Victor O'Reilly - Rules of The Hunt

"Let me make it simple, Katsuda," said Schwanberg. "What do you think Fumio wants most in the world right now? What does he have wet dreams about?"

Katsuda thought for a moment. It was not a difficult question to answer. He had studied Hodama and the Namakas in detail before making his move. "The Irishman has killed his brother," he said. "He wants Fitzduane- san 's head on a plate." Katsuda smiled slightly. "After that, he probably wants mine."

Schwanberg beamed. "You're business, Katsuda. Fitzduane is personal. You're not even close."

"So Fitzduane is the bait," said Katsuda slowly. "He is the one reason Fumio will show himself."

Schwanberg nodded. "Very smart," he said. "What has actually happened is that Fitzduane approached Fumio directly and suggested a meet. His spiel is that there must be an end to the feud between them, now that Fitzduane has nearly been killed and lost his best friend and Fumio has lost his brother. And Fumio agreed to the meet, not with any peaceful intent but because he wants Fitzduane carved up so badly he can taste it."

"And where is this meeting?" said Katsuda.

"That's the elegant part of it," said Schwanberg. "Fitzduane came up with the great idea of using Hodama's place. He wanted some location that was private, convenient, and secure, and Hodama's walled garden was his suggestion. The premises are sealed off right now, but Fitzduane has been working with the cops and can gain access. It is just locked up these days. It's no longer guarded."

Katsuda pondered this for a few seconds. The idea of using Hodama's place was a clever idea. It met all the criteria for a meeting and it also was where the whole business had started. It would be fitting to end it there.

"I would assume that Fumio will take precautions," said Katsuda, "so how do you propose we do this, Schwanberg- san?" He will probably involve Yaibo, and they are no idle threat."

Schwanberg's hand came down flat on the table with a resounding crack, and the two sixth-century jade ornaments fell to the ground and shattered.

Katsuda felt ill. He valued his jade ornaments considerably more than he did most people. He wondered if Schwanberg had any idea how near death he was. If he was not so dependent on the man's backing, he would have Schwanberg killed painfully here and now. Well, even if Katsuda could not implement the thought for the time being, it was a soothing prospect to anticipate.

Schwanberg was so pleased with his cleverness that he had forgotten he had not followed up his triumphant table-pounding with words. He was just staring at Katsuda with a self-satisfied grin on his face.

"Well, Schwanberg- san?" said Katsuda.

"You'll have the edge, Katsuda- san," said Schwanberg. "It will be arranged that you and your people will be at the meet instead of Fitzduane, and we will run interference over the whole operation from on high. We'll have the whole thing covered. Night-vision equipment, sniper rifles, heavy firepower. That fuck Fumio won't have a chance."

Katsuda tried to imagine having a discreet meeting with Namaka while a swarm of armed helicopters clattered overhead, and came to the conclusion that Schwanberg must have been out in the sun in Vietnam too long.

"Helicopters are not entirely discreet," he said politely.

This time Schwanberg actually jumped up and down with excitement. "Not helicopters, Katsuda- san, we're going to use the airship. That giant, motherfucking inflated condom is part of the scenery in this city. If floats around and no one pays it the slightest bit of attention. We'll fuck Fumio from a height. It's brilliant."

Katsuda contemplated Schwanberg with surprise. Clearly there was more to this unpleasant man that he had thought. It really was a clever idea. Inspired, even. Then it dawned on him where the idea had probably come from.

"And the gaijin Fitzduane? Where will he be while I am disposing of Fumio Namaka?"

"Oh, he'll be in the airship," said Schwanberg. "As I'll explain, we need him to bait the trap. But when Fumio is terminated, Fitzduane- san will have an accident. Frankly, it will be a pleasure."

"So no witnesses?" said Katsuda.

Schwanberg had every intention of getting the killing of Fumio by Katsuda on video in close-up. The more strings he had to control his new kuromaku, the better. "No witnesses," he replied.

Katsuda smiled to himself in the darkness. Schwanberg's devious mind was not hard to read. He was already thinking of appropriate action. Perhaps the time had come for the renegade to have an accident. Have a crash, indeed, or fall from a height. The man's plan had interesting implications.

"Your proposal has great merit, Schwanberg- san," he said. "Let us now talk about the details."

"Fucking A," said Schwanberg, and as he leaned forward over the blueprint of Hodama's premises, his feet crunched on the shattered pieces of the ornaments.

Katsuda hissed.

Schwanberg, as normal for him where human sensitivities were involved, noticed nothing.

Bergin had gone to some lengths to arrive at Fitzduane's room in the Fairmont undetected.

The blond wig and moustache made him look ten years younger, and he was wearing an expensive double-breasted business suit and Guccis, but his principal coup de theatre was the platinum-and-gold Rolex inset with diamonds and the matching identity bracelet on the other wrist.

The combination was so ostentatious you scarcely noticed the wearer. Bergin's shirt cuffs were tailored short to optimize the impact.

Fitzduane eyed his visitor.

"Mike," he said dryly, "clothes really do make the man. You are unrecognizable. You look like you run a small Southern bank and wash drug money for the Medellin cartel. You're probably on your third wife and she'd thirty years younger than you are. Alternatively, you produce pornographic movies."

Begin spread his hands in a mock gesture of modesty and his wrists glinted in the light. Fitzduane poured him a drink and the two men sat in armchairs on either side of a low table. The blinds were drawn and the room had been electronically swept.

"Everything ready, Hugo?" said Bergin.

"Pretty much," said Fitzduane. "The hunt is going to take place as scheduled, with a full attendance as planned. It's now a matter of finalizing the rules. I don't want the CIA too unhappy. Kilmara and I work with you people too often for that to be neighborly."

Bergin took off his blond wig and scratched his head. "Horrible things," he said.

"Lice love them," said Fitzduane helpfully.

"Which brings us back to Schwanberg," said Bergin. He drank some wine and then looked directly at Fitzduane. "We've been finalizing his case. It's a rough estimate, but it looks like he and his cronies have lifted, one way or another, the best part of a hundred and twenty million dollars."

"And who says the U.S. can't succeed in the Japanese market?" said Fitzduane. "So now you're going to arrest him and bring him to trial."

Bergin looked pained. "Really, Hugo," he said. "You can't be serious."

Fitzduane smiled grimly. "Schwanberg had Adachi killed," he said. "That is not something I am likely to forgive or forget. But how it's done is the issue. He's your operative."

"The director feels it would be more appropriate if it's handled in-house," said Bergin. "Caught in the cross-fire, killed in the line of duty, something of that nature. So I'd like to hitch a ride and take care of matters personally. I'm rather fond of balloons, you know."

Fitzduane looked at his friend thoughtfully. "You know, Mike, I never saw you as a practitioner of extreme prejudice."

"That was the general idea, Hugo," said Bergin with a regretful smile, "and mostly I'm not. But every so often there is a requirement and, really, Schwanberg has been running around long enough."