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

by J. T. Brannan

  He had already hated the American, the man he’d known as Hank Jowett but who might have been Richard Baxter, or someone else entirely; the man had not only destroyed his profitable club in San’ya, but had made Mitsuya look – and feel – like a coward, a feeling Mitsuya could neither forget, nor overcome. And then he had learned that this same man was the one who had taken Asami from him, the man who had wrecked their happy lives so many years ago.

  Mitsuya drank the bitter coffee, swapped it for the sweet juice, and shook his head in sorrow. It was the American who had made him kill his own wife, track her down and beat her to death, and Mitsuya would never forgive the man for that. Never.

  But at least Michiko was safe now, under lock and key in the basement and already back to work for the Omoto-gumi. Mitsuya might still dream about torturing her, beating her, raping her, killing her, but he was a man with responsibilities now, the head of his own family with men to provide for; and he knew very well that Michiko’s computer-hacking extortion scheme was the most effective way to make money. Clean, easy, efficient and immensely profitable. He was a proud man, but he was no fool.

  And so Michiko would be safe, for as long as she provided her services; but the American was another matter, and he would use all of his resources – and through his brother, the resources of the entire Yamaguchi-gumi – to track the man down and punish him beyond all measure. It was owed to him.

  Mitsuya leaned back in the rattan dining chair, eyes still taking in the beautiful garden, flowers blooming under the ferns and palms.

  It was then that he realized that something was missing – the birds.

  The birds were silent.

  Mitsuya instantly understood what it meant and leapt to his feet, pulling a pistol from his waistband and racing through the villa’s lavish living area toward the stairs, even as he saw figures outside, moving swiftly across the lawn toward the house.

  He flew up the stairs, three at a time, and he started to hear the noises of suppressed gunfire, knew his men were being picked off one by one. They were upstairs already! One group must have come down from the roof, used a helicopter with silent rotors, which meant they were Americans, damned Americans!

  He barreled back down the stairs at breakneck pace, grasping for the key in his pants pocket and pulling it clear as the black-clad commandos entered the villa through the veranda, and he continued running down the stairs yet further, headed for the basement.

  And Michiko.

  17

  Cole was leading the strike on the Philippine villa, just twelve hours after saving the prime minister back in Japan.

  Toshikatsu himself had helped provide Cole with transportation to Subic Bay, a US naval base just sixty miles northwest of Manila. He’d met up with his own men there, ordered over from various global locations as soon as Bruce Vinson got news of the location. Force One personnel – unless already engaged on operations with their regular units – were always ready to go at a moment’s notice.

  Cole knew the eight men well, had even been with one of them on a very recent operation – Sal Grayson was an Air Force ‘Para Jumper’, and had helped extract the politburo from Beijing just a few short weeks ago. They wouldn’t have to drill together or rehearse; it was nice if there was the time, but the members of Force One could go into action with any other member of the team at any time, with stunning results.

  Locating Mitsuya hadn’t been too difficult – even though the gangland boss had used a private jet and a private airfield, and landed at an unregulated airfield in the Philippines, it barely mattered; because Mitsuya’s face had been picked up via CCTV back in the city, and his journey by car to the private Tokyo airfield had been tracked. His flight plan had then been examined, and details had been forwarded to the local CIA station in Manila, who’d quickly placed a team around the receiving airport.

  When Mitsuya landed, the team had observed him – along with a teenaged girl and several obvious yakuza associates – leaving the airfield and driving to the villa by Laguna de Bay; a villa which a quick computer check revealed was owned by a shell corporation linked to the Omoto-gumi.

  When Cole arrived at Subic, he had immediately ordered the raid, unwilling to waste even a moment; and within the hour, a Blackhawk MH-60 had been spinning its rotors, ready to fly them out.

  The scenario had reminded Cole all too readily of when he had stormed the house in the village of Kreith, in Austria. Then, it was his wife and children who were being held against their will; this time it was his daughter. Then, he had failed and his family had been killed; this time failure was not an option, and Cole had switched his mind off to the past, unwilling to let that mental negativity get in his way.

  He would be focused on the job, and nothing else.

  And now – with the grounds secured, four men taking out the yakuza and local gangland thugs on the upper floors while the other four dispatched those guarding the ground level of the villa – his mind was like a laser, concentrating only on Michiko; and Mitsuya, as he saw the man running down the tiled steps to the basement.

  He left the other men, confident in their ability to fully secure the compound, and charged after the Omoto-gumi boss, legs pumping hard as he raced down the stairs.

  As he reached the bottom, he saw a steel door closing behind the escaping form of Mitsuya and opened fire with his silenced H&K MP5, hoping to force Mitsuya back into the room beyond, stall him from locking the door behind him.

  The ploy worked, the door still open as Cole got there; and still wasting no time with subtlety, he kicked it open and ran in, ducking low and turning as he saw a man raise a gun toward him and fire; but the shots went over Cole’s head and he returned fire, a trail of 9mm rounds nearly cutting the man in half.

  Everything was happening in slow motion, and Cole saw first his daughter, backing up toward a bank of computer screens in the corner as Mitsuya stood close by, his own pistol aimed at her; and then he noticed the other two guards in the room, swinging their weapons toward the intruder.

  But if Cole’s perceptions were in slow motion, his actions occurred in the blink of an eye, first firing his MP5 at Mitsuya, the shots hitting the man in the arm and shoulder, the pistol dropping to the floor as Michiko was covered in the spray of her adoptive father’s crimson blood; then Cole pivoted, rolling across the room as the other two men opened fire, their bullets narrowly missing as they tore up the tiled floor behind him, and then Cole was firing as he rolled, submachine gun spitting rounds out toward the two men, hitting heads and torsos in silent, lethal force; and then Cole was back on his feet, the men dead on the floor as Cole looked toward Mitsuya, on his knees and bleeding heavily.

  ‘You . . . son of a . . . bitch . . .’ Mitsuya breathed heavily, mouth full of blood. ‘I’ll . . . kill . . . you . . .’

  Cole shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think so. Michiko,’ he said, gesturing for the girl to come to him, and she ran, skipping past Mitsuya as he reached out and tried to grab her ankle, bloody hand instead grasping nothing but air.

  ‘It’s over,’ Cole said as Michiko arrived by his side. ‘You’re done, the Omoto-gumi is done. And when the other bosses hear about what’s happened, I doubt your brother will survive today’s initiation ceremony either. Everything you’ve worked for is going to be destroyed.’

  Mitsuya smiled at Cole, teeth bloody, making Cole wonder again if the man was in fact totally insane. In his position, what the hell was there to smile about? Then the oyabun started to cough – wracking, painful coughs – and he bent over double, blood dripping from his loose lips.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Cole asked, despite himself.

  ‘You’re . . . out of bullets,’ Mitsuya said, and then – stupid! – Cole realized the man was right; and then Mitsuya moved, the coughing fit just misdirection, to conceal the removal of a hidden knife from his pocket; and in one smooth action, Mitsuya leapt to his knees, turned to Cole and threw the knife, the gleaming metal blade soaring through the room, aimed at Cole�
�s heart.

  Time seemed to stand still, and Cole saw the tip of the blade fly toward him, and then his body moved of its own accord, torso slipping sideways as he dropped the gun and one arm came up reflexively; and before he knew what had happened, his hand slipped onto the knife’s hilt as it sped past him, plucking the weapon right out of the air and turning in a tight arc before releasing the knife out once more into the air, this time returned to its owner, the blade turning top over tail as it flew straight toward Mitsuya, the man’s eyes going wide in disbelief just moments before the blade entered the gang boss’s throat, all six inches of polished metal forced through Mitsuya’s neck, the tip emerging on the other side, the spinal cord severed.

  And then – as Cole remembered Asami, how the Thai gang had beaten her, how Mitsuya must have beaten her, as he thought of her brutal murder at his hands, the subsequent kidnap and abuse of her daughter, Cole’s daughter, the attempted destruction of her young life – Cole raced forward, possessed by a rage he couldn’t control, and slammed an immensely powerful kick toward the oyabun’s head, bodyweight committed, hips twisting through; and then his foot made contact with the butt of the knife, forcing it further through Mitsuya’s neck, the cross-guard splitting the throat wide open until the knife was all the way through and Mitsuya’s entire head had been ripped from his shoulders, the weapon clattering to the tiled floor just moments before Mitsuya’s severed, bloody head, the eyes still wide in disbelief.

  Cole felt Michiko rush to him, hold onto him, sobbing as she looked at the bloody mess, and Cole pulled her away, relief finally – mercifully – flooding his body.

  ‘At last,’ gasped Michiko, unable to believe it herself, ‘at last.’

  Cole hugged her, his strong arms around her, protecting her, indescribably happy that she was still alive, his mission a success, his fears defeated, the scars of his past one more step toward being conquered forever.

  ‘Yes,’ Cole told her, starting to sob himself. ‘Yes. It’s over . . . It’s over.’

  EPILOGUE

  Watanabe Haruto put down the receiver and nodded to the men around the table. ‘It has been verified,’ he told them. ‘Are we still in agreement?’

  The old men around the low satinwood table nodded as one, and Watanabe smiled.

  So be it.

  Moments later the guest of honor arrived, bedecked in full regalia of kimono robe, haori jacket and hakama skirt, eyes lit with pride and satisfaction as he took his place at the head of the table, sake bowl placed ceremoniously in front of him.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said as he was seated, ‘thank you all very much.’

  The old men all bowed their heads and then – to Yamaguchi Chomo’s surprise – turned to Watanabe.

  ‘Yamaguchi-sama,’ Watanabe said kindly, ‘I am afraid we have just received some sad news.’

  ‘Oh?’ Chomo said, surprised again. ‘What news?’

  ‘It seems that your brother, head of the Omoto-gumi, has been killed at his villa in the Philippines.’

  ‘What?’ Chomo almost choked, eyes wide in disbelief. ‘What is this madness?’

  Watanabe shook his head slowly. ‘It is not madness, Yamaguchi-sama, it is the truth. The villa was raided this morning by commandos, they killed the guards and, I regret to tell you, Yamaguchi Mitsuya himself. In addition,’ Watanabe continued, his expression grave but secretly enjoying the look on Chomo’s face, ‘the girl – Mitsuya’s adopted daughter, the famed golden princess, was taken.’

  ‘Taken?’ asked Chomo in horror.

  ‘Yes,’ Watanabe concurred, ‘taken. By the commandos.’

  ‘But . . . how do you know this?’ Chomo spluttered.

  It was a good question, Watanabe thought, and one that deserved an answer. ‘Toshikatsu Endo told me,’ he said. ‘It seems he wants to continue his association with the Yamaguchi-gumi, and sought me out.’

  The ramifications were clear to Chomo immediately. ‘Then . . .’

  ‘Yes,’ Watanabe said, ‘it means that things have changed irrevocably. Given the death of the Omoto-gumi oyabun and no clear successor – and with the golden princess gone – the gang’s territory and resources will be split between the Inagawa-kai and the Sumiyoshi-kai as of this meeting today.’

  Watanabe had been happy to make the deal with the Tokyo gangs – after all, as successor to his old kumicho, Watanabe would be receiving the Yamaguchi-gumi’s cut no matter who was in charge of each territory. He could see the wheels turning in Chomo’s mind, and almost felt sorry for the man; he had, after all, been so close. And yet fate was beyond any man’s ability to foretell, and had recently made a real gift to the Yamaguchi-gumi’s wakagashira.

  ‘I demand that the ceremony be carried out immediately,’ Chomo said, raising his voice and filling it with as much authority as he could muster. ‘As kumicho, I – ’

  ‘You are not kumicho yet,’ Watanabe said quickly, harshly, eyes meeting his rival’s across the table. ‘And we have had a new vote cast.’

  Even as Chomo stood to protest, Watanabe put his hand into his robes and withdrew a pistol, pointing it at the man opposite him.

  Nobody in the room liked Yamaguchi Chomo; they admired him for his business acumen, but secretly despised his university-educated superiority, the way he expected to become kumicho merely because of some distant familial link.

  But – given the fact that the man had engineered Yamamoto’s death and was being heralded by the potential new government of Japan, not to mention his vast wealth – they had known that they could not stand in his way.

  Everyone had been pleased when Toshikatsu – via an OCCB inspector called Nakamura Jirai – had contacted them with the news about Mitsuya and Michiko. In addition to the unsuccessful assassination attempt, they knew it meant that the game had changed completely.

  All eyes in the room looked to Watanabe, waiting for him to act; and then he did.

  Two shots rang out, both of Watanabe’s bullets hitting Yamaguchi Chomo in the chest, killing him instantly.

  The man’s body sagged in the chair as the other gangland bosses turned to Watanabe and nodded their approval.

  ‘Good,’ Kojiro Shinzo, head of the Inagawa-kai, said with a clap of his hands even as two servants came to drag away Yamaguchi Chomo’s dead body. ‘Now if you take his place, we will all exchange sake cups and complete the ceremony with you, Watanabe Haruto, as the new kumicho, supreme godfather of the Yamaguchi-gumi.’

  Watanabe smiled and strode readily to take his place at the head of the table, pleased that – finally – Japan had been returned to its status quo.

  Clark Mason looked at Colonel Manfred Jones, shocked.

  ‘You’re sure?’ he asked as he poured them both a brandy. ‘Absolutely sure?’

  ‘Yes,’ the colonel replied, ‘I am absolutely sure. Another Blackhawk, stealth type, flown out from Subic Bay for two hours, carrying nine passengers outbound, returned with ten. Same time as there was supposed to be some sort of ‘gang war’ which led to the destruction of a yakuza-owned villa just outside Manila.’

  ‘You think it was a covert op, we ordered the villa destroyed, those people killed?’ Mason asked for confirmation.

  ‘It certainly looks that way, doesn’t it?’ Jones answered.

  ‘It certainly does,’ Mason answered. ‘Do we know who was the extra person on the chopper when it came back?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Jones said, ‘but I’m working on it. I’m working on a lot of things. And when I get finished, that president of ours will wish she had never been born.’

  Mason toasted Jones with his glass and grinned.

  It was music to his ears.

  Michiko sat across from her father – confirmed by a quick and accurate paternity check soon after their arrival back in the States – and smiled. She’d been the tenth passenger onboard the Blackhawk which had landed in Subic Bay, and had flown with Cole on a military transport plane back to the United States soon after.

  Cole enjoyed seeing the girl sm
ile, all too aware of how hard her life had been, and how little she’d had to smile about over the past seventeen years.

  But perhaps things would change for her now, Cole thought as he poured them both some coffee, relaxing deeply into the wing-back chair in the study of his DC townhouse.

  President Abrams – faced with Cole’s single-handed saving of Sino-US relations – was forced to forgive his unofficial actions, and had agreed with his request to grant Michiko immediate US citizenship.

  ‘So,’ he said as he tasted the coffee, ‘what do you think about the place?’

  ‘It’s amazing,’ Michiko said, ‘it’s so much more sophisticated than what I’ve been used to working with.’

  ‘You’d be able to cope?’ Cole teased.

  ‘Cope?’ she said. ‘Within a week, I bet I’ll know more about those systems than whoever designed them.’

  ‘So you’ll take the job?’

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ Michiko said, although Cole could see from her eyes that now she was just teasing too. And why wouldn’t she take it? Working as a computer programmer for the Paradigm Group – and possibly, in the future, for Force One itself – would pay well, and provide her with the daily challenge she craved. She could have a life here, one removed from the fears of her past; and in DC – perhaps, just maybe – Cole and Michiko could begin to get to know one another better, under more pleasant circumstances.

  ‘So you won’t take it?’ Cole asked with a raised eyebrow.

  ‘I’ve heard it’s not wise to work with members of your family,’ she said.