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He fervently hoped the blood he'd drained from his vein had not weakened his system. He was going to need every bit of his strength for the job ahead.
Kamatori became apprehensive when the image on his tiny wrist TV monitor suddenly faded. His last reading from the robot-tracking dog's sensor put Pitt approximately a hundred and seventy-five meters in a southeasterly direction toward the palisades along the shore. He was amazed that Pitt had allowed himself to be cornered so early in the hunt. He hurried in that direction, initially thinking the system had suffered an electronic malfunction. As he rushed toward the final contact position, it began to seep into his brain that possibly the quarry was the cause of the problem.
This had never happened with the earlier prey. None of them came close to defeating the robot or inflicting any damage. If Pitt had managed to do what the others couldn't, Kamatori decided he must be very cautious in his approach. He slowed his pace, no longer concerned with speed. Time was a commodity he could easily afford.
He used nearly twenty minutes to close the gap and arrived at the small clearing above the cliffs. He vaguely saw the outline of the robodog through the underbrush. He feared the worst as he realized it was lying on its side.
Staying in the trees, he made a wide sweep around the open pile of rocks. Cautiously, Kamatori crept toward the dog that lay still and motionless. He drew his sword and lifted it high above his head, the hilt clutched in both hands.
A practiced user of kiai, with the motive power to raise himself to a fighting fury, and a fiery resolve to overwhelm his opponent, Kamatori deeply inhaled a breath, gave a bansheelike cry, and leaped, hoping to fall upon his hated foe at the exact moment Pitt exhaled his breath.
But there was no Pitt.
The small clearing looked like the aftermath of a massacre. Blood was splattered everywhere, on the robodog, the rocks, and tiny splotches ran down the cliff face. He studied the ground. Pitt's footprints were deep and scattered in convulsive disorder, yet no drenched trail of blood led away from the clearing. He peered down at the sea and rocks below and saw a tree pulled out by the receding water only to be swept in again by an incoming wave and thrown onto the rocks. He also studied the ragged hole and torn root system on the edge of the drop.
For several minutes he regarded the scene, examining the chewed tree limb, the rock lying next to the tracking robot. The robodog was not designed to destroy, only to pursue and locate. Pitt must have turned and fought, damaging his pursuer and somehow altering its computer programming and turning it into a vicious killer.
The robodog had then gone on the attack and savagely slashed at Pitt's flesh. With nowhere to run and no way to fight the horror, Pitt must have tried to escape by climbing out on the tree. But his weight was too much and together they fell onto the rocks below. There was no sign of Pitt's body, but no man could have survived. He had either been swept away by an undertow or finished by sharks attracted to the bleeding body.
Kamatori exploded in blind rage. He picked up the mechanical dog and flung it over the cliff. Pitt had defeated him. The adventurer's head would not be mounted on the walls with the other grisly trophies.
The samurai butcher felt shame at being cheated. No one had ever escaped his sword.
He would take his revenge on the other American hostages. He decided Stacy was to be his next prey, imagining with great delight the horrified faces of Giordino, Weatherhill, and Mancuso as they viewed him hacking her to pieces in vivid color.
He held his sword blade up in front of his eyes, experiencing a feeling of euphoria as the new sun glinted on the blade. Then he flourished it over his head in a circle and slipped it into its scabbard in one smooth instantaneous motion.
Still angered and disappointed at losing the one man he desperately hoped to kill, he headed back into the craggy landscape toward the resort, his mind already relishing the next chase.
The President stood on the green grass of the Congressional Country Club engaged in a late afternoon round of golf. "You're sure about this? There is no mistake?"
Jordan nodded. He sat in a golf cart watching as the President studied a fairway from the fourteenth tee. "The bad news is confirmed by the fact the team is four hours behind their scheduled contact time."
The President took an offered five iron from his caddie, who rude in another cart with a Secret Service agent. "Could they have been killed?"
"The only word we have from the British agent inside the Dragon Center is that they were captured soon after exiting the undersea tunnel into the command center installation."
"What went wrong?"
"We didn't take into consideration Suma's army of robotic security forces. Without the budget to place intelligence operatives in Japan, we were ignorant of their advancement in robotics. Their technology in developing mechanical systems with human intelligence, vision, and superphysical movement came as a surprise."
The President addressed the ball, swung, and stroked it to the edge of the green. Then he looked up at Jordan. He found it difficult if not impossible to comprehend a mechanical security force. "Actual robots that walk and talk?"
"Yes, sir, fully automated and highly mobile and armed to the teeth."
"You said your people could walk through walls."
"There are none better at what they do. Until now there was no such thing as a foolproof security system. But Suma's vast technology created one. Our people met a computerized intelligence they weren't trained to bypass, that no operative in the world is trained to overcome."
The President slipped behind the wheel of the cart and pressed the accelerator pedal. "Any hope of a rescue mission to save your people?"
There was a moment's silence as Jordan hesitated before continuing. "Doubtful. We have reason to believe Suma intends to execute them."
The President felt a wave of pity for Jordan. It had to be a bitter pill for him to swallow, losing almost an entire MAIT team. No operation in national security history had suffered from such incredibly rotten luck.
"There'll be hell to pay when Jim Sandecker hears that Pitt and Giordino are going down."
