A bow to Asahara, a quick look to Lemieux as they were lead out of the room to what appeared to be a fake wall. An unseen button pushed and then brilliant light. The room resembling that of a large corporate venue. Possibly something that would be used by IBM or Sony. Scarlet chairs, about twelve of them, thought Blasingame as the pain finally began to subside in his groin. A large screen at the head of the table which must have been at least thirty feet long. Made of mahogany he guessed. Two soldiers stood at either ends of the room. AK-47’s at the ready. Blasingame marveled at how this much fire power could be here. Right in the center of Tokyo. A city known for its lack of gun violence. Of course the exception had occurred many times with the Yakusa, but since the public was not involved, people did not care. The death of Jack Bender by gun though had raised some voices in the media. Blasingame guessed that Aum did not really want him killed that way. Possibly strangulation or even this new ricin shit they were using. Asahara needed to be kept under control. Atashi was the real brains here.

  Need to bide my time. Should have never kept Doris and Cheryl in Paris. The scumbag frog bastards could always be counted on to fuck the United States. Then again what was I doing? Sure, my father needed to be vindicated. But at what price? The former Aum soldier in the other room, recently expired. The heartless attitude of the Cult members present. No difference from Hitler years ago. What made human beings treat other human beings this way? Of course, then what of Hiroshima and Nagasaki? All in the name of God and Country. When did we stop being human?

  Blasingame back to the present now. The gaggle of state-sponsored killers had taken their seats. Atashi walked to the screen.

  “Gentleman, Minister Lemieux will now give an updated briefing. Certain events have taken place in the last few days that have forced us to be a bit more, shall we say, flexible. Minister Lemieux?”

  Claude Lemieux. Minister of Cultural Affairs at the French Consulate in Tokyo. Well-respected, apolitical even by French Standards. Blasingame knew him well. At least his file. He had seen him at a few black-tie affairs at the American Embassy. Functions Blasingame was loathe to attend. The frog seemed like a pig in shit so to speak though.

  I never did like the guy. Never liked the French either. Hated the fact that Doris insisted on living there after my posting expired as attaché in Paris. Cheryl loved it as well. Her friends were there. The usual excuses. Marriage not going very smoothly either in recent years. Many reasons why I didn’t like the French. The French men a big reason. Doris in her forties now. Jesus why the hell did women decide to get horned out of their minds in middle age?

  “Gentlemen, I believe you all know who I am. I hope you are feeling better, Commander.”

  A quick look at Blasingame then back to Atashi. Asahara wanking in the back. No help there.

  “The sarin gas was essentially a decoy, a red herring as the Americans may refer to it. Ricin as you saw in the other room is a much more effective and easily handled substance. Lethal yet with none of the complications of the sarin. The ricin is taken from the castor plant. Actually a derivative of castor oil. It is water soluble which is extremely important as you will see and does not have to be made into a weapons grade form. As I said earlier, there has been a change in plan. Please.”

  “Mother of Jesus,” Blasingame muttered as the detailed schematic of the Tokyo metropolitan water system went up on the wall.

  The loud sigh behind him; Asahara’s orgasm.

  “The Tokyo metropolitan department of water supplies water for almost twelve million people. There are various purification plants that the water from the Tome River and other sources comes to before it is passed on to the public for their use. The ricin will be placed in one of these purification plants. In fact it is already ‘staged’ as I believe the military term is, Commander Blasingame?”

  Blasingame beside himself. Fear and rage. Both fighting for supremacy now. Rage winning.

  “Are you fucking out of your minds? Just from one purification plant you would kill thousands, possibly millions of innocent people.”

  “No one is innocent, my friend.”

  Asahara composed now. Uncanny. Strutting to the front of the room. At the dais now. Atashi bowing and moving to the side. The One back in control. At least for the moment.

  “As we speak, Commander, forces from American and Japanese intelligence are on their way here. To be sure, I am surprised they have taken so long. They will arrest me as well as Atashi and some of my soldiers. The martyr, Ren Hideo, is now ash. His external shell put through the incinerator. I know you are concerned for him. He is now a great hero of the cause.”

  “Like he had a choice, you fuck-job,” under his breath now.

  “Excuse me…”

  “Nothing. Clearing my throat. Bad air in here.”

  “I see. In any case the lawyers of Aum are well prepared, and I do not expect to spend too much time incarcerated. It is not about me or Atashi San, anyway. We will sacrifice for Siva as always.”

  A nod to Atashi.

  “You will leave out the back, Commander A secret passage, you might say. Yourself and Minister Lemieux. It would cause too many questions if a senior American intelligence officer and a respected diplomat were found with such ‘characters’ as myself and Atashi San.”

  The pause for a laugh, none forthcoming.

  “Yes. I will repair to the entrance, awaiting my arrest along with Atashi San. Minister Lemieux will brief you on your part of the plan. A very integral part, my dear Commander. Of course at first you may find it distasteful, but I’m sure you would find the rape and sodomizing of your wife and young daughter even more disturbing. Your daughter of course would go first, her mother watching. Distasteful, yes, but very necessary if we are to have your complete cooperation. Please understand. Nothing personal. Just business, I believe is the way your American Mafiosi would put it. Please, I must take my leave. The soldiers will escort you and Minister Lemieux to a location where you will be further briefed. I bid you adieu.”

  Lemieux looking down to avoid giving away his grimace. Asahara butchering the French language again. The man had the unique ability to be illiterate in multiple tongues.

  . . . . .

  The room awash with the smell of beer and death now two hours later at the Gas Panic. The American and the Frenchman now alone sitting on opposite sides of the mahogany table. Two folding chairs and a liter of green tea. The tea would go untouched. The silence too much for the American after the eerie tableau that he had witnessed just hours before.

  “What the fuck is going on? What has happened here? How did we come to this, you and I? God help us.”

  “Yes, Commander. God or Siva. In any case we, you and I, do not have many options.”

  “You piece of shit. My wife and daughter are being held with the tacit permission of your spineless country. Of course with what you bastards did in Algiers, your alignment with torturous scum like the Aum does not surprise me.”

  “And you are without sin, my friend?”

  The American started across the table but thought better of it.

  “Please, Commander. Of course you are upset. I am upset.”

  The whole discussion taking on yet another aura of surrealism to Blasingame.

  He looked at the Frenchman and for a brief moment, saw a human being.

  “He killed my brother, you know.”

  Before he could explain further, the Aum soldier came in. It was time to depart.

  Through a maze of trap doors, hidden walls and other ingenious devices of deception, the Commander and the Frenchman made their way out of the Gas Panic and into the street, a good half mile away from the building and out of sight of the arriving Japanese Special Defense Forces who had come to arrest Asahara. They never spoke. Both in their own self-made worlds of mental anguish and regret. Both trapped forever in the web that was Aum. No way out. Resigned to disgrace at best and indescribable horrors at worst.

  The two guards motioned them into the Asahi Beer van. Doors shut behind them. They sped away. About an hour later, Blasingame found himself on the thirtieth floor of the Sony Corporate Office building in Yokohama. The Minister spoke first.

  “You do not like me, I dare say, Commander?”

  “Shit, what would ever give you that idea? I mean you’re French, you’re a traitor, partly responsible at least for the deaths of two Americans and countless other Japanese. Not to mention the fact that my wife and daughter are being imprisoned in your piece of shit excuse for a country and will be tortured and killed under the eyes of your government if I don’t play ball in this game of genocide. No, I love you, Froggy.”

  Lemieux had developed the ability to ignore any insult. This gift, if it was that, usually reserved for those who had bartered away any sense of humanity or self-worth a long time ago. The minister now operating on purely animal instincts. He needed to survive, yet he could not intellectually say why or for what purpose.

  “I told you he killed my brother. Of course I’m sure you knew that though, Commander. Your great intelligence apparatus. You are a competent man by all accounts. They abused him. Much the way the poor soul was killed back at the bar. Only they used sarin on my brother, not ricin. Frankly I don’t know which is worse. Ricin easier to deliver I would think in any case. Asahara is insane. You realize that, I am sure?”

  Blasingame seeing his nemesis in a different light now. Perhaps there was a man there after all. He would listen. Not give anything away. It could be a trap of course. A test of his loyalties. Too far into this demonic charade now. Only thing left was to save his wife and daughter.

  “I’m listening. I need to get out of here. I’ve got a briefing, of all things. Don’t want to be missed back at Hardy Barracks. Like it would matter now of course. Don’t think I’ll be the next CNO in any case.”

  No reaction from the Minister. The joke about reaching the most senior position for a military man in the United States Navy either lost on him or ignored.

  “Why then?”

  A curious look from Lemieux. No deciphering it. The sense there that the minister was a part of the whole bizarre scheme of things; the kidnapping of his wife and daughter, the Cult plans, everything. Something missing though. Lemieux not what one would call a true believer.

  Blasingame of course with reasons. Tempered a bit since the events of the last few hours yet there nonetheless. The hideous demise of the former Cult member. A soldier reduced to a grotesque experiment. The status of Doris and Cheryl, his wife and daughter virtually imprisoned in Paris with the knowledge of the mass of ambiguity that sat across from him here in a secret briefing room high atop the Sony building. This lofty symbol of capitalism’s incursion into Asia. The irony not lost on Blasingame.

  The guy reminded him of John Cleese. The old Monty Python movies coming to mind. Cleese with a dark side. Tall, mustachioed. A large but appropriate nose. Distant now. Was he in pain or holding back? Something or someone?

  “Commander, I am here, a part of this charade because I need to see the demise of Shoko Asahara. ‘Pure and simple’ I believe is the phrase used in America. Do you believe me when I express these sentiments?”

  Of course Blasingame’s belief was tied directly to whether he left this room alive. Lemieux knew this and sensed that Blasingame did as well. He prayed as much.

  Blasingame, despite all the years of training in the nuances of the human condition, not ready for this. Off guard. Regaining composure now. The training kicking in. This could be a trick of course, he thought. A way for Lemieux to further solidify his standing with the Cult. For this to be true though, the minister would have to believe completely that Asahara would prevail. The man was a genius but with the flaws of the crazed as well.

  “For the love of all that is human, do you fucking understand me?!”

  The veins in the Frenchman’s neck taking on the appearance of a Gila monster that Blasingame had seen in Sri Lanka years ago. Kids throwing rocks at something underneath a coffee warehouse. The building on stilts like most of the structures there due to the almost year round flooding. Blasingame a young junior officer on a tour to get away from his drunken shipmates. He could never stomach a drunk. Unable to come to terms with his father’s alcoholism. The elder a victim of Navy politics he believed. Blasingame thinking a dog was hiding underneath the raised dwelling. When the seven-foot creature emerged, the young officer almost shit himself.

  Lemieux’s demeanor not far removed from the demon of days passed. Both displaying emotions based in fear and self-preservation. A rage at the injustice of life in general.

  “Are we secure here?”

  Blasingame knew the answer already but still scanned the room with the expert eye of one who had on occasion planted listening devices.

  “Aum has a vetting process which is very effective although a bit unconventional, yet it is not as loyal a group as CNN would have us believe. We are secure. Here at least.”

  The minister able to move from unadulterated rage to an almost controlled serenity. Blasingame had seen this before. Only hours ago. Disconcerting.

  “Are my wife and daughter in any danger?”

  “They are fine. In fact as we speak, they are enjoying the comforts of first class aboard the regularly scheduled Paris to New York Air France flight, the premier airline in the world. Forgive my bias.”

  “Don’t play with me, please, Minister Lemieux.”

  “There is no playing here, Commander. Asahara is being questioned at this very moment and thus is temporarily ‘out of the loop’ as your political pundits are apt to say.”

  Blasingame taking a moment to absorb this. Before it could fully sink in, the Frenchman handed him the cell phone.

  “Please say hello to your wife, Commander. I will be happy when these wonderful products of communication’s technology advance to the stage where they don’t cost so damn much. Merde…I would appreciate it if you would make it a quick conversation. My embassy’s budget is very tight these days.”

  A slight smile.

  The phone feeling like a lifeline in his hand. Please don’t let this be a joke. And then, “Hello?”

  “Daddy is that you? Mom, Dad’s on the phone. Wish you were here, Dad. This present is so rad! Love you, Daddy. Here’s Mom.”

  “Cher…”

  “Steve, what the hell is going on? Damn police van pulls up to the place this morning. All our stuff loaded up. No explanation. Just, “Sorry, madam, orders.’ Is this some kind of fucking joke?”

  Yes, there was no question it was Doris.

  “Have to go, honey. I’ll explain everything when you get to New York.”

  “You bet your…”

  Click.

  If it was a trick it was beyond diabolical. He believed the Frenchman. He had to.

  “Thank you.”

  A moment to regain his composure and then, “Look, whether I believe you or not, what possible way out is there for us? I am finished. At the very least, my career is over. Worst case scenario which is realistic at this point is a long prison term and my family in disgrace.”

  The Frenchman nodded and then raised his head up. Looking directly into the American’s eyes now.

  “All is not as it appears, Commander.”

  71

  Blackness all around. Claustrophobic. Like a velvet veil had been wrapped around her entire body. Translucent yet there nonetheless. Her own private cocoon. Something nearby though. Coming closer. A kind of light. No, a figure. Glowing. Trying to escape from the cocoon. The figure getting closer and closer. The scent of vanilla. Keiko had heard that sarin smelled of vanilla. Like the vanilla extract her mother had used to make white cake for her birthday. Hands on the cocoon now. Prying it open. A faint breathing. Labored. Now coughing. Coughing uncontrollably. The cocoon is ripped open. It is Rose. Blood streaming out of every pore. Her face, from a Picasso painting. Pure agony. Contorted with fear and pleading. “Why Keiko? Why me? Why me? I loved you.”

  Keiko’s own screams woke her. The recurring nightmare. What to do now lying here in the hospital bed? Sterile yet peaceful. She had always had a love-hate relationship with hospitals. Her father had died in one. But they had a certain peace about them. One was safe. A bit different here though. The guard at her door only a few feet away. The blinds shut on the window which was always closed. They had left a few minutes ago. The security people. Members of American and Japanese intelligence. Congratulating her on her heroism. Interesting, a week ago she was one of the most sought after terrorists in Japan, probably the world. Now a hero. All was forgiven. She would never forgive herself though. Rose would always come to her. Pleading. Asking. Why?

  She did not have an answer. Not now. Maybe never.

  72

  The Gaijin Boca was a throwback from another era. Literally meaning “foreign dead,” it now was the resting place for scores of former warriors. Many of them the bright-eyed young Americans that had liberated the Japanese people and the world from the atrocities of the Japanese war machine. Tree lined, filled with spruce and oak and cherry. Here in the center of Yokohama this beautiful setting now filled with rows and rows of dead warriors. Most dying of old age or just bad living. Some lucky enough to have expired from a combination of both. The world here in 1992 a much different place then when these young warriors from Main Street USA saved Japan from itself. A world where the sons and grandsons of the militants of that war long ago had now taken root and begun a crusade of much more far reaching and lethal possibilities. The Age of Armageddon had replaced the world of, “The only thing to fear is fear itself.”

  The Tokyo Veterans of Foreign Wars Post 9450 gathered this day. A good turnout for one of their own, though, truth be told, not a very active member. Jack Bender had still been a Life Member who had paid his dues. Adam Welsh having a lot to do with the turn-out. Pretty much every man here coaxed into coming by Adam and Benny. After meeting at the Almond Café, Adam and Benny had decided on this memorial for Jack Bender. Benny here, Adam, Dan Bronsan. The latter had found the perfect excuse to get out of the hospital earlier than the doctors had wanted him to. Kelley here as well despite her father’s objections. Benny had brought Joe Dickwell along. Dan not missing his daughter’s obvious pleasure with Joe’s unexpected appearance.