Fall Out

by M. N. Grenside

  His eyes locked onto Marcus.

  Marcus held the gaze for a second. He knew this man was dead serious. Mako was starting to sway.

  “I have an antidote I could give her,” said Jonathan holding out a sliver of hope. He had left a small package outside by the rock where he had watched the pair on their arrival the night before. He had no real intention of administering it as he planned to leave both Marcus and Mako dead. It was there just in case they became obstinate, instead of just obstacles. And, you never knew, accidents can happen. He might need it for himself.

  Marcus saw a glimmer of hope. If he could take it from this man… Once again Jonathan read his mind and was way ahead of him.

  “It’s not on me, so don’t even bother trying. I came up here last night to check on you two lovebirds and hid it. My own game of hide and seek shall we say? Carrot and stick.” Jonathan had heard from Louis about the games that Stefan had played with his daughter. He neither had the time nor the inclination to ransack a house full of hiding places. He was sure the fastest and most certain way to retrieve what he wanted was to put one of them in mortal danger. They would crack. No problem.

  Jonathan turned to Mako, resting the blade against her cheek. “So, you show me your treasure and I’ll show you mine,” he whispered.

  Mako was already starting to perspire, feeling dizzy and sick. The blade still at her face, she was helpless; all she wanted was to lie down and wipe away the tar like substance from her cheek and hands that she knew was now slowly killing her.

  Marcus felt the dull fear of losing Mako threatening to overwhelm him. He was way out of his depth. He looked at her.

  “OK, OK. I know where it is,” she said in a voice growing weaker by the minute, “It’s upstairs. In jail.”

  Jonathan snapped the balisong away from her face, grabbing her wrist and scored a deep cut in her hand, allowing more of the sticky paste to enter her bloodstream. He then threw her roughly into a chair.

  “I said no more games, Melinda.” He glowered at her.

  “Don’t. I know what she means,” Marcus said forcefully, hoping to keep the desperation out of his voice.

  Jonathan looked up. “Then… go fetch, boy,” he hissed. Marcus turned towards the stairs.

  “Run,” Jonathan ordered after him. He reached down to his case, flipped the locks and took out a stack of bricks, tossing them to the side. “Ballast,” he said matter-of-factly smiling at the weakening Mako, “to drive in those shards.” He pulled out a cloth and carefully removed any trace of the poison left on the handle along with a few glass splinters. Finally, he pulled at two clasps on the side of the leather case and it expanded into a large cube, deep enough to receive the precious cargo.

  Looking at the blood mixing with the deadly paste he shouted after Marcus. “My ETA for death has moved up. Hurry.” He turned to Mako, “Hope he loves you.”

  * * *

  Marcus pounded up the wooden gradient, questions bouncing around in his head as insistent as the beat of his footfalls on the polished surface. He had no idea what this man was talking about. There was no reference in Sam’s story about a head. He’d never even heard anyone discuss such a thing.

  However, he did know what was in the ‘prison’. He’d seen it when in there that morning. God, she scared him… nearly as much as that cold-blooded bastard downstairs. She was gambling her life on his bravery.

  He pulled back the rough-hewn wooden door and ran in. He turned and looked at the alcove above the entrance. There, nestled under a framed old Monopoly game card which read ‘Get out of jail free,’ stood an old short-handled fire axe, a wide blade at the front, a sharp pick like point at the back. It was Stefan’s lighthearted response to his wife’s threat of locking him in.

  Just to be certain it was what Mako had wanted him to retrieve, Marcus ran his fingertips over the wall and floorboards, desperately hoping he had misread her intentions and that there was indeed a Buddha head of some description hidden in a concealed space. He even stood on the toilet bowl and peered into the antique cistern, praying there was something inside… nothing. Mako’s decision was absolutely clear. Save ourselves. Attack this intruder.

  He wrenched the weapon from the wall and tucked it into the waistband of his trousers, at the small of his back. He pulled down his sweatshirt and quickly checked in the bathroom mirror to see if there was a discernible bulge.

  “Man up and take him,” he could almost hear her say. Jesus, Mako he thought. No time for self-doubt, no turning back. She had rolled the dice for both of them.

  “Hurry, my friend. She doesn’t look good.” Marcus heard the little bastard shout.

  Rushing past the bed Marcus yanked a pillow from the mattress, peeled away the pillowcase and ran into the gym. He lifted a heavy leather medicine ball into the pillowcase and staggered back to the head of the staircase.

  “Here,” he stood straining and with both hands lifted the bulging pillowcase. “Now you show me yours.”

  “Bring it,” ordered Jonathan.

  “Screw you,” answered Marcus with as much defiance as he could muster. Mako smiled weakly at him.

  “Show me,” the man shouted.

  Mako had drawn Marcus into playing hardball; there was no going back now. He turned, opened the veranda to the second-floor balcony and lifted the pillowcase over the balustrade. “Without this, whoever sent you will no doubt see you die too. I reckon they want this very badly… certainly more than her dead. Now antidote… or Buddha flies.”

  Marcus started to swing the pillowcase back and forth, high over the steep incline of the valley that ran down to the lakes below. Marcus’ hands were shaking and his heart was pounding, hoping he looked as if he meant what he said.

  Jonathan made a split-second decision and started up the incline. Slowly at first, his determined pace picking up with surprising feline agility until he was sprinting fast, balisong in his hand. The look and determination on his face made it clear what action he would take when he caught Marcus.

  With a massive heave Marcus lifted the pillowcase back over the balcony railing, turned and ran down the incline towards the assailant, swinging the pillowcase then letting it go.

  The missile landed on the stairway, rolling fast down the slope. It knocked Jonathan over as if he was the last remaining ninepin on an inclined bowling alley. The force of the ball and the slippery flooring sent Jonathan sliding back down and out through the open doors onto the main veranda.

  An insane mixture of machismo and shame at being shit scared made Marcus half roll, half run after him, and he collided into the body of his attacker. The sheer force of the impact had them both skidding over the veranda floor out towards the edge of the balcony.

  Marcus reached for the small axe as he saw the man fumble, then drop, his own wicked looking blade. Marcus wanted to hurt this man, force him to save Mako. Nothing else mattered. The relief at seeing him drop his knife lasted a fleeting moment as Marcus found his weapon had become entangled in his trouser belt loop. He couldn’t get it out, so instead he just lunged at his attacker.

  No finesse, no well-judged blows, just frantic kicking, punching and gouging. If Marcus could have, he would have bitten him. The two men rolled to the edge of the balcony, a wheel of fists and feet. Between the bottom edge of the balcony’s glass wall and the floor was a gap of about 18 inches. They were both lying sprawled on the ground, the small man with his back to the glass wall. Marcus saw his only chance.

  Lying on his side, Marcus shot his right leg into his opponent’s solar plexus. Instinctively Jonathan bent in half and his slight torso slid under the lip of the glass wall. With another almighty kick, Marcus forced the small body through the gap. Jonathan desperately tried to haul himself back, only his arms, legs, and head still on solid ground, the rest hanging out over the void.

  “Where is the antidote?” Marcus yelled, managing to free the axe stuck in his belt. He hesitated, threatening to hack at his attacker’s arm.

  Through
gritted teeth Jonathan flashed a grotesque grin. The next instant he corkscrewed himself away and slipped through the gap into the void. Twisting in midair he just managed to grasp one of the guy ropes that was attached to the base of the balcony. He hung for a moment then staring at Marcus with a look of sheer hate… let go.

  He fell about thirty feet, tucking himself into a neat ball as he hit the rock-strewn grassy incline with a thud. He rolled down the steep hill, tossing and cartwheeling like a rag doll. He tumbled down the incline for well over 250 yards where he eventually came to a halt against a tree.

  Marcus did not give a damn about the fate of his attacker. He hoped he was badly hurt, maybe even dead. He was terrified he had failed Mako. He had no idea how to save her. As he got up to rush to Mako’s aid, he glanced back down the hill at the pathetic little bundle. In utter amazement he watched as the assailant’s body twitched as he began to regain consciousness. Christ, Marcus thought, he’s indestructible.

  * * *

  Mako had managed to drag herself to the kitchen sink where she’d grabbed the chrome vegetable cleaner hose from the sink faucet. She was slumped on the floor, holding the showerhead over her face and hand, at the same time as desperately rubbing both with a cloth, trying to remove the paste. Blood, vomit and water swirled over the stone tiles.

  “He saw the photo,” she said weakly, “The one of Nu-wa and me outside the shop.” She indicated to the hallway where it was hanging.

  “He went there. He knew I’d go.” Her breathing was now shallow, her skin damp. “If he really brought an antidote the other night, he hid it somewhere outside… that has a direct view to the picture.”

  “Mako. Let me get you to hospital,” he pleaded.

  “I won’t make it. Marcus, look for it… Go.” She nodded her head towards the open front door.

  Her body contorted as she heaved again, dry vomiting, nothing left in her stomach.

  Marcus hoped to God their assailant had done as he had said.

  He ran outside. The only possible line of sight that would have allowed Jonathan to look through the door and clearly see the photo of Mako and her mother would have been from a small grassy bank to the right of the road.

  As Marcus ran towards it, he noticed a single set of tire marks tracking through loose soil and veering off to the right. There was no view to the house from the first rock, but a little further up a small outcrop of four or five boulders gave a clear view of the entrance and there were more tire marks in the soil just below.

  He ran to the base of the rocks. Some earth looked disturbed. He frantically scraped at the topsoil and quickly came across a smooth flat surface. It was a small oblong tin box. Inside was a small syringe, pills and a plastic bottle of eye-drops.

  He ran back to the house.

  “Mako I found something. The pills are diazepam, I know they stop convulsions, but eye drops and a syringe?”

  She looked at him, her hair damp and matted, her complexion grey, beads of sweat on her forehead.

  “Fill the syringe. He put it there for a reason. Do it.” she said weakly.

  Marcus hesitated for a moment, but her hand snaked out to grab his leg.

  “Now,” she pleaded.

  Marcus filled the syringe with the liquid from the eye drops bottle, squirting it to ensure there were no air bubbles, then plunged it into her arm. He quickly filled a glass of water and helped her take four of the diazepam.

  “Get the certificate,” she mumbled. “The one from my room.” Marcus looked at her with amazement.

  “Why the hell do we need that? That psychopath is on his way back up to the house. We need to get the hell out of here,” he replied.

  “Trust me,” she said as calmly as possible.

  Marcus ran upstairs and pulled the certificate out of its frame. He quickly threw some things in a bag, grabbing the laptop, passports and money. As he raced back downstairs sweeping up the screenplays on his way, he glanced out over the balcony. Slowly but surely the man had managed to inch his way back up the hill and was over halfway back to the house.

  Marcus threw the items in the car, stuck the keys in the ignition and ran back inside.

  He knelt down in front of the huge gold studded door that had caught his attention just before the phone call from Vallings. He started twisting the bottom corner stud.

  Mako stared at him.

  “It’s not ‘nine by nine’, it’s ‘ten by ten’. These lines look new. They’ve been added and this corner one is askew,” Marcus said. He feverishly turned and pried the stud.

  “Come on, come on,” Marcus muttered in frustration, aware that every second counted. Eventually it gave. He twisted the stud and it finally turned in his hand. A bright red USB memory stick fell to the floor. Marcus shoved it in his pocket and ran to the kitchen. Bending down he lifted Mako to her feet as gently as he could.

  There was a sharp shatter of breaking glass from the cellar below as Marcus half-dragged, half-carried Mako towards the front door. The convertible’s top was still down and with time running out Marcus simply dropped her into the passenger seat and ran around to the driver’s side.

  “Wait. I know where it is,” she said gulping down air and looking up at Marcus.

  He frowned “Where what is…?”

  “The head,” she whispered as if their attacker might somehow hear her.

  “Who cares? We have to get out of here now.”

  “If I survive, I care, if I don’t, you should.” There was a thud from the basement.

  “He’s trying to get in the house. We have to go.”

  She looked at Marcus and smiled weakly. “Ringo’s got the wrong weapon, look under the headgear.”

  Shit, she’s impossible, thought Marcus as he ran back to the dining room. In his haste he had forgotten to ask her which one was Ringo, so he just smacked at each helmet in turn and they rolled to the floor. No Buddha head. But the last one didn’t move. It was the terracotta soldier. Marcus grabbed the axe he had replaced in his belt and smashed it into the top of the soldier’s head. It shattered. Underneath was a serene calm face.

  Marcus manhandled the Buddha head into Darth Vader’s upturned helmet, but he had to heave to move it. He heard a crack as the locked cellar door at the bottom of the stairs started to give way. He had an idea.

  Moments later Mako saw him stumbling to the car, with the helmet cradled in his arms. “Move your feet. This is damned heavy,” Marcus shouted loudly as he dropped it on her side of the foot well. He jumped into the car and punched the starter button just as a bloodied Jonathan burst out of the front door. The engine fired into life and in a spray of gravel the car shot off down the road to safety, leaving Jonathan cursing and vainly hobbling in their wake.

  * * *

  Mako was slowly beginning to feel better. The diazepam had started to kick in and reduce the spasms while the atropine sulphate tackled the nicotine. She gave a quiet clap and bent down to tip over the helmet at her feet. She barely touched it as it rolled over. It was empty.

  Marcus shot her a glance.

  * * *

  As Jonathan had burst from the house in his vain attempt to stop Marcus driving away, the kitchen echoed to the faint hum of the Kenwood chef mixer returning to its recess below the work counter, a Buddha head staring up from the deep stainless steel mixing bowl.

  Part IV

  THE EAGLE AND THE TIGER

  48

  THE CAVE, PAGSANJAN, PHILIPPINES

  NOVEMBER 1944

  As his life slowly ebbed away, Major Okobudo’s fingertips searched in the darkness for the items he had risked his life to take with him; the map and the Buddha head in one box and artillery shells in the other. Both were by his feet.

  * * *

  The original cave had been four times larger. The first clue to its existence came nine months earlier when a young soldier had ducked away by some rocks for a sneaky cigarette break while meant to be on patrol. As the momentary flare of his match struck the cliff face, he
had caught a glimpse of an enormous cavern.

  Troops were on constant alert to find well concealed areas for storage. The soldier who had found this one had been well rewarded. He was permitted first pick from the new delivery of ‘comfort women’ supplied to the Fourteenth Area Army for their enjoyment. The virtual enslavement of women was viewed by Military Command as a useful by-product from the various nations they had subdued.

  The soldier had also been promoted to corporal and given a minor medal, but death was awaiting him. He too would become entombed within his discovery.

  Major Okobudo who commanded the local garrison at Pagsanjan had advised General Yamashita back in Manila, of their find. The order had been brief and to the point. Prepare the cavern for an ultra-secret consignment directly from the General himself. The Major must assemble a large work gang to assist the POWs and Japanese engineers General Yamashita was sending down with secret military assets.

  The General insisted that Major Okobudo leave the comfort of his local headquarters and personally oversee the elaborate and painstaking camouflaging of the storage of this precious cargo.

  “What we are doing here will forever ensure the survival of the Imperial Family and of Japan itself. The whereabouts are never to be divulged; the contents seen by no one. Any attempt to inspect the consignment or copy the coded map carries a death penalty,” the General had told Major Okobudo, with the ever-present Tan standing silently behind him. The big man was in awe of the famous General.

  When the Major had enquired as to the nature of what was being stored, the General had been furious at his impudence.

  “The ultimate weapons of war!” he shouted, making it clear that was all anyone needed to know.

  The Major, stinging from the General’s rebuke, hoped that whatever destructive force he was so keen to hide would have the desired effect when the Imperial Army had to retaliate against the advancing Americans. Major Okobudo’s trust in General Yamashita was absolute.