The Last Assassin (16 page)

The sumo's face was glistening with dripping mud and water. His eyes were wild, his teeth bared. He snarled and started reeling me in by the wrist.

I dropped down on my ass and planted both boots against the side of his face. I strained backward, and the combined strength of my back and quadriceps broke his grip.

I rolled away from him and came to my feet at the same instant he did. He bellowed something unintelligible and charged me. I dodged and yelled to Dox, “Tranq gun!”

The sumo charged again. This time I barely managed to slip by him. His speed and coordination were off because of the tranquilizer, but I didn't know how much longer that was going to last.

The sumo stopped and faced me, his breath rumbling in and out of his chest. He was starting to think, I could tell. He was going to slow it down this time, and he wasn't going to miss.

There was a soft crack off to the side. The sumo grabbed his stomach and grunted. Then he looked up at me, his eyes blazing.

“I told you, neck shots!” I yelled, and pulled out the HK.

“I'm doing the best I can here!” I heard Dox yell from somewhere on my right.

“Ugoku na! Samonaito utsuzo!”
I yelled in Japanese. Don't move, or I'll shoot! I hoped the threat would give him pause. If I really had to shoot him, it would ruin everything. But if I didn't, he was going to break me like a matchstick.

Then I realized: the sumo had heard us speaking English, and now Japanese. That wasn't something I wanted remembered. But maybe I could obscure it.

“Wau ai ni!”
I yelled at him, using pretty much the only Chinese I know.
“Wau ai ni! Ni ai wau ma?”

My shouting seemed only to make the sumo angrier. He dropped one hand to the ground like a linebacker in a three-point stance. His breathing was locomotive loud. I wondered for a crazy second,
Maybe the guy speaks Chinese?

I feinted left, then right, thinking,
Come on, come on, the shit is supposed to be fast-acting….

The sumo tracked me with rage-filled eyes. Then he shook his head as though to clear it. I breathed silent words of gratitude.

The sumo took an unsteady step toward me, then another. I circled toward the surf. There was less light in the sky over the water, and he would have a harder time silhouetting me there.

He kept coming, but he was on autopilot now, his arms stretched out in front of him as though he was sleepwalking. I moved off to the side and watched him. He took two steps. Three. Another.

Oh, shit, he was going to make it to the water.

“Oi! Kochi da! Kochi da!”
I yelled. Hey! Over here! Over here! Then some Chinese again, to obscure things:
“Wau ai ni! Wau ai ni!”

He was at the edge of the water now. I yelled again.

He started to turn toward me. I let out a sigh of relief.

He tottered for a second, swaying first toward shore, then toward sea.

Dox moved up next to me and shouldered the rifle. We watched in mute fascination.

Shore, sea.

I realized Dox and I were leaning backward as though to influence him with body English. Dox whispered, “Come on, come on…”

The sumo pitched forward and hit the surf with a crash that sent a geyser up around him. “Shit, here we go again,” Dox said, and we charged in after him.

For a guy who weighed just south of a quarter ton, the sumo floated pretty well. We got ahold of the lapels of his jacket and somehow managed to turn him on his back and drag him up onto the muddy beach far enough so that his face was out of the water.

We moved a few feet away from him and stood sucking wind. After a moment, Dox laughed. “Well, that was a mad minute if I ever had one,” he said.

I laughed, too. Yeah, it had been a close one.

“Hey, man,” he said, “what the fuck were you yelling at him in Chinese?”

“I don't want them telling anyone their attackers were using English and Japanese. If it gets back to Yamaoto, it sounds too much like me. I was trying to obscure things.”

“Yeah, but
‘Wau ai ni'
? ‘I love you'? You're telling that boy you love him, no wonder he tried to kill us!”

We laughed again. “It's the only Chinese I know,” I said.

“Well, it is a useful phrase, in my experience. Sometime you'll have to tell me the story behind how you learned it.”

“All right,” I said, still catching my breath. “Let's…”

The ground shook underneath us. I looked up and there was the second sumo, barreling down on us like a freight train along the surf.

Dox swung the rifle off his shoulder. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.

I yelled, “For Christ's sake, neck shot!”

Dox dropped to one knee and brought the rifle around. But there wasn't enough time. The sumo blasted into him like a cannonball and the dart went skidding along the mud without its small charge going off. Dox flew through the air and hit the ground hard. The sumo turned on him.

Without thinking, I took two steps in and leaped onto the sumo's back. I slammed in
hadakajime,
the sleeper hold I'd employed thousands of times in my decades of judo at Tokyo's Kodokan. Properly placed, the strangle cuts off the flow of blood to the brain and induces unconsciousness in seconds. But proper placement against a guy whose neck could have stood in for a telephone pole wasn't really an option. I could tell the hold wasn't putting the sumo out. If anything, it was making him angrier. He snarled and reached back for me but I hunkered down away from his desperate grasp. Then he started spinning in circles, trying to fling me off. I hung on for dear life. He went faster and gave my arms a mighty northward shove. His neck and head were slippery with mud and I lost my grip and flew off him. I hit the ground and rolled away, primally terrified he was going to body slam me.

He stood for a moment, looking left and right, and I realized that in the dark and perhaps still groggy from the drug, he had momentarily lost track of me. I looked over and saw the yellow tail of the dart Dox had fired sticking out of the mud. I started inching toward it.

Dox groaned and the sumo spun toward the sound. I grabbed the dart and came to my feet.

Dox groaned again. The sumo grunted angrily and started stalking toward him. I saw that he was only a few feet away. I charged in, praying he was so focused on finding Dox that he wouldn't hear me.

At the last second he did, but it was too late. He started to turn and I leaped onto his back with
hadakajime
again—the critical difference being that, this time, instead of bracing one hand against the back of his head, I stabbed him in the side of the neck with the dart. The charge went off with a pop and a flash. He howled and started trying to spin me off again. But this time even as he got started he was already sinking to one knee, then the other. I realized the tranquilizer was working, and eased off slightly on his neck.

He dropped onto all fours. I dismounted warily and stepped away.

Then he straightened and started to come up again. I thought,
You can't be fucking serious.
I drew the HK and aimed.

The sumo wobbled, then fell on his side and lay still.

I ran over to Dox. The night-vision goggles had been knocked clean off his face by the force of the impact. “You all right?” I asked, squatting down next to him.

“Goddamn,” he grunted, rolling from side to side. “Goddamn.” He let out a marvelously inventive string of expletives.

“Well, you're moving,” I said. “Can't be that bad.”

He sat up with a loud groan. “Son of a bitch knocked the wind out of me. Thank God there was nothing behind me but air or I'd be a goddamned pancake right now. Oo-rah, it's good to be alive.”

I helped him to his feet. We found the goggles and he pulled them on. The sumo was out cold.

“Yeah, I'm glad he didn't just suffocate before,” Dox said, rubbing his ribs. “That would have been a tragedy.”

“I thought you were a sniper! For Christ's sake, you shot one of them in the stomach, the other in the mud!”

“Hey, big talker, when was the last time you tried to drop four hundred pounds of pissed-off primate doing the forty-yard dash with you in the way?”

“About ten fucking seconds ago!”

“Yeah, well, if you hadn't been so busy dancing, you might have noticed I barely had time to bring the damn rifle up, let alone aim it!”

We stared at each other angrily. Then Dox snorted. I did, too, and then we were laughing so hard that for a few seconds we couldn't speak. That's just the way it is. When the danger's past, hilarity likes to fill the void.

“Tell me one thing,” Dox said, moving the goggles so he could wipe his eyes. “I couldn't be sure without the goggles on, but did I see you jump onto that man-mountain's back or what?”

I was still laughing. “Yeah, I did. I just…”

He started slapping his thigh. “Goddamnit, partner, that was no shit, straight up, the stupidest thing I've ever seen a man do in my life. I mean, if that boy had figured out all he had to do was flop down on his back, I'd be scraping you up with a spatula right now.”

“I guess I shouldn't have tried to choke him.”

“Yeah, no shit you shouldn't have tried to choke him. You should have just climbed up his body and levered him over by the head. A little guy did it to me once, and I'm lucky I'm here to tell you about it.”

We laughed more. When it subsided, Dox said, “Thank you, man. I won't forget it.”

“Forget it? I'm worried you're going to keep reminding me of it.”

“Oh, you can count on that.”

“All right, come on, before they wake up again.”

“Partner, if they show any signs of wakefulness whatsoever, I'm going to empty my HK into both of them, reload, and do it again.”

“I know. So let's just finish up and get out of here. Can you carry those bags?”

“Yeah, I'm just sore. I don't think anything's busted.”

While Dox loaded the bags into the van, I retrieved the transmitter from under the Cadillac. Then I went back to the Chinese. They were all lying facedown. I turned them over on their backs and shot them each in the torso. I wanted it to look as though the sumos had ambushed them and then finished them off with the head shots I had started with.

I went back to the sumos. I could see they were breathing. With some trepidation I placed the HK in each one's hand and fired a few shots into the water. I was probably being more thorough than necessary, but I wanted gunshot residue on their hands. They still had the tranquilizer darts stuck in their necks and belly. I pulled them out and pocketed them.

Dox was already waiting in the van with the engine running. I got in and we left.

While I drove, Dox checked the cargo bag. “Damn, partner, I ain't gonna count it now, but there is a whole lot of cash here.”

“Good,” I said, smiling. I wanted him to get a big payday out of this. He deserved it.

We found a deserted stretch of coast, parked, and waded in. We started emptying the duffels into the water and in no time were standing amid a small sandbar made of hundreds of thousands of pills. We kicked them around under the surf to make sure the salt water had plenty of access to dissolve them. “Going to be some mighty jumpy fish in here,” Dox observed when we were done.

We drove back to the inn. I didn't want to stay, but if I left in the middle of the night it would have looked suspicious.

I parked in the same spot I'd been in before and shut off the engine. We stowed the goggles and the tranquilizer rifle, but kept the HKs close at hand.

“You think those boys will come back here?” Dox asked.

I considered. “They might stop by, just to pick up their stuff and begin their new lives as fugitives. But they've got no way of connecting anything to us. They couldn't have made out our faces in the dark, and anyway, they never saw me inside the inn.”

We were quiet for a moment. Dox said, “Engine's still warm, though. Ticking a little, you hear it?”

I nodded. “That's a good point. All right, let's give it a little while to cool down. Better to know if they come back and notice.”

He patted the HK. “And to be awake and armed.”

We sat quietly in the dark for about an hour. I was tired, and I knew Dox was, too. After the adrenaline rush of combat, there's a powerful parasympathetic backlash, and the body craves rest so badly that you can fall into a kind of stupor. That's why Napoleon knew the best time to counterattack was immediately after the battle, when the other side was still drugged with victory.

Gradually the engine's ticking slowed, then stopped. The little wisps of steam that had been coming off the hood disappeared.