Pacific Poison

by David Liscio

  The pilot paled. “What should I do?”

  “Move slowly. Let’s see if the reception committee is friendly.”

  The so-called committee quickly made its presence known. Lt. Lou Brick and government prosecutor Ray Donley were at the head of a detachment of CNMI police officers armed with shotguns and AR-15 assault rifles. Mashima was conspicuously absent.

  The task force members fanned out as they approached the helicopter. Lt. Brick — in baggy cargo shorts, t-shirt and flip-flops — was moving rapidly, handgun at his side, barrel pointed downward.

  “Nobody move! You, pilot, face down on the ground.”

  Lt. Brick waved his gun toward Sadashi. “You, too. Face down on the ground, hands behind your head.”

  The lieutenant turned to Hannah. “Please put that gun down.”

  “Gladly.” Rather than simply toss it, Hannah slowly crouched until her hand was able to set the Nambu pistol on the tarmac.

  Donley, overheated in his standard khaki trousers and polo shirt, caught up to Lt. Brick and the CNMI officers. “Where’s Tanaka? What’s that travel agent doing here? Why does she have a gun?”

  Standing off to the side, FBI Special Agents Palmer and O’Reilly watched the operation, not interfering, but prepared to assert their jurisdiction and make arrests if the opportunity arose. As Palmer had previously put it, the powers in Washington were demanding a head on a stick, maybe two. The agents had received an anonymous tip that it might be worthwhile for them to be at the airport when the Blue Pacific Aviation helicopter touched down. They suddenly had reason to believe Tanaka would be aboard, providing them with a prime murder suspect who could face federal racketeering charges.

  The pilot shouted from where he lay prone on the landing pad. “Why the fuck am I down here on the ground like some dog turd? I was forced to fly these monkeys. I didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

  “You’ll have a chance to explain. But right now, just shut up and cooperate,” said Donley, who moved closer to the helicopter, Glock 17 pistol drawn and braced with two hands as he peeked into the rear compartment.

  Hannah spoke flatly. “If you’re looking for Mr. Tanaka, you can start at the bottom of Suicide Cliff.”

  Donley’s jaw dropped open. “You can’t be serious?”

  “Dead serious. For a while I thought it was going to be me out the door. Unfortunately for Mr. Tanaka, it didn’t turn out that way.”

  “Would you care to elaborate?”

  A small Japanese sedan hummed and sputtered loudly as it raced across the runway toward the helicopter pad. The CNMI police trained their weapons on it. Donley also aimed his pistol at the approaching vehicle.

  Lt. Brick excitedly held up a hand. “Guns down, gentlemen. It’s a friendly.”

  Most of the police officers rested their rifles but a couple seemed reluctant. The lieutenant roared. “Weapons down. Now!”

  Carrington slammed the car into park and rushed toward Hannah, hugging her joyfully. “You scared the shit out of us. I didn’t know what had happened to you. We couldn’t even confirm whether you were on the flight because we never made it inside Tanaka’s house. By the way, where is he?”

  Special Agent Palmer walked rapidly toward the small car and glared at Hannah. “Everybody here has been asking the same question. Where is Mr. Tanaka? It seems he is the one person tied to every bit of this case. The bureau needs to talk to him immediately.”

  Hannah cleared her throat loudly to get the agent’s attention. “Unless you’re some sort of clairvoyant, that’s going to be tough. Tanaka is already mingling with his ancestors.”

  “What would you know about that? I thought you were some kind of beach resort consultant from Argentina.”

  “Let’s just say both Tanaka and I got on that helicopter and only one of us got off.”

  Palmer kicked a small stone across the tarmac. “Are you saying you killed him?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Everything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

  Carrington ignored Palmer whose face was reddened with anger. “Oh, cut the crap, Palmer. She didn’t kill anybody.” He tightly wrapped his arms around Hannah and whispered into her ear but she stiffened and didn’t smile.

  Palmer kicked another stone. “Fuck. Fuck this case and fuck this place. We’ve got dead people all around and no idea who killed them, at least not for certain.”

  Carrington released Hannah, took a step backward and scanned her from head to toe. “I’m just glad you’re alive and all in one piece.”

  “Me too,” she said.

  Reb had quietly joined them. “Me three,” he quipped with a broad smile, so sincere it made him seem younger than his thirty-five years.

  Hannah was glad to see him. “Why thank you, Mr. Reb.”

  Reb locked on Hannah with a fixed gaze. He was so relieved she was alive, he could’ve hugged her. “I was just getting to know you when you went and got yourself kidnapped. Don’t do that again.”

  Hannah laughed. “I’ll try my best.”

  “By the way, who gave you that shiner and the swollen lip?”

  Hannah blushed. She hadn’t looked in a mirror for what seemed like days. “Do I look like a raccoon?”

  “Absolutely. But I’ve always had a soft spot for raccoons.”

  Carrington realized he hadn’t paid attention to her facial bruises. He’d been more concerned about how Hannah’s experience in the helicopter might affect their relationship. He shot Reb a look that in no uncertain terms said, Screw off, Cowboy, she’s my girl.

  Reb ignored the unspoken message. He cocked his head toward the parked sedan. “We’ve got a doc on the way for Decker.”

  Hannah’s eyes swirled open. “Decker’s in the car? Oh, god. Is he all right? What happened to him?” She began running toward the sedan. Reb caught up and grabbed her elbow.

  “Easy. He’s got a concussion. One of Tanaka’s perimeter explosives went off and he caught the brunt of it. He was coming to find you when it happened.”

  Hannah flung open the rear door. Decker appeared unconscious but was merely asleep.

  “He needs medical attention, now.”

  Reb flashed a smile of satisfaction because his Navy SEAL connections had brought rapid response from the offshore support ship. An MH-60 Seahawk helicopter was already airborne. “Navy bird on the way with two corpsmen aboard. There’s a hospital ship stationed not far offshore,” he said.

  Hannah crawled inside the small car and latched her arms around Decker. “You crazy fool,” she said, resting her head on his chest.

  Special Agent Palmer, totally exasperated by the turn of events, focused his attention on Carrington. “Who the hell are you people? Will somebody please tell me what the fuck is going on here?”

  Lt. Brick began shouting and pointing at Tanaka’s Gulfstream III. The aircraft’s twin Rolls-Royce Spey turbofan engines were running slightly above idle speed, suggesting the pilot was preparing for takeoff.

  Lt. Brick’s face was a mask of pure determination. “That plane is not going anywhere. I’ll shoot the goddamn tires out myself if I have to.”

  Special Agent Palmer sensed he wouldn’t get much information from Hannah, Carrington or Reb. Instead of pressing the matter, he decided to join the fray. He jogged toward the aircraft, yanking his handgun from its holster and waving it at the pilot in the cockpit. When the plane began moving forward he aimed at the front tires and fired three times. All three bullets bounced off and the plane continued on its path toward the runway.

  The Saipan Airport was not equipped with an air traffic control tower. As a result, direct communication with the aircraft relied on radios equipped with a band that the police vehicles lacked. One fast-thinking CNMI officer drove a police truck onto the runway and attempted to park it in front of the jet but the pilot increased his speed and swerved around it.

  While the commotion ensued, Hannah retrieved the zippered suitcase from Whirly Man’s helicopt
er and began lugging it toward the sedan where Decker was sleeping.

  Whirly Man was no longer face down on the tarmac. He had rolled and struggled to his knees, shouting at Hannah. “Where do you think you’re going with that?”

  “You didn’t do what you were paid to do. You didn’t deliver Tanaka safely to his jet.”

  “You bitch! Bring that suitcase over here.”

  The nearest CNMI police officer struck the pilot in the head with his rifle butt, sending him sprawling to the ground, bleeding. Hannah shrugged and continued walking, dragging the suitcase toward Carrington’s rental car.

  Special Agent O’Reilly had overheard the exchange. He flashed his FBI credentials. “Excuse me there, miss. Please set down the suitcase. I’d like to have a look inside.”

  Carrington rushed to Hannah’s side. “That won’t be necessary. Besides, you don’t have a search warrant.”

  “I don’t need one. Now get out of my way before I have you arrested.”

  The Gulfstream III engines grew louder. Reb looked at Carrington for instructions. “Are we stopping that plane from taking off?”

  “Those were our orders from Langley.”

  “The other FBI guy already tried to shoot out the tires. It didn’t work.”

  O’Reilly sneered at Reb. “Who the fuck are you?”

  Carrington stood directly in front of the federal agent, eye to eye. “He’s with me.”

  “Well, ain’t that great. And I suppose he’s another member of your Argentine tourism staff.”

  Carrington didn’t reply. Reb chuckled to himself as he jogged back to the sedan and grabbed his sniper rifle from the trunk. With a round in the chamber he dropped down on one knee, aimed and fired at the Gulfstream’s front tires. He followed with two more rounds into the same target area before turning his aim to the starboard tires. The bullets tore into the thick rubber but the plane kept moving. Reb was about to send more rounds into the landing gear on the port side of the aircraft when the damage he’d inflicted became apparent. Though the plane was still moving, its path was erratic and wobbly, the pilot having difficulty steering.

  Hannah cast an admiring glance at Reb. “Man of action.”

  Reb replied with a courtly bow. “Just a southern boy with a rifle.”

  Carrington was unable to hide his jealousy. “Reb, why don’t you accompany this federal agent and go interview the plane pilot? Maybe he can offer some insight into where they’re headed and what’s going on.”

  O’Reilly seemed hesitant. “I still want to see what’s in the suitcase. And I want to know where that guy with the rifle came from and what he’s doing here on Saipan.”

  “By the time that happens, your pilot will have gotten away. You might even find some valuable evidence aboard. You two can talk on the walk.”

  With a scowl on his face, O’Reilly stomped off toward the jet.

  “Go with him,” said Carrington, his tone more an order meant to show he was the senior officer and in command.

  Hannah watched as Reb caught up with the FBI agent. Whirly Man, his head still dripping blood onto his Guns N’ Roses t-shirt, shouted at Hannah. “Fuck you, bitch. That’s my cash. You have no right to it.”

  Carrington gripped Whirly Man by his t-shirt. The pilot immediately took a wild swing at Carrington who ducked and landed a hard punch to the man’s solar plexus. Whirly Man doubled over in pain.

  Carrington gripped the back of the pilot’s neck and squeezed hard. “We need to set a few things straight,” he said, walking him toward the rented sedan where Decker’s boots protruded from the rear door.

  48

  Getting the Story Straight

  Saipan

  Northern Mariana Islands

  April 1990

  The Navy MH-60 Seahawk helicopter powerfully set down on the runway, scattering litter and any other unsecured objects in all directions. Two corpsmen hustled toward Carrington who pointed urgently at the compact sedan where Decker lay asleep.

  Hannah remained at Decker’s side as the corpsmen carried him toward the helicopter’s open door. She kissed him lightly on the lips as they raised him into the vibrating aircraft.

  The crew chief waited impassively at the door. “Any more passengers?”

  Hannah shouted back. “No. Decker is the only one. Please take good care of him.”

  “Will do. Tell Reb the team sends its regards. He’s the best.”

  “I certainly will.”

  The crew chief gave the thumbs-up. “Now keep your head down. And get even with whoever did that to you,” he shouted, touching a finger to his face and pointing back at her.

  Hannah shielded her eyes as the heavy blades churned the air, blowing bits of loose coral as the aircraft lifted off. She realized her facial bruises were turning purplish blue, which made her want to shout out to the crew chief, ‘Already took care of that,’ but she also knew the less said in these circumstances, the better.

  Donley and Lt. Brick approached Hannah as soon as she turned away from the helicopter and began walking fast, hunched over, toward the others. Lt. Brick’s voice was calm but stern. “Miss Becker, or whatever your name is, we need to talk to you about what went on during your flight from Mr. Tanaka’s residence.”

  Carrington, sensing the possibility of complications among all agencies and military services involved, rushed to Hannah’s side. “Hold everything. I need to speak with her first.”

  Donley frowned. “And why is that?”

  “Because she works for me. We work for the same company.”

  “And by that I presume you mean the CIA.”

  “That’s the company.”

  Lt. Brick clapped his hands once and the effect was noted. He wasn’t pleased. “You have five minutes.”

  “That’s all I’ll need.”

  Carrington draped an arm around Hannah’s shoulders and guided her to where they were out of the lieutenant’s hearing range. “Tanaka’s dead. No doubt about that. But if a story ever surfaced, suggesting a CIA officer tossed him out of a mile-high helicopter, it wouldn’t play well in Japan where he was a well-known citizen. And it definitely wouldn’t be a hit among the yakuza where he ranked as an esteemed boss.”

  “Got it, William. So what’s the official story?”

  Carrington brushed back his hair with both hands and sighed. “Listen carefully. I’m going to tell you exactly what happened aboard that helicopter, and we’ll get that little fucker Sadashi to swear to it, along with our pilot friend, Mr. Whirly Man.”

  “I’m listening, William. We don’t have much time.”

  Carrington began to weave his tale. “Tanaka was distraught. He was convinced his heroin empire was falling apart. For that and perhaps other reasons, he was suffering from severe depression. So when the helicopter passed over Suicide Cliff, it was emotionally too much for him. In a moment of pure despair, he jumped to his death in the same spot his parents had in 1944. Banzai! Sayonara! He joined his ancestors.”

  Hannah smiled. “Not bad, William. But what about Whirly Man? Do you really think he’s going to keep his mouth shut?”

  “If he wants to stay out of jail and ever see any of that $50,000 in the suitcase, he’ll do exactly as we say. By the way, where’s the suitcase?”

  “In the trunk of your car.”

  Hannah repeated Carrington’s version of the story to Donley and Lt. Brick, who listened skeptically. Carrington was busy making deals with Whirly Man and Sadashi. Upon weighing the alternatives, both men quickly agreed to verify Carrington’s version of events. Sadashi sincerely requested that the official story make note of his valiant attempt to keep Tanaka from committing suicide, which would leave him in good standing with his yakuza associates. Carrington belly laughed at the notion, feeling like a screenwriter who has been asked to modify a character in mid-production. “Consider it done, Sadashi. You are now a hero.”

  Carrington contacted Ashwood on an encrypted telephone line and delivered the official report, including the
details of Tanaka’s death by suicide. He knew Ashwood didn’t believe a word of it, but as deputy director of operations at Langley, a position that placed him under constant pressure, he’d be eager to announce in-house that one of the Pacific Rim’s heroin smuggling kingpins had been eliminated, courtesy of the CIA.

  While Carrington responded to Ashwood’s concerns, Donley and Lt. Brick pressed their interrogation of Hannah. A hard-boiled police detective, Lt. Brick had a list of questions that he asked in varying ways, hoping to catch Hannah in a lie or conflicting statement as she reiterated what had happened to Tanaka aboard the helicopter. The poor man had committed suicide, plain and simple.

  Hannah offered to provide Donley and Lt. Brick with off-the-record information about the deaths of Krill, Akumu, and Sgt. Torres, but nothing beyond that. She claimed to know zilch about the deaths of Yuki and Kira, the yakuza kobun whose bodies lay sprawled in the underbrush near Tanaka’s rented home.

  Lt. Brick fired off another round of questions at Hannah. Did she know both Yuki and Kira had been shot dead with a high-powered rifle, undoubtedly the type used by the military, not some rusting antique rifle like those often found among Mariana Islands farmers or in the caves near Marpi Point? Did she realize these were acts of murder?

  “I don’t know anything about them. But I can tell you for certain that Akumu killed Krill with an ice pick at Tanaka’s house without blinking an eye. She obviously hated the woman.”

  Lt. Brick wanted more. “Why would she do that?”

  “I believe she was jealous of the attention Tanaka paid to Krill.”

  “And what about Akumu? What happened to her?”

  “Tanaka shot her as she was attempting to get into the helicopter on the roof of his home.”

  “And why did he do that?”

  “In my opinion, because she didn’t obey his every command. Akumu had a mind of her own and it led to her demise. Tanaka is a control freak. I think Akumu pushed him past his limit.”

  “So what happened to our dear sergeant?”