Cain reached for the backpack that Chief Alvarez had given him. He quickly duct-taped the thug’s mouth so he couldn’t scream out again, and then Cain tied the man’s hands and feet together, anchoring them to the toilet. He searched the gangster and took his keys and cell phone. He tried to call Champ, but the phone was password protected.
Cain punched in the numbers 1, 2, 3, 4. An incorrect password notification popped up. He tried 0, 1, 2, 3, but that was also wrong. Lucky number seven, he thought. He input 7, 7, 7, 7. A message appeared saying that he had three more attempts before the phone was wiped clean. Cain took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Quit thinking like an American!
Cain’s phone buzzed with a call from Champ. He had to answer it.
“Something strange is going on.” Champ was speaking rapidly. “I’m tailing Yamamoto’s Mercedes and we’re not going to your location. We’re heading toward the Yokohama seaport.”
“Keep following him. Let me know where you land, and I’ll meet up. He’s the key to finding Bonnie.”
“Okay. Talk to you soon.”
“Wait! Before you hang up, I got one of their cell phones. I’m trying to unlock it. But I’m thinking like an American, and I need to be thinking like a yakuza. What would the combination be?”
“How would I know that? It could be his anniversary, his birthday. It could be anything.”
Cain looked at the battered thug. “This dirtbag ain’t married, and these guys don’t look like the birthday-celebrating kind of people.”
“Damn!” Champ thought out loud. “Okay, try four, six, four, nine. It’s a popular phone code in Japanese because the numbers—yo, ro, shi, ku—mean hello.”
“Hello? Are you shittin’ me?” Cain asked.
“How have you done so far?” Champ replied defiantly.
“Hold on a second.” Cain tried those numbers. “Nope, that ain’t it. What else you got? I’ve only got two tries left before the phone freezes up.”
“Pressure is my middle name. I operate best against the clock,” Champ said arrogantly. “Um, let me see. What would a yakuza member use? Six, six, six, six? Nah, that’s too American. Oh, I got it! Of course, it was there all along. Try eight, nine, three, zero.”
“Why that number?” Cain asked.
“Ya-ku-za is Japanese for eight, nine, three. It’s based on a card game called oicho-kabu. The worst hand to be dealt is eight, nine, three because it’s good for nothing.”
“Good for nothing, huh? That sums up the yakuza perfectly.” Cain punched in the digits. “It worked! I’m in now! You’re the man, Champ!”
There were two loud knocks at the bathroom door, followed by some shouting. Cain couldn’t understand the Japanese, but he knew there was another man trying to use the bathroom, and that man was in a hurry.
“Where are you?” Cain asked Champ.
“Getting closer to the Yokohama marina. I can smell the sea.”
“I’ll head that way right now,” Cain said as he slid the gangster’s phone into his front pocket.
He managed to give one last command before his battery died. “Don’t lose that son of a bitch! You’re our only hope right now.” His phone’s screen shut off. Cain grabbed the tactical backpack and squeezed himself through the window as the yakuza shoved the bathroom door open.
Cain saw several yakuza members rushing outside, filling the alleys as they searched for him. The sight of the bare-chested tattooed yakuza shocked the town’s commuters, who froze in fear. Cain hurried toward the taxi stand in front of the Kamakura train station. One of the yakuza noticed the tall American in the crowd, pointed, and alerted the others.
Cain sprinted to the closest taxi. The cabdriver casually pushed a button to open the rear passenger door, but Cain threw open the front door and jumped in. The startled driver began speaking in Japanese and motioning for Cain to get into the back seat. Through the windshield, Cain noticed one of the yakuza pointing frantically toward the cab. Several yakuza began rushing toward him.
“Go! Go! Go!” Cain commanded the driver.
Oblivious to the immediate danger, the stubborn driver continued ordering Cain to move to the back seat. His demand was interrupted by the shattering of the driver’s side window. Glass flew into the car as a pair of tattooed arms reached into the broken window and seized the slender driver by his dress shirt.
The terrified driver screamed and desperately grabbed the door to prevent himself from being dragged out. The broken glass cut through his white gloves and skin, and the bleeding caused him to lose his grip.
As the cabdriver and his attacker fell away, Cain slid into the driver’s seat. Shifting the car into drive, he grabbed the steering wheel and stomped on the gas pedal. The taxi accelerated toward the angry mob of yakuza, colliding with two and hurtling them onto the hood and over the top of the fleeing vehicle. The car fishtailed as Cain skidded left onto the main road, which was divided by a pedestrian median. In the distance, he recognized the red wooden torii, Kamakura’s shrine gate, and sped in that direction. Once clear of the danger, he plugged his phone into the cigarette lighter and called Chief Alvarez.
“I need a big favor,” Cain said.
“Name it,” Alvarez replied, shouting over loud music playing in the background.
“Get the boat and a set of scuba gear and meet me at the Yokohama marina,” Cain instructed. “Apply full military power.”
“Roger that, Hurricane. See you in thirty.”
Upon arriving at the seaport, Cain saw Champ looking toward the ocean through the lens of his camera and adjusting the detachable telescope. Champ heard the car approach and no doubt clocked the cracked windshield and broken driver’s side window. He peered curiously into the battered taxi. “You left the meter running,” Champ observed.
Chapter 76
“Oyabun hopped onto a small boat with two of his henchmen,” Champ said as he and Cain walked toward the floating pier. “They went out to a yacht near the commercial shipping lanes. You can barely see it from here, but with the zoom on this Nikon you can make out the red and green navigation lights.” Champ turned the camera so Cain could inspect the photos he had taken.
“The yacht’s black,” Cain said. He dropped his backpack onto the pier and retrieved a pair of marine binoculars. He put them to his eyes and adjusted the focus with his finger. “It’s big—gotta be about fifty meters. The name is on the side in white lettering. Mi-na-shi-go. What’s that mean?”
The choppy sound of an approaching helicopter muffled Champ’s reply.
“What?” Cain said, turning his ear toward Champ.
“Orphan!” Champ shouted through cupped hands. “Minashigo means ‘orphan’!”
The helicopter swooped down to just fifty feet above the pier and hovered overhead. Its downwash disturbed the water and caused the anchored boats to bob and crash against the docks. Cain plugged his ears with his fingertips to dull the piercing sounds of the rotor blades and turbine engine. He strained to keep his eyes squinted against the downwash. The helicopter’s nose dipped and raced toward the yacht.
“Who was that?” Champ asked.
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out,” Cain replied.
Chief Alvarez motored El Viento into the marina and tossed the rope to Cain. “Tie us up.”
“We’re not staying,” Cain replied. He pointed into the darkness. “We’re going out there.”
Cain stepped onto the hull, and Champ followed behind. “Hey!” Cain pushed his palm into Champ’s chest. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“With you guys. That’s where the story is.”
“No way in hell. It’s way too dangerous, Champ. You’ve gotta stay behind to tell our story in case we don’t make it.”
“I’ll cover it from this rust bucket,” he said as he studied El Viento, noting the boat’s dings and scratches from years of recreational use.
“I had my doubts about you at first, Champ, but you’ve proved me wrong. You did great tonight.
Take this.” Cain handed him the phone he had ripped from the yakuza gangster at Matchbox. “You brilliantly guessed the code to unlock it, and I’m sure there’s another story in there somewhere. But this is where we part ways.” Cain kicked off the dock.
Chief Alvarez twisted the throttle of the outboard engine to full power and navigated out of the harbor toward Tokyo’s busy shipping lanes. Cain peered over the bow and the port and starboard sides of the keelboat. The moon illuminated the murky waters. He noticed floating trash, plastic bottles, and other debris—an unusual sight for Japan’s notoriously clean society.
I guess the sea is where Japan hides its trash and dirty secrets, Cain thought as the smallest hint of the Minashigo appeared through the darkness like a modern-day pirate ship.
Cain’s impatience grew as the sailboat did its best to wade through the rocky waters and avoid the various fishing vessels anchored throughout the bay. Fishing was a popular industry in Japan, and many locals were hoping to find their dinner at sea.
“Hold on, Bonnie, I’m almost there,” Cain whispered, believing she would receive his message.
The yakuza’s yacht slowly came into focus, and Chief Alvarez killed El Viento’s engine and hoisted its sails. Cain began assembling the scuba gear. He spit into the round mask and dipped it into the salt water. He hooked the hose to the nitrogen tank and snapped the gear into place. Then he froze, paralyzed by his thoughts. He felt petrified as he stared at the scuba equipment.
The chief noticed the sudden change in his friend’s demeanor. “Is everything okay, Hurricane?”
Cain didn’t respond.
“Hurricane!” the chief repeated. “Cain, are you okay?”
Cain snapped out of it and wiped the sweat from his brow. He took a couple of deep breaths. “I’m okay. I just realized the last time I dived was that Christmas in Thailand.”
The chief understood. He nodded. “I’ll go for you.”
“No! This is something I have to do. I will not lose another one to the sea.” Cain cinched the weight belt around his waist and tied the dive knife around his calf. He threw the oxygen tank over his back, put the regulator into his mouth, held his mask in place, and tipped backward into the ocean. The cold water sent a chill down his spine, and then everything suddenly went quiet and black.
Chapter 77
Cain’s upper torso surfaced to the top of the water. He signaled that he was okay, and the chief handed him an underwater flashlight and fifty feet of coiled three-eighths-inch-thick polypropylene rope. The navy preferred this type of rope because it was water-resistant and it floated.
Cain hooked the rope to a D-shaped aluminum carabiner and tugged on it to make sure it was secured. He turned to face the Minashigo. He got his bearings and mentally calculated the distance. The boat was approximately one hundred yards away.
“Good luck,” Chief Alvarez whispered, and gave Cain a thumbs-up. “I’ll be waiting right here for you when you’re done.”
Cain stared through his mask while the water slowly engulfed him as he submerged. He caught himself sucking in too much oxygen as he tried to perfectly buoy himself—that sweet spot where he could dangle between the two worlds without surfacing or sinking to the ocean floor. He was out of practice, and he had never thought he would be diving again. After a few moments, he found himself getting back into the swing of it. Just like riding a bike, he thought before calmly and rhythmically kicking his rubber fins to propel himself toward the yacht’s two massive diesel engines. It took only about ten minutes, but it felt more like an hour. He knew from his training that the time warp was caused by the adrenaline flowing through his veins. Tonight he was either going to rescue Bonnie or die in the process. His father’s words to Cain’s adolescent self came to mind. Cain had been in the seventh grade when he told his dad about wanting to fight a bully at school who was picking on Bonnie. “Nobody messes wit da Lemaire family,” his dad had declared. “Even eef you don’t win da fight, make sure he walks away dinkin’ eet wasn’t worth tanglin’ wit a Lemaire. Dat’s da Lemaire brand of Cajun justice.”
Cain unhooked the rope and began tying a bowline knot to the propellers. If they try to flee, he reasoned, this’ll stop the props and burn up the transmission. I can’t keep chasing ’em all around Japan. It ends tonight.
When Cain finished, he ascended to the surface. He wasn’t worried about decompression sickness—he hadn’t gone deep for long enough. He saw a man in a dark suit standing guard on board and another man standing near the helicopter on the second deck—most likely the pilot. He was clad in a blue flight suit with patches and was smoking a cigarette.
I guess the visibility was at least one mile, Cain thought, harking back to that day when assassins had ambushed Sato’s motorcade.
Cain moved silently, careful to go unnoticed. He inflated his BCD with a few presses of a button. The short bursts of air filled his BCD and were not heard over the yacht’s massive generator, which was providing electricity and hot water to the luxury boat. Once buoyant, Cain pulled the quick-release buckle and his ten-pound weight belt sank to the bottom of the ocean. He unsnapped the clips of his BCD and removed it from his shoulders. Under the moonlight, the ocean looked like a smooth velvet sheet—a place of comfort and relaxation. But Cain knew better. The sea was mysterious and merciless, indifferent to whose lives she claimed.
He used the remaining rope to hold the BCD and tied it to one of the cleats on the yacht’s aft. He stretched out his arm and latched onto the yacht for stability as the vessel rose and dipped with the ocean’s current. He removed his flippers one at a time, turning them upside down to pour out the salt water before quietly laying them on the deck, and then pulled himself onto the Minashigo. He was trespassing into the dragon’s lair; all he could think about was Hayabusa’s tattoo and how the dragon’s tail wrapped around the geisha, suffocating the life out of her. This war between the Lemaire family and the yakuza began that night at the Angel Cloud, and Cain was going to end it now.
He saw an orange box bolted to a bulkhead. He walked toward it and opened the metal container. It contained a flare gun and two extra cartridges. Cain grabbed the gun and pocketed the two extra flares. He began exploring the deck, peeking into each window, searching for clues to Bonnie’s whereabouts. The fourth window he came upon was different. It was a large rectangle, and he soon realized why. It belonged to the yacht’s luxurious grand room—it was at least three times larger than the average Japanese home’s living room. Glass cabinets stretched to the ceiling, displaying treasures of antique Japanese pottery and expensive bottles of alcohol from around the world. His heart pounded against his chest like a drum when he recognized the two men he saw talking to each other. One of them was Yamamoto.
Cain felt a gut-wrenching knot form in the pit of his stomach. Betrayal was the worst type of pain. I would have given my life for him, and he crossed me like this. He betrayed me and Bonnie. Koichi Sato was behind her kidnapping the whole time!
Chapter 78
Cain methodically scanned the grand room, searching for any other yakuza members he would have to fight. I can’t just go blasting in there, he thought. That’ll be certain suicide. Can’t rescue Bonnie if I’m dead. Self-preservation was one of the tenets the Secret Service taught at its academy in Maryland. Rookie agents thought they were issued bulletproof vests for their protection, but in reality, the point was merely to keep the agents alive long enough to protect the VIP until backup arrived.
Cain noticed a gruff-looking Japanese man in the corner of the room. A tattoo sprawled across his neck and covered his bald head. Cain leaned his face against the window to gain a better view and to size him up. He could tell from the man’s visible scars and how his suit looked—custom-tailored in order to accommodate his bulging biceps—that he was going to be a tough opponent. And then there was something odd about his ear—as if a piece of it was missing.
Movement in the corner of the room caught Cain’s eye. He pressed his face against the windo
w even harder. Bonnie! His heart fluttered with joy but just as quickly sank when he realized she was tied to a chair in the far corner, her hands and feet bound by rope. Her nude body was bruised; there was no hiding that she had been punished for Cain’s actions.
Yamamoto shouted something in Japanese, and the bald guard walked toward the middle of the room and retrieved two swords from their traditional stands. He bowed and extended the swords with both hands. Yamamoto ceremonially received one, and then Sato received his. They unsheathed them; the razor-sharp blades reflected the overhead light.
Are they gonna kill Bonnie? Cain’s mind swarmed with emotion. He envisioned them slicing her head off with a single proficient swipe of the samurai sword. No! he reminded himself. She’s worth more alive to them than dead. The mere thought of her being forced into sexual slavery sickened him. He counted three men—Yamamoto, Sato, and the bald guard—plus Bonnie in the room. He readied himself to burst through the door and run into the room. He felt tunnel vision setting in, and he reminded himself to combat-breathe and continue to look around in order to make as many observations as possible. He inhaled and slowly exhaled in a calculated manner. He put his hand on the doorknob and began turning it when suddenly the yacht’s diesel engines roared to life. The motors whined as they struggled to break the rope and spin the propellers. The odor of burnt transmission fluid permeated the air. Black and gray smoke bellowed into the night sky and was carried away with the breeze.
Cain let go of the doorknob and hid himself in the shadows as two guards sprinted to inspect the engines. Each carried an Uzi and had it pointed toward the stars. Cain studied how the guards held and moved with their machine guns. He knew that most Japanese were unfamiliar with guns, especially since the law in 1965 that prohibited civilians from owning small arms. But the yakuza didn’t fear the law. And they owned the seaports—importing and exporting whatever black-market goods they desired.
Cajun Justice Page 29
