Pacific Poison

by David Liscio

  The pickup stopped in the open and the younger man got out. He sparked an M18 smoke grenade and stepped back to avoid the purple plume. Satisfied with the signal, he leaned against the truck and lit a cigarette. The mullah stayed in his seat.

  Several minutes passed before a battered Mercedes Benz sedan came to a sand-tossing halt beside the truck. Both Decker and Reb watched as the mullah left the truck and approached the car’s open trunk where a scraggly man cradling an AK-47 rifle was gesticulating wildly at the contents. The mullah held up and inspected what looked to them like several pair of blue jeans. Next he picked through a plastic crate containing porn films on VHS tapes. Decker seethed when the mullah smiled at the provocative cardboard covers. Negotiations were happening, presumably about the quality of the merchandise and ultimately the price. More hand gestures followed, as did another exploration of the car trunk, where cardboard boxes of Scotch whisky and American bourbon were stacked.

  The younger man accompanying the mullah handed over what apparently was payment and began loading the purchases into the pickup bed, which he quickly covered with a tarp. Some odd hugging and back patting went on among the four men. The Mercedes roared away into the desert, leaving behind a whirl of sand.

  Reb relayed additional shooting instructions to Decker who pressed the trigger just as the smiling mullah lifted the tarp for one last glance at his latest illicit treasure. The bullet tore the mullah’s head from his body. The young driver stood motionless, as though frozen by a wave of fear. Decker watched closely through his riflescope as the shaken man finally regained his composure and scrambled toward the driver’s door. Decker could have shot him as he grabbed the door handle, but it seemed too easy. Instead, he waited until the man started the engine and began turning the steering wheel. The bullet took out the windshield before exploding into the man’s body.

  Decker closed his eyes as a flash memory played out. Beirut, Lebanon. Early 1980s. Sniper City. Madness. Never knowing for sure if the target was truly the enemy. Listening to music on his headphones as he pressed the trigger gently, always gently. Following through when the pressure registered on his index finger. The sick thrill of sensing the heavy bullet leave the barrel. Witnessing the destruction it caused.

  The shrinks at the VA hospitals in Pittsburgh and Boston had tried to make him talk about the experience, but he basically told them to go fuck themselves — partly because they often talked psycho-babble-gibberish and hadn’t ever experienced combat. But mostly he didn’t cooperate because he still didn’t know how he felt about shooting people for political purposes. It was simply a job he had been trained to do for his country and he did it better than most.

  Decker usually tried to ignore politics, but it was difficult. The mullah that he and Reb eliminated was the enemy. The religious leader had become a central player along the Afghan-Pakistan border where he regularly visited a network of madrasses. The small schools, originally established to teach religion, had been transformed into training camps where boys from poor families were indoctrinated to fight against the infidels — namely, the United States.

  Decker assumed the Islamic mujahideen guerrillas in Afghanistan apparently had short memories, choosing to forget the military assistance they’d received from the United States to oust the Soviets from their country, a ten-year struggle that ended less than a year before. Ungrateful bastards is how he thought of them.

  With the latest target eliminated, Decker was free to return to Langley or wherever else he was ordered. Same went for Reb – known at the Joint Special Forces Operations Command (JSOC) as Riley Turner, a Navy SEAL with an excellent sniper rating and high-security clearance, the same man Decker referred to in moments of endearment as a mullet-tossing Florabama hick who should have joined the Navy’s Blue Angels in Pensacola and flown air shows for a titillated public instead of the goddamn SEALs.

  Decker radioed the reconnaissance plane to request extraction by helicopter. Within a matter of hours they were en route to the forward operations base. It was there Decker found a coded message from Stuart Ashwood, the CIA’s deputy director of operations, instructing him and Turner to await priority agency transport to Saipan where Hannah and Carrington apparently needed a sniper team. The message offered no explanation. It was simply an order they were expected to follow.

  23

  Picnic with the Oyabun

  Saipan

  Northern Mariana Islands

  April 1990

  The paved road to Marpi Point was narrow and badly rutted. Highway maintenance wasn’t exactly a priority on Saipan. Tanaka and Hannah sat in the back of the black SUV. Each time the customized Nissan Pathfinder dipped into a furrow, the passengers were tossed, causing them to bump shoulders. Tanaka attempted to put an arm around Hannah as though to protect her but when she didn’t respond he withdrew it.

  Yuki, the bodyguard in the front passenger seat, grimaced when Tanaka shouted the ride was uncomfortable and they should drive more carefully. He nervously twirled his long braided hair that hung across his right shoulder and onto his chest. When the SUV struck another rut in the road, Kira’s grip on the steering wheel was so fierce it turned his knuckles white.

  Yuki slapped the man’s shaved head. “Pay attention. You drive like a teenager.”

  Traveling the roads was made more difficult by the locals — many first-generation drivers who seldom exceeded 10 miles per hour. And since the chewing of betel nut was widespread on the island, it was not unusual for a pickup or car to come to an abrupt halt. Seconds later, the driver’s door would open as gobs of reddened saliva were spat onto the white coral road.

  After climbing a steep switchback, the SUV stopped where the land ended at the rim of Suicide Cliff. It was here that Tanaka’s parents in June 1944 had thrown themselves to their deaths onto the rocks below.

  Hannah leaned out the window. “Is this our picnic spot?”

  “No,” Tanaka said solemnly. “We are only stopping long enough for me to light the candles to honor my mother and father.”

  All along the cliff edge, wooden markers were scrawled with names or special messages in black ink. Some of the markers were three feet tall and a foot wide, others far smaller. Most of the words were written in Kanji.

  “What is this place?”

  Tanaka pointed to a flock of white birds swooping just beyond the edge of the cliff. “Do you see those birds? They contain the souls of all those who took their lives here,” he said. “Before that day when the Marines landed, Saipan had no white birds.”

  Hannah kept silent as Tanaka approached one of the larger wooden markers, bowed deeply and struck a match to a candle protected from the wind by a glass cylinder. Tanaka’s bodyguards stood at a respectful distance while he prayed.

  Tanaka turned to Hannah and with a head nod invited her to step forward. “Few people come here at night. The locals stay far away from it. They say it’s haunted because of the war, that it’s a place of darkness. Perhaps they are correct,” he said. “When I listen closely, mixed in with the wind I can hear the cries of my ancestors, feel their pain and suffering.”

  “Did your parents die here?”

  “Yes. Of their own will. They took my two sisters with them. I don’t remember it, though I was here. I was only two or three years old. For some reason I had wandered off into the high grass. Perhaps I was guided by a survival instinct that told me to flee.”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Hannah. “That’s such a tragic story.”

  “Others who had decided to survive – in my case an entire Japanese family – ran from Marpi Point and hid in the caves. The father of that family carried me and his youngest daughter in his arms for many hours, or so I have been told.”

  “How did they find you?”

  “At first they thought I was a snake slithering through the grass, which is why I was later named Orochi. That is what you might call a silly observation since Saipan has few if any snakes. But as you may imagine, my rescuers had more to think ab
out at that time than whether the island is home to snakes. More importantly, according to Japanese legend, Orochi is an eight-headed snake, but as you can see, I have only one.”

  Tanaka laughed quietly. Hannah wasn’t sure whether Tanaka was attempting to make a joke, so she didn’t reply.

  “When my saviors realized my mother, father, and sisters were gone, they made me a part of their family. They did not hesitate and I have always been grateful. Though I’ve never been able to forgive the Americans for what they did. When I was a young man, I engaged in a bar fight with a U.S. Marine in Okinawa and was about to push a knife into his throat when my companions pulled me off. It would have been a big mistake, but at the time, I only wanted to kill a Marine. I wanted vengeance.”

  Tanaka’s eyes were glassy as they returned to the SUV. “Enough ghosts for one day,” he said. “Let’s find a place to watch the sunset and enjoy some sake and sushi.”

  Hannah had no idea how much Tanaka knew about her or just how reliable his intelligence sources might be. Criminals like Tanaka typically possessed a poker face, making it difficult to determine what they were thinking. She hoped he saw her only as a vulnerable, young Argentine travel agent eager to make business connections on Saipan and explore the culture, just another pretty blonde he might add to his list of sexual conquests.

  “Thank you for bringing me here,” she said as they sat at a folding table with two chairs that Tanaka’s men had set up. “It’s such a beautiful island. I’m hoping to learn more about it, enough so that I can guide my clients in Buenos Aires to the best hotels and beaches.”

  Hannah listened closely to whatever information Tanaka shared and he seemed pleased by her undivided attention. They sipped sake and watched the sun begin its descent into the Pacific.

  “I will be honored to assist you with your business venture. I have a deep connection to this place. In many ways, this is my island,” he said.

  “If I may ask, did you remain on Saipan after the war ended?”

  “No. I was only a baby and the family that saved me returned to their home in Osaka. While in Saipan, the father had worked at the hospital as a general laborer, not even a salaryman. As you might imagine, the hospital became overwhelmed with casualties as the fighting worsened. Near the end, the laborers were given weapons and ordered to join our soldiers in defense of the island, but they were not able to hold back the Americans. Over the years I listened to many horrible stories but they are not worth repeating because they only prolong the suffering. Our life in Osaka was without privilege because the man who raised me could find little work. I remained with them until I was able to finish my schooling.”

  “Are they still in Osaka?”

  “Yes. But now they are becoming old and frail. I pay for their housing and medical expenses. I have not stayed in contact with their sons and daughters. I have never considered them as true brothers and sisters. They are not my blood.”

  “That’s very kind of you to help the family.”

  “It’s the least I can do. I owe them my life.”

  Hannah wanted to ask a lot more questions but sensed it might make her suspect. Tanaka reached out and touched her thigh as she sipped the sake, causing her to reflexively pull it away. He quickly kissed her on the cheek but she dipped her head when he aimed for her lips.

  “Orochi, I hope I didn’t give you the wrong impression when I agreed to have a picnic with you,” she said. “It was such a generous offer, I could hardly refuse.”

  Tanaka forced a smile. “And yet you reject me.”

  “Not reject. Just going slowly. We’re strangers. Although I’m hoping we’ll become friends one day.”

  “And then?”

  “Who knows? You’re a handsome, powerful man, educated and well traveled. I think most women would find you quite attractive.”

  “Do you?”

  “Of course, I do. Do you really think I’d be here if I didn’t? But I’m in no hurry. I plan to learn all about Saipan, so I’ll be here for as long as it takes and that could be quite a while.”

  Tanaka tapped his sake glass to hers, breaking into a full-tooth smile in an attempt to hide his frustration and disappointment. “To island friends,” he said. “I will make it my mission to show you everything wonderful that Saipan has to offer.”

  Hannah feigned pure delight. “I’m looking forward to it. I’d also like to hear the story of how you lost part of your finger.”

  Tanaka stretched his arm onto the table and stared at the partially-amputated pinkie finger. He smiled demurely, as though both embarrassed and proud. “I didn’t know if you had noticed. I will tell you all about it when we meet again.”

  Back at the hotel, Carrington was relieved when the tracker showed Tanaka’s vehicle returning. Next time, he’d shadow them personally.

  24

  Wanted: One Sniper Team

  Tinian

  Northern Mariana Islands

  April 1990

  Carrington’s face was a mask of deep concern as he entered the hotel room. He had telephoned Ashwood using an encrypted line designed to run through a series of switches before actually connecting to the deputy director of operations.

  “I called Ashwood for instructions. He reminded me that I don’t have advanced sniper training, so he’s sending a Navy SEAL with a long gun in case we get into a jam and need somebody who can shoot with precision.”

  “Do we really need a sniper?”

  “Apparently Ashwood thinks so. He doesn’t want to take any more chances than necessary. The stakes are too high. He also wants some payback for Stevens and Cahill. If there’s no other way to eliminate Tanaka, he wants the sniper to do it.”

  Hannah glanced up from the romantic comedy she was reading on the bed. She was wearing the over-sized Nirvana band t-shirt Carrington had given her not long after they first crossed paths in Ireland while hunting down a serial killer, back in the days when she was a Massachusetts State Police homicide detective. “When is he arriving?”

  “This afternoon. His name is Turner. A Navy chopper will be setting him down on Tinian. I’ll be there when he lands. And by the way, it sounds like Decker may be with him, though I don’t know why.”

  Hannah’s face went pale. “Decker?”

  “According to Ashwood, Decker will act as a spotter.”

  Hannah was suddenly uneasy. “Is it going to be weird for all of us?”

  “That depends on what you want everyone to know.”

  “So it’s on me?”

  “How did you leave it with Decker? I only heard his side of the story.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “I’d like to hear your version first,” said Carrington. “Then I’ll share what he told me.”

  “Fair enough. Things are strained. I knew he was leaving for Iraq before he broke the news to me. He’s mixed up and hurting inside. He’s been like that since he returned from his last Middle East deployment.”

  “And then there was Cuba.”

  “And then there was Cuba,” she echoed. “You know how that turned out. I’m not exactly sure what went on between him and Selena Delgado, but whatever it was seemed to touch him deeply.”

  “Are you jealous of Selena Delgado?”

  “How could I be, after what you and I shared in Havana? I have no right to be jealous. Besides, Selena Delgado is dead.”

  Carrington glanced at Hannah with a look of pure adoration. “Do you regret them?”

  “You mean our moments in Havana?”

  “That’s what I mean.”

  “I treasure them.”

  “But you still haven’t come clean what’s going on between you and Decker, or what’s going on inside your head. Are you two still together? Last I heard, you were sharing an apartment in Boston. For the longest time I thought you two were inseparable. Now I don’t know what to think.”

  “It’s complicated. He saved my life. After that, we became very close.”

  “I read that field report a
t least ten times. Serial killer Luddy Pugano was about to set you on fire as his latest victim when Decker showed up to save the day, along with one of his ex-military buddies who was accompanied by a combat K-9. I wish you’d gotten the chance to personally get even with Pugano.”

  “We all know what happened in Ireland. Water over the dam.”

  “But you’re still angry about it, deep inside.”

  “You’re probably right. Back then, I would have arrested Pugano and handed him over to the authorities so that he could face trial.”

  “And now?”

  Hannah sat on the edge of the bed, nervously rubbing her bare feet on the tattered carpet. “I’m not so sure any more. The courts, the judges, the whole American justice system — sometimes it all seems like a big joke on people who respect the law. It’s as if justice were a commodity like potatoes and you only get as much as you can afford.”

  Carrington sat beside her on the bed, took the book from her hands and placed it on the nightstand. Gently he leaned his shoulder into hers and she rested her head upon it.

  “I don’t want to lose you, Hannah.”

  Hannah reached for Carrington’s hands and squeezed them affectionately. “You know I care about you, William. But I can’t be responsible for everybody’s happiness. I never wanted things to be this messy.”

  “Well, they are. I know you might not want to hear it, but I’m in love with you. I think about you twenty-four hours a day. Every time you walk out that door I worry you won’t come back.”

  Hannah withdrew her hands and stood. “We have to remember our problems are always secondary to why we were sent here. We have to stay focused. You taught me that.”