako’s dark eyes began to water. “I loved your sister,” she whispered tenderly. She lifted a hand to encircle Visola’s wrist around her neck as she struggled to choke out her words. “I understand why you’re like this. I loved Sionna too.”

  Visola’s eyes widened in horror, as though someone had just spoken the secret name of God. She stepped away as though she had been struck. “Don’t say her name!”

  Yamako looked down for a moment, unable to bear the pain on Visola’s face. Partly because she felt the same way, and partly because Visola’s face was too familiar, too indistinguishable from the woman who had been so brutally killed. Ghosts of the past came rushing back to the princess in Visola’s every scowl and glare—yet, this was the preferred situation. Yamako felt like she might fall to her knees in grief and be unable to stand ever again if Visola were to smile. Luckily, that did not seem to be a very plausible event. “Please,” Yamako said quietly. “We’re stronger together. This needs to be done correctly. Please, let us help. Vachlan and Dylan have prepared plans, and Aazuria wants to…”

  “They’re all useless to me,” Visola whispered.

  Yamako did not look up, for she could hear the chilling expression on the redhead’s face.

  As unlikely as it seemed to be, Visola smiled. It was a disturbed and deranged smile; one which a woman might wear while standing on train tracks with her legs spread wide apart, waiting with anticipation for the impact. It was evident that she was either positive that she could stop the train with the power and precision of her thoughts, or in her heightened state of madness, she was completely invulnerable to being slammed, crushed, or flattened. Indeed, Yamako believed that a barreling train would not make a scratch on Visola. She feared for the locomotive that dared to try.

  As gunshots sounded throughout the power station, Visola did not even flinch or seek their source. “They’re all soft,” the redhead declared. “They have families. They have responsibilities. They have lives. They can’t commit to this the same way that I can. Sionna was everything to me
.”

  “Then we’re in the same boat,” Yamako said harshly. “I can commit. You know I can. Please, Viso. If we work together, we can sick the armies of the oceans on more than just the CIA. We can sink New York down into the sea. Chicago and Detroit are on the water, and we can take them down as well. Miami, Houston, Los Angeles. You name it, and we will crush it.”

  Visola stared at the Japanese woman for several seconds without blinking. “I’m going to avenge my sister. I’m the only one who can do what needs to be done. Go home, Yamako. Go home to your son. Don’t worry. I’ll crush everything that needs to be crushed. By the time Kaito is an adult, the United States will be a distant memory.” Visola rotated her body and began to walk away again. “I will wipe that abomination off the map, or die trying.”

  “What a shame!” Yamako shouted after her viciously. “Sio deserved more. She deserved the best retribution that we could give her, and you’re half-assing this because you don’t want to depend on other people? I thought you were better than this, Visola. I thought you were stronger than this!”

  Visola clenched and unclenched a fist around her weapon. She then turned and lifted her gun to point it at Yamako’s face. “And just how could I do this better?” she demanded.

  “Maximize your resources,” Yamako said, flinching slightly as she looked past the barrel of the gun. “If you don’t want to talk to Zuri and Vachlan, if you don’t want to drag Adlivun and all of Oceanus into this—then you need to go to him—you need to seek out Leviathan. You need to go to the rebels, the gangs, and the wayward warriors of the water. You need to go to him. You need backup. You need armies!”

  Swallowing a lump of disgust, Visola growled softly. She imagined that her sister had told Princess Yamako the story of her fleeting romance with the former Prince of Atlantis. This memory added fuel to her already raging fire of wrath.