Phoenix Force 07 - Dragon's Kill

by Wilson, Gar

  Gary Manning aimed his big Magnum at the enemy's position and waited.

  The gunman finally dared to peek around the corner of the stairs, exposing as little of his head as possible. But it was enough for Manning and his Magnum. The hand-held howitzer erupted, and a .41 slug hit the terrorist under the left eyebrow, punched through skull bone and blew off the top of the man's head.

  Manning mounted the stairs and located Hoshiro's office. The room was well lighted and the door featured a large window. He had no problem seeing what Hoshiro Satsu was doing—the portly JRC commander was stuffing file folders into a metal trash can. A can of lighter fluid on the corner of his desk suggested what he planned to do with the records.

  Manning slammed a boot into the door, shattering the lock and kicking the door open. Hoshiro stared into the muzzle of the Canadian's Magnum.

  "Yamete!" Manning ordered, using one of the few words in his limited Japanese vocabulary.

  But Hoshiro did not halt. He defiantly spit at Manning and reached for the lighter fluid. Manning wanted the man alive for interrogation, so he fired the .41, purposely aiming high, blasting a hole through the wall behind Hoshiro.

  Hoshiro hardly flinched in response. He threw the can of fluid at Manning before clawing at a small pistol in a pancake holster at the small of his back. Manning again squeezed the trigger of his Magnum. A fat 200-grain slug propelled Hoshiro Satsu backward into a wall. Slowly he dropped, his lifeless body falling to the floor.

  Manning walked to the trash can and gazed down at the files. Since the material was written in Japanese, there was no point in trying to read it. He opened the cylinder of his Magnum and dumped out the spent cartridge casings. Manning reached into a pocket for a speedloader with six fresh shells for the revolver.

  A massive figure appeared in the doorway.

  The Canadian stared at the bulk of Tado as the sumo wrestler stomped into the room. A thin smile crept across Tado's face. His thick fingers flexed, eager for battle.

  Gary Manning reluctantly nodded in reply.

  11

  The sumo wrestler lumbered forward, a rhinoceros in human form. Manning had no intention of trying to fight Tado on his terms. The Canadian closed the cylinder of his empty revolver, grabbed the gun by the barrel and attacked.

  Manning feinted with the Magnum as if he planned to use it as a club, then he slammed his left fist into the side of the sumo's head. He quickly rammed the butt of the revolver into the brute's belly and threw another left hook at Tado's skull.

  The sumo blocked the second punch. Manning hit him in the solar plexus with the Magnum, but Tado's hand quickly snaked out and snared Manning by the back of the head. Tado pivoted, hurling the Canadian across the room. Manning fell onto the desk and toppled over it, landing unceremoniously on the floor.

  He scrambled to his feet, shaking his head to clear the fog. Tado stood in the center of the room, still smiling, apparently unaffected by the punishing blows he had been dealt.

  "I'm just warming up, fat boy," Manning growled as he advanced again.

  The Canadian feinted with the empty revolver and kicked Tado between the legs as hard as he could. The sumo only grunted in response. Manning swung the Magnum's butt at Tado's head. The Japanese hulk caught his arm and seized Gary's belt with his other hand. Tado picked up the Phoenix Force man and lifted him overhead.

  The sumo threw Manning across the room. He slammed into a wall and fell to the floor hard. Lights exploded inside his head, and a crimson veil floated across his eyes.

  Manning's vision cleared in time to see Tado waddle to the filing cabinet. The hefty killer picked up the cabinet, then raised the 280-pound piece of office furniture over his head.

  "God," the Canadian exclaimed in dismay.

  Quickly Manning leaped away from the wall as Tado hurled the cabinet at him. It crashed into the wall, just missing Manning, cracking plaster on impact.

  Manning staggered upright. The revolver had been jarred out of his grasp when Tado threw him the second time. Totally unarmed, he faced the sumo wrestler. Tado charged like a rampaging grizzly, thick muscular arms outstretched.

  Manning grabbed one of Tado's arms. He half turned and dropped to one knee, pulling the captive limb hard. Tado's forward momentum was increased, and his balance was thrown off by the Canadian's tactic. Tado plunged across the room and fell face first into a water cooler.

  The bottle shattered. When Tado turned to face Manning, his smile had vanished. Water and shards of hard plastic spewed across the floor. Blood dripped from cuts on the sumo's face and hands. Burning fury filled his eyes. Manning gestured at his opponent, inviting him to attack again.

  The bellow of rage that filled the room hardly seemed human. Tado charged like an angry bull. Manning sidestepped the wrestler's attack. Clasping his hands together, Manning swung hard and hit Tado behind the right ear.

  The sumo wrestler staggered and slashed a wild hand chop. He missed. Manning's doubled fists then crashed into his opponent's jaw. The Oriental hulk stumbled, blood trickling from his mouth. Then he lunged again.

  Manning dodged the clumsy charge and chopped his doubled hands into Tado's left kidney. The sumo wrestler groaned and fell against the desk. Manning hit him between the shoulder blades and stamped his boot into the back of Tado's knee. The leg buckled and Tado fell to his knees.

  Quickly Manning cupped one hand under the wrestler's jaw and placed the heel of his other palm at the side of the sumo's head. He pushed with all his might. Tado's head was violently twisted and vertebrae in his neck crunched. Manning released his opponent and Tado fell face first on the floor. The huge man lay still. Manning had won the right to live.

  The Phoenix Force agent rose unsteadily to his feet and leaned against the desk, breathing hard. He felt as if he had been using his body to block cannonballs. He located his Magnum, picked it up and reloaded the gun.

  "Gary," a voice called through the ringing inside Manning's head.

  Manning turned to see Yakov Katzenelenbogen in the doorway. The Canadian managed a weak smile. "We get all of them?" he asked.

  "Yes," the Israeli nodded. "And none of our people were injured—that is, if you're all right."

  "Oh, yeah," Manning assured him. "I got here in time to stop Hoshiro from burning the files," Manning said. "But I had to stop him hard. Sorry. I know we wanted the guy alive."

  "None of the rest of us were able to take any prisoners," Yakov shrugged. "We'd better grab those files and get out of here before the police arrive."

  "Yeah," Manning agreed. "Things got a little noisy around here."

  IKEDA KEN MET PHOENIX FORCE the following morning at the famous Sanzenin Garden. The area featured miles of manicured grass, stately trees, colorful flowers and a magnificent pagoda-style temple.

  The Sanzenin Garden was also an ideal site to discuss matters privately, since visitors came to be with their thoughts, not to pry into the affairs of strangers. Ikeda and the men of Phoenix Force strolled through the serene woods.

  "The Hoshiro files contain considerable detail about the names and locations of Red Cell terrorists scattered throughout Japan," Yakov explained. "Your people may find it most useful, Ikeda-san."

  "I doubt that there are many of the JRC left," the Kompei chief remarked. "You killed more than sixty terrorists last night.

  "Although I admire you all and respect you very much," Ikeda sighed, "I rather hope you will be leaving Nippon soon. Keeping security about your activities here is becoming difficult."

  "We have to complete our mission," Manning stated. "We still haven't located the JRC main headquarters or learned how they've extracted top-secret information from their kidnap victims."

  "We do have a solid lead," Yakov added. "Keio read the files last night and discovered reference to a hydroplane that has made regular trips to the Hoshiro harbor as well as other sites occupied by JRC terrorists."

  "The plane appears to commute from Minami Tori Shima," Ohara added.

 
"An island located in the Tropic of Cancer," Ikeda nodded. "It is property of Japan. I'm familiar with it, my friends. Frankly, I would say it is a most unlikely site for a terrorist headquarters."

  "We agree on that," Yakov assured him. "Such a small island would never do for a terrorist base. Everybody tends to know everybody else, and too many people would be suspicious of a JRC cover operation there. However, it could serve as a go between for the terrorists in Japan and . . . well, wherever their main headquarters is."

  "Then you think it's somewhere outside the country?" Ikeda asked.

  "Too many flights have been going to and from Minami Tori Shima," Keio said. "Passengers, equipment, financial support for the JRC, have all come from there. That suggests the headquarters is not in Japan."

  "Then where is it?" the Kompei chief wondered. "North Korea? The Soviet Union?"

  "Both Korea and the USSR are a hell of a lot closer than Minami Tori Shima," Rafael said.

  "The Communists have supplied the JRC with arms," McCarter said. "And there's probably some sort of connection, but I don't think the Soviets are behind this. Somebody has been financing the terrorists, sending them diamonds—a form of international currency difficult to trace unless the bastards are stupid enough to use large well-known stones. The Russians seldom supply much financial aid to terrorists. Why should they? Most terrorists raise their own support by robbing banks and ransoming hostages."

  The high-pitched whistle of a wooden flute drew their attention to a strange figure that emerged from the tree line. Clad in a dark blue kimono with a yellow obi around his waist, the man had a basket made of woven rice reeds covering his head. He held the flute inserted under the rim of the basket as he played it.

  "What the hell is that?" Encizo asked.

  "He's a komuso," Ikeda explained. "A type of itinerant priest. The komuso are a tradition in Japan. They wander about playing their shakuhachi—bamboo flutes. It is not uncommon to see them here."

  "I hope that's what he is," Manning commented. "I don't like having somebody hanging around with his face covered like that."

  "He doesn't appear to be armed," Katz noted.

  "And he's too far away to hear us," Ohara added. "Even if he had a set of amplifier earphones under the basket, he'd have to use a long-range microphone as well. The shakuhachi doesn't conceal one because it wouldn't be functional as a flute."

  "You people are going to become paranoid if you continue looking at life in this manner," Ikeda warned.

  "Better paranoid than dead," McCarter said. "That's our problem. Let's just concern ourselves with the JRC for now."

  "Very well," Ikeda agreed. "If the Russians aren't responsible, who is?"

  "Unfortunately," the Israeli said with a sigh, "we don't have the answer yet. Maybe we'll find it at Minami Tori Shima."

  "The Pacific Ocean surrounding the island is peppered with other island nations," Encizo stated. "Like the Philippines. I think we can safely say that the Philippine government wouldn't assist the JRC."

  "The Moro Liberation Front and the New People's Army," Gary Manning began, referring to the major terrorist organizations active in the Philippines, "couldn't be behind anything this big either."

  "And Japanese terrorists couldn't operate on their own in the Philippines," Ohara added. "Filipinos and our people have never gotten along very well."

  "True," Ikeda agreed. "It seems we know where the terrorists can't be but still have no idea where they are."

  "By process of elimination," McCarter said, "we're bound to figure out where to look."

  A large group of Buddhist monks appeared from the direction of the temple. They wore saffron robes and bowed their shaven heads low as they shuffled forward. The monks chanted softly, their shoulders moving with the rhythm of their song.

  When the monks had passed, Ikeda picked up the conversation. "Unfortunately," Ikeda said grimly, "our situation has become even more desperate. Aaron Palmer was abducted last night."

  "Palmer?" The Canadian frowned. "Isn't he the deputy director of the Central Intelligence Agency?"

  Ikeda nodded. "Palmer arrived at Tokyo International Airport. Kompei and the police took every precaution, but the terrorists still kidnapped him."

  The Kompei chief explained what he knew about the Palmer abduction. Phoenix Force listened, fully appreciating the critical nature of the CIA official's kidnapping. Gary Manning shook his head.

  "Any idea how the bastards knew about Palmer?" the Canadian asked.

  "His visit here was not a secret," Ikeda replied.

  "Virtually anyone could have known about it in advance."

  "The United States had better get a National Secrets Act," McCarter muttered. "Their security has gone to hell in a hand basket."

  "The terrorists probably assumed Palmer would be moved from Tokyo," Katz commented. "They probably ambushed and killed some policemen in order to get their uniforms and cars. Then they simply mingled with the other cops and waited."

  "They could have kept in touch by walkie-talkie," Ohara added. "When they found the Migato hotel was blocked off by the police, they knew where to plan the hit on Palmer's group."

  "Then they sacrificed one of their own," Encizo said. "The sniper got to die for the cause. Naturally the cops rushed Palmer into the shelter of the hotel and right into the arms of the Red Cell."

  "Hell," Manning said with a sigh, "with that sort of strategy, the terrorists don't have to use a brain-draining device."

  "They'll need it to get information out of Palmer," the Israeli stated. "I know Aaron. He's tough, and he's received every type of counter-interrogation training possible."

  "None of which will stop the JRC from plucking his mind like a fig tree," McCarter commented, but his eyes were fixed on the komuso priest.

  The man had stopped playing his flute and slid the shakuhachi into a slit in his kimono. McCarter did not like the komuso's behaviour. The priest had not done anything suspicious, but the Briton's sixth sense was screaming a red alert inside his head.

  "We can only guess how many vital secrets the terrorists will learn from Palmer," Ohara said grimly. He also watched the komuso like a hawk and saw the man produce another bamboo flute from his robe.

  "Too many," Manning remarked. "We've got to find the Red Cell headquarters and Palmer within twenty-four hours or national security for the United States of America goes right in the toilet."

  "We'll have to stay alive long enough to do it," Encizo added, jerking his head at the advancing congregation of Buddhist monks.

  "What do you mean?" Ikeda inquired.

  "It looks like the tranquillity of this garden is about to be disturbed," Katz replied sadly.

  The komuso tilted the basket up to his forehead as he raised the new flute to his lips and aimed it at Ikeda Ken. Ohara quickly lunged forward and grabbed the Kompei man by the shoulders. He pulled Ikeda aside and pushed him to the ground as he raised the briefcase in his fist.

  The shakuhachi was actually a solid bamboo tube with a mouthpiece attached to the end the "priest" blew into. Something hissed from the muzzle of the man's blowgun. The projectile struck Ohara's case, the steel dart burying its point in the lid.

  McCarter was the first to draw his weapon from leather. He aimed the Browning Hi-Power autoloader and squeezed the trigger. A jagged bullet hole appeared in the rice-reed basket three inches above the bamboo blowgun still in the assassin's mouth. The "kosumo" dropped his flute, and the basket fell back into position over his bullet-punctured head an instant before his corpse toppled to the ground.

  Shouting a battle cry, the eleven "monks" attacked. They pulled fighting knives from the sleeves of their robes, which concealed the sheaths strapped to their forearms.

  McCarter fired into the advancing group. One of the monks fell, clutching his chest. The others kept coming. One of the assailants suddenly leaped forward like a panther and dived into the Briton. Both men tumbled backward into the stream.

  "Damn it," Gary Manning sn
orted as he tried to draw his .41 Magnum S&W revolver.

  The long-barrelled handgun was not designed for a fast draw. Manning was a second too late. A knife-wielding terrorist slashed at his throat before the Canadian could clear leather. Manning narrowly dodged the blade and nearly tripped over Ikeda who was scrambling across the ground, trying to get back on his feet.

  The utter boldness of the killers proved to be their greatest ally. Their lunatic charge had caught Phoenix Force off guard and allowed them to close in before most of the defenders could bring a weapon into play.

  Keio Ohara's pistol was in his briefcase. The tall Japanese warrior did not bother trying to get to it. He dropped the luggage and turned to face one of the knife-wielding attackers.

  Ohara feinted a kick at the "monk's" groin. The terrorist slashed his knife at Ohara's ankle and missed when Keio cut the kick short. Ohara rapidly swung his other leg in a roundhouse kick to the killer's elbow that struck the ulna nerve and jarred his arm, forcing the man to drop his knife.

  Ohara shot a seiken punch to his opponent's face. The terrorist staggered two steps backward as Ohara turned and drove a left-legged side kick into the man's midsection. He immediately followed up with a wheel kick, whirling like a top, lashing his right leg in a high arch. The back of his heel crashed into the side of his opponent's skull, caving in the man's sphenoid bone.

  Gary Manning avoided a knife thrust and caught his opponent's wrist before the killer could draw back his arm. The Canadian's other hand grabbed the thug's neck as he jerked the man forward. The terrorist was off balance as Manning quickly twisted his arm in a hammerlock and forced the assailant to drive his own knife into his lower back.

  The assassin screamed as sharp steel punctured his right kidney. Manning used the wounded man as a shield and pulled him in front of a second knife artist who had just launched an attack. The second terrorist gasped when he accidentally stabbed his comrade in the stomach.

  The Canadian used the wounded man for a battering ram and shoved him into the second assailant. Both terrorists fell to the ground with Manning on top of them. The powerful Canadian seized each man by the hair and smashed their heads together with skull-crushing force.