“A bit of an odd bird this Bender. He used to floss his teeth during lunch for the love of God.”

  “Yea, and you have the table manners of Martha ‘Fucking’ Stewart, Dan…Jeezus.”

  Adam and Dan about to get into again, Dan’s back brace notwithstanding. Benny thinking maybe he should just let them go. Not here though. Not now.

  “Gentlemen, or shipmates as you squid bastards would say, I believe; leave it to a civilized Air Force man to keep you knuckle-heads from going at it. Damn Adam, Dan here just had a helluva a couple days. And Dan, Adam here just lost a real good friend. Another one. Please. Kind of wish you were drinking, Petty Officer Welsh. At least you weren’t so god damn ornery. Shit.”

  The bagpipe struck up almost on cue. Frank Waters, retired Army. Bag-piper extraordinaire. “Amazing Grace” lilting through the trees. The few birds that were there even stopped chirping. Attentive. A few Japanese guys that Jack had helped get sober standing to the side. Heads bowed. One or two in tears. Adam close to it now. He had fourteen days sober today. A miracle. Maybe this would actually be it.

  Dan started first. A few in him before the service. Singing the first few bars. Holding the outstretched hand of his daughter.

  “…to save a wretch like me…”

  Yea, Adam had been saved, The wretch part applying as well. The pipes stopped mercifully. Joe Dickwell walking over to Kelley. The sun coming up in her eyes as she saw him.

  “Hello, Kelley. You look great.”

  “You’re not looking bad yourself. Been working out? Your butt looks even better than the first time I saw you.”

  “Kelley, Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Oh, what’s the use. I need a drink. Would you gentlemen like to retire to the Sanno? All except for Adam of course.”

  “Actually I’d like to speak with Adam, yourself and Mr. Carter. I’m sorry it has to be under these circumstances. I have something to attend to right now, but in about an hour if you don’t mind. Wherever is convenient for all of you of course. And Ms. Bronsan is invited as well.”

  “You bet your ass I’ll be there.”

  Dan realizing that Kelley had had a few. Oh well. Under the circumstances, she deserved a drink, he supposed. Brave girl. He needed to tell her how proud he was. Her courage under unimaginable stress had helped save their lives. She and Keiko.

  73

  The plastic explosive had taken the door of the Gas Panic off as if it was made of cardboard. When the smoke cleared, the large figure in the crimson robe stood, hands stretched forward in a gesture of supplication. The bar below had been cleared as had all traffic within a mile radius. No mean feat on a Saturday night in Tokyo.

  “Please come in, gentlemen. No need for guns or weapons of destruction here. I am a peaceful man, and, as you can see, I and my friend and lawyer, Atashi San, are the only ones present.”

  Shoko Asahara stood. An evil icon to most of the Japanese Special Defense troops who were here to ensure his arrest was done without any problems. American and Japanese authorities wanted Asahara alive. The warrant was for a complete search of the premises, and the arrest was on charges of suspicion of conspiracy to commit murder. Japanese law unlike its American counterpart assumed guilt before innocence. Asahara was handcuffed and led into the waiting van. Snipers placed on the rooftops surrounding the Gas Panic. Asahara needed to be alive. There were forces within his own circle who wanted a martyr. Perhaps The One himself.

  HIROO POLICE STATION

  “A very disturbing occurrence, gentleman. Of course I am sorry for the poor man’s loss. No doubt a very deranged person.”

  The thought of Shoko Asahara referring to anyone as deranged was not lost on Joe Dickwell or any of the other participants taking part in the interrogation of this mass of flesh and psychosis.

  “Is that why you killed Jack Bender, Mr. Asahara?”

  “Do not answer that question, Asahara San.”

  Two Cult lawyers present here in the basement interrogation room of the Hiroo Police Station. Asahara had been brought in more for questioning than with any hopes of actually convicting him for the murder of Jack Bender. No witnesses. No weapon found. Dickwell knew that neither would ever turn up. Perhaps a few dead bodies. Nothing more though. Aum always tied up loose ends. Very careful. Sanitary. He watched as Dusty Rhodes tried to move questioning in another direction - The late Peanut and the subject of sarin.

  “My client will not answer any questions that do not pertain to the matter he has been detained for.”

  “Ha!”

  Asahara jumping up. Prancing. Quick on his feet for a large man, thought Dickwell.

  One of the young lawyers ignoring it. He had seen it too many times before.

  “Our client is tired. Are we finished here?”

  Asahara dangerously close to morphing into “Demonic Whack-Job.” His lawyers well aware of the potential for embarrassment. “Wouldn’t be prudent” as former American President George Bush might have said.

  “Can we hold him?”

  Dusty Rhodes and the head of Japanese Intelligence along with Captain Osaka, Commander of the Tokyo Police huddled out of earshot.

  The Tokyo Police Commander spoke first.

  “Under Japanese law we can hold him for thirty days without charging him with any crime. You might say that we here in Japan consider the accused guilty until proven innocent. I believe that your American system lends itself more to protecting the rights of the criminal rather than the victim so this may be hard for you to understand. With all due respect.”

  He stared directly at Dusty. No love lost.

  “Yes, Captain, of course your country is fairly new to concepts such as law and mercy. I don’t believe you were burdened with concerns such as these during the Bataan Death March and other such escapades from your country’s relatively recent past.”

  Dickwell barely concealing his approval. He loved Dusty. Red, white and blue to the core. Don’t tread on me.

  The Captain for his part, nonplussed.

  The interrogation had been going on for at least three hours now. No progress. Going nowhere. Asahara moving from Madman to Buddha with ease. A smattering of childlike neuroses thrown in for good measure. Dickwell seeing the consistency throughout of the well-coached “talking points.” The One staying on message. Atashi had coached him well before they were arrested and separated by the police. Bender had approached Asahara with a gun, and someone had shot him. Asahara of course did not know who. He had many who loved him after all. Would give their lives in an instant for The One. It could have been anyone, he explained. Many people worshipped Shoko Asahara. His death would not be tolerated. It could not be allowed.

  74

  Pounding. Shaking. Why the fuck did I have to have that drink? Always one more. Just one more. He blamed it on the city. This city. This Tokyo. This land of contradictions. Smile in your face, bow and then place the poker directly up the anal orifice. You wouldn’t even know until later. Mesmerized by the smiles. The women making things more complicated. He needed to get home. Back to Long Island. Norma and normalcy. No more Asian trips. Time to retire.

  Last night another night in a string of self-abuse that strung together like one of those carnival movies he had seen as a kid. The ones where the cards came flipping past so fast that it appeared the characters were actually moving. Almost puked thinking about it. All coming back in bits and pieces now. An innocent line of coke inevitably leading to another and then a drink and more drinks. With 8 PM becoming 10 PM, then midnight and then… The alarm rousing him at six. The big meeting. He had done it again. Incomprehensible demoralization. Why? Godamn, he had to stop, he thought. Almost out loud. Start all over.

  Sam Wilson, investment banker for Lehman Brothers Japan, here at the Almond Café on a busy (it was always busy) Monday morning. Hung over. Sick. The need for a large coffee overwhelming. The momentary solace of the caffeine buzz. Yes, the coffee would do it. Pick him up. No more booze. He looked around at the assembled array of Japanese businessman, foreign tourists and ladies of the night stopping in for a coffee before heading back to whatever hovel they resided in to begin the impossible yet necessary task of washing the sins of the evening away. The mind racing too god damn fast now. Needed it to stop. The coke and booze always took care of that of course. Able to figure things out. The problem was that life was still there when he woke up shaking.

  He did not pay much attention to the kid at first. Music blaring from somewhere inside the ratty, Dead Kennedy stickered knapsack. Camel jockey, A-fucking-rab music thought Wilson. About to scream at the little ignorant punk. Turned to him. About to grab his arm. Thought better of it. The kid looked at him. He was not here. Not in the Café. He had already left. The body here but whatever passed for a soul already heading to some far off destination. Somewhere that Sam immediately knew he did not want to visit.

  The boy an angelic visage. A disturbing peace. Odd.

  “Turn that down. Please.”

  The last words Sam Wilson would speak didn’t seem to be coming from his mouth. He was spellbound. Not knowing why. Something in the kid’s face. Serenity?

  “Allah be praised” was what Sam thought he heard. Was that an Irish accent? Sam’s curiosity and building anxiety never getting a chance to achieve completeness. The boy staring directly into Sam as he pushed some unseen button within the bag. A circuit now complete. Five pounds of Semtex explosive melting Sam Wilson’s face but not before he saw the kid smile.

  . . . . .

  Shamus Burlie, wearing a “Give Ireland Back to the Irish” tee shirt that his son and daughter had given him for his birthday, picked up the pay phone receiver and dialed the secure line. “The truth is rarely pure and never simple,” he said before he hung up and walked away from the carnage that had once been a bustling café. The quote from The Importance of Being Earnest the signal to the Irish ambassador that the mission had been accomplished.

  75

  “Thank you all for your attendance. I’m sorry for my tardiness, but I had an earlier meeting that lasted longer than expected.”

  Joe deciding not to bring up the interrogation of Asahara. This briefing needed to be quick.

  Joe Dickwell had reserved the Presidential Room at the Sanno. Not really Presidential. In fact no President had ever been in the room, let alone even stayed at the Sanno Hotel. The biggest celebrity, literally and figuratively, had been Akebono, the Yokozuna - Grand Champion of sumo. Half American, born in Guam and married to an American, he had stayed in the New Jersey Suite in point of fact with his wife and his two little daughters. Adam Welsh thought of the first time he had seen Akebono in this setting. The real person. Not the persona created by the sumo world. One morning Adam had been coming off another drunken bout and was on his way out of his room to get some drinks down at the bar. The hair of the dog that bit him. Akebono’s door and his across the way had opened simultaneously to reveal the man-mountain and two sets of tiny eyes peering out from behind one of his tree-trunk legs. A quick smile from the cherubs before his little daughters disappeared behind the Sequoias. Adam had rode the elevator with the man. Liked him. Akebono had invited him and Keiko to be his guest that night at the Mongolian Barbecue. Adam worried that he himself would be devoured along with the Mongolian. Keiko had laughed. One of the last times he remembered her as truly happy before the nightmare. Over now though.

  Please let it be over, Jesus.

  Here now in the Presidential Room, used by the VFW for their monthly meetings. Strict adherence to a no-booze policy which was irrelevant since most of the participants with the exception of the sainted Father Judd, who was one hundred and five if he was a day, had all gotten blasted before and would continue to do so after the day’s business was finished. Adam remembered bringing a cup of coffee that reeked of Jack Daniels to one meeting. Never heard the end of it from Dan. Had to buy him four gins afterwards at the bar to finally get him to change the subject of how Adam had destroyed the sanctity of the venerable Veterans of Foreign Wars meeting. Oh well. Different now. Art had been there as well. The great conciliator, gone forever now.

  Dickwell speaking.

  “I’ll get right to the point. Before I do however, please understand that everything I say stays in this room.”

  Adam laughing quietly. Dickwell caught it.

  “Petty Officer Welsh? Something funny?”

  “No sir, nothing. Just the “What you see here, what you say here, stays here. Here, here.’ Jack used to say it at A.A. meetings. Anonymity and all that. Seems kind of ironic.”

  “Yes, I see. I’m sorry for your loss, again. He was a good man. Troubled. A good man nonetheless.”

  “Troubled, sir?”

  “Petty Officer Welsh, I’m getting ahead of myself here. More will be revealed.”

  A slight wink. Trying to diffuse a possible inflammatory situation. Joe Dickwell had done his A.A. homework. Quoting the text of the Big Book, the Bible of Alcoholics Anonymous.

  “Shoko Asahara, as you all may or may not know, is the head of an organization called the Aum Shinrikyo or Aum Cu …”

  Adam on his feet.

  “Heard of him? The piece of shit killed Rose, might as well have killed Art along with her. He did as far as I’m concerned. Is he why we’re here?”

  “The meeting that Lieutenant Dickwell spoke of earlier was actually an ongoing interrogation of Shoko Asahara. He is in custody as we speak,”

  Benny speaking now in a formal, military tone. Adam taking note. Benny Carter not missing anything. He had talked to Keiko of course. Knew the whole story. Not letting on to the others though. Especially Adam. Adam knew more than he was saying. Loyalty to Jack. He sensed the connection. Knew what Dickwell was up to. Break Adam, with his friends as the hammer. For his part, Adam keeping the eternal poker face. He wasn’t very good at cards though. Benny knew it.

  “Yes, Master Sergeant.”

  Dickwell staying on formal military terms with everyone. Couldn’t afford to compromise the investigation. He liked all of them. Couldn’t be one of them though. He had to remain what he was — Lieutenant Joe Dickwell, Naval Investigative Service. As if on cue, Kelley chimed in.

  “Joe, or should I call you Lieutenant?”

  Dickwell not taking the bait. He let Kelley continue.

  “I see. Okay, Lieutenant. Anyone with half a brain knows that the bastard who almost killed my father and me is not a member of the Jehovah’s Witnesses. He wanted to kill the Japanese girl…”

  Adam couldn’t control himself.

  “Her name is Keiko. I believe she saved your life. It would be nice if you could remember her name.”

  “And, matey, I suggest you remember that my daughter would not have needed to had her life saved in the first place, which by the way was more due to the Jar Head incursion and her own quick thinking and a bit of blind luck I might add, than…”

  “Why you ungrateful, fat bastard…”

  “Petty Officer Welsh, stand down. Now!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Glaring at Dan. Stand by for heavy rolls.

  Kelley seemingly unperturbed.

  “I guess all I’m trying to say is that the girl Keiko is a big part of this. Am I right?”

  “Again, Ms. Bronsan…”

  Kelley wanted to castrate him on the spot and feed his balls to the squirrels. She smiled coyly instead. Progress.

  “We seem to be getting a bit ahead of ourselves. Please be patient. All of you. Thank you. You have been asked here because Shoko Asahara is a central figure in an ongoing joint Japanese-American investigation into the Aum Cult and their possible role in the death of Rose Carney as well as various unsolved deaths of Japanese nationals. The common denominator, if you will, in all these deaths being traces of the chemical agent, sarin. Mr. Asahara was arrested by Japanese authorities approximately three hours ago. And now to continue with the briefing and to further explain why you are here, I would like to introduce the officer in charge of the investigation, Commander Steve Blasingame.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. Ladies and Gentleman. Some of you I have already had the pleasure of meeting. I am a military man utmost and foremost. As such I am also what was called in my time a ‘straight-shooter.’”

  “Yes, no bullshit, I believe.”

  “Yea! That’s my daughter!” Dan unable to contain himself.

  Benny laughing. Smiles all around. Blasingame caught off-guard but quickly regrouping.

  “Yes, very well, Ms. Bronsan. No need for further clarification here.”

  A weak smile. Dickwell noticing Blasingame not in complete control like he remembered from their earlier meetings. Unknown to everyone but Dickwell and the Commander, the meeting had to be started an hour later than scheduled due to Blasingame’s tardiness. Highly unusual thought Dickwell. A mental note filed.

  “Please remember that this briefing is Top Secret and Compartmented. Do not even talk of the proceedings here among yourselves. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Adam Welsh smiling at the Commander. Tension here. No love lost. The alky and the alky’s son.

  “Navy Intelligence, indeed National Intelligence has known about the Aum Cult for years. Originally the organization was looked at more as a bully pulpit for the ranting of a crazy known as Shoko Asahara. An unstable zealot but harmful only to the hearts and minds of his weak…excuse me, vulnerable followers.”

  Adam unmoved. Staring intently at Blasingame. The commander continued.

  “All of this changed with the tragic death of Rose Carney. I know that she was a dear friend to many of you here. My deepest condolences. Rose Carney, and I again remind you of the classification of this meeting, was murdered. We have laboratory forensic proof verified by Japanese Intelligence that Ms. Carney was killed with a lethal dose of the gas called sarin.”