Spy Versus Spy

Chapter Two

A short, fragile looking man took a long drag from his Marlboro cigarette as he leaned against a tall, cold pole. It was well past midnight and the soft misting rain in the air forced him to pull the collar of his dark trench coat put lest he want to catch a chill. His vibrant red hair seemed like smoldering fire tightly contained by a black band with flames tracing well to the mid of his back. In the aura of the night, one could catch a small glimpse of his uncommon beauty. A wonderfully thin face, large and inviting eyes set against lightly tanned skin. His only flaw, a light cross-shaped scar on his cheek. He could have easily masked it with some sort of concealer, but for what? It would be hidden, but still a part of him. He had to live with it ever moment of every day. Why hide it from others?

“How is it you have kept your cover as long as you have, Himura?” A tall, yet sturdy, dark hair man questioned. The shorter man seemed to pay him no mind and took another puff before letting it fall from his slender fingers and tumble to the ground…the embers splattering against the wet pavement, then quickly extinguishing.

“It’s not really my place to speculate. I know it makes it harder when my real name is used in casual conversation. One would think a heavy-hitter like you would know that, Katsura,” the short man said, placing his hands in his pockets, never once looking at his acquaintance.

“Hai, you are right…but it is my confidence in you that lets me speak so freely,” Katsura stated.

“Don’t let your confidence cause your demise,” he warned.

“Why are you so damn serious, Himu…”

Before Katsura could finish the last word, two katanas were placed at either side of his throat. He stood there, unfazed, but unmoving. He knew that if he breathed too hard, his neck could be slashed…intentionally or not.

“Because that’s what I’m paid so handsomely for,” the shorter of the two replied, swiftly moving the swords back their hilts. Little lines of red began to drip along the taller man’s neck, though his demeanor remained unchanged.

“I understand,” Katsura paused, applying pressure to his wounds. “And since you bring it up, your pay will increase by a factor of five for this job.”

Himura cocked his brow in a rare exhibition of emotion…surprise.

“The reason for such a raise?”

“I’ll get straight to the point. I want you to kill the most powerful man in the world…and I don’t mean the President of these United Stated we are currently residing in. No…I’m talking about…”

“Shishio Makoto,” Himura finished flatly.

“Hai.”

The name was enough to turn blood cold. The man was a living legend, a ghost among mortals. He was as untouchable as thunder, this one man was one the verge of ruling the world and most people know it. There were few that didn't acknowledge how close he was to obtaining his goal and fewer that would think of attempting to thwart him. To even dream of such was preposterous. To think it possible was suicide.

“Consider it done,” Himura stated before turning his back to his employer and walking down the poorly illuminated alleyway. Katsura watched the figure disappear into the mist and shook his head. How can a man be so loyal, yet be such a loose cannon, he did not know. He had only acquired Himura a couple years ago, but he was already the most important fixture in his organization. The difference between Himura and other spies in the underworld is the fact that Himura is no secret weapon. Everyone knew of Katsura’s master assassin, but none have ever lived to see his face, which is why he can walk around so boldly with such distinct features.

“I pray for you, Himura,” Katsura said out loud before disappearing into the night.

Himura continued on his own path, which took him to what seemed to be an abandoned building not far from the riverfront. The area was considered to be contaminated from years and years of tire companies pouring pollutants into the river. Many dared to not even drive past the area, as if there was radiation leaping from the ground…so it made the perfect hide out.

As he entered the building from the rear, he descended down a flight of old, rickety stairs. The wood moaned and groaned, sounding as if they would give way at any moment. Dust swirled in the already murky, musty air. The creepy critters scattered as their space was invaded, antenna and eyes glaring as the dark figure moved as swiftly as a cat. When he reached the bottom, he removed a large key from his pocket and opened a large, iron door. He slipped through the small opening and quickly shut the door, leaving the world behind him.

The interior of the complex was vastly different from the exterior. The walls were of the thickest concrete, but painted the most pleasant shade of soothing blue. His furniture was darkest blue and white with accents of regal purple throughout. Neo-classic pieces adorned his living space. The clean lines showed his class, the colors showed his modern style. The unimaginably beautiful oak floors seemed to span forever. It extended to a set of screen doors which undoubtedly led to a dojo-style room. Himura places his long coat on his white oak coat rack and removed his heavy leather boots. Without the outer attire, one could see clearly the small frame his man had, yet, he wore two swords as if they were feathers. He was thin, but solid and moved like death. His small, but well-defined muscles flexed beneath his burgundy cotton shirt as he removed to two long pieces of metal from the hilts and onto their proper stands. He kept the blade-side up and the handle to the right…the only unwelcoming feature in his entire space.

After all of his affects were positioned in their proper location, Himura pulled his sleeves up and walked into a large, industrial-sized kitchen. He could have literally fed an army with the contents of the huge, stainless steel refrigerator and cooked it all at the same time on his matching stove. The copper pots and pans hanging above created a contrast while his white-handled surgical stainless steel knives sat out in a neat row on the blue marble countertop. He scrubbed his arms from elbow to fingertips before proceeding to fix himself a fresh salad. His mastery with the chef’s knife was just a prelude to his skill with heavier metal. Just a few rapid movements of his wrists turned baby spinach leaves into neatly minced pile of greenery. A pair of small, red tomatoes were quartered within seconds while mounds of crab meat was chopped finely. He placed each into a porcelain bowl and tossed them together lightly. He finished everything off by drizzling a light tomato vinaigrette over the salad. He placed a fork into the mix and carried his creation over to his couch, were he sat down and promptly began eating.

As his jaws worked on the delicious meal, he mulled over the next task he had on tap. This is no going to be easy, he knew. For the first time in his career, he may need an alias and a disguise. Himura scoffed at the idea. There was no need to worry about that now, he thought as he finished the rest of his meal and retired for the evening.