Death Before Dishonor Page 21

  “Only the vilest, soulless creatures use torture,” Terry whispered into the general’s ear.

  “My men will kill you!” the general wailed. “They will kill you and rape your family!”

  Terry tore the general’s shirt, exposing his abdomen. “Torture is the weapon of the dishonorable. Anyone who uses it deserves a slow, excruciating death.” Terry drew his tanto and flashed it in front of the general’s face. “Are you ready?” taunted Terry, and then he scraped the blade across the general’s stomach, slicing through the walls of skin, fat, and muscle. The flesh covering the abdominal cavity sprung open like curtains drawn open by their string, and his guts spat onto the floor with a sickening plop. Terry let the general fall to the ground and watched the doomed man mill about trying to gather his innards.

  ***

  Yuri had rushed the final riggings of the IEDs. He hoped that he hadn’t incorrectly wired them, but he didn’t have time to inspect them thoroughly. He hoped that the combined blast and fragmentation would cause enough bedlam to render not only the rigged cars useless but also the cars that Yuri couldn’t rig. At this stage in the game, he had to accept what he had managed to rig and leave as planned—no heroics.

  He climbed the side of a rail car adjacent to a series of other cars that acted as an improvised high-road escape route over the wall of the compound. He bounded from car roof to car roof until he could scale the short distance up the perimeter wall and leap over the side, beneath the notice of a sentry tower. Once outside, Yuri raced through the snow to the hide point to wait for his brother.

  Yuri tumbled down a snowy embankment, rolled to a halt at the designated location, and lay there panting. His lungs burned from the cold. He had bludgeoned his way through thigh-high precipitation because he hadn’t had the time to put on his snowshoes. They wouldn’t have afforded him the ability to sprint anyway.

  For the first time during his entire time in Kazakhstan, the cold felt pleasant as Yuri looked up at the stars. In spite of the burning in his chest, the cold was calming and made the landscape serene—serene until Yuri initiated the apocalypse anyway.

  Ba-deep ba-deep. His phone chirped. Terry needed five more minutes. That was fine with Yuri; he needed more time to lay there in the snow and decompress. Hell, at this rate, Terry could chirp a second time, and Yuri would grant him another five minutes if it meant that Yuri could lay there for a little while longer. Then his thoughts went to Veronica. Wow, he missed her. He hadn’t thought about her in several hours, but—

  Yuri’s eyes slammed open. How long had he been lying there? He raised his watch to his face. He had to blow the charge in forty-five seconds. Phew, he felt like he’d been dozing forever. It had only been about seven minutes.

  Just then, he heard someone coming. His hand went instinctively to his ninjatō. Then Terry flopped over the side of the same embankment, slid down the side, and came to rest against his brother. Terry panted just as Yuri had.

  “If I weren't so tired, I’d say something sarcastic,” Terry said.

  “Meh—your jokes aren’t that funny anyway.”

  “Well, at least my timing is great.”

  “You’re like FedEx…you deliver.”

  “Ha!”

  “Speaking of deliveries, look that direction,” Yuri said, tossing a thumb toward the compound and mashing a combination of buttons on his cellphone.

  There was a low rumble accompanied by several popping sounds. Then there was screaming, followed by an orange and yellow pressure wave and an ear-splitting roar. The blast was so big that an entire rail car crushed a portion of the perimeter wall when the car careened into it. The blast was more colossal than Yuri had anticipated, and the concussion forced them to cover their ears. Afterward, Terry asked Yuri to explain how he’d produced that much yield with C4. Yuri claimed that it was simply “ninja magic.”

  Chapter Eleven: The Crushing Blow

  Suzuka Mountains. Mie Prefecture, Japan. 9 years ago.

  The night was exceptionally dark—so dark, in fact, that Terry and his small team of Shinobi had to navigate the rustic ascent of the surrounding mountains more by feel than anything else as they moved toward their objective. The eighteen training Shinobi had been undergoing an intensive two months of instruction in preparation for this evening’s exercise—or test. The past two months had come under the explicit scrutiny of the Shinobi-no-mono and the elder council, requiring Kintake to remain in the village long past his desire, and therefore he couldn’t operate his school in Tokyo. That made him irritable and harsh—more so than usual. Making matters worse, he and the Shinobi-no-mono visibly weren’t getting along. All the trainees found it better to avoid Kintake the best they could lest they become outlets for his frustration.

  Terry and his Genin—low-ranked Shinobi—were scaling the sheer face of a cliff, trying to shave off time to their objective. Terry was the second Shinobi to reach the apex behind his scout. He spun around and sat down, dangling his feet over the edge as he used his climbing claws to pull a rock from between the toes of his tabi boots; the rock had been plaguing him the entire climb.

  A Shinobi who was finishing the hundred-foot climb just below him called to him.

  Terry tossed the rock over the side and reached down to grab a handful of the Shinobi’s sword harness, hoisting his teammate the rest of the distance onto the ledge.

  The Shinobi rolled on his side and looked Terry in the face. “Terry, Masaharu has injured himself.”

  “Okay, keep moving.” Terry didn’t seem concerned; injury was commonplace in their lifestyle. Shinobi simply bandaged themselves and kept moving—invisibility was hard to maintain, after all, if one didn’t do so. “We’ll deal with it once we get to the objective.”

  “No, Terry, you do not understand. Masaharu cannot walk. We believe his leg is broken.”

  Terry’s eyes went up and to the right as he thought about how to handle the situation. Should he leave his teammate here with someone to care for him until they had completed the exercise? Could they carry Masaharu to the objective? Or was it just better to move him to someplace safe and call for help? Either way, Kintake wasn’t going to be happy. It made Terry anxious just thinking about Kintake’s response.

  Terry looked down into the darkness and saw the silhouettes of his teammates. Some were preparing to make the climb; others were undoubtedly tending to Masaharu.

  “Very well. Let’s find a way down and check him out. If it’s as bad as you say, then we’ll move him back to our stage point. Omiyoshu Sensei won’t be happy, but we’ll just have to deal with that.”

  ***

  Kintake was counting down the minutes until it was over as he sat there against a boulder in the cool darkness. He had grown tired of Iga, of Togakure Ryu, of the Fujibayashi—these relics. Most of all, he was at his wits’ end with the Shinobi-no-mono, and it was making him hate everyone—even his students. He just wanted them to be done so he could leave and distance himself from Togakure Ryu to recharge his batteries before he had to come back again…only to be reprimanded by Hanzo. Being away and running Togakure Ryu’s day-to-day operations remotely through his Chunin and Jonin—middle-ranked seniors and high-ranked elders—and the elder council was worth the reprimand. He just needed to make it through the evening without strangling someone.

  His students were stalking through the hills to their objective. They had to get past Kintake’s Chunin undetected and simulate an assassination by killing a hog that was chained to a stake in a nearby glade without being spotted. Kintake just needed them to get it right so that he could leave at sunrise. He needed to attend a meeting in Tokyo that he had had to postpone repeatedly.

  Then, over the ambient nighttime sounds, Kintake’s thoughts were interrupted by the faint sound of whistles attenuating through the terrain. Something had happened.

  “Sensei!” a Jonin with shoulder-length hair and receding hairline called as he approached.

  “I heard it,” Kintake hissed, beginning to seethe.
“Go tell the others to meet me at the yorishiro.” This was the sacred tree with a rock formation placed at its base five hundred years ago that sat just below the hills. “Then you come back here and see to it that the hog is returned to the village.”

  Kintake stormed off.

  ***

  When Terry and his Genin arrived, Kintake and the Jonin were there waiting. Saki’s Genin, which included Yuri, even though he was technically a Chunin like Saki, and his brother, were fast approaching from the south.

  Terry could feel Kintake staring a hole through him. Terry kept his focus on his Genin as they carried Masaharu to yorishiro and set him down. Masaharu winced as they made an earnest effort to settle him as gently as possible, positioning him so that he could sit with his back against a rock for support.

  Terry stood and straightened his tunic beneath his harness before looking at the kōchō.

  Kintake’s eyes were serpentine. “Explain yourself.”

  “Sensei, Masaharu broke his thigh bone while we were climbing. A handhold came loose, and he fell to the rocks below.”

  “Do you not realize how important this is? Why did you not leave him there?”

  Just then, Saki, Yuri, and Saki’s Genin crested the hill and made their way towards the rest of the Fujibayashi.

  “I do realize how important this test is, Sensei, but leaving him there was too risky. What if something happened to him? I mean, he’s badly injured and in tremendous pain. Leaving him there would only make it worse.”

  “Chunin will not lecture me, Terry! There is nothing more important than this test!”

  “Not even the life of a Shinobi, Sensei?”

  “No—all of your lives are forfeit! They are meaningless to Ninpo. You do what you are instructed and not what you desire! The outcome you desire is contrary to the demands of Ninpo!”

  “With respect, Sensei, I disagree. Ninpo doesn’t demand that we forfeit our lives.”

  Kintake’s fists clenched. “I am the proprietor of Ninpo, Terry, not you! I make that determination, not you!”

  “I understand that, Sensei, but you’re wrong.”

  “How dare you!”

  “Sensei, I don’t mean to offend—”

  Kintake struck Terry on the side of the face with blinding speed, and the force rocked Terry backward two steps. All the Shinobi backed away; Kintake’s blast radius was notoriously large.

  Terry managed to stay on his feet—barely. Kintake struck him again, feeling that Terry remaining standing was yet another act of defiance. Terry, however, didn’t go down. Kintake hit him a third time, a fourth, a fifth, a sixth, and so on. Finally, Terry hit the ground, bleeding.

  For a split second, Yuri was mentally paralyzed as his brain processed what he was seeing. Kintake had just reared back and struck Terry repeatedly.

  Terry…

  As in Yuri's brother, Terry.

  Yuri heard his mother's voice in his ears saying, "Yuri, your brother is your responsibility."

  Yuri’s vision became a tunnel as he stalked with unfettered intent towards Kintake, weaving through the small crowd of Shinobi. They quite nearly didn’t notice Yuri because they were so focused on Kintake’s violent outburst and Terry dripping blood onto the grass.

  Retribution pooled in Yuri's left hand; his fingers swelled with purpose. He clenched his fist, collecting every ounce of that purpose into it—his hand burned with anger.

  Yuri swung as hard as he could, throwing every ounce of fury into his strike, and caught Kintake just above the jaw on his blindside, retribution exploding against Kintake’s face and setting him stumbling. The impact shook the entire group, and they surged.

  Kintake wobbled forward a few steps, trying to right himself, but couldn’t maintain his balance. He fell onto his side and shook his head, trying to clear it. He looked up just in time to fix an airborne Yuri with his eyes. Decades of training and experience made Kintake a next-to-impossible target; his body reacted, and he rolled to the side. Yuri’s foot landed thunderously where Kintake’s face had been.

  Kintake couldn’t catch his breath; Yuri was on him, launching repeated kicks, firing low as he tried to punt Kintake’s head off of his shoulders. Kintake blocked and rolled with the impact the best he could on his knees.

  Yuri broke through and landed a kick that forced Kintake onto his back, but Kintake bounced back immediately. He let the momentum of his fall draw his legs over his body and recovered over his shoulder in a backward somersault.

  Yuri snatched the ninjatō from a nearby Genin’s sheath and pursued Kintake, who had righted himself. Before he could find his feet, Yuri slashed a silver ribbon in the air that missed the bridge of Kintake’s nose by a breath. Yuri followed it with his foot, planting it in Kintake’s chest and driving his back into a rock.

  Yuri whipped the blade up in an arc, stopping it parallel to the ground. The point hummed mere inches from Kintake’s right eye; a bead of sweat ran down the side of Kintake’s face as he looked into Yuri’s inhuman facial expression.

  It all happened so fast. Saki and several other Chunin leaped to Kintake’s aid with weapons drawn, threatening Yuri to get a grip. The rest of the Fujibayashi barked in protest; they couldn’t believe what they were seeing. Never in their history had they ever heard of Shinobi attacking the kōchō. To do so was sacrilegious, defying Ninpo.

  Yuri was unfazed, and he spat sulfuric curses and threats. He had finally reached his breaking point. His fury had burned off what reason he had left and twisted his features into something terrible. The years of abuse by Kintake had finally caught up as Yuri had watched him beat Terry. All Yuri cared about now was retribution.

  Terry and Saki pleaded with Yuri to see reason. The Fujibayashi were chaos, a storm cloud of drawn weapons, yelling and floundering. Despite a sword being only a nanosecond from taking his life, Kintake barked a command, and the rumble ceased.

  This wasn’t the first time Kintake had found himself at the business end of a sword—or any blade for that matter—he had the terrible facial scar to prove it. He had learned every aspect of sword fighting, even the aspect of being unarmed against a sword wielder. As long as Yuri remained at his current distance or closer, Yuri couldn't use the reach advantage that the ninjatō gave him. Kintake could exploit that, but he'd have to act quickly if he was to survive; Yuri's killer instinct was not to be trifled. To that end, Kintake waved off the other Shinobi—allow me to handle this. They did as they were told.

  Kintake needed to use Yuri's anger to coax him to commit. When he did, Kintake would even the playing field. He'd have to be quick and precise, though, knowing that Yuri would not back down even when stripped of his advantage. Yuri would surely press the attack immediately.

  "Yuri, if you do not kill me, all of your brothers will know that you have the ego to begin a fight but that you lack the heart to finish one," Kintake said calmly in English. "They will finally know for certain that you are without honor."

  "You don't think I'll kill you?" Yuri hissed.

  "No—I know you will not. You don’t have the soul for it. You are not worthy of Shinobi, and you will not survive into adulthood."

  Yuri bared his fangs like an angered serpent; the ninjatō quaked as his muscles strained to hold back its thirst. "You really don't think I'll kill you, you old bastard?"

  "No—you will not.” Kintake finally spoke in Japanese, wanting the rest of the Fujibayashi to understand him. “You are a coward and an actor, seeking only to intimidate me and to usurp that which are unworthy of ever having. But there’s no weapon you can raise against me that will kill me. I was chosen. My honor shields me from your aggression. It was your lack of honor that killed your parents. You were the instrument of their death. And it is your lack of honor that will cause you to be realized a failure here."

  Yuri's emotional levies buckled.

  Kintake's eyes saw the instantaneous tightening of the individual muscle fibers in Yuri's jaw as he willed his arms to impale Kintake. The kōchō re
acted, his hands shooting up to intercept the blade, clasping the blade between them. He pressed his palms together with all his might, the friction draining the sword of its force—just enough for him to displace his head and allow the blade only to ruffle his hair. Surprise caused Yuri’s grip to loosen, and Kintake snatched the blade from Yuri's control and slung it to the ground.

  The surprise was brief, as Yuri suddenly came to realize that Kintake could turn the ninjatō on him. Yuri pressed the attack.

  Yuri led with his fists, hurling strike after strike. Kintake parried and redirected, trying to give as little ground as possible as he tried to climb to his feet. Yuri aggressively tried to tear down Kintake's guard. He fired low with his lead leg. Kintake snaked his foot out and intercepted it with his instep. Yuri immediately drew that knee to his chest and fired a side kick, planting it in Kintake's flank, driving him back.

  Yuri ramped up his offense, spinning and whirling, fists high, kicks low. Kintake was forced to retreat despite his blocks. Yuri's aggression and instinct made him a force of nature in a hand-to-hand fight.

  Kintake saw an opening in a flurry of strikes and countered, catching Yuri in the ear with a back-handed strike. Yuri rolled with it and gave ground. Kintake wheeled his leg around, arcing his heel at Yuri's head. Yuri caught the lightning strike in his peripheral vision and slid beneath it in the nick of time. He then coiled in advance of his own strike.

  He lunged at Kintake at waist level, like a football player hungry to make a sack. Yuri was trying to crowd him, and Kintake was not going to take the bait. Kintake hopped backward, trying to open some space. Yuri excelled at fighting in a free-for-all, able to overwhelm multiple opponents with devastating precision. Yuri was every bit of the killer that Kintake had honed. To that end, Kintake knew that his chances of being seriously injured were too high if he continued to trade blows with the younger, hungrier Shinobi.