THE CHEERING WAS ASTOUNDING, BUT WHAT WAS MOST SURPRISING was the sudden appearance of all four sumo rikishi at his side in the ring. The four giants surrounded him, turned to face outward, and planted themselves, arms folded across their chests, forming a defensive perimeter around him. Apparently, Ichi-san was not the only sumo warrior who had no love for the man who remained face down in the center of the dohyo.
Tippu Tip had appeared when bin Wazir went down and now crouched beside his fallen and unmoving master. Making angry, mournful sounds, Tippu looked up, his red eyes flashing at Hawke. Alex had no interest in another round with this brute. That match had been decided one night long ago with Tippu Tip checking into St. Thomas’s Hospital on the Thames for an extended visit.
“Ar kill you,” Tippu bellowed, getting to his feet. Hawke had heard that line from him before.
“Ichi-san,” Hawke said, ducking away from a swipe of Tippu’s huge paw. “Could one of you gentlemen please escort this fellow from the ring? We must find Kelly, quickly.”
Ichi looked at Hiro, who immediately obliged, seizing the giant African from behind, arms around his thick waist, lifting him off his feet, and simply waltzing him out of the dohyo.
“Kelly is here!” a woman’s voice cried out. Hawke looked up in amazement. A veiled woman robed in emerald silk stood up amidst the group of women seated on the far side of the ring. Standing next to her was a tall, gaunt figure of a man dressed all in black. He pulled back the burnoose covering his head and that was when Hawke saw the shaggy red hair.
“Brick!” he shouted. “Let’s get the bloody hell out of here!”
“Good plan!” Brick replied, but his cry was hoarse and raw.
Brick Kelly was alive. Hawke grabbed Ichi’s arm and squeezed it. Smiling, he said, “The timing of heaven, Ichi-san?”
“Yes, Hawkeye-san. The time for freedom.”
Phut-phut-phut! A burst of automatic fire kicked up clay a few feet from Hawke’s feet.
“Get down! Get down!” Hawke shouted, pulling Ichi to the clay beside him. The three riskishi also dove to the clay. The guards at each doorway had their weapons up, and were squeezing off short bursts, but they seemed uncertain. Their lord and master was down, but was it over? Hawke heard a round zip above his head and then saw the man who’d fired at him go down, his head exploding in a fine red haze.
Hawke’s eyes lifted instantly to the heavily carved wooden balcony. Tom Quick was up at the rail with his new sniper rifle, not the least uncertain about what to do with it. Every time a new guard appeared in a doorway, Quick waxed him with a clean head shot. Gidwitz was up there, too, behaving like a gunfighter in an old western. He’d pop up and fire, duck down, scramble around to a new location on the balcony and fire again, creating the illusion of four or five gunmen up on the balcony. The illusion was enhanced by the nostalgic roar of Tex Patterson’s old Peacemaker.
Everyone was occupied for the moment, his guys seemed to have the situation in hand; but Hawke had information which needed to get to Washington immediately.
“Tommy,” Hawke said, having retrieved his Motorola headset from Ichi, “I need Sparky Wagstaff down here in the ring with that sat phone. Now.”
“Bad news, Skipper. Sparky was headed here from the guardhouse with the com set. Got halfway across, one of the towers took him out. Fire is murderous out there.”
“Get someone out there. I need that phone, Tom.”
“Negative, Skipper, we tried that. Phone was smashed. Nothing left of it.”
“Anybody else down?”
“Gidwitz took one in the shoulder, sir, but, as you see, he’s not down. Just keeps firing that old Colt.”
Twenty minutes remained on the mission clock. The guards were all firing up at the elusive Gidwitz up on the balcony now, and it gave Hawke’s remaining men, who had somehow made it to the shrine, the chance to clear the hall one doorway at a time. Hawke didn’t have the luxury of waiting for the bullets to stop. By now, the big American bombers would have arrived and be circling above. He needed to get on a radio to the president. Now. But the closest radio available was aboard Hawkeye.
He and Ichi started in a low crouch towards Kelly, and Hawke saw his friend limping towards him. The man could hardly walk. Torture had broken his body.
Brick Kelly was smiling, but tears were streaming down his face.
Hawke ran the final few steps and Kelly fell into his arms. It was only then that Hawke saw in his eyes how very near to death his friend was.
“Alex,” he whispered through parched and cracked lips.
“It’s okay, Brick. We’re going home now, old buddy.”
The woman who’d been with Brick stood, and raised a gleaming Samurai sword high above her head. The enemy fire ceased instantly. “You are Hawke,” the beautiful woman in silk said, approaching him. “I am Yasmin. Kelly spoke of you. You did not forget your friend.” She lowered her sword.
“He is my friend,” Hawke said, embracing the frail body, shocked at how little flesh remained on his bones. He had not eaten much since his abduction. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Take him safely home to his wife and children,” she said. “That is more than enough.” Smiling sadly, she turned away.
Hawke supported Brick with one arm and headed toward the nearest doorway. It looked clear. He spoke again into his mike. “Okay, Tommy, I have the hostage alive. Give me a fast sitrep, we’ve got to move out, now! What’s it look like from up there?”
“Door opposite you is clear, sir. Working on the rest—”
“You get our guys out of here. I’m out this door with the hostage. Regroup at that elevator. Sixty seconds. How’s the parade ground look? Can you take out those bloody towers from up there? Can I get some fire suppression?”
“Negative. Don’t have a shot, Skipper. Can’t—”
Hawke had been carefully ticking down the remaining mission time in his head. He was at eighteen minutes. He needed to get to his radio, and they would barely have time to rig a snatch for the Black Widows. Even that assumed somehow crossing the parade ground under withering fire from the watchtowers. He cast his eyes about the hall, desperately searching for some way out.
“Ichi-san, is there some other way out of—”
“No harm will come to you now, Hawkeye-san,” Ichi said, nodding in the direction of the regal Yasmin. She was deep in conversation with a uniformed man, clearly the captain of the guards, who was nodding his head vigorously, and shouting orders at subordinates and into his walkie-talkie. All automatic weapons were lowered, even as he spoke. Apparently, a new ruler now held dominion over the Blue Palace. And her word was law.
“Come along, Ichi-san,” Hawke said, pulling the balaclava down over his head. “You want out of here as badly as I do.”
Supporting Kelly with one arm, Hawke ran through the arched doorway of the sumo shrine and into the brilliant sunshine of the parade ground.
“Belay that last, Tommy, cease fire.” Hawke said into his lip-mike as he ran across the open ground. “Regime change. We’re going out unopposed. Move it.”
“Copy. Look up. You got B-52s assembling upstairs.”
Hawke shouted over his shoulder at the sumo who was struggling to keep up, “I can make space for you if you want to come along, Ichi-san. In fifteen minutes, this place will not exist. If you wish, go back and tell Yasmin that she must get herself to safety. Deep inside the mountain. Now. Understand?”
“Thank you, Hawkeye-san.”
“Don’t thank me yet. That elevator—”
“I know it.”
“Sixty seconds. No more.”
