Christopher Golde
Chapter eleven
The Master
"Then I saw another beast who came up from the land. He had two horns like a lamb and spoke like a dragon. He excelled full authority of the first beast in his presence and he makes the earth and those living in it worship the first beast."
John: Revelation 13:11
Date: 20th March 1985
Location: Tokyo, Japan
The daily ritual of getting to work had begun in earnest, as early morning commuters stormed platforms and crammed carriages. Shinjuku Station was the busiest in Tokyo’s vast railway network, with daily traffic of more than two million people. Apart from Shinjuku being central to Tokyo's sprawling business districts, it was also a key link in the cities vast metropolitan public transport system.
Akura's sweat-beaded forehead turned quickly from side to side, his eyes hidden by dark sunglasses, darted from face to face as the stampede pulled him involuntarily along in its flow. He cradled protectively in his arms a black and white sports bag, nervously attempting to shield it from each jolt and jerk caused by the bustling crowd.
He had a job to do, it was the order of his master, loyalty and obedience dictated his commitment.
‘There was no choice, why even consider a choice? His leader spoke the words of God; his voice was the dragon's breath.’
Akura's body seemed less certain than his mind as he faltered and even once, attempted to turn against the crowd before being swept uncontrollably towards the opening doors of the train. As if sucked up by a giant vacuum cleaner, Akura entered the train and was jostled to a position at the rear of the carriage. The automatic doors slid smoothly into position and the train quietly accelerated out of the station.
The blank faces of passengers swayed in unison of mesmerized silence, as some glanced at objects flashing past windows, while others read books or newspapers. Akura's mind raced with instructions, orders, and dangers. Doubt was not a consideration; his mind had been synchronized, adjusted, and set to a destiny of eventual self-destruction.
The needs of a few would be at the price of many.
‘His master would grip the world in torturous retribution for their crimes. The dragon would roar and those that were timid would beckon to its call.’
The train decelerated from its maximum speed as a female Japanese voice announced the next approaching station. Darkness consumed the exterior of the carriage, as the train plummeted into the underground tube once again.
Akura fumbled for the zip on the sports bag. He must act quickly, there was little time and the crowd was already jostling for position. He reached into the bag. His arm was knocked roughly, causing him to miss his first attempt at pulling out the small plastic satchels.
The train slowed quickly now. The movement became more agitated, as Akura wrestled to control the situation. He dropped the bag to the floor and used both hands now to locate his deadly containers. Someone bumped Akura from behind, causing him to stagger to one side. Another foot kicked the black and white bag. He cursed under his breath, his sunglasses falling across his face. He tore at the glasses, momentarily taking his attention away from the contents of his bag. The glasses were flung to one side; the train was slowing to a halt, the automated doors opened smoothly.
Akura fumbled, time was running out. He used the small knife he was carrying to perforate the containers inside the bag. The toxic fumes expelled, silent, invisible, deadly. Akura tried to stand but the movement towards the door pushed him further off balance, he fell to one knee and cursed again. An acrid smell of plastic tinged his nostrils.
‘The gas,’ his mind screamed.
He pushed off the floor violently, the crowd around him astonished. One girl fell back into a well-dressed business man's lap, another cried out in a gasp of pain as Akura landed on her foot. Akura's last thought was the dragon.
‘How would he be punished?’
Then Akura lapsed into unconsciousness. Others around the sports bag collapsed, some screamed; a slight burning plastic smell wafted out from the open door of the carriage. People began to fall everywhere now. Within minutes, commuters inside the carriage and along the platform staggered, bumping into each other, or simply lay down where they were. Screams echoed in the underground station as distraught, confused people, burst from doors and entrances.
Police and officials fought the human tide to get to the source of the disruption, many of them also collapsed, some yelling into radios for help. The numbers affected were staggering, some dead, hundreds unconscious, thousands gasping for life. Tokyo's immediate response emergency services reacted quickly.
The assassin still lay in the carriage of the train under the collapsed body of an innocent girl; a plastic bag by her side still slowly released the deadly gas.
As minutes passed and the toll of collapsed passengers increased dramatically, dozens of gas-masked military and security personnel began frantically evacuating bodies to fresh air and emergency vehicles. The deadly attack was stretching Tokyo’s emergency services to its limits. One victim, barely alive, lay on a stretcher as he was carried unconscious to an awaiting ambulance. If Akura had a choice, he would most likely prefer death; his survival could only lead to his master's downfall.
On the other side of Tokyo, in a fortress-like warehouse, Haitaco Namura sat solemnly, with his arms folded defiantly, in front of an incense smoke-shrouded altar. The robust figure of the cult leader certainly appeared God-like in the candlelit, smoke-filled room. His head was erect, his legs folded beneath his oversized body and he was draped in a long kimono of black and gold. His dark unseeing eyes stared towards the smoke-hazed light of the altar; his long hair was draped over his broad shoulders.
One disciple knelt six paces from the large imposing figure of Namura. His head was bowed almost to the floor as a sign of supreme respect. Namura turned slowly towards the motionless figure, the incense and flickering candles from the altar formed a golden halo around his large bushy head.
“Come closer Ieko," he commanded softly.
The disciple obediently shuffled on his bent knees across the polished wooden floor to get closer to his master.
"The day of first reckoning is before us," he began softly, “now we must introduce them to your destiny."
Ieko sat silently, obediently listening to every word of the dragon’s breath.
"You will now return to Australia where everything has been prepared for you. Soon it is likely the devil will attack our temple and you must not be here."
Namura paused.
"The dragon has expelled its poisonous breath; the world will now listen to the roar of the great beast."
Namura turned his head back towards the altar slowly. Ieko knew that he was finished but felt he must speak.
"Master, excuse me for my ignorance but should I not remain here and fight with you against these imperialistic devils?"
Namura did not move but roared, his voice echoing through the temple.
"Do as I command, the way is planned! Your world is waiting!"
The booming voice of Namura softened again to a deep hypnotic resonant tone.
"They cannot hurt me; I will see your kingdom. Those that do not follow will perish. Now leave!"
Ieko knew better than to say any more; he crept away to the shadows before standing erect, walking backwards and bowing profusely, his exit unseen to his master. The large figure of Namura did not move, he would continue to meditate.
The dragon would wait.