“I know of her. Nikita, yes? She’s got nothing on you, Mai.”
“That’s better. Now, are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be. The rest of my guys—your old friends from the agency—are in place too. Are you sure about going all the way with this?”
“I have no choice. The Clan brought this down upon themselves, not me.”
Hibiki started up the steps. “Then let’s end them.”
“Even better.” Mai climbed after him.
“I have to ask, though.” Hibiki peered at her out of the corner of his eye. “Why Maggie Q?”
Mai smiled secretly. “A surprise for a good friend,” she said. “And a reminder to my boyfriend that he’s not the only one interested in me.”
Hibiki shook his head. “I think Drake already knows you can never be tamed, Mai.”
“Sure he does, but a gentle reminder never hurts.”
****
Inside the Game Show the exhibition space was split into several large areas. Far over to the right stood the over eighteens area, enclosed by a wall of eight-by-eight-foot panels. Closer by, and laid out in seemingly endless parallel lines, were rows and rows of game stations, each one showcasing a brand new version of a popular video game. The area was already jam-packed with onlookers, every seat taken by an enthusiastic gamer whilst, behind each one, several more waited in line or watched. The in-game noise effects and the sound of excited chatter were almost overwhelming. Crowds wandered between the rows. Over to the left stood even more stations, some reserved for dancing games, others for RPGs or retro-gaming. Still more areas offered the chance for competitions. The show itself was every gamer’s wet dream, not to mention the cosplay side of it. The sides of the exhibition hall were lined with stalls, shops and eateries, each one doing a brisk business.
“I forgot how busy this place gets.” Mai posed for a picture with two young guys, never losing a beat.
“Stop enjoying yourself,” Hibiki said. “We’ve a job to do.”
Mai smiled sweetly and offered Hibiki her phone. “Here, take a picture so I can send it to the boys when I leave.”
The agent sniffed and shook his head, but did as Mai asked. They began to thread their way among the rows, moving ever closer to the over eighteens area. Once there, they went through a security checkpoint where Mai again was asked to pose for pictures.
“Good job we aren’t in a hurry,” Hibiki muttered as they crossed into the restricted area. Here were situated the more violent games—the Call of Dutys and GTAs—and the lines to play them doubled back on themselves at least four times.
“There’s the bar.” Hibiki nodded ahead.
Mai had already spotted it. This was the only place a person could buy alcohol at the Game Show and thus primarily attracted a certain sort. If it seemed odd that an organization like the Yakuza would frequent a video games show, Mai knew it was not. The younger gang element played video games just like any other young Japanese. The older element liked to peruse and safeguard their investment—the fact that they owned one of the biggest video game developers in Japan was a badly kept secret.
Since its early days, the Game Show had become a tradition for most people. Once a year they made the pilgrimage. Once a year they met gamer friends and talked over the last three hundred and sixty five days. Once a year they became consummate geeks, lost in the herd.
Mai spotted the man she was looking for straight away. He was thin and rangy, hard-faced, and wearing dark clothing which covered every one of his gang tattoos. He sat toward the back of the bar, among a group of fellow gang members, giving death glares to any unfortunate soul who passed close by. The Yakuza might enjoy the Game Show to a point, but they did not want to make friends here.
Mai took a breath. “Tokyo Coscon part two,” she breathed. “Here I go again.”
Hibiki melted away, choosing a clever vantage point whilst pretending to watch some super-geek playing the new Final Fantasy installment. Mai headed for the bar, taking a slow walk, making sure every gang member noticed her. Truth be told, it wasn’t a tough job. A blind man in a snowstorm would have sat himself down just to watch her walk.
She leaned over the bar to be sure their attention was properly focused. “Got any milk?”
The bartender put down his towel. “Baby-changing station’s back by the entrance doors.”
“Oh. How about a pint then?”
“Got a preference?”
“Not really. Surprise me.”
“I’d love to.” The man turned away from her stare and pulled down a glass. By the time it was full she sensed she was no longer alone.
Without turning around she took a sip. “Can I help you?”
“Me and the boys have a bet goin’. Which one of us gets to peel those tight leather pants off tonight.”
Mai spun in place, leaning back with her elbows on the bar. “Well, you’re certainly going the right way about doing that.”
It wasn’t her target, just one of his minions. She nodded over at his table. “A bet, eh? And just for taking my pants off. What’s the take?”
“So far? About a thousand. Why? You interested in taking a cut?”
Mai didn’t answer, just made a show of looking the gang over. “If all you wanna do is take my pants off . . . doesn’t seem worth my time.”
The minion laughed. “There’s more than that laid out on the table. Much more.”
“Mmm, sounds good. But it’s not quite fair. There’s only six of you.”
The minion almost choked. “Hey lady, you should be a little more—”
“Careful?” Mai smiled wickedly. “Careful’s for the weak and the powerless. And believe me, I’m neither.”
By now her target was taking more of an interest, clearly wondering what was being said. He stood up and beckoned her over. Mai thought about her parents, about Gyuki, about Hibiki and Chika. She thought about the clan master and all the dreadful things she had witnessed as a child growing up in his community. There really was no option here.
Her target, a man called Hikaru, called to her. “Are you a cosplay girl? I thought I knew them all. Are you new to the circuit?”
Mai felt six pairs of eyes watching her as she walked up to him. “Freelancer. Thought I would give it a try this year.”
“Are you alone? You look a little familiar.”
“Don’t you recognize me? I’m a movie star.” Mai let out a little giggle. “And no—my boyfriend’s around somewhere playing his games.” She rolled her eyes on the last word, showing her distaste.
“Ah I see. So you were dragged to the show were you? And you want to what . . . teach him a lesson by playing a little game of your own on the side?”
Mai shrugged. “Why not? I’ve already decided this is going to be my year of firsts.”
Hikaru grinned. “I could think of a few ‘firsts’ right now.”
Mai let the giggle out again. “How would you know?”
“There’s a restroom just over there. I’m guessing that’d be your first ‘first’. Wanna try?”
“Only if you have a little stamina. I’m sick and tired of the nightly five-minute desperate Hail Mary passes.”
Hikaru exhaled. “Jesus, you’re fuckin’ hot. C’mon. Ichiro, Kyo, watch the doors. No one gets in, you hear me? No one. Hey, girl, what’s your name?”
“Maggie.” She giggled and took his hand, giving him the full fantasy. The look in his eyes told her he had totally bought it, as had every one of his cohorts. Were guys really so easy? she wondered. A pair of leather pants, a giggle, and a bit of sex-talk. Was Drake that easy?
Or was it just the bad guys and their raging, repressed hormones?
Hikaru led her toward the restroom, crossing a short length of blue carpet. The orange symbol for the gents glowed above the door. Mai slowed and looked around, feigning sudden doubt, but actually scouting the area. Hikaru pulled her hand hard, leaving no doubt as to his intentions and chivalry, and she let herself be dragged through the d
oor. Inside, everything was stark white, bright and relatively clean. Hikaru turned her around and forced her against the wall, hands first.
“Stick your ass out, Maggie. You’re gonna experience a first your geek boyfriend wouldn’t dare ask you for.”
Mai wiggled. “Do it. I’m nothin’ if I’m not a dirty freak.”
“And when you’re snuggling up to him tonight.” Hikaru shifted his pants down. “Remember this!”
It was the moment she had been waiting for. In her past experience as an undercover agent for the Japanese agency, she had learned that a man never fought the same with his tackle hanging out. She whirled, slamming an elbow into his ear. Before he could utter a screech, her hand gripped his voice box so hard his face instantly turned white.
Mai grabbed the only thing about him that wasn’t hanging as limp as a wet rag and pulled him close. She whispered in his ear. “Little Hikaru,” she said. “That was so easy. I have been sent to kill you. Do you know me now, I wonder?”
Pure terror suddenly lit the Yakuza boss’s eyes. He knew. At last, the old legends were starting to come back to him. The searing humiliation, the outrageous memories.
“Mai Kitano,” she said. “A name that’s whispered with some reverence around these parts, or so I’m told.”
The man didn’t move a muscle. He was hers to control. “So,” she whispered into his bleeding ear. “Still think I’m hot?”
Despite the situation, Hikaru nodded.
Mai stepped away. “Well, I guess I am pretty.” She laughed. “One squeak, Hikaru. One squeak and I’ll end you.”
The Yakuza boss motioned at his pants.
“Oh, put it away, Hikaru. I couldn’t even scratch my nose with that thing.”
Mai pulled him to the far wall. “Now listen. Like I said, I have been sent to kill you. The Tsugarai sent me. I’m willing to give you a pass this time . . . but I need your help in return.”
“What?” Now that Hikaru was fully clothed again, part of the swagger had returned. “What could I do for you?”
“Pretend to be dead,” Mai said. “For about three hours.”
“Pretend . . .” Hikaru shook his head in disbelief. “How would I do that?”
“The Yakuza are a close-knit gang,” Mai said. “It’s possible and believable that they would not want your death broadcast around immediately. Just disappear, Hikaru. For a little while.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I’ll come back for you one night. And that twig dick will be the least of your worries.”
Hikaru remained silent as he weighed his options. His next words proved there was at least a little intelligence behind the ever-present red haze of lust and brutality. “The Tsugarai. I know they own you. This is your homecoming, yes?”
“They do not own me,” Mai hissed. “Nobody owns me.”
“I’m just saying . . . we don’t exactly love the Tsugarai either.”
Mai stared. “You’re offering to help?” The idea hadn’t occurred to her.
“Rock ‘n’ roll.” Hikaru grinned.
“I have all the help I need,” Mai told him. “But one day . . . maybe one day. Another time.”
“Just come around wearin’ those pants and I’ll know you need me.” Hikaru touched his finger to his nose like a conspirator. “I’ll know.”
Mai nodded. “Agreed. But Hikaru, listen. Don’t fuck me on this. You will regret it.”
“When you say it like that,” the Yakuza boss said. “I’m just putty in your hands.”
“More like a pussy in my hands.” Mai doubled him over with a hard blow to the solar plexus. “That’s for being a gang-rat piece of shit. Now, stay here and do as you’re told.”
She exited the restroom swiftly, inviting both of Hikaru’s guards over with a saucy little wink and closing the outer door after them.
“We voted,” one said haughtily. “I’m first.”
Mai smiled. “Oh, alright then.”
His scream followed her all the way back to the game stations, but she barely heard. She was trying to force an ominous new thought from her mind—the one whispering on eldritch wings that whilst she had killed the mostly innocent money launderer, she had spared the totally guilty Yakuza boss’s life. A worrying reflection, but not one she could allow to confuse her now. This was the hour she had been waiting for. Everything had led to this. It was time. All her life she had been waiting, training and fighting toward this very moment.
It was time.
CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN
Drake saw Smyth overcome a ragged bunch of mercenaries below and silently thanked Alicia for her ingenious foresight. Thanks to her, they now had only half as many enemies to deal with. He lingered by the back of the burning chopper, easing the Delta man’s passage with a few well-placed shots. Men twisted and fell before him. The raging fire licked at the buildings all the way up to the roof. The scream of officers giving orders and men shouting in agony sounded little different in the chaos. When Smyth barreled past Drake and rejoined the group, Alicia grabbed him and planted her lips on his.
“Beautiful one,” she shouted. “Very well done, Smythy, ya mad, angry, little bastard.”
Smyth backed away. “Ah, thanks.”
Drake swore. “Look lively, guys. This ain’t gonna be pretty.”
A knot of Kovalenko’s men, temporarily cut off from their comrades by the inferno, charged at them. At the precise instant when their weapons coughed, Drake’s team flung themselves every which way but loose. Drake hit the dirt, landing prone on his back, shooting between his own feet. Dahl threw Karin into a doorway, took a bullet in the vest, and returned fire without missing a beat. Alicia and Smyth ducked and sprinted to the right. Komodo slipped behind the chopper, his face lit by the flames.
The first runners collapsed at Drake’s feet, and he had to roll to keep his legs free. Sand and grit turned into a red mush of spilled blood. A man launched himself headlong, coming down on Drake’s stomach. A knife slashed. Drake watched the blade pass between his armpits. When the blade struck dirt, he fired into the man’s abdomen, making him twitch. Cognizance soon vanished from his eyes.
A merc stamped past. Drake reached out and tripped him. He scrambled until his back was against the wall. The merc came at him with a knife and pistol. Drake kicked the pistol aside as it fired, sending the shot skyward, and danced along with the thrust of the knife. In the first eight seconds the merc didn’t make a mistake, staying sharp and lethal. Two seconds later, he had lunged a few inches too far and paid the ultimate price.
Alicia and Smyth joined Komodo in finishing off the last of the attackers but, by then, another sizable group were negotiating the flames.
“Fall back,” Drake shouted. “Ammo’s low.”
“You hear that?” a voice suddenly screamed. “Did you? They’re almost dry. Take them! Take them now!”
Drake met the eyes of the others. There was no mistaking the gravelly voice of Dmitry Kovalenko, no matter how perversely excited it sounded. Drake looked at his colleagues, searching hard for their inner resolve, and found pure fire and steel and a will tough enough to withstand hurricanes.
“This battle just became worth every fucking cut and bruise,” Kinimaka grunted. “Everyone here owes this bastard the harshest death.”
“Be careful of his bodyguards,” Karin said. “Mordant and Gabriel. I read about them. They’re said to be the hardest, most dangerous men the penal system has ever seen.”
Kinimaka grunted. “I can second that.”
Drake readied his weapon and turned to face the roaring flames. “The cavalry can’t be far away,” he said. “But this battle ends here and now. We stand.”
Dahl stepped to his right shoulder, Alicia to his left. Komodo, Kinimaka and Smyth ranged out behind him. Karin Blake moved to her boyfriend’s side.
“We stand.”
CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT
Through flames of light and shadow they came, the last of the Blood King’s army; faces cast in
flickering fire; eyes blackened into demonic pits by the lowering dark; teeth bared and mouths spread wide as if all they wanted was to devour their enemy.
Initially there were a dozen of them. They were followed by Kovalenko himself, flanked by Gabriel and Mordant, The Twins grinning fiercely. This was their arena, their element. This was where they would shine.
The two forces paused for a beat, every man and woman there recognizing the significance of the moment. Who would win and who would die? This place, right here and now, was where the real warriors would prove themselves. Courage was everything. Those who turned away, those who ran, would keep running forever.
“Live or die this day,” Dahl whispered amongst his own. “Live or die.”
Drake turned to them all. “If this is the last and best fight of my life I could not have stood among worthier friends. Thank you.”
Then the ranks broke and the screams went up. The charge was on. Dahl smashed into one well-built merc so hard he actually sent the man tumbling back into the flaming chopper. The mad Swede didn’t even break stride. He barged aside another man, breaking the guy’s shoulder in the process, leaving him on his knees and heaving with pain. Drake hit a third head on, using his forehead harder than at any other time in his life. Fresh blood spattered his face, and he ran right over the collapsing man. Alicia broke a man’s windpipe without losing a beat.
All eyes were on the Blood King.
If this is the last and best fight of my life . . .
The Blood Vendetta would end today. No more innocents would die. They carved through the Blood King’s ranks; a deadly, unstoppable phalanx of invincible purpose, and it was Dahl, Drake and Alicia who suddenly found themselves facing off with Mordant, Gabriel and Kovalenko.
Time stood still. For them, the whole world might as well have stopped turning. Violent flames lit the scene, flaring, bursting and wreathing between metal, stone and shadow. Kovalenko gave them his most smug grin.
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