The Rising Sea (NUMA Files 15)

Kashimora began running his tongue across his teeth; he detected an unpleasant essence. He knew what rat poison could do. He’d used it on others.

“You’re probably feeling flushed as well,” Austin continued. “Your heart will be racing soon, if it’s not already.”

Kashimora’s face felt warm. His heart was beating firmly, a little too firmly. A bead of sweat was already forming on his brow. “You’ll never get out of here alive,” he said.

Austin raised an eyebrow. “I will if you escort me to the door. And if you’re willing to do that, I’m willing to leave you at the front gate with a firm handshake and the antidote in your outstretched palm.”

“Or I could shoot you and search your body for it.” Kashimora cocked the pistol and stared down the barrel.

“Excellent idea,” Austin said. He opened his palm, revealing a handful of tablets. There were five pills all of different colors, shapes and sizes. “It’s one of these,” he said. “But you guess wrong, you get more poison and you die even quicker.”

Kashimora could hardly believe what was occurring. In the heart of the Yakuza stronghold, with every exit sealed and fifty armed men looking for him, Austin had turned the tables against the house.

“Put the gun on the floor and slide it over here,” Austin demanded.

He shook his head. There had to be another way.

Austin glanced at his watch. “Wait much longer and it’ll be too late.”

Kashimora tried to control his fear, but it was overwhelming. His heart was pounding now; a sheen of sweat had built up on his face. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his jacket and put the gun down. He kicked it Austin’s way. “What do you want me to do? Call off the security teams?”

Austin picked up the pistol. “They would find that awfully suspicious.”

“Then what?”

“First, I’ll take your phone,” he said. “Mine was impounded. And then you’re going to help me get my friend out of the ring. And you’re going to do it the old-fashioned way. By hand.”

22

THE HORN blew and round 4 began. Joe noticed a new tactic from his opponent. The man was no longer charging forth, trying to land a deadly blow. Instead, he was hanging back, waiting for Joe to move first. Perhaps he was tiring. Or maybe it was a new tactic born out of Joe’s ability to evade him.

Joe looked his opponent in the eye. The man waved Joe forward, daring him to move closer. Joe shook his head. The big man repeated his gesture, swinging the remaining stick in the air as if to challenge him. Still, Joe held his ground and the fight turned into a stalemate.

With the combatants circling each other instead of attacking, the crowd began to whistle. Soon a chant began. Joe didn’t understand the words, but he felt the intensity growing.

The ground began to move under his feet. Not side to side but vertically. The outside edge of the circular ring was rising up, the planks being lifted by a hydraulic jack. A small section in the middle remained flat, but that was it. What had been a large circular arena—with plenty of room to move about in—began transforming into a funnel that would force the warriors into close combat.

The big guy smiled at this development and walked calmly down to the center of the funnel.

Joe held his position, crouching as the angle of the floor grew steeper. He dropped lower to keep his center of gravity down, put a hand on the floor to keep himself balanced, but as the angle passed forty-five degrees, his feet began to slip.

The crowd was chanting deliriously now. Anticipating the moment Joe would fall and tumble into the arms of the giant.

Joe knew he couldn’t hold on much longer. At any moment, the friction holding him in place would be overcome by the force of gravity.

Instead of remaining still and trying to hold off the inevitable, he leapt up and ran. But he didn’t run straight at his opponent, he ran at an angle, cutting across the funnel and down. Picking up momentum, he was able to curve back up the opposite slope like a speeding car on a banked turn.

The big man swept at his feet, but Joe leapt over the attack and then whacked his oversized opponent in the back of the head as he passed him.

The big man fell with a heavy thud as Joe ran up the far side of the banked platform. He was about to make another high-speed attack when the bottom dropped out. Literally.

The pneumatic hiss told the story, but Joe heard it too late. Large valves had been opened and the pent-up pressure holding the floor panels up released. The floorboards fell back to their original state and Joe fell with them, slamming against the solid ground.

Stunned, he rolled over. “That’s just not fair.”

He looked up to see his opponent rushing in. The muscle-bound specimen of a man grabbed the staff and pulled it out of Joe’s hand. Almost immediately, it came swinging back Joe’s way with deadly force.

Joe covered up. His natural instinct as a boxer was to bring his left arm up and protect his head. The stick crashed against Joe’s flexed bicep and forearm but still caught the side of his head with a glancing blow.