“What’s this ‘Black Flame’ business?”
“It is the fire that burns in the heart of evil,” Bai said easily. “Only when one has burned away all concerns with others’ feelings can one achieve the greatest heights of power.”
“That fucking Sinclair is evil, all right,” Baldauf said distantly.
Bai broke into peals of high-pitched, breathy laughter. “On the contrary, Arthur Sinclair’s faith in his son was justified,” he said at last. “John Sinclair was my pupil for five years, through college He absorbed everything I had to teach him, and I was certain that his soul belonged to me. Yet, in the end, he walked away from the final Black Flame ceremony. The pupil had fooled the master.”
Baldauf started to light another cigar, then thought better of it. “What’s this ceremony?” he asked, replacing the cigar in the humidor.
“On occasion, if an assignment appears to present particular difficulties or opportunities for instruction, I will ask my finest pupil to assist me. To be asked to help me kill is a great honor; John Sinclair, to my utter astonishment, refused this honor.”
“Why?”
“He simply said that if he were ever to kill anyone, it would be his decision; he would pick his own target. Ridiculous And then he walked away Losing John was very disturbing to me—so disturbing, in fact, that I killed Arthur Sinclair in order to exact payment for the skills I had taught his son.”
Chant felt a cold fire ripple up and down his belly, a great, black beast chew at the back of his neck. Bai’s first, telling blow had landed. Chant sobbed in his heart, but his face and eyes revealed nothing but mild curiosity.
“Of course,” Bai continued with a shrug, “the official cause of death was listed as a heart attack; the poison that killed John Sinclair’s father had long since evaporated from his system.
“After the death of his father, John Sinclair decided to explore his American roots. He did this by enlisting in the United States Army. It would be a gross understatement to describe his military career as merely distinguished. However, the same circumstances that cost me my contract with the Pentagon and CIA also forced John to desert. He vanished into the jungles of Southeast Asia.
“Within two years, John Sinclair had begun his new career—one which I have also followed with mounting interest. Now here he is, two decades later, pestering poor Mr. Baldauf. It’s my job to kill him. You’ve had a great deal of experience chasing this man, Colonel Fox. Can you offer any suggestions?”
“Are you making fun of me, Mr. Smith?”
Bai’s smile vanished. “On the contrary.”
“You know I’ve failed.”
“Ah.” Bai’s smile returned, and he turned his back on Chant to face Wilbur Baldauf. “I do sympathize with your predicament, Mr. Baldauf. To you, John Sinclair appears to have done the impossible—elude dozens of gunmen while he systematically kills the people you pay, in one case kills a person you loved, and threatens to destroy everything you own. When his fist strikes, it crushes a bone; when you attempt to strike back, you meet nothing but air.
“In fact, there is nothing complicated about what he has done, given his combat and technical skills, which are incomparable. You, your people and possessions all present fixed targets, which he has been able to attack at will. He has enjoyed total control of the situation. Before John Sinclair can be killed, he must be frozen in place He must be neutralized—forced to cease his attacks against you.”
Baldauf frowned. “How do we—you—do that?”
“Remove control from his hands.”
“How?”
“Identify his fixed targets, then threaten to destroy them if he destroys yours.”
Baldauf shook his head. “He doesn’t have any fixed targets, at least not around here. Fox says he’s a nomad; he travels all over the world.” He paused, glanced nervously at his watch. “I’ve only got an hour and a half before I’m supposed to surrender to him, or be killed. There isn’t time to do anything.”
“Ah. But the Hmong who live in this country appear to occupy a special place in his affections.” Bai slowly turned back to face Chant, raised his thin eyebrows slightly. “Didn’t you explain this to Mr. Baldauf, Colonel Fox?”
“I did,” Chant replied evenly. “And Sinclair himself has made this clear.”
“Yes. Now, Mr. Baldauf, do the Hmong not represent a fixed target valued by John Sinclair?”
“The Hmong are the reason Sinclair came here in the first place,” Baldauf said uneasily.
“And they will now present the means of stopping him.”
“He’s given me a deadline, Sm—Mr. Smith.”
“It will be rescinded. Don’t worry about the deadline. If you die, at least one hundred Hmong will die—slowly, and brutally. I’ll make certain of that. Knowing this will prevent him from attacking you further.”
“Fine,” Baldauf said uncertainly. “But how’s he supposed to get the message?”
“I believe he already has the message. Last night, four Hmong were killed in a rather unpleasant fashion. John Sinclair is a very perceptive man. He’ll understand.”
“Jesus H. Christ,” Baldauf murmured, obviously impressed and more than a little startled “Then he’s not going to blow up the house, or something like that, at noon?”
“I predict not.”
“But how did you—?”
“Rest assured that John Sinclair is now frozen in place, Mr. Baldauf I wouldn’t be standing here if I thought the house was going to blow up; I’d be out preparing to kill a hundred Hmong.”
Baldauf nodded, and his breathing abruptly grew shallow. “How are you going to kill him?” he asked in a hoarse voice that trembled with anticipation.
“By attacking him at the only point where he is vulnerable—his mind. You see, Mr. Baldauf, John Sinclair is not at all what you think he is; he is much more, and he is much less. He is a master of illusion, and he has been able to peddle you an image of himself that you find terrifying.”
“If you’d seen what he did to my son, you’d damn well—”
“Be quiet and listen to me, you silly fool,” Bai said evenly. “Your enemy has managed to make you believe that he is nothing more than a savage barbarian who will stop at absolutely nothing to get what he wants. In fact, as will be demonstrated by the fact that you’ll still be alive this afternoon, he will stop short of many things. I will not stop at anything, and all I had to do to bring him up short was to kill a handful of Hmong. You and Colonel Fox made the fundamental error of failing to correctly perceive the true nature of your enemy. John Sinclair’s highly rigid sense of honor will be his undoing. Honor is the anchor that will prevent him from walking away from the Black Flame that will destroy him.”
“He may walk away when he finds out what you’ve got planned for him,” Chant said evenly.
Bai shook his head. “No. He will never allow others to die in his place, and I will kill a hundred Hmong if he leaves Mordan County.”
Chant grunted “You’re quite a clever fellow, Mr Smith. A formidable opponent for John Sinclair, I would say.”
Bai giggled. “I am indeed, Colonel Fox. Black Flame is the ultimate source of power.”
“What’s to prevent him from simply blowing you away along with Baldauf here?”
“Oh, he can’t do that,” Bai answered as if surprised by the question. “He can’t get to me, and as long as I’m here, he can’t get to Mr. Baldauf. I now have control, and he must behave as I dictate.”
“Interesting. Do you consider this a difficult assignment, Mr Smith?”
“The most difficult I have ever undertaken.”
“Why? You froze him in place easily enough.”
“But I haven’t failed him. Seeing him dead is going to be extremely difficult.”
“You mentioned that you occasionally bring along a prized pupil on difficult assignments. Did you bring one with you this time?”
“He came alone,” Baldauf said in a slightly sour tone. “For what I
’m shelling out, I probably could’ve rented the Japanese Army for a week.”
“Gentlemen,” Bai said with another giggle, “I am honored to present my granddaughter, Soussan.”
Baldauf gasped and jumped out of his seat as he gaped at something over Chant’s left shoulder, where Chant had heard a curtain being pulled open. Chant slowly turned around.
The woman standing in the window alcove was tall for a Japanese, lithe and slender. She was also, Chant thought, stunningly beautiful. Her large eyes glittered with intelligence, and appeared to be of different colors—one black, the other dark brown. Her features were sharply delineated, with full lips, high cheekbones, a narrow chin. She wore her gleaming black hair in two thick braids that fell across her breasts to her waist. She wore Adidas sneakers, designer jeans, and a blue Harvard sweatshirt. The heavy bow she held at full extension would have tested the strength of most men, yet Chant could detect no signs of strain in either her arms or her face.
The tip of the arrow strung in the bow was aimed at Chant’s throat.
“How the hell did she get in here?!” Baldauf snapped when he had recovered from his shock. “That window was locked!”
“Pardon the melodramatics, gentlemen,” Bai said, grinning broadly. “I must admit a weakness for such little shows.” His grin slowly disappeared as he stared hard at Baldauf “But there was also a point to be made; locks and rings of security guards mean as little to John Sinclair as they mean to me or Soussan. Without me, you would be a dead man, Mr. Baldauf. Are you beginning to understand?”
Baldauf, still standing, nodded. His face was very pale. “I’m impressed, Mr. Smith.”
Bai’s grin reappeared. “Excellent. I suspect you may be even more impressed by my other associates.”
“Holy shit,” Baldauf whispered, looking over Chant’s other shoulder. The fat man swallowed hard, wiped perspiration from his forehead.
Chant turned again and found himself staring into the boyish face of a Japanese who was at least three inches taller than he was. The almond-colored eyes were totally impassive as they stared at Chant, who estimated the man’s weight to be close to three hundred pounds—all of it bone and muscle. The man was more than just big, Chant thought—he was also fast, and skilled.
The two other men standing just behind him weren’t as tall as the first, but both were heavier than Chant, with barrel chests, and one had exceptionally long arms that were out of proportion to the rest of his body. One man’s head was shaved, and the other wore a long, oiled topknot. The eyes of both men were filled with malice. Like the big man, they exuded self-confidence, tremendous strength, and speed. As if thinking in unison, the mouth of each man was drawn back in a thin, cruel smile.
“Good morning,” Chant said easily to the man standing over him. He extended his hand. “My name’s Fox.”
“Ko is quite mute,” Bai said as the woman released the tension on her bow and stepped down out of the alcove into the room and walked over to stand by her grandfather. “As an indication of his dedication to our art, he decided to cut out his own tongue. This is so that his own speech will never interfere with the instructions he is given by his master, and so that he may concentrate even more upon whatever task is at hand What do you think of Ko, Colonel Fox?”
“Oh, he’s a very impressive physical specimen,” Chant replied evenly as he dropped his hand back to his side “And the other two gentlemen?”
“Yabu,” the old man said, indicating the Japanese with the topknot, “and Kiyama.”
“Anybody else?” Chant asked, looking around the room.
Bai giggled. “No, Colonel Fox. This is it. Do you feel I should have brought along more associates?”
“I wouldn’t know, you and I do things a bit differently.”
Bai cocked his head. “Do we?”
“I thought you said you usually brought along only one apprentice on an assignment.”
“There is nothing ‘usual’ about John Sinclair, and Ko, Yabu, and Kiyama are much more than apprentices of mine. Each man has a particular skill—”
“Which is?” Chant asked.
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to spoil everyone’s fun by giving that away, Colonel Fox. As I said, each of these men is a master of one of the martial arts; in that discipline, each of these men is the best in the world.” Bai paused, shrugged. “Except, perhaps, for John Sinclair, who was once the best in the world in many of the martial arts. Ko, Yabu, and Kiyama will present quite a trial for John Sinclair; they will certainly test his legendary skills, and any one of them may prove up to the task of killing our prey. If not …” Again, Bai shrugged. “Soussan and I will mount a simultaneous attack on John Sinclair’s mind. The skills of Ko, Yabu, and Kiyama notwithstanding, it is on the battlefield of the mind that I believe this contest will finally be won.”
Baldauf slowly sank back down into his swivel chair behind the mahogany desk. The color had returned to his face, and he appeared to be having second thoughts “Those are three big guys you brought along with you, Smith, and they move quiet. To tell you the truth, I’d just as soon you brought along one small guy who’s good with a gun.”
Bai made a hissing sound between his teeth. “Is it possible that you still do not understand, Mr. Baldauf? John Sinclair is well beyond the range of your bullets.”
Baldauf took a cigar out of the humidor, lit it, blew smoke in the direction of the old Japanese. “Well, those three big fuckers certainly aren’t beyond the range of Sinclair’s bullets All it’s going to take is three shots, and that’ll be all she wrote. Why all this hocus-pocus?”
“Ah.” Bai sniffed slightly as he waved smoke away from his face. “I can only say that Ko, Yabu, and Kiyama will not be available to John Sinclair’s bullets. Alone, my granddaughter was able to prevent your enemy from any act of sabotage last night; she was not available to his bullets. How I accomplish these things may be considered a matter of style which you consider ‘hocuspocus’—yet I will succeed where all others have failed; I will kill John Sinclair. That will be your answer. As for my purpose in bringing along these men, I believe it might be instructive if one were to demonstrate his skills for you.”
“I don’t need no fucking demonstration,” Baldauf replied sullenly as he puffed on his cigar. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“Ah, but I insist You’re paying a great deal for my services and expertise. It troubles me deeply when I see that you question my methods.”
“I wasn’t quest—hey, wait a minute!”
Chant caught Bai’s slight hand signal, and Baldauf barely had enough time to fall out of his chair and scramble to safety as the tallest of the three men, moving even faster than Chant had anticipated, took four quick running steps, launched himself into the air, then came down on both feet in the center of the huge mahogany desk. The desk split in two with a sound like a shotgun blast. The two halves crashed to the floor, and the big man landed lightly on the balls of his feet between them A thunderous side kick further split the left half, and a straight-arm blow did the same to the other Ko lifted one section and tossed it into the air as if it weighed no more than a plank of plywood, then, in a blur of motion, proceeded to reduce it to kindling with his hands, elbows, forehead, and feet while the pieces danced and flew through the air. When he had finished with one section, he started on another.
In less than three minutes the huge man had reduced Baldauf’s desk to rubble. Ko, who had not even worked up a sweat, bowed deeply to his master, then straightened up and came back to stand beside Chant. His face remained completely impassive.
“So, Mr. Baldauf,” Bai said softly, picking a wood splinter off his sweatshirt. “Ko is quite fast and powerful, is he not?”
Baldauf, trembling and ashen, was sprawled on the floor fifteen feet away. Blood trickled from a cut on the cheek where a wood shard had hit him. He nodded slightly, said nothing.
“John Sinclair is also very fast,” the old man continued. “However, age will begin to tell in even the
finest of warriors. No man can move faster than his nervous system will allow, and all three of these men are twenty years John Sinclair’s junior. It will provide an interesting spectacle for a while, but in the end one of these men should do to John Sinclair’s body what Ko has just done to your desk.”
“Are you going to pay for Mr Baldauf’s desk out of your fee, Mr Smith?” Chant asked.
Bai smiled “I think not My fee does not include expenses, and I considered this demonstration necessary for my client’s confidence in me and peace of mind.”
“What about the other two men? Are we going to get to see what they can do?”
“No!” Baldauf shouted.
“I think not, Colonel Fox. Mr. Baldauf, do you have any more questions?”
“Uh-uh,” Baldauf mumbled. He was still staring at the wreckage that had been his desk.
“You now have confidence in me’”
“Yeah.”
“I take it that you won’t question any more of my decisions?”
“You’ve made your point, Smith. All I want are results.”
“Excellent,” Bai said, and turned to Chant. “I’m surprised you’re still in the county, Colonel Fox, considering what John Sinclair has threatened to do to you.”
“I’m a glutton for punishment.”
“Are you really? Perhaps we will see about that. Do you have any suggestions to offer?”
“I wouldn’t presume to offer you advice on trapping and killing a man, Mr. Smith.”
“Ah. Too bad In that case, I must apologize for taking up your valuable time.”
“Don’t apologize, Mr Smith. It’s been instructive, not to mention entertaining. I’m sure John Sinclair will be duly impressed.”
“Time will tell.” Bai sighed, then clapped his hands together lightly. “I think it’s time we all left, don’t you, Colonel Fox? I’m sure Mr Baldauf wants to clean up his library.”
Chant Page 11
