The Victoria Stone

by Bob Finley

  "Forget that!" she chastised herself. "You don't have time for this! You've come over thirty feet! There's less than half of that left to go. Focus! Climb!"

  As she probed with her right foot for a purchase, she heard a roar go up from below.

  ~ ~ ~

  There was nowhere to go. Kim Matsumoto was hemmed in on both sides and about to have a runaway avalanche crash down on him. He did the only thing he could do. He met it and yielded to it. Banner charged down on him with both arms outstretched and opened to engulf him. Kim took one step toward him, stopped and immediately began to lean backwards, reached in and grabbed two hands full of shirtfront, dead-dropped his full weight suddenly downward, lifted his right foot into Banner's stomach, and executed a sloppy but effective Tomoe-Nage. Banner's massive body pivoted over Matsumoto's and he landed on his back with a comical whoof! a half-dozen feet beyond Kim, skidding another three or four feet on his back before stopping finally like a derailed train. He lay there for several seconds, the back of his head having struck the stone floor with enough force to stun him. Banner's Beasts howled and screamed for their boss to get up, their blood racing at full bore. Kim immediately jumped to his feet and faced his fallen foe. He stole a quick look toward the far end of the cavern and caught a glimpse of blue far up the wall near the ceiling. It wasn't moving. His head throbbing, and vision almost gone in his right eye, he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold out. One more lucky punch and he might be down and out. Maybe forever, if Banner had his way.

  "Hurry, Janese! Hurry!" he heard his mind cry out of its own accord.

  ~ ~ ~

  Having barely hung to the wall, Janese Cramerton had finally found just enough of a toehold to let her lean in a few centimeters and rest her mutinous leg for ten whole seconds. She hyperventilated, sucking air in and out for a dozen heartbeats and summoned all her will to search for a left handhold. There! Found it!

  Changing her angle of attack, she managed to switchback slightly to the left and get back in motion. Finally, just three heartbreaking feet below the cable that was her goal, she miraculously discovered a deep pocket. She crammed her left hand in, made a fist-jam, and leaned back away from the wall on her human anchor. Ignoring the pain in her fist, she used the few inches of leverage she'd gained to walk her feet up the wall several inches, until she found a toehold for one and a rounded lump for the other. Then, before her fist went completely numb, she half-swung, half-lunged the last two feet and grabbed the bundle of cable anchored to the ceiling.

  "Made it!!"

  She closed her eyes and hung for a moment like a dormant bat. She couldn't tell whether the wet trickle down the side of her face was sweat or tears.

  "But...I...MADE it!!" she told herself. And, pulling her fist out of the crevasse and hanging onto the cable with just one hand, she plunged the bleeding fist into her britches, fumbled the transceiver out, and clamped it triumphantly over the thick bundle of fiber optic cables. She grabbed the cable with both hands now, feeling the strain on her shoulders, and glared at the object of her labors.

  "Now, you stupid piece of junk, you'd better work!" she muttered under her breath. It was then, when the adrenaline started to crash, that she realized she was too weak to retrace her climb. She felt the dead weight of her whole body trying to tear her slippery hands loose from the fragile cable. As her exhausted limbs began to shake again, rivulets of sweat began to sting her eyes and she wished she could just close them and drift softly as a dandelion seed on the breeze to the floor far below. Far...below. She closed her eyes.

  ~ ~ ~

  Banner groaned and rolled over. He raised himself laboriously to his hands and knees. Then his big head slowly came up and his bloodshot eyes found Kim, who stood quietly waiting in the middle of the U-shaped arena. Getting to his feet in stages, Banner reminded Cy Wojecki of a camel he'd seen on a mid-East tour of duty. Frank Sheppard suddenly appeared at Kim's side with a wet handkerchief and gingerly wiped the congealing blood from the side of his face.

  "How you doin', son?" he asked in a low voice.

  "I'm alright. Just watch for Janese. Make sure she gets clear," Kim muttered so only Frank could hear him. Frank gave him an understanding look and nodded.

  Banner closed to within ten feet and stopped.

  "You're pretty good," he said, an odd look on his face. Kim said nothing, just watched and waited. A full five seconds went by with the two of them just standing there. Banner never took his eyes off Kim's.

  "What else are you good at? Hm?" Again, Kim made no response. He recognized a new threat, a higher level of danger on Banner's part. He just didn't know yet what form it would take. Unexpectedly, Banner turned and casually walked away several steps. Then he turned back with a strange light in his eyes.

  "Somebody give him a knife," he said, without his eyes ever leaving Kim. In less than five seconds, three knives slid clattering across the stone floor to rest at Kim's feet and a wave of excited noise washed over the assembly.

  "You fight like a man," Banner said when the murmur receded. "You've earned the right to die like one." Banner reached his right arm across to his left side and pulled a U. S. military-issue Ka-Bar from its sheath. The noise level rose instantly as the mercenary cutthroats jostled each other for a ring-side seat.

  Kim looked down at the weapons, varied in size and shape, but having one thing in common...they were all designed to kill. And most of them probably had.

  "Pick it up," Banner said.

  Kim raised his head and looked Banner squarely in the eye. He shook his head.

  "Pick...up...the...knife," he commanded.

  "Unlike you, Mr. Banner, I don't take pleasure in killing," Kim replied evenly.

  Sergeant Major Paul Banner took one step toward Kim Matsumoto and stopped. He leaned slightly toward his intended victim.

  "You're right about one thing," he said in a deathly quiet voice. There was no bravado, no show for the troops. His words were intended only for the slight young man who stood before him. "You're not like me. You think you know me, little man. But you don't. I've been in wars all over this man's world. Stinkin' wars. Bloody wars. Greedy wars." His face twisted into an ugly mask. "That's what I get paid for. Killin'. But killin's easy...it's the livin' that's hard. Killin' means nothin' to me. But then, neither does livin'. It's all the same to me. Livin'...dyin'...sometimes it's hard to tell which is which. So, I ask you, little man...if there's no dignity in livin', and no glory in dyin'...where's the incentive to care? Hm?" He paused, and in a louder voice for the benefit of the troops, said, "Now, pick up one of those knives."

  "No."

  From the expression on Banner's face, it was back to business.

  "Mr. Carruthers!"

  A uniformed guard stepped forward.

  "Yes, sir!"

  "Mr. Carruthers," the Sergeant Major said while continuing to stare at Kim, "take a position directly behind Mr. Matsumoto." The guard moved past Kim without a glance and assumed a parade-rest stance five feet behind him.

  "Unlimber your sidearm, lock and load one round, and remove the safety!"

  "Sir!" The guard, though surprised, swiftly did as ordered, correctly bringing the semi-automatic 9 mm Ruger to the ready and raising his arm to the "safe" position.

  "Mr. Carruthers."

  "Sir!"

  "Level your weapon, taking careful aim at the back of Mr. Matsumoto's head. Maintain six feet between your weapon and your target at all times. At my next command, if he fails to obey my command within ten seconds, you will fire your weapon. Do you understand your orders?"

  "Sir! Yes, sir!" The guard dropped his weapon to a level with Kim's head, brought his left hand up, and braced the butt of the pistol. He shifted his position to firm up his stance and slightly bent his knees.

  "Now, Mr. Matsumoto. You will either pick up a knife and fight me, like a man, or you will be executed in the next ten seconds as a coward. Do you understand me?" He waited. They glared at each other for several seconds in silence.<
br />
  "Mr. Carruthers!"

  "Sir!"

  "Begin your count...now!"

  Kim looked over at Frank Sheppard, who turned and looked over his shoulder toward the catwalk. When he turned back, the answer was written with painful clarity on his face. The negative shake of his head was anti-climactic. "She's still up there."

  Kim Matsumoto was almost overcome by the violence of the frustration that shuddered through him. A wave of searing nausea stabbed him deep in his belly and he fought an urgent need to throw up.

  "What is she doing!?!" He'd never felt so alone.

  ~ ~ ~

  Maybe it was the sudden quiet down below that chased the pleasant buzzing from her tired mind and set off the alarms. With a great, sucking breath her head jerked up and her eyes snapped wide open. She felt her heart pounding but didn't know why.

  With a start she realized she was still hanging, barely, from a strand of cables anchored (she hoped?) to the ceiling. The sudden rush of adrenaline exploded into her body and in an instant she was hard-wired.

  She glanced over her shoulder but could only see a small part of what must have been a large group of men congregated on the floor of the cavern. One of them seemed to turn his face up towards her and she thought (who could be sure from this distance?) it was Frank.

  Absolutely alert now and thinking with startling clarity, she assessed her situation. There was no way to descend back the way she'd come...she'd been lucky just to have gotten this far at all. So. Alternatives?

  She looked around. Fifty feet away, in the direction of the penthouse, a metal strut from the catwalk ran along the ceiling to with three feet of the cable she was hanging on to. If she could just...

  One at a time, Janese commanded herself to take one hand loose from the cable and wipe it as dry as possible against her already-wet tank top. Not dry, but better. She looked closely at the anchors that held the cable in place and was not impressed. But, then, they weren't put there for the pleasure of trapeze performers, were they?

  Slinging her head rapidly from side to side, she threw off as much sweat from her face as she could. "Like an old, wet dog," she chided herself. And then, sliding one hand along the cable until it bumped the other, she began making her way along the thick wire (“wonder how Leo likes my death-grip on his aorta?” she wondered), trying to swing her body as little as possible to avoid straining the cable anchors.

  In less than a minute she was there. She walked her feet farther up the wall to give her more leverage, tightened her grip with her left hand, and reached for the strut with her right. Almost...almost...!

  A sudden shock wave of noise from below sent chills all over her. Had they seen her?! Were they coming after her? She didn't have time to look. At that instant the galvanized anchor, designed to withstand forty pounds, snapped off clean with the ceiling. In her exposed position, stretching away from the wall, the sudden six-foot sag in the coax almost tore her one-handed, sweaty grip loose. She gasped, bit off half-a-yell and slammed against the rock wall, scraping meat from several places on her left side. The only contact she still had was the last two digits of four fingers on her left hand. And they were strenuously objecting.

  Taking several quick, shallow breaths, she explored carefully with her feet until her left heel found a rough lump. With great care, she exerted increasing pressure with her heel until she rolled slowly around to face the wall. She turned her head carefully to look at first the anchor still holding to her left, and then at the one to her right. They both looked like they'd been partially pulled loose. But they were still...so far...holding.

  "I got good news and bad news," she told herself. "The good news is, instead of three feet of slack to help me reach the girder, now I've got six. The bad news is that, with just the slightest encouragement, I could have fifty."

  She v...e...r...y slowly reached upward with her right arm and managed to get hold of the cable. Then she flexed the fingers of her left hand until she thought there was at least some feeling back in them, and reclaimed her two-handed grip. Three slow, deep breaths. Then, being ever-so-careful to load the anchors with strain an ounce at a time, she inched her feet back under her and up the wall. As she did so, she was able to lean further and further out until she was almost in a fully standing position at right angles to the wall. Knowing full well that any sudden movement, however minute, would certainly snatch the remaining anchors from their shallow holes, she once more tightened her grip with her stronger right hand and very gradually reached above her head with the left. She waved it in slow motion back and forth, searching for the girder.

  "There!!" Her fingers touched it and she froze. Sliding her fingers along it quarter-inch by quarter-inch, she managed, finally, to close her entire hand around it in a death-grip.

  "Now, will it hold me?" she asked herself, praying for the right answer. You gotta be careful what you pray for. With a quick, grating sound, one of the cable anchors tore out, the cable went slack, and in a split-second, Janese Cramerton had swung away from the wall by one hand in a wide arc and, with the other, frantically locked onto a tension rod that her blindly-flailing hand happened to brush against. With the residual motion of her swing, she rotated her body and locked both legs around a solid, "thank-you-Lord", metal truss. She hung there, learning to breathe again, for half-a-minute. Finally, she squirmed around, got to her feet, and made her way to the catwalk. Climbing down, she felt an immense relief overtake her as her feet rested, finally, on something solid again. Glancing quickly toward the penthouse door at the far end of the catwalk, she immediately began moving in the opposite direction. Already dreading that last forty foot descent from the catwalk to the landing at the top of the staircase, she suddenly remembered something. Crouching as she ran on tip toe, she smiled to herself. At the tunnel entrance leading to the computer room, she paused and looked toward the raucous, mean-sounding mob. One face was looking her way. With the sweat out of her eyes, and from this angle, she could make out his features. It was Frank. She shot him an emphatic "thumbs-up" and saw him turn quickly back to the group. In high spirits now, she began an almost silent jog down the tunnel. She'd hardly passed the passageway leading to the computer room when the first tremor struck.

  ~ ~ ~

  Kim had picked up the closest knife on the count of...what? Not ten, of that much he was sure. Behind him, he heard the click of a safety being reset.

  Without a word, Banner turned and walked several feet away. He transferred the knife to his other hand and, with his right hand, unbuckled his .45. He held it out silently and one of the guards came and took it from him. Matsumoto slipped his feet out of his shoes and kicked them away. Then he peeled his socks off and tossed them behind him, never allowing his eyes to leave his antagonist. Banner shifted the knife back to his right hand and surprised Kim by formally bowing to him. Kim's return bow was reflexive and ingrained. As soon as Banner moved toward him, the roar from the killers-for-hire almost deafened him. Apparently what was to happen was inevitable. Kim experienced a calmness that pleased him. He began to circle slowly to the right, sliding along in Tsugi Ashi, his left foot following but not passing his right, and in almost continual contact with the floor. Banner smiled. To Kim, it seemed a sad smile.

  Banner moved in, crouching low, the seven-inch blade of blackened steel glittering along the razor-edge. His eyes seemed those of a cobra, as his massive body weaved side to side in a sinuous, hypnotic way. The hand with the knife in it had its own dance, constantly in motion.

  They had completed only a third of the circle when the big Sergeant lunged, the black death in his hand hissing in its powerful arc toward his opponent's belly. But the smaller man's reflexes were a match for the larger one's power and he drew first blood, slicing Banner's right shoulder. Banner grunted in surprise at the sting and the red stain that quickly soaked the slit in the khaki shirt.

  "That could have been your throat," Kim said in a controlled voice that only carried to Banner. "We really don't have to do th
is."

  Banner's eyes hooded and it seemed he would rise from his crouching position. But instead, as he came up, he lashed out straight, with the blade edge up, and tried to gut his enemy. At some level, Kim was aware that he'd become ‘the enemy’ as soon as he'd drawn blood.

  Kim leaned away from the thrust, turning his head slightly, but the tip of the blade dragged against his stomach and chest just enough to open a long, shallow wound and one bleeder, which in seconds spread a deceptively bloody stain on his uniform front. The dogs went wild at the sight of blood. They didn't really care whose, as long as they saw some action. Kim whirled to his right and pivoted with an instinctive Tai-sabaki, narrowly avoiding Banner's follow-through attempt that would have nearly decapitated him had it landed.

  But Banner had put everything he had into it and had foolishly placed himself in Kuzushi, an unbalanced state. Kim Matsumoto had years of practice in seeking and exploiting an opponent's weakness. He instantly exploded with O-Soto-Gari, stepping hard into the larger man and slamming his right arm with the knife in it up and across Banner's chest, turning the butt end of the knife inward instead of the blade. Driving hard, he tucked his right leg behind his opponent's and used Banner's already off-balance posture to sweep from under him the only ‘leg he had to stand on’. Banner came crashing down, slamming the back of his head against the hard floor with a resounding ‘crack!’. The knife flew from his hand and skittered across the floor. Kim instantly rolled away from the downed man and, in one fluid movement, was standing on his feet and circling. Banner raised up on one elbow, opening up his backside. Without an instant's hesitation, Matsumoto moved in with Ikuri-eri-jime, in a flash encircling Banner's head with his right arm and grabbing his shirt collar far up the left side of his neck. When the dazed Sergeant raised his left arm defensively, Kim thrust his left arm under it and grabbed up high on his right collar. Then he leaned back and pulled hard. The effect was to cut off almost all of the blood flowing to the brain through the jugulars. Usually in thirty seconds or less the victim would pass out. Banner wasn't the usual victim. As he began to recover from the blow to the back of the head that would have knocked any other man cold, his adrenaline kicked in and he came to life. He thrashed like a bull being tormented by picadors, swinging his massive head left and right, and trying to get enough leverage to roll over or get to his feet. The more he reached back over his head trying to get to Matsumoto, the farther Matsumoto leaned back, and the more pressure was applied to the jugulars.