Quick, Hawke and the squad followed, leaving Quick behind. To Hawke’s enormous relief, the hand Quick had broken was not the one that featured his highly reliable trigger finger.
Speaking quietly into his mike, he ordered Gidwitz to advance with him. The rest of the team was to linger for exactly three minutes, then fan out and get across the open ground to the shrine. Hawke then headed across the empty parade ground at a run in the direction Tippu Tip had gone, a sharp spike of pain in his left side with every loping stride.
A match was already in progress. Two sumos, glistening with sweat, were in the dohyo, stomping about the ring, chasing away evil demons, Hawke believed. At the edge of the ring, sitting in solitary splendor was the man he had met in London in the late nineties. Or, rather, twice the man, for he had doubled in size in the interim. Like the other rishiki, he was wearing a ceremonial mawashi, a loincloth of crimson silk.
“You come,” Tippu said to Hawke. “He stays here.”
“Human sacrifice,” Hawke shrugged, smiling at Gidwitz.
Hawke quickly surveyed the enormous circular room. It was spectacular. Massive wooden beams, which appeared to be plated with hammered gold, soared above him. Mounted on the beams above the ring, four Sony Jumbotrons, broadcasting the match. There were eight arched doorways, two of bin Wazir’s men posted on either side of each. No visible weapons anywhere. An ornate balcony projecting above his head encircled the entire space. No one up there he could see. What small audience there was, a smattering of veiled women on one side, and a group of men on the other, paid no notice to the new arrivals.
This bin Wazir was either very stupid or supremely confident. Hawke imagined the latter. Somewhere in this fortress, he hoped, Brick Kelly was still alive. And somewhere inside the brain of bin Wazir was information the president of the United States needed desperately. The trick, how to extract both while keeping his own skin, and that of his men, intact. No mean feat, it would appear.
“Many guns trained on you,” Tippu grunted. “Put down your weapons now. Him, too.”
“Certainly,” Hawke said, unfastening his web belt and letting his HK slide to the ground. Gidwitz did the same.
Hawke quickly turned away from Tippu, bent, as if to tie his bootlace and quickly extracted Patterson’s old Colt pistol he’d shoved inside his boot. He placed it in Gidwitz’s hand as he stood up. He looked into the man’s eyes, then deliberately up at the balcony, before he turned to follow the African through the crowd of onlookers. Gidwitz had nodded imperceptibly. He’d understood the unspoken orders, Hawke reassured himself, find a way up to the balcony with the Colt. Cover him.
“Ah,” Snay bin Wazir said, smiling broadly, “Lord Alexander Hawke.”
Hawke offered a slight bow from the waist. “Mr. bin Wazir. It’s been a long time.”
“Indeed. I saw your aircraft. Interesting approach. You are here for your friend Mr. Kelly, I imagine.”
“Yes, as a matter of fact I am. Is he still alive?”
“For the time being.”
“Where is he? I’d like to say hello.”
“He is, unfortunately, detained at the moment. However, should you survive the little entertainment I’ve arranged, I shall see you to his quarters.”
“A sumo match?”
“You haven’t lost your keen powers of observation, Lord Hawke.”
“Never. Who’s winning?”
“Right now, Hiro. The bald chap. But Kato is formidable. He could still prevail. You will fight the winner of this match. If you live, you shall have the honor of fighting me.”
“A dubious honor. Still, if you insist—”
Snay bin Wazir clapped his hands and the two additional sumo giants who’d been observing the bout in progress approached him, bowing deeply.
“This man will be competing,” he said to the two huge Japanese. “One of you, take him away and see that he is suitably prepared.”
“I will do it, sire,” one said, stepping forward.
“Good. Go with him,” bin Wazir said to Hawke, and returned his gaze to the action in the dohyo.
“This way,” the sumo said.
Hawke followed the man through a set of heavily embroidered draperies to the far right of the ring. They entered a spartan room, smelling richly of the sandalwood that paneled the walls. The sumo sat on a bench and motioned Hawke to join him.
“You know sumo techniques, Hawkeye-san?” he asked Hawke.
“Not exactly,” Hawke replied.
Chapter Fifty-Six
CHRIST, HAWKE SAID TO HIMSELF. THIRTY-TWO MINUTES until the B-52s opened their bomb bay doors. Bombs away.
“Kelly is alive?” Hawke said to the sumo. “That’s where you got the name Hawkeye?”
The sumo nodded. “Yes. He is a brave man.”
“You know my name. I don’t know yours.”
“I am Ichi-san.”
“Make this quick, Ichi-san,” Hawke said, stripping off his balaclava. “I’m a fast learner on a very tight schedule.”
“Good. You will fight Hiro. Kato no longer cares enough to win. To win, you must force Hiro from the circle. Or, cause some part of his body other than the soles of his feet to touch the clay. The second is the more likely. Okay?”
“Okay. Why are you doing this?”
“I am going to kill the Pasha and escape from his prison. You have come to help. Such is the timing of heaven. Now you will pay most close attention, please.”
The sumo stood in order to demonstrate his lesson.
“Hiro will underestimate you. That is key. Show him no hint of emotion. You will only have one chance. Never take your eyes off Hiro. Assume this stance, the shikiri, putting your fists on the line in the clay.”
Hawke rose and copied Ichi’s squatting stance.
“Like this?”
“Fists farther apart. Feet as well. Good. Now, take a deep breath. Make sure it is deep, because you will only get one. If you take another, you will lose strength. Are you ready?”
“I don’t know.”
“You will know. When you are ready, explode. It is called the tachi-ai. If you hit him here, and just precisely here, you will knock him off his feet. It is over.”
“And if not?”
“It is still over.”
“I see what you mean.”
“Now, explode.”
Hawke did, hitting the man’s sternum with enormous force. He might as well have hit a granite monument.
“Well, that doesn’t work,” Hawke said, picking himself up.
“Not against me, Hawkeye-san. I am immovable.”
“Then I’m glad we’re on the same team,” Hawke said, checking his watch. “Shall we go see Hiro? I’ve got a plane to catch.”
Hawke entered the dohyo, never once taking his eyes off Hiro. He simply couldn’t believe the size of his
