Banner YearChapter 25
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When the van pulled across their path and the men jumped out, Cal's initial reaction was a flash of panic, but in milliseconds he remembered why he had spent all of those years in martial arts classes. The men looked Arabic, and his mind flashed back to the sight of Rachman kicking the helpless Ismi. It was not going to happen again!
Mr. Yokata's teachings came to him with the force of deeply ingrained habit. First, the assessment. Two men. No visible weapons. One man, the driver, had to go around the front of the van, so they would not reach him at the same time. In fact, only the passenger was heading for him. The driver seemed intent on Ismi. That was his key strategic advantage - one opponent at a time. Ismi was nearer to the front of the van, so the driver was planning to reach her.
Mr. Yokata always emphasized the value of surprise as a weapon and offense as the best defense. The attackers would not expect any significant resistance from a slender fifteen-year-old. The first man would probably eliminate Cal as a problem, leaving Ismi unprotected from capture or harm by the other, whichever it was.
All of this raced through Cal's mind in the time it took to drop Ismi's hand. One of her books was right at his feet, and without even thinking about it he kicked it toward the man coming toward him. Countless times in drills he had propeled any available object at his opponent by any means that he could. Mr. Yokata hammered home again and again that "If throwing a flower distracts his eyes for an instant, that flower is a deadly weapon."
After the quick little kick at the book, Cal was crouching and pushing off to charge at the first oncoming man. The blood-curling yell was not just a device to enhance TV martial arts fights. At the dojo, students practiced it over and over. It can help to focus and even augment the energy put into an action. It can also unnerve or at least momentarily distract an opponent, especially if they are not used to it.
Cal let loose with full voice as he lunged forward, and it worked. The attacker's eyes had just flicked toward the book that was flying lazily toward his feet when the yell caused him to look up. He stumbled just slightly in his stride, and that was all that Cal needed.
With two bodies hurtling toward each other from a short distance, the action was as automatic to Cal as breathing. At the last step, he planted his left foot and swung his right upward at the attacker's jaw. It was like an old-fashioned straight away football place kick, or a punt. The two months of intensive leg workouts allowed him to generate deadly speed.
The attacker had quick reflexes and tried to pull his head away once he realized the danger. In the process, his head turned to the side. Unfortunately for him, his little stumble had prevented him from stopping his forward motion and he added his own momentum to the strength of Cal's kick. The impact was massive against the side of the man's chin, causing his head to twist violently as his body continued straight forward. Only Cal's strict training regimen kept Him from being injured in the process. He ignored the tremendous jolt that ran through his whole body and refused to acknowledge any pain.
With no idea how badly the first attacker was hurt, Cal was sure that he was at least temporarily out of action. In any case, he had no more time for the passenger. The driver had rounded the front of the vehicle and was heading past to Cal's right, on his way to Ismi. Cal's yell had caused the driver to look, and he had seen his partner fall.
In all of the multi-attacker exercises at the dojo, Mr. Yokata preached constantly that there was no time to stop or pause, even for a tiny fraction of a second. Motion must be continuous and purposeful. After striking a blow to one opponent, the motion must be transferred toward either attacking another opponent or defending an attack from another source. Hours were spent practicing the arm swings, spins, rolls, and pirouettes that could be used to transfer momentum to a different direction while preserving or even augmenting it.
Before he could completely change direction, Cal managed to look toward the driver, who was now turning away from his route toward Ismi. With almost nothing to go on, Cal somehow sensed that the man was a very dangerous opponent and that raised his adrenalin level even higher.
Cal had already taken one long step toward the driver by the time the man's body was fully turned toward what was now recognized as a threat. With alarming speed, the man's arms were up and he was in a defensive crouch.
Instinct and hundreds of repetitions told Cal that his opponent's head and torso were too well protected. It had registered on the man that he was not just facing some dumb kid, but the shift from a focus on grabbing a helpless prey to defending against a deadly antagonist must not have fully occurred.
Cal looked like he was setting up to repeat the straightaway kick that had felled the passenger. As the driver flinched to deflect the kick, Cal turned the fake kick into a little skip that did not cost him any forward momentum. The slight raising of the man's arms opened his knees completely and Cal flew forward to crash into the forward, load-bearing knee full force.
The attacker was very fast and very well conditioned and his knee was bent at the moment of impact. There was no satisfying pop of dislocation, but the man did lose his balance and crumple to the ground. Verifying that he was indeed a trained fighter, he aimed a hard punch at Cal even as he was falling. Fortunately, Cal had transferred his remaining motion into a sideways roll.
Without getting to his feet, Cal spun around on one hand to generate leg speed from the wide arc. The momentum of the man's punch had made him fall toward Cal. Having missed left him on the ground, braced up on one hand. Cal's kick caught the man full in the face, leaving him stunned.
At that point, Cal might have been able to take Ismi and escape. The attacker was groggy, and his knee was not fully functional. Something told Cal, though, that it was important to her safety to capture this man and find out why he wanted her. From the obvious Arab look of the pair, he had surmised that Rachman was somehow involved, but that was not enough.
The kick in the face had the driver momentarily motionless on hands and knees. On his back on the ground, Cal pushed hard upward with his left leg, sending his right leg almost vertical. He then brought his right heel down with all of the force he could muster, crashing it into the back of the man's skull. He knew that if he hit the neck, he would likely break it, killing the man. Even groggier but still conscious, the driver tried to turn his face toward Cal. The next scissoring blow caught the man a glancing blow to the temple and he sagged to the ground and remained motionless.
When the van had pulled in front of them, it was as if time had gone to 1/100th actual speed for Cal. It was the same thing that happened on his golf backswing, or when he set himself for a basketball shot. Ismi had not yet finished her scream by the time both attackers were down. It had all taken between six and seven seconds.
As Cal tried to get his breathing under control, he knew that he had to prevent the shock reflex that could follow violent action. He started the mental exercises he had been taught in training. His immediate thoughts were to get to one of the houses and call the police. But then he thought of detective Alvarez, if that was indeed who he was, and involving the police seemed potentially dangerous for Ismi.
With a moment to think back, he believed the passenger was dead. His kick had been full force, and had caught the man on the side of the chin when he tried to pull his head away. The violent twist must certainly have broken his neck. The driver, though, would recover soon, and he must be bound. If the intent was to kidnap Ismi, there must be restraints of some kind in the van.
Sure enough, on opening the side door, he found several sets of hand cuffs and a set of leg shackles. Moving almost frantically, he got the man's hands cuffed behind his back and his ankles shackled.
"Ismi, help me get these guys into the van. Quickly!" His command stopped her screaming, but she was frozen in shock and fear. He grabbed the driver and started dragging him. His instinct told him that the passenger was not a threat, forever. He had the driver almost to the side door before Ismi could move. Then, finding some unsuspected reserve of courage, she sprinted to the van, jumped into the open side door, and grabbed the man's left arm as Cal got both arms under the torso. Her tugging, now fueled more by anger than by panic, quite likely dislocated the shoulder, but the unconscious feel no pain.
Once the driver had been dragged inside, Cal used one spare set of cuffs to anchor his cuffed hands to the frame of the driver's seat. The other spare cuffs secured his shackled feet to the passenger's seat frame. The job was barely finished when the driver started to stir, letting out a blood-curling scream at the first tug of his damaged shoulder against the restraint of the cuffs.
Cal ignored the shackled man and started dragging the passenger. Ismi was paralyzed again for a moment, then jumped down to help. After she grabbed the passenger's arm, she let out a little shriek and dropped it as she saw the head flop to an impossible angle. "Ismi! Help! Please!" Cal yelled much more forcefully than he wanted to. Almost in a trance, she helped him get the body in the vehicle. The sight of his dead companion was enough to halt the agonized screaming of the bound driver.
"Ismi! Ismi! Can you drive? I've never done it!" Cal shouted at her. She was standing in a daze, and he took her face in both hands and talked forcefully right at her. "Ismi! Come out of it! I need you! Please help me get out of here!"
Something got through to her. She shook her head, and Cal saw panic, then fear, then anger, then resolution flash through her eyes. She turned and sprinted around to the driver's door. Again following his training, Cal looked quickly around the area and spotted Ismi's books. While quickly picking them up, it seemed to him that secrecy could be very important. A final scan of the surrounding houses showed no evidence of anyone being home.
He had barely gotten into the passenger seat and belted himself in when the van jerked violently backward into the street, eliciting another scream from the bound man as he was banged against the seat back. Slamming into gear, Ismi tore down the cul de sac and leaned the van over hard on the turn into the through street.
"Ismi, Ismi! Take it easy! We don't want cops! Please!"
"I wanna hear that sonofabitch scream!", she spat out. Cal was worried about Ismi going into shock and not being able to drive, so her current anger was a good thing.
"He'll scream plenty, I promise. Please, drive very carefully. I'll tell you where to go," Cal urged. He could feel the rage radiating from her, but she did slow down, satisfied with the pain caused by unnecessarily jerky starts and stops.
"Why didn't you kill him, too?" she spat out at one point.
"We need to know what's going on."
"Do you think he will tell us?"
"We're taking him to someone who will make sure he does."
Ten minutes later, the van was parked in an unused loading alcove behind the dojo. Cal wanted Ismi to stay in the van while he talked to Mr. Yokata, but she refused. Locking the van, he took her in through a door he knew about from his cleaning duties. He did manage to keep her out of sight as he led her to Mr. Yokata's office.
Luckily, there was no class in session, and when Cal called out to him, Mr. Yokata heard the urgency in his voice. He ordered the three students who were practicing to leave immediately as he hung out the 'Closed' sign and locked the door. He followed Cal to the back where Ismi was starting into serious shakes.
Ismi collapsed into a chair, and taking care of her was the first priority. Cal told the story as they wrapped her up in a blanket and got fluids into her. As soon as she could respond, Cal got Amelia's work number from Ismi and called her, telling her to get to the dojo immediately. He had to assure her that Ismi was OK, but that it was urgent.
Cal had considered keeping Amelia out of the situation completely, but decided that would not have been right. Both mother and daughter had been through a lot together, and their bond was exceptionally strong. Besides, Amelia was both brilliant and tough, and those traits would be badly needed to get out of the current mess.
From the cuffs and shackles they had found, Cal had assumed it was a kidnap attempt. Because the men were Arabic, it had to be linked to Rachman somehow. While waiting for Amelia, Mr. Yokata handed Cal some gloves and they went out to the van. As soon as they opened the door, the bound man hurled mixed English and, apparently, Arabic invective at them. His tirade was punctuated with groans of pain.
While Cal was scrabbling around the back of the van looking for a key for the cuffs, the attacker yelled some very crude comments about Ismi. Cal's angry intended response was blocked by the sensei, who looked at him sternly. "He will be punished with much pain. But let us do it by a plan."
Reluctantly, Cal resumed his search for a key, only to be surprised by Mr. Yokata asking him to help get the prisoner into the building. His wrists were still cuffed, but the ones binding him to the seat frame had been opened on both ends. He was led, cursing and moaning, with a bag over his head, to an almost hidden room in the old building that Cal never knew was there. The cuffs on his wrists were bound to a sturdy metal pillar that was part of the structural frame. He was going nowhere and no one would hear him.
Cal was rather surprised when they next brought in the dead man. Mr. Yokata carefully laid the corpse on its back and arranged the arms and legs in a natural supine position. "Soon, he will be stiff and immovable," he explained. "Later, I will hear how you did this." The reason for bringing the dead man in was quickly apparent as the bound man could not hide his fear reaction.
Next, Mr. Yokata grabbed a cardboard box and they went out and took everything out of the van that was not attached, including the contents of the glove box. Cal saw a video camera and a stainless steel item that looked like some sort of weird kitchen tool. There were more cuffs and the usual owners manual and papers from the glove box. In the far back was a small cooler of food and drinks. Ismi's books were also taken in.
Under the seats they found two pistols. Cal shuddered to think what would have happened if the kidnappers had not assumed that he was no threat.
Mr. Yokata found an oily rag and began asking Cal to recount everything they could have touched on the van, inside and out. He spent several minutes wiping all of the surfaces to eradicate prints. They were just returning to the building with the box of contents when they heard Amelia pounding on the front door.
While very concerned about her daughter's condition, Amelia became so angry that she could hardly contain herself. When shown the temporary cell, the sensei had to restrain her from attacking the live kidnapper. Back in the office, they spread the van's contents out on the desk, and Cal learned that the strange stainless steel item was a speculum, and Amelia explained its use in gynecological exams. Ismi almost fainted when she saw it.
Mr. Yokata told them all to wait while he questioned the prisoner, saying that they should not witness what he would have to do to get the information. Amelia insisted that she wanted to watch. Mr. Yokata told her that her presence would make the prisoner resist harder to avoid dishonoring himself before a woman, and it would be harder to break him.
"That means more pain, doesn't it?" she spat out. "Good!"
"No, Mrs. Barnes. Speed is too important here. Let me handle this." Amelia reluctantly gave in.
During the inquisition, Cal was left with Amelia and a recovered Ismi in the office. As soon as they were alone, Amelia let down her tough facade, wrapped herself around Cal and broke into wrenching sobs. Both teens tried their best to comfort her.
"You... you really killed that man? With just a kick?" she managed to get out between sobs. "How... how... ohhh!... he... he taught you. H... have you been doing th... this since... since... since..." and sobs overtook her attempts to speak.
Amelia was unable to speak for a few more minutes. Still holding herself tightly to Cal, she said "Th... that's how you g... got over it, i... isn't it? I w... wish I... I wish Ismi... w... we didn't have... it w... was so h... hard..."
When a grim-faced sensei returned to the office after about a forty minute absence, Amelia had recovered her composure, although her face and Cal's shirt showed the result of her breakdown. "Is he dead?" she asked hopefully.
"No. We must decide if we need him."
"Need him? Why would we need that scum?" she spat out.
With a large sigh, Mr. Yokata told what he had found out.
The prisoner's name was Fasil and the dead man was Yousef. They had indeed been sent as part of a team to kidnap Ismi. Rachman had promised his virgin daughter to an extremely wealthy North Yemeni sheik in exchange for some massive funding and secure locations for terrorist training camps. It would also give Rachman personal satisfaction to see his 'wayward' daughter forced into the role of an Islamic harem woman. He laid the blame for Khalid's death and his own exile squarely on Ismi.
The kidnappers were to take her to a private airport from where she would be flown to the coast. From there, she would be hidden aboard a fishing boat that would rendezvous offshore with a seaplane. Eventually, she would be taken by private jet to the gulf.
The video camera was a very high-end unit with close-up capability. Along with the speculum, it was to be used to document the existence of Ismi's hymen each time she was handed over to someone else. That was the protection for all of the parties against accusations of deflowering her en route. Hearing that, Ismi had to run to the bathroom where she suffered through minutes of vomiting and dry heaves.
Cal hovered outside the bathroom until the women came out, then they all sat in the office. Mr. Yokata gave Cal a long look. "You are a very, very fortunate young man," he told Cal. "Fasil is an experienced bodyguard and has taught hand-to-hand fighting at several training camps. He was a very dangerous opponent."
Momentarily overwhelmed, Cal stood and gave his teacher a ceremonial bow. "Yes, I am very, very fortunate. He was careless and did not consider me a threat. But mainly, I was fortunate because I was taught very, very well." Mr. Yokata stood and returned the bow as the women looked on in wide-eyed wonder.
"H... he was a professional? A... and Cal t... took out two of th... them?" Amelia stammered.
"Mrs. Barnes," Mr. Yokata explained, "it is the reason Cal has studied under me. He has been a fanatical student. He was only interested in things that would allow him to protect those he cared for. From the first day, he seemed to believe that something like this would happen."
"M... maybe he just feared it would... the nightmares..." Amelia said softly. "We... Ismi and I... the nightmares... still there." This would have been the ideal opportunity for Mr. Yokata to recruit two more students, but he remained silent.
"We have much to talk about," Mr. Yokata said, "but first, please come with me. This will be very unpleasant, but I need your help in keeping Fasil's spirit broken."
As they entered the holding cell, both women gasped as they saw that Fasil's clothes had been removed. The next thing they noticed was the stench made by a file of feces and a puddle of urine between his legs as he sat with his hands bound behind his back, totally exposed. As he looked up at the women, they could see hatred and defiance losing out to shame.
"I wanted to preserve his clothes, just in case," Mr. Yokata explained. "I had to use extreme measures to get the information. I knew this might happen. Fortunately, he already had a dislocated shoulder. That is very, very painful, and the promise of resetting it became the carrot that finally broke him." Ismi broke a grim, tight smile upon hearing that she had contributed to the man's agony.
Cal, there is a hose in the maintenance closet and a faucet just outside the door. Young lady, would you like to help clean up this filthy pig?"
Ismi just stared at him, confusion and reluctance on her face. "The water is very cold and the pressure is enough to cause pain," he explained. After a second, a malicious grin took over her beautiful face and she strode purposefully toward the door.
"No, let Cal do that," Mr. Yokata said. "You wait here." Turning his back to the prisoner, he explained to the women. "Having you see him like this is a good form of punishment."
"So you're letting Ismi get some revenge?" Amelia asked uncertainly.
"Yes. That is not always a bad thing," he replied. "Also, it helps to keep him more controllable."
"What are we going to do with him?" Amelia asked. "Are we going to kill him?" It was significant that she said 'we' and not 'you'. Glancing at Ismi, Amelia saw the girl staring at the prisoner, face flushed. "Oh, Honey! Is this the first naked man you have seen?" Ismi just nodded slightly. "Well, this is a terrible introduction. Maybe we should step out."
"No, Mrs. Barnes," Mr. Yokata said sharply. "Your daughter needs to feel a sense of victory over this man. In a way, it will be victory over her father as well." Ismi gasped at that, but her expression hardened and she nodded her head at the sensei.
Just then, Cal walked in dragging the hose. It had a trigger nozzle that could adjust the flow from a fine mist to a narrow, hard stream. Amelia took the hose and handed it to her daughter. Then, she put her arm around Ismi and led her toward the apprehensive prisoner.
"First, let's get rid of this awful smell," Amelia said. They experimented until they found a good flow for washing the filth toward the nearby floor drain. When most of it was gone, Amelia snarled at the prisoner "Roll over so we can flush the shit out of your filthy ass!" Ismi jumped at her mother's words, but Amelia just stared fixedly at the man. Managing a return snarl, he refused to move.
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