Our suite at the Westin was standard ‘business hotel luxe’, if that makes sense. Nice, but nothing particularly memorable. It did have a view of the baseball park where the band was going to play the next couple of nights, if that was any sort of plus. I’d kinda hoped in the back of my mind that we’d be staying in that hotel that has the glass-bottomed pool stretching between two towers, but oh, well. Maybe next time, right?
Although Emmy had slept most of the flight, she wanted a nap the moment we got settled in to our room. That was good as far as I was concerned- the more rest and recovery the better. Once I had her tucked in and sleeping, I set up my laptop in the suite’s living room to catch up on my work and other communications.
As far as actual work issues, the only real standout was with the real estate investment trust. Sheryl Thompson, the Head of the REIT, told me in her email that in light of my recent news and social media infamy a number of investors have pulled out, but amusingly, quite a number of new investors from the tech industry had expressed interest and had dumped money into our fund, to the tune of well over a quarter of a billion dollars net swing.
“Nearly all of them mentioned the fact that you’re an unbelievable badass,” Sheryl had written. “It’s crazy.”
I emailed her back, expressing my concern with absorbing that much capital all at once, suggesting that she should talk to our property management Heads about offering to buy out some of our larger property owners to bring those in-house. It was a long shot, but the simple truth is that finding that much residential real estate was going to be a challenge. Sure, we could run out and buy a bunch of houses, but the market had been slowing for a while and the returns would be a lot harder to find in the detached home field.
As far as personal communications, I finally got around to writing real, substantive emails to the many people that had sent me condolences of one sort or another. It wasn’t that I’d been ignoring people like Donny and Sana, or Grandma, or the Athertons- not at all. It’s just that I’d responded to their emails and texts with fairly short, factual replies. Now that I had time to sit down and write in peace, I could explain what was happening in much greater detail. Everybody deserved that, at the very least.
Eventually I ran out of excuses and texted Mr Han to let him know I’d like to have dinner with him if he was there in Houston already.
He responded fairly quickly, making sure that we were both in the same hotel, and agreeing to dinner later that evening.
That done, I shot an email to my lawyer asking for any updates. I figured that no news from him meant no news, but it was good to check anyway.
Pleased that I was caught up with everything, I dipped my toe into the group chat text stream that was the Saturday drive group’s ongoing string.
I didn’t bother reading back through all of the literally hundreds of texts that I’d ignored. I just skipped back and perused the last twenty or so to see where the conversation had gone. Evidently I’d missed Teddy Bear crashing his new limited edition Corvette, so I posed the question of how it had happened. This prompted a flurry of ‘She’s alive!’ snarky texts, but I did manage to get the details involving another driver who ran wide on La Tuna and clipped Teddy Bear’s front fender, sending him into the guardrail.
“The car’s a complete write-off,” Teddy Bear explained.
“Well, that sucks,” I commiserated. “But if you want to spend your insurance money on some fine German machinery, let me know. I’ll cut you a really good deal.”
“I can’t even imagine TB behind the wheel of anything imported,” Stephen posted. “Much less a BMW.”
“Hey, I’d be more than happy to sell him a Porsche, if that’s what he wants,” I said.
“No way! You’re buying that Porsche dealership after all?” Jimmy chimed in.
“Yeah, I’ve had my manager at Temecula BMW looking over the financials and he’s willing to move in to manage the new shop. I think we can turn it around.” I replied.
“Let me know when you buy yourself a Ferrari dealership, Liz! My baby needs some TLC and I’m pissed off at the guys in Glendale right now”, Jimmy shot back.
“Don’t hold your breath. Ferrari is very cultish about their ownership rules.” I said.
“Yeah, that’s no lie”, Jimmy agreed.
“Said by a member of said cult”, Stein chimed in.
“Yeah, that’s no lie”, Jimmy responded again.
It went on like this for a while- just a bunch of friends shooting the breeze and giving each other a hard time. Thankfully nobody brought up Angela, and I wasn’t about to do so, either.
Emmy finally woke from her nap, coming out to see what I was chuckling at.
“It is good to see you laugh,” she said, running her fingers through my hair and stroking my cheek.
“It’s good to laugh,” I replied, leaning into her hand.
“I am certain I will find my way back to a place of laughter, but I am afraid I am not there yet,” Emmy said, her voice sorrowful.
“It’ll happen, babe,” I replied, placing my hand on hers. “It’ll just take a while.”
“I know,” Emmy agreed. Sitting down on the arm of my easy chair, she asked what it was that I’d found funny, so I told her that the Saturday driving group was in fine form in the group chat.
“I am very glad you have friends,” Emmy said.
“Hey, babe, you have friends, too,” I said, my voice soft. “Have any of them reached out to you?”
“Yes, but I have been… ignoring them,” she admitted. “I could not face telling them what happened.”
“Maybe it’s time,” I suggested. “Talking to people might help you get your head right. Don’t shut the world away, Em. I know it’s trite, but it’s true what they say- a burden shared is a burden lessened.”
“Yes, I know you are correct, but it has been very hard,” Emmy protested. “It hurts so very much.”
“I know it does. I know it does,” I said, pulling her down onto my lap. I was a little bit worried that I’d hurt her, but she didn’t complain as she dropped into my arms. “Em, there are a lot of people who care very deeply for you. Not just me and not just Mamá, but Jenna and Andy, Jackson, Lee, Jen, my mom and sister, your parents… It’s a decent-sized list. Shutting them out does nobody any good, babe. Walling off your feelings doesn’t make the hurt go away.” I kissed her cheek and nuzzled her neck. “What you’re feeling is very real- I’m feeling it, too, but you can’t make it your whole world. Open yourself up to the people who love you. Angela wouldn’t want you to continue to suffer, would she?”
Realizing I was expecting an answer, Emmy said, “No, of course she would not. She would never wish for anyone to suffer.”
“Something Rafael said that really struck home was exactly that. I was sort of feeling that I was… I don’t know, honoring Angela’s memory, in a way, by feeling miserable. You know, like if I wasn’t sad, I must not have really loved her or something, if that makes sense. But he pointed out that Angela wasn’t like that. She wouldn’t want me to be sad out of some sense of loyalty. Once Rafael pointed that out, I started thinking that he was right, and I’d actually be honoring her memory more by being happy.” Emmy started to object, but I shushed her.
“It isn’t like I flipped a switch or anything like that, and I still feel sad when I think about how she should have had another sixty years. But I try to turn my thoughts to good memories instead, and let her bring yet one more smile to my face,” I said. “Like her dad said, that’s what Ange would have wanted us to do.”
Tears welled up in Emmy’s eyes as I spoke. She wiped them away, then said, “Yes, that is the person that she was,” Emmy agreed. “And Papá is very correct. But for me, the loss is still too strong for me to think such thoughts just yet. I will try to do as you say, but it will take me time.”
“It will for me, too,” I admitted. “But even doing it very intentionally still helps. I think I’ll be sad and miss her for the rest of my life, but I’m going to try to keep sweet, smiling Angela in my mind and heart.”
“I will try, as well,” Emmy said, a sad smile forming on her face.
We sat for a while in silence before Emmy said, “I will also follow your advice on reaching out. I realize now that I have been very selfish. In my mind I have been making her death into a story about my own loss and suffering, and that is not fair to Angela, or to any of the people that knew and loved her.”
I didn’t say anything, just gave her a little squeeze to let her know I was listening.
“Mamá and Papá said that we should return to Cartagena after the tour. I think I would like that,” she said after a little while. “I felt close to Angela there, even if she was no longer with us. And, of course, to Mamá and Papá and Cecy. It felt like home.”
“It does feel like home,” I agreed. “I say we do it, but… I’m going to have to go take care of things pretty much right after the tour, you know.”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“When you say ‘take care of things’, you are speaking of seeking revenge, no?”
“Revenge, and answers, and to destroy whatever power structure managed to project force the way they did. Simply wiping out the known members of the New York cell won’t be enough- we need to make sure that that whole network is demolished. If we don’t do that, we’ll never feel safe,” I said. “We need complete, uncontested control of at least North America, and hopefully South America, too.”
“Is that why you sent Grant and those two Marines away? To attack the New York group?” Emmy asked.
“No- to train our hitters to attack the New York group. This can’t be an operation by four Special Forces soldiers. It has to be Night Children who actually do the job. Of course I’ll have to be there, but Grant and the other day walkers will be support, that’s all. Our people need that sense of victory,” I explained, “and when word gets out to the other Night Children nations, they need to hear that outsiders weren’t a factor.”
“Are you certain you are not really a Night Child born?” Emmy asked, a teasing smile on her face. “You think so much like one.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said, giving her a kiss. “In a related topic, I have a dinner meeting with Mr Han. You know, the guy I trained with in Singapore? He came all the way to meet me here in Houston.”
“He did? Why?”
“I have a couple of guesses, but that’s all they are at this point,” I admitted. “First and foremost, I expect he’s going to yell at me for the security breakdown that allowed the attack to be as successful as it was. Back in Singapore he talked about me coming back to train some more, so he clearly thinks of me as some sort of student or protege or something, right?”
“That seems to be a lot of travel and expense to do something he can manage over a FaceTime call,” Emmy said, dubious.
“Something I’ve come to learn about the spy world is that nobody communicates a damned thing any way but in person,” I said. “FaceTime won’t do, but face to face will.”
“Mr Han is a spy?” Emmy asked, intrigued.
“He’s a Singaporean military intelligence officer, so, yeah,” I replied.
“And he thinks of you as his protege? I find this makes me a bit concerned,” Emmy said.
“In the last few months I’ve been the subject of interest of Mr Han- but honestly, I don’t know how much of that is in any sort of official capacity, Emiliano Suárez, who likely works for the CIA or some org like that, and Colonel Bridger in the UK, who is definitely acting in his official capacity as an intelligence officer who actively wants to recruit me,” I said. “I’m like some sort of international incident just waiting to happen.”
Emmy laughed and said, “I know for a fact that my father has been contacted by the French DGSE on a number of occasions in regard to his business interests outside of France. Have you told him about your incidents?”
“Maybe your dad and I should start our own James Bond villain organization. We’ll give it a name made up of some sort of silly acronym, like S.M.A.S.H.- Special Mercenaries Against something something. We’ll have to work out the details later,” I said.
“I love it!” Emmy said. “I can be a villainess named Smooth Kitty!”
“You’re not just any smooth kitty,” I told her, nuzzling her long, slender dancer’s neck. “You’re my Smooth Kitty.”
“I will need to have monograms sewn into the cuffs of my shirts,” Emmy mused. “And learn how to throw my beret.”
“I think we’re onto something here,” I said, pleased to see an honest smile on Emmy’s face. “We need to start drawing up plans.”
“I will work on it while you have dinner with Mr Han,” Emmy said. “But I could use some help… I should ask Andy and Jenna if they mind if I invite myself to dinner with them.”
“I think that’s a great idea, babe. Make sure to go someplace they have paper napkins so you can write your ideas down.”
Emmy did wind up having dinner with Jenna and Andy (and our four bodyguards) at the hotel’s steakhouse, while I met Mr Han in the lobby and we walked about half a mile to a different steak and seafood place that was famed for its dim lighting and large booths, ensuring a degree of privacy.
“You are barely limping at all,” Mr Han commented as we walked. “If I didn’t know to look for it I would not notice it at all. Was the injury not as severe as reported?”
“Thankfully the knife only went a few inches into the side of my quad,” I said, tapping my leg. “It still hurts a bit, but I’ve been making sure that I don’t let it affect my movement at all.”
Mr Han was silent for a little while as we walked. “Do your enemies have eyes on you at all?”
“I doubt it, but it’s hard to know for certain. I suspect they’re paying attention to every little bit of information they can get from whatever press or media say about us, but I have a hard time imagining they have the means to have feet on the ground.”
“Still, these sorts of mind games can be very effective,” he said, gesturing at my legs, which I took to mean my lack of evident suffering from my injury.
“I certainly hope so, but honestly, my intended audience is everybody else watching from the sidelines,” I said.
After we settled into the oversized and overstuffed booth and had gotten our drink orders in, Mr Han set down the menu.
“Twenty ounce T Bone? That’s almost six hundred grams, right? I think I would have a coronary if I ate all that! How do you Americans do it?” he asked.
“We’re big and fat,” I said with a shrug. “We’re used to eating too much.”
He shook his head in dismay, leaning back to let the waitress set our drinks down. “I guess people can get used to anything.”
“Changing the topic,” I said, “It’s too bad you didn’t come to visit in Los Angeles. I could have taken you to some restaurants that have Night Children working there.”
“We found several of them in Kuala Lumpur, as you suggested we might,” he replied. “One of them seems suitable and willing to work with us.”
“It’ll snowball, at least a little bit. Once you get him in and nicely settled, you can use him to show how well you’ll treat any others who wish to come onboard,” I said.
“This is what you are doing?”
“What we’re doing is far, far beyond that,” I said, sipping my surprisingly good Old Fashioned. “We’re bringing all that we can find into our community- all of those who want to join, anyhow, and most do once they see the advantages. I give them jobs, healthcare, education, living accommodations… All they have to do is live up to my expectations, and of course, show their faces.”
“Why are you doing this? Why is this important to you?” Mr Han asked.
“Because it’s important to Emmy,” I said. “It’s basically that simple. Also, it’s the right thing to do. These people have lived on the fringes of society forever- now it’s time to bring them in.”
“Am I correct in assuming that your attackers in Atlanta were Night Children?”
“Yeah, they were,” I admitted. “It’s a little unclear if they were motivated by a resistance to exposure and feared Emmy’s fame, or if it was simply a turf war and they’re pissed off that we’re moving in on what they believe is their territory.”
“Are you?”
“Oh, we absolutely are,” I admitted. “Our goal is complete dominion over all of North and South America’s Night Children populations.”
“To what goal? What is your end game?” Mr Han asked, but the waitress brought our meals just then so we paused until she was gone.
“Preservation of a vanishing culture, for one. Helping out an entire ethnicity that are basically refugees even in the lands they’ve lived in for centuries, or millennia, in some places. Making the world aware of another thread in the tapestry of humanity, if you want to get metaphorical.”
Mr Han nodded, taking some time to enjoy his six-ounce filet. “The beef here is amazing,” he said.
“The chicken is pretty decent,” I replied, taking another bite. “Their al pastor is a bit different than what I’m used to, but it’s good in its own way.”
As we neared the end of our meals, Mr Han said, “I’ve watched all four videos.”
“Four? I thought there were only two.”
“The two that were recorded on peoples’ phones, and now the security camera feeds from the hotel and the ballpark have leaked, too. The two security feeds are small and grainy, but give an overview the two handheld videos simply can’t. They’re too chaotic,” Mr Han said. “I’m sure you know what I mean.”
“I haven’t watched them,” I confessed. “Mostly because I have absolutely zero interest in seeing Angela get killed again.”
“Understandable,” Mr Han said, nodding. “But there are lessons to be learned.”
I let my shoulders slump. “The very first lesson is to not allow crowds so close,” I said. “That was our original sin.”
“True,” Mr Han agreed. “That allowed the attackers to approach undetected, giving them a much greater advantage of surprise. The other serious failing was the lack of coordination between you, Mr Henry, and Emmy’s bodyguard. If you had any sort of basic strategy for events such as this things might have gone very differently. As I saw it, Emmy’s bodyguard-”
“His name’s Jeremy,” I supplied.
“Jeremy, then. Jeremy interposed himself between Emmy and the bulk of the attackers, but that subjected him to the full attention of at least five from the start, while the others tried to go around him. Mr Henry blocked off one side, and you came in from the other like a typhoon, but you lost sight of the overall field of battle, allowing the lone attacker to circle around.”
“Yeah, that’s how I read it, too. I’d shoved Angela behind me to get her out of the way, expecting that she’d run, but she didn’t. She was paralyzed, and by the time I saw the danger, it was too late,” I said.
“Your unarmed combat skills were beyond impressive, but I knew that already. The attackers had no idea what they walked into. I assume you didn’t use a knife because you weren’t carrying?” Mr Han asked.
“Well, that, yeah. I mean, I could have collected one from a downed hostile, but the thing is, there were literally dozens of witnesses and I wanted every one of them to be able to tell the police that we were unarmed victims who only fought in self defense,” I explained.
“Even though you might have taken them out that much quicker?”
“Well, it seemed as if they were going down pretty quickly as it was, but yeah, I think if I had that decision to make again I probably would have picked up one of their weapons and used it,” I admitted. “A few seconds could have made all the difference.”
“I’d suspected that it was an intentional choice on your part,” Mr Han said, nodding at this confirmation. “I can understand your desire to influence the court of public opinion, but the risk was too great. In a situation like that, you need to use every possible tool at your disposal.”
“I know,” I said, since he was absolutely right. If I’d had one of those ceramic blades in my hand I could have thrown it at the woman sneaking up behind Angela. I had zero practice actually throwing knives and there would have been no chance it would have harmed her, but at the very least she would have hesitated and tried to avoid the incoming projectile, which might have given me all the time I’d needed to end her before she could do that to Angela.
It was a bitter pill to swallow, but Mr Han wasn’t saying this to make me feel bad. No, he was pointing out my mistakes and giving me the guidance to avoid similar errors if anything like it should happen again.
When the waitress took our plates we ordered another round of drinks. The place wasn’t busy, so I didn’t feel the slightest remorse for keeping the table.
“Do you remember Li Won? One of the three men I brought in that last day of training?” Mr Han asked once we’d gotten our drinks.
“He was the one with the thick eyebrows, right?”
Chuckling, Mr Han said, “That’s him. He saw the two hand-held videos and recognized it was the woman he’d gone up against in training. He told me that you scared him that day of training, but after seeing the videos, he finds you completely terrifying.”
What could I do but laugh at that? “Well, as long as he doesn’t come after my wife, he’s safe.”
“I don’t think anything could persuade him to do that,” Mr Han said with a chuckle. “I must admit, watching those videos…” he said, trailing off, at a loss for words. “When can you come back to Singapore for training?”
“It’ll be a while,” I said. “The tour has to finish, then we’re going to go back down to Colombia to spend time with Angela’s family, so Emmy can rest and recuperate. While she’s doing that, I have things I need to take care of here in the US, and I don’t know exactly how long that’ll take…”
“I can’t be directly involved in helping you take care of things, but if I can offer any sort of indirect assistance, I am at your service,” Mr Han said, and gave me a meaningful look to communicate that he knew exactly what I’d meant.
“How long can you stay in the US?” I asked. “Could I get your training help for a couple of weeks, say?” I asked, suddenly hopeful.
“I can give you two, three, four weeks,” he replied. “But in return I’ll ask for similar time of yours in Singapore. I don’t really know how much I can teach you, though.”
“It wouldn’t be me you’d be training,” I said. “No, I’d love for you to work with my paramilitary death squad.”