The Clone Redemption

Hara’s feeling of triumph turned cold when he saw the next two men who entered the bar …a pair of SEALs.

With four of his men surrounding the SEAL and his knife pressed into the clone’s back, Ricky Oshiro should have felt confident. They moved silently down an empty service hall in a pack surrounding the SEAL. Two men led the way. If MPs or witnesses entered the hall, the men in the lead would scare them away. Oshiro and another man flanked the SEAL. The man bringing up the rear lagged ten feet behind the pack. He carried an S9 pistol in his hand. If the SEAL made a move, he would shoot to kill.

They turned into a service hall that led behind the mess area. Their footsteps echoed off the walls as they marched past the galley area.

The man in the rear was the first to go.

The two men leading the pack turned a corner. Oshiro and the SEAL followed. And that was it. The last man never appeared. When Oshiro looked back to see what had happened, the SEAL broke his arm at the elbow and wrist. The reversal happened so quickly that Oshiro did not notice anything until he felt the pain and his knife had clattered to the floor. As the SEAL went for his next target, he shattered Oshiro’s leg with a kick to the side of the knee.

The Yakuza were tough men, dangerous by nature and experienced fighters; but the SEAL was a demon by design. As Oshiro cradled his broken wrist, the SEAL slid his talonlike fingers across the neck of the man on his right, puncturing skin and tissue, then tearing out tubes. The man gasped and collapsed, uttering only a whisper. The sheet of blood that sprayed from the wound stained his shirt, the wall, and the floor around him. He died holding a hand to the wound as blood bubbled out between his fingers.

The men in the front did not respond quickly enough to save themselves. The SEAL swept an ankle from under the man on the right, breaking the joint and leaving him hobbled. With a cry of pain, he fell to the floor.

Only one uninjured opponent remained. The man did not run. He had a gun, but he knew he could not draw it fast enough to save himself. He kicked at the SEAL, but the clone ducked, spun, and moved away. The man chased, his arms guarding his face, his fists clenched tight.

As the SEAL came in range, Oshiro tried to kick him, but the SEAL dodged the kick, dropped to one leg, and struck the inside of Oshiro’s injured knee with a back-fist. With his right elbow and left knee broken, Oshiro fought back the pain as he rolled toward the knife he had dropped. The SEAL leaped over his shoulder and drove the heel of his foot into the wounded Yakuza’s neck, killing him.

The uninjured Yakuza lunged at the SEAL, an aggressive mistake that ended the fight. Using his fingers like a knife, the SEAL drove his fingers into the man’s gut. Blood jetted out of the wound, but the SEAL had not finished. He slashed the man across his left biceps, then along his throat. The cut across the arm was disabling. The holes in his stomach and neck drained the man’s life in a matter of seconds.

The last of the Yakuza lay helpless on the floor. He did not have a gun, and the knife was too far away for him to reach it. He tried to drag himself to safety, but Oliver slid silently behind him, grabbed his head, and snapped his neck.

Only when the fighting had ended did the three SEALs behind the corner emerge with the body of the fifth Yakuza, the gunman. “Not exactly a textbook assault,” Senior Chief Warren said in the condescending tone of a teacher correcting an errant pupil.

“I just eliminated four men,” said Oliver.

“Yes, and it wouldn’t have been much louder if you had attacked them with a set of kettledrums and a bugle,” said Warren.

The other SEALs set to work without a word. They loaded the bodies onto a cart, which they rolled to the same wastedisposal unit that the Yakuza would have used to incinerate Oliver. While Oliver and Warren mopped the floor and cleaned the walls, the bodies of the gangsters burned to ash.

In less than three minutes, the SEALs cleaned the service hall and disposed of the bodies. They prided themselves on efficiency.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Earthdate: November 28, A.D. 2517

“Fifteen of my men are missing,” said Admiral Yamashiro. “What do you know about the disappearances, Master Chief?”

The master chief stood at attention, his eyes straight ahead, his chest out, his arms at his side. “Nothing, sir,” said Oliver. It was a lie, and he knew that Yamashiro could see through it; but lying was within the parameters of his mission. Before leaving Earth, the SEALs had received special orders.

“You know nothing about it?” asked Yamashiro. He stood and stared angrily into Oliver’s eyes, looking for any sign of nervousness, then he walked around the SEAL. “I think you and your men have been poaching.”

“Poaching, sir?” asked Oliver.

“Hunting without permission,” growled Yamashiro.

Oliver did not respond.

Captain Takahashi, who sat in a corner of the office watching the interrogation, silently shifted in his chair.

“I will not tolerate vigilantism on my ship,” Yamashiro grunted. He did not raise his voice.

“ ‘ Vigilantism,’ sir?” asked Oliver. “Was somebody breaking the law?”

“The missing men are all Yakuza.”

“Permission to speak, sir?”

“Speak,” said Yamashiro.

“What are Yakuza?” asked Oliver.

Yamashiro looked to Takahashi for help. The captain said, “Gangsters.”

“Lieutenant Tatsu Hara is missing,” said Yamashiro.

“Hara?” asked Oliver.

“The intelligence officer who spoke at the briefing yesterday.”

“The man with all the brantoos?” asked Oliver.

“Yes.”

“And the curled hair?”

Yamashiro glowered.

“And the dark glasses?”

This time, Yamashiro did not respond at all.

“Was he a gangster?” asked Oliver.

“You were seen in the Shin Roppongi bar last night,” said Yamashiro.

“Me, sir?”

“You were seen.”

“What makes you think it was me?” asked Oliver. “With all due respect, sir, there are three thousand Navy SEALs on this ship, and we all look alike.”

Yamashiro growled, and Takahashi giggled. Yamashiro whirled around to face his son-in-law, and snarled, “Do you think this is funny?”

Takahashi fought back a laugh, and said, “Yes, sir. I do.”

“I see no humor …”

“Admiral, when we left Earth, you were given orders that you have not shared with the rest of the crew. What makes you so sure Master Chief Oliver is not following special orders as well?”

“Is that the case, Master Chief?” growled Yamashiro.

Oliver, his gaze still straight ahead, said, “This sailor has received no special orders, sir.” He hated lying; but he preferred it to disobeying orders.

“But you would not be able to tell me if Admiral Brocius gave you a direct order, would you?” Yamashiro