He lifted his hand from the right arm of his wheelchair, revealing a red button.

"I press down on that, you explode. My men will be upset if I have to do that, because then they will have to hose out the room where you are standing, so you do not want to force me to do it."

He placed his hand back over the button, and the Japanese took a step back, fighting to keep from showing his fear, working on his anger to replace it.

"I am an envoy and should not be treated this way."

"Who made that rule?" Abayon asked. He did not wait for an answer.

"What were the rules for Unit731?" This time he did wait, but the envoy was not to be drawn into such talk."You know who I represent – " he began.But Abayon cut him off.

"Do you know who you really represent?"In reply, the envoy held up his right hand, fingers extended, showing that the pinkie on that hand was missing.

"I am the right hand of the head of the Black Wind Society. He sent me here to negotiate with you."

"And who does he work for?" Abayon demanded.

"My master works for no one."

"You're a fool. Which means he's a fool to have you as his right hand."

The envoy's face tightened as anger made him forget about the vest he wore and where he was.

"You had me blindfolded, stuffed in the bottom of a boat, dragged here – wherever this stinkhole is – and have treated me with no respect. My master will not – "

"Your master is a puppet whose strings are being pulled," Abayon said.

"And your people built this place you call a stinkhole."

The envoy looked about, trying to understand that last comment. Abayon sighed.

"Give me your message."

"My master wants you to return what you stole from our country. He wants the Golden Lily back."

"You don't even know what the Golden Lily is," Abayon said.

"It is not a thing, it was an event involving things. And stealing from a thief is not stealing. What does your master offer in return for what he wants so badly?"

"In return, he will use his connections in the government to pressure the Americans to remove all their military aid from these islands."

Abayon stared through the glass at the Yakuza envoy as he processed what this offer really meant. Taking the hesitation as a negative, the envoy laid his next card on the table.

"If you refuse, my master also told me to inform you that he will bring all his considerable resources to bear on destroying you and your organization."

"You should have stopped at the offer," Abayon said, "ridiculous as it was. You've given me the message you were meant to, even though you don't know what it was."

The envoy frowned.

"What is your answer to my master's offer?"

"You were not sent here to ask me anything. You were sent here to tell me something, and I have heard you. However, I suppose I should respond."

Abayon gestured with his left hand, and the video camera in the corner of the room behind him picked up the gesture. The door behind the envoy swung open. The guard walked in with a stool and a small tray on which were a syringe, a rubber piece of tubing, and an alcohol swab. He placed the stool down, the tray on top of it, and then left, shutting the door solidly behind him, the sound echoing into an ominous silence.

"What do you think you're doing?" the envoy finally demanded, eyeing the syringe suspiciously.

"I want you to take that needle and inject yourself with the contents."

"You're crazy."

"You either do that," Abayon said, "or I do this."

He indicated the red button.

"What's in the syringe?" the envoy demanded.

"Something that will make you sleep while my men take you back to the main island. If I wanted to kill you, I could do it quite easily right now."

That made a weird sort of logic to the envoy as he worked it over in his mind.

"But what of your answer?"

"Your master will know it, don't worry."

Reluctantly the envoy rolled up his left sleeve. He picked up the rubber tube and, using his right hand and teeth, tied it around his upper arm. Then he took the syringe and held the needle over his tattooed arm. He paused with the point pressed against his skin. He looked through the glass at Abayon. The Abu Sayef commander waved his wrinkled right hand ever so slightly above the red button.

The envoy slid the needle into his vein and pressed the plunger, pushing the clear fluid in the syringe into his veins. Then he removed the needle and pressed the alcohol swab against the small hole. Abayon gestured once more and the guard reappeared.

"Be very still while he gets that off you," Abayon advised. The envoy was a statue while the guard turned off the detonator and carefully removed the vest. Abayon gestured.

"Go."

"But – "

"Go."

When the envoy and guard were gone, Abayon turned his chair around as the door behind him opened.

The man who had run the video camera the other evening was waiting for him. The taper got behind the wheelchair and pushed Abayon along a corridor cut out of stone. At places the walls were natural rock, indicating that portions of the tunnel had been there before men had entered the cave complex. They went on for five minutes, passing several other steel doors and side passages, a sign of how extensive this labyrinth was, until they came to a room where there was a dialysis machine.

A nurse was waiting, and she efficiently set about hooking Abayon up to the machine while the taper moved a video monitor to a position where Abayon could see it. Displayed on it was a small open field cut out of the jungle with a six-foot-high wooden stake set upright in the ground.

As the dialysis machine began its work, several figures appeared on screen. The Yakuza envoy was struggling between the grips of two guards. They slammed him against the pole while another guard quickly secured the envoy to the pole by wrapping rope around his body. The envoy's mouth was moving, obviously screaming protests and threats, but the feed was video only, which Abayon appreciated.

"It will take a while. A couple of days at least," Abayon said.

"I'm using time stoppage settings," the taper said.

"I'll be able to get the entire thing on one DVD."

"Very good. Let me know when it is done."

The back ramp of the C-130 Hercules transport plane opened once more. This time, though, the plane was airborne at 1,500 feet altitude and air swirled into the cargo bay, buffeting Vaughn as he stood just in front of the hinge for the ramp. He had a parachute rigged on his back, and the static line was hooked to the cable that ran the length of the plane on the right side. On the left side was another cable, to which the bundle holding his gear was hooked. The loadmaster had one hand on the bundle and was holding onto the hydraulic arm that lowered the ramp with the other.

Vaughn moved forward as the loadmaster briefly let go of the plane and held up one finger, indicating one minute until the drop zone. Getting near the edge of the ramp, Vaughn could see blue ocean directly below. He checked the waves and didn't see any whitecaps, which meant the wind wasn't too strong.

He got down on one knee and stuck his head out to the side into the 140 mile an hour slipstream. He could see the familiar outline of Okinawa Island very close, directly ahead. He'd jumped this drop zone before when he had done some work with the First Battalion of the First Special Forces Group, which was stationed on the island.

He spotted the clear field that was the drop zone along the track of the aircraft and got back to his feet, facing to the rear, his eyes on the set of lights high up in the tail section of the plane. The red light glowed, holding him in place. Land appeared beneath the aircraft, the coast of Okinawa that Marines had stormed so many years ago.