[Thomas Caine #1] Tokyo Black

by Andrew Warren

  His second mistake.

  She dropped her shorts down to her ankles for his benefit. With slow, silent movements, she slipped one of her bangles off her wrist. It was large, thick, and hinged in the middle. Unlike her other jewelry, this one was cheap and hollow. She had used this hidden cavity inside to her advantage. She tilted the unhinged bangle, and a tiny black canister slipped into her hand. It was thinner than a tube of lipstick, and featureless, save for a red button on the top and a tiny indented nozzle on the side.

  She took a deep breath. The man standing outside her stall was an experienced killer. She had training, but she knew she was not in his league. She was an analyst. A desk jockey. Mr. Douglas lived in a different world. So did Caine, she realized. Bernatto had been right about that.

  “Ms. Freeling, we have to get back.”

  She pulled her shorts back up and fastened them. She took another deep breath. Bernatto seemed confident that this would be wrapped up soon. If she waited any longer, whatever he was planning would come to fruition. She couldn’t allow that to happen. She had to get free, call for help, call Caine…. She had to act.

  She palmed the canister and placed the bangle back on her wrist. She spoke to hide the clicking noise it made as she shut the hinge. “I’m sorry, I can’t go with someone watching me like this.” She then reached forward and quietly unlatched the stall door. “Could you please just stand outside for a few minutes? I’ll be quick, I promise!”

  She heard footsteps approach the stall door. He instinctively knew something wasn’t right. Men like him had an operational awareness, a sixth sense for when things were wrong. She was counting on it. She sat down on the toilet seat, raised her feet off the ground and positioned them in front of the door.

  “I’m afraid that’s enough,” Mr. Douglas said, his voice tinged with annoyance. “For your own safety, Ms. Freeling, I think we’d better go back.”

  She heard the metal scrape of the stall door pulling open. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Her doubt and fear swallowed her courage in an inky black maw of darkness. Every action she imagined taking ended with a bullet in her head and Mr. Douglas staring at her lifeless corpse.

  Then she thought of Caine. He had left her, true. He had lied to her. Maybe she had never truly known him. Maybe she still didn’t. But she knew he had been betrayed. He had suffered torture, he had been branded a criminal, a traitor … and she had believed all the lies. The man responsible was down the hall, watching television.

  Whatever else he might be, Caine had proved himself a survivor. Now it was her turn.

  Her mind snapped back into focus. The door moved a fraction of an inch. As it cleared the door frame, she lashed out with her legs. All the days she had run, all the early morning hours she had spent pounding the pavement … every mile, every foot, every inch she had pushed herself to complete … she focused all of it into one powerful kick.

  The door exploded outwards, smashing into Mr. Douglas and his outstretched arm. He stepped backwards, avoiding the full force of the blow, but the impact was still enough to throw him off balance. His gun hand dropped to his side as he blocked the swinging door with his left forearm.

  Rebecca lunged forward. She swung her right arm towards the operative’s face. The swing was wide, clumsy. She was off kilter, her muscles paralyzed with fear and exhaustion. She stumbled as she moved in close for the blow.

  Mr. Douglas had already recovered from the bruising impact of the door. He grabbed her arm in mid-air, stopping her fist inches from his face. He yanked her forward. “Ms. Freeling, that was foolish. But I appreciate your spunk. It will make the rest of our activities so much more satisfying.”

  Rebecca opened her fist, revealing the tiny black canister. She closed her eyes and depressed the red button with her thumb. The hissing jet of compressed gas filled the air, and Mr. Douglas screamed.

  In less than a second, the blast of red pepper spray inflamed his eyes, nose, and throat. As his hands flew to his face, Rebecca broke free of his grasp and dove backwards as fast as she could. In the small, dingy bathroom, the cloud of spray had already expanded to fill the air. She could feel the sting of it in her eyes and nose. But it was nothing compared to the point-blank blast she had delivered to the man’s face.

  She coughed and stood up. Through squinted, tearing eyes, she saw the operative grabbing and clawing at his face. He stumbled backwards towards the door. She reached down and grabbed the filthy porcelain cover of the toilet’s water tank.

  Hefting the brick-like slab in her hands, she swung it down on Mr. Douglas’s head as hard as she could. The blow connected with a dull thud. Something between a grunt and a scream emerged from the man’s mouth. He dropped to the concrete floor. His body twitched and jerked, as his mouth struggled to form words.

  The white weapon in her hands was now streaked with blood. She hefted the weight over her head. Her arms shook. She saw Mr. Douglas turn and look up at her, a snarl of pain and anger replacing his usual cold, calm stare.

  “Satisfied now, asshole?” she hissed.

  She dropped the porcelain cover on his face. The impact shattered the white brick into several fragments. A geyser of blood erupted from his crushed nose. His body went limp. Rebecca grabbed the gun from his lifeless hands. She tumbled off the safety and checked to make sure it was loaded.

  It was.

  She took a deep breath. Her legs buckled, and she almost lost her balance. She steadied herself. You’re not out of this yet, she thought.

  She aimed the gun at Mr. Douglas’s unmoving body.

  No, she thought. If Bernatto hadn’t heard the commotion, he would certainly hear a gunshot. Right now, the element of surprise was the only thing she had on her side.

  She had to get out before Bernatto armed himself and made it back to the bathroom. She turned and kicked at the buckled, collapsing wall. Plaster and drywall crumbled to the ground. She kicked again, harder. Cold, dank air wafted in where a small black hole opened up. The air smelled of mold, rust, and sewage.

  Rebecca smiled.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Mariko led Caine past a row of delivery trucks in the parking lot, careful to keep out of sight. Caine heard distant screams coming from the dome. It was impossible to tell if someone had discovered the grisly scene they’d left behind, or if it was just the general commotion of the concert. As they walked, Caine twisted his wrists back and forth, working to loosen the plastic restraints. Mariko had checked their tightness, but a couple millimeters could make all the difference later.

  “I suppose I should thank you for saving my life.” Caine flashed her a charming smile.

  She ignored him and scanned the parking lot. “Keep walking.”

  “Where are we going? And why is a PSB officer in such a hurry to leave a crime scene instead of waiting to file a report with the police?”

  “Damare!” she hissed. “Quiet. I can’t hear my self think. Do you always talk this much?” She shoved the pistol in his back, prodding him forward.

  “Sorry. Guns make me nervous”

  She led him to a parked Toyota. It was a grey sedan.

  “That car looks familiar….”

  “It should. I’ve been following you since your first night in Kabukicho. Get in.”

  She opened the rear passenger door, and Caine slid into the car. A Japanese man in rumpled clothing waited in the driver’s seat. He looked fit, despite the lines of age in his face. Caine recognized him at once. He was the forward tail, from the night he met Mariko.

  A scowl settled onto his face when he saw Caine. He turned to Mariko as she sat next to him. “What the hell are you doing, bringing him here? Are you crazy?”

  She closed the door with a thud. “He knows something. Drive.”

  The man shook his head and started up the car. As they pulled out of the parking lot, Caine could see a row of police and ambulance lights flashing in the distance. The lights cut a path through the standstill traffic.

  M
ariko turned around to face him. The harsh glow of the neon and streetlights outside reflected across her face.

  “All right, Mr. Wilson. I’m listening. Talk.”

  “Call me Tom.”

  She said nothing.

  “I can’t tell you everything…. To be honest, I don’t know everything. But I can tell you that all of this, the yakuza, Tokyo Black, the fighting, it’s all over one girl. Her name is Hitomi Kusaka. She’s Arinori Kusaka’s daughter, and she’s in danger.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Arinori Kusaka? The businessman? You’re certain he’s involved?”

  Caine wondered if had said more than he should. Her entire demeanor had changed at the mention of Kusaka’s name. He’d struck a nerve.

  “Your turn,” he said. “Why have you been following me?”

  She bit her lip as she glanced over at her partner, then back at Caine. “I’ve been investigating links between the yakuza and certain rightwing groups. Groups that have potential to commit acts of domestic terror.”

  “Groups like Tokyo Black?”

  “Hai. Exactly. Japan has always had organizations such as these. The Red Army, Aum Shinrikyo. Death cults, secret societies. But Tokyo Black … I’ve never seen anything on this scale before.”

  “What the hell do they want? Who’s pulling their strings?”

  Mariko shrugged. “They’re radical conservatives. They claim that Japan has allowed itself to become weak, subservient to other nations. Particularly China. It began as a gang, in Fuchu Prison. A man named Atsutane Yuasa started it, after he was sent there for a gas attack on a subway in Osaka. One of his followers in prison was a man named Bobu Shimizu”

  Caine leaned forward. “Bobu Shimizu? Tetsuo’s brother? Big guy? Tattoo on his face?”

  “Yes, although he no longer has the tattoo. Before he was yakuza, Bobu was a low-ranked sumo wrestler. He hurt himself a few times in the ring, got addicted to painkillers. From there, he moved to heroin. He was Atsutane’s cellmate in Fuchu. Atsutane helped him clean up, got him through the withdrawal. Bobu left prison addiction-free, but he became fanatically devoted to Atsutane’s teachings.”

  Mariko paused. “Now, your turn. Who are you really? When you popped up on our computers as Mark Waters, I thought maybe you were brokering another arms deal with the Yoshizawa family.”

  Caine shook his head. “No, that’s not why I’m here. I told you, I’m looking for this girl, Hitomi. Tokyo Black wants her as well.”

  “And what will you do with her if you find her?”

  “I’m not here to hurt her. That’s all I can say for now.”

  Mariko was silent for a moment. She glanced at her partner. He gave her a quick, uncertain look. He muttered something in Japanese, but Caine couldn’t catch his words. She turned back to Caine.

  “This girl, Hitomi Kusaka. She is interesting to me for two reasons.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “First, I have suspicions that Arinori Kusaka has been secretly funding Tokyo Black. In my investigation, I uncovered evidence that he was funneling money to them through his numerous companies. When I presented my findings to my superiors, I was suspended. They said I had acted without permission, exceeded my authority.”

  “So that’s why you were in such a hurry to leave the dome.”

  A frown crossed her face. She looked away. “Kusaka-san is a highly respected man. He has political connections, friends in the government. I was foolish to make such an accusation without more proof. I should have waited until I had evidence that could not be ignored, or explained away.”

  “Sounds to me like your superiors are dirty. Wouldn’t matter what evidence you had. Either way, your hunch was right. Hitomi said she’s running from her father. She said Tokyo Black works for him.”

  Mariko reached into the back pocket of her jeans. She pulled out a folding knife and flicked it open. The passing lights glinted off its blade.

  “That is the second reason this girl interests me.”

  “Her father’s connection to Tokyo Black?”

  Mariko reached out and sliced the plastic restraints on Caine’s wrists.

  “No, not just that.”

  Caine massaged his wrists as the blood began to flow back into his hands and forearms.

  “Okay, what then?”

  “According to official records, Kusaka-san has no children.”

  Caine and Mariko walked down the busy Shinjuku sidewalk, while her partner parked the grey sedan around the corner. She sauntered confidently ahead of him, as if they had been working together for years. Caine found her sudden trust in him strange, and remembered the flash of emotion she had betrayed when he had mentioned Kusaka’s name.

  Something about her story was bothering him….

  She pointed to a neon sign two blocks down the street. “That’s the address you gave me. The Space Age. Very popular karaoke bar.”

  Caine nodded. “Mariko, before we go in, I have to ask…. If you’re suspended right now, why are you still after Kusaka? Is this personal?”

  “My duty is to protect Japan. If Kusaka is a danger to this country, I must stop him.”

  “Isn’t it also your duty to obey your superiors?”

  She glanced over at him, a curious look on her face. “Is that what you do?”

  Caine laughed. “Not exactly.”

  Mariko stopped walking and turned to face him. “You are familiar with the 47 Ronin? The famous samurai story?”

  “I think I saw the movie.”

  “The ronin began as samurai. They became ronin, masterless warriors, when their lord was assassinated. They vowed to find the killer and avenge him. But the Shogun, hoping to preserve peace, ordered them to stand down.”

  “What happened?”

  “They waited a year for the perfect opportunity to strike. Then, under cover of darkness, they raided the assassin’s castle and clashed with his army. Eventually, they fought their way to their lord’s killer and beheaded him.”

  “And they lived happily ever after?”

  She shook her head. “No. Justice was served, and their lord could finally rest in peace. But they had still disobeyed the orders of the Shogun. He ordered that the men commit seppuku, the ritual suicide of the samurai.”

  “So, did they make a break for it?”

  She gave him a strange look. “No. Don’t you see? Even though they had avenged their lord, the men were still ronin. By committing seppuku, the Shogun gave them the chance to die as samurai. Their honor was returned. Balance was restored.”

  “That’s a nice fairy tale. But it still sounds pretty personal to me.”

  She paused. “Remember the man I told you about, the one who started Tokyo Black?”

  Caine nodded. “Atsutane Yuasa. Bobu’s mentor.”

  “I barely remember … I was just a little girl. But that subway attack … the one he planned. I was there when it happened. I survived. But my mother….”

  She shuddered. “I ran out the door of the subway car. We were going to the dentist, and I was scared. I was causing trouble. My mother tried to stop me, but it was too late. I saw her looking through the glass; she was terrified, for me. A policeman found me crying on the platform. He brought me to the next stop, but that was the train they attacked. She never made it to the next station. Nobody on board did.”

  There was something in Mariko’s voice… a tiny quavering, a slight dip in volume… Whatever it was, it cut through Caine’s hardened shell. After a lifetime of fighting and violence, Caine had seen more death and despair than he cared to remember. He knew the wounds of grief and loss could cut far deeper than any physical pain.

  His face softened. “I’m sorry.”

  “What about you?” she asked. “Is your interest personal?”

  Caine nodded as they reached the club.

  “Definitely personal,” he said.

  The passed through a set of glass doors and entered an elevator under a flashing neon sign.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN


  Mr. Douglas sat up and gasped for breath. The dank, dingy air of the bathroom filled his lungs and cleared the haze from his eyes. The sting of the pepper spray still lingered, but that was secondary to the throbbing in his head. He gingerly explored the damage. His blond hair was matted with blood, and he felt a tremendous lump just behind his left ear.

  “That god damned bitch,” he muttered.

  He had been careless. Bernatto’s file said the target was a bureaucrat. Basic field training only, no operational experience. He had underestimated her. He should have followed operational procedure, instead of relying on a file given to him by another bureaucrat. After all, that’s what Bernatto was, no matter how deadly and thorough he may have seemed.

  The girl was smart. Tenacious. She had played both of them.

  He wiped the dripping blood from his face, flinging spatters to the floor as he stood up. Immediately, a wave of nausea hit him. He stumbled to the sink, leaned over, and dry heaved. After a few minutes, it passed. He took a deep breath, wiped the spittle from his lips, and stared at his face in the cracked mirror. The damage looked severe, and he might have a concussion, but he had suffered worse.

  In his reflection, he noticed the large, dark hole in the wall behind him. She must have broken through the drywall.

  He checked his watch. He hadn’t been out long, which meant she couldn’t have gone far.

  He patted down his pockets. She had his pistol.

  Fine, he thought.

  He strode out into the hall. He walked past the dark room where Bernatto was watching TV. The older man called out to him.

  “Everything all right?”

  “No,” he answered. “She’s on the move.”

  He kept walking. Bernatto raced into the hallway and followed him as he entered the room where his weapons were organized.

  “What are you talking about? How could you let this happen?” Bernatto shouted.