“My friend, the old black gentleman that was just here…”

  “The koku-jin.”

  Dan grimacing as this lovely lady unwittingly used the racist word which, when loosely translated from the Japanese, meant “chocolate man.” She of course not meaning anything by it. Too innocent, her only sin, one of ignorance.

  “My dear, yes, but ‘koku-jin’ is bad word.”

  “Oh, I am so sorry, I…”

  Dan cutting her off with a knowing smile and a gesture to his lips.

  “No problem, my dear. You didn’t know. It’s okay. Do you know what room he reserved?”

  Timing. If Dan Bronsan had posed this question a mere ten minutes later when the shift changed, he may never have received an answer. Satsu being an employee in training always erred on the side of the hotel guest. The night manager, Starsky, a nickname bestowed by an inebriated sailor years before after the young man continually mispronounced his given name of Starkeo as Starsky, in any case had been fully briefed on the VIP guest staying in Suite 4012. The presence of the guest was not to be acknowledged, nor was she to have any visitors. Strict orders from Dusty Rhodes.

  “It is 4012, sir. Would you like me to call her room, sir?”

  Dan thinking quickly now, “No that won’t be necessary, thanks. My daughter, Kelley, is here. She’s actually registered as a guest of Adam Welsh. Could you call her room, please? It’s Suite 3421, I believe. And call me Dan, please.”

  “Of course, si…I mean Dan San,” the blush coming as naturally as a Tokyo sunrise.

  “Hi, Dad, come on up.”

  The lilt in his daughter’s voice. God, he hadn’t remembered hearing that since her carefree pre-teen, pre-MS days. Maybe this trip was a good idea after all thought Dan Bronsan as Haruki Okamoto, also known as Peanut, entered the elevator with him. One of the most notorious terrorists alive now dressed in a waiter’s garb. The number 4 lit up on the panel. A grunt from the Japanese.

  “Floor?”

  “Three, please.”

  43

  “The entire floor is closed off. Anybody asks, it’s closed for renovation. Make sure everyone gets the word, Captain. No need to cause any panic. A simple renovation. Do you copy?”

  “Roger that, Mr. Rhodes. Copied and understood.”

  Joe Dickwell, Dusty Rhodes, Benny here in the suite. Rhodes hanging up after relaying orders to the marine officer in charge of the security detachment. Keiko just finishing her story. Dumping everything she knew. Helpful, Dickwell thought but still no idea of where the actual sarin was and more importantly where and when it would be used. The target. Godamn it could be anything. Anyone. Anyplace.

  “Keiko, you were never told or never heard anything that could give us an idea as to where the sarin gas is being stored. Where it’s being refined to weapons grade?”

  “Weapons grade?”

  “I’m sorry. It’s a term used to describe the process whereby the raw chemical is transformed into a product that can actually be lethal in nature. The raw product itself is almost harmless. Hell, a few years ago the Cult dumped a sack of it off the Tokyo Tower. No damage except for some litter and ruined wardrobes.”

  “I’m very sorry, Mr. Dickwell…”

  “Please, call me Joe.”

  “Yes, Joe, sorry. I mean I worked at their storage facility in Ebisu but there were only empty canisters there at the time.”

  Dickwell nodded. The Ebisu facility had been used for the refinement of the small amount of sarin that had killed Rose Carney. It was actually owned by Keiko’s father and had once contained furnished offices for his trucking company. Her father had passed away though, and Keiko’s brothers proved to be as incompetent in business affairs as they were in the rest of their lives. The trucking business had been sold off. All but this building which had been kept under Keiko’s stewardship. Dickwell knew by way of the intel that he was privy to, that the refinement of the sarin had been carried out completely unbeknownst to Keiko. The facility had also housed the legal team of the Aum Cult. A front more than anything else. A red herring of sorts. Keiko in her medicated state believing that she was simply part of an administrative effort. God help her when she discovers what she was really being used for, thought Dickwell. The Cult not very interested in operating within the legal system created by the decadent West. The Japanese police had in fact raided it shortly after the train station attack on the strength of an anonymous tip. Nothing there. Barren as a witches womb, to coin one of Commander Blasingame’s phrases. Since then, all leads had ended in the same way. Nothing. Any time Navy Intelligence or the Japanese police were set to pick up someone in the Cult, that person or persons invariably ended up unable to provide any information due to the fact that the poor soul or souls had been knifed, poisoned or shot to death. Sometimes all three. Asahara it seemed, thought Dickwell, always one step ahead. Until now of course. The defection of Keiko had changed the game. Keiko Watanabe now the best, hell the only chance Dickwell and his cohorts had in averting the horrible impending slaughter. Burning daylight though, another Blasingame aphorism. Time definitely on the side of the bad guys.

  44

  The elevator lurching ever so slightly then grudgingly beginning its ascent. The two human beings within staring straight ahead, each with very different agendas this Thursday afternoon. Dan Bronsan wondering whether or not to speak to the rather odd looking Japanese man next to him. A quick glance and he thought better of it. Too much information to dissect and digest as it was without engaging in mindless pleasantries with this whack job. Dan already instantly categorizing the man. Normally an unfair exercise but in this case the assessment more accurate than he knew.

  Dan pondering the events of the last few minutes. What was Benny hiding? Why the unsociable behavior in the lobby that was so unlike the Benny Carter that Dan knew? Fixated on the elevator wall. Dan thinking it would be a great idea to post copies of the Stars and Stripes, the military sponsored English language newspaper, along with a copy of one of the local Japanese rags. Something to concentrate on, particularly valuable in times such as these when one was stuck in a four by eight space alongside a creature the likes of Dan’s elevator companion. Jesus the guy looked like Genghis bloody Khan in a waiter’s uniform, thought Dan. The scowl. The Fu Man Chu. Were hotel kitchen staff allowed to have that much facial hair? Dan making a mental note to check on that. The bulge around the man’s waist curious as well. Could be anything of course. Dan knew that a lot of the staff chose not to store their valuables in the room provided by the hotel. The extra girth on “Khan” probably one of the waist-wallet contraptions Dan had seen many of the young tourists sporting these days. Kelley had one in fact.

  While Dan mulled all of this, the man whose sole purpose left in life was the extermination of Keiko Watanabe stared at the row of elevator floor numbers directly above his head. First 2, then 3, and finally the doors sliding open.

  “I’m sorry, gentlemen. Your IDs please.”

  The young marine guard firmly planted in front of the elevator door. One hand holding the elevator open as his body effectively blocked any exit.

  “Aye, Corporal, what’s all this?” Dan exclaimed as he passed his ID to the sentry. The terrorist/waiter a stone rendering of a samurai in the back of the elevator.

  “Thank you, Mr. Bronsan. Just a routine security drill,” he lied.

  “We have to check the ID of everyone in the hotel.”

  Dan knew this marine. He’d seen him a few times at the Club on Yokosuka Base dancing the night away with various Japanese lovelies. Good kid. Name of Sullivan.

  “Aye, Sully, understand. God, I don’t miss that part of my days in the Nav. All the drills. The Old Navy, of course. I was in Nam, you know.”

  Sully flashing a brief forced smile. He’d been in this territory before with Mr. Bronsan. Better end the conversation quickly, he mused, or endure an entire watch listening to Dan Bronsan’s ever changing personal history of the Vietnam war.

  “Yes, sir, well come right out now and have a fine day. Everything seems to be in order.”

  Dan, not needing to be told twice but not able to resist a parting “Have a fine Navy day” shot to the young marine as he stepped out of the elevator and turned the corner towards Kelley’s room.

  The marine grimacing slightly at the reference to the Navy. The fact that the Marine Corps was a division of the U.S. Navy a sore spot for all marines. Regaining his composure quickly though. Addressing the Monster in the corner.

  “Sir? Your ID please?”

  “Of course, Corporal. I am sorry. You see, it seems that I have gotten on the wrong elevator. I wanted to go down rather than up. I am due back in the kitchen.”

  All of this spoken as Peanut took two almost imperceptible steps towards the marine.

  Striking distance attained.

  “I will go back down now,” the weak smile now as Peanut attempts to close the door. The marine’s arm thrusting forward in a reaction born of constant training. The Monster’s wrist grabbed and held firmly.

  “Sir. I will have to ask you to step outside the elevator and provide me with your identification papers immediately.”

  A brief pause. The tension palpable.

  The autopsy report on Corporal Timothy Sullivan, USMC, would indicate that the young man had succumbed due to catastrophic trauma and extensive blood loss caused by his almost complete disembowelment with an everyday, household, razor-sharp box cutter. Pollen would never be mentioned in the coroner’s report although, if the truth be told, the presence of pollen more than anything else was what precipitated the marine’s untimely and tragic demise.

  A fly on the wall, had he the cognitive and verbal skills of an average human being, would have been able to report that at the precise moment Corporal Sullivan’s entire attention should have been focused on the terrorist called Peanut, a microscopic bit of dust that had a one in one billion chance of entering Timothy Sullivan’s nostril at this critical moment, did just that. The resultant spasm of the man’s sneeze was all that the Monster in the elevator, a trained killer, needed. As the marine’s hand involuntarily released his arm, the killer removed the box cutter from the wrap around tourist waistband and in one continuous motion drove the household tool into the marine’s lower abdomen, slicing open the man’s large intestine in the process. An otherworldly gurgling sound emitted from somewhere deep inside the now critically wounded young man. The trained butcher pulled the blade straight down traversing from the navel to the now dead Corporal Timothy Sullivan’s pelvis.

  Time of the essence now. The terrorist dragged the butchered marine into the elevator and hit the Emergency Stop button. This action buying time but not much. Ten maybe fifteen minutes at the most was all the time he had. Of course the terrorist knew that he would never leave this place alive. No matter, the mission the most important thing. Destroy the cunt and he would die in the process. No worries. The Aussie expression commonly referring to a feeling of serenity curiously coming to mind. Yes, “No worries.” Years of training, all in preparation for this final task. The removal of Keiko Watanabe the last obstacle in the Cult’s global purification plan.

  Chance an interesting concept. It had worked once in the Monster’s favor but now, momentarily disoriented perhaps by the adrenaline needed to kill another human being, he forgot that he was on the 3rd Floor, not the 4th which is where a young desk trainee at the Sanno and sister of a Cult lawyer had said that Keiko Watanabe was being held under guard.

  . . . . .

  Dan Bronsan never could get used to the layout of these Japanese hotels. Sure this one was owned by the Department of Defense, but the Sanno Hotel still retained the feel and structure of a modern Japanese hotel. The numbering system particularly bothered Dan. In fact most of the suites did not even have the numbers displayed. Just a series of rooms with the names of American states emblazoned on their doors. He had just passed the New York suite in fact.

  Thoughts floating back to his recent elevator companion. Jesus, he was a weird one! Dan thinking that maybe he should report the guy. No bother though. The marine looked like he would take care of any problems, Dan thought as he walked around the maze called Japanese hotel architecture, in search of Kelley’s room.

  Turning the corner. Strange the feelings of anxiety he had. No particular reason. Still, they were there though. A foreboding kind of feeling until; there it was. The door to Kelley’s room, the New Jersey suite. Right there in front of Dan. His hand now pressing the buzzer and then… the footsteps. Imperceptible at first. Building to a crescendo. Someone behind him. Turning slowly. Not daring yet needing to look until finally, there in the hallway, not more than twenty steps away, the figure from hell, Genghis Khan. Blood spattered over the waiters uniform. Something glistening in his hands.

  “Dad!”

  Kelley had opened the door just as the Monster began his death charge. No thoughts from Dan Bronsan. No logical plan. The difference between life and death all in the details of what he would do in the next few seconds. He knocked his daughter to the floor as he fell into the room. His three hundred plus mass of flesh and bone lying inert for a split second looking up at the door. The opened door. With the dexterity that could only have been provided by a power much greater than himself, Dan Bronsan raised himself off the floor and slammed the door shut. Thank God, he thought as he heard the locking mechanism automatically engage.

  Silence for a brief moment and then the heavy animal-like breathing.

  The Monster was behind the door.

  45

  “Look, look, Honaka! Up on big building!”

  Little Honaka Aki loved to play in the Hiroo Park. In her six years on the planet, playing with her friends here was the happiest time of her life, almost as happy as the dinner hour when her father, Hiroshi, returned home from work at the Tokyo Metropolitan Department of Water. Daddy always brought his little princess a gift. Something every night. It wasn’t the gift so much as the anticipation and the fact that Honoka knew that her father loved her more than anything in the world. Well, maybe not more than Mommy, but that was all right. She loved her Daddy and her Mommy with all the love that is contained in the heart of a little girl that is truly cared for.

  Honoka, not seeing Daddy as much lately. Mommy telling her that he had to work late but not saying why. Honoka had heard talk about the “Bad People” who were in Tokyo now. She had heard this from her friend, Minato who played video games constantly and scared her with centipedes and generally was not to be trusted.

  “Honoka, quick look. Bugs crawling up the side of the big house. Come see.”

  Honoka broke away from her mediation efforts involving a squabble between Barbie and Ken and looked up in the sky.

  The “bugs” were indeed crawling up the side of the big house.

  The marine repelling team had begun its journey up the façade of the New Sanno Hotel.

  46

  “Jack, I don’t know what to say…Ah…”

  “It’s fine, Adam. Fine. Everything is just fine.”

  Sitting here in the waiting room. Adam and Jack. Yumiko still in surgery. No concept of time for either of them. It could have been an hour. Could have been a day.

  Adam had seen Jack’s face go rigid as the doctor had relayed the hopelessness of Yumiko’s situation. There was a tinge of emotion, violence perhaps, in his eyes but only for a moment. It went out as if extinguished by some unseen force.

  Adam thought of the Halon Fire Extinguishing System aboard ship. It was designed to put out engine room fires. Extremely effective but there was one trade-off. Fire is a living thing, and Halon removed what fire and human beings relied on to live – oxygen. Adam had heard of an incident aboard a sister ship of the McClusky’s where three sailors became trapped in the engine room after the Halon System had been activated. They died of suffocation. The ship though was saved.

  So here, now, his friend Jack sat across from him. Staring through vacant eyes. Something, not unlike Halon had been released behind those cold orbs extinguishing, perhaps forever, the soul of Jack Bender.

  47

  Adam and Jack back at the ship repair facility office now. Some poor bastard had decided to re-enlist. Another life thrown away and for what, Adam thinking. Three hots and a cot. That was about it. It wouldn’t be long now till retirement. Enough waste for one life, he thought.

  Rope-yarn an old Navy term for an unscheduled day off, had been declared. Everyone else had left a few hours earlier. Adam and his friend the only ones here now. Jack muddling about, pretending to be busy. The tension between them palpable.

  “So will your buddy be at the meeting tonight?”

  Adam breaking the silence with the reference to the man called Peanut whom Jack had been escorting to meetings up until the last few days.

  “Jack?”

  No answer. Jack Bender staring out the window towards the hills of Ikego and the bunkers.

  Adam approaching his friend. Jack was shaking now. Something in his hands. A picture of Yumiko. Something pressed inside the picture. A cherry blossom from so many years ago. The tears came.

  Adam Welsh hugged his friend. Jack alternately convulsing in a human pastel of tremors and tears only to become somewhat lucid while uttering the likes of, ‘She was… a good woman,’ Adam. A beautiful girl, you know. It seems like yesterday. Kind of my higher power, that woman. Oh, I’ll be all right now.”