Kusanagi

by Clem Chambers

  ‘An explosion will bring attention quickly.’

  Captain Kim nodded. ‘Yes. We have six minutes to execute the operation.’

  Kim stood slightly stooped – his ribs were aching. He looked gravely at the captain. The banks were demanding meetings and Toyoda had reported that they were beginning to threaten foreclosure. He had no alternative but to risk it all on a desperate plan. ‘You must bring them to me alive.’

  The captain took a deep breath. If what he said turned out to be wrong it could prove disastrous. If he was right, it might save the whole risky endeavour. ‘Sir, I believe the items you seek are in the house.’

  Kim whirled round to face him, pain shooting through his torso. ‘How so?’

  ‘We have observed, and we believe the old servant brought the items to the house from their hiding place at a moneylender’s. Our watcher had no opportunity to strike.’

  ‘Are you sure of this?’

  ‘No, sir, but I believe it to be highly likely.’

  Kim scowled. ‘This changes everything. You must do all you can to recover the items. Beyond this, the people inside have no value.’ He looked at Captain Kim, his face implacable. ‘I cannot instruct you further. You must and will succeed.’

  The captain nodded.

  ‘If you succeed,’ said Kim, ‘it will be a happy day for all of us.’

  The captain knew there would be a terrible punishment for failure, but so many provisional death warrants hung over his head that the threat meant nothing. He wondered for the thousandth time whether killing his master might be the real solution to his living hell.

  65

  It was five and the sun was about to rise. It was dark in the cavernous warehouse. Strip lights illuminated the space, throwing long shadows. Kim stood in front of his men. He could see the fear in their eyes. They were unnerved by what they had to do. They were going to the lion’s den a second time and they had no choice.

  Not only did he hold their lives in his hands but also the lives of their families in North Korea. They had heard how relatives disappeared when Kim was displeased. They knew, too, why their families had survived the famines and dire conditions of their country. Their families fed while others didn’t. Their wives receive Party rations because they were Kim’s soldiers. Every three years when they returned home on leave, they brought back money and things that made them heroes in their villages. They were heroes of their nation – so long as they did whatever Kim asked.

  Kim knew they feared him more than death. He made sure of it. He knew they understood that what they did was terrible and he knew they did it for their own survival. Now his own survival hung in the balance. Many times in the past there had been moments when failure would have destroyed him. Those moments had often been followed by long periods of success.

  ‘Men, today you will attack the house again and bring back what I require. You will not fail and I will reward you well. You will not fail and your loved ones will bless your name. You will not fail and your country will praise you. You will not fail.’

  ‘We will not fail,’ shouted the captain.

  ‘We will not fail,’ echoed the men.

  The troop saluted.

  Smith heard the doorbell, grabbed the machine pistol and rolled off the bed fully clothed. He didn’t mind sleeping dressed – it was better than having to fight barefoot and naked. He had taken the mickey out of Stafford – fancy waiting for a blitzkrieg in dressing-gown and pyjamas! – but the old spy wasn’t having any of his teasing. He seemed prepared to die a gentleman in his PJs rather than lie down to sleep in his day clothes.

  Stafford must already have been up because he was at the door surveying the scene outside on his iPhone. ‘Is everything clear?’ said Stafford, into the intercom.

  ‘Yeah, no problem,’ came Jim’s voice.

  Stafford seemed to weigh his new pistol in his grip for a second, then opened the door. Smith was aiming his machine pistol into the space that would be filled by a sudden rush of attackers.

  Jim and Akira walked in, lugging their bags.

  Stafford hurried them along and closed the door smartly.

  Jim patted Stafford on the back, then caught sight of Smith. ‘John, what are you doing here?’

  ‘Playing Davy Crockett at the Alamo. What about Jane?’

  ‘We got her back.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Stafford, spontaneously.

  ‘Well done,’ said Smith. He came forwards and took Akira’s heavy bag. ‘Now I’m expecting some explanations.’

  ‘I’ve got the Japanese Crown Jewels,’ said Jim. ‘They’ve been lost for a few hundred years and we’ve got to get them back to the Emperor.’

  Smith looked at him sourly, ‘For fuck’s sake, Jim, when are you going to let me in? This is no joke.’

  Jim pushed past him, grinning.

  Stafford flexed his right eyebrow sardonically.

  ‘The situation is still very dangerous,’ said Akira.

  Smith’s face showed that he was having difficulty in accepting this. Akira stared blankly at him.

  Smith turned and followed Jim into the lounge. ‘You’re not serious, are you?’

  Jim sat down in front of his computer and fired up his email. ‘They aren’t some bunch of rocks and gold stuck with fur,’ he said, opening a window to look at Kimcorp’s share price. ‘They’re like the embodiment of the spirit of Japan. One is like King Arthur’s Excalibur, and another is a mirror the sun goddess thought was so beautiful she came out of a sulk for it. They would have paid me a trillion dollars for them if I’d asked.’ He clicked his mouse. He had made money closing his Kimcorp short position and the price was still in the toilet. ‘But we’ve got to give them back. They’re toxic.’ He turned to Stafford. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘Here.’

  ‘Here?’ said Jim.

  ‘Yes.’

  Akira looked excited.

  ‘And there is a reason for that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘OK,’ said Jim. ‘And the reason is?’

  ‘I felt that putting them into someone else’s safe keeping might not, in the end, prove sensible. I thought they might be expropriated.’

  ‘Right,’ said Jim. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘I thought about lodging them at the Bank of England,’ continues Stafford, ‘but as the regalia are worth many times our gold reserve I thought better of it. Lodging them in a pawn shop also seemed rather too basic a solution. I have no wish to see the regalia nationalised, purloined or seized.’

  ‘Where are they?’

  ‘Under my bed.’

  Jim shook his jetlagged head. ‘Whatever. Can you bring them down? When the clock hits nine we’re going to make a run for the Japanese Embassy.’

  ‘A trillion dollars?’ said Smith.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Akira, ‘but you asked for a hundred billion dollars.”

  ‘Would you have paid more?’

  ‘It’s difficult to know,’ replied Akira.

  ‘I think that’s a yes,’ said Jim.

  ‘Possibly,’ shrugged Akira.

  ‘So,’ continued Jim, ‘this Korean property guy, who must have been tipped off, kidnapped Jane to swap her with me for the jewels.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ said Smith.

  ‘Wait,’ said Jim. ‘Forget the jewels. Think of the money. A hundred billion dollars, five hundred billion, a trillion. Do you think your life or my life or ten thousand other lives wouldn’t be sacrificed for that? If someone else had got hold of the regalia we would have never got Jane back. It wouldn’t matter if it was the Japanese mob, your bosses, the CIA or Stafford’s lot. Jane would have been dead by now and probably all of us too.’

  Smith didn’t seem very happy.

  ‘If I’d told you and you’d reported back, we’d be swarming with yet more killers wanting to get their hands on a trillion dollars.’ He fixed Smith with a stare. ‘John, just think. We’re dealing with hundreds of billions of
pounds and they’re ready for the taking by whoever is prepared to go no holds barred.’

  ‘I don’t believe any of it,’ said Smith.

  Stafford came in carrying the sword and a bag containing the mirror.

  Smith scowled. ‘A hundred billion?’ he said.

  ‘A trillion.’

  Smith took the bag, opened it and looked inside. ‘You must think I’m stupid,’ he said, taking out the sword and passing the bag to Stafford.

  ‘Don’t worry, mate,’ said Jim. ‘It’s all going to be sorted today.’

  ‘It’d better be,’ said Smith, ‘and when it’s all over if you don’t tell me the real story I’m going to arrest all of you under our delightful anti-terrorist laws and keep you locked up till you explain in triplicate every last detail of what’s been going on. Even then I might not let you out.’

  ‘I take it I’m excused that,’ said Stafford.

  ‘Don’t be too sure.’

  Jim looked at his gold Rolex Cosmonaut. It was seven a.m. Japan’s stock market closed. ‘Boom.’ He was looking at the crashing share chart. Kimcorp’s had sagged further in the closing minutes.

  Stafford was looking at his iPhone. ‘Oh dear,’ he said.

  66

  There was a terrific explosion outside and the lounge door blew open. A blast wave compressed the room and Jim and Akira were hurled to the ground. Jim struggled to his feet and Smith thrust the sword into his hand. Stafford was already at the door. Akira scrambled up, clasping the mirror that Stafford had handed him.

  There was a thud at their feet as Smith threw two pistols to them from a holdall. He dragged the bag to the door as they heard a burst of fire in the hallway.

  There was a whirr of servos and Jim turned to the window. The new bulletproof installation was lowering.

  ‘Stafford thinks we should go this way – out the back and along the shoreline,’ said Jim.

  Akira’s head flicked from side to side to the noise of gunfire.

  There was more firing in the hall.

  Jim ran to the window. The exposed foreshore was empty.

  He guessed Stafford thought it was better for them to run for it rather than be penned inside. Had he had time to check the CCTV?

  The window wasn’t lowering fast enough, so Jim jumped up on its thick rim and vaulted over. He took the pouch from Akira, turned on the ledge and jumped the eight feet down to the shingle below. He landed lightly, stayed in his crouch and looked upstream to where a stone staircase led up to an alley that in turn led to the road that ran past the front of the house.

  Gunfire cracked to his left.

  Akira jumped down with a grunt and scrabbled upright.

  ‘You OK?’ asked Jim.

  ‘Enough.’

  ‘When are your people coming?’ shouted Stafford to Smith.

  ‘Forget it.’

  ‘Forget it?’ shouted Stafford, as he fired at a flicker of movement.

  ‘No one’s going to wade into a full-scale war zone,’ Smith shouted. ‘They’ll hold back and cordon everything off.’

  ‘Get behind the stairs. There’s a door there. Then cover me,’ shouted Stafford, taking a pot shot. He took a mini-gun and fired in bursts as Smith dashed down the hall dragging the holdall.

  Stafford took out his phone. The screen was smashed. ‘Damn,’ he muttered, dropping it. He ran up the hall after Smith, firing randomly behind him as he went. ‘Open the door,’ he ordered Smith. ‘It leads to the garage. When I get to the bottom, follow me, then hold your position. Once the car’s running, get in.’ Stafford ducked through the open doorway and staggered down the narrow staircase as fast as he could.

  Smith opened fire down the corridor to suppress any attempt to charge it. As soon as Stafford had cleared the stairs, he swung the bag down with a crash and jumped after it, slamming the door behind him.

  He found Stafford climbing into the Maybach. Smith waited for him to start the engine, then ran with the bag and jumped into the back seat. The limo doors locked. He poured the weaponry into the back footwell, then slid through the gap between the seats into the front.

  ‘I do hope Jim and the professor took my advice to go out the back,’ said Stafford, watching the garage doors shiver into action. ‘And I really do hope the makers of this car did a proper job.’

  ‘Amen,’ said Smith, putting on his seat belt.

  Stafford turned off the airbags and waited for the doors to lift, his right eye particularly engaged. ‘Off we go,’ he said, pressing hard on the accelerator.

  Jim froze in the dark shadows of the alley. He could hear his garage doors opening. He snatched a glance around the corner. A dozen men, dressed in black, were running around outside and crouched to fire at whatever came out of the basement car park.

  Was Stafford coming for him or making a break for it? He ducked back. Akira was looking out of the darkness in the other direction at a large white truck. Jim could hear its engine running. He felt a tug under his arm. Akira had pulled Kusanagi out of its scabbard. ‘What are you doing?’ said Jim, as the professor marched out into the street.

  There was a screech of tyres coming out of the garage and Jim ran after Akira.

  The Maybach surged onto the road under a hail of bullets and ploughed straight into three crouching men. The rest scattered as the car reversed back and around, smashing another to the ground.

  Smith glimpsed Jim and Akira running at the truck. ‘Jim needs a diversion,’ he shouted.

  Stafford put the car into drive and accelerated at three more men who were firing frantically into the limousine. The bulletproof windscreen was covered with divots, cracks and crazing. ‘Getting hard to see,’ he muttered, swerving to hit a figure in black. There was a series of thumps and crunches as bullets rattled down the side of the car.

  Akira jumped up to the cab’s open window and drove Kusanagi through the gap, impaling the unsuspecting driver’s head, like a toothpick penetrating an olive. He pulled the door open and the quivering body of the driver fell out. Akira jumped in and Jim followed.

  ‘You drive,’ said Akira. ‘I never learnt.’ He slid the sword back into its scabbard.

  Jim was sitting in a puddle of blood. He slammed the cab door, put the truck into gear and dropped the handbrake. He was going to have to flatten the remaining cordon of men and somehow miss the Maybach, which was swerving back and forth like a dodgem car.

  ‘Get down,’ he told Akira, who didn’t seem to hear. He pulled away from the kerb and floored the accelerator.

  ‘Jim’s in the lorry!’ shouted Smith. ‘For fuck’s sake, don’t crash into it.’

  ‘Right,’ snapped Stafford, reversing. He started up the road towards the truck, which was setting off towards them. The remaining black-clad men were running, some towards the truck, some into the house, others away down the road.

  Two armed men were making straight for Jim. They seemed oblivious as to who was driving the truck and waved him down. He saw horror in their eyes as they registered his face. There was a bang as he ran them down, then the hideous thumping of objects being crushed beneath the wheels.

  Akira looked up from the GPS. ‘There is only one saved location on the navigation computer,’ he said calmly, ‘and we are going there to end this.’ He set the course.

  ‘No,’ said Jim. ‘Let’s hole up somewhere and get to the embassy when it opens.’

  ‘We must kill Kim, or the cloud of death will always hang on our horizons.’

  ‘How do we even know he’s there?’

  ‘I know he is there,’ said Akira, clutching the sword. ‘I can smell him.’

  Jim gripped the wheel of the truck and pushed himself down into the padded seat. ‘Buckle up, then,’ he said.

  His mobile was ringing. When he glanced at the screen he recognised Smith’s number. When he answered, Stafford’s voice spoke: ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Heading for Dagenham,’ said Jim.

  ‘Turn around,’ said Stafford.

  He looked at Akir
a, holding Kusanagi in his short hand. His face bore an expression of grim determination.

  ‘No,’ said Jim. ‘We’re going on. Akira seems to think he knows where Kim is. You get safe.’

  ‘Where are you going in Dagenham?’

  Akira read out the address.

  Smith was trying to enter their new destination into the inbuilt console of the Maybach.

  ‘Exactly where is this police cordon?’ snapped Stafford.

  ‘How the fuck should I know?’ Smith was still struggling.

  ‘Allow me,’ said Stafford, taking the console controller.

  Something came loose under the car and there was a banging noise as it bounced away. Smith looked in the wing mirror and saw a severed arm lying in the road.

  He turned round to peer through the cracked, splintered windscreen. ‘Can you see where you’re going, Bertie?’

  ‘Just about.’

  Jim entered the East London link tunnel just as three police cars, lights flashing and sirens blaring, steamed out of the tunnel in the other direction. A minute later they raced past the Maybach.

  ‘Exactly how many shot-to-pieces limousines do your lot see in a day?’ said Stafford.

  Smith shook his head sourly.

  ‘What a complete shower,’ added Stafford.

  ‘Convenient in the circumstances, though,’ retorted Smith.

  Jim’s phone rang and he picked it up from the seat, covered with blood. It was Jane – she sounded sleepy.

  ‘Jane, what time is it there?’

  ‘About three. I was just thinking… What’s that noise?’

  ‘I’m in a lorry.’

  ‘Lorry? Right. Anyway, I was thinking, thinking a lot… Maybe we shouldn’t – You’re in a truck?’ Her voice was suddenly awake. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘What were you going to say?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Were you going to blow me out?’

  There was a silence.

  ‘At eight o’clock in the morning after I just saved your life?’

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Apart from sitting in a pool of someone else’s blood, just having had my house blown up, I’m absolutely peachy.’