Pacific Poison

by David Liscio

  “Frankly, I do, Your Honor. You’ve sidestepped the judicial process and not given either man an opportunity to defend himself.”

  “They’ll both get a turn. I’m sure the powers in Washington will be elated that this unfortunate murder has been solved by the diligent work of the FBI and those responsible put behind bars.”

  36

  Tagging Along with Tanaka

  Saipan

  Northern Mariana Islands

  April 1990

  Decker’s face was a study in contained anger as he peered through Reb’s spotting scope. He watched closely as Tanaka’s bodyguards opened the door for their boss and then for his companion, Argentine travel agent Mariel Becker. He winced when Tanaka placed a hand on Hannah’s bare back, exactly where her blue sundress ended at the base of her spine, and ushered her toward the front entrance of the sprawling house. At that moment, if Tanaka had been alone and in the crosshairs of Decker’s sniper rifle, the man’s head would have been transformed into a pink mist.

  Two more bodyguards appeared from the far side of the house, both carrying what looked like Uzi machine pistols.

  Decker pressed the transmit button on his radio. “Tanaka and Hannah are at the house.” He adjusted the focus on the scope and recorded the range from his camouflaged perch in a grove of tangan-tangan trees. “Tanaka. Hannah. Two bodyguards from the vehicle. Two more outside with automatic weapons. It looks like everybody is headed for the front door.”

  Carrington responded. “Roger that. Any sign of Hiraku?”

  “Negative. And the blinds are pulled down on all the windows.”

  “Give it another hour or two and then head back to the road intersection a mile east of your position. Radio when you get there and we’ll pick you up. Over.”

  “Wait! There’s a fifth party at the front door. Female. Short. Possibly middle-aged. Black hair. Wearing some kind of dark-colored athletic workout clothes. Do you copy that?”

  “Affirmative. Any bowing or hand shaking going on? Or does it look like she’s more subservient, a servant perhaps?”

  “No way to tell from here. But I doubt she’s a cook or a housekeeper dressed like that.”

  “Good point. Mashima has a camera with a hefty telephoto lens that you can bring along next time. Always a chance somebody at the local PD will recognize her.”

  Once inside the house, Tanaka strutted straight for the stocked bar that overlooked the infinity swimming pool and the ocean. He was brimming with self-importance.

  “What may I get you? Vodka? Gin? White wine? Maybe some tequila.”

  Hannah yawned. She was feeling weary after having spent nearly three hours on a grand tour with Tanaka as her attentive guide. At each stop, she had been forced to muster false enthusiasm and interest. She had even scribbled notes and taken photos with a point-and-shoot camera. It was obvious Saipan was blessed with beaches and coral reefs, and Hannah recorded their names along with brief descriptions. Obyan, Lau Lau, Landing, Ladder, and Pau Pau were among her favorite beaches. The cliff-edge view of Bird Island and the adjacent sunken grotto were impressive, as was Wing Beach where the wing of a U.S. Navy aircraft still rested unburied in the sand. Twelve miles long and five miles wide, it didn’t take long to see the island highlights.

  “Water would be just fine.”

  Tanaka groaned with impatience. “Mariel. Please. If you won’t accept my hospitality, I will have failed as a host.”

  “Then a cold beer, if you have one.”

  Tanaka smiled. “Name your brand. I have many here.”

  “You pick it. Surprise me.”

  Tanaka returned to the living room with a cold beaded bottle of Kirin and an empty glass. “Japanese. But I also have Budweiser if this is not to your liking.”

  “Perfect. And right out of the bottle is fine.”

  Hannah clinked the bottle against Tanaka’s rum drink before taking a long swig. She immediately thought about rape drugs and wished he hadn’t opened the bottle out of her view. She would have to sip slowly.

  Tanaka seemed amused by Hannah’s decision to drink from the bottle, as though the act somehow did not fit with the image he held of her in his mind. A more cultured woman would have requested a glass, but then again, perhaps that’s the way women prefer their beer in Argentina.

  “Please step out onto the balcony and enjoy the view. It’s among the best on the island, and very private.”

  Two of the bodyguards returned to their outdoor posts. The other two faded into nearby rooms, as did the woman dressed in the black Lycra bodysuit and red high-top sneakers, the one who Tanaka identified as a member of the domestic staff but did not introduce.

  Hannah stood at the balcony railing, her feet instinctively set in a T-stance in the event someone tried to knock her off balance and send her toppling over the edge. Her martial arts training had been deeply ingrained.

  The phone rang on an end table beside the couch and Tanaka excused himself with a light grunt in order to answer it. From the sound of his voice, whatever was being said in Japanese was important and urgent.

  Hannah studied the expression on Tanaka’s face as he talked. She didn’t know Tanaka was then learning that one of the two pot farmers from Tanapag – the one who vowed to confess to murdering Asaki – had changed his story and now admitted only to driving the getaway car.

  Hannah sensed the man’s mood had changed for the worse when he again joined her on the balcony, but Tanaka continued to smile charmingly with his oversized teeth as though all was well.

  “What do you think of my home? Although we Japanese are not allowed to buy such properties outright, I have leased this house for fifty years. I think that’s long enough.” Tanaka chuckled to himself.

  “It’s spectacular. And so beautifully decorated,” she said, sweeping an arm upward and around like a television game show hostess. “Did you have a hand in that?”

  Tanaka flushed with pride. “Yes. I designed most of it. The house was already here but I have made many changes. I added the swimming pool, the sauna, a gym, the large windows overlooking the sea, and even a special room for watching movies like the one we saw earlier this week. Perhaps you’d like to see a movie here in comfort. You could even stay the night. My private chef would prepare a fine dinner and we would transport you back to your hotel in the morning.”

  Hannah tried to look flattered by the offer, meanwhile thinking I wouldn’t trust this guy as far as I could throw him. “That sounds wonderful, but not tonight. I’ve got to head back to my hotel and start writing up reports on all the places you have been kind enough to show me. My bosses back in Buenos Aires will be very pleased.”

  Tanaka was startled by the sound of pounding that seemed to come from the basement. The pounding was followed by shouting and other noises, as though furniture was being hurled about. Suddenly on high alert, his posture grew stiff.

  “It’s the housekeeper. She has seizures and recently she was sick with a high fever. Sometimes she pounds the walls and shouts out in confusion. The doctors believe she may be afflicted with Tourette syndrome. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go check on her.”

  More muffled screams rose from the floor below and the pounding resumed. One of the bodyguards had left his post, his heavy footsteps echoing as he descended the stairs to the basement.

  Hannah stepped toward Tanaka. “I’ll come along. Maybe there’s some way I can help.”

  A look of panic filled Tanaka’s face. “No. That won’t be necessary. This happens all the time. My men know what to do. Please help yourself to another cold beer. They’re in the refrigerator on the left as you enter the kitchen. I’ll return shortly,” he said, departing with a gentlemanly curt bow.

  37

  What’s for Dinner?

  Saipan

  Northern Mariana Islands

  April 1990

  Tanaka was furious when he opened the door to Hiraku’s cell. He glared at Akumu. His eyes quickly scanned the room – a broken chair, a videotap
e player perched on a small table and pointed at the blank white wall.

  “What caused this disturbance?”

  “I showed her the tape of Yoshi and the dragons. I thought she would enjoy the show.”

  Tanaka scrunched his face as though containing some explosive reaction. “Stop your nonsense. Why did you do such a thing?”

  “She needs to see she will not be rescued, not by her great uncle Yoshi or from those two CIA agents who are now shark food.”

  Hiraku let out another wail but Tanaka slapped her hard across the face and she crumbled onto the bed, curling into a fetal position.

  “You see. She’s defiant.”

  “She’s only a girl, Akumu. I thought you could handle her, but apparently not.”

  Hannah saw Tanaka’s absence as an opportunity to take a closer look at her surroundings – possible weapons, escape routes, defensive positions. She clutched the black umbrella leaning against a wall in the living room, felt its weight and examined its metal tip.

  The beer bottle on the side table would also be useful as a club, or as a jagged blade if shattered. The stainless steel writing pen in her pocket was strong enough to penetrate plywood, or an assailant’s skull. She glanced up at the length of chain holding a chandelier in the living room. That, too, might come in handy. A razor blade was hidden beneath the false silicone scar on her thigh — one of Carrington’s many recommended spy gadgets. She presumed the kitchen would be stocked with knives and the cabinet drawers unlocked.

  Hannah knew the thick glass windows overlooking the sea would be difficult to break and possibly bulletproof, so she recalled the interior doors she had passed through upon arrival. While entering the house, she had spotted a separate exterior door leading to the eastern wing. The door appeared to be made of steel and had no handle or knob on the outside.

  Carrington had taught her plenty about how to cause distractions using water, fire, smoke or noise. Escape was often more preferable and productive than a fight.

  Nearly a half hour elapsed before Tanaka retuned to the living room, spewing apologies for his unreliable staff, his face a moving mass of frustration.

  “I hope you can forgive me for being such a poor host. It can be very difficult to find domestic help here on Saipan. I’m afraid most of the island residents would rather collect their welfare checks from the United States government and sit around chewing betel nut.”

  When Hannah didn’t reply, he added, “I hope you don’t find my comment offensive, given that you are Argentine and not American.”

  “Certainly not. We all know how the U.S. government works in the world’s poorer countries. Is your housekeeper going to be all right?”

  “Absolutely. She’s fine. She just needs to rest. Akumu gave her something to help her sleep.”

  “Is Akumu the woman who met us at the door when we first arrived?”

  “Yes. She, too, is a member of my staff, but more reliable than most of the others.”

  “Is she a housekeeper?”

  Tanaka was evasive. “She wears many hats. Housekeeper isn’t one of them.”

  “And she’s not on welfare?”

  “Only mine,” said Tanaka, regaining his confidence and flashing his big-toothed Clark Gable smile. “Now that we have had this unfortunate interruption, I would be honored to make up for it by having my chef prepare a special dinner.”

  Hannah knew Decker, Carrington, Reb, and probably Mashima by this point would begin to worry and perhaps do something rash like formulate a rescue plan. She suspected Reb or Decker had the house under surveillance, likely through the reticle of their riflescopes. “I really should be going.”

  “Please. I insist. I’ll have my chef begin immediately.”

  Hannah made it seem as though she was reluctantly agreeing to stay for dinner. “Orochi, you’re going to get me into big trouble with my boss.”

  Tanaka smiled victoriously, his mind already envisioning a sumptuous dinner followed by wild sex with this attractive young woman. He prayed his pleasure pole would stand when the time came. The next time he visited Tokyo, he’d find the doctors responsible for his misery.

  Hannah returned the smile. “Apparently I’m hungrier than I thought.” She had no intention of leaving until she confirmed what had caused the shouting and pounding in the basement. She needed to be sure Hiraku was alive.

  Tanaka barked extensive orders into the phone in rapid-fire Japanese and poured himself another rum drink. He smiled at Hannah, staring invasively into her eyes. “My night manager from The Lucky Carp will arrive shortly and prepare our meal.”

  “You mean Tony?”

  “No. Tony merely tends the bar. I doubt he could prepare a decent tuna steak in Finadene sauce. A cheeseburger, perhaps, on the grill, would mark the height of his expertise in the kitchen. I’m talking about Krill.”

  “The woman with freckles and reddish purple hair?”

  “The same one you met when we were enjoying our special tequila. She is an accomplished chef.”

  “That’s wonderful. I’ve always wanted to take a cooking course”

  Hannah didn’t mention sharing lines of coke with Krill in the ladies’ room during her visit to the casino, knowing it might lead to questions from Tanaka that she didn’t want to answer. She got the feeling Krill had never mentioned it either.

  Krill appeared at the front door in a fluorescent green mini skirt and skimpy, electric-blue halter. Her blonde hair with purple and red streaks was styled into four-inch spikes as though she were a blend of pop singer Cyndi Lauper and the Statue of Liberty. Judging by their eye movements, Tanaka’s stern-faced bodyguards were intrigued by Krill’s funky appearance. A basket laden with foodstuffs was precariously tucked beneath Krill’s left arm while her right hand dragged a wheeled Igloo cooler. One of the bodyguards stepped forward and lifted the lid on the basket and the Igloo cooler to make certain they contained only food.

  Reb peered through his scope. “We’ve got a visitor. Female. Caucasian. Young. Possibly blonde. Green skirt hiked up to her cheeks. Blue top. No bra. Rainbow hair. No fuckin’ idea what she’s doing there.”

  The radio crackled with Carrington’s voice. “How did she get there?”

  “Datsun pickup. She parked it in the front driveway.”

  Had Hannah heard the radio transmission, she would’ve chuckled, recalling Decker’s distain for Lauper’s hit song “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun”, when he was deployed to Lebanon. As Decker had put it, the 1983 release just didn’t fit the occasion in war torn Beirut where fun was a thing of the past.

  Tanaka began introductions in case either woman had forgotten the other’s name or their previous brief meeting at the casino, but Krill intervened. “No need. We’ve met. In the girls’ room.”

  “I see. Well, I hope it was a pleasant first meeting.”

  Hannah laughed mischievously. “I’ll never forget it. I was feeling a bit out of my element so it was refreshing to run into – what was that word – haole? Yes, another haole girl.”

  Krill gave the thumbs up sign. “Haole girls rock.”

  Tanaka rolled his eyes and abruptly turned toward the kitchen as though to leave these two to their senseless women talk. “We can proceed directly to our dinner preparations.”

  Krill followed him without hesitation, as though she’d been to Tanaka’s home a thousand times. “Let me set these things down and I’ll get started.”

  Tanaka had given her specific instructions about dinner. He was feeling horny, though he didn’t share that news with Krill. Believing divine luck was on his side, he simply instructed Krill to add black rhino horn, which had been ground to a fine powder, into the seasoning of the grilled grouper. He was convinced the powerful animal’s horns were an aphrodisiac.

  Krill added the rhino horn to the mix of seasonings, though she doubted it would produce the result Tanaka expected.

  Next came the shark fin soup. Krill couldn’t recognize one shark fin from another, but the Japanese merchant
who had delivered the two fins now in her hands assured her they had been cut off a tiger shark, which was Tanaka’s preference. When she warned the merchant his life was at stake if he wasn’t telling the truth, the man dropped to his knees, bowed his head and swore in his mother’s honor the fins were indeed from one of the most vicious tiger sharks swimming in the Mariana Trench.

  Krill eavesdropped as Tanaka popped a bottle of Louis Roederer Cristal Brut champagne, knowing he had paid hundreds of dollars for the bubbly. She wondered if Hannah had a taste for champagne and whether she would realize what she was being offered.

  Krill carefully removed the pufferfish from the Igloo cooler and unwrapped it. The fish was still wriggling and gasping for air. She had prepared the delicacy for Tanaka and others on several occasions and was well aware of its toxic potential.

  The words of the master chef at her class in Tokyo where she obtained licensure to cook pufferfish, known as fugu, still echoed in her head. The poison of one blowfish is enough to kill thirty humans – and there is no known antidote.

  The master chef had explained the word fugu was derived from two Chinese characters meaning “river” and “pig”. The pufferfish name stemmed from the creature’s ability to swell its size and appear more formidable to its enemies. Whenever the master repeated this information, he puffed his cheeks and widened his eyes for emphasis. It always made Krill laugh.

  On the last day of her fugu training, she was ordered to prepare and eat a pufferfish as proof of her competence. She didn’t hesitate.

  Although fugu is typically eaten raw as sashimi in thousands of Japanese restaurants, Krill had no interest in becoming a full-time fugu chef. She had witnessed what could go wrong if the fish was improperly prepared. A dinner party guest had complained of a tingling in his lips upon eating blowfish, followed by temporary constriction of his breathing. It was precisely this kind of symptom that attracted adventurous people to eat fugu.