Mr. Douglas clenched his jaw and grabbed an identical HK pistol to the one Rebecca had stolen from him. He loaded it, racked the slide, and slipped it into his shoulder holster. Next he slung an HK MP5 submachine gun around his neck. He slid several spare magazines of ammo into pouches on his belt.
“She hasn’t gone far. I’ll take care of it.”
“Listen to me. I need her alive. Do you understand? Alive!”
Mr. Douglas stopped and stared at Bernatto. “Right now she is alive. Should I stand down? Or do you want me to pursue? If I pursue, I will do my best to deliver her alive. But I think we both would agree her death is preferable to certain other outcomes.”
Bernatto lowered his gaze. “Fine. Go. Do what you have to.”
Mr. Douglas added one more weapon to his arsenal … a collapsible spring baton. He whipped it through the air a few times, testing its heft, then slid it through a loop at his belt.
“Trust me, I prefer alive as well. For now.”
He strode from the room as Bernatto cursed under his breath. He checked his watch. Time was running out.
Scrapes and bruises covered Rebecca’s arms. She winced as she dragged herself forward through the darkness. The crawlspace was only a few feet tall and pitch black. Occasionally, she would run into a twisted shaft of iron rebar jutting from the ceiling.
The narrow, dark space was silent, aside from the occasional drip of water. She had half-expected to hear the frantic scuffling of a pursuer … Bernatto or even Mr. Douglas. She realized that, in her haste to escape, she had forgotten to check his pulse. Was he dead? Or just unconscious?
She shook her head and moved forward another inch. It was too late to second guess herself now. Either he was dead or her wasn’t. And she could sooner picture Mr. Douglas rising from the dead than Bernatto crawling after her in this filthy crawlspace himself.
She froze when a rustling sounded above her and chips of drywall and other debris drifted down. The rustling grew louder. Someone was moving around up there.
She had no idea what kind of building she was in or the layout of the place. Was there a subfloor directly overhead? she wondered. The sound grew closer, and she struggled to turn over in the tight space. She looked up, peering into the darkness above her.
BANG!
The shot exploded through the air next to her head, sending a shower of dust and debris into her eyes. She screamed and clawed her way forward.
BANG! BANG!
Two more shots rang out, each one closer than the last. She could feel the sizzle of hot air as a bullet streaked past her ear.
This time, she didn’t scream. Instead, she pulled the HK pistol from her waistband. She could feel her heart racing. She could almost hear it thumping in the tiny, dark crawlspace. She slowed her breath and steadied her hand. Aiming the gun at the floorboards above her, she squeezed off two shots.
The explosion was deafening in the enclosed space. She ignored the ringing in her ears and moved forward again. Her body twisted around the iron rebar that blocked her progress.
More bullets rained down from above. The shots came at a slow, steady pace. The bastard was honing in on her movements, tracking her by sound. Well, two could play that game. She returned fire, using the bullet holes above her as a guide.
Her head slammed into something solid. Another bullet smashed through the floor, just missing her knee. She unleashed a wild barrage of bullets at the floorboards above her until she heard a muted grunt of pain.
The sounds above stopped. Exhausted and panting, she twisted her body around to face the barrier. Her fingernails clawed at the drywall. It was soft, rotted from mold and humidity. Pivoting her legs around, she began to kick at the wall. A clump of soggy plaster shifted and crumbled to the floor. She could make out a small black hole, darker than the rest of the shadows surrounding her. She kicked again and again, until it was large enough to squeeze through.
She crashed to the ground, her clothes covered in dirt and grime. Her hair was damp and streaked with filth. She stood up and looked around, holding her pistol out in front of her. She was in a cavernous concrete room. A row of windows ran along one wall, vanishing into the darkness. They were boarded up from the outside, but shafts of moonlight penetrated the cracks.
The ceiling above her was a maze of pipes and industrial lighting. All the bulbs were shattered. A fine dust of broken glass sparkled on the floor. A few rusted oil drums lay scattered about the chamber. The writing on the barrels was in Thai, but the black stick figures and universal symbol for fire needed no translation.
She was in some kind of industrial building, she realized. An abandoned oil refinery or maybe a chemical plant. That meant they would be on the outskirts of the city. Far from the crowds. Far from help. She took a few tentative steps out into the darkness.
A barrage of gunfire nipped at her heels. She yelped and charged forward. The gunfire followed her, kicking up puffs of dust and powdered glass. She dove for cover, but the attack persisted. The bullets ricocheted off the concrete column she hid behind and danced around the room.
Then the gunfire ceased.
Rebecca bit her lip and peered around the edge of the column, trying to get a bead on the shooter. Near the hole she’d made was an air vent just below the ceiling. Squinting in the darkness, she could just make out a shadow shifting behind the vent.
She gripped the pistol with both hands and spun out from behind the column. She fired. Her bullets sparked against the metal of the vent. She ducked back behind the column as another burst of automatic weapon fire streaked towards her.
She spun her head around, searching for something, anything she could use. On the floor behind her were scraps of cloth and rags, most likely makeshift blankets from homeless squatters. Empty tin food cans littered the ground.
A burst of red light filled the room, blinding her. A sizzling, hissing sound filled the air. She dropped down to a crouch and closed her eyes for a second. A familiar voice echoed out of the darkness. Bernatto.
“Rebecca, this is pointless.”
She blinked her eyes open. A bright pinpoint of red light flickered in the center of the room. Bernatto was using signal flares to illuminate the area.
Keeping the column between herself and the air vent, she kicked one of the metal cans out into the room. It clanged across the floor for a brief second before it was struck by another explosion of gunfire.
As the can danced through the air, Rebecca charged to the next column. She caught of glimpse of a shadowy figure in a doorway. Bernatto raised his arm, and Rebecca saw the brief muzzle flash of a pistol. She darted to safety behind the column. The bullet ricocheted off the concrete floor behind her.
The room once again fell silent, save for the sizzling flare in the center. She was just outside its radius of light, hidden in shadow behind the other columns.
A loud crash and the clatter of falling metal echoed in the space. The air vent! She risked a quick glance and saw the dark figure of Mr. Douglas drop to the ground.
She fired, sending several quick shots his way. He ran and took cover behind another column. He was limping. One of her shots from the crawlspace must have found its mark. She could not resist a slight smirk of satisfaction.
“Rebecca, think this through,” Bernatto said. “You’re alone out here. You’re outnumbered. You’re out of options. I don’t want to hurt you. In fact, I need you alive. Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Put down your gun, and let’s work something out.”
“Like you worked something out for Tom?”
She darted towards another column. More gunfire rang out from behind her. She heard a flurry of footsteps as Mr. Douglas moved to another column.
Bernatto tossed another flare. It landed close to her, shrinking her cover of darkness to a sliver of shadow. She fired several rounds towards the door and a double tap towards Mr. Douglas’s position. In the darkness, she knew she was firing blind, hoping to hold back the inevitable.
She ducked
back behind the column and scanned the room again. She searched for another door, an air vent … any way out of the impossible situation facing her now. She saw more evidence of squatters. Dirty old clothes. A filthy plastic doll missing its arms and legs.
A second voice called out into the darkness. It was Mr. Douglas.
“There’s something else you should keep in mind, Ms. Freeling. I’ve been keeping count, you see. You’re down to one bullet. And there’s two of us. This is fight you can’t win. So take a second, think it over. Then do what Mr. Bernatto here says. I promise I’ll go easy on you.”
The icy tone of his voice gave Rebecca the feeling that his version of “going easy on her” would be less than pleasant. She ejected the magazine from her pistol and checked the load. He was right … the magazine was empty. That left her with a single round remaining in the chamber. She choked back a curse.
She slammed the magazine back in the pistol. She could hear Bernatto’s footsteps growing closer. He ignited another flare and tossed it towards her. It rolled to a stop a few feet from the column she was hiding behind.
As its blood red glow chased away her shadows of concealment, she spotted something she had missed in the darkness. A makeshift cooking stove. It was little more than a homemade valve and a length of metal tube, attached to a small canister of propane gas. The contraption sat in a rusted shopping cart. A thin sheet of bent, charred metal served as a cooking surface.
Two sets of footsteps moved closer, and Bernatto called out to her. “This is bigger than Caine, bigger than you…. We’re talking about America’s future here, Rebecca.”
Rebecca grabbed the flare and slid over to the shopping cart on her hands and knees. Just keep, talking you bastard.
She tossed the metal grill aside and grabbed the propane tank. She forced herself to be careful as she unscrewed the metal hose from the makeshift burner. As she worked, she heard the two men advancing towards her.
“Rebecca, this is your last chance,” Bernatto said. “Work with me. We can do some good here, I promise you. Just hear me out.”
A part of her knew what she was attempting was crazy … suicide, even. But as far as she could see, Mr. Douglas was right. This wasn’t a fight she could win. Unless she changed her tactics.
A barrage of gunfire exploded behind her. She ducked down low, but a red hot pain lanced through her back. She cried out and fell to the ground.
Her breath turned to a series of ragged gasps. She could feel hot blood pooling beneath her back on the cold concrete floor. She hugged the fruits of her labor to her chest, as if she were clinging to life itself.
The shadowy outlines of Bernatto and Mr. Douglas stepped out from behind two columns at opposite ends of the room. The figures sharpened as they moved closer. Mr. Douglas’s perfect, cherubic face and cold smile made him look like a fallen angel in the hellish red light. Bernatto’s angry scowl was amplified by the shadows that moved across his face. He was the fallen angel’s master, the devil himself.
She tried to roll away, her brain jumbled with panic and fear. The pain in her back, the numbness in her torso … she realized she couldn’t move her legs.
She was paralyzed from the waist down.
“Rebecca, I’m disappointed. This is foolish.”
Mr. Douglas stopped six feet away from her. “I’m not disappointed, Ms. Freeling. I’m just curious. One bullet left … what do you do? Shoot me? Shoot Mr. Bernatto? You know, when I was in the SEAL teams, we always saved one bullet for ourselves, just in case. Maybe this bullet has your name on it. What’s it gonna be, Ms. Freeling?”
Rebecca choked back her tears. She was damned if she would let them see her cry. She let her arms fall to her sides. The small, dirty white canister rolled out of her arms, stopping just a few feet away from Mr. Douglas.
The flare was tied to the top of the canister with the length of metal hose. Its red glare burned away the shadows; in its crimson light, she saw Bernatto’s features shift from an annoyed scowl to shock. She had just enough time to smile before he turned and ran for the door.
Mr. Douglas lifted his MP5, but he was too late. Her gun was already aimed straight at the canister. She pulled the trigger.
A massive fireball filled the room, lifting her and the two men and tossing them through the air. She caught a glimpse of Mr. Douglas’s face as the fire tore at his flesh. Then she fell to the ground. She felt as though all the air had been sucked from the room.
The darkness spun around her as she slipped into the cold, black space of unconsciousness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The interior of The Space Age karaoke bar was quiet and subdued. Brief flashes of loud music would drift through the dark hallways, as customers entered and exited their private rooms. But when the doors closed, the only sound came from the quiet movements of cocktail waitresses and hosts. They glided through the corridors, balancing trays of empty glasses, bottles of sake, and platters of deep fried snacks.
The hostess at the door bowed to Caine as they entered.
“Irashimase.” She greeted him with a flirtatious smile. “Do you have a room reservation?”
Caine smiled back. “We’re meeting a friend. Arrigato gozimasu.”
The hostess bowed again. Her eyes flicked over to a new set of customers entering the busy bar behind them. Caine and Mariko stepped into the labyrinth of dark hallways and muted music.
Caine looked up at the numbers above the private karaoke rooms. “Back this way.” They pushed past a crowd of drunken party girls and made their way to a red leather door. Caine scanned the crowd. From the corner of his eye, he saw Mariko making her own assessments. She’s a pro, he thought. Might be difficult to shake her loose if I have to run with Hitomi.
He pushed the thought to the back of his mind. He would deal with that later. For now, she seemed like she could be useful.
Once they were satisfied they had not been followed, Mariko nodded to Caine. “It’s clear.”
He opened the door and stepped into outer space.
A high, curved ceiling rose above the dark room. A hidden projector beamed an image of stars and planets onto the dome above, while an eerie song played. The effect was startling and realistic, like a miniature planetarium.
Caine closed the door after Mariko. If the strange room fazed her at all, she didn’t show it. She looked up as an image of Saturn streaked above them.
“Hitomi?” Caine called out into the darkness, shouting over the music.
The song’s volume dipped. “I am here.”
Caine didn’t recognize the girl’s voice. Then he remembered: when they last spoke, Hitomi had been using the Masuka Ongaku avatar. Her voice was no longer a robotic chirp. It was softer, human … a curious combination of bored and scared.
Caine looked around. Unlike other karaoke rooms he had seen, this one was circular. Chairs were arranged around the walls, and the musical lyrics were projected on the ceiling, amidst the stars and planets.
His first glimpse of Hitomi was just a bright outline. He saw a halo of light, surrounding the dark shadow of a feminine form. She was sitting in front of the room’s projector.
“Who is she?” Hitomi asked. Caine looked back at Mariko, as she took a step forward.
“My name is Mariko Murase,” she said. “I’m working with the Keisatsu Cho, Public Security Bureau.”
Hitomi’s shadowy form twisted in her chair. “Then you work for my father, whether you know it or not.”
“Hitomi,” Caine said, “we’re here to help. You can’t keep running. You said so yourself. These men chasing you are dangerous. It’s only a matter of time until they find you. Unless we can stop them.”
“I was almost free of him. Then you showed up. For all I know, you led them to me.”
Mariko pressed a button on the wall. With a quiet mechanical hum, metal blinds rose up from the floor, uncovering the windows and revealing the city outside.
A shaft of darkness crawled across the room, chased
away by the glow of the colorful lights outside a large, curved window. Hitomi appeared in the reflection as the darkness receded to the edges of the room.
She looked different from her picture. A bit older, maybe twenty-one or twenty-two. Her hair was no longer a rich, dark brown. She had dyed it a pale, almost silver blonde, and it shimmered in the glow of the city outside.
Her skin was pale as well, either from makeup or hiding indoors. Her eyes were soft pools of brown in the luminous white landscape of her slim face. Slashes of dark eyeshadow gave them a strange, alien look, like the lifeless eyes of a kabuki mask.
She wore a white sequined bustier and a long matching skirt. The shimmering fabric clung to her body, stretching as she crossed her legs. Expensive-looking heels adorned her tiny, pale feet. She had unbuckled their ankle straps, and one of the shoes dangled as she bounced her foot up and down.
She looked like a ghost, a pale figure of death sitting alone in a dark room.
“Not exactly playing it subtle, are we?” Caine remarked.
The girl smiled and sipped a cocktail.
“I’m hiding in plain sight. My father knows what I look like. A more extreme look makes men like him and his followers uncomfortable. Maybe they will not look at me so closely this way.”
Mariko stepped forward, looking the girl up and down.
“Who are you?” she asked. “Who are you really?”
“You know who I am.”
“Arinori Kusaka has no children,” Mariko snapped. “I don’t have time to play guessing games with you, girl!”
Mariko stormed forward and swiped Hitomi’s cocktail glass off the chair. The girl flinched as it shattered against the wall.
“Mariko!” Caine grabbed her by the arm. She shrugged out of his grip and turned back to Hitomi.
“People are dying. Kusaka has this city in a chokehold of corruption and bribery. Whatever he is planning, it is dangerous. It must be stopped. I must stop him. And you WILL help us. Do you understand me?”
An angry glare replaced Hitomi’s peaceful gaze. “Kusaka-san is my father.” She spat out the words, as if they tasted bitter on her tongue. “He may not acknowledge it any more than you do, but it is the truth just the same. You think I am playing a game? You don’t know anything about me. You don’t know what I had to do to get here. What I went through to find him. And now, what I’ve had to do to escape.”
[Thomas Caine #1] Tokyo Black Page 17
