And that was it. As simple as that. The new man had not spoken since.

  “So, are you single, married, kids?”

  The distant look. Something there. Fear, anger, both?

  “No.”

  Akeno Mori had enough ricin in the small compartment in his wallet that IRA soldier Rafferty Grogan had fashioned for him to kill at least one million people if it was put in the right place. The right place being the Yamaguchi Reservoir. Mori would do everything he could to place the ricin where Grogan and Cult scientists had instructed. He would do this since at this very moment, his wife, Kira, was being held in the basement of a country estate some 50 miles north of Tokyo. The final instructions delivered by Asahara’s soldiers burned into his consciousness.

  “You will inspect the Yamaguchi water supply. Nothing out of the ordinary. When you reach the bio-activated carbon adsorption treatment section you will…”

  “I am not authorized to…”

  “Do not interrupt, insolent scum. Shut up and listen. Time is of the essence. You will find a way to breach the security and place the ricin where it is shown on the schematic we gave you. If our instructions are not carried out to the letter, we will kill your wife. Of course it will not be a quick death. We will amuse ourselves immensely. Do you understand?”

  Understand he did. Shortly thereafter, Akeno Mori had made sure that he was attached to one of the contractors that routinely sampled the water from the Tokyo Metropolitan system. He didn’t have as much difficulty as he had originally thought he would. The Cult had evidently bought off a few security people. The chief of one of Tokyo’s biggest police stations among others. Here he was now with this Aki character. Straight as an arrow. No way to plant the ricin where he had been instructed to do it unless he did away with the man.

  “I have a daughter…oh yes, sorry I guess I’ve mentioned them about a million times. Very sorry. They grow on you though. Kids. It really is true. Once you have one, your only purpose in life is their well-being. God, I’m sorry. Please excuse me.”

  No response from the quiet one. True to form. Hadn’t spoken all day. Why change now, thought Aki. He moved on.

  “Well this is it. The last adsorption unit. You can take your samples right there.”

  The two men were at the edge of a platform which rose about thirty feet above the Yamaguchi Reservoir. Aki had actually pointed out the exact spot where Mori had been instructed to deposit the ricin. The packet set to dissolve upon entering the water. An easy task now. Simply drop it in. Aki putting his hand in his pocket. Feeling for the compartment that the deadly ricin now inhabited while it waited to be put to use. A smile came to his face as he turned towards Aki. His back to the edge of the platform. The water placid below. An idyllic day.

  “Aki San, thank you so much for sharing your love for your daughter. I am so sorry that I have not been more responsive today. I have a family as well. A beautiful wife and daughter.”

  He seemed to be drifting off. Fumbling in his pockets. Moving backwards, towards the edge of the platform. Dangerously close to the edge, thought Aki.

  “What to do now. A dilemma. Yes…”

  The forced smile. Lips trembling a bit. Aki watching with great sorrow now. As if he knew what would happen next. Not knowing why. A feeling of impending doom. He tried to move. His legs couldn’t or perhaps, wouldn’t. In any case, something final would be happening shortly. Intuitively he knew this. He actually knew the man, perched now on the platform railing, much better than he had presumed earlier.

  “My family, my family….”

  Something coming out of an unseen pouch, beside his pocket. Bringing the packet to his mouth now. A look of anguish. Swallowing the contents. A slight grimace. Arms outstretched. Aki thought later that he looked Messianic at that moment. Christ on the cross. Collapsing backwards. Disappearing over the railing. Aki hearing the splash. Helpless. Rushing to the railing. Just in time to see the horribly bloated corpse of Akeno Mori sink to the bottom.

  . . . . .

  Adam Welsh sitting in the waiting room, watching CNN over the Armed Forces Network. A picture of Jack. In his dress blues. Years ago. Happier times with Yumiko. She was actually smiling.

  Where did they get that photo?

  Adam too late to save his friend. Numerous calls to the office all unanswered. He never should have let him out of his sight at the hospital.

  What the hell could I have done anyway?

  He needed Keiko more than ever now. He rushed back to her room. The guards still there. They would always be there, he thought. Things had changed forever.

  “You can’t go in now, sir.”

  The marine private about twenty. Adam giving him the look that is reserved for marines and other sub-human life forms. He never did like jar-heads.

  “Look, you don’t need to be calling me, ‘sir.’”

  Jeez, why the hell did he bother. These clowns called the mailman sir for Christ sake.

  “Okay…yea, no problem.”

  “Does she have visitors?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  This last “sir” with a touch of distaste. Very obvious. The animosity mutual.

  Deciding to just walk away now. An old lesson from Jack remembered. Needed to be with Keiko now. More than ever. Tell her about Jack. What he meant to him. Pressing business to attend to though. She would be okay here. Safe at least. The thought hit him like a shot of Jack Daniels the morning after. He needed to call Benny. Benny would know what to do. He would call Benny, and they would visit Dan. That was it. That’s what he would do. Amazing the clarity one had when one was sober. Thoughts of Jack again. Tears welling up now. Strange, he didn’t feel anything when he saw it on CNN. If he talked to Dan and Benny then maybe the emotions would all come out. His sobriety tenuous now though. Had to stay sober. For Keiko…hell, for himself. If not for himself, he would drink. Just the way it was. He called Benny.

  “Yea, man I saw it on the news. I’m here at the Sanno bar now. Shit it feels empty here. Didn’t know that Jack and you were that close. I never met the guy. I feel for you, Adam. This changes things though. Blasingame wants to see us. How’s Keiko? Got to visit my little daughter soon. So much craziness. God, I’m glad you’re with her. Don’t fuck up again my brother. I will kick your ass. Yea, Almond Café. Sounds good. I’ll be there in about an hour. And Adam…I love you buddy. Hang, baby. Just hang. The darkness before the light you know.”

  70

  The Gas Panic was an alky’s refuge. Dim light, strong drinks and no particular dress code. The homeless and hopeless all brought together by the common denominator of booze. alcohol and women. The fixers of all that is wrong with a tormented spirit, albeit temporary but after the initial relief, the warm blast, who cared? It was in this curious water hole for tormented souls that the American had sold his so many weeks ago.

  “It is good to see you. You look well. A sake perhaps? Ah, yes. I am sorry. Your prefer the Budweiser. Good old American beer.”

  The irony not lost on Shoko Asahara as he sat across the table here on the top floor of the Gas Panic talking with this modern day Judas Iscariot. Celebrating all things American and yet selling out his country. God these people were confused, he thought.

  “Cut the bullshit. Why did you have to kill Bender? He didn’t even have anything. We had made the switch already. You knew that for Christ sake.”

  “For Siva’s sake maybe, my friend. Certainly not for this Jesus Christ that you Americans parade around at your convenience. Particularly when some heathen, non-Christian people, not in lock-step with the political agenda of the reigning President must be obliterated from the face of the earth. All in the name of Jesus. Please do not speak anymore of this Jesus. You insult me. Bender San was…how do you say it? A loose cannon…Ah, I love the American idioms. He would have given us away, especially after he realized that he did not have any sarin at all, only fifty-five gallons of shit as you call it, I believe. Quite a nice touch. I must commend Okamoto San on that one. That was his idea. A beautiful twist. But, alas he is gone. Gone to a better place. Perhaps he and Bender are conversing now along with your Jesus Christ. I doubt it though. Bender will be burning in hell I believe. At least according to the dictates of your interesting yet paradoxical Christian faith.”

  The American glaring now. Muscles tensing. The vein along his temple pulsating like a horny toad ready for a fight. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Just a few isolated incidents to embarrass the Navy. The American Navy. The brass. The hypocritical assholes who had destroyed his old man. Ruined a brilliant thirty year career. It had gone too far now though. Much too far. No way of stopping it. Nothing he could think of now. Caught up in it like the proverbial “slippery slope.”

  “We need to end this now. Where is the sarin? I know it’s not at Ikego. We agreed that it would be destroyed after the incident. The idea was to make the Navy look bad. Pin everything on Bender. The retired United States Navy guy. Destroy Bender and the Navy’s reputation in the eyes of the Japanese. Base commander relieved. A scandal. Public outcry and all that. Eventually all the American military pulled out of Japan.”

  “Yes, of course, Commander…May I call you Commander?”

  “You can call me god damn fucking Emperor Hirohito if you want. Just finish this. It ends now. Destroy the sarin.”

  A quizzical look from Asahara and then the laugh. The long guttural laugh. Atashi, sitting in the shadows behind them had heard this laugh many times. Usually a precursor to the horrible demise of the person or persons within earshot. Asahara had understood the allusion to Emperor Hirohito. A joke of course. Crude and tasteless if one understood anything about the Japanese culture, but he didn’t really expect much from his guest along those lines. In any case, Steve Blasingame, Commander, United States Navy Intelligence Service was now Ashaara’s most valuable mole so to speak. Recruited in much the same way as his Japanese cohorts. A bitter man. Brilliant career, yet unable to overcome the festering cancer within that was the destruction of his father’s career. His father, the drunk. Destroyed by the alcohol yet Steve Blasingame would never accept that. When Aum had approached him, they had done it in such a subtle way.

  “You do not want to avenge the destruction of your father?”

  “Of course. But that’s been done. Jesus, this has gone too far. You hear me? Get rid of the sarin. Now.”

  Blasingame to his feet now. Almost stepping towards Asahara. Thinking better of it. In any case, he would have been killed in an instant. A soldier with an AK-47 pointed directly at his temple just out of view. The military training in him sensed it. He turned to leave.

  “The sarin has already been destroyed.”

  Asahara’s words stopping the Navy man in his tracks.

  “What are you saying? I thought…”

  “We are not stupid, my friend.”

  “I’m not your friend.”

  “Yes, of course. We are not stupid in any case. We may be insane zealots following in the steps of Jim Jones and his cult, which is I believe how the Japan Times has referred to us in their latest editorial. The paper begins to bore me. Why is every once-reputable newspaper succumbing to the siren song of more yen and becoming a tabloid? Quite disconcerting. Well, no one reads any more. No matter.”

  Blasingame’s patience wearing thin with this crazy.

  “Please do not play games with me, I …”

  “Insolent bastard, The One never ‘plays games’ as you refer to it.”

  The table came crashing towards him, Asahara having kicked it with the force of a rugby player. Just missing Blasingame. Probably made of solid oak. Just as quickly as the rage started, he composed himself. Atashi, still out of Blasingame’s view, had seen it before, but it still always managed to make him uneasy. He walked out from the shadows.

  “Good Evening, Commander.”

  “You were here all the time?”

  “Yes, please forgive the stealth measures. Necessary, unfortunately.”

  There is no more sarin, but this does not mean we are without a full house as you say in the poker world, I believe.”

  Blasingame momentarily disoriented. Watching Asahara, repulsed. The man was masturbating in full view of anyone who looked his way. Turning back to Atashi now.

  “What the hell are you talking about? Look, I’m done. You’ve already killed at least three Americans.”

  “We have killed three Americans. I’m sorry to correct you, sir. But without your help we could never have brought this plan to fruition. We are indebted.”

  Blasingame slumped to a chair. His initial emotion of rage turning to remorse. Everything Atashi had said was true. He had sold out his country. He was responsible for the death of Bender and the woman at the train station as well as the marine at the Sanno, Sullivan. Of course he had no way of knowing it but he was also responsible, indirectly at least, for the death of Art Chambers.

  “Yes, but we do not have a lot of time. We must move on. Would you please follow me, Commander? The One will not attend this experiment. He bids you adieu, as the French say. A very good segue if I may say so. Is ‘segue’ the correct word?”

  “What in the name of God are you blathering about, man? I need to get back to my office. Any change in my schedule will arouse suspicion.”

  “Of course. This will not take long”

  They walked to what appeared to be a storeroom door. Very dimly lit. The sound of the happy hour crowd could be heard below. The clink of glasses and animated conversation. Blasingame felt like he was a thousand miles away from them. He hardly drank. The curse of his father. Today might be a good time to imbibe heavily.

  The stench was immediate. They had entered a small room. One light on the ceiling. Naked. Atashi turned it on. There in the middle of the room, a human being lying on a barren table, an animal-like gurgling sound emitting from deep within him.

  “The subject was given ricin, a derivative of castor. The beauty of it is that castor is abundant throughout the world.”

  The sterile attitude that Atashi used around this man who was obviously undergoing terrible suffering inches away from him made Blasingame think of the Japanese medical unit that was exposed after World War II. The unit which was run by medical doctors conducted experiments on human beings. In some cases they actually dissected prisoners alive. Blasingame had read an article a few years back about one of the original members of the unit - an eighty-five year old man now living somewhere in Northern Japan was interviewed by the New York Times. What struck Blasingame was the man’s ability almost fifty years later to look at the victims as objects rather than actual human beings. He said he had no problem with his conscience even to this day because these people were objects to him or Logs as he referred to them. Here now years later, Atashi displayed the same demeanor.

  “The subject was given a dose of ricin thirty-six hours ago. As you can see, he is very close to expiration. Witness the shortness of breath, the choking and the dilation of the eyes. Ah yes, here it comes.”

  A loud other-worldly rumble from somewhere inside the man’s chest. A red stain appeared through his white gown. Blood in the urine. A violent shuddering. Then, mercifully, silence.

  “Yes, he is dead now I believe.”

  A quick look at the attending physician. A nod. Ren Hideo had died for the cause. Destruction before rebirth. The One would be proud.

  “You sick bastards. What the fuck are you doing? What am I doing.? For the love of God, that is…was a human being.”

  “Please, Commander, remember your training. You are a military officer are you not? Compose yourself.”

  Blasingame’s arm came down on Atashi’s throat with the force of a sumo. Another ten seconds and the man’s larynx would be broken. Out of the shadows, a blur and then a Japanese army boot, possibly size ten, struck his testicles. The pain agonizing. The grip withdrawn. Almost losing consciousness. Tears came to his eyes. Asahara standing over him. Next to him Minister Claude Lemieux.

  “Deep breaths, Commander. Please bend over. You gave us no choice. I will decide if and when Atashi San moves on to the next world.”

  A soldier handed him a glass of beer. The one who had just practically obliterated his balls. He took it without looking up. Shaking in pain.

  “We understand your wife is residing in Paris. Along with your child. A girl, I believe? Probably around thirteen now. Yes, a difficult age I am told. I had some growing pains during that period. Alas I was able to overcome them though.”

  The One looking off into the distance now.

  Lemieux looking on nervously. Thoughts of his own brother’s horrible demise flashing through his mind. Saying nothing. Watching Blasingame.

  Asahara spoke.

  “There has been a change in plans. A change as far as you are concerned. Of course we have never changed course. It was necessary to lead you in a direction which would enhance your cooperation so to speak. In any case, you will continue to help us. Your wife and daughter are currently comfortably ensconced in a location near Paris. When the time comes and providing you continue to cooperate in a manner that is acceptable to Aum, they will be released, and you will be given a considerable sum of money which you can use to settle anywhere in the world. Anywhere, of course, but the United States. I dare say that when your role in our victory is known, you will indeed be, how do you say, ‘persona non grata’?”

  A quick glance at Atashi to make sure the Latin phrase he had used was appropriate. The nod of approval from his mentor was enough to make him bounce up and down like a child. Surreal. Blasingame in the midst of all that he had just seen and heard could not help but think of the histrionics of Herman Munster from the TV show of his youth, awash with animated glee when given some type of approval from Grandpa or Lily.

  Atashi sensing that matters needed to be brought to a close here. Danger of Asahara wandering a bit too far. He had seen it before. Needed his focus now.

  “Gentleman, let us repair to a more comfortable meeting place. Please, follow me. The One will join us at his pleasure.”