Knowing how much his friend loved to preface something relevant, intriguing or even vitally important with a choice bit of trivia, or a throwback to a previous conversation, Danby raised an eyebrow.
'Terrorists blow things up and give you the finger. Rebels blow things up and ask for a negotiator.'
Bailey chuckled, while Danby waited for the inevitable.
'You know that proverbial shit?' Mick continued.
'Aha,' Danby acknowledged nervously.
'Well, it's hit the fan. Big time. But,' Mick was grinning now, 'it's neither our shit, nor our fan.'
'Translation?' Danby requested quietly.
'They're all out, and safe, and on their way here.'
David Bailey's eyes widened with surprise. Aaron Danby sat up, ready to make an announcement.
'Aaron wait,' Mick said, also placing a calming hand on Bailey's arm.
'What?'
'Let's wait to see what that Yank - oh here he is - has to say about his countrymen gate-crashing our party, and turning a clean operation into a loud and destructive balls-up.' Mick was clearly thrilled.
'You're still smiling, Mick,' Danby prompted.
'From which they came away completely empty-handed and allegedly down three men.'
Toyko, Japan:
Tuesday 4.15 pm
Hiroyuki Kaga could not believe what he was hearing. He stood his ground and stared at the intruder.
'I am waiting,' the tall bald man said.
'You barbarian! You think you can talk to me this way?' Hiroyuki had, until that moment, been civil to the bear of a man who stood uninvited before him. 'You must leave now.'
'I will leave when it is done.'
'It will not be done,' Hiroyuki stated. 'And you must be a mad man. Yes?'
'That is quite possible, sir. But still I wait. On you and your decision.'
Hiroyuki frowned. He much preferred his first impression: that this gaijin had mistaken him for someone else, that he'd come to the wrong door. Even when the stranger had pushed his way inside, to prowl the space he shared only with Kaisha, Hiroyuki still believed the man was in error. He had, after all, been accusing him of things he had not done, would never do. 'Do you know who I am?'
'Yes, Kaga-san. I know exactly who you are,' the man said, bowing slightly.
'You show respect, though what you say is foolish.'
'That too is true. But at least I give you a choice.'
'It seems we do not share the same definition of that word.' Hiroyuki was worried now. The gaijin was in the right place - for him. And his purpose was more than a threat to unveil a lie as truth. He had declared his intention to fabricate a reason for an honourable man to take a certain course of action.
'I will not do this,' Hiroyuki declared. 'No one would believe that of me.'
'I am not here to argue with you, sir. This is simple. Do as I ask, or your honour will be as nothing. Your colleagues and all your work will be harmed by the scandal, regardless of your decision. But if you choose to force my hand, your family will be shamed by your death at the hands of another; and then again, by the murder of your son.'
'My son?' Hiroyuki felt his soul wrenched from his body. 'What kind of man are you that would threaten a four-year-old child?'
'It is you I am threatening, Kaga-san,' the man said softly, lifting Hiroyuki's katana from its stand. He bowed respectfully over it then offered the ancient sword, with both hands, to the only man who should ever draw it. 'And, as I say, I give you a choice: a warrior's death or an ignoble end.'
Hiroyuki Kaga reached for the heirloom that had given faithful service to three Tokugawa shoguns, and proclaimed, 'But I could kill you first.'
Dargo flexed both wrists to unsheathe his blades. 'You could try Kaga-san. But even if you were to defeat me, I am not alone in this. Others would follow, and they would not care as much for your honour as I do.'
Chapter Six
Somewhere in the Pacific
Tuesday 11 pm
At just under 78 metres long and not quite eight wide, the high-tech Collins Class submarine designated HMAS Harris, was running at a depth of 40 metres on a south-west bearing to New Zealand.
Gideon's team and the conference delegates had more than doubled the number of people on board, but in three hours not one of the ex-hostages had complained about their close confines. In fact, as far as Jana Rossi and her companions were concerned, HMAS Harris was paradise below the high seas. Best of all, it was packed with Australians, although that sentiment had more to do with the circulating rumours, than a collective enthusiasm for being sealed in a large metal tube with 42 Aussie sailors.
Despite their rescuers' best efforts to keep the finer points of the operation quiet, most delegates had figured out that blowing things up had not been part of the plan. This deduction was reinforced by talk, overheard on the Harris, that it had in fact been uninvited US Navy SEALS who'd caused most of the noise, destruction and mayhem on Laui Island.
Divided into two groups, but not confined to them, the delegates had been assigned space in two of the boat's three mess areas. While free to move about, most were far more interested in eating a hearty meal and comparing notes on their incarceration and liberation.
Despite guessing just how close to disaster their rescue had come, their morale was understandably high, although they had been warned that 'high' in their case had a double meaning and therefore a double edge. The Chief of the Boat had already explained that the sheer elation at being free could be followed by an emotional and physical crash of equal intensity. He'd said counselling was promised but not until after their official debriefing.
Jana, while as elated and talkative as the rest, had not told anyone about being attacked by the rebel; nor, obviously, about how the man had been stopped.
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat each time she was assailed by a mental flash of being so near damage and death; but she nonetheless hoped her expression remained neutral. Given their own preoccupations, it was unlikely the other delegates would even notice hers, which was good, because hers were strangely disjointed. The repetitive recall of the assault was violence itself. It had its own particular sense and smell: cold hard sand, and damp vegetation with a metallic tang. Oddly however, while the attack was vivid with detail, being saved in so timely and definitive a manner kept playing more like a movie cut-away.
There was no question that Commander Gideon had killed a man to protect her, to save her. And while Jana didn't doubt she could do likewise, to save herself or another, there was still no escaping the fact that just over three hours ago a man had died so that she wouldn't.
But, as her eyes had been shut at the moment of his death, she couldn't reconcile the man who'd been attacking her, with the corpse that was probably still lying exactly where they'd left it. Though not quite sure why - and before being debriefed by anyone official - Jana wanted to talk the moment over with Commander Gideon, whom she hadn't sighted since boarding the Harris.
In the meantime, it was evident she wasn't the only ex-hostage trying to avoid the delegate they'd been forced to spend the last four days with. For example the leggy Kiwi Shirley Moore, who'd driven Sally Tan to distraction with unrelenting hysteria, was now enjoying the manly ministrations of Alan Wagner. Their location, on the other side of the mess, pleased Jana and Sally no end as they'd already agreed that the handsome yobbo and the gorgeous bimbo were a blonde joke waiting to happen.
'Pity we can't shut them up as well,' Sally observed,