George Chesbro - Dark Chant In A Crimson Key

Sinclair shrugged his broad shoulders. "Not really, Harper. It's just the result of a lot of training and practice, but I appreciate what I take you to mean as a compliment.

"An enormous amount of Black Flame training involves not only poisons but means of deception and subterfuge, techniques for getting close to an unsuspecting enemy or target. As a matter of fact, Master Bai was quite pleased with me; after centuries, I was the only ganjin to ever become Black Flame, and he was sure he owned me.

"Of course, at no time during my training was I ever told what Black Flame was really all about. But I'd always had a pretty good bullshit antenna, even for a kid, and I had a good idea where Master Bai was coming from even before he told me I would eventually be expected to kill somebody he would select at random from a crowd-perhaps even a child. I went to my father and told him of my suspicions; I told him I wanted nothing more to do with Master Bai. His response was to tell me that studying with Master Bai was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity; it was an honor that had never before been accorded a ganjin and might never be again. He told me I should lie to Master Bai, pretend to agree to anything he wanted until I had received all of my training, and then simply quit. He said I would be breaking no laws, and there was nothing Master Bai could do to me. My father indicated it was very important to him that I do this, because he was sure it would win both of us respect from the Japanese we could not otherwise get. To say that my father seriously underestimated Master Bai would, of course, be the height of understatement. I didn't underestimate Master Bai; I sensed there was going to be a great price to pay, but I assumed I would be the one to pay it. I continued my training up to the point of assassination as a gift to my father. I didn't want to displease him. I was a fool."

"You were seventeen years old, Chant, and you worshipped your father," Jan said in a tone that was at once firm and kind. "It was your father who was the fool."

Sinclair glanced sharply at the woman he loved, but did not disagree. "Yes," he said. "That too. In any case, I did what he asked. I completed the training, with Master Bai assuming it was understood that I would undergo the final test, and I was given the Black Flame mark. But I refused to do the killing. I hail intended to run away, but found I couldn't. I went to Master Bai and told him I would not be a member of Black Flame. I fully expected to be killed on the spot, but I had failed to absorb one of Master Bai's most subtle and important teachings-death is rarely the greatest punishment that can be inflicted upon a human being. His response was to shrug, giggle like his grandson in the other room, and send me on my way. Before I arrived home, both my mother and father had been killed in a manner that made it clear Black Flame was responsible-which meant that I was responsible. They intended to let me live with my grief and guilt for a time, and then torture me to death at their leisure. But this I anticipated.

"My father had always fostered independence in me, and I had money. Because of his position, I was fairly sophisticated in the requirements of foreign travel and documentation. Because of my Black Flame training, I could forge documents. That's what I did. I managed to escape from Japan, made my way to the United States, and made sure Black Flame couldn't find me."

"My God," Harper said. "And you were only seventeen?"

Sinclair smiled. "Well, I was actually eighteen by this time. You do what you have to do, Harper. And you have to remember that I'd had some very specialized training in control and self-discipline from many fine sensei. When I felt I was safe, I resumed my own identity. I was able to access my inheritance and certain State Department benefits. I went to college and then on to do graduate work. Then I joined the army."

"Why did you do that?" Insolers asked in a curiously flat tone.

"Because I was an American," Sinclair replied simply. "Living in Japan for so long had only heightened my identification as an American. The United States was my country. My father's death benefits had helped to pay for my education. I felt I had an obligation."

Sinclair paused and stared at Insolers, as if waiting for the CIA operative to say something or ask another question. When the man with the rodent features and medicinal smell remained silent, eyes cast down as he sipped his sake, Sinclair continued, "As a result of my education, I was made an officer, and in the course of events I was sent to Vietnam." He paused, smiled distantly, as if at some private joke. "While I was over there, I began to acquire somewhat of a reputation as an expert interrogator of enemy prisoners. Actually, I owed my skills to a rather unusual technique taught to me by Master Bai-not the plant extract. I'm thinking of trying it out on junior. I think he'll be surprised.

"During my third tour of duty a rather crude attempt was made to recruit me for an insane operation called Cooked Goose, which called for the assassination by U.S. Army personnel of selected civilians in the United States. It was thoroughly crazy, and, in my opinion, traitorous. It was only years later, in Seattle, that I learned I'd been set up by my old friend Master Bai, who was working as a consultant to the CIA, of all things. At the time the only thing I knew was that it was my duty as an army officer to put a stop to Cooked Goose, by any means necessary. I couldn't do that by remaining in that theater. As Master Bai had foreseen, by refusing the assignment, I had become a marked man because of my knowledge of Cooked Goose. If I stayed I would be killed, and so I deserted. Five Army Rangers, Cooked Goose operatives, were sent after me, and I had no choice but to kill them."

Without looking up from the table, Insolers said quietly, "You have documentation on Cooked Goose, don't you?"

"I did have."

"Did have?"

"I managed to extract certain papers from some files before I left, my thinking being that I might need them as proof in order to stop Cooked Goose. As it turned out, the mere fact that I was on the loose with knowledge of the operation in my head caused the planners to abort it. I destroyed the papers when the war ended."

"Why? The CIA has never stopped pursuing you. You could have released the documents and blown a big hole in the side of the whole agency. Why didn't you?"

Sinclair seemed genuinely surprised at the question. "My problem was never with the CIA, Duane, only certain men in it. I didn't want to do anything to damage my country more than it had already been damaged by that war. Vietnam was an aberration, and Operation Cooked Goose was an aberration within an aberration. Release of information about Cooked Goose could have caused irreparable damage, further degrading and humiliating the United States in the eyes of the world and in the eyes of many of its own people. Since I had just gone to considerable trouble, and undergone some personal sacrifice, by deserting and being branded a traitor in order to serve my country by stopping the damn project because it was so abominable, why would I then turn around and cancel out all my efforts by publicizing something that never happened?"

"Because the sons-of-bitches were trying to kill you."

"Without much success, as you see. In my eyes, they were the traitors and were manipulated by Master Bai. I was not about to serve the interests of Master Bai. After the war, the country was going through an agonizing process of redefining itself. I had done my duty, as I saw it, in order to serve my country, and I couldn't see how the public learning of a plot hatched by some of its purported leaders to kill U.S. citizens in order to manipulate public opinion could possibly help the healing process."