Rules of the Hunt (63 page)

Despite his rage, Kei was interested.
 
The
gaijin
was a fellow
weapons expert.
 
What he had to say,
particularly under these extreme circumstances, could well be worth hearing.
 
"Wait," he said in Japanese to his
men.

Hitai had been preparing to kill the
gaijin
by drawing his sword and slashing in one continuous flowing move.
 
Kei Namaka was famous for it and Hitai wanted
to show that he, too, was a master of
Iai-do
— the art of drawing a sword.

The
gaijin
did not look to be
presenting much of a problem as an opponent, but his behavior was
upsetting.
 
His method of retreating
meant that it was hard to keep the appropriate striking distance away.
 
And this ridiculous conversation was just
distracting.
 
It upset the dignity of the
occasion.
 
Hitai found it irritating, and
it was hard to clear his mind as he had learned to do.

His object was to make his mind like water:
 
a
reflection in water is the symbol of a clear, calm mind in harmony with its
surroundings — the highest level of training in a martial art
.
 
The
gaijin
's
behavior was the mental equivalent of throwing pebbles into that water.
 
Hitai could not focus.

"Yes, it is so," said Kei.
 
"The classic Japanese sword, the
katana
, reached perfection at a time when Europeans were fighting
with crude lumps of steel — and then how do you improve on perfection?
 
Instead, the emphasis changed to perfecting
the use of the sword.
 
One hundred and
twenty draws and a thousand cuts per day
was
normal
for a warrior's training.
 
It is only
through constant practice that perfection is achieved, and that warrior and
sword become as one."

"I have to admit, Namaka-
san
,"
said Fitzduane, "we're a sloppy lot in the West by comparison.
 
Instead of settling on perfection, we keep on
trying out new things.
 
It makes for a
disorderly but creative society.
 
Take
the rapier, for example.
 
At one stage,
some models were all of five feet long — rather difficult to wear on social
occasions.
 
Of course, trial and error
produced a more acceptable result.
 
But
then we all switched to the gun.
 
What do
you do with degenerates like that?
 
Fickle.
 
No staying
power."

Kei Namaka was nonplussed.
 
The
gaijin
was playing with him.
 
Hitai glanced toward Kei in a silent plea
that this nonsense be stopped.

Fitzduane stepped back three paces, and as the two
yakuza
stumbled in surprise at this totally unexpected move, he
executed one ferocious thrust which pierced the neck of the man next to him and
continued without pause to sink its point deep into the second
yakuza
's eye.

Kei gave a bellow, and Hitai turned back to his opponent and drew his
katana
with incredible speed and slashed
in a reflex at where Fitzduane had been.
 
The blade caught the second
yakuza
as he fell away, mortally wounded from the sword in his eye; after cutting
through his spine, it severed his right arm.

Fitzduane, who had little time for style over substance when his life was
on the line, left his rapier in the first
yakuza
's
neck and grabbed the man's Uzi.
 
The
strap would not come away, so he cocked it and fired it while still attached to
the
yakuza
's body.

The weapon hammered and Hitai's weapon shattered as the first rounds hit
it.
 
It did not seem quite the occasion
for restraint, so Fitzduane fired again, and Hitai sprouted red flowers as he
shot backwards into the second
yakuza
master swordsman.

The Uzi jammed.
 
Fitzduane pulled
his rapier out of the dead
yakuza
's
neck with some effort and met his new opponent as he advanced.
 
The
yakuza
delivered a series of slashing blows in a vertical cloverleaf arrangement that
effectively prevented anyone from getting near him.
 
It was an aggressive defense, because the man
advanced as he deployed this flashing perimeter.

Fitzduane scooped up Hitai's damaged
katana
and used it to parry the
yakuza
's
blade, and as he did so thrust his rapier into the
yakuza
's stomach.
 
The man
sagged forward onto his knees.

Fitzduane whirled to meet any possible attack from Kei Namaka, and was
stunned to see that neither he nor Goto had moved.

Kei just stood there, the ax in his hands, enjoying the spectacle.
 
Then Fitzduane moved forward and the ax was a
blur in his hands.
 
There was a fountain
of
blood ,
and the
yakuza
's
head flew across the room.
 
The headless
body slid to the ground, as Kei watched, mesmerized.
 
Then he looked at the dripping weapon.
 
"Superb," he said.
 
"The balance, the
craftsmanship, quite superb."

"Namaka-
san
," said
Fitzduane, "clearly you did not eat enough fish as a child.
 
There can be too much of a good thing.
 
Put that weapon down."

Kei looked across.
 
The
gaijin
had moved again.
 
Now he was by the small table where his
belongings had been placed and there was something in his hands.

"Don't disappoint me, Fitzduane-
san
,"
he said.
 
"Let us fight man to
man."

Fitzduane looked at the carnage around him and then at Kei.
 
"Don't be ridiculous," he
said.
 
"The familiar Calico was now
in his hand.
 
The exploding ex had been a
nice idea, but he did not relish being in the same room when it went off.
 
Metal fragments traveling at high velocity
had no discrimination.

"FIGHT ME,
GAIJIN
!
"
Kei roared, and charged at Fitzduane, the ax held
high above his head.

This is the man who arranged to have me killed and who nearly killed my
son, thought Fitzduane.
 
Still, there was
deep regret, as he squeezed the trigger of the Calico and 10mm red tracer
winked across the room, smashed effortlessly through the ornate
samurai
armor, and tore the magnificent
body of Kei Namaka into shreds.

The remains that had been the chairman of the Namaka Corporation
crumpled, and streams of crimson spread out across the seamless wooden floor.

"Namaka-
san
," said
Fitzduane to himself, "we
gaijins
have our weaknesses, but we know — we truly know — about the business of
killing.
 
And there is scant glory in
it."

In a far corner of the room, the new security chief of the Namaka
Corporation crouched.
 
Under the
samurai
war helmet, he was white-faced
and shaking with fear.

Fitzduane walked across to him, the Calico loosely trained on the
terrified man.
 
"Goto-
san
," he said mildly, "are you
sure you are on the right career path?"

Goto shook and could not speak.
 
The
gaijin
had killed five
armed men in less than a minute, and he was certain it would soon be six.
 
He had taken the job of security chief after
Kitano's abrupt demise to consolidate his power in the Namaka
keiretsu
, but had never dreamed he would
be much more than an administrator.
 
The
reality of violence made him sick.

"Goto-
san
," said
Fitzduane.
 
"If you don't want me to
add to your normal quota of body apertures, you're going to get up and show me
how to get out of here."

The terrified man did not move.

Fitzduane straightened his aim so that the Calico was pointing directly
between Goto's eyes.
 
"Please,"
said Fitzduane dryly.

*
         
*
         
*
         
*
         
*

The only reason they were not dead, Chifune reflected, as heavy automatic
fire cracked inches overhead and drew splinters from the base of the tower, was
the thin double line of sandbags about two feet high and eight feet long behind
which they were sheltering.

She could not at first figure out what the bags were doing there, since
the layout in no way constituted an emplacement, and then realized that they
were probably used in high winds to help secure the skids of parked
helicopters.

The bags had been filled with
a thin
,
high-quality sand, unfortunately, and as the gunfire ripped open the bags, the
sand was flowing out at an uncomfortably fast rate.
 
In a matter of minutes they would be
well-equipped to build sand castles but devoid of cover.
 
They were going to have to do something very
soon.

Oga was lying on his back, his Heckler and Koch MP5 pointed up at the top
of the tower.
 
From time to time, a head
would appear and someone would try to shoot down, but Oga's accurate
snap-shooting in semiautomatic mode to conserve ammunition kept the situation
under control.
 
He was talented at this
sort of thing, observed Chifune.
 
It was
more than standard airborne training.

"How is your CQB, Sergeant-
san
?"
said Chifune.
 
She was referring to Close
Quarters Battle training, the highly specialized skills acquired for hostage
training or close-in counterterrorist work.

Oga fired twice rapidly at a silhouette appearing over the tower parapet
and red mist stained the air.
 
"Rusty, but coming back to me," he said.
 
"They say it's like riding a
bicycle.
 
When you get older, you can
still do it, but your joints creak."

Chifune smiled briefly.
 
She had
heard much the same comment made about another popular human pastime.

"If we stay here, we're going to get killed," she said.
 
"If we advance to attack the guards in
and around the doorway, we're not going to make it.
 
There is at least a half-dozen of them and
there are forty-odd yards to cover.
 
Also, they will be able to hit us with the fifty on the roof from
behind."

"Which leaves the tower or waiting until help comes?" said Oga.

"Help is going to take twenty minutes or more," said Chifune,
"even with the quick reaction team."

"So put a 40mm into the doorway and have Renako hose them down for a
few seconds while we kick in the tower doorway," said Oga.
 
"My guess, after the helicopter blew up
beside them, is
tat
all the survivors are on the
roof."

"How many do you think?" said Chifune.

"Less that there were," said Oga grimly.
 
"Two or three, four at
the most.
 
So let's do it."

Chifune looked up at the tower again.
 
She could take the top off with a 40mm grenade, but they were too close
for the projectile to arm, and even if it did the resultant explosion could
well take them out too.
 
She made a
mental note to take good, old-fashioned hand grenades with her in the
future.
 
This obsession with direct-fire
weapons was ridiculous.
 
Within seconds
of any firefight starting, every sane participant was under cover, and then
grenades were the best tools for the job.

Renako cried out and Chifune looked across.
 
The detective's face was screwed up with
pain.
 
He reached down and pulled his leg
under cover as if it could not move of its own volition.
 
A round had smashed into his foot when it had
strayed from behind their meager barrier into the line of fire.
 
His face was gray with shock and there was
sweat beaded on his forehead.
 
The pain
from such a wound would be intense, even if it was not immediately
life-threatening.

"Renako-
san
," said
Chifune.
 
"Can you take the
roof?
 
We are going to clear it, but you
must keep their heads down for a few seconds.
 
Then we can help you."

Renako nodded weakly.
 
Oga helped
him onto his back so that he could watch the parapet, and checked that his
weapon had a full magazine and a round chambered.
 
He too had an MP5, but Oga set it to
automatic.

"Nothing clever, Renako-
san
,"
said Oga.
 
"Just spray the fuckers
if they show."

"
Hai
, Sergeant-
san
," said Renako.
 
He felt dizzy and the parapet was going in
and out of focus, but he thought he could hang in there long enough.

Chifune had been reluctant to fire her grenade launcher into the doorway
since, if Fitzduane was alive, the chances were he would be in that
direction.
 
Still, they had just about
run out of the luxury of options.