Death Before Dishonor Read online

  Then he heard the sputter of what sounded like an engine. He was sure of it! The ocean didn’t sound like that—the distinct growl and mechanical thumping of pistons.

  He kicked and pulled, wheeling himself around toward the sound, coughing up the water he ingested. Was it a boat? It had to be.

  Out of the darkness drifted a small boat pitching casually on the aftershocks left by the yacht. Henchoz, revitalized by the possibility of rescue, screamed and splashed, trying to gain the attention of the boat's pilot. The pilot shined a brief light at Henchoz and then steered the boat alongside him. Henchoz seized the side of the boat and coughed his appreciation and relief. The pilot reached down and heaved Henchoz aboard by his jacket and pants.

  Henchoz rolled onto his back, groaning and coughing to clear the seawater from his mouth and throat. “Oh God!” he wheezed. “Thank you—thank you so much! I thought—I thought I was going to die! Thank you!”

  “No problem,” the pilot assured him, speaking English. "It’s no problem."

  Henchoz's faced wrinkled with confusion, not fully recovered from the fall, the fear, and the cold. He coughed some more before saying, “You understand French?”

  “Yeah,” the pilot replied in English again, “I just don’t speak it well.”

  “You’re American?” Henchoz spoke English now, recognizing the accent.

  The pilot nodded and opened the throttle, starting off into the inky blackness.

  Henchoz sat back, finally able to relax his body. His mind was still racing, though, wondering if the crew had realized that he had fallen overboard. He couldn’t believe that had happened. Wait—that waiter had pushed him overboard—deliberately. The waiter had attacked him. Was it a hit? Was the waiter a hired killer? How had he gotten onboard? Never mind, he’d address all that once he got back to land. What mattered right this second was that he was alive. Retaliation would come later.

  Henchoz noticed that the pilot was wearing a wetsuit and had an oxygen tank strapped to his back. “What’re you doing out here?”

  “Diving. What’re you doing out here?”

  “I fell off my yacht. I was pushed, actually.”

  “Pushed?”

  “Yes, I think it was an assassination attempt.”

  Terry slammed the throttle closed. “An assassination attempt? Are you somebody important or something?”

  “Yes—and you could say that.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing I just happened to be out here.”

  “Yes, it is. I’m sorry, but I didn’t get your name?”

  “Mamushi.”

  “I’m sorry? What is it?”

  “Mamushi. It’s the name of the Japanese viper spirit.”

  “Well, Mamushi, I owe you a huge debt of gratitude,” Henchoz replied, beginning to wonder why the boat had come to a halt. He hoped that it hadn’t run out of gas. He just wanted to be on land.

  “Is there something wrong?” asked Henchoz.

  “Not at all.”

  “Why are you stopping, Mamushi?”

  “Because,” Terry said, fastening the Velcro on his neoprene gloves, “this is your stop.” Terry lunged from his seat, barreling Henchoz over the side.

  Henchoz felt the sudden rush of cold and the taste of salt again. He flailed wildly as Terry snaked his way around behind Henchoz and grabbed two handfuls of Henchoz's clothes. Terry, breathing from the regulator, kicked deeper and deeper into the water, dragging a thrashing Henchoz.

  Henchoz spun, whirled, and kicked. His elbow struck Terry on the side of the head, cracking the seal of his mask. Cold water poured in, and Terry released Henchoz, disappearing into the murk and gloom of the sea.

  Henchoz convulsed, his lungs burning for air. His vision had become a tunnel, the edges merging into the blackness of the ocean. Unconsciousness whispered in his ear, but Henchoz refused to listen. He clawed and kicked toward the surface, willing himself to remain conscious just a little longer.

  Just as his fingertips broke the surface and his lungs were a half-second from taking in fresh air, Terry shot out of the darkness, struck Henchoz, getting his arms around Henchoz’s waist and dragging him under. The force of the initial strike forced Henchoz to breach for a brief second, but he still couldn’t manage to inhale air—only water. Terry rolled over the top of Henchoz and used their momentum to drive them downwards.

  Terry was horribly annoyed and frustrated by Henchoz's escape and gripped his clothing like a vice this time. He tried not to be as ruthless as his brother, but that's what Terry got for being cordial. He was inclined to grab Henchoz by the neck but could ill afford to leave marks that could show signs of struggle; a struggle would only belie the truth of the situation. In any case, Terry was not going to afford Henchoz another chance at escape.

  Henchoz tried to hold what breath remained, but his breathing impulse was beginning to override his command. He tried over and over to break free, but his strength was leaving, being replaced with lethargy. This was it. His vision was almost completely black, and his body was numb; even the fire in his lungs had gone out. This was the end; he knew it. Then his mouth shot open, and his diaphragm drew downwards, compelling his lungs open. His fingers became hooks, and his legs spasmed. With a sudden jerk, Henchoz stopped moving.

  Terry shook him just to be sure that he was dead. Satisfied, Terry surfaced, spit out the regulator, and paddled to the boat, which hadn’t drifted far. He pulled himself aboard and keyed the mic. “It’s done. Are you ready?”

  “Yeah, let me know when you’re five minutes away,” Yuri answered. “I’ll go overboard when you are. Don’t take forever either; the water isn’t exactly warm. No one has even noticed he’s gone. The prostitute has been looking for him, but that’s about it.”

  “Perfect. I’m on my way.”

  Chapter Nine: Death Is The Only Certainty

  Suzuka Mountains. Mie Prefecture, Japan. Eighteen years ago.

  The rain was coming down hard, making the slopes of the mountains that cradled the village treacherous as Terry, Saki, and Akiko scaled them. Saki and Akiko were accustomed to the unforgiving rise and fall of the terrain as well as the weather at these altitudes. Terry, however, was not. He was, though, starting to adapt to the environment, and his ability to keep pace was improving day by day. Terry was hardly as athletic as Saki and Akiko. They could leap tremendous distances for their sizes and scuttle along thin outcroppings and ravines deftly like aspiring tightrope walkers. They had amazing upper-body strength, allowing them to hoist up to and around overhangs in no time, whereas Terry spent much of his time trying to negotiate shear surfaces with their disagreeable instruction or having to navigate a less treacherous secondary route. The handholds and footholds were harder to grasp firmly, and the sharp turns were harder to negotiate, but with youth came a daredevil spirit and limitless energy.

  Daylight was fading rapidly—what daylight was available from behind the electricity-hurling monsters thundering and shaking the mountainsides—and they were trying to make it back to the village before sunset. They were not allowed to be outside the village periphery after dusk and did not want to violate their curfew if they could help it. The rain set them back a little, the persistent downpour obscuring their view, but it didn’t slow their pace.

  “Guys, slow down!” Terry panted.

  “We can’t!” Akiko yelled over her shoulder, “If we get back after dark, we’ll be punished!”

  Violating curfew meant, if they were lucky, a reprimand from any number of Jonin and a host of chores added to their already large daily list. If they were unlucky, they could expect that the kōchō would demand that they were punished. The kōchō didn’t take keenly to dissonance nor disobedience and would punish severely for offenses. Punishment took various forms, but all of them involved pain. The last person to be punished had been made to hold hot coals in front of the entire village. The burns had been horrendous, and the smell had been even worse. The children didn’t want to be punished, so they gave it ever
ything they had to make it back in time.

  They tore down the ridgeline that snaked its way along the river that bordered the village, but the ridge climbed again to even higher peaks that bordered a saddle. Climbing it, while necessary, was just going to add time to their return and would make them late. The best choice they had was to climb down the ridge and travel up the bank of the river, but they were unsure whether the face was stable enough to climb down. Saki decided that he would chance the ascent up the ridge. He reasoned that they could make up lost time on the descent and then pretend that they were playing in the goat pen until dusk.

  Akiko didn’t see it that way. “Saki, we’re not going to make it that way. Terry isn’t fast enough.”

  Terry was still loping down the mountainside toward them.

  “What do we do?” she asked

  “We’re going to have to follow the river, then.”

  “Saki, what if we fall?”

  “We won’t fall…”

  Just then, Terry arrived, struggling to breathe.

  “…because we’re going to jump.”

  Akiko looked at Saki, mortified. Terry swung his head between them. Saki’s face was determined.

  “That’s a long way down.” she said.

  “If we don’t, we won’t make it back on time, and we’re going to be punished, Akiko.”

  “Wait—you guys aren’t really thinking about jumping are you?” Terry’s breathing was finally settling. “What’s the big deal, anyway? There’s nothing out here.”

  “No, Terry, we’re not going to jump.”

  “Good, because that’s a long—”

  Saki shoved Terry, and he went over the side screaming “fall.” He wasn’t graceful, nor was his water entry. They’d never even asked him if he could swim. Saki and Akiko went over the side shortly after. Their fall was precise and elegant. The same couldn’t be said for Terry.

  The three pre-teens hustled along the bank toward the village. The way through the forest was darkening as daylight faded, but strobes of lightning lit their path towards an opening in the perimeter fence.

  Through the waning light, Saki, in the lead, could make out a villager at the fence waving to them vigorously. Saki slowed as he approached, apprehensive as to whether the Jonin and the kōchō had sent the adult to retrieve them for sentencing.

  Saki swore that they had made it back in time, but the kōchō was not given to leniency nor technicalities. Honestly, Saki was scared, and so was Akiko when she caught up seconds later; Terry, panting heavily, wasn’t too far behind. The villager, an older man, perhaps in his mid- to late-sixties, dressed in stained overalls and a tattered plaid button-down, and with a gray, balding head, insisted that the children follow.

  They all hurried single file through the mud of the rutted field to a far corner that opened into the village rim, where another villager, a lady this time, wearing a khaki-colored pants and tunic and with her hair in a saturated up-do, was waiting for the man. She bid the children follow her just the same and darted off towards the village center; the man returned to his post along the fence. As the woman and children rounded the corner of a cottage, they could make out a figure standing in the rain and masses of villagers huddled in a chaotic, half-moon shape behind him. As the children and the leader drew closer, they finally could identify the Shinobi-no-mon and several elders and villagers encircling a dirty blonde child—Yuri. The woman came to halt a short distance away, and then the children followed her lead as they arrived one at a time. Saki and Akiko stopped and regarded Terry while he puzzled over his brother.

  Yuri clutched the grandmaster’s leg, shaming the rain with hysterical tears and the thunder with grief.

  Hanzo dropped to his knees, splattering mud all over his robe, and beckoned Terry with a hand and a weak nod. The woman softly instructed that he obey the grandmaster, and Akiko pushed him toward Hanzo by the shoulder.

  Terry took several steps through the deepening mud before stopping again and hovering just out of reach. He heard a drawn-out plea from Yuri but could scarcely make out what he was saying through the hysterics and the rumbling storm. In between the thunder, more words became clear: Please! Mom! No! Terry edged even closer, glancing over his shoulder at Saki and Akiko, who watched him anxiously with equally confused looks.

  Hanzo beckoned Terry more vigorously. Apprehension made Terry’s feet heavy, but he compelled them forward anyway. Yuri howled that he wanted to see his mother, and the misery in his voice made Terry’s stomach boil with anxiety. He’d never heard such unfettered anguish in his brother’s voice.

  Terry was close enough now that he could hear Hanzo say hoarsely, “Terry, I am most sorry.” This was the first time Hanzo had spoken to him in the month that they had been in the village. “It is with great regret that I must tell you that you will not be returning to your parents. I just received news from Omiyoshu Sensei that your parents are gone. Their plane crashed into the sea a couple of weeks ago.”

  Terry’s face was awash with confusion, then disbelief. Then it became a mask of abject horror. His mouth moved, saying what, but nothing came out. He was in a tunnel suddenly, and the world was crammed inside with him. The walls of the tunnel were tightening—closing in. He could feel the pressure increasing. Hanzo was saying something else, but Terry couldn’t hear him. Terry could only see Hanzo’s lips moving. In fact, everyone’s lips were moving. He was surrounded on all sides; they were closing in just like the tunnel. Terry didn’t know what to do; he could barely breathe. Several villagers rushed over to console him. Their hands were on him, but he couldn’t feel them. Yuri’s screaming pulsed in Terry’s ears, but he couldn’t hear Yuri, he just felt Yuri’s grief pounding against his eardrums. Yuri reached out for Terry—the walls closing in even more. Then he could make out Kintake standing beneath the awning of a cottage with a hardened, unsympathetic stare and apathetic, folded arms. And at that moment, Terry’s world exploded—everything caught fire and burned—and Terry bolted out of the crowd. The Shinobi-no-mono reached out to stop Terry, but Terry slipped his grasp and ran for the fence and then out into the howling storm and the dark forest.

  Saki and Akiko felt powerless, but they couldn’t just let Terry run out into the forest by himself; he didn’t know the area well enough. Akiko shot Saki a compelling look, and he nodded. Then both children sprinted off in Terry’s direction. The villagers nearby tried to stop them, but they were no more successful than Hanzo had been with Terry. The villagers, however, gave chase, trying to stop the children from running out into the hazardous storm and the treacherous countryside.

  Kintake, still standing at his dry perch amid a throng of elders and retainers, sucked his teeth contemptuously at the villagers ambling about in disarray. The old man—Hanzo—had once again showed his ineptitude at leadership, unable to even control children. He was the reason the Shinobi were falling apart. And Kintake wasn’t sure, or comfortable, with Hanzo’s sudden compassion toward the two American boys when just yesterday he had been vehemently opposed to them. Suddenly, when Kintake had brought him the news of the untimely death of the boys’ parents, Hanzo had become sensitive to their needs. That didn’t make sense. That wasn’t what Kintake had anticipated. That was not part of the plan. And Kintake wouldn’t abide Hanzo’s new pets if that’s what they were. They were Kintake’s project, not Hanzo’s. Hanzo had a profound way ruining everything for Kintake—he always had.

  In a dark corner of his mind, Kintake hoped that being out in this rain would cause the Shinobi-no-mono to catch pneumonia and that he’d die from it. It wasn’t likely considering it was summer, but a man could hope. Kintake contemplated killing Hanzo outright, but that wasn’t in the cards since the Fujibayashi and the Momochi would assume foul play at the sudden death of their spiritual messiah, and they’d all be relentless in their investigation. Kintake couldn’t afford dissension, and he’d have to consider his options. In the meantime, there was the pressing matter of his daughter and Saki chasing the older
of the two Americans through the canyons in the dark of night and in a monstrous thunderstorm. He’d handle that first and then consider what he needed to do in the wake of this backfiring.

  Kintake gestured to two young-adult males wearing robes and with swords protruding from their belts, and who were standing in the rain nearby, into the forest. They bowed deliberately, gathered several others, and promptly galloped off into the storm after the children.

  Kintake regarded Hanzo, Yuri, and the Jonin and villagers in the courtyard. He rubbed the wretched scar on the side of his face thoughtfully before telling his entourage that he was going indoors and not to disturb him until the children were found.

  ***

  Thunder bellowed, a deafening roar like an angry carnivore; in the sky directly above, lightning cut jagged lines. The storm threatened Terry with impunity. He felt no fear. He felt nothing, only emptiness. It was as if some part of him had disappeared or been destroyed altogether. There was a hole where that something had once been. Terry did not know where he was going; he was just letting his feet do the driving, with fate riding shotgun. He began to round a bend to a low area, thinking he recognized the terrain features. Not that it mattered; he just kept running. He slid down a berm into an area of perfectly aligned trees that materialized into walls of gray that whizzed past him as he sprinted through the torrential gloom. His feet carried him through the mountain forests independent of his mind. He was not sure if his mind was even working; his thoughts were a mess. He was a mess. Everything was a mess!

  The rain was still coming down in torrents, and the lightning backlit a solemn montage of silhouetted mountains. The wind was howling through the valley, blowing the rain sideways and whipping the trees. Over the noise, Terry heard something faint and strange. It sounded like banging metal. It was rhythmic.