by Bill Brewer
The ninja’s movements appeared to Avery to be more cautious. He seemed to think killing Avery was going to be as easy as murdering the sleeping general. Seeing Avery armed with a blade seemed to have surprised the black clad swordsman. Avery capitalized on the element of surprise as he moved with practiced katas to threaten the defensive ninja. Blades clashed as strike met parry, move was greeted by countermove, and they each realized that the other was skilled and determined. The ninja charged with his blade raised high. As he approached, he slung the sword sideways, hoping to slice open Avery’s abdomen. Avery moved his blade vertically, deflecting the strike as he rolled his shoulder, keeping the ninja’s blade away from him. Upon release, Avery rotated his body, bringing his blade back towards the ninja’s throat. An instantaneous duck spared the ninja from having his neck slit like an envelope. Each man returned to a defensive stance, eyes scanning for vulnerability. The ninja said, “The one who sent me said you must die.”
“Do you know his name?”
“He said he was no longer under your control, but he needed your death to be truly free.”
“As a Ronin, the only way out of this is your death or mine,” pronounced Avery.
The ninja took one step and leapt into the air, kicking out at the hand in which Avery held his sword, deflecting the blade. Simultaneously, he swung downward, striking Avery on the collarbone and slicing a gash across his chest. Blood streamed into Avery’s white cotton dress shirt as the ninja nimbly landed in front of the third row of seats.
Avery spun to face his tormentor, as blood cascaded down his shirt, over his pants, and onto the floor. The ninja stood. He seemed to be assessing Avery’s injury, calculating the rate of blood loss and the time until he bled out. Avery knew it wouldn’t be long, but he also was not yet out of the fight. Despite hemorrhaging, he two-handed his hilt and moved forward with his sword held like a baseball bat. With measured steps, he let the ninja know he was still in it ‘til death.
Avery flinched his blade, setting up a distraction that kept the ninja’s eyes focused far to the left. Emerging low from the third row was Sakura Yakugi, with her hand bag. The leather bag had metal cornices and a set of strong chain handles. As she stepped into the aisle, Avery said to the ninja, “I’m not too worried about this cut. See I forgot to take my Coumadin this morning.”
The slight cocking of his masked head indicated the ninja’s confusion, but his head was suddenly cocked even farther as Sakura swung her bag into the ninja’s temple, snapping his neck, sending him flying into the third row of the right wing of the theater.
Avery moved quickly, unclipping the chain handles from the handbag and using them to bind the wrists of the unconscious ninja.
Getting to his phone, Avery ordered the LPU ambulance to meet him at the stage dock of the theater. With lights and sirens blazing, the vehicle arrived in two minutes. As he was placed in the ambulance, Avery ordered the attendants to retrieve the bound ninja. Sakura sat next to Avery as his laceration was bandaged.
“Are we going to the hospital?” Sakura asked.
“No,” replied Avery, “We’re taking you home and I will get the medical treatment I need at LPU.”
“Not at a hospital? Who’s going to treat you at the university, a med student?”
Smiling, Avery said, “Don’t you worry. I know what I need and I know where I can get it. But first we’re going to get you home safely, Slugger.”
Sakura cracked a devilish smile.
“I’m not kidding; you hit that guy so hard, he’s lucky to be alive.”
They both looked at the unconscious ninja.
“Who do you think he is?” she asked.
“I don’t know, but I’m sure going to find out.”
CHAPTER 31
Julie had to go to Paris to visit some friends and attend the opening of an art exhibit at the Louvre. She and Vince would next see each other in four days when they were scheduled to have lunch with her father, Dean.
Vince went back to his quarters in the underground labyrinth of LPU. Scrolling through his phone, clearing it out, he deleted all the irrelevant messages until he came upon one from Carolyn Fuller. Although it seemed like a bit of a rant, the message contained a picture of a rather droll looking fellow with the all caps statement underneath, “I HATE RICHARD RAMSEY!!!”
Looking at the picture Diegert got an idea about how he, and only he, could help her.
Later that night, Diegert approached the bar Etcetera, wearing a black ball cap, dark glasses, black jeans and boots along with a gray Henley and a short black leather jacket. Looking tough came easy and Diegert was bringing it in with him as he climbed the stairs to pass through the door.
Having figured out a disguise uniquely suited for this mission, Diegert had gone through the transamination process so his face now had the perfect appearance for doing what he had planned and making a clean getaway.
Richard Ramsey loved Etcetera, especially on Thursday night. Drink specials for the ladies brought out fun loving girls. Ramsey was right there having himself a good time, even if he was ruining the evening of the women for whom he couldn’t keep his eyes and hands off.
“Where do you work, you lovely young thing,” Ramsey asked a buxom girl with half her head shaved and the other half covered in long blonde curls.
“Harrod’s,” she said with a sense of challenge. “You’re American aren’t you?”
“Shh, that’s top secret.”
“You Yanks. Ya come over here and you all think you’re James fucking Bond.”
“The three letter agency for which I work, under penalty of death, is not to be named”
“The CIA. You work for the fucking CIA. Anyone with one good eye can see that.”
Ramsey’s exaggerated facial reaction and frantic gestures made him look like Harry Potter hearing the name of Valdermort. The bold buxom girl and her two friends laughed at Ramsey who replied, “Now you’ve done it, but I can commute your death sentence if you’ll have a drink with me.”
“Drink or die? Well to look at ya, death might be preferred, but if you’re buying for all three of us?” She gestured to her friends, one of whom sported a rod through her nostril, the other wore bright red frames around thick magnifying lenses. “We’ll have a drink with ya.”
From a back corner of the bar, Diegert nursed a beer, while doing nothing more than occasionally nodding at anyone who happened to look at him. He looked like a quiet loner, observing social interactions but not participating. Watching Ramsey with the three young ladies, who seemed to want to move on after one drink, was an ordeal to endure. Ramsey kept jabbering and buying them more booze, even though their eyes were all over the bar, he just kept trying to get one of them to give him a kiss.
After nearly an hour of steady drinking, all that fluid had its effect. Ramsey made the girl with the half-shaved head promise not to leave as he hurried off to the men’s room. Diegert’s time to act had finally arrived as he followed Ramsey into the loo.
The device, shaped like a solid figure eight, was two squat cylinders, one nested into a cut out within the other. The cylinders separated. One was a full circle, and the other had the cut out indentation. The full circle had a button in its center. Between the two pieces existed a strong polymer filament, the length of which retracted into the full circle like a measuring tape. Exceptionally thin but extremely strong, the line was capable of withstanding tremendous pressure. Its profile was elliptical with razor sharp edges. Super fine and almost translucent, the line’s unique cross sectional design made it practically invisible. Depressing the center button released the line. Grasping both of the short cylinders and pulling taut, the garrote became a lethal weapon. The line’s sharp cutting edges gave this modern version of an ancient tool, the ability to slice through human flesh like fishing line through cheesecake.
Diegert pulled the cylinders apart, twisting a single loop into the line. Stepping behind Richard Ramsey as he pissed in the urinal, Diegert flipped the looped
line over the agent’s head. He drove his knee into Ramsey’s back as he simultaneously pulled back on the garrote. The sharp filament made a surgical incision through the skin. Blood pooled at the edge of the slit as the garrote traveled inward to the trachea. With steady force, the razor line glanced off the tracheal cartilage and cut into the collagen fibers of the windpipe. Ramsey gasped, as the line effortlessly sliced its way across the open passage of his breathing tube. Diegert’s force never let up and the line cut through muscles, nerves and blood vessels across the entire neck. As the circumference diminished, the noose tightened around the vertebral column. Encountering the tough ligaments surrounding the cervical vertebrae required Diegert to exert maximal force. The line sliced through the ligaments, entered the intervertebral space severing the spinal cord and vertebral arteries while exiting by way of the spinous processes. This final stricture completely separated Ramsey’s head from his neck. The head tilted to the left toppling to the floor where it rolled like a bleeding bowling ball. Blood fountained up from the open neck wound, splashing against the wall, cascading over the porcelain into the urinal. Ramsey’s knees buckled as the body fell to the left spraying an arc of blood across the bathroom wall.
Diegert stepped to the sink, rinsed the razor filament and retracted the line. He stowed the deadly figure eight in his pocket and left the bathroom. His black clothing was speckled with blood, but it was hard to see in the bar’s dim light. Crossing the bar, he pulled off his ball cap and dark glasses. He purposefully looked up at the surveillance camera as he headed for the exit. The girl with the half-shaved head did a double take as Diegert passed by. She shouted after him but her attention, and that of the entire bar, was suddenly drawn to a guy emerging from the men’s room shouting for the police.
Outside, the ball cap and dark glasses went right back on. Diegert walked a block, turned the first corner he came to, and the next, and the next until he was a kilometer and a half away from the scene. He slowed his pace as he heard the rise of the sirens that were converging on Etcetera. He thought of his act, but he did not choke on the violence. Instead he allowed the emotions to flow through him. The attack was so quick, so decisive, that only now could he do as Avery had instructed him and open himself to the experience. As he continued to walk into the dark night, he sought to become the empty self. Not searching for meaning, but accepting the act and the death as a necessary component in a complex web of fulfilling his life’s mission.
CHAPTER 32
Avery closed the doors behind him as he looked through the plate glass window into the large white tiled room. It was in this room, deep in the recesses of the LPU labyrinth, that battles to the death were conducted for the purpose of selecting operators capable of fulfilling the requirements of Cerberus. Avery’s elite squad of assassins were the best of the paramilitary force, which he oversaw and kept ready to serve Crepusculous. The young Asian man, unmasked as the ninja at the Noh Theater, had been placed in the tile room about an hour previous. Still dressed in his black pajama outfit, his face bore bruises from the handbag that had knocked him unconscious in the theater. Through the loudspeaker, Avery addressed the young man. “As a purveyor of violence, you will appreciate the purposes of the confines you now occupy. I will just dispense with the whole process of questioning, since I believe a man like you would never reveal that it was Jarod Masoni who orchestrated your dramatic attack at the theater. Instead you will be given the opportunity to demonstrate your ability to fight, or die trying.”
“I want a lawyer,” shouted the young man.
Avery smiled as he chuckled. “Oh, I’m sorry; you do not seem to grasp the consequences of your actions. The only trial you’ll face is that of survival.”
Pressing a button opened the single door on the opposite wall from the plate glass window. Into the room stepped Tiberius Dupre’. The tall black man wore combat boots, dark canvas pants, and a black under-armor shirt under a Kevlar vest. He also wore tactical gloves and leather forearm gauntlets. Crossing the room, he moved to the opposite side and faced the young man. The moment of mutual observation was interrupted by the clang of the Gough Knife tossed into the room, coming to rest by the center floor drain. Tiberius flexed his head, crackling his vertebrae.
The young Asian man shouted, “What the hell is this? I don’t want to fight. I want a lawyer.”
Avery’s voice projected into the tile room, “The way of the ninja is one of honor and personal fortitude. When you took on the role, you committed yourself to a lifestyle defined by your ability to fight. Your willingness to attack, using stealth, speed, strength and lethal violence. All of this is now necessary for you to prove your commitment to your chosen way. This is not a court of law, but a proving ground for your commitment to the ways of the ninja.”
“Holy shit!” said the young man as he rose to his feet.
Tiberius stepped forward and the smaller, lighter man quickly moved to the left, evading him. Tiberius assumed a pugilistic stance and pursued his opponent. The Asian man continued to move left, scampering away, seeking to avoid any contact with his big, determined opponent. Tiberius began chasing the man, who moved even faster, running in an evasive circle. After three laps around the room, Tiberius suddenly stopped, reversed and caught the Asian before he could counter his momentum. The punches dislocated the smaller man’s jaw, cracked his ribs and bloodied his nose. Tiberius struggled to hold him up to try to hit him again. The smaller, thinner man fell unconscious, his body turning into a rag doll as Tiberius dragged him over to the sidewall and sat him against it. “I can’t kill this guy,” said Tiberius.
“I know,” came Avery’s reply over the loudspeaker. “You’re free to go, Tiberius, thank you.”
Moments later Avery entered the tile room. Picking up the Gough Knife, he stepped over to the beaten man with the grip in hand and the blade turned away. Loudly snapping his fingers, Avery said, “Hey wake up. Come on get with it.” The young man opened his eyes, blinked several times struggling to focus. Tapping the hardened steel blade against the tile, a metallic echo bounced through the room. Widening his eyes, the ninja focused on Avery.
“It is the way of the Ronin that your life must end in battle,” began the mystical black man. “If you are defeated, your final act is to take your own life.” Avery placed the knife in the ninja’s hand and gently tapped him on the shoulder. The young man’s injured jaw made it impossible for him to speak. Avery gently placed his hands on the damaged face and snapped the temporomandibular joint into place, restoring the function of the jaw.
Wincing in pain, the young man opened and closed his mouth several times before spurting, “She was my girlfriend.”
“What?” said Avery.
“Ayuti was my girlfriend. Masoni got her hooked on drugs and tricked her into pornography. She was an actress in our troupe, but she is now addicted and working for Masoni’s men making porno movies.”
With eyelids barely wide enough to see through, Avery asked, “Why did you attack me?”
“Masoni said he would let her go if I killed you. He said he knew you would go to the Noh Theater. He tracked your tickets and told me what night you would be there. He sent your picture and said when you were dead, Ayuti would be freed.”
“So you are fulfilling the role of the ninja as an honorable warrior.”
Nodding, the young man said, “I play a ninja in a stage show. I’ve read about them for the role, but I haven’t actually killed anyone.”
“Would you kill Jarod Masoni if you had the chance?”
Holding a direct stare, the young man said, “I would kill him to get my Ayuti back.”
“What is your name?”
“Takeda Shingen.”
“Well Takeda, if you are willing to fulfill your role as a true ninja, I will be able to help you.”
“What do you want me to do? I’m not really a ninja.”
“You will stay in this facility and train with my soldiers, like the man you met moments ago. You must improve
your fighting skills. You will not only act as a ninja, but you must prove to me that you are truly worthy of the title and capable of serving in my forces.”
With a doubtful grimace Takeda said, “I don’t know if I can do that.”
“Why such doubts?”
Shaking his head, Takeda said, “There are no real ninjas. On stage I can wear the black pajamas and twirl a sword around, but in real life that won’t work.”
“Yet you were willing to attack me in the theater.”
“It was the only chance I had to free Ayuti. I couldn’t not do it.”
“You couldn’t do it either,” Avery smirked.
“Knocked out by a handbag,” observed the young man as the hint of a smile made him shudder in pain. Regaining his voice he said, “I will train with you, but I want a gun, not a sword, Kevlar, not cotton pajamas, night vision goggles, GPS, and good boots, not bare feet. That ninja stuff is bullshit; I want to be a modern operator, like Call of Duty.”
Eyeing him as if selecting a puppy from a litter, Avery said, “The equipment will be modern, but the expectation of principled, disciplined behavior is just as it was in ancient Japan. Training in my army will require your absolute commitment. Failure will result in death. You will know you failed when your life is bleeding out in front of you.”
The young man’s eyes widened, and his jaw fell open, triggering a yelp of pain. “What is the alternative?”
“I call Tiberius back in and I do not relent to his suggestion of mercy.”
Turning his face away, Takeda gazed at the floor. “When do I get to rescue Ayuti?”
“When you’ve convinced me you’re ready to kill Jarod Masoni.”
Lifting his eyes to meet Avery’s, Takeda said, “You’re giving me a chance to save my girl, while sparing my life. Like in the ninja story, I guess I now owe my life to you.”
Avery’s smile grew slowly but soon stretched across his angular face as he stood, reached out his hand to Takeda and pulled him up, steadying him before they walked out of the tile room.
