Hibiki squeezed her shoulder. “There is no shame in fighting here too. You are still fighting for your family and friends.”
Mai nodded. “You’re right. My fear is unfounded.” She put a hand out and patted his knee. “Be careful, my friend. Keep Chika safe and look after yourself.”
Hibiki scowled. “What does that mean? Surely you can’t—”
“I’m doing this alone.” Mai said quietly and forcefully. “For one, you need deniability. And more, I need you with Chika. If this goes down the way I see it . . . you may never see me again, Dai.”
Hibiki swallowed hard but said nothing.
Mai reached for the door catch, still clutching the file Gyuki had given her and already planning her next move. She paused as Hibiki began to speak.
“I remember you,” he said softly. “From the first few months around the office to that damn Coscon where you took out the whole of the local Yakuza. I was there, I know, and I helped, but you came through, Mai. You took the risks, you stole the show. Deservedly, you became a legend.”
“Thank you.”
“That damn costume,” he chuckled. “When you walked into the station dressed in that cosplay outfit there wasn’t a stick of work done for a whole six minutes. And even when you were kicking the Yakuza from here to hell and back, not one of them knew whether to worship, fight or photograph you. An honorable respectful real-life super hero.”
Mai cracked open the door.
“Whatever you have to do,” Hibiki said to her back. “Make it moral and honorable, and make it count.”
*****
Mai travelled by taxi to Tokyo Bay, ignoring the file Gyuki had provided, instead gazing through the grimy window at the busy sidewalks and streets she knew so well. Barely an inch of road was visible beneath the myriad buses, cars, bicycles and minivans which flew in all directions. Trees lined the streets, masses of scooters parked beneath their overhanging branches. Long, colorful banners hung down the side of every shop front and from the buildings above, advertising everything from sex to sushi. The noise was filtered by the closed window, but Mai’s ears still reverberated from the din outside. The taxi driver had the radio tuned into NHK so Mai asked him to turn it up.
“No further details at this point, though it is known that Vice President Dolan is currently in crisis talks with the Joint Chiefs and members of the Cabinet. To recap, the YouTube broadcast by the man known as the Blood King, Dmitry Kovalenko, subsequently removed, is thought to be genuine. We—”
Mai tuned out, her thoughts with Drake and the rest of the team. By the time the taxi had threaded its way over to Tokyo Bay, her calm center was anything but. Of all the times for something so critical to happen . . .
Mai comforted herself with the knowledge that she had been able to save Chika, and that Hibiki too was safe. She paid the taxi driver and stepped out into a stiff Tokyo breeze blowing in across the bay. A tiny coffee shop stood forlornly on a nearby corner, scruffy tables and chairs, and indeed the entire trashy façade, in need of enhancement, but offering just the kind of anonymity Mai needed. She paid for a bottle of water and sat down, opening the file. An initial glance had already told her where her target was likely to be for the next three hours. Now it was time to read and digest the rest.
Akio Hayami was a local businessman, chiefly an accountant, who laundered money for the Clan. They wanted rid of him because of ‘anomalies’. It was that simple, except Mai knew it would be anything but. The Clan would not furnish her with the full picture, only with what they thought was in their own interests. The Clan would never change for the better.
Mai read the information, scrutinizing every last detail of the man, Hayami. On paper, he looked guilty, just as much a criminal as most of the inmates of Fuchu, but Mai held her judgment. The problem was, what other choice did she have? The job, according to the file, was to isolate Hayami and make him ‘disappear’. That was it. No questioning, no investigation. They were, quite simply, ordering her to commit murder.
Mai sat back, casting her gaze across the bay. Blue water rolled and undulated out there, the wave tops caught by the sun and made to glitter. White yachts dotted its surface, tacking into the wind. Closer at hand, dozens of various-sized vessels lay at rest, tied up to the nearest dock. Hayami would be on one of these, alone, working for the Clan. Mai cast her own eye down the figures. Hayami was well paid for his work. If he was cooking the books, he was a greedy, stupid man who probably deserved all he got. But then, he was helping one of the most ruthlessly efficient and murderous groups in the world. Mai wondered if Hayami even knew what they did to survive. He was not one of their vicious bunch, and was far removed from their terrifyingly bloodthirsty inner circle. Did he deserve to die?
Mai put her morals aside. What choice do I have? The only way into their village was with Gyuki, and the only way to fool Gyuki was not to fool him at all. She had to go through with this.
Mai finished the last of her water and rose, eyeing the slips where yachts were docked. Signage told her that Hayami’s boat was moored behind the coffee shop to the right, and her careful surveillance of that area whilst drinking the water told her that only one CCTV stanchion overlooked it. Mai wandered warily over, eyeing the camera and trailing wire as she approached. The coaxial cable dangled loose and flapped intermittently against the metal stanchion. Mai leaned against it, pretending to look through her mobile, and quickly cut through the wires with a small foldaway knife.
One thing about the advent of mobile phones, she reflected, They make loitering around appear so much more authentic.
She continued along the dock, unsure how quickly the guards would respond, if indeed there were any live guards and the whole thing wasn’t run by automaton. Hayami’s yacht swayed and swelled a little way down, gleaming white under the lowering late-afternoon sun. The deck was empty, but she thought she could spy lights on inside. She cast about, seeing no signs of anyone but figures in the distance. Gyuki, she was sure, would be somewhere around, but she held out little hope of being able to spot him.
Mai walked down the slip alongside the yacht, secured the file, and pulled herself aboard. Without sound she padded toward the back of the boat, careful to stay low and cast no shadows across the wide windows. At one point she ended up crawling, but eventually came around a blind corner and saw the rear sliding doors standing slightly open. To her right, a winding staircase led to the upper deck. Mai crawled forward, waiting behind a conveniently located potted plant, and tried to peer through the smoked glass. Beyond the doors was a small aft deck, dominated by an eight-sided table, more flowers and a small leather sofa. If Mai’s yacht knowledge was any good, the doors beyond the aft deck would lead to the saloon and wet bar. Hayami probably liked to drown his sorrows in there while working for bad men.
Quickly, she slipped through the smoked-glass doors and skirted the polished table. Through the second set of doors, she discerned the bright glow of a computer screen and the shadow of a man sitting in front of it. The man’s head was bowed, held between both hands, and the crystal tumbler at his side was empty but for a few cubes of ice.
Mai cracked the last set of doors, poised in case they made any sound, mindful that the Clan may even have devised this scenario as an elaborate trap. The fastest way out was by following a chair through one of the side windows and out into the bay, but no one stepped forward.
Mai advanced all the way until she could almost touch Hayami on the shoulder. She paused, riddled with doubt, but there was no going back now. She prepared to punch one of the nerve clusters at the base of Hayami’s neck, took a breath, and then paused.
The file had not mentioned children.
Nestled beside Hayami’s computer, inside a tiny silver frame, sat a photo of the man and two teenagers. The resemblance was undeniable. Hayami swung around at that point, perhaps sensing her presence or catching a reflection. The man’s eyes were huge.
“Who . . . who are you?”
“You have children?
” Mai remained poised.
“Y . . . yes. Emiko, my girl, and Jien, my boy.”
“How old are they?” Mai was playing for time, thinking hard.
“Emiko—she is sixteen. Jien is eighteen. Why?”
Hayami raised his hands and stood up slowly. There was nowhere for him to go, and he didn’t even try to conceal his work.
Mai fought to hide her trepidation. “You know why I’m here?”
“The . . . the Tsugarai?”
Mai felt a rush of distaste at the very mention of the name. For her, it remained unspeakable. “You have angered them.”
“I’ve done nothing wrong!” Hayami looked flustered. “For them, I mean. I clean their money. I don’t even know what they do.”
“Then you should ask more questions,” Mai hissed. “If only to test your conscience. If only to ensure you don’t end up in Hell.”
Hayami’s mouth worked but no sound came forth. Mai set her jaw. “What did you do to anger them?”
“Nothing! I swear, I would never do anything to upset the Tsugarai.”
“I thought you didn’t know what they did. You are lying to me.”
“I don’t. But, the men they send—” Hayami shuddered. “I would not want to upset them.”
Mai studied the man. For the most part she thought he was telling the truth, but Hayami wasn’t being completely honest. If he’d met several clan members he must have guessed they weren’t exactly video game programmers. If he was capable of one lie to her face he was capable of more.
She shook her head. “I don’t believe you.”
She struck and he fell, dead before he hit the floor. All she was left with was utter silence, the gentle sway of the yacht, and the face and eyes of his children, staring almost accusingly from within the confines of their small frame.
Her thoughts turned to Gyuki and the clan village where her parents were being held.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Drake sat back as Vice President Dolan appeared on videophone, linked to a large monitor. They had been cooling their heels and recuperating for a while whilst the Americans got their communications running smoothly alongside their current chain of command. Drake and Dahl had confirmed that all living members and families of the SPEAR team were safe, for now, but that Kovalenko’s Blood Vendetta was still up and running on all of them. Hayden was slightly more comfortable in hospital.
Alicia had contacted Drake some time ago, almost speechless and seething with anger. She had told him she was about to jump on a plane bound for DC, and Drake had known it would be pointless to argue with her. Instead, he had offered all he could at the time. “See you soon.”
Still reeling from the deaths of Ben and his parents, from Sam and Jo, still stunned by the murder of Mano’s mother and Gates and Romero, and now most of the biker gang, he was finding it hard to string together a full sentence let alone more words of consolation. What he needed—what they all needed—was to string Kovalenko from the highest building.
Vice President Dolan interrupted his despondent ruminations. “Gentlemen, give me scenarios and probable outcomes.”
The strategists spoke up. The men of action followed. The Secretary of the Army, Navy and Air Force all had their say, along with their seconds. The Director of the FBI was present in Conference Room 1B. The Joint Chiefs and cabinet members were available on monitors. As Drake listened and constantly scanned his surroundings, he soon realized that this innocuous little room inside this hotel was actually one of the many secret crisis centers the United States government had set up throughout the country after the events of 9/11; a secure environment where all local or visiting VIPs could be taken to liaise with other VIPs anywhere in the country in times of emergency.
The overriding consensus was that something had to be done and done soon, through an offensive against the Hotel Dillion. The same blueprints that had previously been handed out were revealed again, signaling the start of a tactical discussion.
“Kovalenko may have the capability to upload anything to the public, at any time,” one of the cabinet members pointed out. “We can’t let the President go out that way. The eyes of the world,” he said. “Are watching.”
“Can’t we kill the area’s immediate broadcast capabilities?” Someone asked from the assembled agents.
“We can,” was the answer. “But it’s risky. We’d have a potential blowback against ourselves and we can’t be sure he hasn’t already gotten something out.”
The Commandant of the Marine Corps agreed, “And folks, don’t forget the eyes of our enemies are also watching. We simply cannot look inadequate here today.”
“A man who escapes a secret prison, kills the Secretary of Defense and then abducts the President, in my opinion, has a long-term plan,” the Vice President said. “Which we must bear in mind.”
“The city is as secure as it’s ever going to be,” the FBI Director said. “More forces are being drafted in.”
Drake held up his hand and, when noticed, was acknowledged by the VP. “Yes?”
“Matt Drake, of SPEAR, sir,” he said, for the benefit of those who didn’t know. “Dmitry Kovalenko is obsessed with what he calls his Blood Vendetta,” he pointed out. “It’s something we can use to catch the man, if we can just get a step ahead.”
“Good. Work on that. Your team is still active?”
Drake had no time to wonder if Dolan’s meaning was twofold. “Yes, sir.”
Dolan switched to another question. Drake sat back down and leaned toward Dahl. “What did that mean?”
Dahl stared ahead. “I don’t think he liked you.”
“With Gates gone,” Drake ignored the glib comment, “We have no leader. To paraphrase Jonathan, ‘the sharks will already be circling’.”
Dahl nodded. “I know. Have you noticed that General Stone – Jonathan’s harshest critic – is conspicuously absent? So we’ll make sure we stay useful and join the strike team,” he said. “Truthfully, it’s where we should be. In the front line.”
Drake sipped from his bottle. “I hate to say it, but you’re right. I’d much rather be helping Hayden and the others right now—”
“They’re safe. In the military hospital, right?”
“Aye. That they are, we hope. And Kovalenko’s right here, across the street.”
Dahl cast his eye across the rows. “See if you can figure out who’s in charge.” His tone, whilst laced with a little prep-school sarcasm, was genuinely uncertain.
Drake stood up. “In the corner. See that door? Some guys are already mobilizing in there.”
Dahl smiled. “Time for your just desserts, Kovalenko.”
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Mano Kinimaka remained by Hayden’s side as Smyth stalked out of the room to inspect the security arrangements and request a stock of ‘heavy’ hardware from someone in charge. This was a military hospital after all, the touchy ex-Delta solider argued, mostly to himself. Komodo sat with Karin in the corner of the room, hunched over his girlfriend as she sobbed her heart out. Their genius computer geek would be of no help to them for a while, and Kinimaka couldn’t blame her. It was all he could do to hold it together for Hayden after learning about the death of his mother. If their whole situation wasn’t so dire, he would be curled into a dismal ball next to Karin or on a plane bound for Honolulu.
Hayden spoke in a soft whisper, and Kinimaka had to lean over to hear the words. “Are you okay?”
He smiled, up close, and kissed her lips. Feeling the dryness, he held a glass of water for her to drag up a few sips. He smoothed the hair away from her forehead. “Here you are, shot to hell. And you ask me if I’m okay. God, I love you.”
Hayden smiled weakly. “I was only shot once. I’m a Jaye. It’ll take more than that to put me down.”
Kinimaka silently sent a big thank you out into the ether, then felt guilty because his mom had not been so lucky. Life wasn’t hinged on fate or design. Nobody out there had a complete plan. It was a giant dirty sm
orgasbord of chance and probability, shot through with prejudice, fanaticism and greed. Life was happenstance, nothing more, and you made of it what you could. Those who got really lucky were among the chosen few who could say they had won.
Kinimaka glanced up fast when the door opened, heart suddenly racing, and felt a rush of relief when Smyth walked in. The scowl on the soldier’s face had not diminished.
“C’mon, you guys. I could’ve been the fuckin’ enemy and taken you all out. Right there and then. Bad news is—the security in this hole sucks. Good news—they’re issuing us a few weapons. Probably relics from the Jurassic age, but all they have to do is kill bad guys, right?”
When no one answered, Smyth made his way over to the bare window. “I can’t believe Romero’s gone,” he said to his reflection. “Thought that maniac would have little Romeros of his own one day that I could train up to kick his ass.”
Kinimaka was about to slide off the bed and wander over when an unmistakable sound delivered harsh shock treatment to every set of frayed nerves in the room.
“Gunshot,” Smyth said and ran to the door.
It was muffled, probably emanating from the first floor two stories below, but was quickly followed by several more. Smyth listened as the two guards stationed outside the door received a report through their earpieces.
Kinimaka came to his shoulder. “What’s going on?”
Smyth waved towards the guards. “We’re waiting.”
The closest guard turned. “Shots fired in the parking area and now in the lobby. A large force of men—”
Kinimaka turned away, his eyes and thoughts switching immediately to Hayden. “We have to assume,” he said. “That they’re gonna get up here. We have to go. Now.”
“We can’t move her.” Komodo turned.
“We have to.” Kinimaka walked over to the bed. “We’ll all die if we stay here.” He leaned over and spoke quietly. “You ready to check outta this place, Hay?”
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