Introducing our protagonist, Irina Kai, from the epilogue of Mineko: Book of Sisters.
Irina Kai let her fingers rub over the textured leather cover of the book she held in her lap. Contained within the pages were stories of a long since passed and forgotten ancestor. Irina carefully closed the ancient book, cautious of the delicate and ready to crumble yellowed paper pages. Staring out the moisture-streaked window at the approaching rainstorm, Irina was not one to portray much sentiment. What she had just finished reading about, the trials and tribulations of a great-grandmother umpteen generations back in Japan, gave her a slightly melancholy feeling. Trained not to show emotion, the moisture gathering in her eyes betrayed her true feelings.
The ringing Android-powered cell phone redirected her thoughts for a moment. Glancing at the display, she saw the incoming call was from her boss, Thomas Freeman. She swiped her thumb across the screen. Long black hair parted as she raised the phone to her ear.
“Hello. Yeah. Uh-huh, Rick is on his way to pick me up now. Yes, I got the mission file and decoded it already—he’s a nasty one, isn’t he? Yep . . . okay . . . will do.”
She tossed the cell phone onto her purple backpack sitting next to the small ratty wood chest that her mother had delivered to her. Brought over from Japan long before she was born, the chest had ended up with her mother as other distant family members passed away.
The lacquered box, changed owners a dozen times or so over the years. It was old, if not older, than the books it protected. And inside were more old books filled with stories of other past grandmothers, just like the one she held in her hands. Irina gently set the book back into the chest with the others, shut and locked it, saving those stories for another time. Like the great-grandmothers that extend back hundreds of years before her, Irina’s job was that of an assassin. And she was very good at her job.
It had to be the tenacity in the genes from a great-grandmother Mineko passed down through each generation. Genes from a bloodline that made Irina as resolute, tough, and beautiful as she is. Irina watched as Rick, a member of her support team pulled up in his red and black Hennessey Mustang GT outside her window.
Checking the SIG Sauer P250 pistol that was strapped to her thigh once more, Irina smoothed her short skirt over the weapon. Time to kill more bad guys.
At least the rains were passing.
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