Chapter 10

Kenneth Yokata's father was a third-generation Japanese-American, the first in his line to marry a gaijin. That had caused a major rift between him and the rest of the very traditional family. However, Ken had been brought up with a large measure of the best of both of the disparate cultures. His father had seen that he was schooled in the ancient disciplines from an early age. His mother, a highly educated woman, saw that he was well-versed in the intricacies of Western thought.

Ken had eagerly chosen the military as his profession, progressing through the Rangers, on to Special Forces, and a stint in Delta Force. At every level he was acknowledged as the master of hand-to-hand combat. With all of that, he also excelled with the whole range of weapons.

After ten years in the military, having gained a college degree in the process, Ken was recruited by the CIA. For fifteen more years he was sent around the globe as part of the Agency's ultra-secret action unit. Besides his combat skills, he had an affinity for languages that allowed him to blend in in many countries.

Ken looked more Japanese than Western, and that was an important advantage for him in most Third World areas. Without the instant suspicion and hostility that Americans and Europeans were subject to, he was able to blend into a surprising number of environments. He had perfected a native Japanese persona that was flawless.

While much of the focus of the seventies was in Indo-China, Ken spent most of his time in the Persian Gulf. His understanding of several Arabic dialects was very good, and he could fake a Japanese accent over Arabic that few would question.

Twenty-plus years of high-risk assignments with numerous narrow escapes and the frequent need for extreme violence can wear down even the toughest. At age forty-three, Ken was ready for a change in his life. The brief burst of Desert Storm had come and gone, and a new presidential candidate with definite anti-military leanings looked to be the front-runner for the next election. It was a good time to start another phase.

Ken had negotiated a separation from active assignments. He was still connected with the Agency in a close but unofficial way. He had spent almost nothing of the pay that often carried huge bonuses. As with all such operatives, he had found other ways to acquire additional wealth in the course of operations. Sufficient funds were not among his worries.

A martial arts academy was the ideal 'retirement' life for Ken. He could pass himself off as full-blooded Japanese, giving him a distinct marketing advantage. His weathered visage and collection of scars spoke of intimate personal familiarity with the mayhem he taught. He loved to teach, and he was always blessed with a Dex Madison, a Cal Banner, or some other exceptional student in whom he could take pride. Many law enforcement professionals took his training, most at government expense.

The friendships and loyalties forged by men who routinely saved each others' lives were incredibly strong. Ken owed such loyalty to several former compatriots, and was owed by an even larger number. These were debts that were not discharged lightly, but Ken had called in a marker. His second phone call had been to a contact who owed him big time. It was an order for the termination of Rachman Mussafi.

All operatives despised the terrorist movement that had been growing all over the Arab world, especially since the Iran hostage situation. Rachman Mussafi was widely known and recognized as someone worthy of elimination. However, he was a connected Saudi, and the political sensitivity of that oil-tank of a nation made him untouchable. Officially, at least.

What Rachman had done, reaching into the U.S. to kidnap a citizen, was the one thing that all in the action services considered unforgivable. That it was his own innocent daughter put him far beyond the pale. Ken was certain that he only had to keep Ismi safe for the brief remainder of her father's life. That, however, would not necessarily be easy.

The 'incriminating' little tape they had just produced was at best a disrupting tactic. The torture and humiliation of Fasil had also been designed to buy time. Hopefully, he would be too disoriented to take any immediate action. If Rachman could be taken out quickly enough...

Throughout the torture session, Ken had made a point of emphasizing the futility of Rachman's offer to the sheik. Several times he had laughed at the idea that a girl of Ismi's beauty would still be a virgin in her senior year in an American high school. He knew he was playing into the general Islamic belief in the low moral tenor of American culture. He was quite certain Fasil was convinced that Ismi had been sexually active for a long time.

The fact that Ismi was no longer a virgin would scuttle the deal with the sheik. However, Ken was very concerned, actually convinced, that Rachman would harbor hatred sufficient to carry out his revenge anyway.

In the few hours since Cal and Ismi had arrived at the dojo, it had become very important to Ken to protect Ismi and her mother. Since Cal first became his student, he had known the story of the Mussafi family, but only second-hand. Now, he knew them quite personally, and he was very, very impressed.

Every time he looked at Ismi, he wondered how she had avoided 'discovery' by the talent scouts who were always on the prowl for the latest teen sensation. She was that perfect. At the same time, he had seen her hold up well under extreme stress, willing to do whatever it took to defeat the attackers.

It was easy to see what Ismi had inherited from Amelia. The mother was beautiful, elegant, refined, and had a core of hardened steel. Ken had worked with many highly trained, physically impressive women throughout his career. Somehow, he believed he would rather go against them than the beautiful blonde, especially if it involved her daughter's welfare.

Ken had never married. In fact, he had never come close. That was a result of his single-minded dedication to his calling more than anything. But there was another strong reason for his single status. Knowing the life expectancy and the travel demands on the professional warrior, he could not in good conscience inflict that on any woman that he truly loved.

Only since he had settled down with the dojo had Ken started to think about a long-term companion. Unfortunately, he had not found the pool of women available to a rough-looking, fifty-ish, mixed-race non-professional to be at all deep. The day's activities had allowed little time to think about Amelia as other than a woman who needed his help. But there was no doubt that the admiration had been building.

Now, as he hurtled his truck over the many traffic-packed miles to the Barnes home, Ken cursed himself for not briefing the women on his conversations with Fasil. He had assumed that Ismi would avoid any but punitive contact with her would-be abductor. Had he known about Cal's 'Three Rules for Dealing with Women', he would have added a fourth: 'Never Assume Anything'.

But Ken's thoughts were far from clever words. Lives were in danger, and he was many minutes away. If Fasil had found help waiting at the airport, they could already be on their way to try again to capture Ismi. Once again allowing his well-practiced sang-froid to slip, he slammed the steering wheel in frustration.

Ismi had barely pulled onto the road from the dojo's small parking area when she said "Cal, I don't want to be a virgin any more? If that is what makes me a target..."

"That has been important to you all these years, hasn't it, Ismi? Why?"

"Well, I, uh, think it's important to all girls. I mean, I'll bet Rebecca and Tessa... oh, uh, I mean..."

Ignoring the inference about himself and Tessa, Cal pushed a little harder. "But it's especially important to you, isn't it?"

"Yeah, you're right, Cal. Dr. Waxman and I talked about it quite a bit. It's, uh, kinda weird..."

"Nothing about you could be weird," he assured her. With that, she reached across the center console to take his hand.

"The Doc told me that it's because it was so important to my father," she said, then waited for Cal's reaction. "I know. I hate him for what he did. But still, part of me wants to please him... or at least who he was. Maybe not please him: more prove that I'm not what he accused me of being."

This was another time when silence was the only response Cal could come up with. He gave her hand a little squeeze and neither said anything for quite a while. "Ismi, if you give up your virginity, will you feel like your father forced you into it? Will you feel like he won: that he proved you're what he accused you of being?"

She gasped at his words, but refused to answer directly. "D... don't you want to do it for me?" she finally stammered.

"Are you crazy? Of course I want to! At least part of me does. But what if afterward you feel like you gave up something important and you're sorry? What if you blame me for it? What if you feel like your father won?"

"Oh, God, Cal! I don't know! But being a virgin is dangerous for me!"

"No, not really. Having a hymen that they can take a picture of is dangerous for you."

"But how?... Oh, you mean use something..."

"Or have a doctor do something. Ismi, if you know your father didn't force you to have a man... if you know you are still truly a virgin, hymen or none, then you will win."

At times during the discussion that followed, Cal wondered how he could be working so hard to get out of doing something that would be so wonderful. Maybe it was because he did not want to hurt Teri, and he knew it would. He hoped that it was also because he was watching out for Ismi's emotions, but it was hard to be sure.

Eventually, it was Ismi who steered the discussion to less weighty topics just before they reached the house. Once inside, Ismi insisted on taking a quick shower before getting her bag ready. Cal just collapsed in a chair.

Amelia dialed the number on the car phone and handed it to Ken when she heard it picked up.

"Cal! This is Mr. Yokata. Fasil may try again and he may have help. Leave the lights on, turn up the TV and get out the back of the house right now. Head through yards and get as far away as you can. Watch for my dark Blazer cruising the neighborhood. Now go! Don't stop for anything! We will be there in ten minutes and I'm calling the police as soon as I hang up."

Ismi was still in the shower when Cal knocked hard on the bathroom door, then pushed it open enough to call over the shower noise. "Ismi, Ismi! Mr. Yokata thinks Fasil may be coming here! Get some clothes on! Hurry! We're going out the back."

Cal waited on pins and needles for Ismi to emerge from the bathroom so they could flee. Actually, she did not take long, her wet hair showing one reason why. He took her hand and led her to the family room before pulling up with an alarmed "Oh, oh!" He had looked out through the patio door and pulled back quickly as he saw movement in the back yard.

Ismi's reaction both startled and pleased Cal. "Sonofabitch!" she swore. "I knew we should have killed him!" Pulling Ismi down behind the kitchen counter, Cal saw the wood block with the set of knives. He stood quickly and brought the whole set down to the floor beside them. He found the heavy chopping knife and handed it to Ismi. She shrank from it at first, but then her expression hardened, she took it, and swore under her breath. Cal took three knives of varying sizes for himself.

Out of long habit, Amelia and Ismi had scrupulously locked every door in the house, and that would give the kids a little time. Peeking around the end of the counter, he saw two shapes in the back, one at each end of the house. He surmised that Fasil was applying a little more organization to this attempt. Given their positions, he assumed there were at least four attackers around the house.

Ten minutes, Mr. Yokata had said, and that seemed like a very long time right then. Cal doubted they would be able to hide in the house for that long. It was too easy to just break glass to gain entry. One thing in their favor: the shapes in the back were motionless. That meant they did not know they had been discovered. He forced his mind to slow so he could formulate some kind of a plan. Mr. Yokata had told him to get out of the house. That was probably best. Trapped inside they would have little chance of escape. If they could hold out until Mr. Yokata arrived - but that was a big risk.

The garage! Was there potential safety in the garage? Could they drive away in a car? They would have blocked the drive, wouldn't they? They would have guns this time, and a car was not at all bulletproof.

Or was the garage a better escape route? Cal looked at his watch, and was dismayed to see that less than four minutes had elapsed. But the garage had given him an idea.

Motioning for Ismi to stay low, he led her to the inside garage door. Opening it carefully, they slid through, not standing up until the door was gently closed. He went back and propped it slightly open so that he could see what went on inside the house. That allowed a bit of light into the garage, but it was toward the front, not toward the back door to the yard where he led Ismi.

The next part of his plan was very dangerous, but essential. He needed the garage door opener from Ismi's car that was parked in the garage. If he opened a door to get it, though, the inside car light might alert the attackers in the back yard. Looking around, he found a large, flattened cardboard carton. Quickly, he placed it over the window in the back garage door, then instructed Ismi to hold it there. The only other window in the garage was to the side, and he had to hope that no one was stationed there.

He first asked Ismi where the opener was in the car, and was relieved to hear that it was clipped to the visor. Just as he was about to open the car door, he had another idea. One of the switches on the wall must be for the outside garage light, which had not been turned on. If he turned that on, the change could mask the flash from the car's interior light.

Hurrying back to Ismi, he learned which switch it was. He was able to turn on the driveway light, open the car door, grab the opener, close the car door enough to douse the light and turn off the driveway light in three or four seconds. Then, he went back to Ismi, removed the cardboard from the window, and waited.

The wait was not long. Within a few seconds, they heard the crash of glass from inside the house. He had no way of knowing for sure, but he assumed it was from the kitchen. Hopefully, that meant the man from the far corner of the back yard was no longer in position. Cal pressed the opener, and as soon as the door started up, he heard shouting and saw a body run past the back garage door headed toward the front.

Opening the back garage door, the kids slipped out and sprinted toward the connecting back yard, skirting to the right around the pool/patio area. The pool deck was raised and they were able to stay below sight line until they reached the back side. There, Cal discovered that an additional attacker had been stationed behind the pool.

Putting out his arm to let Ismi know to stay in place, Cal moved toward the man, who was staring toward the garage. He did not know how close he could get before being noticed, but if he could silence the man, it would give them the best chance to escape. 'Silence - throat' came instinctively from Cal's training as he slithered forward. His hand went to the knives tucked into his belt, but he had not spent the hundreds of hours with those weapons that he had with his hands.

Cal caught a break when his target looked toward the opposite side of the house where another man was rounding the back corner on the run. Cal lunged the last few yards with his right arm drawn back and his hand in a flat fist, knuckles forward.

Hearing Cal approach at the last moment, the man started to turn, exposing his larynx perfectly. Cal's hand shot forward, transferring the momentum of his whole body to the cartilage of the man's throat. The attacker's first death gurgles were just starting as Cal veered to his left for the meager cover of the low shrubs on the back side of the pool. The other man heard his partner's distress and speeded his approach.

Cal knew that he could not stay out of sight. He would have to time his attack perfectly so that he left cover at the point of being discovered, but no sooner. As the man rounded the end of the pool, instinct told Cal that it was Fasil. Instinct also told him that this time Fasil would have the gun.

As the Blazer careened into the neighborhood, Ken Yokata pulled an automatic from the satchel in the back seat. By tricky use of his hands as he drove, he chambered a shell, cocked the hammer and took off the safety. Holding it out toward Amelia, he said "The slightest touch of the trigger will make it fire. Have you ever shot one?"

"N... No!"

"Can you?... For Ismi?" At her grim nod, he repeated "Don't touch the trigger until you want to fire. As long as you keep pulling, it will keep firing. If you want to shoot someone, don't stop firing. Stay here in the truck unless you sense danger."

Two houses away, Ken stopped the Blazer and grabbed a sword and several knives from the satchel. He was out of the truck and running immediately. Amelia was completely out of her element, but fear for her daughter took over her thinking. Instead of staying as instructed, she also got out of the truck and started toward her house. Her gait was slow and awkward because she held the automatic straight in front of her with both hands.

The house just before Amelia's had a hedge along the street and the neighborhood had no sidewalks. Ken ran in a crouch against the hedge, eyes scanning ahead for any sign of the attackers. The same green van was pulled across the driveway of the Barnes' home, facing away from him, and he could see a driver's head. He decided the driver represented the minimum threat for the moment.

At the end of the neighbor's hedge, he paused and saw a man coming out of the house into the garage. Staying low, he reached the near corner of the garage and slid behind the back of the car. At just the right moment, he stood, his sword flashed, and a head thudded to the floor just before the body that it once belonged to.

Before the dead attacker's body fell, Ken was out of the garage and rounding the corner. He heard or sensed someone running ahead of him.

Cal waited as long as he dared, trying to stifle the fear that the gun produced. When he dared wait no longer, he sprinted straight forward along the hedge for two steps. Fasil's expert reflexes had only partially returned, as he spotted the movement and started to swing his gun hand toward it.

Waiting until the gun was pointing almost at him, Cal threw himself into a sideways roll for one revolution, then planted his foot and pushed hard toward Fasil. From two steps away, he saw the gun swing toward him as he wound up for the most important kick of his life. In the dim light, he could barely register the mixed fear and hatred on Fasil's face.

Trying to bring the gun to bear left Fasil's chest exposed and Cal planted his left foot and swung his right toward the man's sternum with everything in him. Part of his brain realized that he was going to be shot, but the protective part thought only of Ismi and her safety.

For all of his training and expertise, Fasil was not prepared to deal with Cal again. The lingering effects of his pain and humiliation at the dojo made his reflexes a little slower than they might have been. His warrior instincts told him that Cal's kick would reach him before the gun was true on the boy's vulnerable center. Even after seeing Yousef killed by such a kick, Fasil could not grasp the fact that the approaching foot could end his life.

Fasil would never have a chance to ponder whether he pulled the trigger on purpose or if it was a reaction to the force of the kick. There had been no sense of satisfaction that he had acquired the target properly before his world dissolved in a fireball of pain. He did not even die with the satisfaction of knowing that he had shot his tormentor. The literal explosion of his heart muscle stopped all sensation after the single gigantic burst.

The pain all the way up Cal's leg and the pain high on the left side of his chest arrived almost simultaneously. The roaring sound quickly gave way to a ringing in his left ear. With the other pain and the ringing, he hardly noticed as he was slammed to the ground on his back.

The gunshot was extremely loud in the stillness of the evening. The driver bolted from the van and headed around the back of the vehicle, taking the shortest way to the back yard. Amelia had approached to within a hundred feet or so of the van when the shot rang out. Seeing the man leave the van, she thought only of Ismi. She must be back there!

Later, Amelia could not recount exactly what happened, but she broke into a run as soon as the driver's door opened. As the man cleared the back of the van and turned toward the garage, she started squeezing the trigger as she ran. She tried to point the weapon at the man as she squeezed again and again. There was no sense of fear, only panic for her daughter and for Cal and Ken, and rage at Rachman and his killers.

Somehow, the driver did not notice the running woman until her first shot rang out. He was just in the process of pulling his gun from his belt as he ran. The instinctive fear reaction from being fired at caused him to fumble getting the gun free while trying at the same time to turn and face his attacker.

Just as he came to a stop and turned to bring the gun to bear, Amelia let loose with a blood-curdling scream followed by two more shots. The realization and disbelief that it was a woman attacking him caused the man to freeze for a precious fraction of a second. Later, when Ken told Amelia that her scream was the perfect tactic, she denied that she had done any such thing.