The Rising Sea

21

In a luxury suite overlooking the arena, Walter Han watched the fight from behind thick glass. It muffled the sound of the crowd and the viciousness of the blows and allowed a sense of privacy. Scanning the arena through a pair of opera glasses, he saw nothing to indicate a rescue was under way.

“Anything?” Kashimora asked.

“Not yet,” Han said.

“So much for your plan to draw him out into the open,” Kashimora said condescendingly.

Han placed the glasses down and began to pace. The arrival of the American unnerved him. Not only because he’d been told they were all dead or in the hospital but because they’d struck so close to him. He had a survivor’s instincts and they told him he was in danger.

He explained what he knew to Kashimora. “Based on the description your doorman gave, you’re looking for a man named Austin. He’ll be wearing a distinctive white dinner jacket. The man in the ring is his comrade. Considering what I know about these two, neither will abandon the other.”

Kashimora smirked. “Bravado: I find it goes out the window when the stakes get this high. If Austin knows what’s good for him, he’s already looking for a way out of the building.”

“An effort I assume your men will prevent,” Han said.

“Of course,” Kashimora said. “Trust me, there’s no way for them to escape now.”

Han nodded. “Then I’ll depart and let you handle it.”

“You’re leaving?”

Han knew it wasn’t his finest moment, but he had to get out of there. If he was exposed, the entire plan would come apart. And the leaders of the Party in China would sacrifice him to save themselves. “What purpose does my staying serve? You said it yourself: there’s no way for them to escape.”

Kashimora had been trapped by his own words. “If this goes badly for us, you will hear about it,” he threatened.

“You forget your station,” Han said. “I deal with those much higher in the syndicate than you. My patronage is appreciated and has been for years.” He put his hand on the door, not waiting for permission. “If the American has friends here, I expect you to find them and eliminate them. If not, get rid of the one in the ring and leave no trace of his existence.”

Kashimora bristled but did not try to prevent his leaving. “Take the wild man with you,” he said. “Don’t ever bring him here again.”

Han opened the door and motioned to Oni. They left together.

Kashimora remained behind, stewing for the moment and frustrated. He grabbed the opera glasses off the table and scanned the arena himself. He saw nothing out of order and lowered the glasses, pointing to his empty tumbler as a cocktail waitress entered.

“Scotch.”

He sat down in an overstuffed chair as she freshened his drink and delivered it.

Without acknowledging her, he brought the glass to his mouth, tipped it back and consumed half the liquid inside. The fiery liquid burned in just the right way and Kashimora felt instantly calmer.

He put the tumbler down and turned his attention back to the fight. The second round had gone much like the first. The hulking giant attacking and the nimble American dodging and weaving.

“Maybe Han is right,” he said to himself. “Perhaps he is waiting for rescue.”

“Then we’d better not disappoint him,” a voice said from behind them.

Kashimora whirled in his chair. The American accent was unmistakable, the white dinner jacket confirming who it was that had spoken. Kashimora noticed the man was unarmed but smiling.

“You must be Austin.”

“I am,” the man replied, taking a seat.

“How did you get in here?”

“With surprising ease,” Austin replied smugly. “Now that most of your men are out there looking for me, the hallways are empty. And your guards at the door were easy to distract and subdue.”

“I don’t need guards to protect myself,” Kashimora said, producing a snub-nosed pistol and aiming it at the American’s chest.

Instead of fear or even caution, Austin merely raised his hands in a halfhearted manner as if he were surrendering. He wore an outright grin on his face. Not the look of a defeated man. “I wouldn’t pull that trigger, if I was you.”

“You’ll wish I had when you’re drowning at the bottom of Tokyo Bay with your friend.”

“And you’ll wish you’d listened to me,” the American replied, “when your heart goes into an uncontrollable fibrillation and your arteries begin leaking blood out of every pore and body cavity.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Whatever happens to me happens to you,” Austin told him. “Either we both live or we both die. It’s up to you.”

“Lies and a bad attempt to bluff. That doesn’t work well around here.”

Austin held up an empty plastic vial and tossed it to him. Kashimora caught it with his free hand. A bitter residue clung to the sides.

“That was filled with heparin,” Kurt said. “A powerful blood thinner. Very similar to rat poison. You’ve ingested a fatal dose in that beverage of yours. Enough to kill a man three times your size — like the one trying to beat up my friend down there. The alcohol masks the taste of the drug, but I imagine you can detect a metallic and bitter flavor on your tongue at this point.”

Kashimora began running his tongue across his teeth; he detected an unpleasant essence. He knew what rat poison could do. He’d used it on others.

“You’re probably feeling flushed as well,” Austin continued. “Your heart will be racing soon, if it’s not already.”

Kashimora’s face felt warm. His heart was beating firmly, a little too firmly. A bead of sweat was already forming on his brow. “You’ll never get out of here alive,” he said.

Austin raised an eyebrow. “I will if you escort me to the door. And if you’re willing to do that, I’m willing to leave you at the front gate with a firm handshake and the antidote in your outstretched palm.”

“Or I could shoot you and search your body for it.” Kashimora cocked the pistol and stared down the barrel.

“Excellent idea,” Austin said. He opened his palm, revealing a handful of tablets. There were five pills all of different colors, shapes and sizes. “It’s one of these,” he said. “But you guess wrong, you get more poison and you die even quicker.”

Kashimora could hardly believe what was occurring. In the heart of the Yakuza stronghold, with every exit sealed and fifty armed men looking for him, Austin had turned the tables against the house.

“Put the gun on the floor and slide it over here,” Austin demanded.

He shook his head. There had to be another way.

Austin glanced at his watch. “Wait much longer and it’ll be too late.”

Kashimora tried to control his fear, but it was overwhelming. His heart was pounding now; a sheen of sweat had built up on his face. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his jacket and put the gun down. He kicked it Austin’s way. “What do you want me to do? Call off the security teams?”

Austin picked up the pistol. “They would find that awfully suspicious.”

“Then what?”

“First, I’ll take your phone,” he said. “Mine was impounded. And then you’re going to help me get my friend out of the ring. And you’re going to do it the old-fashioned way. By hand.”