Giri
Page 34
He ducked under Robbie’s right cross, leaned closer and in a vicious counterpunch of his own, drove a right uppercut deep into Robbie’s throat. The blow smashed his larynx, crushed all of the cartilage. Instantly, Decker opened his fist, turned his hand palm up and struck again, attacking the throat once more, this time with the thumb side of his palm.
Robbie, eyes bulging and hands at his throat, staggered backward. Decker’s kiai was hair-raising, and came from so deep within him that it stunned the audience into silence and as Decker yelled he swept both of Robbie’s feet from under him. For a second, Robbie, face discolored, hung in midair, drowning in his own blood, then he dropped to the floor with a sickening thud.
Four white flags went up and a cheering audience was on its feet.
The chant began. “Decker, Decker.” Young Frenchmen tucked their left arms in their jackets or shirtfronts as Decker had done and imitated his uppercut and foot sweep. The applause would not end. It changed into a rhythmic hand-clapping, accompanied by stamping feet. Only those officials climbing onto the platform, along with the little French doctor, even suspected that Robbie Ambrose was dead.
Epilogue
MARCH
Decker walked into the bathroom, opened the clothing hamper and placed Michi’s towel-wrapped kai-ken at the bottom. Then, picking soiled sheets and shirts from the floor, he piled them on top of the weapon, filling the hamper to the top. He was about to clean his teeth and go to bed when the telephone rang. Quickly jogging to the living room, he picked up the receiver on the second ring. “Yes?”
“How was your trip?”
“Gave me a chance to rest. She did all the work. She had research to do at the Smithsonian, the Folger Shakespeare Library and the Library of Congress. It meant I was left on my own part of the time, but I didn’t mind. We spent a pleasant ten days together.”
“I’m glad,” Raphael said. “God knows you needed the rest after what you’d been through. Well, have you decided?”
“I’ll take the job.”
“All right! Hey, I’m really pleased. Number-two man at MSC. Hey, I’m excited.”
Decker looked at the bedroom. “Sparrowhawk won’t like it, but I guess that can’t be helped:”
“Sparrowhawk’s not heading the task force,” Raphael said. “I am. By the way, LeClair’s out of a job again. His law firm is letting him go. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’ll get the word sometime this week.”
“Why?” Decker didn’t care, but he was curious.
“Robbie Ambrose, what else? The wives of two very important clients refuse to have him into their homes because of the way he handled the Ambrose thing.”
“Cover-up, you mean.”
Raphael said, “Whatever. He really tied the can to his own tail with that one. And speaking of doing it to yourself, Sparrowhawk’s getting worse. Heavy, heavy drinking and the powers that be don’t like it.”
“That’s why they offered me the number-two spot.”
“Something else Sparrowhawk’s not going to like. We just got the news today. His friend Ruttencutter.”
Decker sat down and began to twist the telephone cord around his still-sore left wrist “What about him?”
“Found his body this morning. He’d been missing for a couple days. Wife hadn’t heard from him, his office was getting antsy. He’s got this country home in Maryland and I guess he went there to open it up for the spring or something. It’s not far from Washington. Anyway, they found him there with his throat cut. Looks like B and E, but nothing’s missing. Nothing to go on. Sparrowhawk and Ruttencutter were in Saigon at the same time.”
Decker said, “I know.” He looked at the origami wildlife figures on his desk.
Raphael said, “You know Longman and Davison, the agents we had guarding Robbie, they’re still talking about that fight. Said they’d never seen anything like it. Place was in an uproar. Longman’s taking karate lessons himself now. They said that fight between you two guys was the best they’d ever seen, including any boxing match in the past ten years.”
“Got me disqualified,” Decker said. “Almost got me jailed. Took some fast talking by the Japanese to convince the French it was an accident”
Raphael hesitated. Then, “Well, we won’t go into that. Look, I have to be upfront with you. We’re happy to have a man inside MSC, but your life is on the line. You ought to know that going in. If Gran Sasso ever learns you’re still working with the task force, he’ll burn you.”
“I know.”
“Frankly, I don’t know why you want to get back in this rat race. You’re out of it. Any security outfit would pay a small fortune to have a guy like you on the team. Why do you want to get back in?”
Decker thought of Michi. And of Sparrowhawk.
“Giri,” he said. “And don’t call me on this line anymore. Gran Sasso will probably be watching me closely, at least at the beginning. From now on, I’ll call you and only you. Nobody is to call me and that includes you. If I have anything I’ll make the first move. That’s the only condition I have for this job.”
“You got it, soldier. By the way, what’s this giri stuff?”
Decker sighed. “We had a long drive back from Washington today. I’m tired. Think I’m coming down with a cold. March was never my favorite month of the year. I’ll be in touch.” He hung up.
He returned to the bathroom, cleaned his teeth, then walked to his bedroom. After he had stripped he slipped into bed beside Valerie Sparrowhawk. Hai. He would take the job. And she could be used against her father. Decker would find a way. He always had.
He lay in the darkness, his back to her. When he listened carefully there were times when he was almost certain that he heard the sound of the elegant koto in the March wind beating against the bedroom window.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My mother, Courtenaye Olden, and my agents, Arthur Pine and Richard Pine, for their unwavering belief; Dick Martin and Harry Batchelder, Jr., for sharing their expertise; Joe Q. for data and a point of view that’s never ceased to be of help.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
copyright © 1982 by Marc Olden
cover design by Connie Gabbert
978-1-4532-6004-3
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