"I don't know if..."
"You don't understand. Nephew." Hashi-san fixed him with cold eyes. "You have no choice. I can take away your rich wife and powerful position. I can take your clothes and your life. You will do as I ask, Shusaku. There are no alternatives."
"Yes, Hashi-san," the man said with downcast eyes, a victim of his own weakness.
Hashi-san nodded. "Stay here," he said. "Wait. I have a meeting with a real man, something you wouldn't understand." He nodded to Junko. "Let's go."
* * *
The elevator opened into another world.
Mack Bolan, the Executioner, walked out of the small lift and into a land of old dreams. The underground was huge and wide open. To his right was a wide hangar full of ancient fighter planes. To his left an open corridor stretched far into the distance.
He recognized the planes, called Zeroes. They had been the best airplane in the skies in the early days of the Second World War and had nearly destroyed the entire American fleet at Pearl Harbor. He also recognized the red circle painted on their sides — the Rising Sun of Japanese imperialism. They had been sitting in the hangar, untouched, for over forty years. He saw hundreds of planes lined four abreast, reaching for a distant wall. But the corridor extended far beyond the wall. The immensity of this complex was impressive. The area was meticulously clean, and evenly spaced spotlights illuminated the area at regular intervals. Beams of steel crisscrossed the structure for reinforcement and he could hear the motors of monstrous fans bringing fresh air into this tomb of the past.
And hanging from the beams, every twenty feet, large banners bearing Hashi-san's likeness fluttered in the machine-generated air. On the banners he was dressed as his ancestor Asano in ancient warrior garb with a samurai sword. The man had built an entire empire devoted to praising himself and covering up his own guilt. A mind so clever, spent fooling itself.
Bolan drew Big Thunder and began walking. He hadn't gone ten feet before noticing something that wasn't forty years old — a small TV camera tracking his movements. They knew he was here. Fine. The Executioner didn't have time for stealth, anyway.
He walked quickly, moving past row upon row of ancient airplanes, his boot heels echoing on the cement floor. After several minutes he passed the hangar wall and came upon double thick cinder block that housed weapons, ammo and drums of gasoline.
The antique weapons were set neatly in racks, including the single-shot Meiji carbines that had even been dated in 1945. The ammo he ignored completely. It would have broken down and lost its potency long ago. But the gasoline had possibilities.
He passed the weapons racks and moved to the barrels. There were a couple of hundred, stacked about thirty feet high. A great deal would have been lost to evaporation, but if the barrels had been sealed properly, there would still be kick left in some of them. Underground, the temperature was the same year round, perfect storage conditions.
He tapped a barrel with Big Thunder. It rang partly full. Filing the information in his mind, he hurried on.
After he passed the dump, he came to a motor pool full of three-wheeled electric carts. These had to be Hashi-san's. There was also a large ramp that sloped from the middle of the building at a thirty-five-degree angle to the ceiling. This had to be where the Sonnojoi entered. He took a cart and proceeded, television cameras recording his movements the whole time.
After the motor pool he passed a barracks area where bunks were tiered three high on poles spaced at regular intervals. Hundreds of men could sleep here, and Bolan began to get the feeling of a unit. He drove on, past yet another section of planes.
Bolan saw the lights approaching as he cleared the next section of Zeroes. It was only one cart, and he knew it was coming in response to the TV cameras. Hashi-san knew better than to send a few men to take him. He wasn't surprised, then, to find himself confronted by the Bushido master himself. Unfortunately, Junko was with him.
She pulled the cart to within ten feet of Bolan and stopped. The two stared at one another across the space of hangar. Bolan's mouth was dry.
"I'm glad you've come, Bolan-san," Hashimoto said, standing in the cart. "I would have brought you here soon myself, anyway. Now you can share my greatest triumph."
"You amaze me," Bolan said. "How could you expect me to share the deaths of innocents with you?"
The man's eyes narrowed. "You don't understand. I want you to share the fulfillment of my honor!"
"Honor more important than the lives of my own people?"
"Yes!" Hashi-san said, amazed. "Of course. I m your people, Mack Bolan. You are the warrior. I am your master. We share the code."
"You've used me from the first," Bolan said, his eyes drifting to Junko's. Hers were wet with tears. "At the pachinko parlor, how did you know?"
"My man at the American Embassy." Hashimoto shrugged. "I still didn't know where Norwood was hiding, but I was able to keep tabs on the old man through the embassy. When I couldn't kill you there, I found out about you. I determined then that you were the person to succeed me, to carry on the dynasty that I've made."
"The attack on the highway..."
"A test," Hashi-san said. "To be sure."
"Had you been wrong, Junko would have been killed."
"But she wasn't."
"What about the cocaine, the... poison you hate so much?"
"Like a vaccine, Bolan-san, I used an amount of the poison to cure it. Once I have fulfilled my honor against the people of America, I will eradicate the poison in my country. I now have deep contacts within the Yakuza on all levels of their drug operation. From here, with your help, I can finish them."
Bolan stared at him. "And you've used me to kill your Air Force connections, too."
"Many streams branch from a single river, my son," Hashi-san said. "I helped to pit you against them to still too many mouths who had too much to say. It's a game, and the priorities continue to change. Where is Dr. Mett?"
"Dead," Bolan said.
"You see? You have done me another favor."
"And Junko, what about her?"
Hashi-san smiled. "A happy accident," he said. "The human heart controls itself. I couldn't have planned her love for you had I set out to do it."
Junko had buried her face in her hands and cried softly. And once again Bolan realized how wrong it was to let someone become close to him.
"I'm going to kill you, you know," he said to the man, and Hashimoto grimaced at the words.
"You can't," he said. "I've brought my empire to this moment for you. Immortality is continuance."
"I deal in mortality," Bolan said. "Nothing more."
Hashi-san's face hardened then, and Bolan could tell he was readjusting his priorities, just as the Executioner had done many times in the past several days. "If that is the case, Bolan-san," he began, "then I will leave you with a far more difficult choice than you have anticipated. The Executioner will have to prove his own honor. Junko! Get out of the cart!"
The woman looked at her father with pleading eyes. "Get out!" he ordered.
She got out of the cart, reaching beside the seat for the MAC-10 she had used at the nightclub. She stared vacantly at Bolan, her face stained with tears.
"Either bring him with us or kill him," Hashi-san said as he jumped into the driver's seat.
Bolan raised Big Thunder, but Junko put herself between the two men, the gun still held at her side. The old man threw his cart into reverse, backing away, using his daughter as a shield.
"I'm going after him," Bolan said, his foot stepping down on the gas.
"If you do," she returned, "you'll be dead before you get past me."
He stared at her, and emotions threatened to tear them both apart. "He could kill millions," Bolan said. "Innocent people, children. You can't let that happen."
"He is my father," she said through trembling lips. "I honor his n-name... and the code of the Bushido that is his life."
"You could kill me?"
The tears ran down her
face. "I love you, Mack Bolan," she said. "But my blood... is his blood. Will you not join us?"
Mack swallowed hard. "I've got to go after him, and I don't have any more time."
She primed the stuttergun. "To pass, you will have to kill me... or I will kill you."
"I...can't kill you," he said. "My God, Junko, I..."
"Then you will die at my hand."
She raised her weapon. Bolan's muscles tensed involuntarily as the MAC-10 traced a line on him. "Just turn around," he pleaded, "walk away. For God's sake... please!"
She was shaking, "Honor," she said, then screamed it. "Honor!"
He saw the look then, the same one he'd seen on the highway and in the nightclub, and he knew that she would kill him.
He dove from the cart just as she fired, tearing up the seat and steering wheel. His own instinct kicked in, he rolled and came up firing on automatic.
The bullets caught her chest and picked her up off the ground and threw her backward. She went down hard on the concrete, arms and legs twisted like a rag doll thrown in the corner.
Bolan ran to her, tears blinding his own eyes. Her chest was a pool of blood, and her limbs twitched. A trickle of red ran from the corners of her mouth. Her eyes were wide and fearful as she looked up at him.
The woman who had given him so much lay dying by his own hand. And for what? Honor? If this was honor, Bolan wanted no part of it.
Junko tried to speak, but she could only utter a deep, painful gurgle. Bolan couldn't stand it anymore. Bringing up Big Thunder, he put a bullet through her brain to end the agony.
And he wished it had been his own brain he'd put the bullet in. Junko now had peace.
15
Hashimoto drove back to the meeting place, his thoughts on Mack Bolan. With Mett dead and Bolan a traitor, he'd have to begin training a new successor. His men had assembled in this cleared hangar space and stood in full dress, including the helmets, for this historic occasion.
He drove in front of the ranks who stood, in formation and at attention, awaiting him. The lid of the second bomb crate was being nailed into place, and his nephew stood studying the large wooden box.
He climbed down from the cart and walked up and down the lines of men with his hands behind his back. "Faithful retainers!" he called. "You have been with me for many years, most of you coming into my service from childhood. I have always been a good and kind father to you, and you, in return, have showered me with trust and devotion.
"Now we stand at the brink of a miracle, ancient codes of vengeance wrought with modern fire. This is a glorious day for the name of Asano, a glorious day for all of us! Rejoice!"
The men cheered with fervor, reveling in the completion of a long-held dream. Their cheering echoed like the rumble of thunder through the cavern. Hashi-san put up his hands for silence.
"And once we have accomplished the fulfillment of these dreams, we may begin the work of driving the foreign invaders from our lands for all time. To the Sonnojoi!"
More shouting as the men in black helmets thrust their fists high in the air. Hashi-san turned to see an Air Force jeep drive up from the Yokota end of the tunnel. Jamison and O'Brian climbed out with two suitcases.
The old man walked over to them to shake hands.
"What's all the excitement. Chief?" Jamison asked.
"We are simply glad to complete our bargain, Captain," Hashi-san said with a catlike smile and a cold demeanor. "If you'll wait a moment, we'll load the other crate onto your truck."
"Don't you want to count the money first?" Jamison asked.
"The money?" he said, then looked at the suitcases. "Ah, just so. We are all honorable men, Captain. I will trust that the amount is correct."
Jamison bowed. "And I will trust that the goods are all accounted for."
"All packaged up for you, as I promised," Hashi-san said and hoped sincerely that it would be Jamison himself who'd pry the lid off the nuclear device.
A Sonnojoi manning the phone ran up and whispered in Hashimoto's ear. "A small force has made its way into the complex," he whispered, lifting the visor on his helmet to speak. "Two dozen, no more. They move in this direction."
Hashi-san nodded. "Ah, so, so, so."
"Problems?" O'Brian asked.
"Small ones, Sergeant," Hashi-san said, bowing. "It will delay your loading for just a minute or two longer." He waved his arm to get Kawabata's attention, then walked over to talk to his nephew.
"They're here, aren't they?" Kawabata asked nervously.
"Yes, Shusaku. They are here. You must act like a man today. I hope you're up to the task."
"But..."
He waved the man off. "Take the cart. Hurry. My men will be right behind you."
Reluctantly Kawabata jumped into the cart and started off, Hashi-san giving the order for the rest of his men to hurry after on foot.
They went without a word, nearly two hundred men moving silently into the solitude of the cavern. Hashi-san turned from them and addressed Jamison.
"I've never ridden in an airplane before," Hashimoto said. "Tell me what it's like, Captain."
* * *
Bolan drove the cart quickly through the cavern. He moved without thought, his insides deadened, only the strength of his mission pulling him forward. He drove in a haze as alternating sections of planes, ammo and housing whirled dizzily past him. His sense of honor was charred. It was his duty that spurred him — and his hatred of Hashi-san. It was personal now, as personal as it could be.
Somewhere off in the fog of reality that clouded his brain, he heard a sound, a snap. Then all at once he was out of control as the cart veered wildly.
It flipped over just as Bolan jumped to safety. He hit the floor hard and rolled. Ingrained habit lessened the impact, and Bolan looked up in time to watch the cart roll over and over, finally resting upside down and skidding loudly into the wheel struts of a Zero. The plane buckled slowly, angling down upon the dead cart like a bird on a nest.
"Mack Bolan," he heard a familiar voice say. "You're under arrest."
He sat up, turning to see Lieutenant Ichiro and his small squad standing before him. Ichiro held a silenced .38, smoke curling from the barrel. The man had shot his tire out.
"Put your hands behind your head," Ichiro demanded as Bolan climbed to his feet.
"There's no time for this," Bolan said. "Hashimoto is about to load two hydrogen bombs on an airplane bound for the States. If we don't stop him..."
"Why should I believe you?" Ichiro asked.
Bolan looked at him. "I've just killed the woman who was very important to me," he said. "I'm trying to save the lives of millions. Come with me if you want, but don't try and stop me."
With that he began walking away from them.
"Stop!" Ichiro called, but Bolan ignored him. Hashimoto was all that mattered.
The lieutenant ran to catch up with him. "You don't give an inch, do you?" he asked.
"Neither do you," Bolan said, "or you wouldn't be down here. We just need to cut through the crap and get on with it."
"All right," Ichiro said, waving for his men to follow. "What are we up against?"
"No telling," Bolan replied. "A small army, perhaps. The bombs. The U.S. Air Force and..." he gestured around "...any number of surprises."
The first surprise was not long in coming. A lone cart approached them from the endless distance. It stopped thirty feet from them, and a single figure Bolan didn't recognize got out and walked up to stand ten feet from them.
"Commissioner Kawabata," Ichiro whispered, ana nothing surprised Bolan anymore. He just shook his head.
"You are trespassing," Kawabata said. "This is private property, and you have no authority to be here."
"I've taken it upon myself," Ichiro began, "to investigate..."
"You are hereby removed from all duties, Lieutenant. You must return to the surface immediately. You are in violation of the law.1'
"No!" Ichiro said. "We will continue our investigat
ion."
"Don't be an idiot," the commissioner said. "There is a large force behind me, and they would be well within their rights to fire on trespassers. You would all be killed. There's nothing here you need worry about."
Bolan drew Big Thunder. There was absolutely no time to deal with Hashi-san's errand boy.
"You are all Japanese," Kawabata continued. "Hashi-san is a father to you, to all of..."
Bolan fired once, the slug ripping a third eye in the man's forehead. He fell silently, his head cracking loudly on the concrete floor.
The Executioner turned to the assembled men, who looked at him uneasily. "We need to work fast to give ourselves an edge. Forget this man. He's nothing now. Let's go!"
He and Ichiro shared a look, the police officer nodding with tight lips. "Come on!" Ichiro shouted.
They were right at the dividing edge that separated hanger from ammo dump. Bolan split his small force in half. Twelve men began pulling out gasoline barrels and rolling them to the open corridor. The other twelve pulled the blocks out from under the aircraft wheels and pushed the planes by the tail out of formation and into the open passage.
Bolan hurried the operation as shadows from the charging Sonnojoi flickered far down the passage. He moved to the men with the barrels. They had formed a chain, pulling barrels of gas out and rolling them hand-to-hand to stack in the passage. The Executioner took hold of one of the barrels and rolled it in the direction of the oncoming attack force.
On the flat, level plane of the cavern, the barrel rolled straight and true, moving maybe a hundred yards before finally running out of steam and creaking to a stop.
"Roll the others!" Bolan called. "Keep going till we run out of time!"
He ran back to the planes where Ichiro was setting them out in a straight line, back to front. "We've only got a few minutes," he said. "What we need is a man in the cockpit with an automatic and ammo, and two to push the plane. We can squeeze nine planes that way. Put me in the lead plane."
Code of Dishonor Page 16