Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ You're Joking, Right? ❯ Chapter 7

Yoji pulled irritably at the front of his jacket and lit a cigarette -- the last in the pack, he noted. It seemed significant. He'd smoked half a pack while sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for Aya to come home. Yoji had been dressed and ready to go for two hours, and this fucking police uniform was as uncomfortable as it was unflattering.

 

He hated it when they had to play dress-up.

 

He hated last-minute missions, too. They'd all been surprised when Manx had shown up in the middle of the afternoon, telling them to close the shop for an emergency briefing. Things got much worse from there, of course, as they were wont to do. Weiss would be assassinating a high-level government official. He'd done bad things. He had to be taken out tonight. In the middle of a banquet. And, oh yeah, Aya was back on active duty and running the show. Whenever he got back from wherever he was. Manx assured them that Aya's unexplained absence wasn't a problem, and that he didn't need to be at the briefing. She'd talked to him, she said, and he was on it. Aya had experience with this kind of thing, she said. And that had been the end of the explanations.

 

The three of them had gone over the mission parameters thoroughly and were ready to go. Well, as ready to go as they could be for a mission that really needed weeks or months of planning. At this point, they wouldn't be able to get into position in time if they weren't out the door in about 30 minutes. And Aya wasn't even home yet. Hadn't called, either.

 

“What the fuck?”

 

Yoji was startled by the words, since they'd fit so well with this thoughts -- but he hadn't said them. Ken had entered the kitchen silently and was now pacing vigorously. At least his bus boy's uniform looked a hell of a lot more comfortable than the hair-shirt from hell Yoji was stuck with. “How are we supposed to coordinate this mission?” Ken raged, rhetorically. “And what do we do if he doesn't show up? We can't do it with three men.”

 

We can't do it without Aya, Yoji mentally corrected. Among other things, none of them was trained with a rifle. He'd been surprised that Aya was, although it paled in comparison with other revelations... Aloud, he said, “Well... Manx said he knows what he's doing. Not much we can do besides hope to hell she's right.”

 

“She said she actually talked to him, right?”

 

“That's what she said.”

 

“Well, where the fuck is he?” Ken was about to explode.

 

“I don't know, Ken.” Christ, what a time to run out of cigarettes. “Manx said he knows the timetable. Listen, when Aya came to us, she said he could pull off `special effects,' remember? I'm hoping this is one of them.”

 

“I'm not asking if he's going to pull a rabbit out of his ass, Yoji, I'm trying to figure out if we need to call this mission off.”

 

“We have about 30 more minutes before we have to talk about that.” Yoji held up his hand in a pre-emptive gesture. “Ken, this is freaking me out too, but there's nothing we can do but wait for him. Not a fucking thing.”

 

“It's just... this mission stinks. If this is the kind of shit we're going to be expected to do now that Aya's with us, then I *know* I want to send him back. There's holes in the mission plan, and the lead-time is a fucking joke. And now we aren't even going to have time to go over it with the point-man. I mean, how are we even going to give him his instructions? He won't have time to read all that stuff in the folder.”

 

“You can tell me about it in the car.” The deep rumble of Aya's voice startled them both. “And I don't need everything; I'm not starting from zero.”

 

“How the hell did you get in here?” Yoji asked, annoyed. He was facing the door to the hall, and the outside door was only five feet away. How the hell hadn't he noticed Aya's entrance?

 

“Through the door,” Aya said, inclining his head in the proper direction. His voice dripped with disgust. “I don't have a lot of time here. I'm going upstairs to change clothes -- pull the maps of the building for me to look at when I'm dressed. You can give me the rest of it on the way.” He strode away, oblivious to the look of hatred on Ken's face.

 

Yoji sighed, reached for another cigarette, and sighed again, much louder, when they weren't there.

 

“That arrogant *prick*,” Ken seethed. “I should...”

 

“Shut up and calm the fuck down. He's just trying to be efficient.” Not particularly caring to see whatever expression Ken might be favoring him with, Yoji lazily fished one of the mission briefing folders from a stack on the table, opened it, and pulled out a couple of floor plans, as ordered. Finally, he glanced up at Ken. Who wasn't seething, as expected; rather, he was looking at Yoji with open curiosity.

 

“You're sleeping with him, aren't you?”

 

“What the...?”

 

“You'd God-damned better not be talking about me,” Aya said, appearing in the kitchen. Yoji couldn't help noticing that Aya looked good in the uniform, damned good. Even the stupid hat -- which Yoji wasn't wearing yet, refusing to sully his appearance with it until the last possible moment -- managed to hide Aya's hair with an almost rakish insouciance. Yoji shook his head. He wouldn't be thinking this kind of shit if he hadn't run out of cigarettes.

 

Aya looked at them both sternly. “Where are the floor plans?” Yoji shoved them toward him, and he studied each of them for several minutes before putting them back on the table. He looked up again. “Somebody checked the rifle?”

 

“Omi,” Yoji said. Aya nodded.

 

“You're sure you can use that thing?” Ken asked.

 

Aya rolled his eyes. “What else do you think I should do, throw my sword at him?”

 

“I just... we don't use guns.”

 

“*You* don't use guns. I use whatever works.”

 

Ken's nostrils flared. “I've never seen you use one, and you've never mentioned anything about being a fucking *sniper*, so I wanted to make sure you're actually going to be able to pull this off.”

 

“I can hit him. It's a clear shot at less than 100 yards. He won't even be moving.” Aya narrowed his eyes. “What we need to worry about is getting in and getting out. Are you clear on your roles?”

 

“The only one who isn't is *you*,” Ken said, poking his index finger into Aya's sternum.

 

Aya's eyes flicked down, then back up at Ken. “Move that now or I'll tear it off your hand and make you eat it.”

 

Yoji saw Omi's bare legs coming down the stairs and sighed in relief. “Everybody shut up and get going,” he said, standing up and moving toward Ken and Aya. Narrowing his eyes at them, he added, “We don't have time for manly displays of dominance. Aya's alpha-dog until we finish this mission. If we're alive, we'll discuss team dynamics tomorrow.”

 

**********

 

Aya flicked the hat off with intense annoyance as soon as they made it into the room. The detestable jacket followed seconds later, briefly catching on the cast, and it was quickly joined by the scratchy shirt and uncomfortable tie, leaving him in his thin, sleeveless white under shirt. Damned ill-fitting crap, it was like being in a straight-jacket. A dreary, ugly straight-jacket -- didn't even have any straps or buckles. Kudoh managed to look almost dashing in it, though. Aya didn't bother to suppress the snort of laughter that thought provoked. He wasn't sure how much control he had left.

 

He pulled on a pair of thin, flexible deerskin gloves, took the case Omi handed him and started putting the rifle together. Omi had gotten the thing into the building, crawling through about a mile of ductwork to exploit a flaw in the building's security. Ken had just walked right into the kitchen through the service entrance and started clearing tables, entirely unnoticed. Aya and Yoji, dressed as prefectural police and armed with some apparently convincing false credentials, had bluffed their way past building security, the minister's own personal security, a squad of Tokyo police, and some government agents, too, just for extra laughs.

 

The staging area was off a small labyrinth of mini-hallways leading to the catering areas, and getting past that last couple of yards had been the hardest part. The room was actually the far end of the main banquet hall, sectioned off by pocket doors that were covered, in the banquet area, by thick velvet curtains.

 

Aya had the rifle assembled and mounted on a bipod. He glanced over at Omi and Yoji -- both were already wearing the waiter jackets that would be their cover for leaving. They were watching him quietly, speculatively. He turned his back to them. “In position?” he whispered. A brief pause was followed by Ken's voice sounding over the com unit in his ear. “Ready.”

 

Aya clicked the lock holding the pocket door together and very, very carefully slid one of them open about two inches. On the other side of the curtain, Ken was standing directly in front of the opening, minimizing the danger that anyone would notice. “Still clear,” Ken whispered. Aya took out a sharp knife and quickly slit the curtain. He moved the bipod into position, lightly tapping the back of Ken's leg with the muzzle of the rifle.

 

“Very funny,” Ken muttered. “Don't get trigger-happy; he isn't up for at least 10 minutes.”

 

“Just stay where you are, Siberian. I'm checking my line of sight.” Aya lay on the floor in front of the rifle and positioned himself. It was the same model he'd trained with -- Kritiker might not be completely impressed with guns, but Brad Crawford had insisted that Aya learn to shoot well, under varied circumstances. He tried to relax as he checked the scope; he'd been assured it would be zeroed to the correct distance. He could only count on getting one shot, and he'd never used this rifle -- in fact, he hadn't used any rifle in at least six months.

 

Aya had a vast repertoire of techniques for quelling panic, which worked to various degrees, and one of the best was to get on with the business at hand. He shifted until he was in the perfect position and aimed about a foot and a half over the podium, about where the target's head should be. He had a clear shot down the aisle. “I'm in position,” he whispered.

 

He wished he were alone. Yoji and Omi were there to buy him a few extra seconds if anyone should enter the room, but he'd prefer to take his chances. He didn't like the weight of their gaze on him, didn't like the things they had to be thinking. They knew very little about the evils committed by the man he was about to shoot, and this kind of kill seemed cold and clinical to his teammates. They felt better when they had graphic evidence of obvious offenses and were fighting one-on-one with mutant tentacled monsters that smelled.

 

Aya didn't share their qualms. He loved the craft and intimacy of his katana, but if the cause was right, he wasn't averse to a more... detached approach.

 

Didn't mean he liked being eyed with fear and disgust.

 

Glancing at his watch, Aya saw the speech was due to start in five minutes. He checked the scope again and watched the redoubtable Mr. Crawford follow the target onto the stage and stand behind him on the podium, managing to look both inconspicuous and terrifying, as always. Well, not always. Aya had made him beg.

 

He squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to continue that line of thought. God, if he didn't pull himself together, he was going to get them all killed.

 

He heard Ken's sharp intake of air -- he'd recognized Crawford from their fight at the warehouse. Fortunately, he was professional enough not to say anything and further fuck with Aya's concentration. Aya wondered briefly where Farfarello was -- all he could see was the podium.

 

He closed his eyes again and let his thoughts float, untouched, until they drifted away. It was almost as if he didn't exist, then, as if he were just part of the gun. The entire world narrowed down to the slight bob of the scope with every breath and every beat of his heart. Everything slowed down, and part of his brain heard the target being introduced, then start to speak. The pad of his index finger very gently caressed the trigger.

 

Ken moved a few feet to the side, and the shot was laid out in front of Aya like a painting. On the podium, Crawford discreetly shifted about six inches to his left. Aya held his breath. His heart beat, the scope leveled; his heart beat, the scope leveled, and he pulled his finger straight back. A loud crack rang out in the relative quiet of the banquet room.

 

The target stopped talking a fraction of a second after the entrance wound blossomed between his eyes, a fraction of a second before a spray of blood and brain and skull erupted from the back of his head and all over the white wall behind him.

 

Aya didn't even see it. He was already springing to his feet and grabbing for the waiter's coat Yoji was holding out to him. They raced for the door, slipping into the initial stampede of catering staff pouring out of the kitchen at the sound of the gunshot.

 

Aya's thoughts started trickling back. He wondered if Crawford were proud of him.

 

That opened the floodgates, and Aya stumbled as the whirling chaos of his mind rushed back in, and he finally felt the excess of adrenaline pumping through his system. Yoji, right behind him, grabbed his elbow. They were in the middle of a stampede of frightened people pouring from the banquet hall, the sound of Omi's diversionary bombs detonating elsewhere in the building.

 

And just like that they were out of the building, melting away from the crowd and disappearing into the night.