Dragon

  That's garbage."

  "Amen, my friend," said Diaz, raising his teacup. "Amen."

  "Dirk is one hundred percent right," Loren added proudly. "Our society isn't perfect, but people to people, our overall quality of life is still better than yours."

  Suma's face altered into a mask of wrath. The eyes were as hard as topaz on the satin-smooth face.

  His teeth were set. He spoke as if cracking a whip. "Fifty years ago, we were a defeated people, reviled by the United States! Now, all of a sudden, we are the winners, and you have lost to us. The poisoning of Japan by the United States and Europe has been stopped. Our culture will prevail. We will prove to be the dominant nation in the twenty-first century."

  "You sound like the warlords who prematurely counted us out after Pearl Harbor," Loren reminded him curtly. "The United States treated Japan far better after the war than we'd have expected if you were the victors. Your armies would have raped, murdered, and pillaged America just as you did China."

  "Besides us, you still have Europe to contend with," warned Diaz. "Their trade policies are not nearly as tolerant and patronizing as ours toward Tokyo. And if anything, the new European Common Market is going to dig in against your economic penetration. Threatened by nuclear blackmail or not, they'll close their markets to Japanese exports."

  "Over the long term, we will merely use our billions of cash reserves to slowly buy up their industries until we have a base that is impregnable. Not an impossible operation when you consider that the twelve largest banks in the world are Japanese, constituting almost three quarters of the total market value of all the rest of the foreign banks. That means we rule the world of big money."

  "You can't hold the world hostage forever," said Pitt. "Your own government and people will rise up against you when they discover the world's warheads are aimed at the Japanese islands instead of the United States and the Soviet Union. And the possibility of another nuclear attack becomes very real should one of your car bombs accidentally detonate."

  Suma shook his head. "Our electronic safeguards are more advanced than yours and the Russians'.

  There will be no explosions unless I personally program the correct code."

  "You can't really start a nuclear war," Loren gasped.

  Suma laughed. "Nothing as stupid and cold-blooded as what the White House and Kremlin might attempt. You forget, we Japanese know what it's like to suffer the horror of atomic warfare. No, the Kaiten Project is far more technically sophisticated than masses of missile warheads aimed at cities and military installations. The bombs are designed to be set off in remote strategically unpopulated areas to create a massive electromagnetic force with the potential of destroying your entire economy. Any deaths or injuries would be minimal."

  "You really plan to do it, don't you?" said Pitt, reading Suma's mind. "You really intend to set off the bombs."

  "And why not, if circumstances warrant it. There is no fear of immediate retaliation, since the electromagnetic force will effectively close down all American, NATO, and Soviet communications and weapons systems." The Japanese industrialist stared at Pitt, the dark eyes cool and tyrannical. "Whether I take that step or not, you, Mr. Pitt, won't be around to find out."

  A frightened look swept Loren's face. "Aren't Dirk and AI flying back to Washington with Senator Diaz and me?"

  Suma exhaled his breath in a long silent sigh and shook his head very slowly. "No. . . I have made them a gift to my good friend Moro Kamatori."

  "I don't understand."

  "Moro is an expert hunter. His passion is tracking human game. Your friends and the three intelligence operatives who were captured during their attempt to destroy the center will be offered a chance to escape the island. But only if they can elude Moro for twenty-four hours."

  Kamatori gave Pitt a subzero stare. "Mr. Pitt will have the honor of being the first to make the attempt."

  Pitt turned to Giordino, the trace of a grin on his saturnine face. "See, I told you so."

  >

  "Escape," muttered Giordino, pacing the small cottage under the watchful eye of McGoon, "escape where? The best long distance swimmer in the world couldn't make it across sixty kilometers of cold water swept by five-knot currents. And even then, Suma's hoods would be waiting to gut you the minute you crawled onto a mainland beach."

  "So what's the game plan?" asked Pitt between pushups on the floor.

  "Stay alive as long as possible. What other options do we have?"

  "Die like stouthearted men."

  Giordino raised an eyebrow and stared at Pitt suspiciously. "Yeah, sure, bare your chest, refuse the blindfold, and puff a cigarette as Kamatori raises his sword."

  "Why fight the inevitable."

  "Since when do you give up in the first inning?" Giordino said, beginning to wonder if his old friend had suffered a brain leak.

  "We can try to hide somewhere on the island as long as we can, but it's a hopeless cause. I suspect Kamatori will cheat and use robotic sensors to track us down."

  "What about Stacy? You can't stand by and let that moonfaced scum murder her too."

  Pitt rose from the floor. "Without weapons, what do you expect? Flesh can't win against mechanical cyborgs and an expert with a sword."

  "I expect you to show the guts you showed in a hundred other scrapes we've been through together."

  Pitt favored his right leg as he limped past McGoon and stood with his back to the robot. "Easy for you to say, pal. You're in good physical shape. I wrenched my knee when I crash-landed into that fishpond and I can barely walk. I stand no chance at all of eluding Kamatori."

  Then Giordino saw the wily grin on Pitt's face, and a dawning comprehension settled over him.

  Suddenly he felt a complete fool. Besides McGoon's sensors, the room must have had a dozen listening devices and video cameras hidden in and around it. He figured Pitt's drift and played along.

  "Kamatori is too much a samurai to hunt an injured man. If there's a morsel of sporting blood in him, he'd give himself a handicap."

  Pitt shook his head. "I'd settle for something to ease the pain."

  "McGoon," Giordino hailed the sentry robot, "is there a doctor in the house?"

  "That data is not programmed in my directive."

  "Then call up your remote boss and find out."

  "Please stand by."

  The robot went silent as its communications system sent out a request to its control center. The reply came back immediately. "There is a small staff in a clinic on the fourth level. Does Mr. Pitt require medical assistance?"

  "Yes," Pitt answered. "I'll require an injection of a painkiller and a tight bandage if I'm to provide Mr.

  Kamatori with a challenging degree of competition."

  "You did not appear to limp a few hours ago," McGoon flagged Pitt.

  "My knee was numb," Pitt lied. "But the pain and stiffness have increased to where I find it difficult to walk." He took a few halting steps and tensed his face as though experiencing a mild case of agony.

  As a machine that was completely adequate for the job, Murasaki, alias McGoon, duly relayed his visual observation of Pitt's pathetic display to his directorate controller somewhere deep within the Dragon Center and received permission to escort his injured prisoner to the medical clinic. Another roboguard appeared to keep a video eye on Giordino, who promptly named the newcomer McGurk.

  Playing his fake condition as though an Academy Award was in the offing, Pitt shuffled awkwardly through a labyrinth of corridors before being hustled into an elevator by McGoon.

  The robot pressed a floor button with a metal finger, and the elevator began to quietly descend, although not as silently as the one in the Federal Headquarters Building.

  Too bad the MAIT team didn't have intelligence on an elevator that dropped from the island's surface to the underground center, Pitt thought during the ride. Penetration from the resort might have been carried off with a higher chance of success. A few moments later the doors spr
ead and McGoon prodded Pitt into a brightly lit passageway.

  "The fourth door on your left. Take it and enter."

  The door, like every piece of flat surface in the underground facility, was painted white. A small red cross was the only indication of a medical center. There was no knob, only a button set in the frame. Pitt pushed it and the door noiselessly slid open. He limped inside. An attractive young lady in a nurse's uniform looked up from a desk through serious brown eyes as he entered. She spoke to him in Japanese, and he shrugged dumbly.

  "Sorry," he said. "I only speak English."

  Without another word she stood and walked across a room with six empty beds and disappeared into an office. A few seconds later a young smiling Japanese man wearing jeans and a turtleneck sweater under the standard white coat with a stethoscope hanging from his neck approached with the nurse at his heels.

  "Mr. Pitt, Mr. Dirk Pitt?" he inquired in West Coast American.

  "Yes."

  "I was informed you were coming. Josh Nogami. This is a real honor. I've been a fan of yours since you raised the Titanic. As a matter of fact, I took up scuba diving because of you."

  "My pleasure," Pitt said almost bashfully. "You don't sound like a local boy."

  "Born and raised in San Francisco under the shadow of the Bay Bridge. Where are you from?"

  "I grew up in Newport Beach, California."

  "No kidding. I served my internship at St. Paul's Hospital in Santa Ana. I used to surf at Newport every chance I got."

  "You're a long way from your practice."

  "So are you, Mr. Pitt."

  "Did Suma make an offer you couldn't refuse?"

  The smile went cool. "I'm also an admirer of Mr. Suma. I joined his employ four years ago without being bought."

  "You believe in what he's doing?"

  "One hundred percent."

  "Pardon me for suggesting that you're misguided."

  "Not misguided, Mr. Pitt. Japanese. I'm Japanese and believe in the advancement of our intellectual and aesthetic culture over the contaminated society America has become."

  Pitt was in no mood for another debate on lifestyle philosophies. He pointed to his knee. "I'm going to be needing this tomorrow. I must have twisted it. Can you deaden the pain enough so I can use it?"

  "Please roll up your pant leg."

  Pitt did so and made the required grimaces and quick expulsions of breath to simulate hurt as the doctor felt about the knee.

  "Doesn't appear swollen or bruised. No indication of a torn ligament."

  "Hurts like hell, though. I can't bend it."

  "Did you injure it when you crashed into Mr. Suma's retreat?"

  "News travels fast here."

  "The robots have a grapevine that would make San Quentin prison inmates proud. After I heard of your arrival, I went up and viewed the remains of your airplane. Mr. Suma wasn't happy that you killed over four hundred thousand yen worth of his prized carp."

  "Then you know I'm the opening act for the massacre tomorrow," said Pitt.

  The smile left Nogami's face and his eyes went dark. "I want you to know, though I may follow Mr.

  Suma's commands, I don't favor Kamatori's murderous hunting games."

  "Any advice for a condemned man?"

  Nogami motioned around the room. "The walls have more eyes and ears than a theater audience. If I dared cheer for your side, I'd be forced to join you out on the field. No thanks, Mr. Pitt. I'm greatly saddened by your predicament, but you have nobody to blame but yourself for dipping your oars in dangerous waters."

  "But you will see what you can do for my knee."

  "As a doctor I'll do my best to ease your pain. I'm also under orders by Kamatori to see that you're fit for the chase tomorrow."

  Nogami shot Pitt's knee with some unpronounceable drug that was supposed to deaden pain and wrapped it with athletic tape. Then he gave Pitt a small bottle of pills. "Take two of these every four hours. Don't overdose, or you'll become groggy and make an easy mark for Kamatori."

  Pitt had carefully watched as the nurse went back and forth into a small supply room for the tape and pills. "Do you mind if I borrow one of your empty beds and relax for a while. Those Japanese sleeping mats aren't built for these bones."

  "Okay by me. I'll notify your guard robot that I'm keeping you under observation for an hour or two."

  Nogami looked at him steadily. "Don't even think of trying to escape. There are no windows or rear exits in here, and the robots would be all over your ass before you took two steps toward the elevator."

  "Not to worry," Pitt said with a friendly smile. "I fully intend to save my strength for tomorrow's fun."

  Nogami nodded. "Take the first bed. It has the softest mattress. I use it myself. The one Western vice I refuse to give up. I can't stand those damn tatami mats either."

  "The bathroom?"

  "Through the supply room to your left."

  Pitt shook the doctor's hand. "I'm grateful to you, Dr. Nogami. A pity we see things through a different lens."

  After Nogami returned to his office and the nurse sat back down at her desk with her back to him, Pitt hobbled to the bathroom, only he didn't enter but merely opened and closed the door with the required sounds to allay any suspicions. The nurse was busy filling out papers at her desk and did not turn to observe his actions through the door of the supply room.

  Then he quietly searched the drawers and shelves of medical supplies until he found a box of plastic bags attached to thin tubes with eighteen-gauge needles on their ends. The bags were marked CPDA-1

  Red Blood Cells with anticoagulant solution. He removed one of the bags from the box and shoved it inside his shirt. It didn't make even the slightest bulge.

  A mobile X-ray unit stood in one corner of the room. He stared at it briefly, an idea forming in his mind. Using his fingernails, he worked free a plastic manufacturer's nameplate and used it to unscrew the rear panel. He rapidly twisted off the connectors to a pair of six-volt dry-cell rechargeable batteries and removed one, slipping it down the front of his pants. Then he ripped out as much of the electrical wiring as he could without an excess of suspicious sound and wrapped it around his waist.

  Finally he stepped softly into the bathroom, used it, and flushed the toilet. The nurse didn't even look up as he settled onto the bed. In his office, Nogami seemed absorbed, talking in hushed tones on the phone.

  Pitt stared at the blank ceiling, his mind at ease. It wasn't exactly what Jordan and Kern would call an earth-shattering master plan, but it was all he had, and he intended to play it to the hilt.

  >

  Moro Kamatori didn't merely look evil, he was evil. The pupils of his eyes never changed from the violent black poisonous stare, and when the tight lips parted in a smile, which was seldom, they revealed a set of teeth laced with more gold than the Comstock Lode.

  Even at that early hour-- at five o'clock the sky was still dark-- he had a fastidious arrogance about him. He was immaculately dressed in a hakama, baggy trousers that were almost a divided skirt, and an Edo-period kataginu, a brocaded silk style of sleeveless hunting jacket. He wore only sandals on his feet.

  Pitt, on the other hand, looked like a refugee from a rag picker's bin. He was clad only in a T-shirt and a pair of shorts cut off from the bottoms of his flying suit. His feet were clad in a pair of white sweat socks.

  After being awakened and escorted to Kamatori's personal study, he stood shivering in the unheated room, taking in every detail of the walls that were filled with antique weapons of every historic era from around the world. Suits of armor, European and Japanese, stood like soldiers at attention in the middle of the room. Pitt felt a wave of revulsion in his stomach at the trophies neatly spaced between hundreds of swords, spears, bows, and guns.

  He counted thirty mounted heads of Kamatori's hapless human victims staring sightlessly into space from unblinking glass eyes. Most were Asian, but four had Caucasian features. His blood iced as he recognized Jim Hanam
ura's head.

  "Come in, Mr. Pitt, and have a cup of coffee," invited Kamatori, motioning Pitt to a vacant cushion beside a low table. "We'll talk a few minutes before--"

  "Where are the others?" Pitt interrupted.

  Kamatori stared coldly. "They are seated in a small auditorium next door, where they will view the hunt on a video screen."

  "Like an audience watching a bad late-night movie."

  "Perhaps the last to run the hunt will profit by the mistakes of those who go before."

  "Or perhaps they'll close their eyes and miss the show."

  Kamatori sat very still, the barest hint of a smile touching the corner of his taut lips. "This is not an experiment. The procedure has been refined through experience. The prey wait their turn tied to chairs, and if need be, with their eyes taped open. They have every opportunity to witness your demise."

  "I trust you'll send my residuals from the reruns to my estate," Pitt said, seemingly gazing at the heads adorning the walls, fighting to ignore the horrifying display while concentrating on a rack of swords.

  "You put up a very good facade of courage," Kamatori observed. "I'd have expected no less from a man of your reputation."

  "Who goes next?" Pitt asked abruptly.

  The butcher shrugged. "Your friend Mr. Giordino, or maybe the female operative. Yes, I think hunting her down will raise the others to a furious pitch, inciting them to become more dangerous as prey."

  Pitt turned. "And if you cannot catch one of us?"

  "The island is small. No one has eluded me for more than eight hours."

  "And you give no quarter.

  "None," said Kamatori, the evil smile widening. "This is not a child's game of hide-and-seek with winners and losers. Your death will be quick and clean. That's a promise."

  Pitt stared the samurai in the eye. "Not a game? Seems to me I'm to play Sanger Rainsford to your General Zaroff."