It's day 3 and I'm at a little over 4000 words.
Complete Chapter One.

If you've read the previous posts...just skip ahead. The new stuff is in bold.

Chapter One

"There's a time to fight, and a time to run away!"

-any Frenchman

"Andar! Andar!" the head waiter blurted out as he made his way past Hector and into the ship's hold. This bit of Spanish fervently reminded him of where he was and why he was dressed like a waiter. When Virginia had told him he would be needing his tuxedo for this assignment, he thought he was finally out of the doghouse with Bishop...no such luck.

Trying to keep on schedule, Hector (know by his government moniker as Rook-5) grabbed a plate of hors devours and headed topside trying not to be noticed. The sea air was refreshing compared to the dishes being cooked up downstairs and probably kept him from blowing chunks and his cover. Licking his thumb, Hector smoothed a rogue hair behind his ear and leaned over a scantily clad woman, sunbathing on the deck. Offering up his tray of dead sea creatures and cheese, fluent baja Spanish flowed from his lips as he offered up compliments like he did the brie. Hector's eyes meandered across the tan backs of several ladies when his earbud microphone crackled to life.

"Rook! It's time to get moving! You're behind schedule!" the booming voice of Bishop was unmistakable.

Hector walked and smiled as he mumbled into his sleeve. "Tell me again Bishop why I was chosen for this mission...it's because I look so good in this tux isn't it?"

Bishop's reply was to the point, "Cut the small talk and get to the distraction!"

Hector sat down his tray of fish and cheese on a sunchair and knelt beside the entrance to Shige Nishiguchi’s office. Shige carried out all of his ‘business proceedings’ at sea. International waters made legality a bit more ‘hazy’ as well as offered him the protection of miles of water in all directions to prevent being listened in on. He also made sure to surround himself with two things. Beautiful women and Yakuza. Hector had been trained in international terrorist organizations and how to recognize them, but it didn’t take an expert to recognize that these three-piece suits in ninety-eight degree weather were Japanese mafia.

As he knelt next to the port cabin, Hector feigned a loose shoelace while waiting for one of the ‘decorations draped in suntan oil’ to turn over on her stomach. This would give him more than enough time to carry out his distraction also.

Moving with the efficiency that originally won him this job, Hector released the rubber seal on the heel of his shoe that held his distraction in place. Owing to the deviousness of company minds, Hector’s right shoe sole had been hollowed out and filled with simple vegetable oil. Also, the standard heel had been replaced with a more pliable plastic so that, when he walked, the oil would be ejected rearward. Now, normally, this would not be considered a highly useful item in the field of espionage, but when one tied the meticulously waxed deck with the added vegetable oil, it quickly turned into the fifth force of nature.

The simplicity of it all is what really appealed to Hector. Less moving parts just meant less likely to malfunction.

After adjusting his tie and giving the initial outflow time to form a serious obstruction, Hector slammed his right shoe down once for good measure and quickly made his way starboard to await the next anxious waiter.

Since being topside, Hector had made a circuitous route around the top deck sizing up the number and position of all the important people. Checking the sides of beef guarding Shige’s office once more, he silently prayed that these guys weren’t as good as they dressed. Shige and his business associates had made their way to the rear deck, most likely to enjoy their very expensive dinner. Which meant the main course should be being pushed out via a sterling silver push cart … any… second.

A sound akin to a windchime factory exploding may be the only thing you could relate to what happened next . Counting on the waiter to not see the near-invisible oil accompanied by his due speed to impress his host, the two thugs guarding the office watched as half of the first course accompanied the waiter overboard. This, as expected, caused the metal and muscle in Armani’s to investigate… exactly as Hector had hoped.

Using the resulting noise and confusion and a little help from a top of the line set of lockpicks, Hector managed to greet the other side of the door before Felipe was fished out of the drink.

Darkness surrounded him faster than the feeling of lonliness that always accompanies it. How quickly he recalled the layout of the office was contrasted only by the slowness in which he made his way across it. Apparently, someone had left the computer on providing the perfect beacon for him to follow. Locating the printer was actually harder than he anticipated. The printer had been attached to the desk from underneath; hanging upside down like a bat. Working with a clever combination of speed and efficiency, Rook carefully removed the printer ribbon from the humming printer. He had just reached down to retrieve it’s replacement when he heard the sounds of gunfire coming from the rear deck. The gunfire element seemed to put his mission on a whole new timetable.

Trying not to work too fast, Rook found himself ripping the fake printer ribbon from it’s sewn-in hiding place in his pants leg. In the process, he not only took the bottom eight inches of pants leg with it, but also a screamable amount of leg hair. As his eyes rolled with the pain, he clenched his teeth trying not to scream. After all, he was a professional.

Focusing past the evident pain, Rook managed to put the fake ribbon in place while placing the stolen printer ribbon into an airtight plastic bag he had lifted from the kitchen.

Another three shots in a row snapped his mind back to the more pressing problem. Feeling down his back, he placed the bag into his cummerbund while removing his custom made Sig-Sauer P-220 into his left hand. Making his way back across the cabin, he stopped in the doorway trying to deduce the make and model of the weapon being fired. From the methodical rhythm of shots, he was positive it must be an execution style killing. Had Shige dared to mess with the Yakuza? Or had the Yakuza finally gotten tired of Shige’s high prices? Either way, this little killing spree was not in the notes about this mission and that meant resorting to plan B…head for moisture and swim like hell.

Waiting for one more round of shots to be fired (12 gauge definitely), Rook slammed the cabin door open and made his way back topside into the light of day. The first thing to run through his mind upon setting foot on the deck was, “Why is everyone staring at me?” which was followed closely by, “What an odd time to shoot skeet.”

What Rook (or, as Bishop would say right now “Rookie”) had just blown in stealth, he decided to make up for in surprise. He also noticed at that same instance, from the size of the weaponry every man in a suit just pulled out, the Yakuza didn’t believe in ‘wound’em and take’em alive’.

There is an old cliche’ about a point of no return, and with a few curse words intermingled, Rook kept repeating this phrase to himself in the twelve languages he had been taught. In his own mind, it seemed to improve his aim.

Dropping down on one knee and spinning, he managed to take out the knees of a dishonorable offender behind him. Rook turned rapidly to find himself face to face with a sterling silver serving tray. A waiter rounding the corner collided with the panicking C.H.E.S.S. agent and caused Hector to back up onto a writhing bodyguard, one who’s knees had just been rearranged. Hector grabbed for the railing which caused him to turn and fall over to the lower deck six feet below. There he made a three point landing onto a freshly waxed deck. Running aft of the ship, he used the fact that everyone was still stunned and some of the vegetable oil residue the falling discharged to propel himself through two henchman, over a deck chair, and right up to Shige Nishiguchi himself.

<“Anyone takes a shot at me and the man who pays the rent is sporting one more orifice!”> Rook shouted in a near perfect dialect of Tokyo Japanese.

<”Very impressive Mr.---?”>, Shige inquired.

<”Soze, Keyser Soze.”>

About this time, a short, balding, Japanese man who appeared straight out of an Akira Kurosawa film, the apparent leader of the Yakuza that were present, spoke up. “Why should we care if you shoot him? It would only keep us from having to pay for what we are here to acquire. Drop your weapon and you will die honorably.”

“Oh really? Any free toaster with that offer? Look yujin, all I want is off this slow boat to China and I’ll do it with or –“ Rook was suddenly, and forcefully, interrupted by a terribly inconveniencing kick to the midsection. It just happened to turn out that one of the extremely attractive women Rook thought was added for scenery, also knew how to hurt a man.

After opening his eyes from the near cliché kick, Rook noticed several things about his assailant he hadn’t before. Like her long, flowing black hair that added to the remarkable figure she was sporting under some eyepatches and string she was trying to pass off as a bikini. But that was fine by Rook, he had always supported a woman’s right to exploit her own body. Especially when it looked like this. Considering her remarkable attractiveness, he wasn’t surprised he didn’t pick up on the three foot sword at his throat sooner. He voiced the only thought he could muster, “Where in the world do you keep the sword?”

As if she were mute or very well trained, Shige spoke for her.

“Mr. Soze, meet my bodyguard Hiromi Matsumura. She is descended from a long line of bodyguards to the king of Okinawa and the originators of the White Crane system of fighting. Only the richest people can afford her, I’m proud to say.”

Hector paused a moment to once again run his eyes up and down his assailant. With her washboard stomach and her perfect breasts all olive colored and highlighted by the Pacific sun, he could only think of one reply, “So, how much does she charge for a couple of hours in the cabin?” He couldn’t be sure, but he thought the sword she was holding went just a bit deeper.

“Very amusing Mr. Soze. But, I am afraid you have outlived your entertainment value. If you would like to improve your odds at a quick death, you can tell me who you work for. Otherwise, you leave me no choice but to kill you and leave you to the barracuda.”

During these threats, Hiromi had gotten Hector to his feet. He had, by chance, placed his hand on a stack of clay pigeons to steady himself and left it there while searching for a way out.

“Okay Shige, you’ve got me dead to rights. But, if I tell you who sent me, you have to promise not to fire Hiromi here.”

“Why, whatever makes you think I would do that?” Shige commented, almost laughing.

“Because, O Great Sempai, the person you are paying the mucho yen to, in order to guard your body, didn’t even bother, before she let me near you, to check me for explosive devices…”

With the last comment, Rook flicked his wrist, hurtling the clay pigeon amongst the crowd that was growing ever larger.

This caused a moment of panic.

Even Hiromi balked for a moment allowing her hold on Hector and the sword falter. Rook wasted no opportunity. Exploiting his ambidexterity, his left hand activated his cufflink which was designed to allow the submarine waiting some fifty feet below to know he was coming, while his right hand drew upon years of his own martial arts training to form a chuto strike that served more to propel himself overboard than to injure Hiromi.

His world turned upside down momentarily, as he flipped backwards over the railing and into the Pacific ocean some twenty feet below. With a splash that highlighted the new confusion, the roar of the engines became all consuming. Seeing a bullet swim past him reminded him that danger had merely changed faces as he swam with a new fervor straight down.

For a second, Rook worried about living through all of this. Then he imagined what Bishop would say at the debriefing.

Suddenly, living became the least of his problems.