by James Quinn
“That's everything we have on where we think they'll take you,” said Miko.
Grant opened it up and flicked through the contents; maps, routes in and routes out, a weapons lists for the rest of the team as well as an operational plan on how the attack would happen and in what order. He skimmed through it all. It sounded feasible on an initial glance; he would study it later when the girl was gone. Then he would burn it, inside the hotel bathroom.
“How is everyone?” he asked.
She nodded. “They are ready, I think. Men… they are always so impatient to start causing death and destruction.”
“And you?”
She smiled sadly. “I am ready too. The hardest part has been the waiting.”
Grant nodded. He understood that, too well. It was always the hardest part… the waiting for that call to action. The fear, the doubts, the paranoia. Just hard.
“Was it hard for you, Mr. Grant?” asked Miko. “Being out of reach for so long?”
He placed the briefing file on the bed next to him and sat down. He rubbed his hands through his beard and over his hair, as if he was trying to scrape away the stress of the past few months living inside an enemy camp. “It was difficult, but not impossible.”
“But was it worth it?”
He shrugged. “We'll soon see, won't we Miss Arato?” he said, looking up at her in her uniform, her disguise. He thought she resembled a doll – so tiny and fragile. Their eyes locked for a moment – not long – but long enough for both of them to sense something between them. She took a step towards him and gently caressed his face.
“Thank you for all of this, Mr. Grant,” she said and then quickly turned, collected the hostess trolley and left the room without saying another word.
* * *
An hour later he was in bed, his mind turning over the information in the intelligence file Miko had delivered to him. The location, the history, the expected number of targets. But it was the girl who held court over his mind the most. The complexity and contrast of her. A beautiful, fragile woman who was willing to give up her life, liberty and freedom to walk into hell with a bunch of trained killers on a possible suicide mission. And all to avenge the man she'd barely known as a father. Most of the women he knew would have simply thrown a wreath on the grave and moved on with their lives. But this young woman, well, she was something unique.
He was on the point of drifting off to sleep when he heard the click of the door as it was eased open in the darkness. A hotel pass key, he guessed. Instantly he was alert, old habits and old training die hard. Grant raised himself up on one elbow and with his other hand, he reached for the straight razor he kept beneath the pillow. He was naked beneath the sheets; the heat inside the hotel had forced him to sleep that way.
“You won't need the razor,” said Miko.
He said nothing and watched as she quietly entered the room and closed the door behind her. The ambient light from the street cast a neon sheen of blue over her. She stepped to the side and out of its haze, blending into the blackness of the room. He heard the shuffling of material as she quickly removed her clothes and then the sheets on the bed were pulled back and her lithe body was resting against his.
“Did you forget something?” he asked, trying to located her eyes in the darkness.
For an answer she placed one slender finger on his lips to silence him and then she rolled her body over his torso so that she was straddling him. She was in control, and despite his inbred reluctance to relinquish physical power, he willingly submitted. Her hands splayed across his chest as she leaned forward, her hair dropping downwards as their lips met. The kiss was tender, soft and both embraced it fully. He worked his hands up to her breasts and his fingers found her nipples; she moaned as they hardened beneath his thumbs. She reached down between her thighs to discover him as hard as stone and gently guided him into her wetness. She trembled at first, eager to take all of him into her and then slowly, she relaxed. She rode him gently, her hips moving forwards and back in a fluid motion, bringing him on. Grant held her up with his strong arms, thrusting himself upwards into her again and again, watching as her back arched in pleasure, her breasts thrust outwards. The intensity increased, their eyes locked, and they moved together as one until they both climaxed, both crying out in pleasure. Miko bent her head down, her black hair falling onto his chest, tears falling from her eyes.
They lay silent in the darkness, listening to the noise of Tokyo's nightlife outside, each unsure what to talk about or how to say it. For both of them, the love making had been nothing but a physical release, a salve to ease the stress and tension before tomorrow began. It was the coupling of two people who might die tomorrow. Finally, Grant broke the silence. “Are you sure you want to go through with this? The hit, the killing tomorrow?” he asked in a low voice.
Miko lay silent for a while longer, as if he'd managed to read her thoughts and she was considering her options. Would she back out at the last minute? Everybody said that it would be fine, but really, they meant the opposite. You could never back out, never walk away, never quit the mission. She propped herself up on one elbow and looked down at him. She gently caressed his face. “I have an obligation; my concerns do not matter. I have the chance to avenge my father and I have to protect my team,” she said simply. “I have made a choice and there can be no turning back now.”
He understood; he'd been there himself, many times, had forced himself to see through operations that lesser men would quake at. It wasn't for everyone, it changed people, sometimes for the worse, sometimes for the better, but it changed them nevertheless. “So what was all this,” he asked, indicating the bed where they'd made love moments before. “Condemned man's last request?”
She smiled. “It might be the last time for both of us. There is no one else who would understand here, tonight, in this situation.”
He nodded and turned over to face her. He ran his hand gently down the curve of her breast. As if sensing his conflict, she spoke. “Can I tell you a story, a story about my father?”
“Talk, if it will help.”
She smiled at him, and quickly kissed him one final time. “The first time I met my father, was when I was just a child. My mother and I travelled to Singapore to meet him. My mother only said that we were going to meet an old friend of hers; I had no idea we would be meeting a man, let alone my father. Up until that point, the idea of a father had never even occurred to me. Family had consisted of my mother, my uncle Hiro and a few distant cousins. A father had never been mentioned. When we arrived at the hotel where he was staying, my mother and I were greeted at the door by a handsome man wearing a beautiful cream suit. I thought he looked like a movie star from a Hollywood film. He was tall and slim, tanned for a westerner and very handsome. We sat and had afternoon tea together, the three of us. I could tell that my mother loved him and he was a perfect gentleman, had impeccable manners. We talked until late into the evening about everything… he asked me about my home, my life, what I wanted to do when I grew up. I told him I wanted to be a ballet dancer. He smiled and said that I would make a wonderful dancer. The next day, we met him again and he took us shopping. He bought me a beautiful dress, one that I still have somewhere, packed away with my other childhood memories.”
Grant smiled to himself. He'd never met the old C personally, only seen him in passing, but he knew the man had been a ruthless intelligence officer back in his day. So this new angle on the old spymaster had taken him by surprise. “Did you ever meet him again?”
She smiled. “Of course! Many times over the years. My father and I had a wonderful relationship, he guided me, protected me and gave me many opportunities in my career. But most of all he gave me love, a love that had been missing when I was younger. He made amends for not being there.”
“And then the Raven happened,” said Grant.
“Then the Raven took him from me… that is something I will not forget. My father lived that dangerous type of life, as you do, but to die
old and defenceless and in that manner… that I cannot forgive,” she said bitterly.
“So, we go all the way, Miko?”
“Yes Jack – me, you, those boys, we go all the way to the end and we finish this. We are Ronin.” She saw his confusion. “You are not familiar with the term?”
He shook his head. “No.”
She ran one delicate hand down the side of his face and nestled her head against his shoulder. “Ronin were a group of masterless Samurai in feudal Japan. They were mercenaries who would work on contract, or for the highest bidder. But occasionally, even Ronin can come together for a greater cause.”
“A greater cause! Well, we have that alright,” said Grant.
“We have revenge, which is certainly an important factor for what we're about to do. But we also have a duty as human beings, to stop the possible genocide this madman wants to inflict upon the world in the name of greed and the lust for power.”
Jack thought back to the footage of the boy mauling the goat in the lab and shuddered. The image chilled him to the bone.
Miko carried on. “At times, the Ronin knew they may not survive in battle, quite often they were simply outnumbered. Even though they were no longer of the Samurai class, their greatest hope was that they would experience a warrior's death in combat. I think for us tomorrow; we should expect the same. To destroy evil, even if it means that we die a lonely death and the rest of the world will carry on as if nothing had happened, unaware of our sacrifice. That is a good thing.”
Grant relaxed back onto the bed, one hand resting lazily on her hip, both of them enjoying the warmth of each other and the security of the darkened hotel room. Sleep took him and his dreams were fitful at first with his mind in turmoil. What had he become over the past few months, since he left his home in Arisaig? How did he define himself now? He was no longer a government agent of the Secret Intelligence Service; as far as they were concerned, he was old news and didn't exist anymore. But he also wasn't a full-on mercenary or contract killer working for the highest pay-packet either. He was a hybrid, something resting between two worlds. He'd killed people certainly, and he would be killing a lot more before this task was completed. What had he become and where would it take him? Ronin. He thought the word suited him perfectly now.
In the darkness it was a good sleep, deep and powerful. Gorilla was always that way before a “job”. He slept the sleep of contentment and peace. When he awoke the next morning, Miko had gone, and for a few brief moments he wasn't sure if her visit had been nothing more than a wonderful dream.
Chapter Four
Gorilla could sense the end game playing out and tonight would bring the operation of the past few months to a very violent conclusion. Whether he would still be alive at the end of the night was another matter.
He was standing on a street corner in the Nihonbashi district, ironically enough, opposite the building which housed Nakata Industries. It was early evening and the streets of Tokyo were teeming with pedestrians. The night was crisp and cold, and he guessed there might be snow in the air before too long. He stood staring at a newspaper absently, not knowing what any of the words meant. The crowds moved around the foreigner, like water avoiding a rock in a stream.
He would never be allowed inside the legitimate arm of the clan, the big glass-fronted building that was the cover for Nakata's official profession. The clan and its facade would forever be two separate entities and in truth, he had no interest in that part of the Raven's operation. It was the Karasu's sanctuary he wanted, the place where the clan leader deemed himself to be safe and secure.
He was dressed in clothes suitable for the winter's night. Dark trousers, black turtle neck sweater and a short black coat. Earlier that day, he'd visited the hotel barber and had his beard shaved off and his hair cropped short, revealing his natural white/blond coloring. With the beard gone, his face looked harder and leaner. It was as if he had removed a mask, a disguise, now that the final stages of the operation were happening, to reveal his true identity, his battle face. His shoes, a present from Penn, were heavy-soled and gripped well and were his one concession to his attire. The shoes would be good for fighting in. Good for stability in the snow and with a sole heavy enough to do some damage in a scrap. The shoes held another secret also – a small tracking device buried deep in the sole, no bigger than a coin. It was his lifeline to the rest of the team. As long as he didn't lose his shoes, they'd be able to follow and find him. He knew they would be near even now, sitting in the back of a discreet van they'd bought, watching and waiting.
An hour ago, he'd received a call from Hokku at his hotel, telling him to wait on a certain street at a certain time and he would be 'collected'. So it was no surprise when, almost exactly to the second, a dark BMW sedan pulled up. He instantly reached for the handle and climbed into the car. The interior was dark and warm and the only thing he had to look at was the neck of the driver as he pulled away into the traffic.
“Where are we going?” asked Gorilla
The young driver glanced at him. “To the pagoda,” he announced curtly.
The drive, Gorilla estimated, would take them around two hours at this time of night. Out of the city and away into the vastness of the Japanese countryside. Gorilla just hoped and prayed the tracker in his shoe was doing its job and the rest of the Sentinel team were still 'on' him, in the distance, tethered to him by an invisible lifeline. They passed picture perfect countryside in the darkness, only the odd light here or there providing any hint of civilisation. In the distance, snow-covered mountains stood watch and even down here on the low ground, the gentle snowfall made the forests and plains look as if they'd been painted with white blossoms from the trees.
Gorilla lay back in the seat and closed his eyes. He knew what was about to happen and there was nothing he could do about it yet. So rest when you can, that was the golden rule. But even lying back in the deep leather seats of the car, his mind was still working out the angles and what he needed to do. Get the team together, get them focused, get past the guards and then… then was the easy part. The killing, the pulling of triggers, the aligning of the sights were all done with speed, aggression and surprise. The team would have to be both ruthless and brutal.
Somewhere on the journey, he must have nodded off for a while, probably only minutes really. But the warmth of the interior and gentle rocking of the car as it traversed the undulating country roads had an effect. He jerked awake with a start. Checking his watch, he guessed they were only another thirty minutes out from their destination. The time of rest was over; it was time for him to do what he did best.
He took one final look at the back of the driver's head, taking in his thin neck and close-cropped hair. He was no more than a kid, no doubt a junior somewhere within the clan, used for running errands and driving people to meet the Karasu. Tough luck, thought Gorilla. He didn't care who the driver was; how old he was or what he did. He only knew that what he was about to do had to be done quickly, violently and without mercy. With his left hand, he gripped the back of the driver's seat firmly, planted his feet hard against the floor of the car to give him grip and then twisted his short body in an arc. He watched as his hook punch blasted in slow motion into the ear of the young driver, knocking his head like a billiard ball into the glass of the driver's side window. A smear of blood spread onto the cracked glass and then Gorilla was launching more punches, once again into the same spot, the ear. He pounded the side of the man's head mercilessly three, then four times.
The car lurched, twisting in the empty country road, as the driver slipped into unconsciousness. Gorilla was thrown around in the back, bracing himself for what he knew was inevitable as the car seemed to pick a straight course and sped up, aiming for a ditch. There was a sudden, out-of-control spurt as the driver's foot floored the pedal and then a series of slow, descending bumps as it fell deeper down the embankment. Finally, there a solid thud of noise and energy as the vehicle smacked into a large tree. Then there was only sti
llness and silence.
Gorilla ended up wedged in the rear footwell of the car. He reached up and lifted the door lock, prising open the interior door handle and kicking out with his feet until the door swung itself open. The cold blast of air which hit him made him glad of his heavy jacket on this frosty night. Cautiously, he made his way out of the vehicle and into the night. The car was nose down in the ditch, its bonnet crumpled like a paper cup, and its rear wheels free of the ground and spinning. The driver had been tossed around like a rag doll and he was spread-eagled over the front seats. Mercifully, he was still unconscious. Gorilla made his way up the embankment until he reached the main road. He searched carefully and could see the skid marks on the snow-covered road, they twisted and turned like a snake before veering off into the fringes of the forest. The good news was that anyone finding the car would simply assume it had skidded on a patch of ice, rather than the driver being beaten unconscious.
He stood on the edge of the verge, banging his feet and keeping his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his coat. It didn't take long before the headlights of an approaching vehicle caught him in their glare; he winced and then re-focused as an old van pulled to a halt on the side of the gravel path. It was his team. The driver's window was wound down and a hard face poked out and barked something at him in what sounded like guttural Japanese. Gorilla just stared blankly and then was treated to the English translation when Hodges peered out from the dark interior of the truck's cab. “He says it's a bad night to be out in the countryside alone, especially for a gaijin, and especially for someone as ugly as you. Get in; we've got a lot of work to do.”
