by Wilson, Gar
Four armed terrorists had appeared at the end of the hall. The Canadian's H&K hissed twice and two men fell. The others retreated around a corner.
"Better save the questions for later," McCarter urged. He hurried to join Manning at the door.
"We came here for the answers," Yakov replied stubbornly. "I'll be with you in a minute."
Yakov glared at Yoichi. "What modifications?"
"An electroencephalograph records an EEG reading—an electroencephalogram," the scientist began, speaking slowly, stalling for time. "This is, in layman's terms, a method of reading the fluctuations of the brain. The brain waves—alpha, beta, delta and theta waves, to be exact."
"You mean this machine can read minds?" Yakov frowned.
"Essentially," Yoichi confirmed. "The science of electroencephalography dates back to Canton in 1875. Hans Berger made the first big breakthrough with the EEG galvanometer in 1924. Now I've taken the science to a new peak."
Yoichi turned and pointed at the console. "This receives the EEG readings, like a galvanometer does, but it's connected to the memory banks of a computer that translates the brain waves into words. This is a remarkable advance, but I've taken the process even further."
Gunfire roared from the corridor. Terrorists had appeared at both ends of the hallway. McCarter and Manning opened fire on the inexperienced JRC troops, mowing down half a dozen of them and forcing the others to seek cover. The terrorists shot back, armed with an assortment of full and semi-auto weapons.
"I've invented an electroencephalo stimulator," Yoichi continued. "I call it an EES machine. It creates and relays brain waves to a subject. This serves as a direct command to the brain—affecting conscious and subconscious thought. It stimulates the brain to think of whatever subject is inserted into the EES. The natural brain waves of information on the subject are then picked up by the electrodes and fed into my advanced EEG and translated into the computer that prints all the data into the external disk-drive units. This is then printed into a series of diskettes—computer cassettes."
"So this is how you bastards drained information from your victims," Yakov said in a cold flat voice. "How many of these monster machines do you people have?"
"This is the only one of its kind in the world," Yoichi replied. "We kept it at a base in Kyoto until we decided to transport everything here for additional security. . . ."
A team of terrorists at the end of the corridor had set up an M-60 machine gun, mounted on a bipod. Manning and McCarter lobbed grenades at the JRC hit team. The terrorists scrambled, some trying to grab the grenades to hurl them back at the defenders, the others just trying to flee before the explosions occurred. Both efforts were in vain. The grenades erupted. Mangled bodies and twisted metal were scattered all over the hallway.
"What happened to the other men who have had their minds tapped by this computerized freak?" Yakov demanded.
"The EES is not a freak," Yoichi replied stiffly. "The previous subjects had to be terminated of course."
"It would be a pleasure to terminate you," the Israeli told him. "So don't tempt me. Unhook Aaron from this contraption."
The scientist slowly lowered his arms.
Yoichi moved to the deputy director and stepped behind the chair. He slipped his right hand into the pocket of his smock and slowly drew a .25-caliber Raven automatic. Yoichi raised the tiny pistol and thumbed off the safety catch.
Yakov had expected such a move. Aware that the Uzi is an indiscriminate weapon, designed for rapid fire at close quarters, not precision shooting, he had already released the machine gun and drawn the Colt Commander from shoulder leather. The big .45 auto bellowed and a 185-grain, jacketed hollowpoint round blasted Professor Yoichi's face into scarlet pulp. The scientist crashed to the floor in a twitching heap.
"Guess you finally got tired of chatting with that bastard," McCarter remarked.
Manning jogged across the room to Palmer, while Yakov joined McCarter at the doorway. Katz glanced at the corridor. Bloodstains were everywhere—the walls, the floor, even the ceiling. Mangled metal lay among the bodies of slain JRC terrorists.
"They've got a taste of first-rate arse kicking," McCarter told Yakov. "The bastards aren't really trained for combat, but you can't call this lot cowards. They'll be back just as soon as they think up a new strategy."
"If they've got grenades, they'll be able to toss plenty of them at our position from both ends of the hall," the Israeli remarked.
"I'm sure they've got grenades," McCarter said. "They've got everything else. My guess is they haven't used explosives because they don't want to damage any of this mad-scientist equipment. Still, if I was in command, I'd order them to use grenades and worry about the damage later."
"Or they might pump tear gas or nerve gas through the air-conditioning vents," Yakov added, "if they decide the doctor is expendable or figure we've killed him anyway."
"Should we make a run for it?" the Englishman asked.
"We can't stay here," Yakov replied. "Any sign of Rafael or Keio?"
"No," McCarter frowned, concern forming deep lines in his brow. "Not yet."
Manning joined them. Aaron Palmer's unconscious body was slung over his shoulder. The Canadian carried the CIA man as easily as one might haul a knapsack.
"What are we going to do with this guy?" he asked. "We'll figure that out after we get out of this death trap," Yakov said.
"Are we heading upstairs or down?" McCarter inquired, gathering up Manning's field pack.
"Down," the Israeli said. "Our partners might need help. Besides, the cell block might be the safest place to leave Aaron."
"Concentrate on covering me as much as you can," Manning urged. "I won't be able to shoot very well while I'm carrying our friend."
"Let's go," Katz said.
McCarter slipped out the door first, his Ingram aimed at the stairwell. Manning followed. Yakov came out last, Uzi braced across his steel arm and pointed at the opposite end of the corridor.
None of the Phoenix Force members noticed the slight click from overhead, their ears still ringing from the earlier gunfire and explosions. A shadow fell across them, and they glanced up to see the steel net dropping from the ceiling.
"Oh, shit," McCarter snarled as he tried to dodge the net.
His curse became a scream of agony as electricity coursed through the stun net, delivering a violent shock to all four men. Yakov was especially vulnerable because of his prosthetic arm, which is highly conductive to electricity. The Israeli trembled helplessly under the net.
McCarter angrily thrashed and cursed, unable to break free of the paralyzing grip of the stun net. Palmer's unconscious body merely twitched under the assault. Manning clenched his teeth and slowly crawled beneath the electric steel cables, but even his great strength was drained by the relentless voltage of the stun net.
Suddenly the net was yanked away by rubber-gloved hands. Manning stared up into the muzzles of several weapons. The hall was now full of JRC terrorists. A tall muscular Oriental, with a stern stony face, stared down at Manning, his black eyes ablaze with rage.
"Oki-mas," Daito-san hissed.
Manning slowly rose. He did not resist as terrorists took his weapons. The Canadian's muscles were still too numb to fight. The JRC goons also knelt by the dazed bodies of McCarter and Yakov to disarm them.
"Amerika-jin, butah," Daito spat as he reached for the hilt of a weapon thrust through the red sash bound around his lean waist.
The iai-jutsu draw happened so fast, Manning barely caught a glimpse of the two-and-a-half-footlong blade when it cleared the scabbard. The Canadian stared at the weapon in disbelief. It was a katana—the two-handed fighting sword of a samurai.
"Jesus," Manning muttered as Daito raised the weapon overhead.
He tried to move away, but his legs buckled, and he fell to his knees before the feet of the sword-wielding terrorist. Daito-san chuckled in ruthless amusement. He stepped forward, the katana held high, prepared to decapitate
Manning with a single swift stroke.
"Ee-ya," a voice ordered sharply.
Daito froze, the weapon still poised to strike. Everyone turned to see Professor Edward Oshimi marching toward the captives. His stride was arrogant, confident. Oshimi was a daimyo warlord in his castle. An absolute monarch and tyrant who held the power of life and death within his kingdom.
"Ee-ya, Daito-san," he repeated. "Matteh, doshi. Matteh"
"Hai, Oshimi-sama," Daito replied, returning his sword to its scabbard.
"We mustn't kill our guests," Oshimi said with a cold smile. "Not until we've shown them how truly bitter defeat can be."
"You mean it gets worse?" McCarter groaned weakly.
17
Surrounded by a dozen armed terrorists, Katz, Manning and McCarter were escorted up the next flight of stairs. Two terrorists shared the chore of carrying Aaron Palmer. Professor Oshimi led the group. He seemed to have little concern about the men he had lost in the fire fight and elected to act as a tour guide for his prisoners.
"Here," he announced at the head of the stairs. "Here is something beyond your ability to understand. . . culture."
The third floor of the castle resembled a shopping mall that specialized in Japanese restaurants and Oriental curio shops. Sliding doors with bamboo frames and ornately painted silk screens were positioned on both sides of the hall. Cherry blossoms with Mount Fuji in the background were painted on one door. Another door featured a daimyo mounted on horseback, leading his samurai troops into battle. A third depicted a swordsman fighting a serpentine dragon.
"These rooms are a small piece of the greatest civilization in history," Oshimi declared. "A civilization the Western powers have tried to destroy. Your people pushed Japan into a war it could not win so you could justify the occupation of my country. You tried to corrupt it and turn it into a serfdom under the command of the United States."
None of the three members of Phoenix Force made any comment to these accusations. They knew the man who held them captive was totally insane.
"Here we have a geisha house," Oshimi continued, pointing at the colorful sliding doors. "A Shinto temple and a dojo. Perhaps, I should say the dojo of Daito-san."
The stone-faced Japanese swordsman's chest expanded when he heard his name mentioned by his master. Oshimi smiled at Daito.
"Magnificent, isn't he?" Oshimi said. "A twentieth-century samurai. The last of his kind. A living tribute to the Code of Bushido. But he will train others, and the great tradition of the knight warriors of Japan will continue."
"How does all this glory of Japan's lost past go hand in hand with terrorism and that computerized inquisition device downstairs?" Yakov asked dryly.
"Terrorism? Inquisition?" Oshimi raised his eyebrows. "We're liberators of our nation. Any methods we use are justified by that goal."
"Your nation?" McCarter sneered. "You seem to forget you're an American, Oshimi."
The madman's eyes bulged from their sockets. "I am not an American."
"That's right," Manning agreed. "You rejected your country. Guess you're just a traitor."
"I returned to my people," Oshimi declared. "I am Japanese."
"And that's why you've slaughtered so many of `your people'—to liberate them?" Yakov remarked.
"I'm tempted to kill all of you right here and now," Oshimi rasped, "but that would deny me the pleasure of having my enemies witness my greatest victory."
The congregation mounted another flight of stone steps to the fourth story at the summit of the castle. The "penthouse" consisted of a single large room. It was the headquarters of the Japanese Red Cell and the brain center of Oshimi's evil plans.
They entered the war room, which was filled with computers, maps and control consoles. Two terrorists dropped the unconscious Aaron Palmer onto one of several plastic chairs that surrounded a huge circular conference table. The ceiling extended into a great concave thirty feet high—the dome of Oshimi's rooftop observatory. A telescope was mounted directly under the dome.
"Ah, Mr. Palmer," Oshimi declared when he heard the CIA man groan as he began to regain consciousness. "I'm so glad you're going to be able to see this."
The evil genius consulted a digital clock on the wall. "Two-fifty," he announced. "Ten minutes from now, we shall all witness the beginning of a new era—the New Empire of Japan!"
"Excuse me, your lordship," McCarter said with contempt. "But I'm a bit confused. You want to be the bloody king of Japan, but you're the head of the Red Cell—which suggests your followers are commies or at least Marxists. How do you work out this difference in politics?"
"The New Empire will establish a Marxist-socialist government," Oshimi replied. "And strengthen Japan's ties with the Soviet Union, Mainland China and other Communist nations. We'll still do business with the West, but to a very limited degree. Thus, we'll avoid contamination from the United States and its boot-licking allies."
"What about contamination from the Communists?" Yakov asked. "Or do you really believe they're trustworthy?"
"Hardly," Oshimi replied, smiling. "I'm well aware of the gangster mentality of the Kremlin. If we allow the Soviets to send in their military and the KGB, they would try to turn us into a satellite country like North Korea. We'll accept their technology, weaponry and other materials, but we won't let them send troops or advisors."
"Why should the Russians agree to your terms?" Manning asked.
"Because we have something to bargain with," Oshimi answered. "Advanced technology that the Soviets will want badly enough to agree to our conditions."
"Your brain-draining machine?" Yakov said grimly.
"Indeed," Oshimi confirmed. "Of course, we won't tell them everything. First, we'll sell the Russians information extracted from Mr. Palmer. You killed Professor Yoichi, but not before we had a chance to tap a considerable amount of top-secret data from our guest."
"Why would Moscow believe you?" McCarter asked.
"They'll see the proof for themselves," Oshimi declared. "The whole world will talk about the greatest naval disaster in history."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Manning demanded.
Oshimi walked to a control panel under the observatory dome and pressed a button. The dome slowly parted. Oshimi pushed another button. A section of the floor slowly began to sink out of view, taking the telescope with it.
"I imagine you people have read some of the government files about me," Oshimi remarked as he pressed more buttons. "You may have wondered why I moved to Hawaii instead of Japan. The reason is, I needed an isolated headquarters located between Japan and the U.S. mainland. Also, the Hawaiian Islands offered the perfect site for my demonstration of power."
The hydraulic lift under the war room hummed as a large tubular device with a block-shaped base rose from the floor to replace the telescope. Oshimi placed his hand on the contraption and smiled.
"This," he said, "is a laser cannon—actually a particle-beam projector. It's a vast improvement of the weapon I offered the U.S. government over a decade ago. This cannon has a range of almost forty thousand miles. Not much compared to the range of nuclear missiles these days, but it suits my needs."
Aaron Palmer groaned as his head began to clear. "Where am I?"
"I'll explain later," Oshimi assured him. "But first I want to thank you for telling me the coordinates of the route of the USS Zesus."
Palmer stared at him with astonished horror. "How . . .?"
"What is the USS Zesus?" Yakov asked.
The Israeli wanted to stall for time. Rafael and Keio had not been captured...if they were still alive . . . .
"The Zesus is a nuclear submarine," Oshimi explained. "It is currently docked at the Na Pali Coast of Kauai. The U.S. Navy Pacific Missile Range is located there at Barking Sands. The Zesus leaves at 0300 hours on a clandestine mission to the Philippines."
Oshimi turned to the controls and pushed a lever forward. "But that voyage will be interrupted," he announced. "The laser cannon has b
een programmed to see to that, thanks to a computer diskette inserted into the control console. A sonar tracking device in Kauai will transmit a signal when the Zesus is on target. That will trigger my cannon . . . . "
"For God's sake," Palmer cried. "There are more than two hundred men on board that submarine."
"And nothing can save them now," Oshimi declared. "The process operating the cannon is irreversible. It is impossible to stop it."
"What about missiles on the sub?" Yakov asked. "If you detonate them, you'll destroy all of the Hawaiian Islands . . . including yourself."
"Surely you know better than that," Oshimi sighed. "Sinking the submarine won't detonate the missiles. There may be a radiation leak, but that won't concern us."
"If you blow up that sub," McCarter said, "about a hundred U.S. fighter jets will blast this castle to bits within an hour."
"How will they know I'm responsible?" the madman asked. "The particle beam is invisible. It is basically just a concentrated ray of light that cannot be detected or traced by radar. Who would suspect the owner of a coffee plantation of such a deed? Or that my observatory conceals a secret weapon?"
"You couldn't have prepared all this in less than a day," Manning remarked, also trying to stall for time.
"Of course not," Oshimi nodded. "I've prepared for years. With so many military installations in the Hawaiian Islands, I knew one day a proper target would arrive. Besides, this will be the heart of the first sovereign territory of the Empire of Japan."
"You think you can blackmail the United States into giving you the Hawaiian Islands?" McCarter laughed. "Jesus, you're bloody nuts."
"All great men of vision have been called mad," Oshimi replied. "Alexander, Caesar—both succeeded where lesser men failed. Besides, America is not the fearsome giant it once was. They surrendered the Panama Canal to General Torrijos. Wasn't that blackmail? They backed down from the challenge of the hostage situation in Iran. A paper tiger, that is the United States. I do not fear it."
Oshimi added, "If it is not my karma to reclaim Japan's glory and build a new empire in this lifetime, I am prepared to die or take my own life. You see, I believe in Shintoism, the religion of my ancestors. I will be reborn in another life and continue my destiny until I succeed."
