by Ty Patterson
That Jessica had been discovered at the end of her investigation, as she talked to women in a remote part in Kamagasaki, an impoverished neighborhood of Osaka. The women were prostitutes, belonging to the Hayagawa-gumi.
Several yakuza had chased her, but she had escaped. The yakuza had then questioned the women she had spoken to and discovered the elaborate investigation Whitley had conducted. Right under their noses.
‘She was living in Japan for years. The country was her home. She could go anywhere and talk to anyone. Her doctorate gave her the excuse to talk to women.’
They had found some of the women who were wearing cameras and wires. They had tortured them to yield information. The women had confirmed Whitley, acting alone, had given them the wireless equipment.
Many of them had died before they’d revealed everything they knew. Some had revealed other snitches. The yakuza had destroyed the equipment and attempted to trace the feed, but hadn’t succeeded.
‘We think there might be hundreds who she fitted with wires, not just in our clan, but in the others too. We caught a few in our Kobe and Tokyo offices too. All of them openly said Jessica was a WAS reporter.’
Masaaki got the other kumicho in a meeting once Jessica was identified. The kumicho agreed that the Hayagawa-gumi would take the lead in wiping out the threat. By any means necessary. They would provide support, intel, people, but the wet work, if any, would be done by the Hayagawa yakuza.
It suited Masaaki. It fit into his grand plans of making his gang bigger than Hashimoto’s. When he found out that Theresa Leclair and Shira Levin had funded WAS, he’d decided to go extreme. There was revenge to be exacted for the death of his son.
‘Ibuki Fujita was your stepbrother?’ Nishikawa interrupted Naoki’s narration.
‘Yes. Our half-brother. He took his mother’s name. Papa sent him to California to manage our business.’
‘Didn’t you realize killing those two women would invite unwanted attention?’
‘Yes, but our plans were foolproof. If Carter had been killed, you would have gotten nothing.’ He looked at Zeb, who didn’t respond.
He’s right.
‘How did you escape?’ he asked Zeb curiously, continuing his story when Zeb didn’t reply.
He gave names, dates, details of how Shira and Theresa had been killed.
‘Shinoda, Mineyuki’s killer, was watching Carter in New York when he discovered those Vietnamese bodies.’ He rose to stretch his legs. ‘He could have shot Carter.’
Zeb still didn’t respond.
‘Who killed Theresa Leclair?’ Nishikawa asked when Naoki had been wrung dry.
‘South African mercenaries.’ He mentioned the left-out details and the arrangements made to hire the killers.
‘They are still alive?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why didn’t you kill Jessica Whitley in America?’
‘We tried, but she was always on the move. Was surrounded by very good men. We knew she would present at the university. It was a matter of pride for her. We decided to kill her when she returned.’
‘And what if she had published before she came to the university?’
‘She would have still died.’
* * *
‘I want to wear a wire,’ Naoki had stated, when he had finished later that night. ‘I will get more for you.’
‘That’s dangerous,’ Nishikawa had objected. ‘Your gang probably knows you are here. They will kill you if you return. Your being Masaaki’s son will not protect you.’
‘I have to do this. I have to make things right.’ Naoki’s lips had jutted out stubbornly. ‘No one saw me here. I used a fake name. I have given you the list of Keishicho informants. Don’t arrest them right away. Otherwise, Mineyuki will know. Give me a wire and you will have much more than what you have now.’
Nishikawa had looked at Zeb, who had shrugged. Naoki Hayagawa would either die, killed by his own people, or go to prison.
While Zeb admired the man’s courage in turning himself in, he had no great sympathy for the elder son. Naoki had confessed to a lot, including killing a few people. There was no one in Masaaki’s family who had clean hands.
If his wearing a wire would lead to more intel and more arrests, why not?
Nishikawa had picked up on his line of thought, and Naoki had left wearing a buttonhole camera.
* * *
Mineyuki and Shinoda were in a dojo several blocks away from their Tokyo office. The dojo had a bath; it had masseuses, and women who served tea. Mineyuki had dismissed everyone except for Shinoda’s men.
He and Shinoda trained, initially with bokken and shinai, and then barehanded. They didn’t let up, letting the bitter taste of failure turn into rage. They pounded each other, across the face and the body, neither of them holding back, till they collapsed on the floor in exhaustion.
‘Where is he?’ Mineyuki grunted as he straightened and tossed a towel to Shinoda.
‘Still in his apartment. He left late from the Keishicho office. We don’t know who he spoke to, or about what. Our people are trying to find out. They didn’t spot Carter, though I am sure he too was with Keishicho.’
‘Our informants aren’t arrested?’
‘No.’ Shinoda smiled humorlessly. ‘None of us have been.’
The lack of Keishicho action was a worry. The police were actively investigating the Tokyo shootout and had circulated several wanted posters. They had questioned several gang members from various yakuza gangs. Some low-level arrests had been made. However, all that reaction was standard.
The gaijin woman was still at large. The Hayagawa yakuza had hunted throughout Tokyo and Kobe. They had sought the other gangs’ help, but the woman remained at large. No one at Narita airport reported seeing her. Their snitches in Keishicho had come up dry.
Her report hadn’t been published. There were no headlines in the newspapers. That concerned Mineyuki.
‘What game do you think they are playing?’ he asked Shinoda. The latter had no answer.
He studied one of his katanas and turned it to catch Shinoda’s reflection in it. ‘You should leave,’ he told his hitter. ‘Papa and I are not going to hide. They will come for us sooner or later. You should escape and make a new life for yourself.’
‘My life is yours. I will stay with you.’
Mineyuki sheathed his sword impatiently and drew out another blade. ‘Our way of life has only brought us trouble. Maybe Naoki was right all along. Go away. Take your men and leave. I will deal with my brother.’
Shinoda shook his head, his face as expressionless as usual. ‘If you go to prison, I will join you. If you die, I will too. We have drunk sake together, our lives are linked.’
‘Come here, you fool.’ Mineyuki grabbed him by the shoulders and hugged him. ‘All right, we will deal with whatever happens, together. Now, call Naoki. Let’s finish that.’
Mineyuki was practicing his cuts when Naoki arrived. He drew his katana with his right hand, his fingers curling around its grip, the steel sliding smoothly out of its scabbard.
He raised the sword to his head and brought it down, angling it to the left. The bamboo split, and when he picked it, up, the cut was smooth and clean.
He nodded to himself in appreciation. A curved cut was an imprecise cut. In a real fight, a curved cut would cause unnecessary pain to an opponent. Mineyuki liked causing unnecessary pain; nevertheless, he liked his cuts to be clean.
‘How are you, brother?’ he greeted Naoki without looking at him. ‘I see that you haven’t gone into hiding either.’
‘I will see things through,’ Naoki declared and joined Shinoda as they watched Mineyuki practice. ‘So far we are still free. Maybe Keishicho doesn’t have anything on us.’
‘Or maybe, they are protecting you.’ And with that, Mineyuki whirled like a spinning top, his blade flashing, and sliced Naoki across his chest.
Naoki screamed and fell back, staring wide-eyed at the thin line of blood that stained his white
shirt and jacket.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I am doing what I should have done a long time ago,’ Mineyuki replied calmly and came forward.
‘Don’t! I’m your brother! Why are you doing this?’
Mineyuki raised his katana and slashed again. Naoki stumbled in his haste to get away, but he wasn’t fast enough. The sword sliced through his suit and removed a chunk of his right shoulder.
‘Help me,’ Naoki pleaded with Shinoda, ‘he has gone mad!’
‘No, brother. I have finally come to my senses. We know you were with Keishicho yesterday night. You told them everything, didn’t you?’
He slashed. Naoki grabbed another katana that had fallen to the floor, drew it, and blocked Mineyuki’s strike.
Mineyuki thrust suddenly, and the tip of his blade touched Naoki’s chest. ‘You were no match for me, brother. Did Papa tell you that you failed the tests? He was going to appoint me all along. He found early on that you weren’t capable.
‘You were weak.’ A diagonal slash across Naoki’s chest, drawing more blood.
The elder brother counterattacked even as he yelled in agony, but Mineyuki disarmed him, laughing, and Naoki’s katana went flying.
‘What did you tell Keishicho, brother?’ Mineyuki crouched over Naoki. ‘Are they coming to arrest all of us?’
He raised his katana to strike again, both hands gripping the hilt, his eyes narrow and focused.
The dojo’s doors splintered and police swarmed in.
‘Stop!’
Chapter 45
Nishikawa ran forward, Zeb close behind him, as police officers surrounded the Hayagawa brothers and Shinoda.
‘DROP THE KATANA,’ the police chief commanded, gesturing at a policeman to disarm Mineyuki. ‘You’re surrounded!’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that.’ Mineyuki smirked as yakuza filtered out from inside the dojo and pointed weapons at the police. ‘We were expecting you to arrive. We had our welcome prepared. My men have cut off all access to the dojo. No one can come in.
‘I didn’t expect you to wire my brother, however. That’s how you came so quickly, isn’t it?’
‘Do you really think you can get away with this?’ Nishikawa thundered.
‘Nishikawa-san, we will have to see about that. Right now, I hold the aces. Ask your men to surrender.’
Zeb was watching Mineyuki carefully. The man’s pupils were wide, unfathomable, his body relaxed.
This dude’s a killer, a psychopathic killer. One who wears tailored suits.
‘Do it,’ he urged Nishikawa softly. ‘It’s not worth your men dying.’
Mineyuki’s eyes flicked at him and took him in.
‘Carter-san.’ He bowed mockingly. ‘It’s you, isn’t it? I have heard a lot about you. My men say you speak our language very well.’
He sized Zeb up, his eyes lingering on his Glock, its outline visible through the jacket. ‘We don’t need guns, Carter-san,’ he said politely. Zeb knew it wasn’t a request.
He removed his weapon, dropped it, and raised his hands when several yakuza came forward and patted all of them down. A gangster removed Zeb’s knife, his phone, his headpiece, and handed them to Mineyuki, who smashed the cell with his heel.
Naoki took that moment to crawl away.
Too late.
Mineyuki swung his blade without turning around and cut him in his leg. ‘I am not done with you, brother. Now I have an audience. I’ll take my time.’
‘Let him go, Mineyuki,’ Nishikawa yelled hoarsely when the yakuza’s words sunk in. ‘He’s already dying.’
‘No. Those are light cuts. They look worse than they are. My brother is a traitor, and there is only one way to deal with such people.’
He turned on his toes and cut. More blood flowed from Naoki even as he screamed.
Zeb watched dispassionately as Mineyuki chopped his own brother, the younger man looking bored, almost unaware of the watching hostages.
A couple of policemen retched and another fainted. That didn’t distract Mineyuki from his gruesome task.
He was whistling when he delivered the killing blow and used a towel to wipe himself clean. He used a soft cloth to wipe the tsuka, the handle of his katana, flicked his hair back and smiled at Nishikawa.
‘Liked the show? I bet you haven’t seen one like it before.’
The police chief didn’t answer. Nishikawa was pale, breathing audibly, shock and revulsion on his face.
Mineyuki came towards Zeb and eyed him curiously. ‘How did you escape every time, Carter-san? Shinoda, my killer, is the best in Japan. You evaded him each time.’
‘Luck,’ Zeb replied, wondering what Mineyuki was getting at.
He got his answer soon enough.
The yakuza son picked up a katana from the floor and tossed it at Zeb. ‘We’ll see how lucky you are.’
Zeb made no move to catch it and the sword clattered to the floor.
‘No!’ Nishikawa recovered and darted in front of Zeb. ‘You have killed enough. Why don’t you escape?’
‘Escape? I will kill all of you and walk away. I will rebuild our clan and make it great again. Escape is for losers, Nishikawa-san. I haven’t lost.’
He shoved the police chief away and turned implacable eyes on Zeb. ‘Pick up the katana, Carter-san. Fight like a man.’
‘That’s not my weapon.’
‘You are in my country, my dojo. You are my captive. I will choose the weapons. Are you scared you will die quickly? Are you thinking Naoki put up more of a fight than you? I will make it quick. Because you are a gaijin.’
Zeb picked up the katana, ignoring Nishikawa’s horrified whisper, and felt the blade.
‘Tamahagane. Japanese sword-making steel. It is—’
‘Folded several times, forged and beaten into shape by hand, and the end result is the katana. I know,’ Zeb finished for Mineyuki, who chuckled.
‘You know my country well, gaijin. Let’s see how well you fight.’
Kenjutsu was the umbrella art of Japanese sword fighting. There were several schools that originated from it, and all drew from its basic moves and principles. It had five postures: sword overhead, sword to the side, held horizontal, at the middle, and pointing down.
From these moves, several strikes and thrusts could be made, either single-handed or with two hands to the sword. A master swordsman could feint and cut, attack the wrists or the eyes, go for the groin or the head, in balletic movements that had not just grace, but also speed and power.
Zeb stood with both hands to the katana, held to the middle, a position that could be both defensive and offensive. The katana felt comfortable in his hands. He was alert, blanking out everyone except Mineyuki.
The yakuza stood a few paces away, his katana in its scabbard clutched in his left hand.
No one breathed. No one moved. A cough sounded and that triggered Mineyuki.
His right hand blurred and swung out, drawing his sword so fast, slicing it in an arc, that Zeb was taken unaware.
He fell back several paces, his breath caught in surprise. The tip of the attacking katana cut through air, just inches away from his throat.
Mineyuki didn’t regroup. His sword swung back instantly and, instead of slicing, thrust forward.
Zeb lunged to his left and brought his katana to deflect. Felt steel slide against his chest. He leaped back and glanced down.
‘First blood to me.’ Mineyuki pointed with his sword at the thin red line across Zeb’s body.
The yakuza attacked without waiting for a response. A two-handed grip this time. A strike from the top of his head, angling down, a killing cut. He changed course at the last moment when Zeb parried.
A thrust to the groin that Zeb sidestepped and attacked.
Mineyuki was waiting for it. Steel struck against steel as the two katanas met and slid.
The yakuza turned it into a blow aimed at Zeb’s wrist. Zeb got his sword out of the way quickly while Mineyuki laughed. Still laugh
ing as he leaped high in the air, over Zeb’s head, a piercing yell deafening everyone’s ears, his sword coming down, intent on decapitating Zeb.
Zeb dove and rolled out of the way. Move. Rise.
Snick!
A section of his sleeve fell, cut by Mineyuki’s return action. The yakuza had read Zeb, had landed, and had twisted like an eel to attack.
How can he recover so fast?
He didn’t have time to answer himself. The yakuza came again, his blade moving blindingly fast, cutting and feinting, going for different parts of his body, putting him on the back foot, desperately defending and ducking. A wicked slant cut reduced the hair on his head by another fraction of his head, and it was only a sudden crouch that saved him from a beheading.
Mineyuki’s face was covered in a light sheen when he stopped for a breather. Zeb was several feet away, panting lightly.
‘You have some training, Carter-san. No stranger to the sword could have lasted so long,’ the swordsman admitted grudgingly.
‘Hai.’
‘Who trained you? It must be someone from this country. You have the moves and the grip.’
‘Takashi Sakai Kokawa.’
Mineyuki cocked his head, trying to place the name. His jaw dropped when it came to him. ‘The kambe?’
‘Hai.’
‘He didn’t—’ Realization flooded his eyes. ‘He was rumored to have only two students.’
‘Hai. I was one of them. The other was his son, Yoshisa.’
Zeb watched him with narrowed eyes as Mineyuki’s jaws clamped shut. He knows I was trained by the greatest swordsman of his generation. That can’t be an easy pill to swallow.
‘You lie!’ Mineyuki screamed and raised his blade. ‘I’ll kill you. And then I’ll kill that monk.’
He surged forward, his face a mask of fury and killing rage.
Zeb waited till the last minute. Till the attacker was a scant foot away from him. Till he could see the irises of Mineyuki’s eyes.
And then he roared in the manner his master had taught him, drawing energy from the earth, letting it flow like a current from the soles of his feet to his abdomen, coming out in a burst of air and sound.
