George Chesbro: The Cold Smell Of Sacred Stone

"So, Mongo," Veil said easily, "what are we going to do with our visitor?"

It seemed an excellent question, one for which I didn't have a ready answer. Perfunctorily gunning down in cold blood a man who had spared my life-albeit for his own good reasons-didn't really appeal to me, and turning him over to the police would pose any number of serious dilemmas, any one of which could tear apart a carefully constructed and necessary tissue of lies. An enormous amount of political power had very recently been brought to bear to conceal the fact that the dead secretary of state had been a murderous psychopath responsible for the brutal murders of a lot of innocent people, and that it had been my brother who'd killed him. The way things had worked out seemed best for all. But with the world's most wanted assassin sitting in jail awaiting trial, the whole thing could start to unravel virtually overnight. Captured, with what I presumed were death sentences hanging over him in two dozen different countries, Henry Kitten would have no reason whatsoever to keep quiet about his own long association with Orville Madison, and the events of the past few months. People would start asking questions, and reporters would begin comparing notes. Neither Garth, Veil, Mr. Lippitt, President Kevin Shannon, nor I needed the attention Henry Kitten's tales would bring us.

"Do I detect a note of indecision?" Henry Kitten asked in a mild tone. "Why not just turn me over to the police? They can book me for breaking and entering."

I said, "They'll book you for a whole hell of a lot more than that, Kitten."

"Will they? Somehow, I get the impression that you're keeping things from me. Exactly what did you and your brother discuss with President Shannon, Frederickson?"

"You know about that?" Kitten only had it half right; I was the only one who'd actually talked to Shannon. But Kitten's intelligence was still impressive.

"I guessed. I tracked the two of you to Washington, and I saw you heading into the park toward the Viet Nam War Memorial. Considering the large numbers of police and Secret Service agents hanging about, I figured it had to be the president you were going to see. At that point, I decided that it was a waste of time to keep tracking the two of you in an attempt to find Kendry, because Madison was finished — how finished he was I didn't fully appreciate until I saw the papers this morning. Anyway, with Madison destroyed, I naturally assumed that it wouldn't be long before Mr. Kendry would come out of hiding and be. . available to me."

"You should have gone home yourself, Kitten."

"That's not my real name, you know."

"You say."

"I'm impressed that you came up with a name at all, but that's not the right one."

"Who cares? They can bury you under 'John Doe.' "

"Oh?"

"What is your real name?"

"Did the president personally issue the order for Madison to be killed, Frederickson? Is that why you can't quite decide what to do with me?"

"Veil?" I said. "What do you think?"

"Kitten," Veil said to the huge figure standing before the window, "I know you spared Mongo's life. Would you consider getting out of here and forgetting about killing me?"

"You'd accept my word?"

"I would. I believe you act on your own strong code of honor, which is the real reason you chose to attack me the way you did. Even if you're forced to take a sizable cut in future earnings, it's still better to lose some of your reputation and fees than all of your life. Remember that I don't owe you anything, and I might just break your neck now and be done with it if I think you're going to be a headache in the future."

"Do you really think you could do that, Kendry?" Henry Kitten asked in a low, even voice. "Do you think you could do it even with the use of both your arms?"

"With the friend that you mentioned and his gun over there, Kitten, I'm not obliged to give you lessons. As I said, I take you to be a man of honor and great pride. Will you promise that I won't see or hear of you again if Mongo and I let you walk out of here?"

"It's certainly a tempting offer," Henry Kitten said, and shrugged his shoulders again.

That was one ninja shrug too many, and I pulled the trigger on the Beretta. As the gun roared, his left arm-which had shot out from the top of his head with the speed of a striking snake-jerked back. He spun around and grabbed for his left shoulder at the same time as what felt like a white hot branding iron sliced across my forehead, just above my eyes. I pulled the trigger three times in rapid succession, firing blindly now as a thick, warm curtain of blood flowed into my eyes. I heard glass shatter.

Stunned, I fell over on my side and frantically swiped at my blood-filled eyes with my free hand as I heard the thud-thud-thud of bodies colliding and blows landing. I felt nauseated and light-headed, and knew that I was close to fainting.

My left hand found a paint rag. I used it to wipe away the blood from my eyes, then pressed it tightly against the shuriken- split flesh of my forehead. I struggled to my feet, swaying, then leaned back against the wall and squinted at the blurred tableau in a pool of moonlight almost perfectly bisected by the powerful beam of the flashlight.

What I saw was two ninjas doing battle, dancing on the balls of their feet as they spun and charged, firing side and high kicks at one another's body. I noted with some satisfaction that I'd managed to even the odds a little, since Henry Kitten's left arm flopped uselessly at his side, and blood seeped from the bullet hole I'd put in his shoulder. Like Veil, the assassin was now forced to rely primarily on kicks, while taking care to protect his injury.

Incredibly, at least to me, Veil had chosen to toss aside his deadly nunchaku sticks, along with the two knives he'd had in his waistband; it seemed he intended to give Henry Kitten a few lessons after all.

Veil was nothing if not creative in his practice of the martial arts. He had mastered the kata of a dozen different systems, but used no system exclusively; indeed, he had devised what he laughingly called a no-system, which was all his own and which he considered superior to any of the many systems that were traditionally taught. Strict and sterile adherence to any one school's kata could be a deadly trap, he had warned me on more than one occasion, inasmuch as it could telegraph your next moves to a knowledgeable opponent and provide him with a killing suki, or opportunity.

Consequently, much of my training with Veil had consisted of my trying to unlearn the formal system of karate kata I had dutifully mastered in order to earn my black belt. Therefore, it was with some surprise that I watched Veil initially set up and move in a taijutsu mode, kata emphasizing distorted body angles, as if to protect his injured arm. Even Kitten, his triangular face briefly illuminated by a shaft of moonlight, seemed startled by what he must have assumed was his good fortune; and then the white ninja proceeded to execute a series of koppojutsu moves designed to penetrate Veil's defensive maneuvers, to smash bone. His mistake. At the last moment, a microsecond, Veil spun out and away from a side kick, wheeled back in, and delivered an elbow strike to Kitten's jaw that shattered teeth as it whipped the assassin's head back.

First round, first blood, to Veil. Not too trashy, I thought. In the future, which was looking brighter all the time, I vowed to pay even closer attention to the things my teacher had to say.

But Kitten had his own ideas about the future. Seemingly oblivious to shock and what had to be considerable pain, he leaped high in the air, twisted, fired a high kick that would have broken Veil's neck if it had landed. Veil leaned back, letting the foot fly past his head, then drove his left fist into the inside of Kitten's heavily muscled thigh, just above the knee. Kitten grunted with pain and surprise. He landed on his other leg-awkwardly-and just managed to duck under one of Veil's kicks that would have crushed his temple.