Reckoning

by James Byron Huggins

  Gage knew that, on the first faint contact of the blade, Sato would lunge forward, impaling him, willing to match his superior, drug-induced strength against Gage's failing endurance. And Gage knew that if he himself struck too soon and missed a vital area, Sato would simply throw him down and, in series of short, brutal blows, stab him to death.

  Sweat-soaked face tight in a terrible tension, moving with imperceptible slowness, Gage cautiously raised his left hand to his chest, holding it close. And his right hand froze in a blood-grip to the hilt of the Dragon, holding the blade low for an upward sweep.

  A faint stirring of wind.

  Coldness passing.

  Gage's toes curled silently within his boots. And he held a trembling high tension, leg muscles bunching, coiling.

  Any ... second!

  A razored edge touched his face.

  Roaring Gage swept the blade aside with his left hand and leaped forward to stab, and he collided solidly with Sato's massive form and the Japanese went backward before the assault. Gage came down on top on him, instantly trapping his knife arm.

  Sato yelled out to throw him off, tried a head butt, missed. And Gage reversed his knife grip, stabbing downward to plunge the nine-inch steel blade through the ballistic shirt and inside Sato's ribs, pushing deep on the blade, wrenching, driving, twisting the steel through flesh and bone to savage a mortal wound. Screaming in pain, Sato kicked him in the chest, hurling Gage back. But Gage held onto the blade as he fell, drawing it free to continue the damage.

  Gasping he collapsed to one knee, and through a misty red haze he heard Sato stagger up, stumbling, moving away from him, out of the corridor.

  Rising on will and the dying fire of an exhausted rage, Gage stumbled after him. And together they entered the deserted cathedral again, shuffling with exhausted slowness into the gray light. There was only a small distance between them, but Gage no longer cared about distance, no longer needed it.

  This belonged to him now; he owned it, he would finish it.

  Swaying, Sato turned, face slack in pain, staring back.

  Gage waited, breathing heavily, watching. Then with a guttural laugh Sato reached slowly into his bloodied coat to remove another crystal.

  Beyond caring, Gage waited. He knew what was coming; knew it would make no difference.

  It was too late.

  Sato cracked the crystal, raised it to his face, sniffed, and sniffed again. Instantly the chemical hit his system and he shook his head violently, glaring at Gage with fresh strength. He shouted something indiscernible, eyes vivid and bright.

  With a wary expression Gage widened his stance, coming onto the balls of his feet. His grip shifted slightly on the blade, tightening.

  "Ai Uchi!"

  Sato screamed and with an explosive leap to bridge the gap he stabbed straight with the tanto to deliver a suicide blow but Gage sidestepped, slashing down with dead accuracy at Sato's unprotected wrist to hit a hard, straight blow.

  The tanto clanged to the floor and Sato staggered forward another step, propelled by the momentum of his thrust before he wildly regained his balance, straightening, glaring at his half-severed hand with an unfocused strangeness.

  Gage suspected that he didn't even feel the wound; knew he would never stop.

  As if in sullen disbelief, Sato gazed back at him, eyes red. Then the massive Japanese blinked angrily and glanced toward the bloodied tanto at his feet, as if measuring his chances. Gage followed the gaze. Made no move to stop him.

  Sato laughed.

  Impassive, Gage blinked sweat from his eyes.

  With surprising speed Sato had crouched and grabbed the blade with his left hand. Then he leaped forward, stabbing with the long steel tanto, but Gage had stepped inside the blow, moving with almost casual speed to swing the Dragon from left to right in a two-hand power sweep.

  Pivoting hard, Gage felt the blade bite deep into Sato's right side, smashing through bone, and he finished the blow, the fight, roaring and sweeping the blade completely through the rib cage. When the blade hit Sato's left ribs Gage violently tore it free, on fire with the savage effort, and then they separated, standing close for a moment, leaning with shoulders touching, face to face, eye to eye, before Gage stepped slowly, angrily, to the side.

  Sato made a choked, strained sound, then glanced down strangely at his chest, his ribs. Face contorted by pain, he looked up, focusing on Gage.

  Gage stood a step away and his face softened in a strange and exhausted amazement, eyes narrowing in disbelief. It was incredible that the Japanese was still standing. Then the amazed expression was gone, replaced by a bitter and grim resolve and Gage remembered that he would go as long as he had to go to finish this fight.

  But he would finish it.

  Forever.

  A silent, crazed stare and Sato suddenly staggered, falling to one knee. But he still held the tanto in his left hand, and, glaring insanely, struggled to strike again, to fight, to kill.

  And Gage stepped close, his face dark with something more than blood. Slowly, he reached out to grab the hair of Sato's head.

  His voice was chilling.

  "Enough!" he rasped. "There will be an ending!"

  Gage brought the blade, the Dragon, back on a line horizontal with Sato's neck.

  Sato screamed.

  Dragon roared.

  *

  FIFTY-FIVE

  Winter died.

  It was spring, and Kertzman, as strong, as massively imposing as he had ever been, sat patiently on the steps of the Memorial, watching the golden light that waved across the pond.

  Across the distance of the river, almost lost in the exhaust and traffic, he heard the fresh sounds of the wild, sounds that called out to him, even here.

  It was his last day.

  Tomorrow he'd return to the high country where he could track on a high white ridge, the wind in his face, blue sky beside him, beyond.

  He was retiring.

  Everything was finished: the investigation, the indictments, the plea bargaining. Only sentencing remained for the guilty.

  He laughed.

  Carthwright.

  The NSA man had gone down hard, protesting and fighting just enough to make it seem real. But Kertzman had known beforehand that he would take the fall, in the end. And he did.

  Perfectly.

  And it had only turned into a minor scandal, after all, with Carthwright alone convicted for using covert military units of the government for personal profit. But murder trials were expected against him eventually for all of Black Light's illegal sanctions. And Kertzman hoped that he lived long enough to see them. But he had a bad feeling about it. A bad feeling.

  A sky shadow passed over him, and Kertzman glanced up to catch the spectral image, saw the wide, wild wings spread against a golden sun.

  He laughed again, remembering. Rome had ended well enough. None of them were ever charged, or even detained, for the gunfight in the park. Even after Sato's headless body was found in the basilica, there had been no complications. And, remarkably, both the police and the militia had gone the extra mile to ensure that they were treated hospitably. All of them, even Gage, had received the best medical treatment, diplomatic immunity, the works.

  And it wasn't because the United States Embassy had intervened, either. Kertzman was sure of that. No, from the very beginning Washington had pulled out, waiting to see what direction the wind would blow before they exerted any influence. Kertzman knew he had suddenly become a liability. Expendable.

  He hadn't forgotten it.

  Never would.

  In the end, though, it hadn't made any difference because they'd been covered by someone else. Someone with power. And although Kertzman could never discover who it had been, he had a suspicion. One day, Kertzman knew, he'd thank him for it. If he ever went back to Rome.

  For now, though, there was only this last meeting; a few words to draw lines, set down ground rules for the future. And in the distance, walking calmly down the s
ide of the pond, Kertzman saw him approaching.

  Austere and dignified, dressed in a customary, hand-tailored black suit despite the heat, Carthwright came slowly forward.

  With dead calm eyes Kertzman watched the NSA man as he neared, finally climbing the steps to stand resolutely before Kertzman. Carthwright stopped a short distance apart, his head on the same level as Kertzman's. Then he nodded politely, looked around.

  "This is becoming a habit," he said, indifferent.

  Kertzman stared at him a moment. "Thought you might need to know some things," he said finally. "Before they send you off."

  Carthwright smiled. "Of course."

  A bag of peanuts was open before Kertzman. Casually, he reached down with his right hand, removing a handful. And he began to crack them as he spoke, watching his hands. His voice was relaxed, as though he were speaking of hunting, or fishing.

  "Gage is gone."

  "I know," replied Carthwright, with a polite smile. "I understand that he has gone into the witness protection program."

  A snorting laugh broke from Kertzman. "His own witness protection program," he mumbled. "He's on his own, Carthwright. On his own." He cracked open a shell, ate the nuts slowly. "I'd say he's somewhere in the wild blue yonder by now. He told Justice that he'd just take care of hisself."

  Carthwright blinked slowly. Didn't respond.

  Then Kertzman lifted his face to fix the NSA man with a dull stare. "He wanted me to give you a message," he continued.

  For a moment Carthwright appeared like he would look over his shoulder. He didn't. But his jaw tightened and he stared at Kertzman strangely. His voice was faintly quieter when he responded.

  "Yes?"

  Kertzman was nodding vaguely with his own words, shifting his gaze between the shells he was breaking and the NSA man. "Gage says to stay away from everybody," Kertzman continued easily. "He says they're family."

  A pause.

  "Kertzman, surely you don't—"

  "Save it," Kertzman growled, deadpan, eyes sleepy and uncaring. "I don't wanna hear it. You just pass it on. Sarah Halder is family. The old man is family. Barto's the same." He paused. "The book is gone. Destroyed. Gage burned it. There ain't nuthin' left to fight for."

  Carthwright seemed to sway slightly, his mouth was open. He caught a breath.

  "It's over," added Kertzman. He threw a few more nuts into his mouth, chewing slowly, relaxed.

  A long hesitation and Carthwright seemed to grow more steady. Casually, he turned his head to gaze slowly to one side, the other.

  The warm spring evening was alive with tourists, cops, war veterans paying tribute to the Vietnam Memorial only 50 yards away.

  "I don't want to see you again," Kertzman said, commanding Carthwright's attention once more. "Gage don't want to see you again. But he knows how to find you. No matter where you hide." He nodded curtly. "You'd be surprised. So just don't hurt anybody and he won't hurt you. But if you do, he wants you to know up front that he'll take ten times as much from your side." He waited a moment, smiled slightly. "And you'll be the first."

  Carthwright revealed his shock. "Look, Kertzman, I can't guarantee anything. People get killed. It's inevitable. There's car accidents, other things. What if—"

  "Then you'd better hope none of 'em have a car accident," Kertzman grumbled, sniffing. "It'll be ugly for ya."

  "This is unreal, Kertzman," Carthwright continued, struggling to recover. "Nobody could live with that. It's—"

  "You just pass the message on," Kertzman said evenly, breaking another shell. "That's all you need to know. That's all there is."

  In a sudden anger, Carthwright seemed to regain something. And after a pause he stepped forward, exuding an air of aggression, control. "Look, Kertzman, maybe you don't know it yet, but I'm going to prison! And I'll be there for a long time! I'm really not in a position to do anything against Gage or anyone else."

  "But you'll die pretty soon," Kertzman said in a bored tone, shaking his head. "You won't see five years in the pen."

  Kertzman seemed to be agreeing with himself as he continued.

  "Yeah, you'll go in, all prettied up, the picture of health." He looked down, reaching for another handful. "And in a few years you'll supposedly die in prison from some weird disease or somethin.'" He watched his hands work the shells. "Then you'll live out the rest of your life on some beach, somewhere. Thinkin' that you're safe. But don't get too happy." He looked up. "He'll find you, if he has to. It'd be best not to start somethin.'"

  Carthwright was staring at him.

  "You won't fool me again, boy," Kertzman rumbled, a tone of growling granite. "You fooled me the first time, but you'd better remember it cause it'll be the last." He ate a few nuts, chewing thoughtfully. "You let me find the initial tracks in all of this on my own, right from that first meetin'. 'Cause you knew it'd be more real to me like that. Then you let me build the case against you 'cause you knew all along that Gage might just end up stompin' all 'a your supermen into the dirt. And you knew you'd have to take the heat yourself. You tried to set me up to die at the cabin, with Gage. But that didn't work out. Then you sent that travel log to Acklin, along with the reports of the shootout 'cause you knew that Acklin would actually do somethin' with it. You got him building a case." He shook his head. "Yeah, you got Acklin building the case you wanted him to build. Against you. Just like you got me to build a case against you by documentin' all them attempts to sidetrack the investigation." He paused. "If somebody'd look close enough at it, long enough, they'd find the holes. They'd see that it was a setup. Had to be. But nobody's gonna look that close. The White House is just happy to have a head, glad they can close the book on this one without calling in a special prosecutor that could turn this into a headhuntin' party."

  Kertzman barely hesitated as he spat out a piece of shell. "It wasn't a bad plan," he continued. "Worked pretty well, I guess. All the damage will stay with you. And you'll end up protectin' whoever it is you're protectin'. Just like you were supposed to do. Just like you'd planned to do, if you had to."

  Carthwright was silent, noncomfirming. His gaze was passive, slightly bored.

  Kertzman didn't seem to notice.

  "There ain't nuthin' I ain't figured out, boy," he added. "Nuthin'. I know that all of you work for some kind 'a psycho. And I know he probably ain't gonna stop doin' whatever he's doin'. But he needs to stay away from everybody in this." Kertzman nodded, a mean hardness in his bar-fighter face. "I can guarantee you that."

  Carthwright held his silence. Then, abruptly, he seemed to want to say something. He opened his mouth, staring at Kertzman carefully, before he thought better of it, held his silence.

  Dismissively, Kertzman nodded.

  "You can go," he said gruffly. "I ain't got no more use for you. You just remember what I said."

  Carthwright was already backing away, eyeing Kertzman warily, like a wild dog. When he had retreated three steps the NSA man turned and walked down the steps.

  Chewing slowly, Kertzman watched him go, staring after him until Carthwright's tall, dignified black form was lost in the trees.

  Kertzman turned his face to the sun.

  It was dimmer, and lower, a grayness gaining in the horizon, the sky.

  He laughed.

  It was time.

  *

  Only a hunter could have found him.

  Kertzman saw him in the shadowed trees poised motionless as a mountain lion; careful, always careful. Quietly Kertzman walked through the dark mossy silence and gloom, finding a slow path through the overgrown forest and ferns until; finally, they stood face to face again.

  Still unmoving, Gage smiled. He was leaning against a tree. And for a moment neither man spoke, then Gage shifted, releasing a short laugh.

  "You look like you can still hunt pretty good," he said.

  "I do alright," Kertzman replied, solid. "It's about time I got back home. I'm tired of cities." He paused. "Been too long."

  Gage placed both h
ands in the pockets of his long, dark green coat. "When are you leaving?"

  "Tomorrow morning," Kertzman answered. "When you headin' out?"

  "Tonight. I just wanted to say goodbye."

  Kertzman's face was brotherly. "How's Sarah?"

  Brightening, Gage smiled. "She's good. They fixed her up." He hesitated before adding, "She's still got a little scar but it'll fade with time."

  "She's a good woman," Kertzman responded, leaning into it. "Maybe ya'll can come visit me and the wife out in South Dakota some time. Bring all the kids with you."

  Gage laughed hard. "Maybe we will, Kertzman. But we'll lay low for a while. Malachi is still going to teach at the college, and Barto's going to keep doing whatever he's been doing. Translation work, or something. But Sarah will stay with me. We're together, from here. She won't be going back to the city."

  "Good for both of you,” Kertzman nodded. “You belong together. So is the new place gonna work?"

  "Yeah," Gage replied, stepping away from the tree. "It's not in the States. But it's a good place. Better than the last, even." He waited, suddenly more serious. "You got everything straight? You know how to get in touch?"

  "Yeah, I got it," said Kertzman. "You just lay low."

  "I will."

  Gage stepped forward, extending his open right hand. Face serious, he waited.

  Kertzman stared at the hand for a moment, then he reached out, carefully, with his own right hand, grasping.

  Their hands held strong.

  "That's a real mean grip you got there," Gage smiled. "You need to be careful with that."

  Kertzman laughed.

  "Take care, Kertzman."

  "You, too."

  And then Gage stepped back, turning slowly away. He walked for a step before he suddenly hesitated, abruptly turning back.

  "Oh," he added, with a single step toward Kertzman. "I almost forgot this."

  He stopped in front of Kertzman, removing a hand from his coat to offer a thin object about two feet long and wrapped in brown paper. The coarse paper was tied with a white string.

  Kertzman saw it, knew.