Eric van Lustbader - China Maroc 01, page 62
Feeling in his extremities was coming back. He concentrated on his breathing, slowing and deepening it all the more. It was important to help his system by oxygenating it.
The Taiwanese seemed to want to end his struggle with Bliss quickly. She was more tenacious than he had anticipated. She had seen Jake’s incapacitation, knew that it was incumbent on her to delay him long enough for Jake to recover.
As the Taiwanese became more desperate to break away, he stepped up his attack. He was angry that this woman seemed to have the power to keep him here against his will. And it was this anger, perhaps, that saved her. Anger had no place in hand-to-hand combat. Emotion impaired judgments that had to be made at split-second intervals.
He put more effort into his strikes, but they were more erratic, somewhat easier to defend against. He was, of course, unaware of this, and his inability to make a winning blow only increased his anger.
Beneath him, Bliss felt the pain and swelling trebling every few seconds. The Taiwanese was very strong, and he knew his karate. He was hurting her badly, even through every defense she threw at him. Once, Bliss thought she had passed out. She had lost all sense of time, and that was bad. She seemed to be adrift on a sea of agony, as if she had been thrown into a pit of flame. Her nerves screamed at her to stop, to break away. But she thought only of Jake and she kept going, fighting against this powerful foe with all her waning strength.
Jake rolled over. He was barely a yard away. It seemed as if it were a mile. He regained his feet and sucked in the moist air. He was panting like an out-of-shape runner. He thought of what Kamisaka had said to him.
Launched himself at the Taiwanese. Used a double atemi, the heels of both clasped hands into the soft flesh above the man’s kidneys. The strike went deep. It had all his strength combined with his momentum behind it.
Bliss saw the Taiwanese’s face screw up in agony, his teeth draw back from his liver-colored lips in a terrible grimace. He made no sound at all save an involuntary wheeze as all air escaped him. His hands ceased their attack. He rolled all the way off her, and the release of tension brought spots before her eyes.
The Taiwanese came after Jake. He was unmindful of the pain. He did not bother to look for the nunchaku. His eyes were filled with the image of his brother’s bloated face, the eyes dull and filmy with exposure to chlorine.
Jake went into sumi otoshi, grabbing the outside of the Taiwanese’s extended right arm. As soon as he made contact, he pulled toward him, pivoting to his left as he did so.
This brought the Taiwanese off balance and Jake was able to bring his right arm up above the other’s shoulder, and, slamming it against the side of his face, pulled sharply down on the right arm. The resultant vectors of force were inescapable. The Taiwanese found himself thrown to the hard ground.
Immediately he kicked out, connecting with Jake’s ankle. Jake fell and the Taiwanese struck him in the face.
Blood gushed from Jake’s nose, and the Taiwanese brought the edge of his callused hand down on the point of Jake’s shoulder.
Jake collapsed and the Taiwanese, grinning with the onset of the victory adrenaline, scrambled after him. Right into an atemi that broke three ribs. The grin froze on his face. His eyes opened in astonishment as Jake rose as if from the dead, chopping down with a vicious atemi that broke the Taiwanese’s neck. He died still thinking that he had won.
At dusk, Formidable Sung emerged from his villa and the tail began.
Jake and Bliss had held each other until long after dawn. Jake was dizzy, wracked with pain. He was astounded to discover that he was more concerned with Bliss’ pain.
He had been patient, going over her body inch by inch, assessing the damage. There had been nothing broken, by what miracle he could not imagine, but much of Bliss’ extraordinary golden skin was marred by bruises growing darker and more tender by the hour. Burst blood vessels traced themselves like grasping hands across her belly and breasts.
She had sat curled against him, her head against his chest while he made his examination. Her thick, glossy hair fluttered against his neck and chin.
She had made no sound even during his deepest probings around her rib cage, where he knew that the pain must be extreme. Still, he was aware of her deep breathing and knew what she was attempting to dispel.
She had spoken his name after he was finished, as if to assure herself of his closeness. He had kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, her tender lips. He had been overwhelmed by the relief he felt at her safety.
They stayed like that through most of the cloudy day. Except for the brief times when one or the other rose to urinate into the trees or to stretch their legs, they remained locked together.
They had long since finished the food they had brought with them. They were content to drink the lukewarm water from the canteen by their side. It was odd that Formidable Sung had not gone to the office, that he had gone nowhere at all during the daylight hours.
Twilight had brought an end to their cramped waiting.
The sleek maroon Mercedes 500-SEL wound with great alacrity across the mountainous roads along the center of the Island. Jake had trouble keeping up in the four-cylinder Nissan, and was grateful that there were few straightaways for the Mercedes, with its powerful V-8, to open up an insurmountable lead.
Now and again he could see Formidable Sung’s silhouette in the front of the Mercedes on the passenger’s side. The inside light was on, as if the 489 were reading as his driver negotiated the twisting, hairpin turns.
Jake drove the Nissan without lights. That was dangerous, but not as dangerous as alerting Formidable Sung that he was under surveillance.
Darkness crept over the outflung surface of the South China Sea far below their rushing bulk, and here and there a ship’s sapphire and ruby running lights burned like living jewels.
The Mercedes raced with almost reckless abandon, as if it were late for a vital rendezvous. The driver was very good, which was fortunate, for these roads, under construction during the day, were a maze of sawhorses, swinging lanterns, and minor detours across dusty shoulders overgrown with wild foliage.
They were climbing the north side of Violet Hill. Just beyond the crest, the Mercedes suddenly went off the road. Jake slowed, but even so he almost missed the turnoff. It was at a ninety-degree angle from the main road.
It was paved for perhaps a hundred yards. Soon enough it turned into a dirt track, but one that was obviously well used. Jake was crawling along. The dense woods on either side made it seem like the middle of the night.
He stopped the Nissan and, sticking his head out the open window, listened intently. He could hear no other engine running. He went ahead cautiously, and when he found a gap in the trees, he pulled the Nissan in and shut off the ignition.
They approached on foot. The trees gave way almost immediately. They found themselves next to a villa roofed with azure tiles and set into the side of the cliff that dropped down to Repulse Bay.
Jake took Bliss’ hand and they worked their way around to a point where they had a clear view of the front door. A few steps farther on, they caught a glimpse of a wide, wood-beamed veranda built out from the back of the house. It wrapped around the right side of the house, beyond which Jake and Bliss crouched, half-hidden by chrysanthemum and peony bushes. Jake saw that there was easy access to the veranda from a rock promontory not more than three feet from them.
The maroon Mercedes was parked in a graveled offshoot of the shallow, semicircular driveway. In a moment, lights came on along the front of the villa and across the expanse of the veranda in back. Jake saw two men come out and stand in the semidarkness.
Then he heard more cars coming, and he took Bliss farther back into the protection of the shadowed bushes.
“It’s him!”
The triangular, feline head with its huge obsidian eyes, bobbing like a lethal stalk at the end of his swan’s neck. The small, flat ears barely visible through the long black hair.
Moving along the slate path to the house with the dangerous, liquid grace of a cat loping through the jungle floor.
Nichiren.
Bliss, so close beside Jake, felt the tension flooding through him. Her fingers closed down on the corded muscles of his upper arm.
“Don’t!” she whispered fiercely from their place of concealment. “There are others coming. You’ve waited too long to jump the gun now.”
Jake knew she was right. But it was not easy to crouch here in the shadows when his nemesis was less than a hundred yards away. A shadow he had been chasing over all the continents of the world for the past three years. With a vengeance, ever since the Sumchun River.
Now, with the last of the crimson and deep yellow light fading from the west, Jake saw Three Oaths Tsun and T. Y. Chung standing side by side on the veranda.
“I don’t get it,” Jake said. “Your father and Chung are bitter enemies.”
“That’s what I thought,” Bliss said, thinking, How much has my father kept from me?
Off to one side, Formidable Sung and Nichiren were speaking in low tones. A pair of cars drew up. Out stepped Venerable Chen and Sharktooth Tung, the dragon of the Hak Sam triad.
The two stared at one another for several moments. They moved at the same time toward the front door, stopped together. It was a comedy act, despite the circumstances.
At last, Three Oaths Tsun came outside and engaged Venerable Chen in conversation, thus allowing Sharktooth Tung to go in first without loss of face to either man.
In a moment, Three Oaths Tsun took Venerable Chen inside.
“They’re all there,” Jake said. It was odd, though. None of them was making a move to begin discussions. There was about the scene an air of waiting.
Bliss felt it, too. “Something’s going to happen.”
They watched while the sky went dark and the spangle of tankers’ lights twinkled on the water like fallen stars. Along the beach, lovers strolled hand in hand, their faces to the rising moon.
Jake felt the vibration and turned his head. A black limo was emerging from the forest. It seemed to be coasting, so slowly was it going. It drew abreast of the front door. Its engine idled while a thin Chinese in a shiny blue suit opened the driver’s door and got out. His back was rigid, and Jake recognized the bearing: army.
Intuition fluttered the muscles in his lower belly. He felt a heat rising in his neck and throat.
The thin Chinese was bending slightly to open the rear door. He reached in, apparently supporting something.
Then the old man emerged, and for the first time in his adult life, Jake looked upon the face of his father.
There was absolutely no doubt in his mind as to who this was. In the eyes, the brow, he saw himself reflected, as, with a tiny thrill, a sculptor will when gazing on the face of his first creation.
It was true, he thought. Everything Bliss had told him was true. Not that he had really doubted her. But the shock of the reality was breathtaking nonetheless.
“Buddha,” Bliss whispered, “it’s Shi Zilin! Why has he come here? His presence could destroy the entire yuhn-hyun. If the triad dragons get a hint of who he really is, everything will fall apart. What was so urgent that it required his physical presence? He’s in great danger here. If the authorities knew …” She did not need to complete that thought.
The thin Chinese had pulled a walking stick from the interior of the limo. Now, upon handing it to Zilin, he retired to the car. The old man was left to make his way across the slate.
No one inside the house made a move to help him. Such a gesture would have meant an enormous loss of face for the old man. But all were aware of his presence. No one spoke now, no one drank. No one looked out to sea or to the high-rises below.
Now, as Zilin negotiated the stone stairs, Three Oaths Tsun broke away from the others to stand just in the center of the veranda. Jake, who was most attuned to Nichiren, saw the other stride away from Formidable Sung. At Three Oaths Tsun’s side, he began to talk.
At first the older man made no reply. Then, as Nichiren became more insistent, he began to talk. Jake could not hear what was being said, but he could see well enough the expression on Nichiren’s face.
“Dew neh loh moh!” Jake breathed. “My father is Nichiren’s Source!”
As Zilin appeared on the deck, there was a moment of absolute blankness on Nichiren’s face, and that was when Jake detached himself from the shadows and hurled himself across the lawn. He hit the rocks with an elastic bound.
Bliss screamed after him, but he blocked out the sound. He was concentrating solely on that peculiar expression. He had seen it once before, when they had faced each other in O-henro House. Jake had been struck by it because it had presaged Nichiren’s leap into aggressive action.
What had he asked Three Oaths Tsun? What had the older man replied? Jake did not know; he was only certain that he was already too late.
In a blur, Nichiren had gone from absolute motionlessness to violent motion. He had slammed into Shi Zilin, whirling the old man off his feet before Jake was three-quarters of the way to the veranda.
“I want to know who that is,” Nichiren had said at Three Oaths Tsun’s side.
In truth, Three Oaths Tsun had not even heard him the first time he said it. He was engrossed in the sight of his brother, whom he had not seen in fifty years. It was the moment he had been dreaming of for decades. A reunion of the family. He was trembling with the advent.
His silence, however, had angered Nichiren. Nichiren repeated the question, and this time Three Oaths Tsun heard him. He knew an answer was needed. Now was certainly not the time to tell Nichiren that this man was his father, and knowing that Nichiren was dangerous enough to spot a lie, he told him another truth.
“He is your Source.”
That was when the blank look had slid over Nichiren’s face like a Noh mask. What Three Oaths Tsun could not know was that Nichiren’s mother had had an old, frayed photograph of Zilin, and she had carried it with her to Japan. She had been reluctant to throw it out because, over the intervening years, looking at it had renewed her desire for revenge.
On her death, Nichiren had found it and, along with her diary, had made the connection.
Now, many decades later, Three Oaths Tsun had inadvertently provided the next step in the connection: that Nichiren’s father was also his Source. The knowledge had galvanized Nichiren.
I know everything there is to know about you, Source had said to him over the ether. All the suppressed rage and humiliation he had absorbed from his mother, that unconsciously he had felt for the father who had abandoned him and his mother to their dark fate, boiled up in him. Red rage shook him to his core, to think that for years he had been blindly obeying the orders of the one man in the world whom he had hated all his life. The indignity of it! The bitter irony caught in his throat, threatened to choke him.
Nichiren found that he could not breathe, could not even think clearly. He wanted to be free, to return home to Kamisaka, to be his own person. Abruptly he knew such a thing could never be, so long as his father was living. There was no chance of breaking discipline yet again. The man was a magician to have sought him out, to have used him in such a manner. The scale of the deception that was involved staggered Nichiren. It frightened him as well. He knew that he was powerless against such deviousness.
He wanted so much to be free. Free of all the psychic weight with which he had grown up. He shook with his rage and his terror of this man. Fright was almost unknown to Nichiren, and it made him hate his father all the more that he could engender such an emotion in him.
Kamisaka’s beautiful body mingled in his mind with the image of his mother’s scarred flesh. He felt a burning inside him as if it were he who had been marked.
And, indeed, he had been marked. He saw that now. It was the only thing he saw clearly. His lungs were bursting with unnatural heat. His heart hammered wildly in his chest. Rage engulfed him like a flash fire.
He was burning out of control.
With a guttural growl that felt like the onset of some terrifying elemental force, Nichiren bounded past Three Oaths Tsun and, before those present could overcome their shock, had Zilin by the throat.
“Now you will join my mother. Only this ultimate atonement can heal her mutilated spirit.”
Three Oaths Tsun heard the words and they made him shiver. They seemed to have been uttered by an inhuman larynx.
Involuntarily, Jake’s mouth opened. From deep inside him came the roaring of the kiai yell that Fo Saan had taught him.
It was an animal’s call, brimming with power and aggressiveness. It shivered the trees. It rooted everyone on the veranda to the spot. It made Nichiren pause long enough for Jake to make up the last of the distance between them.
He saw the old man’s body being twisted, saw the face that reminded him so much of his own, passing through the violent air like a waning sun. He felt the extraordinary force of Nichiren’s intrinsic energy.
Jake used an elbow atemi, the percussive force falling full across Nichiren’s shoulder. The important thing was to get Zilin away from him. There was nothing more in Jake’s mind at the moment, but as he peeled Nichiren off the old man, as he stumbled, locked in Nichiren’s embrace now, across the slick, polished boards of the veranda, Lan became unsealed inside him.
He knew he had been walking on thin ice ever since he had witnessed her death at the Sumchun River. Perhaps his retelling of the incident had caused it, or again perhaps it was the touch of Nichiren’s body against his.
Whatever the cause, the world narrowed down to one sharp point. Gone was the thought of the exchange of the fu pieces; gone was the thought of Kamisaka’s kindness and love. Revenge rode like a great kite in his mind, blotting out a horizon of possibilities.
Only Jake and Nichiren existed—not this villa, not the people standing on the veranda, not Repulse Bay glittering in moonlight far below. Not even Bliss.
There was a terrifying animal inside him now, and it had extended its paws, its gaping jaws, its unthinking mind, leaping into the firelight. It had been born in the well of his unsharable sorrow and guilt. He was a father who had failed. A father who, in his own mind at least, had been just as much responsible for Lan’s death as had Nichiren.
