Date: Fri, 20 Jan 1995 09:14:07 -0500 Reply-To: NancySSCH@AOL.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: "N.L. Cleveland" Subject: Aloha Ch 3. p 172-179 c 1995 N.L. Cleveland There was light inside the rear of the truck. Overhead bulbs flicked on, and illuminated the strained, serious faces of the men with him. Duncan consciously relaxed his facial muscles, working up a slight smile for the leader, as he glanced around what he now saw clearly to be a compact traveling office. The walls were paneled with pale unstained oak. A dark wooden desk, with a cellular telephone, laptop computer, and modem hookup on top, backed by a dark leather chair, filled the rear of the van. Along the rear walls, what Duncan recognized as electronic listening devices, amplifiers, a short wave radio transmitter, police scanner and channel sweeper, blinked and hummed and chattered quietly to themselves. The van was a sophisticated spying post, as well. A small conference table, with three simply designed but comfortable looking chairs, took up the midsection. And he and his companions stood in the rear. Where a collection of lethal looking small arms, knives, guns, bricks of explosives and blasting caps, rested in tight racks on the near walls, behind reinforced, locked, clear plastic cases. A weapons depot. For traveling assassins. He knew he had come to the right place, at least. The truck was moving now, leaving the park. The entire episode, from the moment Duncan's feet hit the ground, to now, had taken maybe three minutes. If that. The Dragons were nothing if not efficient. What else they were, he would soon find out. "Please excuse the intrusion." The leader was speaking now. "We must search you." Duncan nodded, acquiescing. Bowing to the inevitable. What could he do, object at this late stage? It would be pointless. On the other hand, he'd prefer not to be separated from his sword. He took the initiative and pulled the sheathed katana from under his coat, watching the eyes of the men facing him widen (the three with the guns, clearly they were surprised) and narrow in suspicion and surmise (the leader...now what did a man with a sword mean to *him* ?). He held the ancient weapon out to the leader, formally placing it in his care. "I expect it back, when this matter is done." His eyes held the other man's now. Studying his expression, trying to gauge his intent. Satisfied, as he saw the man's nod. The sword would be returned, if he survived his interview with the leaders of this clan. He had separated it out from the other issue, soon enough. But he had alerted them to other possibilities than guns, when he produced it. Jolted their thinking into different avenues of threats he could pose. Too bad. He shrugged, resigned, as the leader examined his trenchcoat, meticulously slitting the hidden inner seams and pulling out the extra passports. Placing them in a careful stack on the desk, next to the sword. They too would be returned, his eyes promised. If the other business was concluded satisfactorily. The man patted Duncan down, flexing the hems and cuffs of his shirt and pants, looking for the secret tools of a ninja, now. Duncan hid his smile, and endured it patiently, knowing that until they were satisfied, nothing more would happen. He felt another pang of loss when the man took his pager. He hadn't realized he had grown attached to the tiny thing. His last link with the Shikoto. The leader examined it, deliberately handed it to one of the other guards, and distinctly said, "Get rid of it." The guard knelt and pushed the miniaturized electronic wonder through a small slot in the floor, a slot Duncan had not noticed until then. He saw a flash of gray road, and heard the small box hit a protruding piece of metal from the truck , as it fell to the ground. The leather case he carried was opened, but the money was left, untouched. The leader passed an electronic sensing device of some sort over the bills, then ran it along the edges of the case, as well. "So far, you appear to be what you say you are. More or less." The man closed the case and handed it back to him, with his coat. "You do not appear to be an assassin. But there is one more test. Please understand. This is not personal." Duncan stood, the case in one hand, the trenchcoat in his other. He didn't even have time to form a coherent thought, to wonder what the next, final test was. The man facing him moved with blinding, unexpected speed, his right fist shooting out straight at Duncan's throat. Without thought, Duncan threw his left arm up, pushing the attack aside, barely. Feeling a solid punch across his chest instead. Throwing him back, hard, against the van's wall. The suitcase and coat slipped out of his hands, as he choked, the air driven from his lungs by the force of the blow. A wicked, doubled bladed knife touched his chest, held in the man's fist. Duncan, gasping for breath, realized he was facing a true master of the martial arts. And he had barely defended himself. He had had no time. None at all. Now he was forced to reassess his own level of readiness, to face Raven. Raven, who had trained with these men. Who had learned and studied and excelled, who had mastered his masters, here. To be beaten, by a flunky. A guard. It was a poor beginning. Or was he just a flunky? Duncan looked at the man facing him again. Judged the experience, the intelligence, that glinted in his eyes as he watched the Immortal struggling for breath, forcing himself to stand, unaided. Perhaps not. Perhaps no mere guard, at all. Duncan sensed that he was already with at least one of the leaders of the Dragon clan, now. Or at least he hoped so. It was some slight salve for his wounded pride, as well as his bruised body. He gathered up the shreds of his dignity, and ventured a mild joke. "I suppose I passed that test, hm?" He was proud that his voice came out sounding ....almost....normal. The blow to the throat would have been fatal, if it had landed. But his block had left the unseen knife free, to hover over his heart. Just as lethal. Proving he had not spent his life studying the disciplines of combat, the ways of the shadow warriors. Or at the very least, should have reassured them that he wasn't a very good student. And so, not a threat to their clan. At least not in that way. "Ah....yes. You did pass. My apologies, once again." The man bowed, fully, this time, and picked up the crumpled coat from the floor beside Duncan. Handed it to him, once more. Invited him to sit, with a gesture, in one of the chairs around the conference table. The three other guards did not relax their vigilant stances. The Uzis remained, visible, tracking his every move. As he suspected they would, the entire time he was a *guest* of the Black Dragon clan. The leader turned away, picked up the phone and spoke briefly into it, his voice so soft Duncan could not make out the words, only the murmur of sound that implied speech. The truck swerved suddenly, and slowed, as the surface of the floor tilted. They were going down a sharp incline. Into a subterranean garage? The quality of the noise outside shifted, and then the truck slowed even more, and finally stopped. They had arrived. Five minutes, no more, from the park. A distance Duncan could cover on foot, if he needed to. If he had the chance to. If there was even still a rendezvous planned. He mistrusted Hideyoshi, but so far, nothing seemed to have gone wrong. The man had delivered him where and when promised. Perhaps the pickup would go off as scheduled, too. If he still needed to keep it, after hearing what the Dragons could tell him about Raven. And about themselves. The rear door groaned harshly and swung open, the two guards from the park standing, waiting, outside. They pulled the ramp out and down, then stepped back, to let the men inside emerge. The Uzis urged him forward, but Duncan hesitated in the center of the van and stared pointedly at his sword and passports, a determined expression on his face. He would not go willingly without them. The leader caught his glance, and smiled, then picked up the sheathed katana, tucked it under one arm, and waved Duncan on ahead of him, fanning the air elegantly with the five passports spread like a poker hand in his grasp. There was nothing remarkable about the enclosure. Duncan looked eagerly around as he stepped off the ramp, searching for signs of covert activity, but It looked like any small, modern warehouse, an exceptionally neat one at that, the walls painted a glossy white, rows of overhead fluorescent lights casting a bluish glare on the half dozen men and boys dressed in white gis beyond the glass walled parking area who were practicing karate katas on immaculate mats spread across the corner of the floor. The sensei clapped his hands as the guard's echoing footsteps hit the floor, and the class stopped and turned, in precise unison, to watch the newcomers enter their domain. Their expressions growing cold and distant as their glance passed over Duncan's face, noted his western features. Duncan caught the eyes of one of the boys, staring at him with a solemn, intense look far beyond his years, his fists clenched, his lips drawn back in a half snarl, as if only his discipline kept him from throwing himself bodily at the intruder, to attack. The youth took a half step towards Duncan, raw hostility etched across his child's face. So like Kenrei's grandchild, Tendo, in appearance, and so very different, in his heart. The sensei barked a single, short word of command to the child, who dropped his eyes and stepped back into line. Then the teacher turned and bowed to the newly arrived group's leader, his students copying his move, reaffirming Duncan's suspicion that the man was far more than he seemed. The sensei clapped his hands again, and the students turned back to their class, all attention focused on their training, utterly ignoring the stranger is their midst now as Duncan was escorted at gunpoint across the polished white concrete floor, towards a set of shiny gray steel doors that led into the heart of the building. Into the heart of the Dragon clan, as well. Duncan had imagined, from the fragmentary memories of the Black Dragon Immortal he had inherited from Kassmir, that the clan would have chosen a more traditional milieu for their operations. One like their former compound, whose ancient, history soaked halls stuffed with plunder and treasures from the clan's past Raven had destroyed. And he would have expected...more signs of their power, more wealth. More men. Instead, this modest warehouse, this sparse class, half filled with boys, children actually, playing at war. Things had changed, with the Dragons. How much, he would soon discover. But he suspected, as he followed his escort down the narrow, simple hallway hidden behind the steel reinforced door, that the money Kenrei offered was indeed significant, indeed a matter of vital interest to the clan. His guards halted in front of a plain white door. The leader tapped gently on the wooden slats holding the delicate rice paper in place, then slid it carefully open, and entered. Duncan followed. Paused, glancing at the impassive group of seated men and women silently facing him in the spare, undecorated room. Bowed low. And began to play his part. To speak his roles. Prepared to negotiate, for the Shikoto. And prepared to try to ferret out the hidden meanings swirling behind the words and questions he would face in this room. To try to unearth the heart and soul of this clan, and to understand what they were and could be, balanced against one Immortal life. Balanced against Jonathan Raven's ghost. A dark haired, older man leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Duncan's face. "I am Tawara Yanaga. I speak for the Dragon clan. Before you tell us what you bring, I will remind all those here today why we began this crusade." He stood, and stared at each member of his council, in turn. Forcing them to meet his eyes, to acknowledge the past acts that had brought them to this present situation. Duncan waited quietly, all ears. Kenrei had been remarkably uncommunicative in her instructions to him on just that point. The reason this conflict had begun. She had stressed to him to agree to any demands the Dragons made, regarding settlement. And to offer her apologies for the still unnamed transgression that had taken place. Yet she had not given Duncan the slightest clue as to the nature of that fault that had cost her the life of her firstborn son, and made her wiling to buy peace from his killers rather than seek out bloody vengeance on her own. He was, frankly, perplexed. What could have caused the iron willed woman he had met, the leader of the Shikoto clan, to ask him to abase her clan's honor and power in this way. To virtually apologize, to a clan of assassins. For what, he wondered. He indeed wanted to know. But it was certainly not his place, not his role, to ask. Not here. Only to listen, and respond, and pursue his own objectives as best he could, as well. Tawara was speaking again. "Some of you do not agree with our course of action. I know that. But it is the will of the clan. Of the council. Of the *elders.* And we will respect those traditions. Those values from our past. Because we have learned that to forget the past opens us to disaster." A stir of agreement from the men and women in the room gave Tawara the consensus he was looking for. Satisfied, he nodded, and sat down, facing Duncan once more. "You may begin. But be quick. We have other business to attend to, this morning. Important business. " Tawara leaned back, his arms folded across his chest, his expression closed, unyielding. Daring Duncan to persuade him. To interest him. To offer him anything that could shake the implacable certitude of the righteous. Of the just. Duncan paused. This was hardly what he had expected. Honorable assassins? Respecting tradition? Exactly what traditions did they mean, and in what context were they speaking? He felt crippled in his ability to represent the Shikoto, crippled by Kenrei's inexplicable lack of trust in telling him the root cause of the conflict. Well, he would just have to feel his way in, and not expose his ignorance too baldly. Or was that the right tack? Had she perhaps, shrewdly, intended him to come in as a true outsider, a truly unbiased envoy, precisely because he knew nothing of their conflict? Was his ignorance part of his value to her, another gesture of respect and submission to the Dragons, a gesture that would be wasted, lost, if he tried to hide it from them? He felt he was right, in this. Felt he had finally sensed her intent, and acted, promptly, on that feeling, before his confidence in his intuition slipped away and he lost the advantage of his innocence and surprise at whatever revelation was to come. "Tawara-san, I come as an impartial messenger, only to convey the words and offers of Kenrei, leader of the clan. I myself am not aware of the basis of your conflict with the Shikoto." There, that produced the desired effect. A rustle of surprise moved across the faces before him, and half whispered conversations started, and quickly died out. But the atmosphere in the room had shifted. Warmed, a tiny bit, towards him. Or so he thought. It definitely was Kenrei's aim that her envoy be ignorant and innocent of any complicity in the conflict's causal events. What indeed could have happened that apparently had shamed her so? For shame, deep, deep shame, was the only force Duncan could imagine that would humble the proud clan leader. "Do you want to know who you represent, then?" Tawara cocked his head at Duncan, his eyes glinting with sharp intelligence. "Do you care, or are you just a mercenary for hire? Risking your life coming here, for money?" Contempt curled Tawara's lips as he spoke, and Duncan felt himself flushing in anger at the insult. "I received no payment from the Shikoto to come here today." Duncan stared levelly back at the man, his posture relaxed as he let the truth slide out, unhindered. Gambling that it would win him more than trying to hide it, from men and women who were past masers at the art of dissembling. "I have my own questions to ask of the Dragons. You are why I came. But that is for later. "I gave my word to Kenrei to carry her offer to you. I would be interested, of course, in knowing what began this. What motivated her to send you this." He held up the case, unopened. Let the latches pop and the top flip up. Let them see the money, stacked high to the edges. "It is two million dollars. American. Unmarked bills. For peace between your clans again." Tawara chopped the air with his arm, the sharp curt gesture rejecting the offer. Rejecting the money. Rejecting peace. Duncan noted that some of the others in the group looked more interested, but none spoke, deferring to their chosen leader in this. Tawara thrust his head aggressively forward, the angry words tumbling from his lips. His fury an almost palpable force in the room. Directed at Duncan. Through him at Kenrei and the Shikoto. "We are not street beggars, to be paid off and sent on our way. This is a matter of honor. A matter of respect for the basic traditions and beliefs of our clan, and our people. Tell your mistress her dirty money is not acceptable. Not the the Dragons. Not ever." Duncan lowered the case. Set it on the floor, still open, in front of him, facing the council of the clan. Bowed low to the still fuming Tawara, and tried, once more, to reestablish communication. To at least be heard. "This is not a bribe. This is only a token of her regret. Her respect. She told me to say that the Shikoto were wrong. The Shikoto have already paid in blood. Now, they are paying in blood money. She pledged me to offer you the guarantee of her word, and her life, to seal and keep this peace." Tawara touched his fingers to his lips, as if holding in the angry words he wanted to say. Duncan saw the man visibly expel the rage that shimmered in the air around him. Tamp it down and mantle himself in an icy deliberate calm. The man steepled his fingers in front of his face and peered over them at Duncan, searching with his eyes for something, some clue to Duncan's veracity. He spoke. Slowly. Precisely. The words crashing down on all of Duncan's beliefs about the Shikoto. "You carry poisoned money. The profits from the drug trade. Heroin. Brought here. Sold to our children. Tainted with indiscriminate death. And you expect us to accept it?" Tawara laughed, harshly. "I would as soon cut off my own hands, than touch that. It would be like cutting off my own hands, to do so. Killing our own youth. Destroying our nation's future." The man looked at him curiously, noting the sudden pallor that spread across Duncan's face, the shock that made him step back, and draw in a ragged breath, to ease the sudden tightness in his chest. "You truly did not know? Yes, I see it now. You did not know. And you do not approve, either, do you?" There was grim satisfaction in his tone. "You know what we are. Assassins. Skilled in all the ninja's arts. We kill, for money. But we know who we kill. We alone decide if the target is a worthy one. And we put our own lives on the line, look our prey in the eye, as they die." Tawara gestured towards the silent guards, still standing behind Duncan, their guns still pointed at his back. "Now, death requires no craft. Cowards with automatic weapons can kill dozens, hundreds, from a distance. And greedy fools selling drugs, can kill thousands, millions, destroying their minds and will, leaving their bodies still alive, husks, craving more." He stopped and stared hard at Duncan, an angry challenge in his tone. "You tell me, who is worst. Who is evil, here?" Duncan struggled to understand, to incorporate this new picture of Kenrei and her clan,with what he had seen of her character, her beliefs. It simply made no sense. She was not without honor, without values. Her values were not those of the mainstream of society, true. But there had been reverence for life, concern for the future, love for her children,her clan...and by extension, her nation and its people. Or so he had believed. Tawara was speaking again. Duncan caught the fragments of the end of his sentence, and sharpened his attention, focusing on what the man said, like a drowning man grabbing at a lifeline thrown from the solid shore.Seeking to understand. Seeking to know...why. Why. Why the Shikoto had sold their honor for white powder. White powder, and poisoned wealth. "...hired some of our young men as couriers, without the knowledge of the clan. And lured them into the trade. Half trained novices, dreaming of fast money. Willing to sacrifice their fellow countrymen to feed their own lust for cash. Even trying to give samples of their wares to our own clan, to our own children. Children, not even in their teens yet, some of them. To make them into addicts, permanent customers, for their drugs." Outrage trembled in the man's voice, as he remembered. Saw again the pain of discovery, in the past. He looked at Duncan, his eyes in the present now. Cold as ice. Like his voice. "We had no choice but to expel them. Permanently." Duncan knew what that meant. No member of the clan ever left the Dragons. Not alive. Even Raven still spoke of being a Dragon, himself, in the present tense. As long as he lived, he was one. So this was what the Dragons would not forgive. Not just the drugs, but the deaths and moral destruction of their own blood, their own children. The suborning of their foolish, greedy, impetuous young men. "Kenrie Shikoto, and her devil's spawn, Hideyoshi, may try to buy our favor. But money can never replace what they have taken from us. We will not rest until we have destroyed them. Or have perished, in the attempt. The Dragons will not let our dead lie, unavenged." Tawara slapped his fist into his palm for emphasis. He meant every word, Duncan could tell. This was not bombast, not posturing. This was a battle between the clans, to the death. But Kenrei...not Kenrie. He could simply not believe her capable of this. Hideyoshi, on the other hand...Duncan could well believe that angry, ambitious man capable of anything. Anything at all....Was this what she could not share with him? This the deep and hidden secret, the bitter kernel that lay at the heart of her shame? He saw it all, now, with a sharp flash of insight. She had been unable to tell him. Unable to put into words what her children had done. Done without her knowledge, Duncan surmised. And now, now she was trying to make amends. But money meant nothing to the Dragons, and her word, just as little. They saw her as a woman with no honor, no pride. Yet Duncan suspected her honor, and her pride, may have led her to send her last remaining son with him, as his pilot. May have led her to let Hideyoshi know, by artful slip, what her obvious plans were. She had trusted Duncan, while giving him no guidance. Had trusted him to speak for her, to *know* what was right. And to do it. But did that mean he should betray her son? And even if he did, would it be enough? Would it appease the Dragons, or just whet their appetite for blood even furthur? Had this war gone on too far, to ever be stopped now? Duncan feared, truly feared, that was the case, as he looked into the implacable face of Tawara, seeing the determination carved into his features. The fanatic glare in his eyes. Sensed the rage, burning in his soul. Duncan feared for Tendo, and for all the children of both the clans. Feared for their futures. Feared that they would have none. =========================================================================