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Arnburg and Peterson made telephone contact with Choi and headed for the rendezvous with him. They selected the time and place themselves and, just to throw Choi off balance, had already placed a note there changing the meeting to another location several blocks away. Now they sat tight at a safe distance and watched for a trap. They expected trouble from Choi and were prepared.

Choi soon arrived. He was to have come alone but as they had expected would happen Peterson noticed a trio of men arrive just before Choi and two more after. All of them tried to be inconspicuous as they strained their eyeballs searching the area for signs of the two Americans or a trap to be sprung on them. Choi himself appeared agitated.

Arnburg chuckled. He sent a young messenger boy to Choi with a note telling him to follow the messenger and leave his friends where they were. Choi flew into a rage but followed the boy, motioning for his men to stay put. He had no choice.

"Mister Choi," Peterson said, "I'm so glad you could find time to join us!" He laughed as Choi's face turned a darker hue. Peterson went on to explain that they'd greatly appreciate it if he would join them on a trip to meet with Choi's superiors. He made it clear that Choi had no choice in the matter if he wanted to live and if he wanted to obtain the documents of which only Peterson and Arnburg knew the whereabouts. Choi grew darker still as they all left.

Several hours passed before Choi's confused henchmen started looking for him and longer still before they gave up and went home.

Choi realized Arnburg and Peterson were devoid of principles. They would kill him with even less emotion than he himself had shown when he killed the young street girl. If he wanted to live he had no alternative but to go with them. After taking them to Pak he would have the upper hand. He'd be alive, Pak would be happy with him and, just perhaps, he'd get his chance at these two later. Once they were at Pak's mountain retreat the two Americans would be at his mercy for they'd be outnumbered as well as unarmed. Choi decided that "discretion [was] the better part of valor" for him, at least for the moment. He might yet get his wish to see them die screaming like the Japanese girl.

Arnburg and Peterson didn't even allow Choi time to go to his hotel and pack. They piled him into a rented car and Arnburg drove some distance to a somewhat secluded spot with Choi in the passenger seat and Peterson directly behind him. As Arnburg pulled on the emergency brake Peterson flipped a garrote around Choi's neck and began choking him.

Choi's world was growing dark. The thin cord around his neck choked off the air but more importantly it choked off the blood supply to his brain. The seat was so close to the dash and he couldn't get his feet up to push backward. Nor could he get his fingers between the cord and his neck. He struggled briefly, then began to go limp. The cord loosened and a hand violently pushed his head back on the seat.

"Who hired us?" Arnburg yelled. Choi started to respond in Korean, his mind foggy from lack of oxygen. "In English, maggot." Peterson yanked the cord tight again, then released it slightly.

"Kil Choong Pak." Choi blurted, coughing and gagging. "He had me hire you. None of us knew anything about the problem on the plane. That was done by the messenger alone. Pak wants only to complete the transaction. He has no other motive and no desire to hurt you. I'm sure he'll be in need of your services again." Choi was trying to think as fast as his oxygen-starved brain would allow. "I will personally take you to him at his retreat in Korea. Then you can see for yourself there is no deception here."

He continued to tell the Americans whatever they wanted to know and within the hour the three were on their way to the airport. En route, Arnburg stopped so Peterson could use a public phone.

"Sensei Kubota. Have you taken care of Mason and Officer Nakagawa yet? Look, Jack and I are on our way to Korea with Choi. His boss is that religious guy, Pak. The leader of The Way, yeah. He's got a temple in the mountains. We'll finish up this deal and be back as soon as we're done. Can you be sure Mason and the cop are taken care of by then? Good."

Kagi heard a noise in the kitchen. He'd been cleaning in the bedroom and didn't realize Mr. Mason had returned. Not wanting to be thought incompetent or inattentive he hurried into the kitchen to be of service to his employer. A hatchet, swung overhand, split the top of his bald head from one ear to the other, embedding itself so firmly in the base of his skull that the killer couldn't extract it on first try. Kagi's great bulk crashed onto the kitchen floor where he twitched several times before laying still.

"Good," the killer's companion said in a low voice. "Pull his feet though the door and close it."

The two assassins had been sent by Sensei Kubota to kill Skipper and, later, Yoshi.

People with money problems can be found in all walks of life and the same is true for people with drug and gambling problems. Kubota had remained in operation for a long time simply by finding these people within the police department and using them. He was using several of them now. The two men took up positions, one hiding in the bedroom, the other in the same location from which he'd killed Kagi. They waited in complete silence.

As Skipper and Yoshi pulled into the garage of the residential complex the regular guard who always seemed to be on duty, gave them an extra, reassuring nod along with his usual robotic salute. When they reached the garden level in the elevator Skipper remembered the notebook he'd left in the car.

"Yoshi-San, why don't you go on to my apartment and make yourself at home. I left my notebook in the car. I'll only be a moment." With that he punched the elevator button and watched the doors close on his friend outside. When he reached the garage level Skipper had a foreboding premonition. He hit the button to return upstairs hard -- without going to the car.

Yoshi reached the shoji doors to Skipper's apartment and knocked on the frame.

"Kagi-San?" he called. There was no answer. Sliding the door open he stepped inside assuming Kagi had probably gone out to the market. He decided to get himself a beer from the tiny refrigerator in the kitchen.

Skipper's dread grew and the elevator seemed to crawl upward toward the garden level. He wasn't sure what caused the feelings this time, but experience had taught him never to ignore them when they came. When the door finally opened he ran through the maze of streams and ponds and over the small, high-arched bridges -- a one-hundred yard journey for a twenty-five yard trip. He flung open the front shoji door just as Yoshi started to step through the doorway into the kitchen.

"Yoshi!" Skipper almost dove across the room after his friend.

Yoshi, startled by the slamming open of the door behind him and the shout of his name, turned and ducked aside before actually entering the kitchen. Skipper saw the prostrate bulk of the man who had been his quiet and attentive servant laying in a pool of blood just inside. He also saw the hatchet swing down from above his friend and bury itself in the edge of the door just inches away from Yoshi's head, splintering the wood. Yoshi spun again, this time grabbing the arm attached to the hatchet and throwing the body behind it across the bulk of the dead man.

As this was happening Skipper didn't notice the door behind him slide open. He did, however, drop into a crouch and spin around to survey the entire room while reaching for his gun as he'd been trained to do long ago as a young Green Beret. His many years of martial arts training had given him incredibly quick reflexes but, quick as he was, he was only able to raise his arm in a desperate attempt to block the blow of the nunchaku that whirred in a deadly downward arc toward his head.

A searing pain raced up his arm, paralyzing it. He felt his body seem to fall to the side as he desperately tried to make it dive into a roll taking him away from his attacker to gain the time he needed to find his footing and regain his composure. He actually did manage to roll with some degree of grace, smashing through a low table and flower display, regaining his feet in time to see his attacker aiming another twirling blow at his left temple. Skipper jerked backward only a few inches and swung his left arm up to deflect the blow should it have more range than he'd counted on. Again the flash of pain in his arm numbed his brain and blocked out all thoughts save those animal instincts for survival that man touches on when his rational mind ceases to function and the animal in him regains control. In Skipper the animal had been trained to near perfect thoughtless reaction. His rational mind while exceedingly quick compared to most men, moved too slowly.

Skipper stepped forward this time, his right hand partially blocking the arm holding the weapon, as he saw the nunchaku swing in a crazy arc that struck a glancing blow behind his right ear causing an explosion of pain and blurring his vision. Skipper swung upward with his left hand, driving his opponent's head backward with an open-palm uppercut. Then his knee caught the attacker in the lower abdomen just above the groin. Skipper twisted and threw him through the shoji doors out into the garden.

Skipper instinctively reached again for the .45 he had tucked in his waistband by his right hip. It was gone. Somewhere in the confusion it must have fallen out. Again the figure in front of him swung. Skipper leaped forward, this time feeling his left shoulder blade explode in a sea of pain while the top of his head felt the smash of a face. Skipper gained some satisfaction in this for at least his opponent had to pay for this evenings entertainment with a broken nose.

Grabbing the man's jacket with his right hand Skipper smashed his forehead into the face again, then rolled backward while jamming his feet into his antagonist's stomach. As Skipper rolled up onto his shoulders he pushed up violently with his feet and catapulted his attacker out of the room and about fifteen feet into a koi pond, sending the big, slow fish scurrying in confusion. Scrambling back into the apartment, Skipper dove for the wreckage of the table where he'd spotted the .45. Rolling to his side he fired a "double tap" at the dripping figure sloshing its way after him like a monster from a nightmare.

Skipper's bullets hit their target twice in the abdomen, stopping all forward motion. Another "double tap" opened holes in the chest, driving the nightmare back outside to collapse across the walkway.

Turning toward the kitchen Skipper could see Kagi's body still framed by the splintered doorway. There was no sound other than the ring in his ears from the ear-shattering reports of the .45. He couldn't see any movement.

Slowly, Skipper regained his feet but remained in a low crouch. His left arm hung limply, uselessly, at his side; but, though his right elbow felt badly bruised, the pistol remained steady. He moved silently up to the edge of the kitchen then dove over Kagi's body, rolled and brought his weapon to bear on a figure standing over another body. It was Yoshi, standing over the body of the other attacker. Then Yoshi fell.

When he reached Yoshi Skipper found his friend still alive, though unconscious from loss of blood. His right hand had been completely severed by his attacker and he had several other severe wounds. Quickly Skipper pulled off Yoshi's belt and made a tourniquet above the elbow. Then, as best he could he applied pressure dressings to the other major wounds and treated Yoshi for shock.

"Hang on, Yoshi-San," Skipper said grimly.

As he turned around to look for Yoshi's severed hand he almost shot several policemen who, alerted by the crash of gunfire, burst through the door into Yoshi's apartment. He saw Yoshi's attacker was beginning to regain consciousness.

Skipper jumped at the man, grabbing him by the throat. At the same time one of the policemen pointed his gun at Skipper's chest.

Skipper focussed his eyes on the policeman pointing the gun at him. It was the same man who had been on guard at the garage entrance.