When David awoke, he found himself in a sitting position but tilted at a forty-five-degree angle backward in the front seat of the Mercedes. He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hands which were rope bound at the wrists. He could lift his arms! The moon was full and he could see the dirty steel hook before him through the windshield and felt the back bumper hit bottom as his car was towed up familiar terrain. His watch read six-thirty-five and he calculated he had been in the light sleep he had preferred over coma for forty minutes. He knew it was light because he could hear Asian chatter and grating, scratching sounds, penetrating even in sleep.
He could turn his body freely and tried to pull apart his hands as well as his feet which were also tied at the ankles. David had never been tranquilized as such before, although he remembered coming out of Pentothal anesthesia for a minor surgical procedure while in the Navy. His nearly total lucidity at that moment was similar to what he experienced now, and he was convinced his quickness in removing the dart had something to do with it.
David would deal with the significance of the outside landscape later, although he already had a terrifying inkling of his captives' intentions. But first he jerked around to view what he instantly grasped as the origin of the scratching sounds: the windshield, both side windows, and the back windows were covered with barbed wire. Encaged in barbed wire?
He wedged his head into the seam of the roof and the left window and fairly determined that wide strips of wire extended down under the car's chassis. David began to breathe the breaths of a claustrophobic wrapped on all sides. He felt for his Beretta Minx and his snubby; they were gone. His cellular phone as well. Friday lay open on the passenger seat, all its contents except the.44 Magnum strewn about the floor. That gun had also disappeared.
Outside, it was more light grey than dark, and even on a hardened dirt road and through grimy closed windows pecked at by sharp barbs, he could see dust rising. And a petroleum smell was asphyxiating as the truck ground up High Rock Mountain Road.
David had spent many hours playing in and around High Rock during his early school days. He still knew each bend of the road and could picture its dead-end off-shoots to rugged forestland and the footpath that ended halfway up, at a rock as high as the tallest evergreen engulfing it. And he recalled never having told his parents of the mountaintop itself and walking fearlessly at its edge, a stunt he would never try today. If he ever had a chance! There was little guesswork about where his Asian friends were taking him. And what they had in mind.
Not far from the rock, David was gripped by a sense of urgency so intense that its deadliness, though understood, was of minor consequence. Lowering the top was not an alternative, so secure was the wire cage. He had to escape and he had to escape fast. He pounded his shoulder against the door but there was little give.
He looked left and right, and up and back and, deliberating, felt his taut expression soften. Maybe! Just maybe! At the back rim of both doors, he had noticed an inch-wide column uncovered by wire. Could it extend back toward the trunk? Frenzied, he tore the visor from its attachment and lowered the window. Using the visor as a shield, he forced his head against the barbed wire and narrowly out the window. But it was enough to confirm his hope, and he estimated the column to be at least a foot wide. Now it must extend across the roof, right?
Awkwardly, David pushed himself forward in the angled car and searched among the dispersed items on the floor. He snapped up his flashlight. Next, he pulled back Friday's retractable paneclass="underline" the secreted items were undisturbed! He fumbled among them and, after retrieving the Sauer pistol, twisted from side to side and managed to slip it into his pant's pocket. Then he unfolded the tactical knife and cut through the ropes at his ankles with ease, using both hands as one. His wrists took longer. The chatter ahead continued.
David felt sweat spilling over his shoulder blades and rubbed his palms across his wrinkled blazer. He turned around and, kneeling, attempted to climb through the space between the seats, but it was too narrow. With a combination of bulk and adrenalized strength, however, he mangled the passenger seat like a stuffed toy and crawled into the back. His head was compressed against the roof as he ripped through the canvas with his knife, creating an opening between the last two iron struts. He suppressed the urge to laugh convulsively when he rose above the opening and realized his shoulders would clear it, too.
David dropped back down into the car and, checking his exact whereabouts, knew the rock was nearby, that the road bifurcated around it and that the truck would have to slow up. The Mercedes was so pitched that the back end of its roof was a mere three feet from the ground. In a crouch and poised to blast off, he waited for the slowdown, but then he went limp when the truck came to a complete stop! Dive out now or wait?
He squeezed himself into a ball. The cabin window ahead was in darkness and David assumed he was, as well. Suddenly, the truck started up again and before it could gather any speed, he plunged headfirst out the opening and, glancing off the trunk, hit the ground in a fetal but relaxed position. He rotated to the side and stretched out in one speedy motion, whereupon the steep incline took him in a roll toward dense underbrush. David scrambled to his feet and, clutching his knee, ran into the woods and found the path he knew by heart. He doubted the men were aware of losing their cargo. In any event, he never looked back and never needed the flashlight or pistol.
In the Sunoco Station at the bottom of the mountain, he phoned Kathy at home and sketched out his ordeal. She asked no questions, but amidst her sobs, indicated she would be there immediately.
At 10 Oak Lane, Kathy sat on the sofa staring at the floor as David approached. He had taken a shower and, now robed, was dabbing at superficial barb wounds on his forearm. She bolted up and resumed her earlier embrace.
"They were headed for the cliff?" she asked.
"Of course."
She shuddered and pulled him to the sofa. "Not that it matters, darling," she said, "but what about the car?"
He smirked and replied, "Sure as hell, it's in the ravine-and, sure as hell, they got pissed when they unhooked it. Probably pushed it over harder when they saw I wasn't around."
David pictured the descent in his mind and wondered why he didn't feel agitated. Still numb? He kissed Kathy's lips gently. "We can check on it sometime later."
They pressed their bodies together in a protracted silence. Finally, David broke away and said, "Christ, we forgot something."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, drinks."
After moving to the kitchen table where David gulped and Kathy sipped, she said, "You know, I'm confused. If they wanted to-God help us-kill you … "
"Believe me," David interrupted, "they wanted to kill me."
"But my point is, why like that? Why not just shoot you?"
David didn't hesitate, as if he had reached the answer before. "I'm quite sure they were Japanese and, who knows, it may have to do with the psyche of Japanese hit men. Maybe they're latter-day samurai warriors." He put down his drink and snapped his fingers. "Come to think of it," he said, "let's look it up."
He went to his computer corner in the den and Kathy followed. He sat and flipped through the pages of a reference book as Kathy leaned over, her hands on his shoulders.
"Here-here it is," he said.
They read about organized crime elements in Japan-the Yakuza-and their loyalty rituals such as self-mutilation and tattooing.
"Look at this," David said with disgust as he tapped on a sentence. He turned to Kathy and summarized, "Some of these goons cut off their own fingers to show respect."
David had not told Kathy about what he had seen through his window.
She crossed her arms and, heaving a breath, said, "It gives me shivers."