Devil's Due (Destroyermen #12)(4)
Apparently, the Japanese officer understood more English than he spoke because his eyes narrowed and he drew back a hand to strike Sandra across the face. With a supreme effort, he controlled his impulse and grabbed Sandra’s wrist instead, wrenching her bodily out of the cell. Diania crouched to spring, but Sandra quickly shook her head. “No, Diania!” She had no doubt the tiny wildcat could disable one guard, maybe two, who’d be caught completely by surprise. And Sandra was pretty confident she could take out the abusive officer quickly enough to assist her friend with the third man, but now wasn’t the time. It was still daylight, men and Grik were watching, and they had no plan at all. They’d be recaptured, if not killed, and any future attempt would be far more difficult. Best let their captors continue to underestimate them. “Let’s just find out what they want, sweetheart,” Sandra said more softly. Reluctantly, Diania stepped forward and allowed herself to be seized by one of the sailors. Sandra was interested to see that the man took Diania’s wrist much more gently than the officer had taken hers.
Their escort marched them briskly down a tree-covered path toward the harbor, the same they’d used when first taken to their cell. The first thing Sandra noticed—besides Savoie’s huge, brooding shape secured to the pier, its big guns bristling in what seemed all directions—was that the force Kurokawa had apparently brought back was considerably smaller than Muriname told her he’d set out with. Several more of the former Grik ironclad battlewagons were still under conversion to aircraft carriers at the extensive shipyards Kurokawa had established here, but they’d been there when Sandra and her friends arrived. None appeared much closer to completion. Their armored casemates and guns had already been removed when Sandra saw them last, leaving their hulls floating high in the water. The framing for their flight decks had begun and they rode a little lower, so she assumed their engineering plants had been the focus of alteration. Either way, they clearly remained weeks, at least, from readiness, and only one of the three finished carriers Kurokawa took to strike TF Alden was moored in the bay. Several of the returned ironclad steam “cruisers” looked a little battered as well. She prayed that meant TF Alden, with all its planes, new weapons, ammunition, and reinforcements, had bulled through to Matt on Mada-gaas-gar and decisively kicked Kurokawa’s ass.
She shook her head to clear her mind as they passed through a palisade surrounding a large building, carefully camouflaged from the sky, and stepped on a rough-hewn porch. She suspected she’d need all her wits to leave this building alive, and, just as important, steer the enemy’s thoughts in the direction she wanted them to go. A door stood open, allowing the evening breeze to cool the interior, but the senior guard stopped and knocked respectfully.
“Bring them in,” came an almost . . . cheerful voice Sandra didn’t recognize, touched only lightly with an accent. Muriname had warned her about Kurokawa’s mood swings and volcanic temper. She’d watch for signs he was losing it—and would redirect it if she could. She couldn’t help wondering what had him in such a good mood, however, and the possibilities made her wary. The guards pushed her and Diania into the room and Sandra was surprised by the contrasting decor. The walls were rough wood, like the rest of the building, but a richly woven rug, probably a tapestry taken from some seagoing Lemurian Home, covered the timber floor. Colorful curtains swayed with the breeze beside broad, glassless windows on the seaward side of the room, and a great, carefully crafted wooden desk dominated the space in front of smaller windows in the wall to landward. General of the Sky Hideki Muriname stood to one side of the desk, peering through wire-framed glasses perched on his nose, his prematurely bald head glistening in the light of lamps spaced around the walls. He was frowning, his hungry leer no doubt tempered by how filthy they were. He actually raised a white handkerchief of his own near his nose before he caught himself.
They sure have a lot of those white hankies, Sandra thought, distracted by the notion, but her gaze went to a short, roundish man with an equally round face sitting behind the desk. His uniform was immaculate, and though reminiscent of those worn by naval officers of the Japanese Imperial Navy, was decorated with all sorts of fanciful medals, devices, and colorful ribbons. It was so ridiculously ostentatious, in fact, that she had to force herself not to snort with amusement. Surely even he can’t take all that seriously, she thought. But maybe he does, she reconsidered. He probably did it to impress his Grik allies, at first, but by all accounts—even Muriname’s—Kurokawa is quite mad. Best not antagonize him. At least over something like that, she amended.
Kurokawa alone seemed immune to their reek and appearance, and his expression was almost . . . benign as he stood from the chair behind his desk, regarding her and Diania with keen interest. His slightly bulging eyes focused on Sandra. “Ah,” he said. “I finally have the honor of meeting the ‘great healer’ of the Alliance.” He spoke with a growing note of sarcasm, lips stretched in a thin line across his small teeth. “How unfortunate that you cannot heal the reverse your cause recently suffered north of Mahe Island, or”—he actually began to smile—“the apparent loss of both your husband’s puny destroyers.”
Sandra felt her bones turn to fire. He’s lying! she screamed inside, but managed to control herself, even affecting a confused expression. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. My companions and I were confined by murderers representing the League of Tripoli, as you know full well”—she jerked her head toward the battleship docked less than a quarter mile away—“and then by your people here.” She glared at Muriname. “If you fought a battle against my husband’s fleet, this is the first I’ve heard of it.” She stood straighter. “And it looks like your fleet needs a little healing,” she said, then added, “so I’m not sure I’d be so confident you achieved all you think you did, if I were you.” With that jab, she saw the flames of fury flicker behind Kurokawa’s eyes, but he retained his composure.