[h3]Tokyo[/h3]

[b]Metropolitan Police HQ
3:25 AM[/b]


Ito Moriko knocked on the door of the room with one knee and waited until there was no answer before she entered. Her arms were filled with stacks of files and paperwork for the special investigation squadroom. It being the mid-afternoon, the room was empty and all the detectives were out in the field ostensibly doing investigative work.

Moriko went around the room, placing the papers and files in their appropriate inboxes. All the information the detectives had requested earlier this morning was now available for them to read and interpret as they tried to solve the case. With her hands free, Moriko walked towards the chalkboard in the center of the room. Photos of the four murdered boys were taped to it. Underneath each photo was a short biography on the young men. Someone had scribbled the words "Guppy Gang?" in chalk off to the side.

The sight of the investigative work sent a pang of longing through Morkio's heart. She'd gone to university for criminology. It was an uphill battle for her to even be admitted into the course. Women very rarely were ever granted permission to study anything other than arts and teaching. But she had proven herself during the admission exams and graduated the top of her class. From there she went abroad and studied in Germany achieved a doctorate in psychology. And then returned home to find that the Metropolitan Police would never hire a woman police officer. The best she could hope for was to be a secretary. 

But no more, she thought. Stepping away from the board, Moriko found Inspector Matsumoto's desk in the corner. She opened it and found copies of information about the case and victims. She quickly rolled the papers up and stuffed them down her skirt. The sounds of footsteps drew Moriko away from the desk just as Inspectors Matsumoto and Fujita came through the door. Ever the polite Japanese gentlemen, Matsumoto diverted his eyes and bowed in Moriko's presence. Fijita, however, stared straight ahead at her with a smirk.

"Good afternoon, Ito-chan," said Fujita. "How is the most beautiful secretary in the TMPD doing today?"

"Well," said Moriko, bowing slightly as her face flushed in embarrassment, her heart racing in fear. "I hope your investigation has progressed, Inspector...."

Fujita started to speak, but before he could Matsumoto cleared his throat.

"If there is nothing further, Ito-shan," said Matsumoto with a gentile smile. "You may go. I mean, unless you prefer Inspector Fujita's inane attempts at flirtation."

Moriko chuckled and quickly left the room. She could hear the two men bickering with each other as she left. She hurried down the corridor, the papers under her skirt rubbing against her thighs. When she was at the stairs she pulled them out and looked them over. The things she grabbed were primarily on the victims of the murders, the four boys who had been gunned down. The information from the detectives was thin, but that didn't matter. She had background on the victims and that was a start.


---


[h3]Siberia[/h3]


Nagumo nearly vomited when he felt his shoulder popping back into its socket. Waves of pain radiated from the shoulder through the rest of his body. He screamed in pain, the scream muffled by the stick he had clamped between his jaws. Once the worse of the pain had passed, Nagumo spat the stick out and cursed before sighing and leaning back against the tree he was sitting under. The shoulder was still hurting and tender, but it felt ten times better than it had just seconds earlier.

By his own account, it had been three days since the plane crash and the escape from the Chinese. He had no idea where he exactly was, but he knew it wasn't Japanese territory. Not yet, anyway. He knew if he continued on his current course he'd find friendlies, but he had no idea how long that would take. And the gnawing in his stomach warned him that he had to find either food or Japanese soldiers soon rather than later. Finding water hadn't been a problem. This close to the Amur, creeks and springs that fed into the river were at places along his path. Food was his main concern. It was regulation for all pilots to take a day-ration of polished rice with them on any flight further than twenty miles from Urajiosutoku, but it was never enforced and nobody ever took it seriously. Now Nagumo wished he had. 

He stood on unsure legs and continued his trek through the forest. The thick undergrowth and his weariness made for slow going. Nagumo swung his short sword with his right arm to cut a path through the vegetation, but hours of the repeated action was beginning to tire him. He was afraid to switch to his left arm for fear his shoulder might pop out of socket again if he pushed it too hard.

After what felt like hours he came to a clearing with a creek. He gave thanks and dropped to his knees by the water. It felt good on his dry and cracked lips. Nagumo drank quickly before stopping himself. Human impulse would be to drink as quickly as he could, but he knew that would result in him vomiting most of the water up not long after he left the clearing.

Nagumo began to raise his head up from the water when something solid pressed against the back of his neck. Words in Chinese made him freeze. He understood the word "Stop" regardless of the language. After a command in Chinese he didn't understand, the speaker switched to Russian.

"There is a gun against your neck. Do as I say: Stand and put your hands over your head and slowly turn around."

Nagumo slowly complied. He stood and put his hands behind his head before turning around. He expected to see some green Chinese private shakily holding a rifle in his hands. He surprised to actually see a big, middle-aged Russian man with a revolver in one hand, a curved sword in the other.

By the look on the Russians face, he was also surprised by Nagumo. His eyes went wide with surprise at the sight of the rising sun patch on Nagumo's left breast.

"Japanese?" asked the Russian.

"Yes," Nagumo said in his own tongue. 

The Russian smiled before he struck out with the revolver. The butt of the weapon crashed on Nagumo's forehead and sent him sprawling to the ground. He started to move, but the big Russian stomped on his back and sent air rushing from his lungs. 

"They're going to love you," the Russian said as he brought the butt of the gun down on the back of Nagumo's head.