No Man's Land

by Roland Fishman

Fifteen feet from him a clan member dressed in a Tactical Response uniform pointed an MP5 directly at his head. The butt of the weapon was pressed into the man’s shoulder and, though clearly tense and nervous, he appeared to know what he was doing.

  Carter slowly turned his head to the right, keeping his hands high.

  Twenty-five feet away, toward the northern end of the balcony, another clan member stood flush against the western wall. He was dressed identically to his mate and held the blade of a six-inch kris dagger against Erina’s throat.

  Her eyes flicked toward him. Silver gaffer tape covered her mouth. She appeared to be unharmed apart from bruising around her right eye and a small cut on her forehead from which blood trickled down.

  Vivienne was about ten feet behind Erina, tucked away in the north-west corner. She sat upright on a metal bench attached to the balcony wall with her mouth taped, hands and feet tied and her dark eyes wide open, staring at him.

  Carter noticed something glint on the ledge about five feet in front of Erina – a samurai sword. He recognized the blade at once as the Drying Pole, which Alex had stolen from him. He intended to get it back.

  Alex emerged from around the corner of the northern wall and stood just in front of where Vivienne sat, speaking softly into the mike of a bluetooth headset. He placed what looked like a GPS tracking device in his thigh pocket and stared at Carter with the cold-hearted intensity of a hungry predator.

  The group stood frozen, as if Alex had pressed the pause button and they were waiting for him to hit play.

  25

  “Drop the phone,” Alex said in a calm, almost sympathetic voice. “You won’t be making any calls.”

  Carter let go of it and put his foot out to break its fall. It slid across the wet floor to the cement wall opposite him.

  “Zaheed,” Alex said, speaking in Indonesian. “You know what to do.”

  The clansman to Carter’s left strode toward him and pushed him hard against the closed door.

  Carter kept his arms raised with his hands extended high above his head.

  Zaheed glared at him and jammed the MP5 muzzle into Carter’s stomach.

  He then ran his hands over his torso, patting the outside of his arms and his legs, pressing his shoulder wound for good measure and sending a sharp stab of pain up his arm. But Carter didn’t care. He’d missed the star knives.

  “He’s clean,” Zaheed said in Indonesian.

  “Check his mouth.”

  Zaheed dropped his rifle level with Carter’s crotch.

  “Open wide,” Alex said. “Or he’ll blow your balls off.”

  Carter opened his mouth.

  Zaheed’s calloused index finger probed Carter’s gums and forced its way under his tongue.

  He extracted the three darts and held them up in the light, grinning.

  “Kerja baik,” Alex said. Good work.

  Zaheed threw the darts against the ledge wall, where they scattered.

  A sloppy move. They might prove useful later if Carter got his hands on them.

  Zaheed resumed his position fifteen feet to Carter’s left, pointing the MP5 at his head.

  Carter stayed silent.

  Alex swaggered past Erina like an alpha lion about to pounce on an old and weakened enemy.

  Carter turned to face him, bracing himself for a physical assault.

  Alex stopped a few feet in front of him and looked into Carter’s eyes.

  “You’ve always been a lying, doublecrossing arsehole. And for some reason unfathomable to me, you think your shit doesn’t stink.”

  He pulled his right fist back under his armpit.

  Carter tensed his abdomen.

  With a grunt Alex let fly, putting his whole body and spirit into the blow. His fist slammed into Carter’s solar plexus like a sledgehammer, bruising the stomach muscles and knocking the wind out of him.

  “That’s for leaving me to rot in prison,” he said.

  Carter bent forward, drawing in lungfuls of air, straining to keep his hands high with his palms facing Alex. He needed to maintain his poise and let the clock tick down.

  “Stand up straight,” Alex said. “And keep your hands in the air.”

  Carter did as he was told.

  Alex again pulled his fist back and threw his whole body behind a second punch. His fist found its mark, striking Carter in the center of his rib cage with terrific force.

  Carter tried to roll with the savage blow and keep his hands up but he heard a distinct crack on impact and felt a fierce pain shooting through his side.

  Alex had either broken a rib or torn the cartilage away from the bone.

  Beads of sweat rolled down Carter’s face. He breathed into the hurt, reminding himself that pain was just a state of mind.

  Alex snarled and said, “And that’s just for being you, a fucking arsehole.”

  His fist flew through the air again, aiming for the bridge of Carter’s nose.

  Carter rolled his head and turned it side-on. The vicious punch struck his cheekbone, causing waves of searing pain to pulsate through his skull.

  His head rang from the blow to the jaw as tears welled in his eyes. He tasted blood in his mouth. A right molar had come loose.

  Alex turned and picked up the Drying Pole from the ledge. He held the sword by his side with the blade pointing down.

  Carter knew what was coming.

  Alex intended to prove his superiority and savor his victory, which he saw as a foregone conclusion.

  He’d want to delay the deathblow as long as possible, using Carter’s old sword to complete the job.

  Carter took a slow, deliberate breath. He couldn’t afford to let Alex keep playing his sadistic game and incur any further injuries.

  He needed to engage him.

  He looked past Alex, caught Erina’s eye and gave her a tight nod.

  They weren’t beaten yet.

  26

  Carter clenched and unclenched his left fist and spread his weight evenly on the balls of his feet. The fight was approaching its climax and as yet he hadn’t even looked like landing a blow. But he knew it was the final shot that counted.

  Another long slow breath helped push the pain in his shoulder, ribs and jaw from the forefront of his mind and lock it away.

  He needed to buy a few more precious moments. Any one-on-one battle must first be fought with the eyes, then from the heart and finally through the body.

  “What happened to you, Alex?” he asked. “To cause you to hate so much?”

  “What do you think, man? The order was my family. Thomas was my father. You were my brother. But you used me as a pawn for all those years and when I was no longer of any use, you and Thomas deserted me when I needed you most. Now you’re going to pay for it. Face it, Carter, it’s over for you – and the order.”

  “Don’t you even care that these lunatics plan to kill and injure God knows how many innocent people? It’s not too late to save them.”

  Alex gave a tiny shake of the head. “You’ve never understood me, Carter. My belief is that most people are mindless sheep, barely alive. Their death doesn’t concern me one way or the other.”

  Carter motioned his head toward the two clan members. “At least these two believe in something bigger than themselves. All you care about is yourself.”

  “Someone has to,” Alex said.

  Carter’s gaze flicked toward the clansman holding Erina. He didn’t move a muscle.

  Alex took a step toward Carter. He raised the sword with two hands, drew it up behind his head and then swept the blade down, creating a swishing sound through the air.

  The tip of the sword stopped half an inch from Carter’s throat.

  Carter didn’t blink.

  Alex motioned for Carter to move backward, south along the lookout deck.

  Again, he did what he was told and began walking, one cautious step at a time. Adrenalin surged through his body, giving him a feeling of mental clarity. Alex kept pace with him, holding the sword
at the side of his throat, a self-satisfied smile etched across his face.

  Carter kept moving backward until the top of his calves hit a metal bench attached to the ledge. The end of the line. It wouldn’t be long now.

  He glanced to his right. Zaheed had moved and now stood about fifteen feet from him, halfway down the southern lookout deck, out of the others’ line of sight. His MP5 remained trained on Carter’s head.

  Alex adjusted the Drying Pole so that the tip of the blade pointed at Carter’s heart, now beating fast. Another surge of adrenalin pumped through his veins, causing him to tighten and then relax his muscles.

  Some adrenalin was good. Too much drained your focus.

  “Get onto the ledge,” Alex said.

  Carter needed to play the game out as long as possible, so he continued to do as he was told.

  Turning his back on Alex wasn’t an option, though. Carter placed his left foot on the metal bench and then his right, keeping his movements slow and deliberate.

  At the northern end of the lookout Vivienne was slumped forward. Her body bent over her lap as though she couldn’t bear to watch.

  His gaze searched out Erina.

  She stood rigid. The other clansman still held the dagger at her throat. For the first time he read fear and doubt in her eyes.

  Alex frowned and said, “I won’t tell you again.” He still held the point of the sword at Carter’s heart.

  Carter used his hands to lift himself onto the nine-inch-wide ledge and sat there for a moment, thinking.

  The storeroom no longer protected him from the gusting southerly wind. He was now at the mercy of the elements. He looked over his left shoulder at the three-hundred-foot drop to the ground. There was no escape that way. He turned back to Alex.

  The smile had returned to his face. “Get on with it,” Alex said. “There’s no point trying to delay the inevitable.”

  Carter took a slow breath, embracing the pain that ran through his body. He pulled his feet up onto the ledge and then slowly stood up, keeping his knees bent and his arms loose by his side.

  “Lift them,” Alex said.

  Carter raised his arms to shoulder height, making his position even more vulnerable.

  He adjusted his right foot back, maintaining his balance, like he was riding a surfboard on a steep wave.

  The sound of plastic flapping caused him to look up at the gun deck above the storeroom.

  He couldn’t see directly onto it, but he glimpsed the black wings of what could only be a hang-glider. It explained how Alex intended to get off the pylon, save himself and most likely meet Samudra before the midnight fireworks.

  Carter pulled himself up to his full height.

  Alex held the Drying Pole in two hands pointing up at him.

  Carter stared across the top of the polished sword into Alex’s dark brown eyes.

  The clock in his head entered the final countdown.

  Ten, nine, eight …

  He took a slow breath in.

  Alex moved one foot slightly backward, adjusted the angle of his sword and squared his shoulders. He swept the Drying Pole back with a dramatic flourish, gripping the handle tight.

  His gaze dropped, signaling his intention.

  He planned to cut Carter’s legs off at the knees.

  Three, two, one.

  The chorus from the Rolling Stones song “Street Fighting Man,” an anthem from Carter’s youth, blared at full volume from the phone lying on the deck.

  His mother had played it when he was a kid. He’d always loved the lines about the sound of marching, charging feet and how the time was right for fighting in the street.

  Alex’s eyes swung to the phone.

  Carter was already in motion.

  27

  The “Street Fighting Man” chorus created the split-second opening Carter sought.

  His thought processes accelerated and the world around him slowed. He felt a pure and total clarity.

  He grabbed the star knife from under his left wetsuit sleeve and flung it at Zaheed to his right.

  The Indonesian’s MP5 clattered on the ground. He clutched his right eye and collapsed backward.

  Carter had already moved on.

  As he whipped the other star knife from his right sleeve, he looked to his left and saw Erina stabbing the second clansman’s throat with his own dagger.

  It had all happened in less than a second.

  The chorus was still blaring as Alex swung back to face Carter, pulling his sword back behind his head in one swift, fluid motion, poised to strike at Carter’s legs.

  Carter threw his arms forward, pushed off hard with his legs and leaped high over Alex’s head, tucking his knees underneath his chest.

  The Drying Pole’s blade flashed close beneath his heels.

  Carter hit the cement floor a few feet behind Alex, landing sideways and breaking the impact with his good arm before rolling onto his feet, a molten sea of agony surging through his battered body.

  Alex spun around and faced him with the sword raised high over his head.

  He started his forward strike.

  But Carter was quicker.

  He’d already flung the second star knife toward Alex.

  The knife struck its target. One of the five blades buried itself in Alex’s exposed throat.

  The Drying Pole and then Alex dropped to the ground.

  Carter stood still, his breath coming hard and fast.

  Alex lay on his back, holding his throat in an effort to stem the bleeding. He stared at Carter in a state of shock. His arrogance had given way to a look of bewildered disbelief.

  The phone sounded another round of the “Street Fighting Man” chorus.

  Carter picked up the Drying Pole, keeping his attention on Alex, and held the sword by his side. It felt light in his hand.

  Behind him the phone went silent.

  He looked around and saw Erina freeing Vivienne.

  The clansman who’d been holding the dagger at her throat lay motionless on his back, almost certainly dead.

  Carter moved to the southern end of the walkway and looked down to where Zaheed lay on his back, not moving. The life had drained out of his body. Carter checked for a pulse but was careful not to disturb Zaheed’s clothing. He and his mate were no doubt wired with explosives. This wasn’t over yet. Carter needed to get off the bridge and find Samudra before he could trigger the detonators.

  He returned to Alex and knelt down beside his head. A pool of blood had spread out around his shoulders onto the wet cement.

  Carter removed the star knife from his throat, then placed his hand over the jagged wound and applied downward pressure. He needed to find out where Samudra was.

  Two sets of soft footsteps approached. Erina and Vivienne stopped at Alex’s feet.

  Alex looked up at Carter and whispered, “You know I’ve been thinking about killing you every day for the last two years.”

  “That was a waste of time,” Carter said.

  “It kept me going.”

  “Tell me where Samudra is.”

  Blood dribbled from Alex’s mouth, which had twisted into a sneer. “You think I’d betray him to you? At least I have the satisfaction of knowing you failed and will be forced to live with the consequences.”

  “Don’t worry,” Vivienne said to Carter. “I know where Samudra is and how to find him. I heard them talking on the phone downstairs. Alex has a GPS device on him with the coordinates set.”

  Erina looked down at Alex. “You should be more careful when you talk on the phone. You never know who’s listening.”

  “Fuck you,” Alex said.

  His head dropped to one side but his dead eyes remained open, staring into the night as if trying to figure out where it had all gone wrong.

  28

  Erina, Vivienne and Carter stood over Alex’s body. They all needed a moment to gather themselves before facing what lay ahead.

  Thanks to the adrenalin pumping through his veins, Cart
er barely registered any pain.

  He had retrieved the palm GPS navigation device from Alex’s trouser pocket and held it in his left hand; the still thirsty Drying Pole, now returned to its scabbard, was in his right.

  The sword would serve as a powerful reminder of what he’d been through and learned. He remembered the words of Miyamoto Musashi, the great samurai who had defeated the sword’s original owner, Sasaki Kojiro, in a famous bout between the two men on an island off Japan. Musashi had said the only difference between himself and Kojiro was that he used his sword not to conquer the world but rather to advance his spirit. Musashi had used his fighting skills only to perfect his craft and serve others.

  Carter looked up into the dark sky. Alex’s blade had passed a hair’s breadth from his body. It could so easily have been him lying on the cold, wet cement, or broken and twisted at the foot of the pylon.

  He didn’t necessarily believe in fate or destiny, but he acknowledged the karmic logic of the universe, of cause and effect. Now the fight was over, Alex’s death appeared inevitable.

  Carter glanced at Erina, then at Vivienne, both lost in their own thoughts.

  He looked down and saw the scowl on Alex’s lifeless face. It revealed the bitter fruit of such an existence – a hollow life and a lonely death.

  Alex had abandoned the principles of the order and become driven by ego and the fulfilment of desire, his decline hastened by his use of heavy drugs. Carter had seen the man unravel bit by bit, his soul corrupted by a life of hedonism and the pursuit of his own interest at the expense of others.

  Carter recognized the parallels with his own life.

  He had allowed his desire for Erina to consume him until he sought to control her, and had been frustrated when she denied him that control. He’d shown Thomas not the love and respect he deserved but pride and anger, rejecting his authority not because it was unjust, but because Thomas asked him to put the order’s interests ahead of his own.

  He’d walked away from the problems confronting him rather than facing them.

  He’d abandoned the people who loved him and relied on him and instead pursued his own selfish ends.

  He’d given up his spiritual beliefs and practices and sought oblivion in physical sensation.