Pacific Poison

by David Liscio

  “He apparently borrowed some money that didn’t belong to him, but to Tanaka. Like a bloodhound, Akumu tracked him down and when he wasn’t paying attention, stabbed him with her ice pick.”

  Lt. Brick pursed his lips. “That fits with the cause of death. He was stabbed multiple times. Did Akumu do all of Tanaka’s wet work?”

  “I don’t know. She may have simply taken it upon herself to kill the sergeant, thinking Tanaka would be grateful. Are we finished?”

  “Almost. I’m looking into the disappearance of Yoshi Yamamoto, a master tattoo artist respected throughout the region. He’s part owner of The Lucky Carp and a known heroin smuggler.”

  Hannah’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know he was missing.”

  Donley stood beside the police truck and used the radio to call Joe Napuna, the CNMI police chief. The prosecutor asked him to request a government helicopter to search for Tanaka’s body for the purposes of an autopsy.

  The chief explained the department had no such resources, nor did he have the authority to requisition support aircraft on short notice. He suggested Donley contact Whirly Man at Pacific Blue Aviation. Donley groaned as he tossed the radio microphone into the truck cab and slammed the door. The prosecutor had been prepared to arrest Tanaka for the murder of Mikito Asaki and Yoshi Yamamoto. The written press release was folded in his back pocket.

  49

  Underground Art

  Saipan

  Northern Mariana Islands

  April 1990

  Mashima stood at the mouth of the cave and attempted to raise Carrington on his two-way handheld radio every hour, knowing the maximum range was less than three miles and further strained by the mountainous terrain.

  Each time, he waited patiently for Carrington’s response, and when it failed to arrive he returned to the cave where Hiraku slept soundly, her head resting on the satchel.

  Mashima gazed at her continuously, studying the sculpted lines of her face, the small hands angelically tucked beneath her head, and the exquisite peacock feather tattooed on her left foot. He noticed her toenails were painted bright pink.

  The classically black hair he found so beautiful was disguised by streaks of paint – orange, blue, red, and an occasional white line. Mashima was amused by her sense of fashion and style, undoubtedly a reflection of the Hiraku deep inside, whatever it was she had experienced in her life. He yearned to know more about her.

  Hiraku was still wearing the red off-the-shoulder blouse Krill had scavenged and the men’s cargo shorts tethered to her waist and held up by a length of manila rope. It was cool in the cave so Mashima covered her with his shirt, allowing his hands to linger on her small breasts and bare shoulders as she slept deeply. He contemplated touching her between the legs but knew it would be difficult to explain should she unexpectedly awaken.

  As soon as Hiraku opened her eyes she began talking, her words flowing like a fountain. It was as though she hadn’t spoken in months and was eager to make up for lost time. The candle provided only a flicker of dim light as she unwound so Mashima moved closer to better see her face.

  When the conversation turned to her uncle Yoshi, Hiraku’s eyes welled with tears.

  Mashima understood her pain. “Everyone between here and Japan knows him as a top master – the finest tattoo artist in the entire Pacific Rim.”

  Hiraku beamed at the description of her beloved uncle. “Maybe in the whole world. Let me show you something. You may use your spotlight, but only when I tell you.”

  Bathed in the half-light of the cave, Hiraku removed Mashima’s shirt and tossed it to him. “That was very thoughtful of you, detective. Now you no longer need to be bare-chested. I’m warm enough.”

  Mashima caught the toss and broke into a smile, but he didn’t slip the shirt on. He was overheated despite the chill cave temperature.

  Without hesitation, Hiraku turned so that her back was facing Mashima. She allowed the red blouse to fall to the floor of the cave and spread her arms like angel wings.

  “Now you can turn on your spotlight.”

  Mashima fumbled with the light but when it finally shone he was speechless. He marveled at the masterful tattoo that covered Hiraku’s back, swept over her shoulders and down her arms, some of the design disappearing around the front where it covered her ribs and, though Mashima could not see, spread upward toward her small breasts. It was the most beautiful and intricate peacock he had ever seen.

  “Magnificent,” he said, feeling aroused as he pressed a hand over the growing bulge in his pants.

  Hiraku grinned. “Very few have seen the whole tattoo, only bits and pieces on my arms and shoulders. I wanted you to see more because I can tell you appreciate such things and you have helped me so much.”

  “Your uncle’s artistry lives through you every day.”

  “I believe it does. I feel his presence always. It took him countless days to create this tattoo. Every time he had a free moment he would ask me for permission to continue. I remember being bored and frustrated from sitting still for so long, but he politely insisted.”

  Mashima trained the spotlight on Hiraku’s back and stepped closer to study the tattoo. “Absolutely perfect.” He reached out to touch a koi carp with green scales and moustache of black barbels. Next to the fish was a fierce-looking dragon, its body coiled and ready to strike. Hiraku giggled at Mashima’s touch and moved away slightly, but he continued to explore the designs with his spotlight and his fingers.

  “So many numbers. It’s as though they’re floating in air. What do they mean?”

  “Some are important dates. Also my birthday. My uncle’s birthday. The age of my parents when they died. Good years, bad years.”

  “I see. And what of these longer numbers that run the length of the curving snake?”

  “My uncle had a fascination with numbers. He was also an excellent mathematician. His fingers would fly over his abacus faster than an accountant can use an electronic calculator.”

  “The numbers must have some meaning. Didn’t he ever explain them?”

  “Many days I was so tired from having to stay completely still that I just didn’t ask. He was an artist and I was his canvas. I thought it impolite to question him. It would be seen as disrespectful.”

  Hiraku pulled the red shirt back over her head. But the lightheartedness and pride she had briefly felt soon turned to tears.

  “I fear Tanaka will take revenge on Krill once he finds out she allowed me to escape.”

  “That was not your decision. It was hers.”

  “True. But inside, I hurt at the thought of it.”

  “Why do you think she helped you?”

  “Because she and my uncle Yoshi were close friends. Yoshi trusted her. My uncle often paid for her rent because she made such little money at the casino. He didn’t want her doing anything she might later regret, just to earn some extra.”

  “Such as?”

  “Lots of men, especially the Japanese, will pay handsomely to sleep with a haole girl. They are fascinated by straw-colored hair and blue eyes.”

  “You really think so?”

  “You’re Japanese. Haven’t you ever felt that way?”

  Mashima blushed. “No. Never. The Americans have a saying that blondes have more fun. But I prefer black hair and dark eyes, just like yours.”

  Hiraku brushed aside the personal comment. “Really? No blondes in your past or future? Maybe you don’t like to have fun.”

  Mashima didn’t seem to recognize the playfulness in the young woman’s voice and instead was put off. When he regained his composure he smiled ruefully. “Perhaps because I’m only half Japanese I don’t have such feelings for haole girls.”

  “So it’s only Japanese girls for you?”

  “No. I also find the Chamorro girls attractive. Perhaps because I’m half Saipanese.”

  Hiraku laughed. “I’m only half Japanese. Who should I find attractive?”

  Mashima grinned sheepishly. “Me, of course.”


  “You’re too old for me. I’m twenty-one. How old are you, detective? Fifty?”

  Mashima was put on the defensive. “Not yet forty.”

  “Ah. Then the perfect girl for you would be at least thirty.”

  “Maybe so. I haven’t had much time to think about such matters. Too much police work.”

  “You mean like marriage and having a family.”

  “Yes.”

  “I wish I had a family. My uncle was my only family and I knew he thought it was an important part of a person’s life. He treated Krill like family. He knew she was raising Starfish and often went hungry unless she was able to take home leftovers from the hotel kitchen.”

  “Starfish?”

  “Krill’s daughter, who now may have no one to look after her. She may be an orphan, like me.”

  “Krill must be a very private person. I was not aware she had a child. What happened to the girl’s father?”

  “Nothing. He was never in the picture — at least not for long. He was a wealthy tourist who claimed he was a British ex-pat. He told everyone he was fed up with his country, its government, and its cold and rainy weather. That’s what he used to say. He spent a year here on the island, drinking mostly, surfing now and then, riding his motorcycle and spending his days at the beach. Krill fell in love with him. And she thought he loved her back. But when he learned she was pregnant, he left Saipan and never looked back. I hope he returned to his land of cold rain and died of pneumonia.”

  “That is a tragic story. I wish we were in a position to help Starfish, but unfortunately we are not. We need to leave this island as quickly as possible,” he said, suddenly wrapping her in his arms.

  “I know. And it makes me angry.”

  “Don’t be angry. Be happy that we can start a new life together.”

  “We?”

  “I thought we might go to America together and, well, be together.”

  Hiraku fell silent. After an awkward minute had passed, she attempted to wriggle from his embrace but he held firm.

  “What are you doing? Mashima, please let me go.”

  Mashima’s embrace tightened until it felt to Hiraku like she was being crushed. Though Hiraku twice shouted his name, thinking it might be the last sounds uttered before she died of suffocation, it was as though he hadn’t heard her.

  Sensing she was about to pass out, she screamed.

  “Hideyo. Let me go!” She flailed her legs and tried to kick him. Mashima released her and collapsed onto one of the stone seats, his chin resting against his chest, the faraway look in his eyes hidden by the low light of the cave.

  Hiraku kneeled and gently brushed his hair with the back of her trembling hand. “Hideyo, I consider you a brave man, and a dependable one, but I’m not ready to enter a relationship. My life has been horrible these past months and I’m no good to anybody, including myself.”

  Mashima looked up, his eyes glassy. “I would devote myself to you. It would be an honor.”

  “Oh, Hideyo. I’m certain you would. But I’m not worthy of such devotion. I’m a wreck and incapable of returning such deep feelings.”

  Mashima felt the desperate chill of rejection. His throat was dry, his eyes blinking uncontrollably. Both of his hands felt cramped. He felt the fury rise up inside him like a beast fighting to break free.

  “I see.”

  “Do you really? My parents are dead. My beloved uncle has been mercilessly murdered. I’m homeless. I’m being stalked by the yakuza, and my only hope of survival rests with people I barely know. It’s not a time to think about romance or love.”

  Mashima cleared his throat. “How silly of me,” he said, his mind enveloped in dark thoughts as he recalled the last woman who had rejected him.

  As the top of the hour arrived, Mashima again attempted to contact Carrington. He was both elated and saddened when Carrington finally responded to his radio transmission. He knew then his time alone with Hiraku was coming to an end.

  Carrington’s voice was brimming with concern. “Are you safe?”

  “For now, yes. Hiraku is resting.”

  “Give me your location so that we can bring you in.”

  “No need. We can come to you. I have a police vehicle. We can join you within the hour, maybe a bit longer.”

  “Not a good idea. People are already asking questions and looking for you and Hiraku.”

  “We’re at Kalabera Cave. Lt. Brick knows its location.”

  “I don’t want Brick involved. His organization plays by different rules than the one I work for, and right now, you need the one with the least number of rules.”

  Mashima felt like a pawn shared between the local police and the CIA, but he understood only the latter organization could provide him with the level of freedom he sought.

  When answering Carrington on the radio, his exasperation went unhidden. “If you want to know the way to Kalabera Cave, just ask at any market along the road to Marpi Point. The locals will give you directions.”

  “I’ll do that. Stay put until we get there.”

  Mashima let out an odd burst of laughter. “I’ve nowhere else to go.”

  Nearly an hour passed, though it seemed only a few minutes to Mashima when his radio crackled again. The static voice was Carrington’s and it was filled with urgency.

  “We’re outside the cave. We need to be at the departure point just after dark.”

  50

  Let’s Make a Deal

  Saipan

  Northern Mariana Islands

  April 1990

  Reb trained his sniper rifle on the mouth of the cave as Carrington stepped out from behind a tangan-tangan tree. Carrington clutched the Beretta 92FS handgun he’d taken from Decker’s thigh holster before the Navy helicopter airlifted him from the Saipan airport.

  Carrington again hailed Mashima on the radio and immediately received a response.

  “We’re coming out.”

  “Anybody else with you?”

  “No. Only Hiraku.”

  “Do you know if anyone saw you enter the cave?”

  “No. Nobody. You are the first people we have seen. I hid the truck under the trees to evade aerial surveillance.”

  Carrington moved forward. “Good thinking. Now come out and let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  Mashima and Hiraku squeezed into the rear seat of the small rental car. Carrington sensed the tension between them as he settled himself behind the wheel while Reb rode shotgun.

  “Everything all right with you two?”

  “Oh, yes,” Mashima answered quickly. “I think we are all a bit tired.”

  Reb flicked on his mini-flashlight and studied the map. Obyan Beach was south of the airport and fronted the waters of Saipan Channel.

  The captain of a U.S. Navy Sturgeon-class submarine awaited orders to put the insertion team ashore. The submarine was modified to carry the SEAL Dry Deck Shelter behind its sail, fitted with a detachable hatch that allowed special ops teams to move between the sub and the mobile shelter.

  When the orders finally came, the submersible shelter was launched with two six-member SEAL Special Warfare teams aboard, two rigid inflatable boats, and the shelter’s operations crew. The thirty-foot-long pod sped in the dark toward the island to a point where it was possible to see the beach through night-vision binoculars.

  The SEALs readied the two black, rubber boats. Just outside the reef they boarded the inflatables and made their final readiness checks, patiently waiting for the flash of a coded signal from the long strand of beach. The signal, which Carrington had assigned Hannah to arrange, was merely a backup plan in case of radio malfunction.

  Carrington parked the car near a grove of flame trees. “This is it. I’ll be escorting Hiraku to the departure point. She and I will then leave with the extraction team.”

  Mashima was surprised. “Only Hiraku? What about me?”

  “My orders are to extract her.”

  “Didn’t you tell your bosses that
I was of great assistance? That my life is now in danger if I stay here on Saipan?”

  Hiraku was visibly upset. “You must take him with you. The yakuza will kill him.”

  Carrington was in command mode, assessing, weighing options, thinking logistics. Bringing Mashima along might complicate the plan. It came down to weighing more risk versus potentially little reward. Besides, he wasn’t certain how much room the SEAL teams would have in their boats. A lot of details were still in play and he wasn’t about to overload them with an unnecessary passenger.

  “Mashima, there’s still work to be done here. Reb and Mariel will need your help. After that, we’ll see what can be done to get you to the U.S.”

  Mashima’s hopes were dashed. He felt betrayed but wasn’t about to give up. “Why should I believe you? Once you’re gone, once the others leave, I’ll be fed to the wolves. Or, more likely, the sharks.”

  “Because I’m your best hope.”

  “And what if I’m your best hope?”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying it would be to your advantage take me with you. I have all the information your bosses seek about the drug trafficking.”

  Hiraku grabbed the satchel that hung from Mashima’s shoulder. “It’s true. It’s all on the disk.”

  “What disk?”

  “The floppy disk. The one Krill gave to me.”

  “You have it?”

  “Yes. It’s right here in this bag.”

  “And you’ve seen what’s on it?”

  “No.”

  “Then how do you know it’s not blank?”

  “Because it was Krill who put it in my pocket. She knew she was in great danger, but she hated Tanaka and this was her way of getting back at him. She was angry that he murdered my uncle Yoshi.”

  “Let me see the disk.”

  “No. You can see it when we are safe,” she said.

  Carrington roughly pulled on Hiraku’s arm and attempted to wrestle the satchel from her grip. Mashima rushed toward Carrington but stopped abruptly when Reb put a pistol to his head.