The street was dark as she briefly exposed herself to view. The Indian had dropped her off a few blocks from the target's house, and she stealthily moved through various yards; each time she had to cross a path she made a complete job of looking all about, making sure she was not seen. It was slow going, but before long she was standing in the Marshall's back yard. She pressed herself against the side of the house, inching to the front. Taking a deep breath she then darted out of cover, and in seconds was silently scampering up the tree. There she waited. She inserted the tiny speaker in her left ear and scanned up the road. It really was a good place to set up. The road dead ended a few meters behind her, so there was no way Alan Marshall could hope to sneak up to her. Her muscles tensed as she spotted headlights turning onto the street, but the Indian transmitted into her ear that this was not her target's arrival. Her hands were sticky, and she wiped them free of tree sap against her black robes.
She waited a long time. Most of the lights in the houses were already out for the night as she ate a simple meal of sticky rice wrapped in seaweed. From time to time a car came down the lane, but each time her earpiece crackled with the information that the vehicle in question was not her target's car. She wore no timepiece but knew the hour was very late. Many a time as she waited she considered meditating, but rejected the idea, wanting to remain fully alert.
Two pinpricks of light appeared in the distance, enlarging as the car approached. This time it was him. She rolled her head, loosening her muscles. The car pulled up to the house, not coming up the drive, but taking the spot by the curb. This came as no surprise to her. Hours before she had watched as Marshall's parents returned home, the vehicle, piloted by the father slipping in next to another one in the two car garage. Her body tensed as she prepared to spring from her hiding spot. She heard the engine shut down. There was a brief pause before she saw the interior lights of Marshall's car come on and the driver-side door swing open. The wind was picking up as she dropped to the grass below her.
Alan got out of the car and shut the door. The whole day he had been bothered, a feeling in the back of his mind that something wasn't quite right. It had receded by late afternoon, after he had left to pick up Kate at the train station, and by halfway through their sushi-and-a-movie night out it had disappeared almost completely. Now, however, it was returning, and with a bit of a vengeance. After dropping Kate off at her house and steering his dad's station car the few blocks home, the dull throbbing reappeared, something like a faint headache. He had looked around after cutting the engine, but had seen nothing, and reassured by the presence of the security men in the van halfway up the block, he had gotten out.
* * *
Karick had been pissed off for the last three hours. His hands gripped the wheel tightly as he drove, too tightly for comfort. He had just picked up Jack at the International Terminal at JFK, and had been relieved that the old man--well, not so old man now that he inhabited the body of Theodore Dickinson--had ordered him to take him up to see Alan at once. The problem was that Alan wasn't answering his cell phone. Karick didn't know how long Alan had been off the air, but he knew that he'd been trying to get a hold of him for the last three hours, and had as yet been unsuccessful.
Jack was in the back seat, reading over some papers as Karick sped up the Bronx River Parkway, doing at least twenty over the limit. His new assistant, Peter Gant, a former U.S. Army Ranger, was trying to calm him.
"Slow down, slow down," he counseled, "You're just going to get pulled over, and that'll just set us back."
"Young man," Jack piped in from the backseat, "We are in dire circumstances. There is no risk of our being pulled over. Leave the local constabulary to me."
Peter did not understand, but decided not to question how their passenger would prevent the smokies from stopping them. Karick put his foot down, and the car rocketed farther ahead.
Patrice and Eric, the two watchers on duty a few doors down from Alan's house set their cards down as they saw his car come down the street. Their shifts were soon to end, and they were looking forward to the rest of the night off. Eric turned in his swivel captain's-style chair and checked the monitor. The tiny transponder implanted behind Alan's knee responded to the signal and chirped an answer to the machine's interrogator. A small blip appeared on the screen and he keyed the two-way radio feature on his cell phone, paging Karick.
"Nest to Sentinel, Alan pulling up now. Are you still unable to raise him?"
The frantic quality to Karick's voice was evident through the ether. "He's there?"
"Affirmative."
Karick picked up speed. Jack then suggested that the two guard grab Alan and get him away from the house. Karick relayed the message. Patrice grumbled at these new instructions, ones contrary to the protocols he had been briefed with when he started this job. As Alan got out of the car they did the same.
* * *
She was about fifteen meters from him, advancing steadily. He had only taken a few steps towards his house when the quiet of the street was broken by voices coming from up the block.
"Alan! Mr. Marshall, sir!" two men cried out as they made their way towards the driveway. She watched her target pause, turning to face the calls. She sprung, her sword held high in a two-handed grip.
Just as he was completely turned around Alan noticed something out of the corner of his eye, a tiny flash of reflected light off a long thin metal object. "A sword. Headed at me," his brain instantly processed. He took a step backwards, the sole of his right foot coming down on an acorn, one still green from the recent rain, one scattered by the recent gust of wind. He fell on his ass, hard, but luckily as he saw the sword miss him, whistling through the air where he was, seconds before, standing upright.
A figure, clad in all black, its face obscured by a mask, twisted around, bring the sword towards him. Not thinking he reacted, using his powers to defend himself. With a clatter, the long weapon went flying down the road, more then twenty feet. He expected the bearer to be startled, allowing him a second or two to regroup, but the ninja-like figure paid this development almost no heed, kicking him while he was attempting to lift himself up, the crepe sole of her shoe smacking against his face, the back of his head striking the pavement with force.
"Hey! You there! Freeze!" Alan heard one of his guards yell. His vision, though blurry from the blow to the head, could still make them out, advancing toward him rapidly, their sidearms drawn, pointed at his assailant.
Her attention distracted momentarily, Alan hoisted himself to his feet and began to inch away from the scene as quietly as he could, his steps wobbly. The ninja person had turned his back on him, dealing now with the others. She waved her arm out, and to Alan's shock his two rescuers crumpled to the ground in midstride. Alan had managed to put about a dozen feet between him and the attacker before the ninja turned back.
"Keep away," he mumbled as loudly as he could through his swollen mouth. A warm trickle of blood was flowing from a small gash on the back of his skull, down his neck and under his collar, and he was slightly groggy. She sprung at him again, and it was all his effort to repel her with his mind. She was practically flying at him, her right foot tracing an arc through the night air headed right for his chin when he pushed against her with his mind. She missed him and curled into a ball as she landed, rolling over and bouncing up into a battle position in a single smooth motion. Her eyes darted over the landscape, searching out for her blade. She spotted it almost at once, lying on the hard pavement almost at the mouth of the next house's driveway. Clapping her hands together dramatically she concentrated on it and it lifted off the surface of the road, soaring to her hand. Alan saw it too, and he diverted it with his TK. It flipped over, the point of it now flying towards Michiko, and she dove out of its path so as not to be impaled.
