The Ninja and the Diplomat, page 18
part #2 of The Chinese Spymaster Series
The fathers of the current generation had little need for each other. They met only infrequently. But one encounter, at a golf resort on the island of Bali, was momentous. High up on the floor of an extinct volcano, the course had been designed by Peter Thompson, five-time winner of the British Open. The father of the Yakuza had just finished a weekend golf round with his business associates when the Russian appeared, as if coincidentally, to examine the course for future vacation use. The Japanese man excused himself from his associates and insisted on taking his visitor for a ride in a golf cart. They found a secluded sand bunker as the limpid, buttery golden-yellow of the Balinese sun was turning dark and the Yakuza’s father confided to his Russian ally his concern that his son might marry a Chinese woman. “If he becomes a sympathizer of the Chinese,” he declared, “I would like you to consider our family alliance terminated and kill him.”
“I would be very sorry to have to do that,” replied the Russian. “Children can be difficult but, of course, I will do as you request. That moment has not arrived I take it, but if you send me word, it shall be done.”
Word was never sent and so the Russian had passed the obligations of the alliance on to his son, Boris. Now Boris was considering eliminating the Yakuza for exactly the opposite reason, that his hatred for the Chinese had become a crazed vendetta. The Boss was troubled by the Yakuza’s fanaticism and by the events that followed, including a chain that led to the necessity of eliminating Viktor. So long as the relationship required pragmatic sacrifices, it had flourished. Now a rabid personal, perhaps political, element had appeared.
Besides, the Yakuza had no heir. The alliance could not continue.
***
The Boss marveled at a particular glove he unpacked. It was made of a material that imitated the human skin. All he had to do was to pour the vial of the poison, allow it to dry and shake hands firmly with his ally. It had come to this. His phone rang.
“Hello, Boris.”
“Hello, Yamato.”
“I have a gift for you.”
“Yamato, we do business, we do not exchange gifts.”
“You will like this gift. Consider it payment for our recent transaction.”
“You have already paid me for that.”
“But I sense you are not happy, Boris. So this is what the Americans call the ‘sweetener’. I assure you that you will like it.”
“You know I am the man who has everything and whatever I don’t have, I just take.”
“I do not doubt you, Boris. But I know you don’t have this asset and I think you have perhaps never thought of taking it.”
“Well, we shall see. Where are you now?”
“I am where I always stay when in Seoul. Where do we meet?”
“Here, where I am. You will enjoy the views and the atmosphere. I shall send my assistant out to guide you here.”
“We have GPS, you know.”
“Yamato, trust me. This is better than GPS. If you want to drive, she will guide you or drive your car.”
“She?”
“Yes. She is of medium build, and has short, straight blonde hair and sad grey eyes. She will be in a black Mercedes.”
“Mine is blue.”
I know, thought the Boss. He said, “I will pass that on to my assistant,” as he pulled the glove on. It was practically invisible. He rubbed his hands together and his left hand could barely tell that the right hand felt different. A half hour later, he poured most of the liquid in the vial into his cupped right hand. He massaged the fingers of that hand into the palm carefully to hasten the evaporation and sat to compose his mind for the Yakuza.
***
The two men greeted each other formally, shaking hands before each stepped backwards for a more appraising look at the other. The Yakuza wondered briefly if the Boss’s hand had been as sweaty the other times they had met, then dismissed the thought. The ninja and the blonde with sad eyes stood to the side, showing no sign that they were aware of each other’s presence.
“This is quite a place you have,” exclaimed the Yakuza, dressed in an elegant but simple slate-grey silk kimono. “You were right. I don’t think the GPS has such splendid isolation in its database.”
“It used to be a small monastery, perhaps twenty monks, never more than fifty. It is very old and was in need of restoration. A friend was a major contributor to the repairs and I have borrowed it for the occasion. He left the original stone floors and replaced the wooden panels as necessary. I enjoy the seclusion; for city life, I would never leave St. Petersburg.”
“Well, just like the old days. No weapons in sight, no army of men in body armor or blades.”
“Simpler is usually better,” agreed the Boss before getting directly to the point. “Tell me why I should be unhappy.”
“I did not say you should be unhappy, Boris,” murmured his guest. “I said that I sensed you are. After all, I get what I have always wanted, an opportunity to seriously damage China, while you only get money. A man can want only so much even of that. I am guessing also that you called this meeting to declare an end to our alliance.”
“So what is the sweetener?” replied the Boss, avoiding the Yakuza’s guess.
“Oh, he will come here for me, but I think the woman with sad eyes and the ninja will be more than a match for his bodyguard.”
“You have lured him here? Who?”
“He is coming because he thinks he will catch me here. You might know him, he is the Chinese Spymaster.”
Boris was truly surprised though he kept his face reasonably straight. “You are always so full of marvels, Yamato. What did you think I would do with Mr. Wang?”
“It does not matter to me what you do with him,” replied the Yakuza, who nonetheless looked intently at the Boss before relaxing into his chair. The Boss nodded then said grimly,
“It will sound ungrateful but I must tell you that you have guessed correctly. I cannot continue to do business with you.”
The Yakuza looked coldly at the Russian. “Has my presence become inconvenient, Boris?”
“I believe that you have allowed politics and personal feelings into our business partnership. Our ways must therefore part, I hope with no hard feelings.” The Boss, dressed in a well-tailored black suit, glanced at his guest with veiled interest. The Yakuza was absentmindedly scratching his right palm with his left fingers. The Boss, acting the gracious master of the house, asked,
“Would you like something to drink?”
“Oh thoughtful host,” the Japanese man responded, “just some of your wonderful mineral water.” As he started to cough and choke, the ninja was by his side in a flash and stared at him intently.
“Poison.” He turned towards the Boss but the blonde was already there.
A knock on the door startled everyone.
“There is no lock,” shouted the Boss.
Spymaster Wang entered with former Sergeant Major Li and asked, “Have we interrupted something? I thought we might have been expected.”
He turned and addressed the Boss, “Hello Boris, I thought we would find you here as well. As you know, we have been tracking the Yakuza, and our agency has only just learned that Mr. Yamato and you have a relationship through your forefathers. I hope you will forgive me for not shaking your hand. You wouldn’t happen to have the antidote, would you?”
“Some actions are irreversible. Most of mine are intended to be so.”
Again the ninja attempted to approach the Boss and again he was confronted by the woman with sad eyes.
The two champions knew then that they would have to square off against each other. The ninja if he was to obtain the antidote from the Boss, and the woman with sad eyes would do anything necessary to thwart him. Briefly, they inspected each other and then bowed before launching into the attack. The ninja faked a high kick and swung a hard jab at the woman. She blocked his jab partially and pivoted as she appeared to absorb the energy from that jab. From her pivot, she emerged to kick him viciously in the crotch. The ninja grunted as he flipped in a backward somersault that lessened the force of his antagonist’s kick.
As he landed, she continued to attack with nimble leaps and kicks while he exploded with a series of straight armed jabs as rapid as automatic rifle fire, hitting at any part of her body that came within range. One jab connected with her jaw with a crack that resounded through the hall, but the blonde continued her weaving and swatting, dodging or blocking most his blows. Her own blows seemed balletic, to flow into roundhouse punches or uppercuts, all gathering energy from her feet through her hips and concentrating in her fists. Suddenly she dropped into a crouch and somersaulted into the ninja who narrowly escaped the torpedo-like thrust of her legs by leaping over her in a somersault of his own.
***
“Katya, where is that girl?”
“The boys have surrounded and attacked her.”
“What has she done now?”
“She did nothing, but they did not like it when she beat Anton and Vasily. They thought together they could get her and pull her pants down.”
“What? I know she is fast and strong but they are each twice, three times, as big as she.”
“Anyway, she is getting a beating now.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Twelve boys stood around kicking a young girl, lying on the ground. They were careful not to get too close as she kicked back and already two of them were sitting by the side, nursing bruises and perhaps broken bones.
They were young teens in a special school for gymnasts. Katya had begged her coach to let her learn what the boys were doing as well as what the girls had to. The coach laughed then grudgingly agreed to let her try to climb the rope.
He was astonished by her strength. She pulled herself up hand over hand as she had seen the boys do. She did not climb all the way to the top on her first attempt or her second. But it took only weeks for her strength to develop so that she climbed and kept a correct form just as she had observed the boys do.
Eventually, she learned all their floor exercises, the pommel horse moves, the high bar routines, even the rings.
“It’s something genetic,” pronounced the team doctor.
Male pride provoked many instances of bullying. Attempted bullying would be the more correct term, as no boy was able to defeat her in a boxing match or a brawl. Those who tried to pair up against Katya discovered her natural aptitude for dodging, squirming, kicking, and lashing out with elbows, fists, knees and head butts.
She outgrew her preteen grace and appeared less svelte as her body showed more muscle than women gymnasts do. But she became an awesome fighting machine. Her straight blonde hair and sad grey eyes were her best disguise.
***
The ninja took a blow on his left thigh as he turned clockwise, spinning swiftly to lash a leg sweep. He barely connected before the blonde began a cartwheel that ended with her trying to stomp on his left leg. Moving more swiftly than the eye could follow, the ninja had recovered and engaged the woman in a furious series of kicks and blocks.
They broke off only to return immediately with arms flailing, slashing and jabbing, blocking and twisting. An opponent might appear to have an arm locked only to kick or twist free. Neither combatant appeared to weaken or tire. Two or three times, the force of the ninja’s strikes or jabs enabled him to hit his target despite a block or deflecting move by the woman. Several times, her quickness and flexibility, bending over backwards to a handspring, resulted in her heel reaching the ninja’s crotch or solar plexus just before he could parry the blow or twist away.
The ninja stepped back, appearing to slip, and pivoted off his right arm on the floor to lash his legs against his opponent’s hips. Though she certainly felt the blow, she reacted instantly by swiveling her hips away to her left while launching herself into a handspring to her right.
“They are very good,” said Wang, more to his companion than to the Boss or the Yakuza.
“On a good day, I would not be sure of myself against either of them,” replied Li. “But today, the ninja is distracted.”
“Enough of this, Boris,” declared Wang. “Would you please give him the antidote?”
“What antidote?” responded the Boss.
“No matter, Mr. Yamato,” offered Wang, addressing the Yakuza directly. “It would appear that your alliance with the Boss has been terminated, but I do have the antidote. I need, however, some information from you.”
“Ha,” coughed the Yakuza. “You want to know where the other eleven nuclear devices are headed. I shall never tell you!” He coughed again but it became a whoop and then he convulsed.
“It is a simple proposition, Mr. Yamato,” related Wang. “You have been poisoned by torikabuto. Wolf’s bane is its common English name. I don’t think it really has the power to ward off vampires as some legends have it, but it does impair the ability of the heart and lungs to function properly. You will be dead in two hours without the antidote. So tell me, where are those devices?”
“I shall never tell you,” spluttered the Japanese man. “I do this for the glory of Japan. There will be attacks on eleven major cities that will vaporize several city blocks. China will be crippled. Japan will assume its place among the leading nations of the world as it deserves to.”
“Do you think this will earn you the respect you have never enjoyed among your countryman?” asked the Chinese spymaster, despite his consternation. The Yakuza only wheezed.
“You let the Filipino have one nuclear device when he only wanted portable anti-aircraft missile launchers. Was that so you could assure yourself that the devices were real? It was a cruel temptation you laid before a brave young man who, I hope, has more sense than to deploy that weapon.”
Wang expected no response from Yamato, but the stricken man managed a hoarse cry, “Banzai!”
The spymaster glared at his counterpart, spymaster of Russia, for his critical role in the scheme. He provided the Yakuza with Viktor’s services, including an introduction to the arms dealer. Boris only shook his head in regret and denial, but showed no weakness.
Wang stated,
“Japan will not gain the respect of the world or achieve greatness because millions die in China, Mr. Yamato. Your deed will bring undying shame on the imperial family and the people of Japan.”
“I don’t care,” he spat defiantly as he slipped into unconsciousness.
“That must have been a carefully selected shrub from which you harvested the poison or you must have given him a larger dose than normal,” observed Wang, thinking about the analysis of the phone data that had led to this moment and wondering if it would lead to the other nuclear devices. He glanced at the ninja to catch a moment when those intense dark eyes betrayed a thought, a reflection.
Suddenly,
“You have antidote?” demanded the ninja. “You give. I lead you to devices.”
Without hesitation, Wang turned to Li and nodded. In the rudimentary Japanese that he had recently picked up with his language courses, Li explained the contents of a vial he produced, an extract from the deadly nightshade. It would need to be injected into Yamato. He bowed ceremoniously and offered the vial to the ninja with both hands.
The ninja bowed in return, a lower bow to signify his indebtedness, and demurred. He gestured and said, “You do it.”
Li whipped out an injection kit and glanced at Wang who nodded again. He prepared the hypodermic kit and administered the antidote.
“Attempted murder is a crime in South Korea,” remarked Wang.
“I have diplomatic immunity,” retorted Boris.
“Of course you do, Boris,” replied Wang. “A pity about all the publicity, though. It would be bad for business, bad even in Russia.”
“What do you want?” conceded the Boss.
“I’d like to send you a sound file of the previous few minutes,” Wang requested as he took out his cell-phone. The Boss took his own out warily and called out the number. Wang dialed it and sent the audio file of the brief exchanges.
“Anything else?” asked the Russian.
“Perhaps, you would be so good as to report it up your chain, complete with the recording.”
“You want me to transmit a file with this recording to Moscow?” asked Boris.
“If you don’t mind,” murmured Wang.
“Do you expect this to be picked up by the Americans? What would that achieve?” questioned the Boss.
“I would really like to know how many translators they will assign to work on it,” remarked Wang, evading the question. The two spymasters both burst out laughing. The ninja approached and reported,
“He is stable now and your colleague predicts he will recover in two days. I will accompany him to the hospital, then I must go with you.”
“Of course,” replied Wang, “But—”
“I disobey him,” explained the ninja, “I cannot serve him ever again.”
The Boss exclaimed, “I will never understand you Orientals!”
“You are reacting well,” observed Wang. “Others have put it much less politely.”
“I’m very impressed, though, that you found the antidote.”
Wang simply nodded as he left. Li helped the ninja out with Mr. Yamato.
The antidote was easy, after we learned about the poison.
“We must act quickly,” Wang concluded, addressing Li as soon as they were outside. “The Yakuza is a determined man and may find a way to thwart us. I need you to help the ninja prepare for his trip to locate the devices as soon as possible.”
“Perhaps he should return to Beijing with us and work with our analysis team on identifying the recipients of the devices.”
“Good thinking.” Wang smiled to Li, glad that the latter had taken to the rhythms of intelligence work. “I shall call Ma immediately.”
Ma was in conference with Gong and Owyang when the spymaster’s call was put through. Without pausing for small talk, he responded to Wang’s greeting,
