Rules of the Hunt (80 page)
His mind in something of a jumble of emotions, Fitzduane made his way to
his first-class seat in the front of the aircraft.
There was a beautifully wrapped package on
the seat, but he ignored it until he had put his belongings away, assuming it
belonged to another passenger.
Then he
saw that the package was addressed to him.
He smelled her perfume and the scent of her body before she spoke, and a
sharp feeling of both longing and loss went through him.
He turned around.
And there she was:
luscious black hair, perfect skin, huge eyes,
breasts
he could feel against his lips, the body of a
lover.
A beautiful and
extraordinary woman.
And an enigma.
"It's for Boots," she said.
"A soft toy, a cuddly sumo wrestler.
I think he will like him."
Chifune hesitated.
"Or is he too big for such things?"
Fitzduane thought of Boots and what he felt like in his arms and suddenly
was impatient to be home again.
"No," he said, with a smile, "he's not too big for cuddly
toys.
He's only three.
He's still a very cuddly boy."
Chifune was silent at first, and Fitzduane was acutely conscious of all
that was unsaid that was passing between them.
There were tears in her eyes, and as he watched, one trickled down her
cheek.
"That's what I remembered," she said.
A newly boarded passenger pushed by with an apology, and Chifune winced.
"How is the arm?" he said.
It had not been a serious wound, but being shot was never much fun.
"Healing," she said with a slight smile, "but still a
little tender."
Fitzduane was forcibly reminded that the aircraft was leaving
shortly.
He asked the obvious question,
already knowing the answer.
"Chifune," he said.
"Are you traveling, too?"
Chifune shook her head.
"I
wanted to see you alone, Hugo," she said.
She smiled again amid the tears.
"With Koancho, such things as boarding a departing aircraft can be
arranged.
But I have to go now."
"Or they'll make you work your passage," said Fitzduane, with a
smile he had to force.
He felt a
terrible sense of loss, but also knew somehow that this was not the time to say
anything.
He moved forward and held out his arms to embrace her but Chifune stepped
back.
"No, Fitzduane-
san
," she sobbed.
And then she bowed deeply and was gone.
And then Fitzduane saw Adachi, which was impossible for he was dead, and
he smiled and felt tears come to his cheeks.
Then Adachi reached out his hand and Fitzduane took it and his grip was
firm and warm.
"My friends call me
Aki," he said, and then Adachi too vanished.
Fitzduane was deeply moved.
He put
Boots's present on the seat beside him and fought to get a grip on his
emotions.
He thought of Christian de
Guevain and Mike Bergin and Aki Adachi and other comrades-in-arms and how honored
he had been to fight beside them and how irreplaceable they were.
He thought of Etan and Chifune and the other
women he had known and loved.
And he
thought of those who were still living and of Kilmara's words:
“I have no answers, but much to do.”
He slept and dreamed extraordinary dreams, and when he woke the hostess
was leaning over him to remind him about his seat belt and they were
approaching
One more plane flight and he would be in
And then he would board the Islander and fly
to the West and he would be home.
*
*
*
*
*
Airport
July 16
As he flew the London-Dublin leg of the journey Fitzduane reflected on
the chain of events that had culminated in
The origins went back about seventy years, arguably even longer.
World politics, seemingly so remote, had
impacted directly in this case.
And
individual actions had had terrible and unforeseen consequences.
Who would have thought that fate would eventually catch up with Hodama
the
kuromaku
.
He had survived so much only to be struck
down at the height of his power as a consequence of a routine bit of thuggery
decades earlier.
If the Namakas had not had their father executed and been left alone and
starving in postwar
Today, they would probably have graduated with distinction from Todai
and be model citizens.
As for Katsuda, his criminal imperative could be traced directly back to
the Japanese occupation of
including the killing of his own family.
He was a man motivated by hate.
Given his background, it was easy to understand.
Fitzduane did not know what distortions in his upbringing had caused
Schwanberg to go bad.
Frankly, he did
not care.
Certainly
helped.
Many brave men and women had
fought in it, but it had not been the best of wars.
In the final analysis, the origins did not matter.
You dealt with the situation as it existed
now and you did what was necessary as well as you could and accepted the
consequences.
And that was the end of
it.
When the aircraft landed in
Fitzduane thought at first he must have taken the wrong flight.
The weather was near perfect, the sky a rich
blue, and the temperature downright balmy.
It was like landing in the South of France.
For a moment he expected to see the vivid
scarlet of bougainvillea and to smell the perfume of oleander and hibiscus and
to be surrounded by tanned bodies.
He
was soon disabused.
The patrons of
The Irish, he conceded, were an odd lot, in
truth.
They loved their rain and
windswept land.
He smiled to himself.
The day was
a false promise, a temporary illusion, but Kathleen and Boots running toward
him were very real.
He swept Boots into his arms and kissed and hugged him, and son Kathleen
was in his arms, too, and as he felt her body against him and her lips against
his, he had a feeling of returning to normality, to values that were important
and worth building on.
Boots, jumping up and down with happiness and impatience, immediately
opened Chifune's gift to him, and his face shone as he beheld the cuddly sumo
doll inside.
It was love at first sight.
"It's a sumo, Boots," said Fitzduane.
"A Japanese
wrestler."
"Zoomie!
Zoomie!
Zoomie!" shrieked
Boots, and shot around in circles, alternately hugging his new friend and then
throwing him in the air.
Kathleen, alone with Fitzduane for a few seconds, put her arms around his
neck and looked up at him.
She had
forgotten what a big man he was.
He
looked pale and tired and pleased to be back, and, she thought, rather
magnificent.
Her lover looked what he
truly was, every inch the warrior.
"So, my love," she said quizzically, "how was
Cherry blossoms and geisha
girls?"
A thousand images flashed through Fitzduane's mind too fast to
comprehend, and then they were gone and only Kathleen in his arms was real.
He laughed.
It rained a lot,"
he said.
"It was surprisingly
bloody wet.
I felt quite at home."
—
THE END
—
