Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ The Rain Doesn't Grieve ❯ 15 ( Chapter 15 )

15

 

Who ya gonna call?

 

Omi ~ Regroup

 

Lunchtime, and the cabin was finally clear.

 

It's amazing how useful the wheelchair has proved to be. The items sporting the surveillance devices were, for the most part, unwieldy to a man in my condition, and it would draw no attention to have them carted off and replaced. They would be stored somewhere with nothing to listen to, rather than remove the bugs and tip our hand to the enemy.

 

I checked the work crews and everything that crossed the threshhold, then set up my own security system. The little camera and microphones hid among the rafters and, with minimal effort, gave me a direct feed to the monitor and speakers. I didn't dare use my old computer itself - I was still intent upon building my own - but for now it would serve as surveillance.

 

Now what do I do?

 

I stared at my bowl of noodles, remembering the savory lunches Yohji used to make for us. For him, of course, it would actually be breakfast, but it was still delicious.

 

“Is everything all right?” Manx asked, seating herself across from me and picking up her bowl.

 

“Yes, I guess so,” I mumbled, feeling lost for the first time since taking on the mantle of Persia. I looked at her, wishing I could read her mind. Mind-reading…wrong redhead, I thought, then decided to take the risk. If I couldn't trust Manx, I wouldn't last long anyway. “Did you know about the breach?”

 

She sighed, long lashes hiding her eyes a moment. “I suspected. Shuichi knew something was wrong, but he could never find any evidence of a mole. No tracks. Nothing.”

 

“How deep does it go, I wonder?”

 

“That's the problem,” Manx stated. “They're good. Real good. These people just don't make mistakes. They know how to hide from us. And to be honest, I have no idea who `they' truly are, though I do have my favorite guess.”

 

I knew what my favorite guess was, and I was willing to bet it was the same as hers. “We need Weiß,” I whispered. “There's no way around it this time. If it's who I think it is, we're the only ones who've dealt with them before.”

 

Manx looked away.

 

“Aren't we, Manx?” I asked, suddenly uncomfortable. “Kritiker doesn't have other teams involved with Esset, do they? Manx?”

 

She cleared her throat, then set her bowl back on the table and picked up her mineral water. She seemed to be murmuring into the bottle as she said, “Crashers have been trying to infiltrate a branch of theirs for two years now, though when they started we had no idea who was actually pulling the strings. We'd picked up some very disturbing intelligence about a global organization with its fingers in just about every dirty dealing worldwide - from white slavery to drug running to bad politics. It looked like Mafia, at first, or yakuza. Maybe even Russian Mafia. For every lead, we found three more questions. And the leads all turned up empty.”

 

“Kuso,” I whispered under my breath. “When did you suspect it was Esset?”

 

“When Weiß started running into Takatori Reiji's bodyguards,” Manx stated, finally meeting my gaze again. “Persia didn't like the looks of them, and tried to find out who they really were. Some of the leads turned back toward the Crashers' investigation, though they were all inconclusive. Then, with the more recent events, everything started coming together. Unfortunately, that's also when we started losing agents.”

 

“At least that's a good reason for not telling me,” I heard myself blurt out, anger rising in my heart. “Gomen, I shouldn't have said that.”

 

“No, it's all right,” Manx said with a sigh. “I think Shuichi hid more information on those briefing discs. That's why you're building your own computer, isn't it? To check them out? I'm curious what you'll find. I don't think he knew much more than he gave Weiß. I can honestly tell you that, as far as Kritiker is concerned, Esset is still one big mystery. And a dangerous one at that.”

 

“All the more reason to bring the team back together. Unless we could change assignments around; I know Aya used to work with the Crashers.” I hated this idea, but I had to suggest it. If that were the best way to proceed, I'd have to consider it.

 

But Manx shook her head. “Impossible. We need them where they are.”

 

“All right,” I said, an idea taking shape. “Call them off, then. Back away from all investigations into Esset, unless it's something overt, like racketeering or the like. Nothing deeper, just the kinds of things Interpol would go after if they could. We need to buy some time, Manx. Keep Esset from figuring out just how much we suspect. Let them think we missed the clues, or put them together all wrong. We really didn't know what we were getting into at that museum, we were just trying to rescue Aya's sister from some cultists. Let the record reflect that.” The idea kept forming as I talked, growing more distinct, and throwing a red-haired shadow. “And…if it's not mentioned anywhere, make a note for the record that we have no reason to believe that Schwarz survived.”

 

Manx blinked, her expression perplexed. “Schwarz? I don't understand.”

 

I cleared my throat and checked my anti-surveillance “cell phone” again. Briefly I wondered if my paranoia were becoming too much of a habit, but then I reminded myself that some habits can save one's life. “I'm not sure what part they played in all of it,” I told her. “But it was as if they set us up to kill those three. And they finished the last one off before we reached their location. I just think it's best if Kritiker officially lists Schwarz as dead.”

 

Slowly she nodded, her lips pursed. “All right, I'll see to it. And if I find anything interesting -”

 

“You'll leave it alone,” I cut in with a scowl. “Manx, you don't know how deep this goes - they got into the mainframe.”

 

Manx's eyes went wide. “That's impossible! Our system is more secure than most government installations!”

 

“That's right. Now just imagine where else they've been.”

 

Manx swallowed. She looked like she wanted to vomit. “Omi,” she whispered, “how do you know for certain?”

 

I wheeled my chair around next to her and put my hand over hers. I was trying to be strong and reassuring, but I had the feeling it wasn't coming across that way. Usually she was the one comforting me. “I was looking for leaks. Something to do while my back mended. I found a bit of code that didn't belong there. It served as a link to a satellite relay. I don't know if it was planted from inside the organization, or hacked into from somewhere else, but someone's been browsing through our mainframe for at least eighteen months.”

 

“God…do you think Esset noticed the Crashers' investigation and started their own?”

 

“That's why I want you to pull the Crashers off this project,” I told her, confident in my plan now. “The Ani Museum marked the end of that cult, and there is no further need to look into their dealings. Unless I'm very wrong about this, you haven't found anything since then, have you?”

 

Manx shook her head. “No, nothing. No activity anywhere.”

 

“This is our chance to pull out, then. Officially, it's over. When I'm ready, we'll see what remains to be done.”

 

The clock chimed one, and I tried to remember what was significant about that. Then the doorbell rang, and I grumbled at myself. “Excuse me, Manx. My therapist is here.”

 

I wheeled my chair into the front room to greet him. I wasn't looking forward to this.

 

True to form, the next two hours were filled with pain and sweat, and not a little swearing. But there was no way I was going through life in a chair, not if I could do something about it.

 

Today, however, the session ended with a surprise. “I want you to use this as much as possible,” my torturer announced, affectionately patting the aluminum tubing of the walker. “Try to stay out of the wheelchair for an hour at a time. You need to strengthen your back, not give in to it.”

 

I sighed, then nodded. It was what I had demanded, after all: the most strenuous and rapid return to my own feet as was possible. I could not let the fact that it hurt like hell change my mind.

 

I was presented with the walker, a cane, a steroid injection, and another bottle of painkillers. Dubiously I studied the little bottle while my back screamed at me to just take one. There was no way to know that they were safe. Besides, they'd only make me groggy. I asked Manx to stash them in the bathroom for me, though I had no intention of taking any. I couldn't risk it.

 

Moving slowly, I set up my computer parts on a table and stood there, trying to pick a starting point. Pieces came together like a well-loved puzzle, and before I knew it Manx was setting dinner in front of me.

 

“I have to get back to headquarters,” she said with an apologetic smile. “I'll bring you any news in the morning. Are you sure you don't want a guard detail here? I can send someone over.”

 

I shook my head and smiled at her. “No, I'll be fine. I've got the place wired, and the work crews have a night shift coming on. Besides, I've got my bow, remember? And there's nothing wrong with my arms.” I didn't tell her that pulling the bow made my back feel like it was being ripped apart from the inside; in a life-or-death situation, I was pretty sure that wouldn't matter.

 

After Manx left, I regarded my project and tried to put my thoughts in order. But all I could think about was her sending someone here to watch over me. To keep me company. The silence bore down on me.

 

Turning a little too quickly, I winced at the complaint from my body and slowed down again. I went into the kitchen where the main phone sat. It was an untapped land line, and as such it was my best means of reaching the outside world, at least until my computer was finished. Raising the handset, I suddenly realized I didn't know who I intended to call.

 

Then, smiling to myself, I knew, and I dialed.

 

 

Yohji ~ Recall

 

“Hai?...Omi?!” I couldn't believe my ears. He sounded pretty good, all things considered. “How are you? How's your back?”

 

I walked around my apartment, aiming for the window. The cell's reception was always better there. “Yeah, I'm doing great. Any word on the others?” I almost regretted asking that; if there were bad news, I didn't want to get Omi upset, but I really felt the need to know. As much as I wanted to avoid Kritiker, I couldn't forget my friends so easily.

 

“Ken should be home in about a week,” Omi said, his voice relieved. “And Aya…he's been taking odd jobs.”

 

“Great, that's great,” I said, catching the pause and the way he was wording things. The line might not be secure. But that made no sense… “Oi, Omi-kun, where are you staying these days?”

 

“Oh, it's on the advice of my doctors, I'm staying near the physical therapy office. I'm actually getting around pretty well now.”

 

“Glad to hear that,” I murmured, trying to figure out where he was really calling from. It hadn't shown up on caller-ID, and there was no background noise that I would associate with an office. Not even the dull absence of noise that would indicate a fairly soundproof room.

 

No, the background noise…was of birds, and…hammering? What the -?

 

“So, Yohji,” Omi said, his voice sounding a little more serious, “I was wondering if you were going back to your old job. I hear they're hiring.”

 

I stiffened. I'd wondered when they'd get around to asking. “Ah, no, Omi. Not right now, anyway. I'm not so sure I'm fit for it anymore. Too much…heavy lifting.”

 

I heard Omi sigh, and could imagine him nodding sadly to himself. “You have my number, right? If you ever need anything?”

 

“Yeah, I've got it.” Something about his tone bothered me. “Hey, is everything all right?”

 

He took a deep breath before answering, so the words all came out in kind of a rush. “I'm not welcome at my friend's home anymore, and I've got no one to talk to. You've always been there for me, you and Ken.”

 

First rule of Kritiker: if you don't trust the phone, talk in code. We always kept it light, never anything formal and never written down. My mind whirled, recognizing the cryptic phrases for what they were: a warning, and precious information. “Go on,” I said. “Details, man! If there was a falling out, I need to know who said what before I get caught in the middle of it.”

 

Omi sighed; it sounded like relief. “Yohji-kun, my friend found someone else to spend time with, and I think he doesn't like me anymore. I don't know if our mutual friends went with him, or not, and I'm afraid to ask. If I get one more piece of bad news…”

 

Shit. Kritiker had a mole, and Omi wasn't sure if the snitch knew he'd been found out. In any case, Omi had no idea how many others might be involved, and he couldn't risk them finding out what he knew about it. And he needed to know where I stood.

 

I leaned against the window ledge and idly turned the orchid toward the sunlight. “Well, you know I'm with you, and Ken, too. I don't care much for cheaters, whether it's a spouse or a friend. It's low.”

 

“Thanks, Yohji-kun. Maybe we can meet up for snacks soon?”

 

“Sure thing. You know where I live, you're welcome here anytime.” I switched the phone off and stared at it for a moment. So Aya was still working the field, on solo missions most likely. Ken was due back from wherever he was in about a week; I'd presumed he was still in hospital, but had no real reason to believe it. For all I knew, he was out on assignments just like Aya.

 

One thing was certain: Omi wanted me to come back to Weiß. No, make that two things: he wanted me back, and something was very wrong inside Kritiker.

 

I regarded the pale orchid as if it held my answers within its fragile petals. Perhaps it did. Turn to the sun, it said; turn to the sun, and away from the dark, and all will be well.

 

I slid from the windowsill and prowled in search of my cigarettes. What were my options, really? I could return to Kritiker, go back to being Balinese the killer of the unjust. Or I could turn my back on my friend.

 

No, it wasn't that simple. If I went back to Kritiker, I would have to kill again. Something inside me recoiled from that idea. I'd seen too much death already. I needed to stop, while I still could. It wouldn't be a betrayal to tell Omi “no”. It would hurt, and I didn't look forward to that, but it couldn't be helped. If I returned to Weiß, my soul would die. Already it was haunted and battered and scarred almost beyond recognition. I'd give him support, and advice, but I didn't dare do more than that.

 

But…maybe he could find me a desk job.

 

 

A/N:

 

Who ya gonna call?

“Ghostbusters” - Ray Parker, Jr. (Motion Picture Soundtrack)

 

A rather light-hearted quote, with heavy undertones. Imagine how creepy that movie would have been if ghosts really did start turning up in the damnedest places. Like the Kritiker mainframe.

 

The titles of this chapter are each a bit of a pun. It just seemed to fit the code-speak and overall paranoia of the situation.

 

Omi ~ Regroup

Now that Omi knows as much as he can without building his secure computer, he needs to fall back and figure out what to do next. His decision? Rebuild Weiß, if at all possible.

 

Kuso - Crap

Gomen - I'm sorry

 

Yohji ~ Recall

Omi is seeking to recall him to Kritiker, while Yohji is recalling the proper use of code. His mind is still that of a detective, which is probably why Omi wants him back on the team.