Black Heart, page 77
His mind was reeling. How in Christ's name, he asked himself, had Eliott discovered that diary? It seemed inconceivable to Macomber that this chain of events could have begun, let alone got this far out of hand.
He closed his eyes. He felt the pulse pounding like a triphammer in his chest as if it were riding wildly out of control. He gasped and struggled to maintain air in his lungs.
I must go after him he thought, trying to calm himself. Soon.
Tracy was almost at the top of the stairs when he had the odd sensation of sinking down even though he was still ascending.
He braced himself but even so the shoulder that crashed into him rocked him back against the interior wall. He had an impression of a handsome face filled to the brim with black eyes that raked his face. There were fires alive in those eyes, bright sparks of flame, chips of luminescent colour which for some reason unearthed in Tracy the image of a line of frothy green palms blackened and defoliated by napalm's liquid fire.
The scene was so vivid, so intense in its recreation that Tracy snorted unconsciously in an attempt to rid his nostrils of the remembered reek.
His hands came up, slid off a leading shoulder. The shadow twisted, tried to slide by him along the openwork wooden banister. Tracy shifted his position on the stairs subtly, blocking the other's progress.
The illumination was very bad. There was movement directly in front of him but because of the bad light he could not tell what it was until it was almost too late. The bright spark of reflective metal warned him and he bent his knees, sinking down, grounding himself, forcing the steps beneath his feet to add to the strength in his thighs.
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He saw now that the other was gripping a stubby black Cylinder in his right hand and, as he flicked it with his wrist, gleaming steel telescoped outward to a length of two feet. Tracy had heard about this weapon but had never actually seen it. It was Japanese, a favourite of the Yakuza, the clannish underworld of modern Japan.
He raised his left arm, the edge of his hand towards the telescoped cylinder. His right hand was cocked, the first two fisted knuckles of that hand ready.
The cylinder came whistling down and Tracy knew that this was the weapon that had been used on Moira.
He took the blow just below his left wrist, his body prepared for it but wincing with the paip all the same. As quickly as the blow came, the cylinder was raised again and he knew he could not survive such an attack for long. No one could.
His right fist flashed out, slamming into the other's chest just above the heart. The almond eyes opened wide as the lips split, pulling back from the white teeth in a grimace of pain. But again the steel stick began its whistling journey downward.
This time, Tracy had more time. He twisted to his right, meeting the attack sideways, the blow slipping by him with just enough margin so that he could reach out with his left arm, wrap his fingers around the shaft of the metal cylinder. He tensed his muscles and the other reacted, knowing he was about to try to wrench the weapon away.
Instead, Tracy attacked with his right fist, his hardened knuckles slamming again into the same spot just above Khieu's heart, the blow delivered from above, the impact all the
greater.
Khieu grunted and staggered, off-balance. Tracy twisted his left wrist, bringing the weapon away from the other's grip. It hung from his wrist by a leather thong and Tracy jabbed once again with his right fist, staggering Khieu again, ripping the
thong from his wrist.
Now they were both unarmed and Khieu recovered, throwing a rapid series of sword strikes of such speed and intensity that Tracy's attention was fully taken up with the
defence.
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That was why he did not feel the other's gnp on his right elbow until it was too late The pressure took him by surprise and he was rolled back, offhls feet, hls nght shoulder slamming painfully against the banister
Khieu followed it up, jamming a lifted knee into Tracy's abdomen, taking his breath away so that all he could do was gnp the other by the shoulders and hang on
They grappled together, two vicious sword-strikes landing across Tracy's chest, vibrating the bone, burning the nerves so that for a moment he felt paralysed, unable to move his arms
Khieu shrugged Tracy's limp fingers from him, began to move away Tracy kicked out with his left foot, jamming the arch into the other's ankle, cracking the outside of the protruding bone against the edge of the step above Khieu's own forward momentum twisted the foot
It was not enough and Khieu righted himself, crashing the toe of his shoe into the side of Tracy's face, leaning hard into it until Tracy, feeling returning at last to his arms, thrust his balled fist up into the other's crotch
Khieu doubled over and Tracy regained his feet, moving up the stairs in a semi-crouch, one hand leading Khieu battered that aside, used both his elbows in the Two Flowers to disengage and regain the initiative Tracy used a Hyo, bringing the elbows together, beginning a series of percussive blows that won him time and space advantage but allowed Khieu to use a ketagun, a leg sweep, to twist Tracy off-balance, then a yon Tracy was unfamiliar with
This style of combat was allied to Sumo and was supremely difficult to master Tracy had seen some of it when he was in Tokyo, knew a few of the basic manoeuvres The yon was a group of clinches designed originally to displace the combatant's foe from the Sumo circle but, over the years, others had redesigned it to incapacitate Its major drawback was that it required enormous strength as well as a draining expenditure of energy Most instructors at the Mines were of a mind to ignore "for just those reasons
But this close to Khieu, Tracy again gazed into those strange dark eyes and saw there the edge of madness That more than
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anything else broke out the sweat across his hairline. Madness
brought its own kind of strength, stamina and way of thinking Khieu's yori tightened and Tracy felt the pain increasing
inside him. The other was slowly squeezing the breath out of
him and with every tightening cinch of his grip, less air was
allowed into Tracy's lungs.
His muscles strained and heaved in his effort to get free but
Khieu's grip was inexorable. Tracy began to pant and black
spots danced at the periphery of his vision.
He felt Khieu's enormous power and he wondered at the
extent one human being could possess. Dimly he was aware of arhythmic noises from below them. He could not tell what they were but Khieu's attention was diverted for an instant.
Tracy seized that moment, relaxing within the other's grasp to gain the millimetre of room he required. He dropped down, the sudden movement allowing one arm to slip below the cincture of Khieu's yori, using the other's reflexive tightening as a response to come away with one arm free, driving it up in a shallow arc, the fingers flat and extended like a sword, using the percussive edge in a throat-strike that sent the other reeling
back.
Tracy was aware now of the loudening of the noises from below, the increase in their rapidity making him aware that Thwaite and his team were at the front door, about to break in. And he moved upward to the attack, wanting to end this now because his stamina was waning.
But Khieu had also heard the sounds, had analysed them and as Tracy lunged for him, he flicked out the toe of his shoe at the very last instant, the arc shortened but powerful as it caught Tracy on the point of the chin.
Tracy's teeth snapped shut with a resounding vibration and he was flung backward down a third of the staircase. During that time, he lost a semblance of vision as his eyes closed
reflexively.
He staggered, grabbing the top of the banister so that he would not continue his precipitous backward plunge and, righting himself, saw that Khieu was gone. He could not tell whether the Cambodian had gone up or down.
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Thwaite and his men would be into the ground floor any moment so he chose to climb upward.
The light was on in the room and Tracy had no difficulty making out the image of Macomber cradling a younger man. Tracy stopped on the threshold as Macomber's head came up, the ice blue eyes attempting to focus, squinting into the light.
'Who's there?" His voice was hoarse and cracked as if he had spent hours screaming into a fierce wind. 'Khieu, is that you? Bastard! You kilkd my son! Bastard!'
'It's Tracy Richter. Khieu's gone. Did he come back up here?'
For a moment, Macomber said nothing. He stared at Tracy and slowly he allowed his son to slide from his arms. He got off his haunches, stood tall.
'Richter?' He took a faltering step forward. 'What the hell are you doing here? This is my house! How dare you?'
'The police are downstairs,' Tracy said. 'There's a mutilated corpse in your cellar ... now I see there's another body. That's reason enough.'
'Bastard!' Macomber bit down hard on the word. 'I sent Khieu to kill you. You penetrated the angkaT
'The what?'
'The organization. My organization.'
Now Tracy understood. 'The one you built from "Sultan".'
'What d'you know about "Sultan", you sonuvabitch? You weren't even around Ban Me Thuot then. You'd disappeared.'
' "Sultan" was my mission, Macomber.'
The tall man staggered as if he had been delivered a lethal blow. 'What are you saying?' His eyes were open wide, his mouth working uncontrollably. 'What are you saying?
'I was your control -'
'Liar!'
'-on "Sultan".'
'You're a goddamned liar, Richter!' Macomber's face was fed, a pulse worked wildly on his forehead. 'You were gone by then. God only knows where. But you'd had a bellyful of the slaughter. I knew that. Everyone knew that!'
'Because that's what everyone was meant to believe,' Tracy
I
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closest to the doorway, i m g.«« ,
Two more steps, three. 'And d'you know why?' K^
Tracy leapt at Macomber as he snaked down to pick up the BJ
thrown knife. He hit the other just as his hand circled the Be
weapon's handle. Macomber was quick. Tracy had forgotten E,
just how quick. The blade turned bright silver as Macomber E,
brought it up through the air, slashing at Tracy's face. He felt E
a hot swipe but no pain, then wetness crawling across his cheek. fL
Drops of blood flew from the cut as he jerked his head away, Ij,
bringing his right arm up in a sweep against the inside of 1^
Macomber's left wrist, feeling the pressure the other brought to
bear.
Tracy chopped inward, felt the block, the balance of momentum changing and he slipped backward, going down on one knee as Macomber hammered him with a kite and then a savage kansetsu-waza, meant to dislocate Tracy's shoulder.
Tracy countered with what he knew best, the percussive atewaza, beating a tremendously debilitating tattoo against Macomber's bicep, sapping it of energy.
Macomber dropped that attack immediately, coming ft Tracy again with the knife. The shining blade was slightly curved, double-edged, long enough to pierce the heart if
properly driven.
Macomber crouched low, circling, feinting once, then twice more before beginning his real attack, thrusting directly inward towards Tracy's exposed abdomen.
There was no time in these close quarter for Tracy to get out of the way or even twist his torso sufficiently to avoid a deep and serious slash so he steeled his mind, ignoring the incoming blade entirely, concentrating on what he had to do. He chose
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ic Third Way to Parry, stepping ,« ,, v , A arm in a blur, te^*L&&*£^*> nth Macomber's eyes. ectly on a lme
The tall man reacted immediately, pulling back on his Own ow thrust, pushing the blade upward instead to counter Tracy's
angerous strike.
Now Tracy used the Chinese Monkey's Body, bringing his rms in so as not to extend them, getting in quickly with his itire body so that he was already inside Macomber's next thrust
efore it could begin.
And now the weapon had been negated, Tracy and Macomer body to body, fighting instinctively, the blows, counters and irges coming with lightning swift speed until the two of them rere a blur, a single transitory object within the vault of the x>m, as if they had ceased to exist within the boundaries of me, fighting within their own tiny enclosed world where only icy knew the strictures and where anyone else intruding would
>e immediately felled.
Tracy's muscles burned with the constant effort and he shook lis head to clear his eyes from the stinging of his rolling sweat, 'ain blossomed again inside his head, a remnant of Honk Kong md the breath sawed in and out of his lungs like fire.
Explosions burst behind his eyes as he sought to gain a lethal bid. He had entered into this with the idea of bringing Aacomber back downstairs for Thwaite. Now he understood ' what Macomber had known all along. Only one of them could eave this room. It was tomb and birthplace, at once the
1 Eginning and the end of the what had begun fourteen years
o.
-le sought an osae-waza, one of the immobilization holds, for pite, but Macomber would not allow it, bringing three mendous kites down on his right shoulder so that the area nt completely numb and his arm dropped its hold. Vlacomber seized the moment, going immediately for a me-waza, his powerful arm snaking up and around as his right ee spun Tracy completely around, the forearm jammed into acy's windpipe. Macomber brought his hands together, the ife's hilt between them, clamped his fingers.
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This shime-waza was one of the major locks, the ones Jinsoku had taught him the last because they were the most difficult and the most unbreakable.
Macomber's muscles bulged and he grunted like an animal as he jammed his knee again into the small of Tracy's back, arching it even more so that his leverage was increased. It was the final phase of the shime-waza and Tracy knew that unless he could break it within the next few fractions of a second he never would be able to summon the strength or the leverage.
It was difficult to think and he was becoming pale through loss of blood to his head. He could no longer feel his feet and that was dangerous.
He used the Senjo as Jinsoku had translated it from the Japanese, the seat of war. This is not a manoeuvre you use indiscriminately, the old man had warned. 7 am teaching it to you because I want you to survive. You can do that with what I've already given you, I've no doubt. But there may come a time when you have no choice, when death stares you in the face. You'll know it and you'll have the Senjo.
He needed the floor and the wall. He had both. He twisted, to the left while bringing his left hip down, bending the knee severely so that Macomber was forced to stretch out his spine, lift his heels off the floor if he was to maintain the shime-waza.
Tracy pushed upward from the floor, hoping the pressure would be sufficient but not actually knowing until the shift of Macomber's body against his could be felt. Now the wall came into play and he used it as a battering ram of power proportionate with the speed with which Macomber's hip was smashed into it.
The angle had to be just right. Tracy heard the answering crack as the pelvis split under the force of the momentum and the angle the Senjo had produced.
Macomber's lower body began to collapse but still he maintained his stranglehold on Tracy's throat, a deathgrip he seemed incapable of relinquishing. He gasped and sobbed with the pain, tears streaming across his face, his hair wet and plastered.
Tracy lifted his right foot, jammed it down on Macomber's left instep with all his might, heaving upward with his torso,
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I twisting to the right simultaneously so that the break in the hip | bone widened, the cracked bone grinding together at the lower I end of the break as the upper part drew away. I The agony was too much for Macomber. He felt as if all I strength was flowing out of his arms, his chest. Pain pooled in I his hips, overbalancing him with unnatural weight. I Tracy's knee blurred upward, striking the lower part of I Macomber's abdomen just above the cracked bone. It was the I last part of the Senjo and the most devastating because it sent the I internal organs through an area filled with blood and bone I splinters. The result of the manoeuvre was that the opponent Idrowned in his own blood.
I Tracy stood gasping, his lungs heaving to regain lost oxygen fas Macomber's long form slid like a serpent down Tracy's back, I crumpling at his feet. The eyes were open, the head turned lupward towards the room's ceiling. There was only an expresIsion of determination there: no fear, no sorrow, not even regret. I Tracy heard the pounding of heavy shoes on the stairs, voices raised in shouts, orders called but he was too exhausted to move lor look. He heard his name being called. Thwaite's voice. Well, Ithey would find him soon enough, he thought. For now, he Iclosed his eyes, leaned against the wall. He heard the blood [rushing through his ears like the wind.
I
When Tracy walked out of the building onto Gramercy Park
South, the first person he saw was Lauren. She was standing iicross the street, flanked by a pair of helmeted policemen. Her Ibody was taut with tension and he could see how pale and drawn pier face looked in the street lights.
I Behind her a crowd had been forming, cordoned off by the tops and, just to her left, the ranks of the news media began to purge towards him. He was too tired to wonder how they had Pgot wind of the story so early.
I Lances of light flashed across the pavement as the helmeted tpolice moved to stem the tide of reporters. There were three or Ifour mobile trucks from the networks parked along one of the Iside streets, long thick cables snaking leading to hand-held Icameras.
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They saw him coming and started for him but Thwaite, emerging from the open doorway to the house just as the ME's people arrived, waved at his men who closed off the open space between Tracy and the media.
