Chant

by George C. Chesbro

Despite the pressure on the left side of his body from the big man pressing against him, Chant did not move. “What about your granddaughter, Mr. Smith?” Chant asked in an even voice “How good is she with that bow?”

  Another hand signal.

  Despite her almost blinding speed, Chant was able to track the lithe woman’s motion as she drew the bow—as he was able to track the trajectory of the arrow as it sped through the air toward his throat He had the milliseconds he needed to move out of the way, but chose not to. He had a demonstration of his own to conduct, and he wished to keep the state of his reflexes hidden—not from Baldauf, who was still partially stunned and would notice nothing, but from the five Japanese. Especially Bai.

  The razor-sharp tip of the arrow passed just under his chin, slicing the flesh at the juncture of jaw and neck, and embedded itself in the wall, where the arrow quivered with an audible whine.

  By the time Chant turned to face the woman, she had already strung another arrow and drawn the bow.

  “Soussan is proficient with any number of weapons, Colonel Fox,” Bai said casually, over Wilbur Baldauf’s startled cry.

  “I’ll bet she is,” Chant replied evenly, making no move to stanch the small but steady flow of blood from the wound in his throat. He searched Bai’s face for some reaction to his taking the wound, some clue to the old man’s thinking, but saw none. “Can she cook?”

  The woman laughed, a pleasant, airy sound, and released the tension on the bow.

  “Indeed, she can. In Japan, she is licensed to prepare the blowfish—which, as you know, can be a fatal delicacy if prepared by unskilled hands.”

  “I’d say she could be a pretty fatal delicacy all by herself.”

  “Indeed, Colonel Fox. In Zen archery she is unsurpassed by any but the finest masters. A considerable accomplishment for one of such tender years, don’t you think?”

  “Not bad, lady,” Chant said to the woman in a flat tone.

  “Fuckin’ A, buster,” the woman answered, and laughed again. Her English had a slight Boston accent.

  TWELVE

  “I wish I could say it was good to see you, Sensei,” Chant said as, closely flanked by the huge, mute man and the woman, he was ushered out of the house and onto the porch, where he was signaled to stop. He could feel the presence of the two massive, barrel-chested men just behind him.

  Bai bowed slightly. “I appreciate the courtesy of your address.”

  “But you are my sensei—the finest. You taught me innumerable useful things, one of them being that courtesy costs nothing and it effectively masks true feelings, whatever they may be.”

  “Well remembered and spoken, John.”

  Chant smiled thinly. “About now I’m betting that your sleazy client inside the house wishes that he only had me to deal with. He got considerably more than he bargained for when he hired Master Bai. Baldauf doesn’t have a soul to lose, but he’d damn well better hang onto everything else he has.”

  Bai produced a large, clean linen handkerchief from his pocket, offered it to Chant. “Would you care to use this to stop the bleeding? I’m afraid your shirt and suit jacket have already been ruined.”

  Chant shook his head. “I prefer to let the wound cleanse itself. You’re looking well, Sensei.”

  “If the arrowhead had been poisoned, you’d already be dead.”

  “You were always a master of drugs, Sensei—some of them causing effects worse than death. I still prefer to let the wound cleanse itself.”

  “Yield or die, John.”

  “Meaning that you’ve decided not to kill me if I yield and go away?”

  “Precisely. Think of your life as my gift to my most honored apprentice.”

  “What will poor Mr. Baldauf think? You’ll lose face with the slavemaster.”

  “I can afford it. In fact, I suspect I’ll end up killing Baldauf myself. He’s what Soussan would describe as a creep, and I really don’t much care for him. Without his family fortune, he would be nothing. He has no personal power. The man isn’t a worthy opponent for you, John.”

  “No? Talk to the Hmong whose children he and his family have sold. He lures them here with all sorts of promises, you know. Then he steals their immigration papers. They don’t speak English, and they know nothing about life in this country, or our laws; they know only that they’ll be killed by their government if they’re returned to Laos. The Baldaufs manipulate that fear to enslave these people, torture and murder them when they resist. Take a holiday, Sensei. You and I have been enemies long enough. Pass on this assignment, and help me to destroy the family and transfer their wealth to the Hmong. It will amuse you.”

  “It would amuse me, but I might actually lose personal power by helping you to step on such an ant. The idea of a grand duel with my most gifted ex-pupil amuses me even more. Besides, I have ordered a new cabin cruiser which Mr. Baldauf is helping to pay for. Will you go away, John, and leave Baldauf and the Hmong to their own devices?”

  “I think not, Sensei. “

  “You see, Soussan?” Bai said, smiling as he glanced at his granddaughter. “It is as I said. Not only is John an honorable man, but a romantic as well; a truly fatal combination of indulgences. He is even so foolish as to appeal to my sense of honor, when he knows full well that I do not have one.”

  The woman studied Chant appraisingly, but said nothing.

  “It’s just as well that you declined, John,” Bai continued. “I was lying about sparing your life.”

  “I know that, Sensei. Why didn’t you kill me back in the house?”

  “For the same reason that I did not tell poor Mr. Baldauf who ‘Colonel Fox’ really is. It would be too easy. I didn’t bring Soussan, Ko, Yabu, and Kiyama all the way here just to watch me kill you in ambush. Why waste such a marvelous opportunity for instruction and entertainment? Why spoil the fun?”

  “I’m certainly glad you’re not a spoilsport, Sensei.”

  “But now I will make you another offer, honorable man, and I trust you’ll consider it seriously. I would like you to come back in the house with me, confess all to poor Mr. Baldauf, then commit seppuku in front of him. It will afford you an honorable death.”

  “Seppuku never seemed like much fun to me, Sensei. I don’t want to be a spoilsport, either.”

  “Ah. It’s true that it would be finished all too soon, but there would be compensation. I would truly love to see poor Mr. Baldauf’s reaction when you spill your guts on his library floor. Also, when word gets around—and it will—of how quickly and efficiently I dispatched the infamous and legendary John Sinclair, it will enhance my reputation even more. You, of all people, can appreciate the inestimable value of illusion.”

  “I had a most gifted teacher. What illusions are you planning for me, Sensei? I’ll pass on the illusion of an honorable death; death is death. Life offers the only opportunities for honor.”

  “Do this thing for me, John. Give me a spectacle In exchange, in addition to an honorable death, I offer you the accomplishment of your goals here. After allowing a suitable period of time for word of my accomplishment to spread, I will set Ko loose on poor Mr. Baldauf. Your enemy will very quickly see that Baldauf Industries is transferred to the Hmong. Then Ko will pull Baldauf apart. He will also kill any other member of the family you think deserves death. Will you accept my offer, John?”

  “I think not, Sensei. I can’t stop you from killing me now, but you can’t force me to take my own life.”

  “What if I threaten to continue killing Hmong until you do agree?”

  “Then I will no longer remain passive, as I am at the moment. I will resist and attack, and then you will be forced to kill me anyway. Forcing me to demonstrate seppuku for Baldauf is a victory even Master Bai cannot achieve.”

  “Ah. That’s too bad, John. I really thought it was a brilliant idea.”

  “I have an even better one, Sensei. You want to see your three men and me get it on—fine. Let’s do it now, out on the lawn. You can invite Baldauf
out to watch. That should cut through all this bullshit. If I’m killed, you’ve earned your money. If I win, you and your granddaughter go away. Without you, Baldauf will cave in immediately, and I’ll be able to get what I want.”

  Bai pursed his lips. “You wish to take on Ko, Yabu, and Kiyama at once?”

  “Yes, Sensei. Right now. Hand-to-hand, or any combination of weapons you choose.”

  “It certainly can’t be said that you lack for self-confidence, John.”

  “What will be will be. I have work to do, and you’re preventing me from getting on with it.”

  “But you’ve lost so much blood.”

  “There’s more where that came from. What about it, Sensei?”

  “No,” Bai said flatly.

  “Why not? I promise I’ll try to put on a good show before your men bust me up.”

  “I’m sure you would, John, but I’m afraid it would be over all too quickly. Since you will not commit seppuku, I will use your death for other purposes. After all, this was originally meant as a training exercise for Soussan. The defeat and killing of a man like you should be savored.”

  “Did you really kill my father, Sensei?”

  “Yes, John That was the truth. I’m somewhat ashamed to admit that it was a petulant act of frustration at losing you as a disciple. Since you did not, finally, embrace Black Flame, it was as if you had stolen my teachings. Some payment had to be exacted, even if it was only the cheap currency of revenge.”

  “Play with me and you could end up with a dead granddaughter, Sensei.”

  “Perhaps,” Bai said with a casual shrug. “But you will not kill her out of spite, or for revenge, because of your terrible vulnerability which you call honor. If Soussan dies at your hands, it will be because you have found her a worthy opponent. That will be some solace.” The old man paused, raised his eyebrows slightly. “Then again, John, this apprentice may end up killing you, saving my three assistants the trouble.”

  “Anything is possible, Sensei,” Chant said dryly. “I would not underestimate the skills of anyone taught by you and sent against me.”

  The old man nodded to the woman, who stepped in front of Chant. Knowing that he would be killed instantly if he made a move, Chant had no choice but to stand still as the woman smiled up at him, winked with her brown eye Then she casually reached up and, slowly and deliberately, raked his cheek with the nail of her right index finger. The fingernail, a half inch longer than the others, appeared to have been specially hardened with herb solutions, and it cut through his flesh like a scalpel. Chant felt blood well in the gash, roll down his cheek.

  For a few brief seconds Chant felt faint, and the image of the woman staring up into his face blurred.

  He’d just been inoculated with a drug, Chant thought, and a chill went through him. Bai was a master of many ancient secrets concerning poisonous herbs, and whatever potion had been prepared and put under the fingernail that had just scratched him would have dangerous, and probably most unpleasant, effects.

  Then the woman’s mouth was on his, her tongue forcing its way through his lips and probing the inside of his mouth. She sucked his tongue, forced her hips against his, writhed, stroked his groin with her long fingers.

  Chant lost track of the passage of time. Then his head abruptly cleared. The woman pulled away, winked again. Chant could see her stiff, pointed nipples even through the thick material of her sweatshirt.

  Chant touched his cheek, then examined his blood-soaked fingertips. “You’ve drugged me,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Bai nodded. “Something new—or, to be more precise, a secret formulation that is very old. Fortunately, it was not included in the lessons you received from me. I only recently came across this particular secret potion in a very ancient manuscript. This is a rather curious drug, and I believe you’ll find its long-range effects intriguing.”

  “There’s no doubt in my mind.”

  “If the drug gives you a taste of hell, I believe it will also taste of heaven. Or so the manuscript would lead one to believe. You’re the first person it’s been used on in centuries.”

  “Could you be a bit more specific as to the drug’s supposed effects, Sensei?”

  “I think that might spoil the fun, John. Better to wait and let you discover the effects for yourself.”

  “How will you know if it’s working?”

  “I’ll know.”

  “Then again, there may be no drag at all. All this talk could be bullshit meant to distract me. After all, Sensei, you are an absolute master of illusion.”

  Bai giggled. “Yes, that’s also possible. It certainly gives you something to think about, doesn’t it, John?”

  “Are we finished for the day?”

  “We’re finished.”

  “What happens next?”

  “Go back to your hotel. You’ll hear from me.”

  Chant remained where he was. “I would like to fight now, Sensei.”

  “No, John. You cannot fight now; you can only die. Go now.”

  Chant stepped down off the porch and started to walk away. He could still feel the woman’s tongue in his mouth, her hands caressing him.…

  “John?”

  Chant stopped, turned back. “Yes, Sensei?”

  “For all these years, you’ve been practicing your skills on idiots like poor Mr. Baldauf. You know you can’t prevail against me.”

  “That may well be true, Sensei. We’ll see, won’t we?”

  “I know they started calling you ‘Chant’ during the war, John, but I don’t know why. Would you care to tell me?”

  “Ah,” Chant replied with a thin smile. “There’s a mystery for you to ponder, Sensei. You may yet discover the answer.”

  THIRTEEN

  After circling the Hmong compound to assure himself that there were no guards, Chant slipped in through the narrow streets and alleyways to the building where Kim Chi had a small apartment. He went up the fire escape, worked on the locked window for a few seconds, then opened it and let himself in.

  The Hmong woman was sleeping with her face toward him. In the moonlight falling in through the window, the scar on her forehead glowed with a white luminescence.

  “Kim Chi,” Chant said softly. The woman’s eyes opened wide, and were filled with terror. The giant Ko had done his job well, Chant thought as he gently but firmly covered Kim Chi’s mouth with his hand to prevent her from screaming. Once again, fear had become the Hmongs’ constant companion, waking and sleeping. “It’s Chant. Don’t be afraid.”

  Gradually the terror left the Hmong woman’s eyes, and Chant took his hand away from her mouth. Kim Chi shuddered, then sat up. She wrapped her arms around Chant’s neck and held him tight.

  “Oh, Chant,” Kim Chi murmured, “I was so afraid.…”

  “Is the money I gave you safe?”

  Kim Chi nodded. “I pried up some floorboards and put it in a crawlspace near the wall.”

  “Good. Baldauf managed to go out and hire himself some decent help, and I’ve got problems. As I told you, I’d hoped to force Baldauf into giving the Hmong everything his family owns. Now that may not be possible. I may have to settle for making sure that Wilbur Baldauf, at least, never again exploits anybody. If I’m killed, and there is that possibility, you’ll have to decide how to best use the million dollars for the good of all.”

  Kim Chi started to protest, but Chant silenced her by putting a finger to her lips. Tears welled in her eyes, and he gently brushed them away.

  “I’m not dead yet, Kim Chi, and I don’t plan to be; I just said it was a possibility. Right now what I need most is information about my enemies. Tell me what happened here last night. I know that a Japanese killed four people.”

  Kim Chi frowned, then shook her head. “A monster of a man, a Japanese named Ko, did come into the compound, and he did kill—but he didn’t kill Hmong. What he did was to bring great terror.”

  “What did he do, Kim Chi?”

  “He called us all
together in the square, where he spoke to us in English. He said that he had come to kill you, and that you had run away because you are afraid to fight him. We all knew it wasn’t true, but it was still terrible to hear him say such a thing.”

  Chant smiled wryly. “The man who tells Ko what to do lied to me twice about him; he said Ko was mute, and he said four people had been killed. Interesting.”

  “Why should this man lie?”

  “To show his utter contempt for truth, and to make me feel extreme relief—which I do, of course. It’s his way of demonstrating to me that he can control my emotions as well as the situation. He’s demonstrating to me just how well he can wage psychological warfare.”

  “I know that it’s also a lie that you’re afraid to fight this Ko.”

  Chant grunted. “It’s not only Ko. My enemy, Master Bai, brought along two others just about as big, with secret skills, to serve as backups.”

  “I don’t care how many of them there are, Chant. You’re not afraid of anything.”

  “That’s not true, Kim Chi. I’ve told you before that I’m just a man, and I work hard at not being a fool. Only a fool wouldn’t be afraid to fight these three men. I didn’t run away, but that’s unimportant. Bai could easily have destroyed my body this afternoon, but he chose not to. It means that he’s far more interested in destroying my mind, and the three martial artists may have been brought along only as a sideshow. I don’t know. The trick is not to let feelings control behavior, and it’s precisely my emotions that are being attacked at the moment—possibly through the use of a drug. Master Bai is a most formidable opponent, and he can be unbelievably cruel.”

  “You’ve met this man before, haven’t you?”

  “Oh, yes. We’re old enemies.”

  “Why does he hate you so?”

  “It’s not important, Kim Chi.”

  “I know that it’s also true you will finally defeat him. I feel this in my heart, Chant, even as I feel fear.”

  “What will be will be.”

  Kim Chi was silent for some time “Ko said other things,” she whispered at last. “He said that you might be tempted to turn yourself in to the FBI in exchange for them sending an attack force into the county and trapping them all. He said that would not work. He assured us that they would escape, and that they were patient. When the outsiders had left, they would return and kill many Hmong.”