Rules of the Hunt (72 page)
Fumio saw his hands were shaking from shock and a rush of near-uncontrollable
hate.
This was the man who had killed
his brother, the only person in the world that he had ever really loved.
This was the man that, at the very moment the
call had come in, he was plotting to destroy.
And he had the nerve to call Fumio directly.
It was outrageous.
What did this
assassin want?
Yet again, could this
call be turned to advantage?
The
gaijin
had proved to be a hard man to
kill, but perhaps he could be maneuvered into a situation where he could be
taken.
Since the death of Kei, nothing was more important to Fumio than seeing
his brother revenged.
Nothing.
Fumio regained his self-control.
"Put the
gaijin
through," he said abruptly.
The conversation lasted less than three minutes.
After he replaced the receiver, Fumio could
feel his heart pounding.
He could see
Fitzduane's face as he was being killed, smell his fear,
hear
his cries.
He could taste vengeance, and
the
gaijin
was going to deliver
himself to his executioners.
This time there would be no mistakes.
He would use the most lethal killers he had under his control.
This was definitely a task tailor-made for
Oshima-
san
and Yaibo.
Reiko Oshima was definitely one of the
deadlier of her species.
Fumio thought of the job she had done on the Frenchman, Christian de
Guevain, and for the first time since Kei's death, he smiled.
*
*
*
*
*
The room was in near-darkness.
Schwanberg was used to Katsuda's eccentricities, and, frankly, the
yakuza
chief was not a pretty sight in
normal lighting, but on this occasion the CIA man required some illumination.
He had brought with him a plan of the building and, more important,
its
surrounding garden.
He wanted to talk it through, but that was impossible if no one could
see the fucking thing.
Katsuda took the point and gave a clipped instruction, and a directional
light shone on a table.
Katsuda himself,
as always, remained in the darkness.
Schwanberg had known Katsuda too long to spend any time on the social
niceties.
In his opinion, the
yakuza
leader, however powerful in his
own milieu, was bought and paid for way back and could be treated
accordingly.
There was always another
hotshot in a hurry.
If push came to
shove, Katsuda was replaceable.
For his part, Katsuda despised his backer for his crudeness and lack of
manners and hated him for his arrogance.
But he endured him because it had been, in the past, a mutually
beneficial relationship.
Recently, he was beginning to have doubts.
The Hodama killings were supposed to have had
a domino effect which would have swept away the Namakas and instituted Katsuda
as the new
kuromaku
.
But it had not happened, and despite losing
their chairman, Kei Namaka, the Namaka
empire
, though
perhaps somewhat bloodied, looked set to endure.
Which was profoundly
disturbing and did not reflect well on Schwanberg's judgment and influence.
Schwanberg had initiated the Hodama business
with the promise that he had enough political muscle to carry it through, but
manifestly he had not delivered.
Katsuda wondered if this was just this thoroughly unpleasant man himself
or symptomatic of an overall decline in
rim
On balance, he rather thought the
former.
He had substantial investments
in the
and over the last few quarters they had been showing healthy signs of
life.
But a reviving
did not solve the Schwanberg problem.
Schwanberg spread the plan on the table and weighed it down with several
jade ornaments and a small bronze Buddha.
Katsuda shuddered.
The value of
the ornaments came to several times more than Schwanberg's official salary for
a year.
The man was an uncouth
barbarian.
Schwanberg tapped the plan.
"Just as I figured," he said, "that fucking Irishman has
played right into our hands."
The plan looked disconcertingly familiar to Katsuda.
Typically, given Schwanberg's consistent
thoughtlessness, it was upside down when viewed from the
yakuza
's direction, but it still looked very much like the drawing
of the Hodama house they had used to plan the hit.
Katsuda was normally courteous, but years of dealing with Schwanberg had
taught him that here was a man on whom politeness was wasted.
The man had the sensitivity of a bucket of
night soil.
"Schwanberg-
san
,"
said Katsuda with some asperity, "I have not the faintest idea what you
are talking about."
The CIA man was practically chortling.
"Fitzduane, the naïve prick, has set up Fumio Namaka for us.
And with that gimpy fuck out of the way,
we're home and dry as planned."
"A little detail would not go amiss," Schwanberg-
san
," said Katsuda dryly.
"Fitzduane came to see me," said Schwanberg.
"He doesn't like me, but he thinks we're
allies on this one.
He wants Fumio out
of the way and he knows we do too, so he has set it up that we — or, to be more
precise, you — can finish the job.
And
the punch line is that the Irishman thinks Fumio was responsible for Adachi's
death.
Putting the bodies in the
aquarium was a neat move.
It was near
enough the
coincidence, in Fitzduane's opinion.
It's beautiful."
Katsuda was feeling profoundly irritated with this uncouth idiot.
He was beginning to have a glimmering of
understanding, but he really could not see where the plan of Hodama's house
came into the equation.
"Schwanberg-
san
," he
said, "Since we moved on Hodama-
san
,
I have had a team of people trying to get near the Namakas with absolutely no
success.
Fortunately, Kei Namaka is now
dead, but since that happened, the security surrounding Fumio has tripled.
He cannot be got at, and I fail to see how
Fitzduane-
san
's involvement changes
the situation."
Schwanberg leaned over the table toward the
yakuza
leader to emphasize his words.
Katsuda stood in the shadows perhaps four
feet away, but he still imagined he could feel Schwanberg's breath, and
certainly the man's spittle as he spoke excitedly was no illusion.
Katsuda stepped back in disgust.
"Let me make it simple, Katsuda," said Schwanberg.
"What do you think Fumio wants most in
the world right now?
What does he have
wet dreams about?"
Katsuda thought for a moment.
It
was not a difficult question to answer.
He had studied Hodama and the Namakas in detail before making his
move.
"The Irishman has killed his
brother," he said.
"He wants
Fitzduane-
san
's head on a
plate."
Katsuda smiled
slightly.
"After that, he probably
wants mine."
Schwanberg beamed.
"You're
business, Katsuda.
Fitzduane is
personal.
You're not even close."
"So Fitzduane is the bait," said Katsuda slowly.
"He is the one reason Fumio will show
himself."
Schwanberg nodded.
"Very
smart," he said.
"What has
actually happened is that Fitzduane approached Fumio directly and suggested a
meet.
His spiel is that there must be an
end to the feud between them, now that Fitzduane has nearly been killed and
lost his best friend and Fumio has lost his brother.
And Fumio agreed to the meet, not with any
peaceful intent but because he wants Fitzduane carved up so badly he can taste
it."
"And where is this meeting?" said Katsuda.
"That's the elegant part of it," said Schwanberg.
"Fitzduane came up with the great idea
of using Hodama's place.
He wanted some
location that was private, convenient, and secure, and Hodama's walled garden
was his suggestion.
The premises are
sealed off right now, but Fitzduane has been working with the cops and can gain
access.
It is just locked up these
days.
It's no longer guarded."
Katsuda pondered this for a few seconds.
The idea of using Hodama's place was a clever idea.
It met all the criteria for a meeting and it
also was where the whole business had started.
It would be fitting to end it there.
"I would assume that Fumio will take precautions," said
Katsuda, "so how do you propose we do this, Schwanberg-
san
?"
He will probably involve Yaibo, and they are
no idle threat."
Schwanberg's hand came down flat on the table with a resounding crack,
and the two sixth-century jade ornaments fell to the ground and shattered.
Katsuda felt ill.
He valued his
jade ornaments considerably more than he did most people.
He wondered if Schwanberg had any idea how
near death he was.
If he was not so
dependent on the man's backing, he would have Schwanberg killed painfully here
and now.
Well, even if Katsuda could not
implement the thought for the time being, it was a soothing prospect to
anticipate.
Schwanberg was so pleased with his cleverness that he had forgotten he
had not followed up his triumphant table-pounding with words.
He was just staring at Katsuda with a
self-satisfied grin on his face.
"Well, Schwanberg-
san
?"
said Katsuda.
"You'll have the edge, Katsuda-
san
,"
said Schwanberg.
"It will be arranged
that you and your people will be at the meet instead of Fitzduane, and we will
run interference over the whole operation from on high.
We'll have the whole thing covered.
Night-vision equipment,
sniper rifles, heavy firepower.
That fuck Fumio won't have a chance."
Katsuda tried to imagine having a discreet meeting with Namaka while a
swarm of armed helicopters clattered overhead, and came to the conclusion that
Schwanberg must have been out in the sun in
"Helicopters are not entirely discreet," he said politely.
This time Schwanberg actually jumped up and down with excitement.
"Not helicopters, Katsuda-
san
, we're going to use the
airship.
That giant, motherfucking
inflated condom is part of the scenery in this city.
If floats around and no one pays it the
slightest bit of attention.
We'll fuck
Fumio from a height.
It's
brilliant."
Katsuda contemplated Schwanberg with surprise.
Clearly there was more to this unpleasant man
that he had thought.
It really was a
clever idea.
Inspired,
even.
Then it dawned on him where
the idea had probably come from.
"And the
gaijin
Fitzduane?
Where will he be while
I am disposing of Fumio Namaka?"
"Oh, he'll be in the airship," said Schwanberg.
"As I'll explain, we need him to bait
the trap.
But when Fumio is terminated,
Fitzduane-
san
will have an
accident.
Frankly, it will be a
pleasure."
"So no witnesses?" said Katsuda.
Schwanberg had every intention of getting the killing of Fumio by Katsuda
on video in close-up.
The more strings
he had to control his new
kuromaku,
the better.
"No witnesses," he
replied.
Katsuda smiled to himself in the darkness.
Schwanberg's devious mind was not hard to
read.
He was already thinking of
appropriate action.
Perhaps the time had
come for the renegade to have an accident.
Have a crash, indeed, or fall from a height.
The man's plan had interesting implications.
"Your proposal has great merit, Schwanberg-
san
," he said.
"Let us now talk about the details."