He said, “A samurai takes no honor in defeat. You can cut out a dragon’s tooth, but he grows a thousand more.” Then he snatched the long knife from its sheath and leaped at Pitt.
Pitt, though weak and panting for breath, easily stepped aside and parried the slashing knife. He swung the faithful old saber for the last time and severed Kamatori’s hand at the wrist.
Shock flooded Kamatori’s face, the shock of disbelief, then pain, then the full realization that for the first time in his life he had been subdued by an opponent and was going to die. He stood and glowered at Pitt, his dark eyes filled with uncontrolled rage, the empty wrist hanging by his side, blood streaming to the floor.
“I have dishonored my ancestors. You will please allow me to save face by committing seppuku.”
Pitt’s eyes half closed in curiosity. He looked at Mancuso.
“Seppuku?”
“The accepted and more stylish Japanese term for what we crudely call hara-kiri, which actually translates as belly cutting. He wants you to let him have a ‘happy dispatch.’ “
“I see,” Pitt said, a tired but maddened understanding in his voice. “I see indeed, but it’s not going to happen. He’s not going to get his way. Not with his own hand. Not after all the people he’s murdered in cold blood.”
“My dishonor at having been defeated by a foreigner must be expunged by offering up my life,” Kamatori muttered through clenched teeth, the mesmeric force of kiai quickly fading.
“His friends and family will rejoice,” explained Mancuso. “Honor to him is everything. He considers dying by his own hand beautiful and looks forward to it.”
“God, this is sickening,” murmured Stacy disgustedly as she stared at Kamatori’s hand on the floor. “Tie and gag him. Let’s finish our job and get out of here.”
“You’re going to die, but not as you hope,” said Pitt, staring at the defiant face darkened in hate, the lips drawn back like a dog baring its teeth. But Pitt caught a slight look of fear in the dark eyes, not a fear of dying, but a fear of not joining his ancestors in the prescribed manner of honored tradition.
Before anyone knew what Pitt was about to do, he grabbed Kamatori by the good arm and dragged the samurai into the study containing the antique arms and the gruesome collection of mounted human heads. Carefully, as if he was aligning a painting, he positioned Kamatori and rammed the saber blade through the lower groin, pinning him upright to the wall beneath the heads of his victims.
Kamatori’s eyes were filled with unbelief and the fear of a miserable and shameful end. The pain was there too.
Pitt knew he was looking at a near corpse and got in the last word before the eyes went sightless in death.
“No divine passing for a killer of the helpless. Join your prey and be damned.”
53
PITT REMOVED A Viking battle-axe from its brackets on a wall and returned to the video monitor room. Stacy had already picked the locks on the chains confining Giordino and Mancuso and was working to free Weatherhill.
“What did you do with Kamatori?” Giordino asked, peering curiously around Pitt’s shoulder into the trophy room.
“Mounted him with the rest of his collection.” He handed the axe to Giordino. “Break up the robots so they can’t be repaired anytime soon.”
“Break up McGoon?”
“And McGurk.”
Giordino looked pained, but he took the ax and smashed it into McGoon. “I feel like Dorothy trashing the Tin Man from Oz.”
Mancuso shook Pitt’s hand. “You saved our asses. Thank you.”
“A nice bit of swordplay,” said Weatherhill. “Where’d you learn it?”
“That will have to wait,” Pitt said impatiently. “What’s Penner’s grandiose scheme for our rescue?”
“You don’t know?”
“Penner didn’t deem us worthy of his confidence.”
Mancuso looked at him and shook his head. “There is no plan for a rescue mission,” he said with an embarrassed expression. “Originally we were to be evacuated by submarine, but Penner ruled that out as too risky for the sub and its crew after reviewing a satellite photo of Suma’s sea defenses. Stacy, Tim, and I were to make our way back through the tunnel to Edo City and escape to our embassy in Tokyo.”
Pitt nodded at Giordino. “And the two of us?”
“The State Department was alerted to negotiate with Suma and the Japanese government for your release.”
“The State Department?” Giordino moaned between chops. “I’d sooner be represented by Monty Python’s Flying Circus.”
“Jordan and Kern didn’t take into account Suma and Kamatori’s nasty dispositions,” said Mancuso cynically.
Pitt’s mouth tightened in a hard bitter line. “You people are the experts. What’s the next move?”
“Finish the job as planned and hot-foot it through the tunnel,” answered Weatherhill as Stacy opened the lock and his chains fell away.
“You still aim to destroy the Dragon Center?”
“Not completely, but we can put a dent in it.”
“With what?” inquired Giordino. “A homemade magnet and an axe?”
“No sweat,” Weatherhill replied airily, massaging his wrists. “Suma’s security forces may have taken our explosives kit during our capture and subsequent search, but we still have enough for a minor bang.” He sat down and pulled off his shoes, prying off the soles and incredibly kneading them into a ball. “C-Eight plastic,” he said proudly. “The very latest in explosives for the discriminating spook.”
“And the detonators are in the heels,” muttered Pitt.
“How’d you know?”
“Positive thinking.”
“Let’s move out,” said Mancuso. “The robot’s controllers and Kamatori’s human pals will wonder why his private hunt has been shut down and come running to investigate.”
Stacy stepped to the door leading outside Kamatori’s personal quarters, opened it slightly, and peered around the garden outside. “Our first hurdle is to find the building with the elevator to the underground center. We were led up here from our cells blindfolded and didn’t get a feel for its exact location.”
“I’ll lead you to it,” said Pitt.
“You know the location?”
“I should. I rode it down to the hospital.”
“Your magnet won’t be of much help if we run into a squad of robots,” Mancuso said grimly.
“Then we’ll have to expand our bag of tricks,” said Pitt. He moved over beside Stacy and looked through the cracked door. “There’s a garden hose just under that bush to your left. See it?”
Stacy nodded. “Beside the terrace.”
He gestured at the katana she still held in her hand. “Sneak out and slice off a few feet.”
She stared at him quizzically. “May I ask why?”
“Cut up the hose in short lengths, rub one against a piece of silk, and you strip out the negative electrons,” Pitt explained. “Then touch the end of the hose against a robot’s integrated circuits, making the electrons jump and destroy the delicate components.”
“An electrostatic discharge,” murmured Weatherhill thoughtfully. “Is that it?”
Pitt nodded. “You could do the same thing by rubbing a cat or dragging your feet across a carpet.”
“You’d make a good high school physics teacher.”
“What about the silk?” asked Giordino.
“Kamatori’s kimono,” Weatherhill said over his shoulder as he hurried into the trophy room.
Pitt turned to Mancuso. “Where do you intend to set off your firecrackers where they’ll do the most damage?”
“We don’t have enough C-Eight to do a permanent job, but if we can place it near a power supply, we can set back their schedule for a few days, maybe weeks.”
Stacy returned with a three-meter section of garden hose. “How do you want it sliced?”
“Divide it into four parts,” Pitt answered. “One for each of you. I’ll carry the m
agnet as a backup.”
Weatherhill came back from the trophy room carrying torn shreds of Kamatori’s silk kimono, some showing bloodstains, and began passing them out. He smiled at Pitt. “Your placement of our samurai friend made him a most appropriate piece of wall decor.”
“There is no sculpture,” Pitt said pontifically, “that can take the place of an original.”
“I don’t want to be within a thousand kilometers when Hideki Suma sees what you’ve done to his best friend.” Giordino laughed, throwing the broken remains of the two roboguards into a pile in a corner of the room.
“Yes,” Pitt said indifferently, “but that’s what he gets for pissing off the dark side of the fence.”
Loren, her face still and angered, observed in mounting shock the awesome technical and financial power behind Suma’s empire as he led her and Diaz on a tour through a complex that was far more vast than she could ever imagine. There was much more to it than a control center to send, prime, and detonate signals to a worldwide array of nuclear bombs. The seemingly unending levels and corridors also contained countless laboratories, vast engineering and electronic experimental units, a fusion research facility, and a nuclear reactor plant incorporating designs still on the drawing boards of the Western industrialized countries.
Suma said proudly, “My primary structural engineering and administration offices and scientific think tank are housed in Edo City. But here, safe and secure under Soseki Island, is the core of my research and development.”
He ushered them into a lab and pointed out a large open vat of crude oil. “You can’t see them, but eating away at the oil are second-generation genetically engineered microbes that actually digest the petroleum and multiply, launching a chain reaction and destroying the oil molecules. The residue can then be dissolved by water.”
“That could prove a boon for the cleanup of oil spills,” commented Diaz.
“One useful purpose,” said Suma. “Another is to deplete a hostile country’s oil reserves.”
Loren looked at him in disbelief. “Why cause such chaos? For what gain?”
“In time, Japan will be almost totally independent of oil. Our total generating power will be nuclear. Our new technology in fuel cells and solar energy will soon be incorporated in our automobiles, replacing the gasoline engine. Deplete the world’s reserves with our oil-eating microbes, and eventually all international transportation—automobiles, trucks, and aircraft—grinds to a halt.”
“Unless replaced by Japanese products,” Diaz stated coldly.
“A lifetime,” Loren said, becoming skeptical. “It would take a lifetime to dry up the billion-gallon oil reserve stored in our underground salt mines.”
Suma smiled patiently. “The microbes could totally deplete United States strategic oil reserves in less than nine months.”
Loren shook her head, unable to absorb the horrible consequences of all she’d been exposed to in the past few hours. She could not conceive of one man causing such a chaotic upheaval. She also could not accept the awful possibility that Pitt might already be dead.
“Why are you showing us all this?” she asked in a whisper. “Why aren’t you keeping it a secret?”
“So you can tell your President and fellow congressmen that the United States and Japan are no longer on equal terms. We now have an unbeatable lead, and your government must accept our demands accordingly.” Suma paused and stared at her. “As to generously giving away secrets, you and Senator Diaz are not scientists or engineers. You can only describe what you’ve seen in vague layman terms. I have shown you no scientific data but merely an overall view of my projects. You will take home nothing that can prove useful in copying our technical superiority.”
“When will you allow Congresswoman Smith and I to leave for Washington?” asked Diaz.
Suma looked at his watch. “Very soon. As a matter of fact, you will be airlifted to my private airfield at Edo City within the hour. From there, one of my executive jets will fly you home.”
“Once the President hears of your madness,” Diaz snapped, “he’ll order the military to blow this place to dust.”
Suma gave vent to a confident sigh and smiled. “He’s too late. My engineers and robotic workers are ahead of schedule. You did not know, could not have known, the Kaiten Project was completed a few minutes after we began the tour.”
“It’s operational?” Loren spoke in a shocked whisper.
Suma nodded. “Should your President be foolish enough to launch an attack on the Dragon Center, my detection systems will alert me in ample time to signal the robots to deploy and detonate the bomb cars.” He hesitated only long enough to flash a hideous grin. “As Buson, a Japanese poet, once wrote, ‘With his hat blown off/the stiff-necked scarecrow/stands there quite discomfited.’
“The President is the scarecrow, and he stands stymied because his time is gone.”
54
LIVELY, BUT NOT HURRIEDLY, Pitt led them into the building of the retreat that housed the elevator. He walked in the open while the others dodged from cover to cover behind him. He met no humans but was halted by a robotic security guard at the elevator entrance.
This one was programmed to speak only in Japanese, but Pitt had no trouble in deciphering the menacing tone and the weapon pointing at his forehead. He raised his hands in front of him with the palms facing forward and slowly moved closer, shielding the others from its video receiver and detection sensors.
Weatherhill and Mancuso stealthily closed in from the flanks and jabbed their statically charged hoses against the box containing the integrated circuits. The armed robot froze as if in suspended animation.
“Most efficient,” Weatherhill observed, recharging his length of hose by rubbing it vigorously against the silk.
“Think he tipped off his supervisory control?” Stacy wondered.
“Probably not,” Pitt replied. “His sensory capability was slow in deciding whether I was a threat or simply an unprogrammed member of the project.”
Once inside the deserted elevator, Weatherhill opted for the fourth level. “Six opens onto the main floor of the control center,” he recalled. “Better to take our chances and exit on a lower level.”
“The hospital and service units are on four,” Pitt briefed him.
“What about security?”
“I saw no sign of guards or video monitors.”
“Suma’s outside defenses are so tight he doesn’t have to concern himself with interior security,” said Stacy.
Weatherhill agreed. “A rogue robot is the least of his problems.”
They tensed as the elevator arrived and the doors slid open. Fortunately it was empty. They entered, but Pitt hung back, head tilted as if listening to a distant sound. Then he was inside, pressing the button for the fourth level. A few seconds later they stepped out into a vacant corridor.
They moved quickly, silently, following Pitt. He stopped outside the hospital and paused at the door.
“Why are you stopping here?” Weatherhill asked softly.
“We’ll never find our way around this complex without a map or a guide,” Pitt murmured. “Follow me inside.” He pushed the door button and kicked it back against its stops.
Startled, the nurse-receptionist looked up in surprise at seeing Pitt burst through the doorway. She was not the same nurse who aided Dr. Nogami during Pitt’s earlier visit. This one was as ugly and ruggedly constructed as a road grader. Even as she recovered, her arm snapped out toward an alarm button on an intercom communications unit. Her finger was a centimeter away when Pitt’s flattened palm struck her violently on the chin, catapulting her in a backward somersault onto the floor unconscious.
Dr. Nogami heard the commotion and rushed from his office, stopping abruptly and staring at Pitt and the MAIT team as they flooded through the door before pushing it closed. Oddly, the expression on his face was one of curious amusement rather than shock.
“Sorry for intruding, Doc, Pitt said, “but we need di
rections.”
Nogami gazed down at his nurse who was lying on the floor out cold. “You certainly have a way with women.”
“She was about to set off an alarm,” Pitt said apologetically.
“Lucky you caught her by surprise. Nurse Oba knows karate like I know medicine.” Only then did Nogami take a few seconds to study the motley group of people standing around the prostrate nurse. He shook his head almost sadly. “So you’re the finest MAIT team the U.S. can field. You sure don’t look it. Where in hell did Ray Jordan dig you people up?”
Giordino was the only one who didn’t stare back at the doctor in mute surprise. He looked up at Pitt. “Do you know something we don’t?”
“May I introduce Dr. Josh Nogami, the British deep cover operative who’s been supplying the lion’s share of information on Suma and his operation.”
“You figured it out,” said Nogami.
Pitt made a modest hands-out gesture. “Your clues made it elementary. There is no St. Paul’s Hospital in Santa Ana, California. But there is a Saint Paul’s Cathedral in London.”
“You don’t sound British,” said Stacy.
“Though my father was raised as a British subject, my mother came from San Francisco, and I attended medical school at UCLA. I can do a reasonable American accent without too much effort.” He hesitated and looked Pitt in. the eye, his smile gone. “You realize, I hope, that by coming back here you’ve blown my cover.”
“I regret throwing you in the limelight,” Pitt said sincerely, “but we have a more immediate problem.” He nodded toward the others. “Maybe only another ten or fifteen minutes before Kamatori and three of his security robots are discovered… ah… incapacitated. Damned little time to set off an explosive charge and get out of here.”
“Wait a minute.” Nogami raised a hand. “Are you saying you killed Kamatori and zapped three roboguards?”
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