The Janissary

THE JANISSARY

Chapter One

Suzan Wood squeezed herself between the leading edge of a commercial rubbish bin and the inconsiderably placed corner wall. It was a tight fit, but given the alternative, a necessary one. Her eyelids tightened once she braced her back against the dumpster and slid all the way down to the ground. The arrival of two pairs of footfalls met by the sharpest of intakes of breath. Suzan added solidity to her silence by placing her own hand over her own mouth. She expertly dared herself to resist breathing; but the urge to find a viewpoint and see what was happening… that was a challenge in itself.

Had she succumbed to that, Suzan would have seen a pair of men, the ones that sent her here, scrutinising each and every facet of this makeshift prison in sequence. Boxes and cardboard took the brunt of this search, tossed aside as if sundries were in decline. Perhaps feeding the natural desire for update wasn’t a good idea anyway, the last thing Suzan wanted to see was their gradual approach.

Hindsight was the most wonderful of things, but could also be insidious enough to play devilish tricks. This was one of those occasions. Suzan’s first summation committed to memory was probably the umpteenth attempt to do so. For the first time, she questioned the decision to turn right, head between businesses as opposed to continuing onwards or even turning left. Primal survival instincts might have failed her back then, but they were working wonders now. Something was preventing her from thrusting her head backwards into the dumpster.

Suzan wanted to open her mouth wide and release the maelstrom that had steadily built within the pits of her stomach. Either her mind or mental state egged her on to allow it, the other worked on drawing her attention to a door that she was positive hadn’t been there before. It was a solid metal door that, if unlocked and useful, would have countered that by screaming for oil when opened. Such a promise of salvation was an offer simply too irresistible to ignore – whatever the consequence. Some overly dedicated so and so cruelly denied her. The door was locked and might as well have been welded shut for all the symbolism it offered.

The overlapping voices were heard without much frequency, but each time sounded closer than before. Any coherent message was only intended from one to the other. One voice was harsh and seemed to think it was in charge; the other was husky, the owner requiring extra practice in that art of sprint. Suzan’s morbid curiosity constantly threatened to get the better of her.

Deep inside, all muscular activity had altered with the improper application of tension. Blood veins acclimatised to external temperatures while diaphoretic conditioning contradicted her microcirculation as a whole. Instinct pendulumed desire between a world record attempt at demolishing decades old brickwork using nothing but acoustics, or skulk there with tightened eyelids in the forlorn hope that they will simply go away.

Suzan’s experiences and life choices began to flow across her mind in a kaleidoscope of memoirs; slowly at first, beginning at the beginning. The closer they came to now, her probable end, the more meshed and truncated they appeared. It was almost like the DVR of her life was fast forwarding to this very moment. Morbid curiosity was hard at work even now: what happens when process reaches the present? If not her, then who would write tomorrow’s headline;

Freelance journalist found murdered in alleyway

If it was to be that stupid bastard Merrick, then surely a sensational character assassination was bound to hit the stands. Merrick never did like her that much. The feeling was mutual. Suzan didn’t doubt that the Five W style would be happily jettisoned this one occasion; that he would invent seventy five percent of all purported sleaze and pass it off as truth.

That would be just like that hack!

The dumpster lurched away from her now with a rumble sufficient to reanimate the deceased. When Suzan collapsed into a puddle of what she sincerely hoped was water, a single conclusion rebounded back at her with interest: the thought wasn’t a thought, it was an oration.

Somewhere between the ground and the wall beyond, Suzan opened her lungs to their fullest extent. Repeated shrill cries went unanswered, probably unheard. Twisted faces created to torture were all she could see now. Stale breath billowed into her face. Words lashed at her ruthlessly but Eastern European dialects garbled mentioned threats, leaving the physical ones pure.

Aside from one hand continuing to glue her shoulder to the wall behind her, nothing was happening. Suzan dared herself to unlock her eyes, even just the one, but wasn’t as prepared as she wanted to be. What were they waiting for? Both eyes snapped open quicker than coherent thought could resist.

Mid way down the alley stood… what, a woman? Whoever that was had surrounded her façade in darkness, skilfully masking the lighting beyond and appearing little more than a shadow; but a most welcome one. For several seconds of presentation, there was no movement. Booted feet still remained comfortably outside either shoulder, directly beneath both hands. Both antagonists stood at an angle between themselves and the newcomer, now totally ignorant of their would be victim.

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Chapter Two

This must be the woman on most local lips. First rumours began to filter through about a month ago; a single white female vigilante starting a crusade against petty crime and public disorder. A lone symbol that insisted on putting as many spanners into as many works that was humanly possible. Now she was there in the flesh, rescuing Suzan from a pair of random thugs that now had a second thing on their mind.

That was fine if it wasn’t for one thing: while her lungs still ached from prolonged usage, Suzan didn’t count herself as a victim. She wasn’t a downtrodden helpless statistic without much in the way of hope and even less prospects; she was Suzan Wood. Very few men would have the necessary fortitude to do half the things she had done before. What man would have spent weeks working on uncovering the social conditions on the Juxton Estate at the risk to his own welfare? Would he have reconsidered at the first threat against him?

Professionally, threats were welcome. Ego was fed whenever someone said something that designed to get her to remove herself from activity. Truth, real truth, wasn’t something that just anyone was prepared to accept. Threats of violence or bodily harm against her were a futile exercise in intimidation, often opposing intended results. Those that went beyond the say-so saw retaliation in the stiffness of resolve. Lawsuits meant nothing; they were just bullying at boardroom level.

But these two, they were something different; a pair of common street thugs that were never too far away in this city, no matter anyone’s current whereabouts. They didn’t strike Suzan as anyone Wilcox offered money to. The woman seemed to fit that bill more so. Suzan’s viewership was a mixture of awe and sadism. Awe was much more curious about this woman entirely: who she was, where she come from, why she was there. The questions knew no bounds and bombarded Suzan like machine gun fire. The raw sadistic side of Suzan was just glad that the thugs had gravitated in her direction and now orbited her instead.

Suzan really ought to have taken that chance to flee, put as much distance between them and her as possible. Something told her otherwise. Journalistic impulses that tugged at the back of her mind were rarely wrong, offering insights that most others could only get after umpteen hours of toil. Her father cited it as gift. Suzan didn’t, she just learned to cope.

Escape was now impossible. What began as mere prying had now developed and morphed into something her inquiring mind could not get enough of. This thirst for knowledge now went deep into overcurious. Interest didn’t want to be quenched any longer, it needed to be. Whatever the consequence may have been, Suzan doubted it would be worse than not knowing.

The pair just circled their new victim. If anything was said, it failed to reach listening ears. The woman didn’t move, didn’t flinch. She didn’t even seem interested. Both pairs of eyes scanned her front and back, from top to toe, and intimated that they liked what they saw. Both probably dreamt of the same thing; see just how sturdy the catsuit was against cold, sharp steel. Suzan caught a glimpse of reflected sodium lighting in the hand of one.

Big mistake!

Theirs was, at least until this moment, actions and reactions that came under the apparent influence of external stage management. The antagonising sniggers were diabolical in essence and had roots embedded in improvisation. A well-aimed heel impacted on the pelvic fulcrum of one; tendrilous arms handled the other. He might have felt empowered with the production of the flick knife; relish terror stricken eyes recoiling into the distance. That wasn’t happening.

The woman already offered an alternative: one arm pressed firmly against his neck now, the opposing forearm garrotted down into the nape, forcing reflex to unfurl all fingers. The knife hit the ground clangorously as upwards application of leverage was instilled on him. Suzan heard the crack all the way over there. He deserved that... didn’t he?

Now the lone attacker had much more on his mind than mere waterlogged eyes and an aching groin. He was offered the opportunity to peel his cheek from the ground and make his own mind up on escape or not. Rapid eye movement alternated between the imposition hovering nearby, Suzan, the knife and the knife owner.

The memory of him scrabbling away on all fours was a decent enough counteragent to mild depression. Both buttocks come to rest on the wall behind her. Both palms slid further down both thighs until both knees got in the way. Large dark eyes extended a standard blink a few seconds longer while breath that had been held in perpetuity has given a release valve.

Relief was just a cover story given to composure. Suzan swept stray hair up and away from her forehead with one hand, using the preening manoeuvre to fully erect herself as though nothing had happened. Daylight could well offer the type of cold analysis that it was renowned for: nothing really did happen to her. That might yet change however: at some point during the rehabilitation, the alley had become just what it had always been, a deserted scrap of waste ground that should really be avoided at all costs once the Sun had settled down for the night. Suzan’s only company was the corpse.

Awkward questions from less than salubrious law enforcers are best avoided altogether. Suzan learned that the hard way several years ago. She was not about to loiter in anticipation of another round of you’ve got some real explaining to do, Ms Wood. The next big exclusive was already heading out of the embryonic stage.

“Ok. Run away if that’s what you want. But I will find out who you are!”

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Chapter Three

Even taking into account her standards, today was a surreal one to say the least. Most of it was forgettable, just like any other. The latter, however, would stick in the mind whether it was wanted or not; whether it was welcome or not. Suzan dropped her keys into the ceramic bowl that had the occasional table all to itself. The pale cream coloured bowl served no other purpose. The closing door clicked was always a welcome sound. The world had its problems of course, Suzan knew that more than anyone; but however bad things seemed, nothing ever got past that door. Personal satisfaction felt greater now: there was much more to flounder outside this evening.

Wasn’t there?

“I do not run away!”

In certain circumstances, with certain motivations, Suzan was as brave and as bold as anyone. She was no super heroine though, and held fear and bravado in equal measures. Often when one was on display, it stood on the shoulders of the other. The former gripped her as much as it had ever done.

What made things worse was the alarm system that was installed sometime late last year. The claim that convinced her to shell out that small fortune was looking decidedly shaky at best. The salesman worked long and hard on the notion that it was infallible. Did someone somehow notice the code that was entered? That didn’t seem to be possible, but the damn thing was off. Someone knew.

Suzan dared herself on more than one occasion to unfreeze and shift position – even if it was just an inch or so; she refused, politely at first. Moving now might have meant bumping into the second version of herself that imagination decided was lurking on one side.

“I’m not scared, you know!” that took two attempts to sound genuine; and even then, more practice was probably required. Suzan took in a deep breath as subtly as she was able to. It wasn’t breath she was trying to inhale; it was something else. Something she thought she had in abundance… up until now at least. “Who are you?”

No direct answer was given, just an assurance. The voice came from the kitchen and offered no clues as to accent or dialect. It was soft, distinct and well mannered. Suzan dared to venture a guess at educated. It was different to hers though. Words were carried on a platform of authority that never went beyond what was necessary. If Suzan closed her eyes, she could swear blind that it was like her former teacher had re-entered her life. A woman had worked her way to the brink of headmistress.

The voice carried enough reassurances to allow Suzan's muscles to relax, enabling her to gravitate towards it. Deep in the kitchen, her saviour posed elegantly, hands braced against the worktop. Fluorescent lighting spotlighted the woman with exquisite precision; Suzan couldn't tell if that long dark hair was black or auburn. That dominant square chin might have been borrowed from a man at some point, latching onto triangular mandibles that disappeared beneath that mane. Full lips only just displayed more colour than the surrounding skin.

The first several questions aligned themselves into some sort of order. Each had a case for priority. The remaining couple of hundred or so would have to patiently wait their turn. At no time did either woman yield in an impromptu staring contest. Experience of the flat and its layout brought Suzan to within arms reach of the newcomer. That was close enough. Fresh memories of two pseudo tough guys prevented her attaining perigee.

Some of the obvious things to ask were waived in favour of something much more obtuse. Suzan found it difficult to accept belief of her own ears when the words trotted out, “What… who are you?”

“I am Akka.” The voice retained its former state, but had the added feature of pride. Akka certainly spoke well. “You have been targeted for elimination by the Janissary. I am here for your protection.”

News such as this didn’t really happen in everyday life. Actually, that wasn’t strictly true: numerous times someone, somewhere, at sometime had designs to shut Suzan up in one form or another, but a hitman? That was a new one on her. “The what?”

“Janissary. They are a secret organisation that design, make and implement plans on a global scale. There is nothing that they do not know about. The Janissary knows what each person would have for breakfast on any given morning.”

Suzan sank into the closest approximation of a chair. It was, in reality, the small dining table that really ought to have been in the living room. It had to suffice for the time being. Suzan propped her back against the wall behind. What a sight she must have looked; she felt like one at least. Akka didn’t react, merely continuing on unabated.

“The man you know as Wilcox is really one of us.”

A singular two letter word cut through Suzan’s worn down instincts, massaging her intellect into life. That was a potential slip of the tongue that held possible recriminations… but for whom? Either way, Suzan wasn’t about to let it pass without comment.

“Us? Are you one of these Janissary? You going to silence me or something?”

Akka shook her head. It was done firmly enough to convince Suzan that she may not be the damsel in distress after all. “No. I am a fully trained and capable Janissary warrior, but I no longer serve them. No-one has left the organisation for decades now. The last time that happened in Berlin, Germany. After what that young man accomplished, it was decided that the next time it happened steps would be taken. To that end, Revenant is now hot on my trail.”

Either suzan’s world grew to massive proportions or she shrunk within it. The story recited to her was fantastic to say the least, and few would be inclined to believe it. Akka did speak honestly enough though. Perhaps it was enough for Suzan to accept. Perhaps not.

Akka moved quickly to what was surely the crux of the matter. “I am here for one reason and one reason only: I need your help.”