Stackpole, Michael A - Dark Conspiracy 02 by Evil Ascending Page A
Authors: Evil Ascending
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Sinclair MacNeal waited for the Proteus green to reshape itself into a clone of the 17thhole atthe Tournament of Players Club in Scottsdale.
The machinery beneath the AstroTurf carpet pulled the left edge in until it achieved a perfect kidney shape.
Pistons rose and fell to provide the rolling terrain and the gentle hump in the middle of the green. At the farthest possible point of the green, a dark hole opened up and a man placed a pin and flag in it.
Takeshi Takagi tugged at the wrist of his golfing glove.
”I selected this last hole in honor of your visit, Sinclair.”
“I am honored, oyabun.” Sinclair squatted down as his
’caddy’ moved his ball from the fairway simulator and spotted it on the green at the end of the kidney farthest from the pin. You old fox, you did this because you know I blew this hole in the Build-more Pro-Am three months ago. Had there been no hump through the middle of the kidney, he would have rolled his putt up and around the lip and just tried to get it near the cup. He’d par the hole, but that would leave him one stroke ahead of Takeshi and Kazuo. Unfortunately, he knew from recent and painful experience, hitting the ball hard enough to get it over the hump would also roll it right off the green.
The other two caddies—also Yakuza soldiers who looked uneasy in short-sleeved jumpsuits and carrying huge golf bags—placed the other balls on the green.
Kazuo had not tried to play the hole safe and was rewarded with a five-foot putt on a very slight down slope.
Takeshi, the slender, white-haired oyabun of the Yamaguchi-gumi, ended up 15 feet away from the hole, on Sin’s side of the hump, but all he had to do was putt across it and run parallel to it right to the hole.
Kazuo grinned like a cat lapping up cream. “You are away, Sin.”
Sin closed his eyes for a half-second. Here, in the basement of the Takagi mansion, he was playing golf on a series of simulators with the two most powerful men in the Japanese underworld. The oyabun had selected an 18-hole course made up of some of the most difficult Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
holes available in the world. They started on the tee simulator and had a computer analyze their shots. It then decided where they would be placed on the fairway simulator and, from that, where they would end up on the green.
The simulators themselves, as well as the whole game room, were a masterpiece of environmental duplication.
AstroTurf fibers grew and shrank to replicate conditions from roughs to the best of greens. Terrain features filled themselves in and, while no part of the simulators flooded to produce water hazards, a spaghettilike overgrowth of carpet made for excellent sand traps. Projected video of the area surrounding the individual holes and a subtle soundtrack made it possible for Sinclair to believe he was actually playing the holes depicted.
Though it was a game of a game, the pressure felt as great to him as itdid during the Build-more tournament.
He recognized, however, that in many ways, it should have seemed far more heavy. These men could kill me, and no one would ever know. In Phoenix all I did was disgrace myself in front of a television audience of millions. Same position, same shot I played it safe then and lost. Time to go for broke.
Sinstood and extendedhisputtertohis caddy. “Kusabi.”
The man stared at him blankly, then looked at the oyabun.
“Give him his wedge, as he has asked.” Takeshi smiled.
”The board would have your membership for using a sand wedge on a green.”
“But you are more forgiving?”
“It depends upon the results of your gamble.”
Doesn’t it always?Sin shifted his stance and carefully gripped the club. Left index finger linked through right little finger and right hand covered left thumb. His ball stood just off the toe of his left shoe. Easy...easy...
concentrate. Smooth swing, gentle touch. He brought the club back to waist
The machinery beneath the AstroTurf carpet pulled the left edge in until it achieved a perfect kidney shape.
Pistons rose and fell to provide the rolling terrain and the gentle hump in the middle of the green. At the farthest possible point of the green, a dark hole opened up and a man placed a pin and flag in it.
Takeshi Takagi tugged at the wrist of his golfing glove.
”I selected this last hole in honor of your visit, Sinclair.”
“I am honored, oyabun.” Sinclair squatted down as his
’caddy’ moved his ball from the fairway simulator and spotted it on the green at the end of the kidney farthest from the pin. You old fox, you did this because you know I blew this hole in the Build-more Pro-Am three months ago. Had there been no hump through the middle of the kidney, he would have rolled his putt up and around the lip and just tried to get it near the cup. He’d par the hole, but that would leave him one stroke ahead of Takeshi and Kazuo. Unfortunately, he knew from recent and painful experience, hitting the ball hard enough to get it over the hump would also roll it right off the green.
The other two caddies—also Yakuza soldiers who looked uneasy in short-sleeved jumpsuits and carrying huge golf bags—placed the other balls on the green.
Kazuo had not tried to play the hole safe and was rewarded with a five-foot putt on a very slight down slope.
Takeshi, the slender, white-haired oyabun of the Yamaguchi-gumi, ended up 15 feet away from the hole, on Sin’s side of the hump, but all he had to do was putt across it and run parallel to it right to the hole.
Kazuo grinned like a cat lapping up cream. “You are away, Sin.”
Sin closed his eyes for a half-second. Here, in the basement of the Takagi mansion, he was playing golf on a series of simulators with the two most powerful men in the Japanese underworld. The oyabun had selected an 18-hole course made up of some of the most difficult Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
holes available in the world. They started on the tee simulator and had a computer analyze their shots. It then decided where they would be placed on the fairway simulator and, from that, where they would end up on the green.
The simulators themselves, as well as the whole game room, were a masterpiece of environmental duplication.
AstroTurf fibers grew and shrank to replicate conditions from roughs to the best of greens. Terrain features filled themselves in and, while no part of the simulators flooded to produce water hazards, a spaghettilike overgrowth of carpet made for excellent sand traps. Projected video of the area surrounding the individual holes and a subtle soundtrack made it possible for Sinclair to believe he was actually playing the holes depicted.
Though it was a game of a game, the pressure felt as great to him as itdid during the Build-more tournament.
He recognized, however, that in many ways, it should have seemed far more heavy. These men could kill me, and no one would ever know. In Phoenix all I did was disgrace myself in front of a television audience of millions. Same position, same shot I played it safe then and lost. Time to go for broke.
Sinstood and extendedhisputtertohis caddy. “Kusabi.”
The man stared at him blankly, then looked at the oyabun.
“Give him his wedge, as he has asked.” Takeshi smiled.
”The board would have your membership for using a sand wedge on a green.”
“But you are more forgiving?”
“It depends upon the results of your gamble.”
Doesn’t it always?Sin shifted his stance and carefully gripped the club. Left index finger linked through right little finger and right hand covered left thumb. His ball stood just off the toe of his left shoe. Easy...easy...
concentrate. Smooth swing, gentle touch. He brought the club back to waist
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