Chapter 62
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"Well, gentlemen, here's what I can tell you," Nicole began after the greetings, settling into the seat across from Logan and me at our table.
A little over two hours had passed since the end of that phone call. That was fast. Very, very fast — impossibly fast, even. It said a lot about how Fury viewed us. I appreciated it, Zen. There's something genuinely satisfying about being valued. Does wonders for the ego.
And honestly, I was glad to see her. Her and Logan both. I don't have many people I'm close to in this world. I don't open up easily. It takes years before the shell I've built around myself starts to crack — even longer before it actually opens. And letting someone all the way inside that shell, to the soft and terribly fragile thing that is the real me…
Two hours — is that a lot or a little? Depends entirely on the situation and the angle you're looking at it from.
From one angle: two hours is a very serious head start for kidnappers. You can cover a lot of ground and lay a complicated trail in two hours.
From another angle: two hours is eight games of chess over a glass of whiskey and smoked sausage on Logan's end, and a glass of orange juice with the same smoked sausage on mine. It made me think of Japan in O-Sensei's day, when James and I used to sit just like this, in bars, whiling away the hours.
Nicole… she only gets more beautiful with the years. Even the patch over her eye doesn't do much to change that. Though calling it a "patch" is a stretch — it's been a one-way transparent lens for a long time now, with a surface that can shift from matte and non-reflective to mirror-bright.
She sometimes swaps it out for stylish dark glasses when she wants to blend in. The patch is combat equipment, strictly speaking — she only wears it when there's a real chance of a fight or an ambush. Which, in practice, means almost always. But there are exceptions.
Today it was the mirrored version. A sharp, tailored pantsuit and a coat — black, heavy, and deeply stylish. Her strong, beautiful hair had been braided into a thick plait that hung down her back. And a pair of heavy-caliber pistols, their grips peeking out from beneath the coat.
"The girl's name is Mariko Yashida." Nicole set her laptop on the table.
Ten years of work, Stark and I, and we'd finally made computers genuinely personal. Stark Industries was now the undisputed leader in the IT industry, putting out industrial machines, personal computers, all-in-ones, and laptops alike. Tablets and smartphones were still a ways off, of course — but Howard and I had them in the pipeline. Five years, ten at most, and we'd bring them to market. For now, laptops were cutting-edge technology. And an extraordinarily liquid commodity. So we weren't hurting for cash. Those initial investments that Xavier and Erik had provided had paid themselves back a long time ago — several times over. And Stark's company had quietly become home to nearly every graduate of the Mansion.
A photograph appeared on the laptop screen: a girl in a yukata, standing against a backdrop of bamboo.
"Mariko Yashida — the only daughter of Yashida Shingen, head of the most powerful criminal clan in Japan: the Kuzuryu. The Nine-Headed Dragon. It's not exactly S.H.I.E.L.D.'s usual territory, but we have some information on their current activities."
Logan and I watched Nicole in silence, waiting for her to continue. That's just how we both are — men of few words. We'd rather act than talk. Or listen.
"There's a semi-governmental organization in Japan called the Department of Advanced Research. S.H.I.E.L.D. has learned that this Department has been working closely with Madripoor — an island-state in the Strait of Malacca, between Malaysia and Singapore."
Madripoor. The name stirred something up. I remembered, back in the days when Thailand still called itself Siam — and it wasn't far from there — I used to spend time on that island fairly often. A pirate nation-state. Something like the famous Tortuga, except Tortuga was in the Caribbean, and Madripoor sat between the Indian Ocean and the Philippines. The spirit of the place was about the same, though. What spectacular underground fights they used to hold there! Breathtaking stuff. And the brothels. And the slave markets. And the narcotics they pushed on every corner. Mmm. Delightful. Pure nostalgia. It takes me back.
"Madripoor recently changed hands. The ruler now is the young son of the previous one — Kurohagi Hideki. His father died under unexplained circumstances. And S.H.I.E.L.D. has reason to believe that Shingen and Hideki intend to establish a close working relationship between the Kuzuryu and Madripoor." Nicole paused. "Through a dynastic marriage between Hideki and Mariko."
At those words, the knuckles on Logan's clenched fists went white. His lips pressed into a single thin line. His jaw worked.
"So who took her?" I asked. "The father, or the fiancé?"
"Most likely the fiancé — but he'll deliver her to the father," Nicole replied. "Mariko had been in New York. She ran away from home. She thought America was far enough that they couldn't reach her."
I gave Nicole a grateful nod and pushed back from the table. I walked to the bar and asked the bartender for the phone again, sliding a twenty across the oak counter.
He produced it without a word. I dialed Howard and asked him for a plane. He didn't complain and didn't ask why. He gave me the address of an airfield in New York, the runway number, and the tail number. He said the plane would be ready to fly in an hour and that it was entirely at my disposal.
The next call I made was to Erik. Then to Cap. To both of them I passed along the details about the plane I'd just received. And one single sentence.
"We're going to get Logan married. You in as best man?"
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