Quetra Rebaba Winner reached for the phone and picked it up, silencing the high-pitched ringing that had penetrated his early morning meditation. "This is Quetra Winner."
"Hey, Quetra, long time no see!" Duo Maxwell said over the line, his voice warming Quetra's heart.
"Duo! How are you and Hilde?"
"Just fine," Duo said, then became silent. "I've got a message from Silent Type."
Quetra nodded; that was Heero's codename within the pilots. "Go ahead."
"He said to tell the Desert Prince that the affair was short-lived."
Quetra leaned against the red tile of his kitchen counter and scooped an apple from the chrome basket that hung over the sink. He took a bite out if it, chewed on it and also chewed on his thoughts.
"Duo, have you heard the news this morning?"
"Yes, I have...I interrupted your meditation, didn't I?"
"No, not at all. Tell me, what did it say?"
"Sylvia Novinta was killed in the Joseph A. Grace Hospital in Sicily last night. They were chasing a guy who they suspected was the killer, but they lost him somewhere around the airport on the city limits."
Quetra took another bite of the apple.
"What's this all about, Quetra?" Duo wondered.
"Heero was Sylvia's bodyguard," Quetra said. "He's the man they were probably chasing."
"No kidding," Duo said gravely. "Where would he go?"
"I don't know. He told me three months ago about the job and that Sylvia was very fond of him."
"But I thought---oh man, that guy just keeps getting complicated every day," Duo muttered.
Quetra laughed. "He actually visited me here in New York when Sylvia was on vacation and asked for my advice on the ladies."
"Get out!"
"It's hard to believe, isn't it?"
"He sure has changed."
Quetra frowned. "But the times haven't changed at all."
Duo sighed. "That's true. What are we going to do abou this?"
"Nothing until he says so. Heero suspected that someone might assassinate Sylvia to get to him, or to simply get her out of the way of her pro-pacifism ideals in domestic disputes. If things went bad, that was his mesage: 'the affair was short-lived.' I was told to hold everything untiil I received another message."
"Do you think we shou--hold on, I've got another call." There was a click, and Quetra took a moment to gather his thoughts and finish his apple. The meditation had been too short to do him any good, and he knew that he was going to worry about Heero until he heard some new information.
"Quetra? I've got Wufei on the line. You wanna talk to him?"
"Sure thing, Duo." There was another click, and then Wufei joined the call. "Fellas," he greeted. "I just got off the phone with Lady Une. She says that Heero hitched a ride with our friends Zechs and Noin back to the Northern States. I've tried to call Relena, but her secretary won't put me through...he gave me some bull about her being in meeting with Lady Une."
"She sounds upset," Duo commented.
"Or she's just waiting for more news and doesn't want to be disturbed," Quetra said. "Are there any air patrols after Heero?"
"Not that I know of," Wufei answered. "But there is definetely someone out to get him."
"Heero doesn't have any enemies left," Duo pointed out.
"Unless it's someone from his past."
"But who's going to know Heero's past? We don't even know, and we're...well, I guess we're his pals."
Quetra smiled at Duo's frustration. "He'll be fine, Duo. I think I'm going to head to Minneapolis."
"Good idea. I'll hang around in Sicily if something else comes up," Wufei said. "Take care, you two."
A click signaled his departure, and Duo hung up after he confirmed that Quetra's cell phone number was correct. Quetra put the receiver down and rubbed his temples. Things had been so normal of late...perhaps that was the problem.
He picked up the phone and leafed through the list of phone numbers next to it. He scanned the last page, found the one he wanted, and dialed it in.
"Yes, this is Quetra Winner. I'd like to place a call to Preventer Cheerleader. Codeword is Treize." There was a pause, and the silence in the kitchen was absorbing.
"Mr. Winner?" That was Mariemaia: the bright and cheeful adopted daughter of Lady Une, and the youngest Preventer around. Even though she wasn't an official part of their team, she had the access necessary to keep Relena company until Quetra got there.
"Hi, Mariemaia. Something's come up that I need your help with..."
"I believe we've deciphed the codenames."
"Go on."
"Desert Prince is Quetra Rebaba Winner. Silent Type is Heero Yuy."
"Tell me something I don't know."
"There are others. God of Death is Duo Maxwell. Clown Boy is Trowa Barton."
"Trowa Barton is dead, you fool."
"Don't kill the messenger. The last one is Dragon Keeper, and that belongs to Wufei Chang. He's also a Preventer, who goes by the codename Rain."
"What about Fire and Wind?"
"Nothing yet. They still have to stop in North Carolina before heading for Minneapolis."
"Watch them. Keep an eye on Peacecraft as well."
"Affirmative."
Heero stood on the opposite side of the plane, away from the mechanics, as they refueled the small vehicle. He kept his arms folded over his chest, eyes closed, hair moving slowly in the stale breeze. The image of Sylvia's dead body was branded onto his brain, and he could not erase it, not even for a moment of peace in the turmoil of his mind.
"I love you."
The words played on an infinite record with a better stereo system than most teenagers had in their cars. No matter how hard Heero could try to put the affair behind him, he knew better...he knew that Sylvia was one of those people that he would never forget.
He also rememberd a name, a pale face with paler hair, and eyes that burned with vengance...a man, an assassin, who was known in the underworld by the name of Saint Nick. He was a hired killer, knew most of the techniques that Heero knew. And he should, Heero thought. He was the one who taught me. This new memory was bringing back similar ones, ones that Heero would have rather forgotten. There had been the seperation between the two of them, back in 191, when Heero had failed Nicholas's task.
"We're fueled up, Heero," Noin called from the cockpit, interrupting Heero's thoughts. He started to walk back to the plane, but stopped, the wind changing intensity and direction. From the wind he heard the sound of guns clicking, hands tightening on grips, and a small engine starting up.
"Toss me a weapon!" Heero said, his body bolting into action. Noin did not ask questions, but removed a section of the cockpit floor and chucked an AK-74 at Heero. He caught it and flipped the safety off, climbed onto the right wing of the plane. He pounded the hull with his free hand and shouted, "Take off Zechs!"
"What's going on, Heero?" Noin called again, her pistol in her hand.
"He's here," the stoic face responded.
There it was, the shock of snow hair, coming up behind the plane. Heero felt the craft rumble and begin to move under his feet, and tried to keep his balance as best he could. One of the maintennance carts was barreling towards them, and it was driven by only one man. With a black gloved hand on the wheel and another holding a long rifle, he took aim not at the plane, but at the blood-stained boy who had killed adolesence, standing on the wing.
"There you are," Heero saw him say.
"Come get me," Heero said back, and aimed for the tires of the vehicle. The bullets were missing by inches, and each time he corrected his aim, the cart changed direction and speed, making it impossible to land a solid hit. One bullet almost clipped Heero in the ear, and another had passed by his right leg, it's heat resonating through the fabric and into his skin.
Heero aimed for the man instead, and took his surprise to his advantage, firing off a round of ammunition that would have killed Nicholas, if he had not applied the brake to his cart. The bullets struck the hood and blew it off in pieces, the man smacking them aside with his rifle. With a determined attitude, he stood up in the cart and propped the rifle on his shoulder, fired another round that missed Heero by mere fate.
"Heero, you have to get in now!" Noin shouted, holding the cockpit door open for him. The wind was picking up speed, slamming against the craft as it neared the end of the runway. Heero set up a blazing round of stalling bullets, then threw the rifle at the cart. It caught under the left front tire, and disoriented another shot that would have killed Heero. Nicholas went rolling out of the vehicle and brought his rifle to bear, but it was too late--Heero had already managed to climb back inside the plane.
"Who was that?" Zechs demanded angrily as Heero ran a hand through his hair, took a seat behind Noin.
"A hired assassin," Heero answered in his naturally stoic tone.
"Does this confirm your suspicions?" Noin wanted to know.
"No," Heero answered flatly. "I still don't know his motive."
With Mariemaia to keep Relena company, Quetra's mind was put slightly at ease. Somehow, in a deep recess of his mind, he still felt as though he were a knight of the Cinct Kingdom, trying to protect the princess and keep her from bodily harm. He picked up his carry-on bag and dashed up the escalator towards the front gate, trying to make the flight that he had barely been able to gain a ticket for.
Not only was his heart pounding from his rushing steps; it also possessed a burning ache that would not subside. As he stepped into the plane and carefully found his seat, he was able to relax and took comfort in staring out the window of first class. Now the ache threatened to swallow his heart whole, and he could not ignore it anymore.
Had it not been for his involvement with the Cinct Kingdom, he probably would never have met Relena Darlan. He would never have seen those bright eyes and that hair the color of honey, falling gracefully down her shoulders. He would never have seen the compassion, the determination, the kindness, that one person could exude by their mere presence. He would never have seen what one person, with their words alone, could do to change the world.
He wouldn't have fallen in love, either.
Her feelings for Heero mattered little to Quetra. He didn't quite understand them himself, but instead had spent his time keeping his heart bundled into a little package, not letting anyone even suspect that he might be burning for the Vice Foreign Minister of the greatest political power in history. He had kept it all a secret...and now, with this latest turn of events, he felt that he could no longer keep the wrapping paper on the package of his heart.
It was time to crumble the paper up, throw the ribbon aside, and pick the tape off. Did she even have any idea how he felt? Did she even know what her being upset and sad did to him, especially now after almost a year of barely any contact?
Quetra took a glass of water from the stewardess and sipped it gently, then sat it on his tray.
"It's time to find out," he whispered to himself as the roar of the engines drowned out his thoughts.
