NEVER SAY DIE: Mark Cole Takes On the Yakuza in His Most Thrilling Adventure Yet!

by J. T. Brannan

  ‘Now lean back!’ he shouted, doing the same himself, feeling the bike’s weight tilting rearward, knowing that Michiko must have done as he asked; and he watched as the bike’s front wheel lifted off the road, the sedan almost upon them.

  Cole thought for a terrible moment that they wouldn’t make it, that the wheel wouldn’t lift high enough, that he’d misjudged the angle, the speed, and that they would end up smashed to bloody pieces over the road beneath them; but then the bike reared further back, the wheel levering higher just as they reached the sedan, and Cole leaned back forward, the wheel crashing down onto the car’s hood, traction on the wheels gripping hold of the road and the car at the same time and pulling the bike right on top of the sedan.

  The bike continued its path over the car, wheels crushing the windshield, the sounds of frightened men screaming inside, and then for frantic moments Cole piloted the bike right over the roof, a clear target now for the gunmen in the car behind; but they must have been too shocked to respond and no shots ever came, and the bike continued to descend from the roof, crushing the rear windshield as it continued down onto the trunk before crashing back to the street.

  The impact jolted Cole but he managed to regain control of the bike and swerved quickly in front of the oncoming yakuza sedan; and as he raced off down Gaien Higashi Dori, he turned to see the car try and slow down but fail, and watched with satisfaction as it smashed straight into the tail of the first vehicle.

  The destruction was immediate, and absolute; the second car was pitched sideways, rolling over and crashing into the central reservation, metal chassis ripped apart by the impact as the first car was shunted powerfully forward, itself smashing into the slowing traffic in front.

  Cole turned back to the front, hearing the sound of metal ripping and tearing behind him, confident that the yakuza cars – and the men inside – were now totally out of action.

  ‘Take a left!’ Michiko shouted at him, and – trusting her knowledge of the city – Cole pulled off the 319 onto a smaller side street, piloting the bike away from the carnage he’d left behind and hopefully – finally – toward safety.

  PART THREE

  1

  ‘What the hell is going on?’ Yamaguchi Chomo demanded, stood once more at a distant payphone as he made the call to his brother back in Tokyo.

  But he already had a good idea of what was going on; the chief of Zen Ai Kaigi’s strategic development wing had called him earlier that morning with questions of his own. Questions regarding the truth in the rumor that the Omoto-gumi’s esteemed golden princess had gone missing, kidnapped – or rescued, depending on your point of view – from under Mitsuya’s nose.

  And that wasn’t the worst of it, either – from what the man said, and from later corroborations from Chomo’s contacts in the TMPD and the National Police Agency, it appeared that the girl had been taken from the Omoto-gumi club in San’ya – which had been subsequently closed down by the police – and had then been found in a hotel, where a huge firefight had occurred. Many of his own men were dead, and the police had numerous others in custody – and Mitsuya had still not brought his errant daughter back.

  Chomo couldn’t believe what he had heard; he was so close to the Yamaguchi-gumi leadership, so very close. Voting was due to take place in just one day’s time, and from what his sources had told him, he was definitely the number one candidate. But if word got out about Michiko – not to mention the Omoto-gumi’s apparent city-wide war with the TMPD and whoever was protecting the girl – that could change instantly.

  There were several other factions who had made strong cases, leaders of other families who had certain supporters; and then there was Watanabe Haruto himself, the current Yamaguchi-gumi number two, and a man who could easily assume the mantle of kumicho if the threat posed by Chomo was removed.

  Chomo waited impatiently for his younger brother to respond, eyes scanning the quiet neighborhood around him, checking his guards were alert and ready; such incidents in Tokyo could easily cause the other factions to take a more active role, and try and kill him while his organization was in disarray.

  ‘I am sorry,’ Mitsuya said finally. ‘My failure has been unacceptable.’

  ‘There will be time for recriminations later,’ Chomo spat. ‘Now tell me what happened!’

  ‘An American,’ Mitsuya said, ‘the man we spoke about before.’

  ‘The lawyer?’

  ‘The man was no lawyer. He was just posing as a lawyer to get close to us, we found out later he was a reporter doing a story on the sex trade – and I’m not even sure if that’s who the man really is. But by the time we knew anything, he was already in our club, he manufactured a scene, grabbed the girl and escaped.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me immediately?’ Chomo asked, furious.

  ‘I knew where she was, knew I could get her back; I even had agreement from the police to hold off until we’d got her back. I thought I’d get her and nobody would ever have to know, especially our competitors there. But then the police turned up early and everything went wrong.’

  Chomo closed his eyes. How could his brother have been so stupid? Even a rumor of the Omoto-gumi losing its grip on things in Tokyo could spell disaster for Chomo’s purpose in Kobe, didn’t he understand that? And if Chomo failed to take the Yamaguchi leadership, he might also lose favor with his supporters within Zen Ai Kaigi and any future political protection that they would provide. Mitsuya’s stupidity, and his inability to rectify the situation, might well prove fatal to their dreams; and Chomo was desperate to not let that happen.

  ‘Mitsuya,’ Chomo said eventually, controlling his rage, ‘I’m sure I don’t have to lecture you on the gravity of what has happened. Our political colleagues have already been in touch to ask what the hell is going on, and I needn’t remind you of how important it is that we keep those people happy.’

  ‘Yes, brother,’ came Mitsuya’s sullen reply.

  ‘So what is going to happen now?’

  ‘We are tracking her, we will gather our forces and get her back this time, I promise you.’

  Chomo thought about the matter, working things through in his mind. The police went in before they’d promised – did that mean that there was an honest cop working the case? If so, could that man be corrupted? He put that aside for the time being and considered the other question – who was this man, this lawyer-reporter who was helping Michiko?

  ‘Do you have any idea who the man is?’ Chomo asked. ‘Why is he helping her?’

  ‘As I said, all we know is that he is a reporter – or at least he was posing as a reporter. But he seems too good, too professional, to be that. The way he took out our men, he must be an agent of some kind, an elite soldier perhaps, there’s no other explanation.’

  ‘And the police? Who’s leading the investigation?’

  ‘Nakamura Tsuji of the Organized Crime Control Bureau.’

  ‘Ah, our old friend,’ Chomo said, recognizing the name; Nakamura was one of the incorruptibles, and they had certainly tried hard to turn him over the years, with no success.

  ‘It seems there was some connection between him and the American,’ Mitsuya said. ‘My source in the TMPD suggest that he met with the man, and it was Nakamura who set up the identity as the San Francisco lawyer. We don’t know why, perhaps it was to get someone unknown into our organization, perhaps the whole thing was to find the girl and to disrupt our leadership bid.’

  It was possible, Chomo thought. Perhaps Nakamura had brought in a foreign agent to destroy the Omoto-gumi’s chances? But then why was the American now on the run? If he was working with, or for, Nakamura, why hadn’t he just brought the girl back to the TMPD?

  No, Chomo considered, there was something else going on here, something he couldn’t yet understand.

  But nevertheless, Nakamura was still a dangerous loose end.

  ‘Try and find out more,’ Chomo ordered. ‘And if Nakamura is proving to be a problem, perhaps we can arrange for one of his
friends to . . . dissuade . . . him.’

  ‘Permanently?’ Mitsuya asked for clarification.

  ‘It is probably best that way.’

  ‘That will cost.’

  ‘Pay our man whatever he asks for, but get him to take the inspector out of the picture; it’ll be one less thing to worry about.’

  ‘Okay,’ Mitsuya agreed, ‘consider it done.’

  ‘The girl?’

  ‘As I said, we can track her, that is not a problem.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘On her way west, seems to be heading up into the mountains, probably thinks she’ll be safe there.’

  Chomo could hear the confident amusement in Mitsuya’s voice, and was concerned that it might well be misplaced.

  ‘You know this for sure?’

  ‘Yes,’ Mitsuya said, ‘the signal from the tracer is still active.’

  Chomo nodded to himself, satisfied with this information, at least. A doctor connected to the Omoto-gumi had placed the electronic tracker underneath the skin of Michiko’s shoulder when he was checking her recovery from the gunshot wound she had suffered in the United States. After the last time she left Japan, Chomo had ordered the procedure, wanting a secure back-up in case she ever decided to leave again. Michiko had thought it was a routine check-up, and had no idea that her every movement was now being tracked.

  The fact that she had been traced to the hotel so quickly proved that the device was working, and there was no reason to suspect that it wasn’t still doing so.

  This was the good news; at least Michiko’s location could be established with the utmost precision, which would put them one step ahead of the police, who would also be searching for her and the mystery American.

  ‘So what is your plan to get her back?’ Chomo asked.

  ‘I’m rounding up my best men right now, a kamikaze squad that won’t have any problems.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yes,’ Mitsuya said, again confident; although after so many years, Chomo knew that the confidence was just a façade, and masked Mitsuya’s obvious concerns. He had failed twice already, and would be only too aware of the fact.

  Chomo made his mind up in an instant.

  ‘No,’ Chomo said. ‘You will change the plan. We are so close to the end now, we cannot afford to take any chances. If word gets out about our golden princess, other groups might well move against us; and if our best men are out of the city, there will be nothing to stop them. No,’ he said again, ‘you will keep the kamikaze squad where they are, prepare them for war on the streets of Tokyo.’

  ‘And the girl?’ Mitsuya asked.

  ‘Our friend from the Phillipines will take her,’ Chomo answered, supremely confident that the ninja would have no problem with one lone American, however good the man was. While his own Omoto-gumi gunmen might be loyal, fierce and brutal, they lacked finesse; and the ninja were trained in such operations, true experts in their field. The man currently operating in Tokyo was no exception, and had fulfilled all duties expected of him so far.

  ‘But isn’t he scheduled for something else?’ Mitsuya asked, almost certainly upset that control of the operation was about to be taken away from him.

  ‘Yes,’ Chomo said thoughtfully, conceding the point, ‘but as I understand it, the plans are already in place for that.’

  Indeed, the latest news from the ninja group was that their agent in the field was confident that the assassination of Toshikatsu Endo at the LDP rally in two days’ time would go like clockwork.

  Sending the man out now on another mission was a risk perhaps, but nobody else could be relied upon to retrieve Michiko; and Michiko was the economic powerhouse behind Chomo’s leadership bid. Without her, there would be no takeover of the Yamaguchi-gumi, and no support from Zen Ai Kaigi. Everything depended upon her return, and upon the other groups knowing she had returned.

  ‘If you say so,’ Mitsuya said petulantly.

  ‘I do say so. It is decided. The ninja will return Michiko to us, and you and your men will make preparations in Tokyo to defend our interests, just in case. Yes?’

  ‘Yes, brother,’ Mitsuya replied. ‘I wish you all the best.’

  Chomo returned the platitude and hung up, dialing another number from memory and relaying instructions quickly and forcefully, before hanging up again and returning to his waiting limousine.

  As it rushed him back through the quiet streets toward the Yamaguchi compound, Chomo thought about the prime minister’s assassination, and what it would mean for the country. With Toshikatsu dead – and foreign powers blamed – there would be national uproar, which would see a strong nationalist party such as Zen Ai Kaigi surge to power. And when Chomo took control of the Yamaguchi-gumi, there would be a connection between the yakuza and the government stronger than ever before. The new regime would provide protection for his organization’s activities, and – when the constitution was changed and Japan could once again declare war on her neighbors – there would be untold wealth to plunder from the nations which would later come under Japanese rule.

  It was a masterful plan, but one which relied upon having all the pieces in place. His confidence had been dented by recent events but – if Michiko was returned to the fold – then it could still all work out as he’d planned.

  His instructions to the ninja group – which would be passed on immediately to their agent in Tokyo – were for the man to take control of the tracking device from Mitsuya and then to retrieve the girl as soon as he possibly could. And if the mystery American got in his way, he could take all necessary action against him.

  The limousine drew near the compound’s parking lot entrance, armed guards pulling the gate aside for his vehicle. As it stopped on the large concrete lot, he saw other gang leaders chatting as they smoked, leaning against their own cars, their eyes lighting on him as he stepped out, curiosity – and vicious, barely disguised greed – on their faces, and Chomo knew they had all heard about the events back in Tokyo.

  Damn.

  He would cover things up as best he could, but he knew that he was now at the mercy of the ninja, and the successful completion of the man’s recently-assigned mission.

  2

  ‘No,’ said James Dorrell, US director of central intelligence, ‘we do not have any ongoing operations in Tokyo, or anywhere else in Japan for that matter. And if we did, you would be the first to know.’

  The man on the other end of the line was Tanaka Yoshio, the director of cabinet intelligence and head of the Nai-cho, Japan’s equivalent to the CIA. Apparently there were rumors circulating within the Tokyo police that an American agent was involved in some sort of anti-yakuza operations, and Tanaka wanted to know if there was any truth in them.

  But Dorrell truly wasn’t aware of any such operations, and as DCI, he surely would have been, had any been underway. Both the National Clandestine Service and the Special Activities Division came under his remit, and he knew nothing had been going on in Japan for some time. In fact, a lack of US presence in Japan was one of the lessons learned from the recent troubles in China, and Dorrell had subsequently been pushing for more human intelligence assets to start operating throughout Asia; but it was early days, and nothing had gotten off the ground yet.

  ‘Okay,’ Tanaka said, ‘thank you for your help with this. I didn’t think you would be doing anything without informing me, but I am just following up on questions asked of me directly, I am sure you understand.’

  ‘I do understand,’ Dorrell said honestly, not blaming Tanaka in the slightest, ‘and I will do what I can to help investigate. If we have a US citizen over there causing trouble, you can rely on us to offer all the assistance we can.’

  ‘Thank you, James,’ Tanaka said. ‘We will speak again soon.’

  ‘We will,’ confirmed Dorrell. ‘Good bye for now.’ He placed the receiver of his secure telephone down, considering what he had just heard.

  While it was true that there were currently no CIA-led operations in Ja
pan, he couldn’t in all honesty say that there were definitely no current US operations of any kind; he was aware of another unit, highly secretive and covert, that performed missions directly on the president’s authority. It was quasi-legal, as far as he was aware, and sometimes even made use of CIA resources. He had once been asked if he wanted to be fully briefed on it, but had refused; if he didn’t know, he couldn’t tell.

  But Catalina dos Santos, the director of national security, did know, he was pretty sure of that; and so he picked up the phone again and called her office in Chevy Chase, Maryland.

  If questions were being asked about covert US action in Japan, she would want to know immediately.

  ‘In Tokyo?’ Bruce Vinson asked, surprised.

  ‘Yes,’ Ellen Abrams replied over the secure phone, dos Santos having interrupted her supper only half an hour earlier with the news from Dorrell. ‘James told him we have nothing going on there, but Cat thinks that he thought that we might. But we don’t.’

  ‘No,’ Vinson said, putting down his glass of wine next to the book he’d been reading and sitting up in his armchair. ‘We don’t.’

  ‘Check out the reports from the Tokyo Met,’ Abrams said, ‘I’m sending them over now. Details are sketchy, but it seems one man’s been responsible for a hell of a lot of trouble.’

  ‘You think it’s Mark?’ Vinson asked, sitting up even straighter.

  ‘I have no idea. But it’s definitely got his signature all over it.’

  ‘But why Japan?’

  ‘I wish I knew,’ she said. ‘But he’s disappeared, completely off the radar, and then suddenly we have reports of some sort of one–man army in a war with the Japanese yakuza. Could be a coincidence, could be we’ve found him.’

  ‘But what the hell is he doing?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ Abrams said. ‘Could it be something personal?’