AT NOON THE next day a Vietnamese delivery boy brings flowers to Bambi Ann Sligo. In the flowers there is a note for Frank Sheehan.
Dear Frank,
Maggie for the memo.
Her house. 2:00 A.M.
Just Taylor and her.
Bambi Ann takes a late lunch, with permission, to see her Uncle Arnold. She doesn’t like her Uncle Arnold, but she hopes to inherit something from him when he dies. I ask why she hates him. She says it’s none of my business. She tells me there were several calls back and forth. Hartman is flying back to L.A. from Napa immediately. As I had hoped he would. They won’t bring Maggie until later that night because they don’t want to move her twice and have to find another place to keep her.
“They’re very upset at you. That they don’t know how to reach you.”
“How is she?”
“I think she’s OK.”
“Good,” is all I can say.
“She’s a wonderful woman.”
“I need one more thing from you. Did we do RepCo’s security? And Hartman’s at home?”
“I think so.”
“Can you get me a copy?”
Dennis, Kim Tae Woo, and Martin meet me at Maggie’s house at eleven-thirty that night I bring every piece of equipment I have. They begin making preparations like they’re getting ready for a siege, checking blind spots and vantage points and sight lines. I ask Mrs. Mulligan to prepare a pot of coffee and sandwiches. As soon as I am certain that she’s called U. Sec. and told them how many of us there are and how we’re armed, I send her away and disconnect the telephones. I wonder which side of her double game she’s really on.
As soon as she’s gone, Kim Tae Woo and I leave.
I figure that I have to leave two behind. Taylor will send someone to watch the house. I would. Anyone would. There has to be some activity. I leave Martin because he’s the least well trained. The other has to be white to at least suggest that it’s me to someone catching glimpses through a window.
The paper said overcast. It was right—the cloud cover is good, the night is dark, and we move quickly and easily down the beach. We have a mile to cover. When we come out on the Pacific Coast Highway, there’s a car on the side of the road. The driver is changing a tire. He’s a friend of Sergeant Kim’s and he’s been expecting us. He finishes quickly. We leave.
The names, addresses, and phone numbers of the regular security personnel are all in the material that Bambi Ann got me. She’s made it a lot easier. If not for her we would have had to try a car intercept or something else that required us to act out in the street. As it is, Paul Dressier got to the guy who works the midnight-to-eight shift before he came to work. When we get to RepCo, Paul is sitting at the guard desk, watching the video monitors, controlling the front door. He lets us in.
“Hartman still here?”
“Yes.”
“Is there anyone else here?”
“Kim’s already here.”
I look around. Kim, dressed in black, materializes from the shadows.
“One other agent,” Paul says. “I think he’s on with Japan. His phone has been lit up all night. And Hartman has his bodyguards with him.”
“How many?”
“Juzo and two more. I think. There’s no way I can be sure.”
“Stay here,” I say. That’s three of us against four of them. But we have surprise on our side.
We move silently down the hall to the elevator. There are several possibilities. We can go up and possibly signal that we’re on our way; we can try the stairs, though it’s possible they’ll be coming down the elevator at the same time; or we can wait and spring our ambush right here. I signal the other two to stop. I want to listen and I want to see what I can sense. I can’t see Sergeant Kim, he’s done his fade-into-the-darkness number again. It’s almost magical. Kim Tae Woo stands on the opposite side of the elevator doors from me, holding his 9-mm, perfectly still, perfectly quiet. I can’t tell if he’s breathing or not.
The elevator makes a noise. It’s operating. Upstairs. I grin at Tae Woo. Things have just gotten a lot simpler. We stand on either side of the elevator and wait for David Hartman and however many Ninjas he has with him to walk into our guns. The progress of the elevator is very clear from the sound. It gets closer. It grinds to a halt. The doors start to open. I feel a gun in my back. A hand reaches around and takes my gun from me. Another one of the Ninja, black outfit and all, is behind Tae Woo. “Drop gun,” he says.
The elevator door opens. “Well done,” David Hartman says. Sakuro Juzo stands beside him. He’s got a sword. “Taylor’s an idiot. But Sakuro said you would come here. The mind of a strategist. He says you read Sun Tzu. But that you only understand it like a Westerner. I hope you brought the memo with you.”
“No,” I say. “I didn’t.”
He sighs. He and Sakuro walk out of the elevator. He’s close enough for me to breathe on him. There’s a gun in my back. They walk out of the narrow hallway where we’re standing and into the main hall. The ceilings disappear into darkness they’re so high up. There is a fire, as always, in the fireplace. There is a bucket of champagne on ice.
“That is a five-hundred-dollar bottle of champagne,” Hartman says. “I bet Sakuro that you wouldn’t show. Not that I disbelieved him, but it would be disrespectful, I think, to have given it to him as a reward. Or a tip. The man is a genius.”
Both Sakuro and Hartman look extremely pleased with themselves.
“I want the memo. Or I promise you that . . . well, I have you and Maggie. One of you, Sakuro tells me, will break, to save the other further pain and degradation.”
Suddenly, a voice from the darkness calls out. In a language I don’t understand but recognize as Oriental. It’s Sergeant Kim. I don’t know what he’s saying. But I can hear that it is full of mockery and derision. Considering the self-mastery that is required to rise to the top of any of the martial arts, it must be very strong to get a visible reaction from Sakuro Juzo.
Sakuro speaks back.
Then Kim.
Then Sakuro. Then Sakuro says something to his two Ninjas and suddenly we are all facing the fireplace. Sakuro turns to Hartman. “I am going to have a private battle. I will win. It will not affect this.”
“Sure,” Hartman says.
“Clear,” Sakuro says to Tae Woo and me. Since he has defeated us, we are less than him and we should obey. We do as he says and pull the chairs and tables back away from the fireplace. When there is a space, we step back. Sergeant Kim comes out from wherever he’s been.
To judge from appearances, this is a match that Kim is going to lose. He looks like what he is, an old soldier who’s been more interested in money than fighting for the last twenty years and who drinks more than he should. Then I realize it’s worse than that. Much worse. Unless Kim has a magic trick up his sleeve, he’s crazy. He’s going to fight Sakuro with his hands and feet. Sakuro is going to use a sword. This is a samurai weapon of which he is one of the living masters. Forget about the mysticism and ki and all of that. Just think about pro sports. Think about getting in the ring with even a serious middleweight contender. Think about getting on the football field against the Detroit Lions. Or maybe on the tennis court with one of the top five men. Things are going to happen with a speed and a power that are beyond you. With tricks and in combinations that you can’t imagine.
They face each other. Kim laughs. Sakuro, faintly, sneers. They stand still, but they are maneuvering. I see nothing, but I know that they are battling. Suddenly, Kim springs sideways, does a cartwheel and appears on Sakuro’s right. Where Sakuro has already turned, his strike evaded before it was made. Everyone is staring at them. I move slightly to see if my Ninja has lost his awareness of me.
No. He has not. And I am a fool for testing him and failing, thereby increasing his awareness and attention. The glimmer of hope dies.
Sakuro, in a movement so fast I would not have seen it except that the fire glitters on the blade and flashes a reflection across the room, strikes and slices off Kim’s hand.
Time stops. Sakuro stops and looks at his handiwork. The hand that falls from the man.
Blood begins to spurt from the stump of Kim’s arm. He moves forward holding his arm at face height, blinding Sakuro Juzo with spurting blood. Holding the arm high so the blood spray stays in Juzo’s face, Kim drops forward and down. Then he comes up with his good hand, with a driving blow into Sakuro’s unprotected neck, and kills him.
I draw the gun from my ankle holster and shoot the Ninja next to me.
Paul steps into the room, gun drawn, and points it at the other Ninja.
Kim thrusts his arm into the fireplace and sears the end on a flaming log. He must be in shock because he doesn’t scream.
I turn on Hartman, gun drawn.
Kim turns from the fire, walks to the bucket of champagne, takes the bottle out, tosses it to Tae Woo, then thrusts his blistered flesh into the ice. Then he turns very, very pale and slowly sinks to the ground in shock.
David Hartman falls to his knees and vomits.
“Is he dead? Dead?”
I go over to Sakuro. I check. He’s dead.
Paul makes the live Ninja lie flat and spread-eagled. They’re dangerous people, even defeated. I have no desire to kill him though.
“You killed Sakuro Juzo. You’re crazy, crazy,” Hartman said. “You just killed a twelve-, a twenty-million-dollar investment. He was . . . He was . . . He was going to be, be, be, be a money machine. Money machine. Clubs. Toys. Movies. Clothes. A clothing line. Everything. He’s shooting his first picture in two weeks. Two weeks. You’re crazy, Broz. Crazy.”
I slap him across the face. The hysteria stops.
“He’s just dead. He understands that.”
Tae Woo carefully picks up his uncle’s hand. He looks for a clean cloth—he sees a napkin on one of the tables—and carefully wraps it. Then he opens the champagne. He cradles his uncle’s head in his lap and gives him some of the wine to help him out of shock.
“Come on, David,” I say. “We’re going to exchange you for Maggie. Then I’m going to give you the memo. My only copy. Then we’re going to pretend this never happened. None of it. U. Sec. will help take care of the bodies. They can do that. We’re going to be friends. You’ll help Maggie’s career. I will keep your secrets. Forever. If you break our deal, I will survive and I will come and I will kill you. Because that’s what I do. I kill.”