As his vision cleared, Caine noticed something about the man he’d missed before. A chunky black band was strapped around his wrist. A red LED light mounted to the plastic band was blinking. He snatched it off the man’s wrist and rolled over, just in time to ward off Bobu’s stomping foot.
Caine crossed his arms to block the blow, but Bobu’s bulk and strength drove his limbs back into his chest. The kick knocked the wind out of him. Bobu grabbed him by the jacket and hoisted him into the air.
Caine gasped for breath. His arms flailed as he tried to grab hold of Bobu’s arms, but his feeble grip slipped loose. Bobu lifted him over his head and tossed him through the air like a ragdoll.
Caine struck the chain fence. He rolled over it and landed on the track. He scrambled for purchase as he felt his weight shift. He was sliding over the edge!
He let go of the wristband, which fluttered into the air behind him. With both hands, he clawed at the metal edge of the track. His body swung to a stop. He found himself hanging on for dear life from the top of the tallest building in Tokyo. Beneath him, the dark clouds and city buildings spread out in a dizzying tableau. It was welcoming him, waiting for him to fall and assume his place in the mural of death.
Caine struggled to pull himself up, his knuckles white with exertion, his body wracked with waves of pain and exhaustion. He managed to raise his body a few inches, only to slide back down again. Peering through the falling rain, he saw Bobu approach the ledge. The hulking man stared down at him with his strange white eye.
“Do not fear death, Caine-san. In pain, you will be purified.”
“Go fuck yourself,” Caine spat back.
The big man threw back his head and laughed. Then he stomped down on the fingers of Caine’s left hand. Caine screamed as the full weight of his body tugged on his right arm. His fingers began to slip on the cold, wet metal.
As he swung one-handed from the edge, he spied a long metal cable running down the side of the tower, about ten feet to his left. He looked up and saw it was one of four cables running from the bottom of the metal housing mounted to the track. A window washing cart—that had to be what the track was for! If he could just move over a few feet….
Another wave of pain shocked his body as Bobu stamped on his right hand. Caine gasped and forced himself not to let go. Bobu smiled down at him as he ground his foot into the track, crushing Caine’s fingers beneath his weight.
Struggling to maintain his grip, Caine slipped his bruised and bloody left hand into his pocket. Bobu titled his head down. His hideous features curled into a curious smile. “How much longer can you hold on, Caine-san? Your life can be measured in seconds. What will you do in your last few moments on this earth?”
Caine lurched his body upwards and drew his hand from his pocket. His fingers grasped the hilt of his Spyderco knife. In one fluid motion, he flicked open the blade with his thumb, and stabbed the blade down into Bobu’s foot.
Bobu howled in pain and stepped back. Caine let go of the knife and grasped the track with both hands. As Bobu yanked the blade from his shoe, Caine slid his body to the left, closer to the thick metal cables. He moved his hands as quickly as he could without losing his grip on the slick metal.
His feet dangled about thirty feet above the curved surface of the Galleria tube. On a small metal ledge connecting the tube to the outer wall of the observation deck, he spotted a tiny red light blinking on and off. Caine realized it was the wristband. It must have landed there after he dropped it.
As Caine hurried his pace, Bobu charged back towards him, now clutching a large pistol. He opened fire. Caine flinched as the bullets whizzed past his head. Then a familiar voice called out, “Security branch! Drop your weapons!” It was Mariko!
Bobu turned and bolted. The sound of gunfire rang out as Caine’s grip began to slip. He swung his body, and his leg made contact with the cable. He wrapped both legs around it, then reached out with his left hand. Holding on for all he was worth, he looked down and nearly cried with relief… the window washing cart hung suspended from the cables. The mobile housing overhead held the winch mechanisms that raised and lowered it.
Caine slid down the taut metal wire like a fireman’s pole. When he reached the cart, he fell inside and dropped to the floor. The cart was little more than a metal framework and a floor to stand on. But after hanging off the edge of the tower, it was a welcome safe haven.
Caine heard another series of gunshots. He looked up, but his view of the roof was blocked. The cart began to sway in the wind and rain. The metal cables whined as they shifted back and forth.
Caine spotted a simple control panel mounted to the edge of the cart. The panel consisted of two levers. One moved the cart up and down, the other side to side. He grabbed both levers, and tried to move the cart down towards the blinking red light. Nothing happened. The tower must have shut off power to the unit when they shut down the elevators.
Caine estimated the wristband was only about fifteen feet below him. As more shots rang out from the roof, he climbed up onto the edge of the cart. He balanced on the thin metal framework, using one of the cables to steady his body in the wind.
The cart hung about five feet away from the ledge. If he missed, he knew would never be able to hold onto the smooth glass side of the tube. He would slip over the edge and fall, 1400 feet down.
The cart lurched again, and he grabbed the cable tighter. The tiny metal cage swung out, farther away from the tube. Then, like a pendulum, it swung back. Closer, closer….
Caine leapt from the cart. He saw a brief glimpse of the city far below, the image flashing in the gap between the cart and the ledge. Then he struck the flat metal surface and collapsed.
He slowly stood up on the narrow walkway that ran just above the spiraling glass tube of the Galleria. The metal ledge sloped downwards at a steep angle. To his right, he could see the Tembo observation deck through its enormous glass windows. The vast room was empty. Mariko must have escorted the hostages to the elevators, before coming up to the roof.
To his left, a small metal lip that came up to his knees was the only barrier between himself and the drop below. The wind whipped through his hair, and he lowered his stance to steady himself. Scanning the walkway, he spotted the blinking light of the wristband. It was wedged against one of the windows’ metal support beams.
He slid over to the window, grabbed the band, and wrapped it around his wrist. Then he reached into his jacket and pulled out the visor. He hoped everything was still connected wirelessly to the briefcase transmitter above. Taking a deep breath, he slipped on the glasses.
As the visor covered his eyes, his view changed to the drone’s camera, swooping through the clouds. He was circling the tower in a wide, lazy orbit. A pre-programmed arc, waiting from instructions.
He reached out for the digital controls. This time he saw a wireframe representation of his hand grasping the stick. He moved the virtual stick right, and the drone banked away from the tower. The controls took some getting used to, but he was able to move the drone lower and get closer to the roof.
As he swooped down, he saw Mariko crouched in the open doorway. Bobu was stalking towards her, guns blazing. She ducked back, but did not return fire. Was she out of ammo? If so, he had to get Bobu’s attention, get him away from her.
He brought the drone down low, and streaked over Bobu’s head. He saw the monster look up and track the aircraft as it climbed back up into the sky. Caine struggled to turn his head and regain sight of Bobu, but all he could see were clouds.
Using the map, he circled back to top of the tower. Mariko was still crouched in the doorway, but Bobu was nowhere to be seen.
A harsh mechanical groan filled the air. Caine removed the visor, and saw the window washing cart begin to ascend. The metal cables creaked and groaned as the winch sprung to life and pulled the cart back up into the housing.
The housing, damn it! The power controls must have been in the housing, he thought. The winch suddenly hal
ted, then jerked back to life and lowered down. The cart was descending. Bobu was onboard.
He aimed at Caine and fired.
Caine ducked closer to the windows as the bullets ricocheted around him. He jogged backwards, running down the walkway, away from the descending cart. As he circled the building, he remembered the gap in the tube: it did not connect all the way around the tower. Soon it would end, and he would have nowhere left to go. Nowhere but down, at any rate.
He heard a loud mechanical hum behind him. Another gunshot rang out, striking the walkway inches from his feet. Bobu was moving the cart sideways along the track. He was herding Caine towards the edge of the walkway.
Caine dropped to his knees. He pressed his body against the curved glass of the observation deck, trying to make himself as small a target as possible. He winced as another shot struck the glass next to his head. Up above, he saw the tiny black dot of the drone, circling overhead. He slipped the visor back over his eyes.
Taking control of the drone, he dove for the tower, falling through the clouds like a meteor from the heavens. Another bullet struck the glass behind him, but he did not flinch. The hum of the cart grew louder. Soon, he knew, Bobu would not miss his shot.
The tower came back into the drone’s view. Caine’s body swayed as he struggled to process the flood of images. He banked around the tower, picking up speed. Another shot rang out. The bullet struck his arm. He cried out, clutching the wound with his control hand.
The motion sent the drone spiraling away from the tower. Caine saw the buildings below spinning, rushing up to meet him. The cart moved closer. Caine backed away another few steps. He knew he only had a few feet left behind him.
He grit his teeth and fought through the pain. Blood dripped from the bullet wound and mixed with the droplets of rain on the walkway.
He reached out again and gripped the virtual controls. The drone righted itself and reversed course, zooming back up through the clouds.
As he flew closer to the tower, he saw himself through the drone’s camera. He was a tiny figure, crouched on a thin strip of metal, impossibly high above the city. The window washing cart was only twenty feet away. Bobu aimed his pistol.
Again Caine circled the drone around the tower while another shot struck the glass behind him. The window exploded into a spider web of cracks. Caine ignored the shards of falling glass and concentrated on controlling the drone.
As it approached his side of the tower, he saw himself from behind. And he saw Bobu, leaning out of the cart, aiming the pistol at his head. If Bobu took this shot, he would not miss.
Caine made one last adjustment. He swung the drone so close to the tower that its wings nearly skimmed the glass of the observation window. The roar of the jet engines filled the air.
Bobu looked up, and for a fraction of a second, his hideous face filled Caine’s vision. The giant screamed with rage. His milky white eye stared at the drone’s camera with dead, unseeing hatred.
Then the wing of the aircraft struck the cables. A horrendous metal shriek filled the air as the wingtip sheared through the steel wires. Bobu’s body lurched in the cart. The impact jerked the metal frame away from the windows. The cart tumbled over as the cables snapped and whipped through the air. Then it plummeted towards the city below.
Caine caught a quick glimpse of Bobu’s body plunging through space, as he fell from the overturned cart. Then his view filled with spinning buildings, looming closer and closer. He struggled to regain control of the stick, but the drone’s wing was badly damaged. The craft spun through the air, flying closer and closer to the city skyline. If it struck one of the buildings, the explosives onboard would detonate.
Caine took a deep breath and reached out for the control stick one more time. Instead of fighting the spin, he eased the drone down into a dive. The view of the buildings was replaced by dark, rippling water.
Using the virtual controls, he increased thrust, pushing the drone down fast and hard. The water rushed towards him as the drone flew straight down in a nose dive. Caine ripped off the visor and watched the tiny impact as the drone struck the surface of the river.
A massive plume of water shot up into the air when the small aircraft exploded. For a moment, the white puff of vapor hung suspended in the atmosphere, like a cloud. Then, it slowly dispersed into a fine mist and fell back down, mixing with the rain.
Caine dropped the visor and stood up. He wasn’t sure if his legs were shaking or if the wind was still causing the tower to sway. He stepped though the broken window and walked onto the observation deck.
The wind howled as it gusted through the shattered window behind him. The maintenance door burst open, and Mariko limped towards him. He ran over to her, then stopped.
For a second, they simply stared at each other. Her lips parted, as if she were about to speak, but no words came out. Then, in a sudden burst of motion, she threw her arms around him in a tight embrace.
Caine was surprised, but he wrapped his arms around her in return. The shocking warmth of her body radiated through his own, melting the icy pain of his wounds, old and new. His limbs went soft, then numb, and for once, he simply gave way.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Arinori Kusaka peered out the tinted window of the limousine, as the vehicle snaked its way down the mountain road. He watched as they cruised past the tall, foliage-lined fences of the other country estates in the Gunma Prefecture. Then, beyond that, there was only the dark, twisting trees of the forest. On the other side of the road, a deep chasm fell off into a pitch black valley.
The dry winds had warded off the rain dousing Tokyo, but a thick, damp mist crept down from the mountains. Only a few hours from the city, the area was beautiful and remote. He’d purchased his house here using a long chain of dummy corporations and aliases. The hidden, secret property was a perfect place to lay low. Now, under cover of darkness, it was time to make his way to the private airfield in Saitima.
He sipped from a glass tumbler of scotch. As they drove, he silently contemplated the forest outside the windows. The bottle of his beloved Karuizawa single malt was one of the few possessions he’d brought with him. But tonight, the exquisite drink brought him no joy. He tasted nothing. He felt only the sting of alcohol as it numbed his lips.
The top story in the morning news had praised the delegates of Japan, China, and the United States. They had braved the harsh weather and made the flight to the Senkaku Islands as planned. There, they shook hands and made empty promises of joint cooperation. Their speeches ensured a speedy, peaceful resolution to the territorial dispute, an outcome that would benefit both countries, and their mutual allies.
Kusaka wiped his lips and sighed. As soon as he saw the report, he knew it was only a matter of time before the authorities tracked him down. So now he had to leave, scurry from his home like a common traitor. Not a hero. Not a savior of Japan, or a herald of new era of strength and prosperity. Instead, he was a fugitive.
Fortunately, he was a wealthy man with near-limitless resources. Working with Bernatto had provided him with a mountain of untraceable cash. His company owned divisions and subsidiaries all over the world. Tonight, he would fly by private jet to his offices in Indonesia, a place where he could live like a king. A place where a private security force would ensure his safety. And a place that had no extradition treaties with the rest of the world.
He knew he could still influence the political landscape of Japan from afar. His money and connections had international reach, and he had acquired plenty of blackmail material over the years. It would take longer, but he could still achieve his aims. He could still save Japan from its relentless slide into mediocrity.
He took another sip of scotch, licking the droplets from his lips. It would not be easy. When the details of his failed plan came to light, there would be accusations. Political maneuvering. Many of his allies would move to distance themselves. His work with the CIA would brand him an American puppet. And other recriminations would follo
w. Criminal. Murderer. Traitor.
Pervert.
He shook his head and downed the remaining scotch in one long gulp. So be it … he had survived worse. He would survive this. He would drag Japan kicking and screaming into a better future by sheer force of will. And one day, the people of his homeland would welcome him back with open arms.
He threw the empty tumbler on the floor of the limo and leaned back. The limousine slowed down as it rounded another curve in the mountain road. The huge vehicle jerked to an unexpected stop. A sharp tremor of fear ran through his body when he saw blinking lights through the front windshield. His heart rate slowed only when he realized the lights signaled construction, not the police.
“Why exactly are we stopping?” he asked his driver over the intercom.
“Looks like some construction ahead, sir. Just give me a minute. I’ll have them clear the road.”
The front door opened and slammed shut. His chauffeur walked through the fog, over to a pair of parked construction vehicles blocking the lanes. Some traffic cones and a few construction signs lined the road, but Kusaka didn’t see any workers manning the vehicles. Probably on break. At this hour. No wonder the economy was sliding into depression.
Kusaka grabbed a clean tumbler from the limo bar and poured himself another glass of scotch. He was half-finished with it when he realized that he’d lost sight of his chauffeur. The man had been gone for several minutes and had not returned.
Cool mountain air rushed into the cabin as Kusaka powered down his window. He leaned out and surveyed the scene. The blinking construction lights lit up the fog, making large patches of mist glow orange.
“Mitsuo, where the hell are you? The jet isn’t going to wait all night. Let’s go!” Then Kusaka whirled around as he heard the passenger door open behind him.
“Stay where you are. Put your hands on your knees. Where I can see them.” The cool voice betrayed no trace of emotion or anger. Kusaka did as he was told and found himself face to face with Thomas Caine. Caine held a small pistol with a long, narrow black silencer screwed onto the barrel.
[Thomas Caine #1] Tokyo Black Page 27
