World Class: A New Beginning, Part 1


    Run, she thought to herself.  Run, because there is no other choice.  

    Her lungs burned, and she felt her sight grow darker, as her body and lungs started to give out.  But a loud crack behind her, a long range rifle, gave her new urgency.  It was getting close to sunrise, and she would have zero chance of escape once it was light.

    She had to put in some distance.  These people were killers; as good as she was, and they were on the hunt.  They preferred to catch her alive, but it went against their nature; they were trained to kill.  Just like she was.  Therefore, she had no illusions about her chances of surviving this.

    There was a train coming.  If there was anything that kept her surviving this long, it was a high sense of awareness.  Paying attention to everything around her.  It saved her life countless times; and it was about to do so again.

    The train was going fast, and she turned, and started to run alongside.  It was going much faster than she could run, but she was in an open field now and it was her only chance.  Grab ahold, probably hurt her shoulder bad, and escape.

    So she did, only just by chance, there was a horizontal handhold rail just above her head.  It allowed her to grab on with both hands, and cringe as the velocity of the train caused her to swing wildly and slam the side of her body and left hip against the unforgiving metal side.

    Pain had to be ignored.  There was still the matter of a long range rifle which was probably taking aim at her just now.  She had to get out of its view, which meant inside the train.  It was a passenger train, and most of the people aboard were asleep - at least the ones not in the compartment she just slammed against.  So she limped along the narrow catwalk along the outside of the car, and pulled on the door.  

    It was locked, and she felt pain and desperation overtake her.  In her condition, it would be better just to jump from the moving train when it crossed its next bridge than let them capture her.  Just when she was entertaining that thought, the door opened.

    The mustached older man who opened it was a railway security guard.  Dressed in a blue uniform with a long jacket, he looked angry at first, that someone would tap on the door at that hour.  Then when he saw the small, injured, Asian girl look at him with pained, pleading eyes, he changed his mind.  He grabbed her as tightly as he could, and pulled her aboard, shutting the door quickly.

    She collapsed on the floor of the hallway, just when she heard the man pick up a phone and call for a medic.

     When she awoke, there are three men instead of one.  The mustached railway security guard was still there.  There was an old man in a brown tweed suit, who was obviously a doctor, since he was checking her pulse at the time.  The other, who was talking to the security guard, was more concerning.  He was younger, more muscular, in a black tee-shirt and jeans, and he had a badge on his belt that said U.S. Marshal.

    From lying on her back, she sat up abruptly, and just about prepared herself to flee again, when she was overcome by a wave of dizziness.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“Whoa, whoa,”  the doctor urged her to stop.  He then thought it would calm her if he identified himself.  “I’m Doctor Armstrong.  Your pulse is a little weak, you’re severely dehydrated.  So don’t try and get up just yet.”

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“What’s your name?”  the U.S. Marshal asked.

    She looked at him suspiciously.  But she also reminded herself that he might come in handy.  After all, she didn’t know if any of those who pursued her boarded the train while she was unconscious.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“Keiko,”  she replied.  She decided she would only give him a first name.  She was a little amused that the Marshal replied in kind.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“Joe,”  he said, and he held out his hand, and she shook it gently, weakly.  “Pleased to meet you.”

    This whole ritual was something very unusual for her kind.  She had been trained to remain separate, or even above most people.  To look down on them as prey.  But she felt that training was wrong, and she had been polite with everyone she met, including those she was assigned to kill.  After all, if she was to end their life, they could at least be treated with respect and sympathy first.

    Unfortunately her superiors found personal judgement to be a liability.  At first, they tolerated Keiko walking away from jobs she didn’t feel right about, and occasionally sparing someone she didn’t feel deserved to die.  But it grated on their patience, and eventually they worked to train new Agents that would not only replace her, but eliminate her as well.  There was no retirement with a gold watch from the Agency.

    She couldn't tell the U.S. Marshal any of that.  And he wouldn’t know, either, because she never carried any kind of identification on her person.  Nor did she allow herself to be photographed or recorded - she was always careful enough to erase or destroy any of those.  At least in the case of those that placed her anywhere near a kill site.  So he would never have heard of her before.

    She looked up at him, and realized that to the U.S. Marshal, she was an injured young woman, and he felt pity.  He felt protective.  So the best move for her was to play that card, and try to get his help.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“The people who were chasing me,”  she whispered.  “They are trained killers.  They might be hiding on the train.”

    That seemed to get the attention of both the Joe the Marshal and the security guard.  They moved away, and had a hushed conversation over by the door of the car they were in.  Keiko missed most of it, because Doctor Armstrong was holding a cup and straw, and trying to get her to drink slowly.  But the gist of the talk was that other security guards would sweep the train, looking for intruders.

    Finally, the old security guard approached Keiko again.  He pulled a thin plastic strip from his shirt pocket, and wrapped it around her wrist.  “This identifies you as a carriage passenger,”  he said.  “Security is sweeping for intruders.  They won’t bother you with this on.”

    Keiko nodded once.

    Joe the U.S. Marshal kneeled next to her.  “I have a double cabin, but I’m the only passenger in it.  If you’re willing to join me there, I’ll make sure you’re protected.”

    She nodded again, and Doctor Armstrong helped her to her feet.  It was a calculated risk - Joe could just be trying to measure her up, and find out just what she had been up to.  But she knew she was very good at withholding information, and he wouldn’t get anything valuable even if he was in the same cabin.

    As her body stretched out, she started to get an idea of just how hard she hit the side of the train.  She gasped as every bruised muscle screamed at her, and then cramped.  She felt lucky that she was wearing jeans, which protected her legs and hips - because her arms were visibly scratched and bruised.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“Take it easy,”  the doctor told her.  “It’s worse right now, because you've been lying still.  Once you get some liquid and electrolytes in you, you’ll feel better and be able to move...slowly.”

    She nodded again, and grasped the foam cup the doctor handed her.  Then she let the U.S. Marshal fling her left arm over his shoulder - which wasn’t quite comfortable, because he was nearly a foot taller - and start helping her out.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’ll check on you in a few hours,”  the doctor called after her.

    The security guard didn’t say anything, but he followed the Marshal just in case.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“Where does this train go?”  Keiko asked.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“We’re headed north, to the Bay Area.”  he replied.  “That’s the end of the line.”

    Keiko nodded.  She had just arrived at Joe’s cabin.

    As soon as the door slid shut, the questions started.  Just as Keiko guessed they would.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“Who are you, really?”  Joe asked.  “When I helped you here, I could feel you have strong arms and hands for your size.  You’ve taken a beating so severe, only someone with a lot of physical training could even walk.”

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“I have been trained,”  she admitted, but then quickly deflected the rest.  “Right now I’m in a lot of pain, and I’m very tired.  Please let me sleep.”

    Being someone with compassion, Joe the U.S. Marshal nodded, and laid back on his own bunk, across the cabin from Keiko’s.  He only stood again briefly to pull a blanket and pillow wrapped in plastic out of a storage box above, and hand to her.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“Sorry,”  he finally said.  “I’m just curious.  I didn’t mean to sound like I was accusing you of something.”

    Keiko didn’t reply, as she set up the pillow and wrapped herself in the blanket.

    Even with the apology, though, Keiko made up her mind to ditch Joe as soon as the train stopped at its last stop.  He was either going to be a danger, or a liability.  And if he didn’t manage to be either, he would be in danger himself.  She watched enough people die because of her.


---


    They were getting impatient, Keiko thought to herself.  Now they’re angry.

    She thought that to herself as she sat awake, waiting for the others in her condo complex to settle in to sleep.  It was very late, and there was no sound.  The lights in her own unit were turned off, and Keiko sat in the dark.  She squatted on the floor, feet from her door, wearing a backpack and carrying a crowbar and two screwdrivers.

    Yes, tools.  Because she and her fellow residents of the complex were not allowed weapons while not in training or on the job.  Their masters and employers were not stupid.

    They’re angry now, she reminded herself.  That’s why they locked the door from the outside.  That’s why when she heard that, she went into immediate preparations to do the unthinkable.  To escape.

    But they weren’t stupid, neither her employers nor her peers.  They probably knew she might try.  The only edge was that they didn’t know exactly when she might try, or what she might bring to the fight.

    She rose to her feet when she heard no more sounds, and jammed the upper hinge on the left side of the door.  Keiko liked to remember things; it was her method of survival.  She remembered that they installed doors that were designed for keeping out, not in.  The hinge pin popped out, and she went to the next, and then the next.

    Since she was small, she only had to lift the door for a half-second to make enough room to slip into the dimly lit hallway.  Then she headed to the elevator.

    Elevators are a vulnerable place to be, normally, because it’s an enclosed space controlled from the outside.  But it’s also controlled from the inside.  As long as Keiko was in there, nobody could ambush her from places she could not see.  Also, they were silent, nobody would hear a door slam or footfalls on metal stairs.

    There was a camera in the elevator, but that was the least dangerous part of her escape.  The security guard didn’t pay much attention to that camera at night, because he didn’t expect anyone to be awake, and especially not escaping.  His primary job was keeping people out of the building that didn’t belong.

    Keiko emerged from the elevator in the lobby, and that was her first surprise.  There were three of her peers waiting there, two male and one female, looking bloodthirsty and excited.

    There was one area where Keiko had an edge over the others.  Most of them were trained with bladed weapons, firearms, hand-to-hand combat or boxing.  She was trained in Ninjitsu.  The primary hallmark of Ninja was speed, and stealth, stemming from a high sense of awareness of surroundings, and the ability to adapt instantly to any situation.

    She hurled the crowbar at the tall and thin male carrying a sniper rifle and pistol, nailing him right on the forehead, so he collapsed from the impact.  The phillips head screwdriver hit the female blade thrower, catching her off-balance.  

    The second male was a close-quarters powerhouse, with a wrestler build, but his night vision was poor.  So the flat head screwdriver smashed the only light bulb in the lobby.

    Then Keiko picked up speed fast, moving through the darkness faster than the bright-light-adapted assassins could keep up.  They’d been in the lobby for quite a while, and were now virtually blinded.

    She was caught by surprised when she realized that the glass entrance doors were locked, except by that time she built up a lot of momentum.  The tempered glass exploded into thousands of tiny beads, and Keiko was taken off of her feet.  She tripped and fell onto the sidewalk outside, and her backpack tumbled ahead of her.

    Keiko returned to her feet almost instantly, but they were so close, she dared not pause for her backpack.  Instead, she took off at a full sprint, trying to build up a huge lead.  She mentally said goodbye to the small amount of clothing she brought in that pack, but escaping successfully was more important.


---


    Keiko woke up, and Joe the U.S. Marshal was gone.  The train was no longer moving, and daylight streamed into the window.  It was time to say goodbye, without saying goodbye.  She felt bad about leaving without thanking anyone, but the less they saw and knew, the better.  Trained assassins would come for them - if they barely remembered meeting her, they just might survive.

    She looked into the hallway, and noticed a few people milling around, carrying luggage.  So she followed a couple of them to the nearest door, and then outside onto the platform.  
    
    The train station was not as busy as she might have liked.  She had a small amount of cash in one of her boots, but she would need more soon - she had to get away from the station, and into the city, where she could access wire money from a Swiss account she had been hiding her pay in for months.

    Fortunately for her, there was a taxi stand right outside.  She raced to one of the cabs, and climbed in.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“Hey mon, I’m off duty!”  the driver protested over his cardboard box takeout lunch.

    She waved twenty dollars under his nose.  “It’s yours if you go on duty.  And there’s more if you get me downtown.”

    He took the twenty and put down his food.  “Hope ya don’t mind me eatin’ while I drive.”

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“I don’t mind.”  Keiko sat back and watched him start the car and drive off.

    The trip downtown took only ten minutes or so.  Traffic was light at that time of day, and the train station wasn’t far from the core of the city.  

    The driver looked a little disappointed when he turned around, since the fare didn’t amount to much for ruining his off-duty time.  But then Keiko smiled at him.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“Thank you,”  she said.  She held up a folded bill, and he couldn’t see how much it was.  “One more thing...try to forget you ever saw me.”

    He took the bill and looked at it.  It was a folded hundred, for ten minutes’ work.  He smiled too.  Then he remembered her last request as she opened the door.  He simply waited for her to get out and close the door, and he quietly and quickly drove away, not wanting any part of whatever trouble she was in.

    Keiko looked around, just where she was dropped off.  There was a bank across the street, and she needed one of those.  Before she checked into a hotel, she would need a checking account with a debit card.  Then she needed to get some clothing.

    Things were finally beginning to come together.  Or so she hoped.


TO BE CONTINUED?
    


-- Story written and copyrighted (C) 2012 by Jason Froikin, and may not be 
--    reprinted without permission.  
-- World Class and all characters therein are property of 
--    Strike Two and Jason Froikin.