by Dane Hartman
“Get going,” Nakadai told the cop, shoving him toward the door. Harry pivoted slightly toward the man, just to gauge the response. It was impressive. All the other eight men surged forward, making it clear that Harry’s pivoting days were numbered. “Don’t be stupid,” Nakadai sneered. “Just keep moving.”
The group marched toward the door. Two gun-wielding Seppukus exited first, checking the hallway. With a nod of their heads, Nakadai pushed Harry forward again, knocking him against the room’s two swinging doors. The hall was as deserted as the operating room. It showed the wear and tear of a forgotten section of a closed hospital. The only illumination was sunlight from outside, and that was dim in the bleak hallway. The entire place smelled both musty and antiseptic.
The gang of nine accompanied Harry to the room next door. It was the mirror image of the other operating area, except for one detail. Instead of a rolling table with drugs and syringes, this table was full of scalpels, saws, and clamps.
“Your death will be long, precise, and excruciatingly painful,” Nakadai promised, pulling a Japanese-made 9mm Nambu Model 57A automatic from his jacket. It looked almost exactly like the American Colt .45 except for the butt and barrel tapering. Whatever the model, it could do extreme damage. “Get on the table.”
Callahan balked. “You doing the killing yourself?” he asked archly, looking over his shoulder.
“I said, get on the table!” Nakadai repeated, jabbing the Nambu painfully into Harry’s kidney. Callahan gritted his teeth and stood his ground. “Letting your friends do the work, huh?” he said, smiling with an evil satisfaction.
“We’re all doing the job,” the man with the sling suddenly revealed, his voice barely controlled. He moved forward to pound Harry on the back of the head, but Nakadai held him back.
“This shall be a team effort,” the young man said calmly, trying to instill a greater fear into the cop. “We are all interns and orderlies at the hospital. We have seen enough operations to know exactly how to cause the greatest pain. Larry was a good friend of us all. We will take great pleasure in peeling your skin from you and then digging deeper.”
“Safety in numbers, huh?” Harry went on, unaffected. “Get some kind of kick working me over together? Afraid you couldn’t take it alone?”
The man in the sling jumped forward again. This time his fist connected with Harry’s ear. A large high-school ring on his finger cut Callahan’s flesh. Harry did not raise a hand to feel the wound or stem the new flow of blood.
“Big man,” Harry said, turning. “Real big when there are a couple of guys around with sub-machine guns. But do you have the guts to rip my skin without your friends? Could you even handle it if I was strapped down? Could you stay alone in the room with me and tear me apart?”
“Give me a gun!” the man in the sling yelled, jumping against Nakadai’s outstretched arm. “I will kill you here. Now! Myself!”
“Kenji,” Nakadai named him. “No. Can’t you see he’s trying to goad you? That he’s trying to shame you even though he faces death?”
“What are you afraid of, Gohy?” Harry demanded in a taunting tone. “Afraid of anybody with balls? Afraid to find out you couldn’t hack it? What’s the matter? You get a thrill out of all these guys? You afraid I’ll find out what you’re really made of?”
Callahan kept laying it on fast and thick. He had to make one of them attack him. He knew that if they got him strapped to the table, nothing short of a miracle would save him.
“What is it? You afraid I’ll find out you raped the girl in there like you raped the girl in the museum?” Harry saw the two terrorists start slightly at that. He had struck a chord. Immediately, he started to play on it. “You afraid I’ll find out you slipped a little bit and stuck your fucking cock into her?”
“That’s enough!” Nakadai roared, shaking with proud anger.
“Or you afraid I’ll find out you didn’t rape the girl?” Harry rolled right on. “That you couldn’t, even if you tried? That you tried and couldn’t get it up. That’s it, isn’t it? You didn’t rape anybody because you knew you didn’t have the balls!”
“Shut up, pig!” the man in the sling screamed, breaking out from behind Nakadai. He raced forward. “I’ll show you!” he shouted, and kicked Harry between the legs.
The rest of the men jumped back in surprise as Harry doubled over, his face purple. Perfect, the cop thought as he tried to breathe and clutched at his crotch.
Even Kenji was surprised by his own act. He stumbled back, looking at the aggravated Nakadai in wonder and supplication. His face held that look throughout eternity.
Because suddenly Harry straightened out and surged forward in a dive, the thin stiletto he had taken from the corpse in the Oriental Institute elevator in his hand.
He pulled the double-edged blade hard across Kenji’s throat as he passed. He grabbed Goh’s gun hand and twisted him around, wrenching the Japanese’s arm behind his back and shoving the stiletto tip against his chin.
Kenji’s arms went out as the waterfall of blood surged out of his chopped neck. The crimson wave rose before his eyes. Those eyes bulged and his head snapped back at an inhuman angle. His tongue thrust out of his mouth as he desperately tried to say something. Anything. All he could do was choke and drown in his own blood. He took two faltering steps forward, his hands trying to grip the empty air. The other men jumped back from him. Finally he fell against the operating table, his blood splashing across its metal surface.
He stood like that for a moment, looking like a parched drinker at a neighborhood bar. His eyes then rolled back into his skull and he fell sideways, knocking the tray of surgical equipment to the floor.
As the scalpels and saws scattered across the gray, blood-flecked tile, Harry brought all attention back to him.
“All right punks,” he barked. “Let’s see what kind of samurai you are. Here I am. You can kill me. All you have to do is shoot through your first lieutenant here. Come on. Let’s see what kind of sacrifice you can make.”
Callahan’s street-wise psychology was on the money. Nakadai was their spiritual leader. Without him, they were nothing. Without him, they would realize just what kind of mindless lemmings they were. All the men tensed and brought up their guns, but no one pulled the trigger.
Nakadai desperately tried to fire his own automatic—simply as a catalyst—but Harry had flicked on the safety when he pulled the Japanese’s arm up his back.
“Go ahead!” Goh yelled to his troops. “Shoot! Kill him!”
“Save your breath, asshole,” Harry told him, pulling him back toward the door and shoving the stiletto point harder under his chin. Harry had taken the blade while riding down in the elevator. Using his shoelaces, he had strapped the thin knife to the inside of his thigh, nestled against his testicles. That was why the elevator doors had taken so long in opening. Harry was leaning on the “Door Closed” button, slipping the thing in place.
He couldn’t find time to use it then, but it certainly came in handy now.
“Forget me!” Nakadai was screaming. “Kill him! It is he you will be killing! I will be in a better place! Shoot! Shoot!”
Callahan had their backs against the operating room’s doors as the seven remaining gang members looked at each other in frustrated confusion. Harry was about to kick the doors wide when Nakadai spoke a final time.
“I tell you . . . !” he began, then abruptly cut his words off. Harry was immediately aware of the danger, but before he could do anything about it, Nakadai thrust his head right into Harry’s upturned stiletto blade.
“Shit,” Harry hissed. Blood began to pour out of Goh’s chin and over Harry’s hand. Nakadai pushed his chin all the way down on the blade until his skin hit the hilt guard. Callahan felt the razor-sharp, six-inch blade go through his dental plates, rip across his nostrils, and settle somewhere behind his eye. A strange, relieved sigh bubbled out his lips.
Callahan didn’t loosen his grip or pull away. Nakadai was still his only
protection, living or dead. Harry ripped the Nambu automatic out of the Seppuku’s dying fingers and started blasting over the man’s left shoulder.
His first couple of shots took the others by surprise. They still hadn’t gotten over the shock of their leader’s suicide. But once Harry’s first two bullets banged into the chest of a Seppuku next to Kenji’s corpse, they snapped out of their sudden mourning.
If Nakadai hadn’t yet died from the knife wound, the next hail of lead certainly killed him. Harry ducked behind the kid’s muscular torso, releasing the knife hilt, as the half-dozen living gang members smashed the operating room’s doors apart with bullets.
Callahan propelled himself back, leaving Nakadai’s body to the ages. The doors burst open behind him, then swung closed on the martyred Seppuku’s head. Harry fell and slid across the hall as rounds of bullets made it through the double doors and slapped against the tile walls. The cop quickly crawled toward Suni’s room, calculating the doors. The Nambu had an eight-round magazine. He had already used two rounds on one person, leaving him six for the remaining half-dozen. One bullet each, if Nakadai had loaded it completely.
Harry didn’t have time to check. He got to his feet against the near wall just as the doors behind him burst open again, and the enraged, vengeful Seppukus came pouring out, sending slugs spinning before them. Harry rolled against the wall as the lead whipped all around him, chancing to snap a shot off into the crowd just before hurling himself into the original operating room.
He had no time to stop then. He ran by Suni’s table, pulling it over toward him. The platform lazily drifted down and picked up just a bit of speed before it clanged heavily on its side. Suni was kept on top by the straps. Harry overturned the table he had vacated and jumped behind the metal cover. Now both tables were on their sides, their legs and bottoms pointed toward the door.
Harry looked over the rim just in time to see a Seppuku leap across the seats in the operating theater above him. Harry and the man shot at the same time. Callahan was not used to the 9mm weapon so his slug tore up the back of a chair in front of the Japanese. The terrorist didn’t have to aim, since he was using an Ingram MAC 11. An entire pane of glass blasted outward, and the bullets thunked across the tile floor, zinged across the table, and splattered on the wall behind Harry’s head.
Callahan readjusted his aim and shot again. The bullet grazed the Seppuku’s temple. He stumbled, tripped on a chair back, dropped his gun and dove out another pane in the observatory setup. He fell screaming to the floor, landing heavily on his face in front of the oxygen and sleeping-gas tanks.
It was then that Harry saw his only chance. He had used five bullets, and he was only sure of eliminating two of the remaining men. As the four remaining terrorists came running into the room, guns blazing, Callahan put his desperate plan into action.
Crouching on one knee, he grabbed the sides of the metal table and swung it upward. He rose with it, so that the metal was always covering his full body from the Japanese, except for his fingers. He stood the table on its end and stood behind it.
The Seppukus had been firing wildly when they first burst in. This rising table had given them a target to shoot at. They turned all their guns on the surface as one, at the same moment as Harry stuck the Nambu out and emptied the clip into the oxygen tanks.
One of the two was empty. The bullet slammed through its outer shell and ricocheted off the inside, useless. The second was almost full and still pressurized. As soon as two 9mm rounds burst through it, the entire tank exploded.
Harry was hurled back against the wall by the blast, the metal table slamming into him and sandwiching him there. Suni’s table was moved, but her weight kept it from going too far. The Seppukus got the deadly worst of it. The shock wave knocked them over and the fast-spreading metal shards ripped into their bodies. All four men, including the one Harry hadn’t realized he’d wounded in the hall, were torn apart, almost as if they had been shoved into a shredder.
The hunks of debris bashed into the other side of the table, leaving warped indentations. Several pieces managed to break through, burning Harry’s legs. But in seconds, it was all over. The tornado of shards had stopped, and the air was clear of lead. The room seemed perfectly still for a moment, save for the rhythmic rising and falling of Suni’s chest. Then the metal table standing against the wall creaked outward.
It balanced on its edge for a moment, then toppled flat. Harry stumbled out behind it. He fell to the floor next to the unconscious Suni. From a prone position and breathing deeply, Harry undid her straps. She fell into his arms. Harry pulled her and himself painfully up to a sitting position. He held her, rationalizing that he was checking for any shard wounds.
She was still wearing her leotard and sheer stockings. She was untouched by any cuts or slices. There was a run and a bruise here and there, but Harry chalked that up to her brutal abduction.
He looked into her calm, sleeping visage, and then gently moved the strands of hair off her face. He held her for a second, then got up. He carried her out of the room and went looking for a phone.
C H A P T E R
E i g h t
Their prison turned out to be an unused wing of a hospital on Chicago’s South Side—only a hop, skip, and a jump from the university campus. Dr. Gosha had been right. It was easy to disappear in the huge place. Besides the deserted section, a new section was being constructed. An unconscious patient could be admitted, brought to the bowels of the building without being registered, and only show up later as part of the foundation, as it were.
Harry had found a phone, and then found a utility closet. He needed several things to make good his escape. He put on a doctor’s coat, wrapped a stethoscope around his neck, and pulled on a pair of hospital slippers. He set Suni up on another stretcher and pulled a sheet over her body up to her chin.
He didn’t want to wake the girl yet. He had blown the on-duty Seppukus to kingdom come the way Sheriff Brody had killed the monster in Jaws, but the biggest and deadliest shark was still in Chicago waters. And they weren’t on dry land yet. Callahan would have to get her crosstown to the airport and on a plane back to San Francisco before he’d risk disturbing her equilibrium.
Making sure the Nambu was secure in his waistband—reloaded with extra 9mm rounds from the destroyed submachine guns—Harry ventured into the in-service hospital hall. The large establishment was too crowded and too busy for anyone to really notice a doctor with no name tag, pushing an Oriental patient with no room, no chart, no I.D. bracelet and no illness. Harry headed for the Emergency Department, hoping things would be too hectic there for anyone to question his bringing an unconscious woman home with him.
As he moved smoothly down the halls, pushing Suni in front of him, he noticed the angle of the light coming through the windows. It was late afternoon—almost time for the Nihonmachi summit meeting to start. It was also getting close to rush hour on a Friday, the worst driving period of the week. If they got caught in traffic, there would still be a chance of an alarm going out.
Callahan picked up his speed toward the emergency-arrivals lounge. As he turned the corner, he saw Dr. Izo Gosha leaning over a burn victim. To stop now would draw more attention, so Harry plowed on, almost positive that Gosha would not notice another doctor, especially since the Oriental was sure the cop was still imprisoned in the dead wing. Just to make sure, Harry casually flipped the sheet over Suni’s face. He walked right by the crime boss without Gosha lifting an eyebrow.
Harry had almost gotten to the door when his cover was blown by a black nurse.
“Doctor, are you mad?” she asked from behind her desk in a strident voice. “Get that thing out of here. These are emergency patients!”
Immediately all the patients forgot their own wounds and wanted to know why it was so important to get “that thing out”. An instantaneous, concentrated babble went on with Harry right in the middle of it. He was about to push the stretcher out the glass door when he was blocked by a well-mea
ning intern.
“You need any help, Doctor?”
“No thank you,” said Harry quietly, hardly moving his lips off his teeth. “I was just leaving.”
“Not that way, you’re not!” the strident nurse called out, seemingly possessed of superhearing. “I’m surprised at you, Doctor, bringing a cadaver through emergency and trying to move it out the arrival door.”
The stupid nurse set the fuse, lit it, and then, for good measure, pushed the plunger. The emergency room went into an immediate uproar on top of its usual chaos. The shocked patients had no way of knowing that even a real corpse could not hurt them unless it was a bubonic-plague carrier. It was hardly explainable now. Gosha was practically forced to look up.
The Oriental did a double take on the back of Callahan’s head. He looked at the “doctor’s” feet, then excused himself, and hastily moved toward the hospital’s interior. Harry glanced over his shoulder at Gosha’s retreating figure.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Doctor?” the intern asked again.
“Yes,” said Harry sweetly, and then grabbed the man’s lapels. With a single sweeping throw, Harry hurled the intern right into the black nurse’s midsection. The man fell on his ass, but the woman was knocked back into her wheeled deck chair. She rolled back three feet, hit the side of a desk, and toppled over backward.
Callahan didn’t see her slapstick tumble. His mind working and his stomach twisting, he pushed Suni’s stretcher out the double doors and right into the back of a parked ambulance. As he secured her inside, the ambulance’s driver came running from the wall, a cup of coffee sloshing in his hand.