Dragon - Cussler Clive (книги хорошем качестве бесплатно без регистрации .TXT) 📗
“Sorry,” he said. “I only speak English.”
Without another word she stood and walked across a room with six empty beds and disappeared into an office. A few seconds later a young smiling Japanese man wearing jeans and a turtleneck sweater under the standard white coat with a stethoscope hanging from his neck approached with the nurse at his heels.
“Mr. Pitt, Mr. Dirk Pitt?” he inquired in West Coast American.
“Yes.”
“I was informed you were coming. Josh Nogami. This is a real honor. I’ve been a fan of yours since you raised the Titanic. As a matter of fact, I took up scuba diving because of you.”
“My pleasure,” Pitt said almost bashfully. “You don’t sound like a local boy.”
“Born and raised in San Francisco under the shadow of the Bay Bridge. Where are you from?”
“I grew up in Newport Beach, California.”
“No kidding. I served my internship at St. Paul’s Hospital in Santa Ana. I used to surf at Newport every chance I got.”
“You’re a long way from your practice.”
“So are you, Mr. Pitt.”
“Did Suma make an offer you couldn’t refuse?”
The smile went cool. “I’m also an admirer of Mr. Suma. I joined his employ four years ago without being bought.”
“You believe in what he’s doing?”
“One hundred percent.”
“Pardon me for suggesting that you’re misguided.”
“Not misguided, Mr. Pitt. Japanese. I’m Japanese and believe in the advancement of our intellectual and aesthetic culture over the contaminated society America has become.”
Pitt was in no mood for another debate on lifestyle philosophies. He pointed to his knee. “I’m going to be needing this tomorrow. I must have twisted it. Can you deaden the pain enough so I can use it?”
“Please roll up your pant leg.”
Pitt did so and made the required grimaces and quick expulsions of breath to simulate hurt as the doctor felt about the knee.
“Doesn’t appear swollen or bruised. No indication of a torn ligament.”
“Hurts like hell, though. I can’t bend it.”
“Did you injure it when you crashed into Mr. Suma’s retreat?”
“News travels fast here.”
“The robots have a grapevine that would make San Quentin prison inmates proud. After I heard of your arrival, I went up and viewed the remains of your airplane. Mr. Suma wasn’t happy that you killed over four hundred thousand yen worth of his prized carp.”
“Then you know I’m the opening act for the massacre tomorrow,” said Pitt.
The smile left Nogami’s face and his eyes went dark. “I want you to know, though I may follow Mr. Suma’s commands, I don’t favor Kamatori’s murderous hunting games.”
“Any advice for a condemned man?”
Nogami motioned around the room. “The walls have more eyes and ears than a theater audience. If I dared cheer for your side, I’d be forced to join you out on the field. No thanks, Mr. Pitt. I’m greatly saddened by your predicament, but you have nobody to blame but yourself for dipping your oars in dangerous waters.”
“But you will see what you can do for my knee.”
“As a doctor I’ll do my best to ease your pain. I’m also under orders by Kamatori to see that you’re fit for the chase tomorrow.”
Nogami shot Pitt’s knee with some unpronounceable drug that was supposed to deaden pain and wrapped it with athletic tape. Then he gave Pitt a small bottle of pills. “Take two of these every four hours. Don’t overdose, or you’ll become groggy and make an easy mark for Kamatori.”
Pitt had carefully watched as the nurse went back and forth into a small supply room for the tape and pills. “Do you mind if I borrow one of your empty beds and relax for a while. Those Japanese sleeping mats aren’t built for these bones.”
“Okay by me. I’ll notify your guard robot that I’m keeping you under observation for an hour or two.” Nogami looked at him steadily. “Don’t even think of trying to escape. There are no windows or rear exits in here, and the robots would be all over your ass before you took two steps toward the elevator.”
“Not to worry,” Pitt said with a friendly smile. “I fully intend to save my strength for tomorrow’s fun.”
Nogami nodded. “Take the first bed. It has the softest mattress. I use it myself. The one Western vice I refuse to give up. I can’t stand those damn tatami mats either.”
“The bathroom?”
“Through the supply room to your left.”
Pitt shook the doctor’s hand. “I’m grateful to you, Dr. Nogami. A pity we see things through a different lens.”
After Nogami returned to his office and the nurse sat back down at her desk with her back to him, Pitt hobbled to the bathroom, only he didn’t enter but merely opened and closed the door with the required sounds to allay any suspicions. The nurse was busy filling out papers at her desk and did not turn to observe his actions through the door of the supply room.
Then he quietly searched the drawers and shelves of medical supplies until he found a box of plastic bags attached to thin tubes with eighteen-gauge needles on their ends. The bags were marked CPDA-1 Red Blood Cells with anticoagulant solution. He removed one of the bags from the box and shoved it inside his shirt. It didn’t make even the slightest bulge.
A mobile X-ray unit stood in one corner of the room. He stared at it briefly, an idea forming in his mind. Using his fingernails, he worked free a plastic manufacturer’s nameplate and used it to unscrew the rear panel. He rapidly twisted off the connectors to a pair of six-volt dry-cell rechargeable batteries and removed one, slipping it down the front of his pants. Then he ripped out as much of the electrical wiring as he could without an excess of suspicious sound and wrapped it around his waist.
Finally he stepped softly into the bathroom, used it, and flushed the toilet. The nurse didn’t even look up as he settled onto the bed. In his office, Nogami seemed absorbed, talking in hushed tones on the phone.
Pitt stared at the blank ceiling, his mind at ease. It wasn’t exactly what Jordan and Kern would call an earth-shattering master plan, but it was all he had, and he intended to play it to the hilt.
49
MORO KAMATORI DIDN’T merely look evil, he was evil. The pupils of his eyes never changed from the violent black poisonous stare, and when the tight lips parted in a smile, which was seldom, they revealed a set of teeth laced with more gold than the Comstock Lode.
Even at that early hour—at five o’clock the sky was still dark—he had a fastidious arrogance about him. He was immaculately dressed in a hakama, baggy trousers that were almost a divided skirt, and an Edo-period kataginu, a brocaded silk style of sleeveless hunting jacket. He wore only sandals on his feet.
Pitt, on the other hand, looked like a refugee from a rag picker’s bin. He was clad only in a T-shirt and a pair of shorts cut off from the bottoms of his flying suit. His feet were clad in a pair of white sweat socks.
After being awakened and escorted to Kamatori’s personal study, he stood shivering in the unheated room, taking in every detail of the walls that were filled with antique weapons of every historic era from around the world. Suits of armor, European and Japanese, stood like soldiers at attention in the middle of the room. Pitt felt a wave of revulsion in his stomach at the trophies neatly spaced between hundreds of swords, spears, bows, and guns.
He counted thirty mounted heads of Kamatori’s hapless human victims staring sightlessly into space from unblinking glass eyes. Most were Asian, but four had Caucasian features. His blood iced as he recognized Jim Hanamura’s head.
“Come in, Mr. Pitt, and have a cup of coffee,” invited Kamatori, motioning Pitt to a vacant cushion beside a low table. “We’ll talk a few minutes before—”
“Where are the others?” Pitt interrupted.
