by Ty Patterson
A silence from his team. Then Meghan butted in, sarcasm dripping through the line. ‘Took you long enough to work that out.’
‘You knew?’
‘Ever since you went to Japan.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘You were already on the yakuza trail, doofus. This was mere confirmation.’
Zeb changed the topic hastily. ‘Those dead men, in London. Could any of them be related to the yakuza I met in the bath?’
‘Werner’s looking into that too.’ She was conciliatory. They had punished him enough. ‘But that’s harder. It’s not as if the Tokyo Metropolitan Police have entire histories of all the yakuza on file.’
Which meant they had hacked into Keishicho’s databases. It didn’t surprise him.
‘You could just ask your friend, Nishikawa. Chances are he’ll know which gang uses that bath.’
Zeb asked the police chief just that.
‘Why do you ask, Carter-san?’ Nishikawa didn’t sound surprised when Zeb called him. He knew how Zeb worked.
‘I was in Kabukicho when I saw these heavies emerge. I thought they were yakuza.’
‘That bath’s frequented by the Iitsuka gang. We know about it. We keep tabs on it. Don’t be fooled by the Iitsuka clan’s size, Carter-san. They are the smallest one. But they are equally dangerous.’
Zeb asked him for updates, and Nishikawa had none yet. Three oyabun from three yakuza clans were coming to meet Keishicho the next day.
Zeb hung up and stretched out on his bed, easing his stiff muscles. He fired off several messages to Meghan before he drifted off to sleep.
He would go on a date the next day.
With Daiki Iitsuka.
Chapter 29
Shinoda met Junior in a private dojo in the Yurakucho district of the city. Yurakucho didn’t have as many of the bright lights and the flashy billboards that the other tourist districts had. It was more laid-back. Small alleys with tiny cafes. Retail establishments and street vendors beneath the railway bridge. Bars where salarymen hung out after work.
The dojo was nestled between a row of shops and an office building. Walking distance from the station. Most of Tokyo’s neighborhoods were sprawled around the various train stations.
The dojo had a large red door, metal. A slat which slid back when Shinoda knocked on it. A face appeared, sized him up, and the door opened silently. Inside was an oasis of calm. A garden to one side of a concrete walkway. Flowing water. Rocks and sand. A bridge. Several stone lanterns and basins.
Shinoda went up a few steps and through a pair of wooden doors and removed his shoes.
Junior was sparring with his sensei and didn’t look at him. Both wore white tops, cinched at the waist, and black robes that flowed around their feet. Katana flashed and steel rang out as they moved with balletic grace, thrusting and parrying, stepping back, and attacking again.
Junior never practiced with bamboo swords. He wanted the real deal. Katana. A Japanese sword with a curved blade. Twenty-five inches long. A grip long enough to accommodate two hands.
Junior didn’t wear armor, and neither did the sensei. The two men didn’t practice cutting. Junior did that when he was alone. Cutting bamboo strips for hours, till he could cut blind and slice away the green stalk effortlessly. He practiced not just cutting, but iaijutsu, a fast drawing of the sword from either a crouching or a standing position.
Shinoda didn’t know what proficiency level Junior was at. He had asked once, and Junior had smiled mysteriously. He had asked the sensei and he had gotten a raised eyebrow in return. No one practiced with naked steel and no armor but the foolish or the best. Shinoda knew Junior wasn’t a fool.
The highest level, he thought as the two men battled in the dojo, their feet squeaking on the wooden floor, steel clanging, grunts and voiced challenges sounding loud.
Shinoda watched without moving and recollected a few times when Junior had killed men with the sword. At one time, he had fought a couple of yakuza from a neighboring gang.
The two men had dared to do business in Junior’s territory. Junior’s men had captured them and, on learning that the yakuza were experienced kendo fighters, he had challenged them to a shinkendo duel. With katanas.
The two yakuza had no chance. They were two against one, but before they had even drawn their weapons, Junior had unsheathed his with dizzying speed, and with a fearsome cry he had cut the neck of one yakuza and the hand of the other.
He had then gone on to slice them swiftly, the polished wooden floor turning wet and slippery with blood.
Junior had challenged him once, playfully, knowing that Shinoda’s skills weren’t with the blade.
‘Both of us will die,’ Shinoda had replied. There was no boast in his statement. He didn’t use the katana, but he knew where his strengths lay.
‘He has escaped from the hotel,’ he told Junior once the training session was over and the patriarch’s son had showered. Junior was back in his business suit, his hair wet and shining, his handsome face relaxed.
‘He didn’t emerge for a long time, so my men went to his room. His backpack is still there, but it’s empty. He hasn’t checked out. They are going through CCTV images to see when Carter left.’
Junior didn’t look perturbed. He just nodded as if Shinoda had confirmed something. ‘I am not surprised,’ he said. ‘Carter is no ordinary man. We have learned that by now.’
He rose and polished his shades. ‘Find him. Quickly. And take him out. He cannot be allowed to disrupt our plans.’
‘Surely he doesn’t know anything.’
‘He doesn’t. But I know what he will do. He will keep asking questions. He will go to yakuza bars and neighborhoods. He doesn’t seem to fear for himself. If he persists, someone, somewhere, will answer his questions.’
‘Still,’ Shinoda challenged, ‘no one knows of the plan but for the three of us.’ Senior, Junior, and Shinoda himself were the three. ‘Your father doesn’t know, does he?’
‘Of course not,’ Junior laughed. ‘He only wants results. Find Carter, Shinoda. And end him.’
‘One more thing,’ Junior said, halting him as he was bowing. ‘Two good men. Have them follow Senior. We need to do something about that, soon.’
Shinoda understood. He wasn’t surprised. His loyalty was only to Junior, and the younger son had confided in him occasionally. He knew things were coming to a head between the two brothers. He didn’t have much respect for Senior and privately thought Junior should have made him disappear a long time back.
* * *
Daiki Iitsuka went to a shrine each day of the week. He alternated between two temples. One was the Meiji shrine in southwest Tokyo, and the other was the Sensoji temple in Asakusa. He visited the temples in the evening, and at each one, he spent precisely half an hour in meditation.
He was never alone. He had three men always with him, while a fourth waited outside with his armored car. A second car held more men and was behind Iitsuka’s vehicle at all times.
Meghan had dug into Keishicho’s computers and had extracted Iitsuka’s routine. Keishicho had extensive files on all the yakuza heads, and Iitsuka’s visits to the temple were in one such file.
Zeb studied maps of the city and the neighborhood. He looked at file photographs of Iitsuka’s protection detail. Meghan had identified the short, squat yakuza in the bath. Heita Oyahashi. Iitsuka’s right-hand man. He was in several photographs, always seen next to the gang boss.
Zeb laced his fingers and looked at the surroundings of the two shrines. Iitsuka’s ride was always parked illegally on the street while the yakuza head spent time in the shrine.
Streets are never safe. They leave a person exposed.
Zeb hung around the Meiji shrine for two days, looking the part of a salaryman. A dark suit, a briefcase, shades, and a newspaper. He munched nuts and looked harried and stressed. The kind of person who needed meditation and peace and quiet.
On the second day, he spotted Iitsuka. Th
e two vehicles, black Mercedes, drew up next to a street vendor. Yakuza sprang out of the second vehicle and scattered onlookers and pedestrians.
One of them held the door open for the clan chief, who alighted without making eye contact with anyone.
Iitsuka was grey-haired and taller than the average Japanese man. He had a scarf around his neck, a coat flapping around his dark suit. He strode towards the shrine, with Oyahashi leading the way and two men behind him.
Oyahashi’s eyes were never still. They scoped out everyone within sight. Assessed them. Ready for any threat.
He didn’t spot Zeb. Zeb was behind a family, lying prone and pretending to read the newspaper.
Iitsuka came out of the shrine half an hour later, and while watching him climb into his Mercedes, Zeb firmed up his plan.
Iitsuka would have an unwelcome visitor.
Chapter 30
Zeb prepared extensively for his meeting with Iitsuka. He scoped the street where the two Mercedes would be waiting. There were several street vendors on that street, and there was always foot traffic on the pavement. Vehicle traffic on the thoroughfare.
The vehicle traffic didn’t bother him. Civilians did. He didn’t want injuries. An hour before Iitsuka’s arrival, he identified three vehicles as targets. All three were Hondas, parked behind the spot where the yakuza’s vehicles usually stopped.
He had seen their owners pay for parking and knew the Hondas would be around for a while as their occupants were inside the shrine.
He bent down to tie his shoes and slipped a device underneath one Honda. Another decoy move and another device went under the second one. He leaned against the third, glanced at his watch and frowned in irritation. A businessman waiting for a meeting. Not happy that his meeting was late. He kicked a tire in frustration and when something fell out of his pocket, he bent and attached the third device.
He turned his back on the street when he saw the Mercedes drive up the street. He ordered candy from a street vendor and licked it, observing the proceedings in the lenses of his shades.
A businessman eating pink candy. How much of a threat could he be? His assessment was right. Oyahashi’s eyes flicked over him and moved on to gauge other foot traffic.
He nodded at his men, and Iitsuka got out of his car.
The yakuza head’s retinue proceeded into the temple, and normalcy returned to the street.
Zeb was closer to the lead Mercedes, Iitsuka’s ride, when the clan head came out of the shrine. He was on the driver’s side. Still licking his candy and speaking into a phone.
Oyahashi opened the rear door and slid in first. The second yakuza held the door open for Iitsuka.
Iitsuka’s leaned down to cram his body into the vehicle when the three explosions sounded as one. The Hondas rocked on their wheels, and smoke filled the air. Nonlethal, but no one other than Zeb knew that.
People started screaming. Running away. The yakuza at the door was startled for a moment. He looked in the direction of the Honda, his hand reaching under his jacket. The second Mercedes’s occupants reacted similarly. Oyahashi yelled something from inside.
No one spotted the salaryman approaching him from the front. If they did, they paid no attention to the man with the candy.
Zeb chopped the yakuza on the neck and shoved him out of the way. He tossed his briefcase on the street and shoved Iitsuka inside the vehicle. Climbed in behind him. Shut the door and jammed his Glock against Iitsuka’s neck.
So fast and so smooth that Oyahashi didn’t have time to react.
All the short yakuza could do was watch, bug-eyed.
‘Let’s go for a drive,’ Zeb said pleasantly.
Yakuza from the second Mercedes swarmed Iitsuka’s vehicle. One of them flung open the door and poked his head inside. They shouted and swore but made no move to touch Zeb. They had seen the Glock. Had seen the way its barrel was pressing deep against their chief.
‘I can kill your boss before any of them can touch me.’
Oyahashi’s eyes flared in rage but he didn’t speak. He looked at Zeb for a long moment and then rapped out orders at his men.
‘I won’t kill him,’ Zeb promised. ‘Unless you force me.’
The yakuza stepped back and the door shut again.
‘Drive,’ Zeb ordered.
‘Where?’ Oyahashi hissed.
‘Anywhere. Busy streets. Show me Tokyo. Go, before Keishicho get here.’
The Mercedes surged forward. Stopped at a red light, proceeded when it changed and became a part of the river of metal and plastic.
Iitsuka’s color returned after a while, but he still refused to look in Zeb’s direction.
Probably to save face.
‘Tell me about the killings,’ Zeb asked him.
Iitsuka didn’t reply. Neither did Oyahashi. Zeb let the silence build and finally Iitsuka broke.
‘My men didn’t kill the women.’
‘Who’s behind it?’
Iitsuka turned, his eyes flashing. ‘Gaijin, who do you think you are?’
‘I’m the man holding a gun to your neck.’
‘You think that scares me?’
‘It should.’
‘It doesn’t,’ Iitsuka replied. Calm. Collected. Now that he’d had time to gather himself.
‘Why are you protecting them?’ Zeb couldn’t hide the curiosity in his voice. He had kidnapped the yakuza head. He knew he could get Iitsuka to talk, if he had time. Yet the man seemed singularly unperturbed.
‘You know nothing of what’s happening. Nothing about my country. Its history. About us. You think you can come here and ask questions. You don’t know what you are up against.’
Zeb watched his profile when he fell silent. No nervous tics. No dry lips. Iitsuka still refused to look at him as if he was a lesser being. These dudes have run these yakuza gangs for years. Their clans go back centuries. Someone like me isn’t a big problem. That’s what they think.
‘What’s there to know?’ Zeb countered scornfully. ‘Your gangs are becoming smaller. Keishicho is locking up your men. These folks’—he waved his free hand to point outside the car at the people who milled around in the shopping arcades—‘they don’t want your way of life.’
‘They are fools.’ Iitsuka snorted contemptuously. ‘Our way of life will never die. When something threatens our survival, we all come together. Even if we are rivals.’
‘How did killing those women guarantee your survival?’
Iitsuka faced him, his eyes cold. ‘Gaijin. Enough talking. If you want to kill me, go ahead. If you want to torture me, proceed.’
Oyahashi leaned forward, his body tensed, waiting for Zeb’s move.
I might be holding the gun, but it’s Iitsuka who has trapped me. He doesn’t fear dying.
‘Relax,’ Zeb told Oyahashi. ‘Your boss will live. I believe him. Your men weren’t involved.’
The Mercedes was traveling through the Ginza district, slowing when traffic became crowded. There were cars and buses in the next lane. The second Mercedes was following closely.
‘You are dead,’ Oyahashi whispered, his eyes burning. ‘Next time I see you, I will kill you.’
‘That’s a shame.’ Zeb smiled. ‘My fight isn’t with you.’
‘Gaijin,’ Iitsuka interrupted, ‘you have picked a fight with the most dangerous people in the world. You must have a death wish.’
Zeb was reaching out for the door’s handle when Iitsuka spoke. He paused. His smile grew wider, but there was no humor in it.
‘Didn’t Miyamoto Musashi say, “know your enemy, know his sword”? I know everything about you. What do you know of me? Maybe I am the most dangerous enemy you have faced.’
He thrust the door open and rolled out in front of a Toyota, whose tires squealed as its driver slammed on his brakes. The driver leaned out of the window and uttered a string of curses that followed Zeb as he ran to the pavement and melted into the crowd.
He darted a glance behind when he was well away. The yakuza v
ehicles had stopped, and suits from the second vehicle had gathered around Iitsuka’s. They gesticulated furiously and pointed in Zeb’s direction.
They won’t follow. Securing their principal is more important. Then they will resume their hunt for me.
Iitsuka’s words ran through his mind as he took the subway at Ginza station. He said something about survival. The yakuza at the bath said something big. Their survival is big enough, I guess. But what threatens it? The intelligence agencies?
Another thread entered his mind. What was the trigger? Why kill the women at this point? There was no current joint intelligence op that threatened the yakuza. Levin, Mandel, and Thompson, they all denied it.
He kept an eye on fellow travelers as he thought furiously. Schoolkids. Salarymen. Homemakers. Teenagers with their ubiquitous phones. No one looked in his direction.
He took the first train that arrived, on the Marunouchi line, switched at Shinjuku to the Shinjuku line, and traveled randomly for an hour before heading back to his hotel.
He collected his backpack and left without checking out. It was time to move.
He settled on a budget hotel in Gotanda. He used a business alias. An engineer from Nagasaki visiting Tokyo for a conference. He mentioned a company name as he checked in.
The room was neat, small, tiny bathroom, and was on the third floor. The room’s single window overlooked a rear alley. Garbage bins, cars lined neatly. A few passersby.
He lifted the sash and explored the rear of the hotel. Escape routes had to be figured out.
The hotel didn’t have a fire escape ladder, but its windows had tiny ledges. I could go that way, if I had to leave in a hurry. He worked out in the hotel room for half an hour and then showered.
The next part of his plan was to visit a newspaper.
