Iron master, p.37
Iron Master, page 37
Cadillac had also taken up another of Steve’s suggestions and arranged for Jodi Kazan and Dave Kelso to be moved from their billets in the compound to his own grace-and-favour residence – now flanked by the new access road. The move had been justified by the high-pressure training programme. By living together, all three instructors had more time to review their pupils’ progress after flying had finished for the day, and could co-ordinate any changes that needed to be made in the schedule.
The arrangement also fitted in perfectly with Steve’s forward planning. With Jodi and Kelso close at hand he could confer with them at length, without falling foul of the other Tracker renegades on the workforce. To them he was still an ‘uppity Mute’, and the fact that he was able to fly and had been given the task of test-piloting the newly completed aircraft had served to fuel their barely concealed resentment.
In the few moments when he hadn’t been run off his feet, Steve had also been considering Cadillac’s future prospects. Instead of just keeping an eye on the various processes, the Iron Masters were now lending a hand. At a rough head-count, the Japs and assorted lower-ranking dinks now outnumbered the original Tracker workforce by three to one. Was this another stage of the eventual takeover Cadillac had hinted at before he’d nose-dived into his sake? Steve had been waiting for the Mute to say something, but he appeared totally unconcerned, and since their original conversation had not uttered one word about the idea of escaping.
Given Cadillac’s character, it was not all that surprising. The Mute preferred to clutch at any straw rather than face up to the possibility that he was merely being used and could shortly become expendable. The forthcoming show – now only days away – was to be his big moment, and he didn’t want anyone raining on his parade. Tough. Like it or not, he was going over the wall. And by the time good ol’ Stevie had done his number, Cadillac would be glad someone had booked him a seat on the flight out.
As rumoured, Min-Orota had issued an invitation to the Shogun. Yoritomo had initially indicated his willingness to attend, and a tastefully decorated private box was being prepared for him at the front of the grandstand. The efforts of the craftsmen were in vain for, that very morning, Cadillac had overheard the news that the Shogun had decided to take a raincheck. The Consul-General Nakane Toh-Shiba and the Herald Toshiro Hase-Gawa would be attending the ceremony on his behalf. Wise move.
*
Yoritomo’s letter to Lord Min-Orota did not explain the reason for his change of heart – the Shogun was not required to justify any decision he cared to take – but he reaffirmed his continuing support for the project, about which he had received glowing reports. The letter – couched in the warmest terms the official court language allowed – ended with the fervently expressed hope that the day’s ceremonies would be crowned with success and that all those concerned would be justly rewarded for their efforts. Lord Kiyo Min-Orota pondered at length over the meaning of that last phrase. In the end he decided what troubled him was not the Shogun’s words but the knowledge of his own treacherous intentions.
*
With just under a week to go, Steve still had several major hurdles to clear. He had to see Clearwater again, he still had to solve the problem of their travel stamps and papers, and he had to pick up the last of several surprise packages that had been delivered by AMEXICO over the last four weeks.
The packages had been dropped into the pond behind the Heron Pool on nights when the moon was obscured by cloud. To ensure accurate delivery and avoid detection, the all-black aircraft made a power-off approach, gliding on incredibly slim wings to within a hundred feet of the surface before releasing the waterproof containers. The only sound was a whispering rush of air that built to a swift crescendo, then fell away in a dying sigh like a sudden gust of wind in the tree-tops. Slowed by a drag-chute, the splash made by the containers was no louder than that of a rising fish. Once on the bottom, a float disguised as a stick was released to mark its position. To date, Steve had managed to pinpoint them soon after dawn and then fish them out when everyone was in bed.
*
Shielding the flame of a lighted taper, Steve ducked through the door of his low-roofed shack and pulled it shut behind him. Kneeling on the flattened straw that served both as floor and mattress, he lit the wick of the light-bowl that stood on a small shelf.
As the flame grew and cast its dim orange glow over the dark interior, he saw what he had failed to sense – a figure, dressed in black from head to foot, sitting cross-legged in the far corner of the shack, with a half-drawn short-sword across his lap. His right hand gripped the hilt, his left the scabbard. A cloth was wrapped round his face, leaving a narrow gap across the eyes, but it was so deeply shadowed that even they remained hidden from view.
‘How’re you doing, sport?’ It was the Herald, in his original disguise.
‘As well as can be expected. You been here long?’
‘Long enough.’
Steve shuffled round to face him and bowed low, trying to forget about the killer blade that lay within striking distance of his neck. It was all part of the Herald’s act. ‘Your illustrious presence greatly honours my humble abode. May I beg to ask the purpose of your visit?’
‘Don’t overdo it, Brickman. Bad things happen to people who try to take the rise out of me.’
‘Nothing was further from my thoughts, sire.’ Steve straightened his back. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I want to know what your plans are. We’re getting close to the off.’
‘I know. Apart from a few minor details, everything’s more or less sewn up. The only thing you have to do is make sure that the Consul-General turns up for his big ride.’
The Herald snorted with annoyance. ‘He’ll be there! What about the other half of your assignment?’
‘I just told you. It’s all sewn up.’
‘I want details, Brickman. C’mon! Spell it out. We haven’t got all night.’
‘The flying demonstration that’s been laid on is not going to go too well. In fact, it’s going to be a total disaster. I don’t know what precautions you plan to take on the day, but I’m relieved to hear your boss is not going to be here. Could have made things very awkward.’
Toshiro’s grip on the short-sword tightened. ‘My… boss?’
‘Yes. The Shogun. His Exalted Highness Yoritomo Toh-Yota. He’s what… twenty-eight years old? Unmarried but two of his four sisters are – correct?’
‘Long-dog swine! How dare you utter his name?’ It was only by a supreme effort of will that Toshiro managed to restrain his sword arm.
Steve appeared oblivious of the danger. ‘C’mon, be reasonable. Have I shown disrespect? If you and I are going to do business, we can’t stand on ceremony.’
‘Watch your mouth, Brickman. No one is indispensable. Not even you.’ Toshiro paused. ‘As a man who lacks any sense of honour you probably think that’s an empty threat. You’d be wrong. Deal or no deal, I have my limits. Push me too far and I’ll be obliged to kill you – regardless of the consequences. And in my case they will be dire, believe me.’
Steve bowed his head. ‘Nobody knows that better than I, sire. My masters are as merciless as yours.’
The long-dog’s reply served to remind Toshiro of the terrible risks facing those involved in his own double-game. Regaining his composure, he said, ‘How did you come by this information?’
‘The same way that I know you are a Herald of the Inner Court and that your name is Toshiro Hase-Gawa.’
The Herald pulled the scarf down to reveal the lower half of his face. ‘I won’t warn you again, Brickman. Tread carefully.’
‘Do you think we met by chance? You were pinpointed from the moment we knew the two runaway Mutes had reached this area.’ It was pure bluff, put together from the assorted information Cadillac had garnered from the Iron Masters. But the Herald didn’t know that.
‘Pinpointed?’
‘As the man with his finger on the pulse. Someone we could do business with.’ Steve watched the Herald closely. ‘Intelligent, imaginative, resourceful… ambitious.’ The last word had the most impact, but it was quickly erased.
Aware that he had lost the initiative, Toshiro fixed Steve with his expressionless eyes and waited.
Steve stared back, neither challenging nor fearful. ‘You don’t seem surprised.’
‘I try to avoid surprises,’ replied Toshiro. ‘You are the envoy of a powerful nation. However, I am curious to know why you didn’t disclose this knowledge before.’
Steve responded with a calculating smile. ‘Have you put all your cards on the table? Despite the gulf between our two societies you and I are – with all due respect, sire – two of a kind.’
Toshiro conceded the point with a burst of suppressed laughter. ‘Brickman, despite your total lack of sensitivity, I’m sure you are aware there have been several occasions when I’ve been itching to kill you – and I could cheerfully do so now.’ He slammed the half-drawn sword back into its scabbard. ‘One day, perhaps, I may have that pleasure.’
‘Not if I see you first.’
His spirited reply caused the Herald to slap his thigh. ‘Well said! Now – ’ he lowered his voice again ‘– how do you plan to escape?’
‘We’re going to take three of the flying horses,’ whispered Steve.
Toshiro frowned. ‘But the western border is nearly 1,000 leagues from here. Can these machines travel that far?’
‘One day they will – but not now.’ Steve fed him the false lead. ‘Once we’re across the Hudson, we fly south-west to a rendezvous point near Scranton. The place you call Skara-tana.’
‘Ahh, so…’
‘Our own people are flying in to pick us up from there. We’ll be back home before nightfall.’
Toshiro tried hard not to look impressed. ‘What about the woman? Where and when do you want her delivered?’
‘Don’t worry about it. The Consul-General will be bringing her.’
The news took Toshiro’s breath away. ‘You’ve arranged this?’
‘Not yet. I was planning to do that tonight. The Consul-General is dining with Lord Min-Orota, and won’t be back until tomorrow morning.’ Steve had learned of this from a conversation Cadillac had overheard. ‘But of course, you already know that.’
The Herald did, and had already made plans to take advantage of Toh-Shiba’s absence. But how did Brickman know – and what did his words imply? ‘You… astound me.’
‘Don’t see why,’ replied Steve. ‘Just doing my job.’
‘But –’
‘There is one thing you could help me with.’ Steve had taken the Herald’s warning seriously, but sensed that, for the moment, he had him on the ropes. He cocked a finger at him. ‘Did you bring your horse?’
‘Yes–’
‘Terrific. I’m glad we had this opportunity to talk, but it’s put me behind schedule. What are the chances of hitching a ride over to Two Island Lake?’
*
Despite the tempting offer of another round of bodily delights, Steve did not linger in Clearwater’s arms once the last crucial details had been ironed out. To return to the Heron Pool meant a long swim to the western side of the lake followed by a three-mile run. With the onset of autumn, the nights had become noticeably chill, and while the water was relatively warm, the surface was shrouded in a thick layer of pale grey mist.
The mist had seeped up the steep sides of the lake, cloaking the tangle of boulders, bushes, fallen branches and rotting vegetation that formed a swamp-like morass at the water’s edge. It was difficult to negotiate in daylight; with an almost naked body in almost total darkness, it had been both hazardous and painful.
In swimming towards the island, he had aimed for the pale yellow point of light emanating from the lantern which they had agreed Clearwater would hang in her window if she was alone – and unlikely to be disturbed by her fat friend.
To help guide him back, Steve had hung two lanterns in line with the direction he wanted to go: yellow in front, pink behind. The lake-house was perched among trees on the highest point of the island, so by porpoising out of the water he was able to see the lights through the wraith-like top layer of the mist. As long as he could see only the yellow light, he knew he was on the correct heading and not swimming round in circles.
Halfway across, Steve encountered a narrow mist-free channel. He turned over and switched to a back stroke. It was noisier than the breast stroke, but just as powerful. And it meant he could swim and keep an eye on the lights at the same time.
Even if he had been facing the right way, it was doubtful if he would have been quick enough to avoid the coarse fishing net that was suddenly drawn out of the water a yard or so beyond the end of the clear channel.
The ends of the net were held by six shadowy figures.
They were standing in two long, low-hulled boats, but these were hidden beneath the surrounding layer of mist. With the swift, practised movements that only came from years of fishing the waters, the net was brought over and under Steve and hauled tight. The boats came together, meeting first at the bows before gently colliding sideways on. One man in each boat mounted the bows and lifted their struggling catch clear of the water. Before Steve was fully able to grasp what was happening, he was dumped in the bottom of the left-hand boat and knocked unconscious with a swift, well-aimed blow on the back of the head.
*
When he returned to his senses, Steve found that he was dry, but still naked. Two figures dressed in black stood over him. As his eyes fluttered open, they hauled him into a kneeling position. It took a few seconds for him to realise what kind of trouble he was in. His arms had been raised to shoulder height and roped to a short pole which went over the back of his neck and under his bent elbows, leaving his fingers brushing his ears.
It was already causing a certain amount of discomfort, and when cramp set in would soon become painful. But not as painful as the thin cord that had been looped around his penis and scrotum and pulled taut before the other end had been tied round his neck. A neat trick. The only way to ease the tension was to lean forward. If he tried to straighten his back he would yank his balls off.
Terrific…
Facing him was a third man. He was also dressed in black, but his lined, skull-like face was uncovered. With deep-set slitted eyes, a square jaw, and a mouth like a joint between two steel plates, he looked like bad news.
A lantern hung from the top of a short angled pole stuck into the ground to Steve’s right. His brown worksuit, which he had left stashed under a fallen tree, lay neatly folded beside it. The back of his head throbbed painfully. He moved it gingerly from side to side to try and ease the stiffness in his neck, and it was only then that he realised he was inside a black tent.
Skull-Face filled a small cup with sake from a leather-covered flask and held it out to the guard on Steve’s right. ‘Drink up. It may help you collect your thoughts.’
The guard held the cup to Steve’s lips. With the cord round his neck and his privates, he had to lean even further forward in order to get his mouth at the right angle.
‘Feeling better?’
‘Yes. Thank you.’
‘Good.’ Skull-Face barked a command in Japanese.
The two masked guards picked up whipping-canes and positioned themselves behind Steve’s shoulders.
‘I won’t beat about the bush, Mr Brickman. Neither of us has much time to spare. You will therefore answer any questions I put to you directly and without hesitation. As you will soon discover, I know the score – so do not prevaricate and, above all, don’t get smart. My job is to help you escape, and in return you are going to help me. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, but… what happens if I don’t know the answers?’
Skull-Face sighed. ‘I warned you not to prevaricate,’ he said softly. ‘But I see you’ve forgotten already.’ He motioned to the black-clad figures.
ThurWIKK! ThurWOKK! Steve gasped as he received two stinging blows across the shoulderblades in quick succession. Christopher! Those whipping-canes really bit deep. And arching his back under the impact of the blows had tightened the noose round his throat and put a sickening squeeze on his scrotum.
‘I hope that will convince you we are not here to play games,’ said Skull-Face. ‘If you give me any more trouble, I’ll cut your prick and balls off and send you home with them in this pickle jar.’ Reaching both hands behind him, he produced a curved dagger and a capped glass jar and placed them in front of Steve.
It was the kind of stunt that dear old Uncle Bart might have pulled, but Steve had a chill feeling that this guy really meant it.
‘Okay, Mr Brickman. We know that you’re an agent of AMEXICO and that you have been dealing with a representative of the ruling faction. We also know that you have come to an arrangement whereby you are to wreck the Heron Pool project and cause the death of Consul-General Nakane Toh-Shiba. In return, you have been promised unhindered passage out of the country with the two long-dogs who delivered the original flying-horses to Domain-Lord Hiro Yama-Shita. Is that correct?’
There was only one thing to say. ‘Yes.’
‘Good. These arrangements have our approval. You will proceed as planned. Now – do you know the identity of the man you have been dealing with?’
‘He has never divulged it, but I believe him to be a Herald of the Inner Court called Toshiro Hase-Gawa.’
‘Excellent. We’re making progress. I am now going to ask you what plans you have made for your escape. But before you do so, let me answer a question which I am sure is in your mind. “Am I in the hands of people who are working with Hase-Gawa?” No. You are not. As is already clear, we share certain objectives, but we belong to a… rival organisation. Which no doubt leads you to ask: “What proof is there of this?”
‘Let me give you three facts which I am sure you are certain the Herald is unaware of. Facts which will demonstrate the extent of our knowledge and the efficiency of our organisation, and – who knows – may even persuade you to trust us.
