by Jack Du Brul
Henna stood to leave the room. Mercer had arrived on the Inchon ten hours earlier and Henna had promised to get in touch with any final news.
“Dick?”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Why do you trust Mercer so much?”
Henna paused by the elevator door, his arms full of papers and files. “I’m basically a cop, sir, and cops learn to trust their instincts.”
Despite the sophistication of the equipment in the White House Communications Room, Henna spent twenty frustrating minutes waiting for a connection to the Inchon and another ten for Mercer to be tracked down aboard the 778-foot assault ship and brought to the radio.
“About time you called.”
“You’ve got until seven tomorrow morning your time,” Henna said without preamble. “So you better have one hell of a plan in that Machiavellian mind of yours.”
“What happens at seven?” Mercer asked airily.
“A cruise missile blows up Borodin’s volcano and the President surrenders the Hawaiian Islands without a fight.”
“Talk about your serious deadlines.” Mercer paused, absorbing this latest piece of information. “Well, I’d best be off, then. Any parting advice?”
“Yeah. Right now Pearl Harbor is a war zone and we can only assume the rest of the islands are equally inflamed.”
“I’m surprised it’s stayed calm as long as it has. What else?”
“We’ve found a definite link between the coup and a Russian KGB director named Ivan Kerikov. He’s the mastermind. He was last seen in Thailand but may be on Hawaii by now. Oh, yeah. I’ve had a team monitoring ham radio operators from Hawaii for the past couple of days. A guy there named Ken Peters, who works for one of the television stations, got hold of one of my people in California. He suspects that one of their reporters, Jill Tzu, may have been kidnapped by Ohnishi. She was doing a real in-depth expose on him when she vanished.”
“Dudley Doright to the rescue. What else?”
“Just that Ohnishi’s mansion is heavily guarded by some real fanatics, so be careful.”
“Don’t worry, Dick. I have no interest in Ohnishi’s house. He’s just a willing accomplice, not the linchpin.”
The signal from the Inchon faded. Henna knew that Mercer had cut him off.
He settled the phone back into its cradle. If Mercer wasn’t going to Ohnishi’s mansion, then where was he going? And if Ohnishi wasn’t the principal in this affair, who was?
Hawaii
Evad Lurbud’s senses were so highly tuned that the explosion which echoed across the lawns from the main house rocked him back against his heels as if he had been physically struck. Sergeant Demanov placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.
“What in the hell was that?” the burly sergeant asked in a whisper.
“Don’t know,” Lurbud replied curtly, straining his eyes through the night-vision binoculars at the front of Ohnishi’s glass mansion. “I can’t see anything out of the ordinary.”
Demanov, Lurbud, and two commandos were crouched behind a small stand of flowering rhododendrons placed like an island on the wide front lawn of the estate. The rest of the squad was similarly hidden behind other natural cover.
They had reached Ohnishi’s as the shadows of twilight began smearing the beautiful grounds. Lurbud’s team had made use of the jungle which surrounded the estate to approach to within two hundred yards of the house, then had dashed across the lawn in a leapfrog technique, moving from small grove to small grove.
Lurbud and Demanov were no more than fifty yards from the marble porte cochere when the explosion occurred. The sound was accompanied by a flash of brilliant light at the side of the darkened house.
“I don’t see anyone within the building,” Lurbud said.
The night-vision glasses allowed Lurbud to see into the glass-walled house, but the main foyer entrance, curving staircase, and the rooms immediately to its left and right were all empty. He was about to signal the men behind him to move forward when a tiny movement within the mansion made him pause.
Someone was moving across the foyer toward the staircase. The figure was walking cautiously, twisting his body and neck as he peered around. When the man reached the base of the stairs, Lurbud clearly saw the assault rifle tucked under his arm.
“We’ve got company,” he said tensely.
Lurbud watched closely as another figure swept into the entrance foyer and scurried up the stairs. “Two so far,” he remarked. “But something’s not right. They look as if they aren’t familiar with the house. It seems strange for Ohnishi’s security to act like that.”
“Could be standard practice after that explosion,” Demanov suggested.
“I don’t think so. I think I know why we haven’t seen any of Ohnishi’s personal bodyguards anywhere on the estate.”
“American commandos beat us here?”
“That’s my guess.”
“Good,” Demanov grunted, and quietly cocked his machine pistol.
“Kenji, what’s going on?” Ohnishi wailed.
“There was one contingency you never anticipated.” The revolver in Kenji’s hand was steady. “Just as Kerikov sold you out and you sold out Kerikov, I have done the same to both of you.”
“I don’t understand, Kenji,” Ohnishi pleaded.
“It’s really quite simple. Ivan Kerikov hired me eight months ago to act as his watchdog, to report your activities to him.”
Ohnishi slouched deeper in his wheelchair, his frail neck vanishing into his shoulders as he bowed in defeat. He already knew the rest of what Kenji would say, and the weight of truth was heavy on his wasted body.
“Kerikov had to maintain absolute command of every aspect of his operation. You were the only player that he did not directly control. That is why he enlisted me, to make sure that he knew what you were plotting.”
“But I have known you all your life; you are like my son. How? How could you do such a thing?” Ohnishi might have accepted the betrayal, but he still had to know the reason.
“You know nothing about me except that which I’ve told you. It is true that at the beginning I saw you as my father, as my master, but like any son, I outgrew you. I searched for my own path. Which I found.”
“Through Kerikov?”
Kenji’s laugh was without feeling, so mocking that it sounded more like the bark of a rabid dog. “Kerikov is as much a fool as you were, old man. Soon after he approached me with his lucrative offer, I was approached by a group of men that gave me even more.” Kenji related the story of his mother’s enslavement as a “Comfort Girl” to the occupying Japanese army in Korea, his subsequent birth and his sale to his natural father. “I am half Korean, Ohnishi, a heritage that my father tried to bury, but a fact I could never ignore.
“In the years since Kerikov first approached you, he had to change his plans due to the collapse of his government. Not long ago, but before you began actively pursuing this doomed dream of yours, he sold you out to a group of investors. This group bought the volcano that Kerikov promised would make Hawaii a viable nation. What he did not know, or couldn’t know, is that this group of Korean investors then contacted me. I don’t know how they found out about my heritage, but they gave me the opportunity to prove who I really am. From then on, not only was I a spy for Kerikov against you, but also a spy against the both of you for my new Korean benefactors.
“You had no chance at all. Every move you made was counteracted by one of my allies. You bought weapons from Suleiman el-aziz Suleiman — I betrayed the Egyptian to Kerikov. The weapons that you so hoped for will not arrive. Nor will there be any additional mercenaries. Kerikov asked me to rescue a certain woman from the NOAA ship — I told my allies to have her killed in Washington, D.C. Kerikov forced you to write that letter to the President, intending to hold it over your head. I sent it to the White House, knowing that would lead to the anarchy that now holds these islands.”
“You sent the letter?” Ohnishi did nothing to hide his
astonishment.
“Oh, yes. Mayor Takamora made a convenient scapegoat, but I was responsible for sending the letter. The volcano was too close to the surface to risk any detection and it was agreed that your letter would act as the best possible deterrent against the American forces finding it. The Ocean Seeker almost foiled these plans, but Kerikov dealt with it with a typical Russian reaction. After he had the NOAA ship destroyed, I knew that the American focus would be on to you and perhaps the Russians if they got smart, but we, that is the Koreans, would never be suspect. The volcano would be ours without ever having created or defended it.
“It was the perfect triple-cross. While you and Kerikov and the United States quarreled over the Hawaiian islands and the volcano, Hydra Consolidated would take the prize and no one would be the wiser.”
Kenji was chuckling at the frail old man before him when an armed figure burst onto the balcony, his assault rifle covering both Kenji and Ohnishi. Kenji spoke to him in Korean.
“It’s all right. This is Ohnishi; he won’t give us any difficulties. All went well?”
“Yes,” the Korean commando replied crisply. “Ohnishi’s guards were taken out smoothly. The diversionary explosion worked perfectly; none of my men were even wounded.”
“Good. We’ll leave here for my house in just a few minutes. Make sure the remainder of the explosives are in place.” The Korean soldier began speaking into a walkie-talkie. “You see, Ohnishi, this is where my true loyalties lie. When I told the Koreans about your coup, they thought it was the perfect cover under which they could claim the volcano. The United States and Ivan Kerikov would be too busy trying to quell the violence and silence you to notice us.”
The sound of an automatic weapon ripped through the mansion like the tearing of a piece of canvas. Kenji rolled to the floor, shifting his aim from Ohnishi to the doorway leading to the balcony. The Korean soldier swung around so that he too covered the entrance. Silence hung in the air for a long moment.
“It came from downstairs. You must have missed one of Ohnishi’s guards. Go check it out.” Kenji waited until the Korean left before jerking Ohnishi to his feet and half dragging him toward his bedroom.
Lurbud gave the trigger of his machine pistol another tap as a figure lunged from the front door for the bushes just to its left. He knew he’d missed, but it would keep his opponent pinned for a few crucial seconds.
Sergeant Demanov followed Lurbud and two other troopers in the last dash across the lawn to the house. As they approached the thick slabs of glass of one wing, Lurbud tossed a grenade. The grenade cracked the glass as it hit, but did not penetrate. A second later, it exploded, shattering three panels in a plume of crystal and fire. Lurbud led his men through the resulting six-foot-wide hole. Their boots crunched across the fine glass chips spread out over the woven reed mat within. One of Kenji’s men lay smeared against the far wall of the Japanese-style room, his body shredded by the razor-sharp glass.
The remainder of Lurbud’s team had used similar techniques, blowing four other holes in the structure. What followed was nothing short of an all-out war, with both sides falsely assuming their enemy was an American commando team.
Cordite smoke hung heavily in the entrance foyer as Lurbud cautiously edged himself into the lofty room near one wall. In the whirling air, it was difficult to tell who was part of his force and who was not. A figure leapt from behind a huge terra-cotta vase, leveling his weapon at Lurbud. Sergeant Demanov dispatched the attacker with a quick burst.
Lurbud acknowledged Demanov with a nod and continued his sweep of the house. Gunfire echoed throughout the cavernous home and streaks of tracer fire, like comet tails, could be seen through some of the transparent walls. Halfway up the stairs, Lurbud came under a scathing fire, bullets ripping up the thick marble banister only inches from his body.
Lurbud leapt up and over the railing, exposing himself for a moment to the hidden gunman before dropping back to the first floor. He hit the hard marble and rolled once as more bullets sliced the air around him. More than one gunman had targeted him. He continued to roll, directing fire from his machine pistol at the vague outline of a man far across the foyer. The rounds caught the man low in the gut, the kinetic energy of the impacts lifting him bodily and tossing him through a bullet-riddled glass wall.
A grenade rumbled somewhere within the mansion, shaking the entire building. It was immediately followed by the sound of huge chunks of glass shattering against the hard floor.
Up and running, Lurbud changed clips for his weapon with expert hands. Someone loomed out from the reeking smoke and Lurbud almost tore him apart, but stopped in time as he realized it was Demanov.
“What’s your estimate?” Lurbud panted.
“Ten to fifteen, maybe as many as twenty. It’s hard to tell because this place is so fucking big.”
Bullets flew over their heads as they both dove behind a sofa in what must have been the formal living room. Demanov returned fire quickly. Another fusillade pinned them back to the white-carpeted floor.
As soon as the firing stopped, Lurbud sprang to his feet and ran across the room. Bullets tracked his progress, edging closer and closer to his racing form. A Waterford crystal sculpture nearly seven feet tall exploded just behind him. He dove for the floor between two leather ottomans, breath jamming into his throat with the impact.
The firing stopped for a moment and he lifted himself. The gunman was in plain view. Lurbud opened up, stitching rounds across a massive Roy Lichtenstein painting before finding his mark. The gunman went down with three slugs buried deep in his torso.
Lurbud slithered across the room to the fallen assailant. Expecting to see a caucasian or Japanese from Ohnishi’s security detachment, he was shocked to find that the gunman was Chinese or possibly Korean.
“What the fuck is going on?” he wondered.
Lurbud heard the distinctive crack of a pistol shot just as a bullet slammed into the corpse’s chest inches from his hand. He lifted his machine pistol and fired instinctively, but his bullets hit nothing but more glass. The attacker had nimbly ducked behind a glass-cased suit of Japanese armor guarding a curve in the hallway leading to some of the guest suites.
Lurbud lurched to his feet and started down the hall, back pressed tight to the wall, hands steady on his weapon. He fired a burst at the priceless armor, which disintegrated under the hail of 9mm rounds. There was no one behind it. He continued on, passing the body of one of his own men further down the hallway. The Russian soldier’s head had been completely twisted around.
“Jesus,” Lurbud muttered, remembering that Ohnishi’s assistant Kenji was a black belt of the eight don, a master virtually without peer. The dead Russian had to be his handiwork.
Lurbud tightened the grip on his machine pistol now that he knew the power of his quarry. He searched each of the opulent guest suites quickly but calmly, mentally blocking out the firefight still raging within the building. The door at the far end of the hallway did not lead to a room, but rather opened onto a stark concrete and steel service staircase.
He ascended cautiously, the rancid sweat of fear snaking down his flanks. It was impossible to hear anything in the echoing stairway because of the cacophonous battle.
After a few minutes, Lurbud reached the top of the stairs but there was no sign of Kenji, just a dimly lit landing and a fire retardant door. Lurbud jerked open the door, keeping his body safely out of the way.
When the gunfire he expected didn’t occur, he ducked his head around the corner quickly. The room beyond was small, maybe twelve feet square, but tastefully furnished with a low bed, an antique dresser, and damascene wall coverings. A huge built-in mirror dominated the far wall. Lurbud knew it was one-way glass from the plans provided to his team.
Rather than waste time looking for the secret exit that Kenji must have used, Lurbud pumped a few rounds into the mirror and watched it tumble to the floor in a glittering cascade. Beyond lay Ohnishi’s private bedroom and on the beautiful four
-poster bed lay Ohnishi himself, naked.
His head had been severed from his torso, as had his arms and legs. Each appendage lay neatly in its proper anatomical position, but about two inches separated each from the trunk of the billionaire’s body.
Evad Lurbud had been witness to and had in fact carried out some of the most vicious torture yet devised by mankind, but what lay before him brought vomit shooting out of his mouth. Ohnishi’s withered genitalia had been cut off and placed a few inches from his groin. Lurbud knew from the amount of blood in this region that this had been the first member carved off.
Trying to regain his composure, Lurbud thought for a moment and realized that such a death took more time than he’d given the fleeing Kenji. Either someone else had been here first, or Kenji had done this prior to Lurbud’s assault on the mansion.
If the presence of Korean guards was baffling, then Ohnishi’s death was truly confusing. Kenji was Ohnishi’s assistant of many years, by all accounts incredibly loyal. Why had he suddenly turned? Why had he killed his employer? Lurbud let these questions sink into the back of his mind as he continued his search.
Beyond the bedroom lay a dayroom as large as most suburban homes. The decor was very modern, including geometric and freeform art pieces and a glossy white pine floor. The pyramidal top of the mansion soared over Lurbud’s head, supporting a huge primary-colored mobile by Calder, a smaller version of the one hanging in the east wing of the National Gallery in Washington, D.C.
Lurbud dashed from the dayroom through the nine-foot-tall French doors at the far end and onto an open balcony that overlooked the back of Ohnishi’s estate. He took a few deep breaths of the humid air, glad to be out of the smoke-filled house. Amazingly, he could make out the sounds of night insects over the din of battle below.
Kenji stood on the back lawn, a lean shadowy form in the rich moonlight. The instant Lurbud saw him, he raised his machine pistol, but Kenji was too far out of range. A glance to his left showed Lurbud the rope ladder, hanging over the side of the balcony, that Kenji must have used to escape.