Bond ran down to the next connecting gallery, then shot through it, across to the main tunnel once again.
It was a world of concrete, steel and plaster. Service pipes and cables were neatly painted and attached to the sides of the tunnels, giving the appearance of one solid surface. There was a musty smell to the place, but the air was cool. Bond knew that care had been taken to ensure that the tunnel had adequate ventilation as well as an efficient drainage system to pump out water in case any leaked in. The tunnels were remarkably clean, if a bit damp, cold and lifeless.
He ran towards the Tappi station, hoping that he could catch up with the dwarf. After witnessing Kappa’s tricks in Kamakura, Bond wondered if pursuing the killer might have been folly on his part. The runt could hide anywhere and eventually make his way out of the tunnel unseen, even under the gaze of the cameras. Perhaps he should go back to the train and get on it before it left.
The attack startled Bond, who normally took great pride in his ability to avoid being surprised. Junji Kon dropped onto Bond’s head like a sandbag. He had been hanging on to one of the large pipes that ran along the tunnel ceiling several feet overhead. The two men fell to the pavement and rolled. Before Bond could react, Kappa had bounced to his feet and twisted like a top until he had positioned himself to deliver what was a stunning aerial kick at Bond’s face. The dwarf then dropped to the ground and used his arm to springboard back into the auto kick with the other leg, this time into Bond’s chest, which was being propelled backwards from the force of the first kick. Bond fell, the pain searing through his sternum. It had been a strong blow but not one meant to kill. Bond knew that if this man had wanted to, he could have shattered his breastbone.
The dwarf known as Kappa stood casually on the pavement like a pixie, watching to see what his victim would do next. Bond turned and got to his hands and knees, which was always a bad position to be in but he had no choice. Before he could get up, he saw the glint of steel in Kappa’s right hand.
The Balisong came swishing at him with the speed of a snake. Luckily, Bond had recovered just enough to summon his lifesaving skills of self-defence. He, too, had trained many years to be lightning fast. When an opponent attacked with a knife, you had to be.
Bond’s left hand, the one that Kappa hadn’t expected Bond to use, shot out and grabbed Kappa’s wrist like a lizard’s tongue catches a fly. The impact of his palm on Kappa’s arm sent the Balisong flying across the pavement and onto the tracks.
The dwarf didn’t let that subdue him. He jumped, allowing Bond’s grasp to hold him in the air. Then he swung out and kicked Bond again in the face. Bond reflexively let go of Kappa’s wrist and fell back. Bond rolled on the pavement, shook his head and looked up.
Kappa was gone.
The staff in the Hakodate Control Centre were monitoring the situation in the tunnel very closely. Their job was to get the train moving again as quickly as possible after determining that there was no danger to passengers. They had visual links to all of the cameras in the tunnel but they could turn on only selected cameras at a time. Communications equipment was still working properly and they had established a dialogue with the train staff.
The Operations Manager on duty that morning, Hiroki Yamanote, considered what had been reported. A passenger had stopped the train and jumped off after first murdering a conductor and locking another passenger in his suite. The second passenger was a government law enforcement agent and had taken off on foot through the tunnel in search of the killer.
Fine, he thought. As long as the rest of the passengers were safe, what did he care if killers butchered each other? He got on the phone to the train’s engineer.
“Close the doors and leave,” he ordered. “We have already delayed some trains behind you.”
The engineer on the Cassiopeia announced to the staff that they were going on and an announcement was made over the train’s intercom. Passengers were told that the staff were sorry for the interruption of service and that they would try to make up for lost time on their way to Sapporo.
In the meantime, Yamanote arranged for the train to be met by police at Hakodate, where it would make a short stop before continuing its journey.
One of the technicians alerted Yamanote that he had a visual on one of the camera view screens. The Operations Manager stepped behind the display and saw the figure of James Bond walking through the tunnel. The gaijin looked dishevelled and appeared confused. He had a pistol in his hand and was obviously searching for someone.
“Better send police down the shaft,” he told an assistant.
Meanwhile, on the train, Reiko was continuing her reconnaissance mission through the cars looking for near-invisible flying insects. As the announcement that the train was leaving came on the intercom, Reiko muttered a Western swear word under her breath. She wished that she had talked James-san out of chasing that killer.
A mosquito! She saw it out of the corner of her eye, flying alone near one of the windows. The train’s engines fired up and the locomotive began to move as Reiko followed the insect down the corridor. Wait, she lost it! Where did it go? Reiko looked around frantically. It was like searching for a speck in the sand.
A passenger came out of a room and looked at her. “Are we finally leaving?” he asked.
“Yes!” Reiko snapped. She continued creeping along the wall, not caring how she might have looked to the passenger. The man gave her a funny stare and went back into his room.
There it was! The little thing was gliding along the perimeter of a window, instinctively looking for a way out. Reiko raised the train brochure and swatted the window. She removed the brochure and saw that she had squashed the insect.
Oh no, she thought. The smear on the window and brochure was red with blood—human blood.
Bond rubbed his chest with one hand as he moved silently along the tunnel wall. The Walther was in his other hand, safety off, ready to shoot the first thing that moved. The little attacker had enraged him. It was one thing to be beaten by an opponent; it was another thing to be beaten by someone so small. Bond wanted to pick the runt up by the neck and shake him, then give him a taste of his own medicine. The killer probably got away with a lot because his opponents probably held back their punches.
But that wasn’t going to stop Bond at this point. He was ready to wring the bastard’s little neck.
He heard a rumble and the blast of a train’s horn. The Cassiopeia was leaving. Bond stood on the platform and watched it pass by. He waited there for a minute, watching its red taillights disappear into the endless tunnel.
Then he was alone with the silence. He moved on, looking for any telltale clue that Kappa might have left behind. But he knew that was probably futile; Junji Kon was a master of stealth. He could hide in any nook or cranny and his speed was freakish. He could be in any of the dozens of interconnecting tunnels. Perhaps Tiger had been right—the man was a supernatural being!
There was a sound in the distance that resembled a can being kicked. It was difficult to discern where it had come from. Bond peered down a connecting gallery to the service tunnel. Yes, it definitely came from there. He turned and moved in that direction, his gun steady. He inched to the edge of the wall and looked around. Nothing there. He rounded the corner and continued on, his ears attuned to the slightest sounds. All that he heard were occasional drips and the faint blowing of air, what they called “tunnel effect.”
There! Something moved! Bond fired the Walther and it reverberated in the tunnel, the shot repeating itself down the length of the shaft until it faded away.
Bond moved carefully to the next connecting gallery, searching intently for his prey.
In the Control Centre, Operations Manager Yamanote could see Bond’s back on the view screen as he moved away from the camera that was pointed at him. Then he saw the second figure creeping up behind Bond. At first he thought it was a child until he saw the way the man was moving. It was a little person, or a dwarf, some kind of strange person. Was he the
criminal who had killed the conductor on the Cassiopeia?
The little man was nearly upon the gaijin. Yamanote had to warn Bond somehow. He reached over the shoulder of the technician and flipped a switch.
Suddenly, the tunnel’s sprinkler system shot on above Bond and Kappa’s heads. The water surprised them both and they reacted by jumping back. Bond saw Kappa just as the little man leaped at him. Bond fired but missed as the dwarf slammed into him. Bond dropped the PPK but managed to take hold of the dwarfs shoulders and, using the killer’s own momentum, hurled Kappa over his head and into the wall. The plaster crumbled slightly as the small but solid body struck it. Bond let him fall to the pavement as he scrambled to retrieve the Walther. But Kappa bounced off the concrete and sprung at Bond, fists clenched. The two bodies collided and fell to the cement. They rolled twice, the little man punching Bond hard wherever he could land a blow. Bond did his best to push Kappa away and connect a punch too, but the dwarf was just too fast. He moved like a whirling dervish and was impossible to pin down.
The men separated and got to their feet. The evil pixie stood facing Bond with hatred in his eyes. The image was surreal: water filled the depression in the dwarfs head as if it were a bowl. Then, before Bond could plan a strategy, Kappa leaped into the air like something from the netherworld. His right foot connected with his opponent’s jaw with such force that Bond went reeling backwards. Bond stepped into a puddle of water and slipped. Kappa landed but kept up the offensive, kicking and punching until Bond was on the ground. Bond tried to grab the killer’s foot but this time it didn’t work. Bond was too stunned to react with the speed that was required.
Kappa delivered two, three, four hard kicks to the head. Bond attempted to raise himself to ward off another blow, but the fifth kick sent him into the black hole of unconsciousness.
SEVENTEEN
OLD GHOSTS
REIKO REACHED THE LAST CAR ON THE LOWER LEVEL OF THE TRAIN. OTHER than the two she had already killed, she hadn’t seen any more mosquitoes.
Looking for the things was worse than threading a needle, she thought as she stopped for a moment, removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She had a splitting headache that had come on suddenly a few minutes ago.
How long had it been since the train left? Five minutes? Ten? And what about James-san? Was he all right? She wondered if Tanaka-san had been contacted and—
Oh no! she thought to herself. She should be calling Tanaka-san! What was wrong with her? Why hadn’t she done that immediately! Her head was so cloudy it was difficult to think. She had been a bit preoccupied. That was it. She chalked it up to the urgency of finding the deadly mosquitoes. If they were deadly.
Reiko leaned against the wall and looked at the stairwell in front of her. Could there be mosquitoes on the top floor? Reiko didn’t want to think about it. At the moment she had no energy and felt drained. Why was she so disoriented? She should get going, climb the stairs, look for invisible insects and talk to Tanaka-san on her mobile as she searched.
The effort that was required to take that first step up surprised her, but she took a deep breath and willed herself to go on. It felt as if each step took a lifetime.
As she climbed, she reached around behind her neck without thinking and scratched an itch.
At first Bond thought it was thunder.
The roar of a train reverberated in his ears. He opened his eyes and saw a blur. There were some pinpoints of light in an otherwise dark mass of nothing. But the noise was growing louder.
What the hell? Bond thought. What happened?
Then he remembered. He was fighting with Kappa and must have been knocked unconscious. He was still in the Seikan Tunnel.
Bond instinctively attempted to reach up and rub his face but found that his wrists were bound in front of him. He could move his arms up and down freely; it was just that they were tied together.
The volume of the approaching storm intensified. He tried to move his body and discovered that he was secured to something.
Wait a minute … ! Bond couldn’t feel the floor. There was a strong tugging sensation on his upper torso.
My God? he thought. He was suspended from the tunnel’s ceiling! A rope had been harnessed around his chest under his arms and then looped up and around a pipe running along the top of the tunnel. He was dangling four or five feet above the tracks.
That’s when the adrenaline kicked in. Bond’s senses became fully alert as he forcibly cleared the haze. He pushed the pain in his head away and focused sharply on his surroundings.
The sound that was growing louder and louder had to be a train headed his way. In fact, those pinpoints of light were its headlamps. How far away was it?
Think! If there was a time that he had to move fast, it was now.
Bond momentarily flashed on the absurd notion that the service had never trained the Double-Os what to do in case they were tied up over a bloody railway track and a bloody train was coming.
But they had trained him to use the tools at his disposal. Painfully, Bond raised his bound wrists to his shirt collar. He felt underneath for the slit and pulled out the special collar stay that Q Branch made available to field agents. He removed the thin plastic sheath that covered it, and then made sure that the sharpened edge was facing the right way. Bond then held the thin blade down to the rope that was around his chest. He began to saw, pressing the knife into the rope with his thumbs.
The train’s headlamps were getting bigger. The entire tunnel was shaking with a deafening roar.
Cut through, damn you! he willed. He moved the blade back and forth, pushing it into the hemp as hard as he could. It was awkward and uncomfortable and the muscles in his hand began to hurt.
One strand split! He was halfway through!
Bond immediately moved the blade to another loop in the rope, one that, if cut, would assure his freedom. He began to saw again when the collar stiffener slipped out of his hand and fell to the tracks below.
No!
Bond reached up to his neck and pulled out the other collar stay. If he dropped this one he was done for.
Now he could see the outline of the train. It was no longer merely two dots of light.
He sawed while pushing with his thumbs and fighting the cramp that inched up his thumbs and into his wrists. Every second counted now. The locomotive’s fierce bullet-shaped nose was growing larger and larger. There was the blast of a horn. Could they see him? It was doubtful. The light was too dim in the tunnel. Only when it was too late would the engineer be able to see that something was hanging in the middle of the tunnel. It would not register that what he saw was a man. It would be the last thing the engineer would think of.
The blade was almost through. Just a little harder …
The tunnel vibrated with intensity. The train was now clearly visible. Bond could see that it was red. He figured that if he could tell what colour it was, then it was too damned close.
Finally, the blade was through! The bindings loosened around his chest. Before he dropped, Bond grabbed the strands and began to swing on the rope. The clamour of the approaching hulk of power drowned out all other thoughts. One more arc and he would have enough momentum to swing over to the edge.
Now! Bond let go of the rope, landed and rolled to the side of the tunnel just as the train roared past him.
He lay there a moment and caught his breath. His heart was pounding. His head hurt like hell. Ever since Bond had received a particularly bad head injury during an assignment a few years ago, he had been more susceptible to the effects of blows to the skull.
Time to get up.
Bond sat on the pavement. He took stock of the damage and found that aside from the minor cuts that had re-opened on his face, the lump on his head was the only thing that needed immediate attention.
He stood and began to walk toward the Tappi station. Five minutes later, he heard voices. The police and rail authorities had finally arrived.
The shatei-gashira watched as one of t
he men from the north fed bills into the pachinko machine. Many of them had played non-stop since they got to Tokyo the night before. It was as if they suspected that they would never be able to play pachinko again.
“Phone call, boss,” his right-hand man called from the other side of the parlour. It was a busy morning. The kids were out of school and had filled the place, so it was difficult to hear what his man was saying. His colleague raised a mobile phone and pointed to it.
The shatei walked across the busy arcade and took the mobile. “I’ll take it in the back,” he said as he went behind the door marked “Private” and into a small office.
It was Yasutake Tsukamoto, calling from Sapporo. The shatei had been expecting him.
“Hai!” he answered.
“Is everything satisfactory?” Tsukamoto asked.
“Yes, kaicho,” the man said. “The twenty men arrived last night. The equipment just arrived this morning. Everything is in order.”
“That’s very good, the Yami Shogun will be pleased.”
The shatei said goodbye to his kaicho and hung up. He walked through another door in the office and into a large storeroom and lounge area. Some of the “carriers” were relaxing there, three of them asleep on cots. The two trunks marked “CureLab Inc.” sat on the floor unopened. That event wouldn’t occur until this afternoon, at CureLab headquarters.
One of the men approached him and asked when lunch would be served.
“Very soon, my friend. How did you sleep last night?” the shatei asked.
“Good. I was very tired. We have been on the go for several days.”
“I hear you had a nice night out on the town in Sapporo?”
“Oh, yes! Tsukamoto-san was our host. We had a wonderful expensive dinner and then spent several hours at a soaplands! It was the best I have ever had!”
The Man With The Red Tattoo Page 16
