Rain Fall

by Barry Eisler

  I folded my arms across my chest and regarded him. My look was impassive, but inside my head I was playing a map of the hallway, the staircase, trying to find a way out.

  He must have really been hoping I would crack — he waited a long time. Finally he called for his men. The door opened, and I was surrounded and pulled to my feet. He barked some orders at them in Japanese. Find out where the disk is. And Midori. Whatever it takes.

  They hauled me out of the room. Behind me, Yamaoto was saying, “I am very disappointed.” I barely heard it. I was too busy looking for a way out.

  18

  THEY TOOK ME back down the hallway. I noted the entrance as we went past double glass doors, a dead bolt visibly locked in place in the small gap between them. The doors had opened outward when we came in. If I hit them dead center, on the fly, the lock might give. If it didn’t, and I had time to back up and try again, I could try to go through the glass, hope not to get cut too badly. Lousy options, but they beat being tortured to death by Flatnose and his handsome friends.

  They were pretty rough shoving me down the hallway ahead of them, and I tried to emanate waves of fear and helplessness so their confidence would build. I wanted them to feel in control, to believe that I was cowed by their size and their numbers. That might give me some small chance at surprise. Beyond that, I had only one advantage, the same one SOG always had against the North Vietnamese, even when we were operating in their backyard: Considering what was coming, I was more motivated to escape than they were to hold me.

  They took me to a room at the farthest end of the corridor. It was small, only about three meters square. The door had a window of frosted glass in its center and opened inward, to the left, at the back of the room. To the right was a small rectangular table with two chairs on either side of it. They pushed me into one of the chairs, my back to the door. I put my hands on my knees, under the table.

  Flatnose disappeared for a few minutes. When he returned, he was carrying a large wooden truncheon. He took a seat on the other side of the table, facing me. I heard the other two take up positions behind me, to either side.

  There was about a meter of empty space between Flatnose’s back and the wall. Good.

  They hadn’t locked the door. Why bother? There were three of them, and they were big bastards. This was their place. They knew they were in control.

  I lifted the table a fraction with my knees, getting a feel for its weight. Despite its size, it was satisfyingly heavy. My heart was thudding in my ears, my neck.

  Flatnose started to say something. I didn’t hear what. As soon as the words began I sprang up, my arms catching the table from underneath, driving it up and into him. The force of it slammed him backward into the wall. I felt the impact jolt through my arms.

  The other two leaped forward. I shot my leg out into the guy coming in on my right. It caught him squarely in the gut, so hard his momentum continued to carry his feet forward. He went down and then the other one was on me.

  He grabbed me from behind and tried for hadaka jime, a sleeper hold, but I turtled my neck in and his forearm closed across my mouth. Still, his grip was so strong it felt like he was going to unhinge my jaw. I opened my mouth and the leading edge of his arm jammed between my teeth. Before he could twist free I bit down hard. I felt my teeth sinking into muscle and heard him howl.

  The grip loosened and I spun inside it, pumping uppercuts into his abdomen. He dropped his arms to protect his body and I caught him with a solid palm-heel under the nose. He didn’t fall, but he was dazed. I shoved him to the right and scrambled for the door.

  The guy I’d kicked grabbed my leg from the ground but I shook free. I gripped the doorknob hard and twisted it, flung the door open. It rocketed into the wall, the frosted glass exploding.

  I stumbled into the hallway, running and almost falling like a man tearing out of control down a steep hill. It took me only a second to reach the entrance doors. I hit them hard, not holding anything back, and they burst open at the center. I spilled out into the hallway, rolled to my feet, and bolted for the stairwell. When I reached the outer door I wrenched it open and plunged down the stairs four at a time, my hand on the railing for balance. Just as I cleared the first riser, I heard the door slam open. They were already after me — not quite the head start I’d hoped for.

  I had to get out of there before reinforcements started pouring in. Shibakoen subway station was on the opposite side of Hibiya-dori. I bolted across the street, trying to flow diagonally into the traffic, tires screeching as I jumped in front of cars.

  Thick crowds of pedestrians were exiting at the top of the steps to the station — a train must have just come in. I glanced back as I hit the entrance and saw two of Yamaoto’s boys sprinting after me.

  I could hear the chimes of another train pulling in. Maybe I could make it. I had no doubt that they would shoot me now if they could. In this crowd, no one would know where the shots had come from. I fought frantically for space, ducking past three slow-moving old women who were blocking the stairway, and spun left at the bottom of the stairs. There was a concession stand in front of the ticket windows and as I dodged past it I grabbed a palm-sized canned coffee. Hundred and ninety grams. Hard metal edges.

  I shoved my way through the wickets and onto the platform. I was too late — the doors had already closed, and the train was starting to move.

  The platform was crowded, but there was a clear passage alongside the train. I maneuvered into it, glanced back and saw one of Yamaoto’s goons pass the wickets and burst through the crowd into the clear space next to the train.

  I turned and measured the distance. About five meters, closing fast.

  I threw the can like a fastball, aiming for center mass. It went a little high and caught him in the sternum with a thud I could hear even over the noise of the crowd. He went down hard. But his buddy was right behind him, his gun out.

  I spun around. The train was picking up speed.

  I dropped my head and sprinted after it, my breath hammering in and out. I heard a gunshot. Then another.

  Two meters. One.

  I was close enough to reach out and touch the vertical bar at the back corner of the car, but I couldn’t get any closer. For an instant, my speed was perfectly synchronized with the train. Then it started to slip away.

  I gave a wild yell and leaped forward, my fingers outstretched for the bar. For one bad second I thought I’d come up short and felt myself falling — then my hand closed around cold metal.

  My body fell forward and my knees smacked into the back of the train. My feet were dangling just over the tracks. My fingers were slipping off the bar. I looked up, saw a kid in a school uniform staring at me out the back window, his mouth open. Then the train entered the tunnel and I lost my grip.

  I twisted instinctively, getting my left arm under and across my body so I could roll with the impact. Still, I hit the tracks so hard that I actually bounced instead of rolling. There was one enormous shock all down my left side, then a brief sensation of flight. An instant later I felt a dull whump! and came to a sudden stop.

  I was on my back, looking up at the ceiling of the subway tunnel. I lay there for a moment, the wind knocked out of me, wiggling my toes, flexing my fingers. Everything seemed to be working.

  Five seconds went by, then another five. I drew in a few hitching breaths.

  What the hell, I thought. What the hell did I land on?

  I grunted and sat up. I was on a large sand pile to the left of the tracks. Beside it were two hard-hatted Japanese construction workers, looking at me, their mouths slightly agape.

  Next to the sand pile was a concrete floor that the workers were repairing. They were using the sand to mix cement. I realized that if I had let go of the train even a half second later, I would have landed on concrete instead of a soft pile of sand.

  I slid over to the ground, stood, and began brushing myself off. The shape of my body was imprinted in the sand like something from an over-t
he-top cartoon.

  The construction workers hadn’t changed their posture. They were still looking at me, mouths still agape, and I realized they were in mild shock at what they had just seen.

  “Ah, sumimasen,” I began, not knowing what else to say. “Etto, otearae wa arimasu ka?” Excuse me, do you have a bathroom?

  They maintained their frozen postures, and I realized that my question had discombobulated them further. Just as well. I saw that I was only a few meters inside the tunnel and started walking out.

  I considered what had happened. Yamaoto’s men must have seen me go into the tunnel hanging on to the back of the train, but not seen me slip, and I was going too fast for them to expect that I’d let go deliberately. So they were figuring that, in three minutes, I would be deposited at Mita station, the end of the line. They must have bolted out of the station to Mita to try to intercept me.

  I had a wild idea.

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out the earpiece I had pocketed before Flatnose and his crew had caught me in the van, slipped it into place. I felt in my pocket for the adhesive-backed transmitter. Still there. But was it still transmitting?

  “Harry? Can you hear me? Talk to me,” I said.

  There was a long pause, and just as I started to try again the earpiece came to life.

  “John! What the hell is going on? Where are you?”

  It felt great to hear the kid. “Relax, I’m okay. But I need your help.”

  “What’s going on? I’ve been listening to everything. Are you in a train station? Are you all right?”

  I hauled myself up onto the platform. Some people stared at me but I ignored them, walking past them as though it was perfectly natural that I had just emerged filthy and bruised from the depths of one of Tokyo’s subway tunnels. “I’ve been better, but we can talk about that later. Is the equipment still up and running?”

  “Yes, I’m still getting a feed on all the rooms in the building.”

  “Okay, that’s what I need to know. Who’s still in the building?”

  “Infrared says just one guy. Everyone else left right after you.”

  “Yamaoto, too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where’s the guy who stayed behind?”

  “Very last room on the right as you face the building — where the three men took you. He’s been there since you got out.”

  That would be Flatnose or one of his boys — must not have been in condition to come after me. It felt good to know.

  “Okay, here’s the situation. They all think I’m on the back of a subway to Mita, and that’s where they’re going to converge in about four minutes. It’ll take them maybe another five to figure out that I’m not there and that they’ve lost me, and another five after that to get back to the Conviction building. So I’ve got fourteen minutes to get back in there and plant the bug.”

  “What? You don’t know where they are. What if they didn’t all go to Mita? They could come back while you’re still in there!”

  “I’m counting on you to let me know if that’s going to happen. You’re still getting a video feed from the van, right?”

  “Yeah, it’s still broadcasting.”

  “Look, I’m practically at the building now — still all clear?”

  “Still all clear, but this is crazy.”

  “I’m never going to get a better chance. They’re all out of the building, nothing’s going to be locked, and when they get back, we’ll be able to hear everything they say. I’m going in.”

  “Okay, I can see you now. Do it fast.”

  That advice I didn’t need. I went through the stairway doors and turned right, then jogged down the hallway to the entrance. As I expected, they had left in a hurry and it was wide open.

  Yamaoto’s office was three doors down to the right. I was going to be in and out in no time.

  The door was closed. I reached out for the knob, tried to turn it.

  “Oh, fuck,” I breathed.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s locked.”

  “Forget it — put the bug somewhere else.”

  “I can’t — this is where we need to listen.” I examined the lock, and could see that it was only a regular five-pin tumbler. Not a big deal. “Hang on a minute. I think I can get in.”

  “John, get out of there. They could come back at any time.”

  I didn’t answer. I slipped out my keys and detached one of my homemade picks and the dental mirror. The latter’s long, slim handle made for a nice field-expedient tension wrench. I slipped the handle into the lock and gently rotated it clockwise. When the slack in the cylinder was gone, I eased in the pick and started working the fifth tumbler.

  “Don’t try to pick the lock! You’re no good at it! Just put it somewhere else and get out!”

  “What do you mean I’m no good at it? I taught you how to do it, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, that’s how I know you’re no good.” He stopped. Probably figured it was useless to try to stop me so he might as well let me concentrate.

  I felt the fifth tumbler click, then lost it. Damn. I turned the dental mirror another fraction, tightening the cylinder against the pins. “Harry? I miss your voice. . . .” Another tumbler slipped.

  “Don’t talk to me. Concentrate.”

  “I am, but it’s so hard. . . .” I felt the fifth pin click and hold. The next three were easy. Just one more.

  The last pin was damaged. I couldn’t feel the click. I worked the pick up and down, but couldn’t get anything.

  “C’mon, sweetheart, where are you?” I breathed. I held my breath and jiggled the pick.

  I never felt the tumbler click into place. But the knob was suddenly free. It twisted to the right and I was in.

  The office was the same as when I’d left it. Even the lights were still on. I knelt down next to the leather couch and felt its underside. It was covered with some kind of cloth. The edges were stapled to what felt like wood. Good backing to attach the bug.

  I pulled the adhesive covering off the transmitter and pressed it into place. Anyone talking in this room was going to come through loud and clear.

  Harry’s voice in my ear: “John, two of them just got back. They’re coming up the walkway. Get out right now. Use the side exit — the one at the left side of building as you face it.”

  “Shit, the transmitter’s already in place. I’m not going to be able to respond to you once I leave this room. Keep talking to me.”

  “They just stopped at the end of the walkway to the front entrance. Maybe they’re waiting for the others. Go down to the side entrance and stay there until I tell you you’re clear.”

  “Okay. I’m gone.” I relocked the door from the inside, then backed out and closed it behind me. Turned and started to move in the direction of the exterior corridor.

  Flatnose was coming down the hallway. His shirt was covered with blood. The table must have caught him in the face and broken his nose again. It hadn’t improved his appearance. Hoarse animal sounds were rumbling up out of his chest.

  He was standing between me and the entrance. Nowhere to go but through him.

  Harry again, a second late: “There’s one right in front of you! And the others are coming up the walk!”

  Flatnose dropped his head, his neck and shoulders bunching, looking like a bull about to charge.

  All he wanted was to get his hands on me. He was going to come at me hard, crazed with rage, not thinking.

  He launched himself at me, closing the gap fast. As he lunged for my neck, I grabbed his wet shirt and dropped to the floor in modified tomo-nage, my right foot catching him in the balls and hurling him over me. He landed on his back with a thud I could feel through the floor. Using the momentum of the throw I rolled to my feet, took two long steps over to him, and leaped into the air like a pissed-off bronco, coming down with both feet as hard as I could on his prone torso. I felt bones breaking inside him and all the air being driven from his body. He made a sound like a
balloon deflating in a puddle of water and I knew he was done.

  I lurched toward the corridor, then stopped. If they found him like this in the middle of the hallway, they would know I’d been back here, maybe figure out why. They might look for a bug. I had to get him back to the room at the other end of the hallway, where it would look like he’d died by a freak shot from the table.

  His legs were pointing in the right direction. I squatted between them, facing away from him, grabbed him around the knees and stood. He was heavier than he looked. I leaned forward and dragged him, feeling like a horse yoked to a wagon with square wheels. There were bursts of pain in my back.

  Harry’s voice in my ear again: “What are you doing? They’re coming in the front entrance. You’ve got maybe twelve seconds to get clear of the corridor.”

  I dumped him in the room at the end of the hallway and raced out into the corridor, sprinting toward the side exit.

  I reached the entrance to the side stairwell and heard the door on the opposite side of the corridor opening. I yanked open the door and threw myself through it, pulling it shut behind me but stopping it before it closed completely.

  I squatted on the landing, fighting the screaming need to breathe, holding the door open a crack and watching as three of Yamaoto’s men walked into the corridor. One of them was doubled over — the guy I had nailed with the can of coffee. They walked into Conviction’s offices and out of my field of vision.

  Immediately, I heard Harry: “They’re back in the office. The front of the building is clear. Walk out the side exit now and head east across the park toward Sakurada-dori.”