by CJ Martín
“Interesting. I’ve read your record. I’ve talked to people who worked with you. Sadly, they had to be disposed of--we wouldn’t want you to be tipped off now would we?” He spoke with a lopsided grin that gave Tanaka the creeps.
There was one other guard with him and presumably someone driving. The guard held a black automatic weapon of some kind and his clothes were black from head to toe. The black mask completed the look--like a Muslim terrorist as seen on CNN readying his weapon to fire a celebratory burst above an increasingly stoked up crowd.
The man with the accent, in contrast, was well dressed and groomed. He could play the part of a European gentleman, save for a large scar down his right cheek, a reflection of the deeper scar in his heart. He seemed to be enjoying himself.
Letting Tanaka’s head drop, the man turned to sink back into his seat.
“They all spoke of your fortitude in extraordinary situations. Even the Baathists failed to get you to talk, I hear. But now I have the poison dart and your heel is exposed.”
Tanaka spoke up. “Where are we going?”
“Oh, we will be there momentarily. But I wouldn’t be in a rush if I were you. Just know that we have all night,” he said giving out a chuckle. “This will be a night to remember. A night my boss has been planning for many years.”
Tanaka spent the rest of the ride in silence. The man with the Scandinavian accent seemed content to do the same.
He noticed that they had torn his shirt where the bullet wound was and had half patched him up. Was he to be made comfortable for his death? Or were they merely hoping to prolong his torture?
They had also removed his bullet-proof vest and the Gerber LHR combat knife that was hidden under his right pant leg. He couldn’t see his leg well or use his hands to feel down to make sure it was missing, but he noticed the knife on the bench next to his captor’s Parabellum looked just like it. He still felt a slight pressure on the bottom of his right leg, however. It appeared they were kind enough to leave the empty leg sheath.
The chains on his feet and hands were tight and secured to the van. He didn’t have many options now, but it appeared that they would have to remove the chains to get him out of the van. It was the only glimmer of hope he could see.
Presently, the van made a turn onto an even bumpier road. After about five minutes of more turns and bumps the van made a sudden stop.
“All right, Kazuo-san. Time to get out and meet the boss.”
The man reached in his pocket, toying with his keys acting as if he planned to unlock Tanaka then and there.
“Silly me. I really can’t allow you to leave at liberty,” he snickered as he dangled his keys in front of Tanaka before dropping them back in his pocket.
The Scandinavian snapped his fingers at the guard who brought over a bottle and a large piece of cheesecloth.
“I do apologize,” he said as he doused the cheesecloth with some liquid from the bottle, “but I simply do not trust you.”
Tanaka struggled as the man placed the cloth over his mouth and nose.
“Don’t struggle. Just say good night, Gracie.”
Everything went black.
PART III
Tanaka awoke with a pounding headache. He found himself seated on a wooden chair with his hands tied behind his back. His legs were also bound. Still, there was room for hope: the rope was thin and more importantly, he was able to move his legs away from the chair. While his arms seemed to be secured to the back of the chair, his legs were not.
The blond man was there to greet him.
“Ah, you are back. Just a moment, please,” he said with an overly polite tone and left the room.
The room was completely, blindingly white with no artwork on the walls and no furniture except the chair he was sitting on. The fluorescent lights above were dazzlingly bright. He had to squint his eyes while they adjusted. After a few moments, he noticed a dark, box-like object installed in the top right corner of the room and one guard standing next to the door. He couldn’t turn his head enough to see behind him, but guessed the rest of the room was mostly empty too.
A moment later an Asian woman in her forties walked in, followed by the Scandinavian. Tanaka didn’t recognize her but judging by the look on her face, she knew him well.
“Tanaka-san--or would you prefer Jun Aoki?” said the woman with a dark sneer, pausing to watch the reaction on his face.
Yakuza, thought Tanaka, struggling to show no reaction. They found me.
“Or perhaps Kazuo Kobayashi is your real name?” Her voice turned playful with a slight grim tone remaining.
Her research was thorough and accurate. Even so, he did not let his face betray his surprise or his despair.
“For twenty long years, I have been searching for you.”
She walked around him, taking her time. She was clearly savoring this moment.
“I wonder if your daughter knows of your past,” she whispered from behind him. Raising her voice, she motioned to the object on the corner wall. “Why don’t you say hello to your baby girl?” Tanaka’s eyes were now acclimated to the light. The box-like object in the corner was a video camera.
“Speaking of fathers,” she said in an even louder voice clearly for the benefit of the camera. “Do you remember mine? Tsugawara Kumi-cho.”
Tanaka was silent, but he remembered--all too well.
“You worked with him for over a year. He trusted you. And you betrayed that trust.”
She walked to his front, running her fingers through his hair as she turned. Like her voice, her fingers were icy.
“You were good. No one even suspected you were from the Criminal Investigation Bureau. Not until your old Chief Watanabe talked. You never heard what happened to him, did you?”
Watanabe was a good man. He had a family and strong sense of duty. There was an emotional tug to Tanaka’s heart upon hearing that name, but his face showed no stray emotions.
“If it makes you feel any better, he didn’t give your name until he only had six fingers left.”
His head was still throbbing, but the pain was a secondary concern.
She leaned forward with a perfectly level back: the hallmark of a well-born Japanese lady. Her eyes met his, measuring his resolve.
After a few moments of listening to him breathe, she straightened her posture and spoke to the camera in the corner.
“That is when we found out who you really were. My father was heart-broken,” she said, turning to him with a finger shaking showing a slight burst of emotion. “You were like a son to him.”
Tanaka looked down at his right hand. His right pinky was shorter than his left one, but he wasn't born with it that way. Going undercover in the world of the yakuza took everything he had and more. He’d spent a year visiting tattoo artists across Japan, inking his back one section at a time until a large dragon emerged.
The shortened finger came about when some fool detective busted a gaggle of low rung gangsters. Tanaka was in that group trying to get names and gain influence. It was a lucky break, though. Against his boss’ objections, Tanaka was allowed to be placed in a prison near Tsugawara Kumi-cho’s group for a few months. It was a treasure trove of information and contacts. And the finger... it was Tanaka’s idea--by a competent police surgeon and with lots of meds of course. All this was enough to get the attention of Tsugawara’s group. When Tanaka was in, he was in all the way.
“We dumped his body miles off-shore.”
Tanaka snapped back to the present, the image of poor Watanabe competing with the throbbing pain in his head.
“Using all the connections available we managed to put our own man in his place--your new boss. But of course you know all that.”
Turning once more to the camera, she continued, “So you see, Emily, your father didn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. He refused to obey orders and continued poking and prodding in areas that didn’t concern him. After being stripped of his authority, your father went to the press. Oh, it was a mess, b
ut we were able to contain the story and convince the public that his allegations were nothing more than slander.”
Like a victim accusing her assaulter, she got in Tanaka’s personal space and spat, “But you had to go to the Americans. You had to go to the Philippines and hunt down my father and his associates like dogs.”
There was a long pause. Tanaka kept his head down low and away from her eyes. Even still, he could sense that she was staring him down.
“Tell me. How did you get the Americans to grant you protection and asylum?”
Tanaka cleared his voice and spoke softly, hoping to draw her a little closer. “I told them of your father’s involvement in the Wilson affair. I had proof and they appreciated my help.”
“By ‘help’ you mean murdering my father,” she said, backing away.
Tanaka didn’t like where this was going. With the woman, the Scandinavian, and a guard all in the room he had no chance of escape. Somehow, he had to even the odds.
“I see your worried look. But it isn’t what you think. I have to admit, I’ve softened over the past twenty years. You’re lucky it took me this long to find you. My early plans for you would have been very uncomfortable indeed,” she said with a low, husky voice. “You will go free. Yes, you will live--live a long life, I hope.” She wore a biting smile. “But your daughter dies. She dies today.” She emphasized the last word.
Tanaka visibly cringed at those words. “If you touch my daughter, I will hunt you down,” he spat out, letting his emotions flow down a path they had not traveled for many years.
“I really wish you wouldn’t say such things. My patience and generosity only go so far.”
Tanaka flexed his arms and shot daggers out of his eyes, but with little effect.
“Bring the girl in.”
About a minute later, his daughter rushed in, falling down at his feet sobbing. She had some reddened marks on her wrists and bags under her eyes, but otherwise looked unharmed.
“You have five minutes to say goodbye. That is more than you gave me.” Turning to the guard she commanded, “If she tries to free him or he looks at you strangely, shoot them both.”
After a moment, they were alone with only one guard and that camera watching. The guard stood against the wall fingering his weapon.
Tanaka and his daughter were speechless. What can you say to your daughter in such a situation, he wondered. Even the inchoate plan of action he had in mind was a long shot and required a lucky set of events. What could he say to her?
“Daddy, I... I’m so sorry,” his daughter broke the tortured silence.
Like rushing water determined to flow, they spoke of the past with mutual tears of regret and meaningful love, but not daring to speak of hope or of the future.
A few minutes later, the blond man entered and motioned for the guard to take the daughter to the “out house.” He did so, ripping her unwilling body from her father’s slumped figure. The sobbing and cries continued out the door, shrinking as the distance grew.
Once alone, the blond man took a step back into the other room and then re-emerged, dragging a table behind him. The table had a bundle of wire and a large knife on it. As the table drew closer, Tanaka realized the knife on it was his. The man had a smirk that seemed to invite someone to wipe it off. Tanaka hoped for a chance to oblige.
“I’ve been asked by my boss to do a bit of surgery on your right pinky. She thinks it will complement your other hand,” the man said as he grabbed a piece of wire, intending to secure Tanaka’s arm to the right side of the chair. “It was very nice of you to provide your own knife.”
Tanaka saw his chance, but he had to position the man in front of him.
“Personally, I would have opted for a dull blade. It makes cutting much more pleasurable. But we can only work with what tools we have before us, isn’t that right?” The man finished off the question with a smile.
In a soft, defeated voice, Tanaka mumbled something toward the floor.
The man’s smile instantly changed into a look of disgust.
“You will talk to me. You will beg to me for mercy,” the man spat out after rushing to grab Tanaka’s chin.
He leaned in. “You see, I have the power to make your daughter die quickly. Or... I could just as easily take things slowly.” Smiling, he nudged ever closer to Tanaka’s ear and whispered, “I think I will enjoy her very much.” With that, the man backed away a few feet smiling.
The Scandinavian heard the whisper of metal followed by a sharp inexplicable pain in his groin.
Tanaka had rubbed his right shoe against his left evoking a small blade. His shoes were specially equipped with a piece of sharp metal sandwiched between the sole and the insole; a spring located under the arch of his foot activated the blade.
With one mighty kick, he stabbed the man between the legs causing him to lurch forward into Tanaka’s face. Tanaka’s mouth opened and latched on an ear, ripping flesh and blood from the side of the man’s head. A second swift kick sent the man to the wall, slamming the back of his head hard while the blade retreated, ripping flesh from his groin. Stunned, the man slid down the wall to lie motionless on the floor.
Stomping the ground, Tanaka followed with a powerful kick off the floor. He managed to twist free from the now broken seat. On the floor, he rolled onto his back long enough to pull his bound hands under his bottom and thread his legs through. Using the momentum of the roll, he was on his feet with his hands in front of him a second later. They were still bound, but his hands were in front and ready to grab the knife--his knife that was intended for his finger.
He managed to leap to the table just in time to take the knife and flick it into the neck of a guard rushing in. Upgrading his weapon to the guard’s pistol, he leaped into the other room. No one was there.
He had to find his daughter quickly, and yet it seemed to take forever to cut his arms and legs free. Thankfully, he always kept his knives reasonably sharp and no one disturbed him.
Returning his attention to the dead guard, Tanaka quickly gave him a pat down for anything he could use. The guard had a bullet-proof vest and some keys. Tanaka took both and returned his now bloodied knife to his leg sheath.
The whole scene had undoubtedly been fully visible to the camera. There would be people coming, and who knew what they would do to his daughter now.
Without a second to lose, Tanaka rushed out the front door and rolled into the nearest shadow. It was a moonless night, but a solitary lamppost cast its glow of diffused light around the corner. The rain had stopped, but the ground was a sticky wet. He rubbed his wrists, readjusted the gun, and made for the dark wall a few feet from the light.
From this position, he could see the other house and outlying trees. The door was slightly ajar. It seemed they were waiting for him. The house was small, probably only two rooms. From this angle he only saw one door and one window that allowed a muffled light to escape. There were no other buildings in sight, only trees and that lamppost. There was at least one guard with the woman and they must be in there, he thought. In there... with his daughter.
Just to be safe, he circled around the house, staying deep among the trees, checking and clearing each area in turn. Although Tanaka hated to waste valuable minutes, he knew that the procedure was necessary: he wouldn’t be much help to his daughter if he were dead.
Behind the house Tanaka saw another window, but it was too small and too high to be any use. He couldn’t be sure that he had checked every angle, but he felt positive there was no one outside. He had to get inside, and quickly.
Stopping under the window near the door he tried to peek inside, but the shades blocked the view completely. Grabbing a long, fallen branch, he silently headed to the door. After pausing for a short prayer and even shorter breath, Tanaka whipped the branch against the window making a tapping sound he hoped would be enough of a diversion. A kick to the door and a roll inside had Tanaka firing his weapon at a confused man who was peering out the window.
A quick glance told Tanaka that the man would not be getting up. He stood and prepared to turn the corner just as he heard a woman’s voice.
“Clearly, you are a worthy opponent. But the game’s over. Drop the gun or I drop your daughter.”
The daughter of the yakuza Tanaka had killed years before was holding a mini-revolver to his daughter’s head.
He started to lower his throbbing arms, knowing his shot was compromised--he no longer had complete control over his arms, and the pain was only dampened by the adrenaline and the extreme situation.
“That’s right. Be a good boy.”
Tanaka saw the woman smirk and tighten her finger on the trigger.
Realizing this was his last chance, he took the shot anyway, steadying his right arm on top of his left. He quaked with pain from the recoil as the bullet found its target. Dropping the gun, he rushed to his daughter who was hyperventilating over the dead woman’s body.
“Daddy...,” she said between quick and shallow breaths.
“It’s all right sweetheart. Don’t look down. Just look at me. It will be all right.”
She wrapped her arms around him in an embrace that caused Tanaka both extreme pain and pleasure. He couldn’t remember the last time she gave him a hug. Perhaps when she was five?
“Emily, we need to call the police,” he said while staggering to the wall, preferring to lean against it rather than to fall down. “Look for a cell phone. She must have had one.”
Emily surveyed the room. Sealed boxes sat in a corner and a large desk occupied the center of the room. Some keys were thrown on top of the desk, but nothing else. Circling the desk, she noticed one of the drawers was cracked open slightly. There was a purse. Her hands shaking, she dumped its contents out on the table.
