by Ty Patterson
He leaped high as Mineyuki passed underneath him.
His katana didn’t move in a downward cut. Instead it swung around and behind him, in a motion parallel to his back.
He landed as light as a feather, turned tightly to face Mineyuki, who was pivoting to face him.
‘You missed, gaijin,’ Mineyuki taunted.
‘Did I?’ Zeb flicked at something on the floor, and hair flew high and settled down slowly. There were droplets of blood where the hair had lain.
A gasp went around the room. Mineyuki’s face darkened and he felt the back of his neck. His fingers came away wet and reddened.
He launched himself with a bloodcurdling shout, his katana held straight, going for Zeb’s midriff. Zeb charged at him, a suicidal attempt at first sight, until he tossed his katana to his left hand, caught it like a spear. He feinted and Mineyuki corrected, losing his forward motion, and Zeb used that to thrust at his attacker.
Mineyuki swerved to escape the attacking point, leaving his throat exposed for a fraction of a second. Zeb’s right hand clasped him and heaved him around, using the weight of his body and forward motion to fling Mineyuki far and away.
Shinoda had been watching, motionless. He had observed the gaijin’s movements and read a lot in them. He saw the way Carter had been ducking and weaving, and noted the way his oyabun hadn’t been able to land any crippling blow.
He tightened at the mention of Takashi Sakai. Every warrior in Japan knew of that name.
Mineyuki should have finished him off quickly. He always liked to talk, Mineyuki.
He acted when the gaijin tossed his oyabun away, even as one part of him admired Carter’s spear move.
‘Carter-san!’ Nishikawa bellowed in warning.
Zeb felt the breath of air behind him at the same time as the police chief’s call. He heard scuffling and raised voices. He heard shots. He didn’t pay attention. He was under attack on two flanks. It wasn’t the time to be distracted.
He slammed back and collided with a body behind him. A grunt escaped from the man at his rear.
He brought his blade up instinctively, and it trapped the garrote that was settling over his neck. Mineyuki was getting to his feet.
The garrote was tightening, his attacker exerting force to free it from the blade and get it around Zeb’s throat.
Push back.
Zeb kicked out with his feet as Mineyuki came silently, as fast as an attacking panther, both hands around his katana, ready to run Zeb through.
Another grunt from behind him. The garrote snapped. Zeb flung his sword away. The attacker’s hands loosened for a moment.
Mineyuki was three feet away. Speeding. His mouth opening in a soundless yell.
Zeb’s right elbow bent and he caught his attacker in the jaw in a backward blow. Bent his body, twisted it like a snake.
Right hand straightening. Mineyuki close enough for Zeb to hear his harsh breathing.
Caught the attacker’s collar.
Heaved him around and in front of him and then Mineyuki was slowing suddenly, panic flooding his eyes, his katana trying to move away.
Zeb pushed his attacker onto the oncoming blade and dove out of the way.
Hand-forged steel pierced through sinew and flesh, going into the front of his attacker, Shinoda, and coming out his back.
A tortured groan rent the air. Zeb rose. Mineyuki cast an anguished glance at his man, pulled his blade out, and, in one fluid motion, came at Zeb.
Zeb couldn’t help marveling at Mineyuki. He had just killed his right-hand man by mistake. No loss of composure, however. His speed hadn’t diminished, and now, he had the upper hand since Zeb had lost his blade.
A katana is just an implement. Like the bokken. The human mind, though, no other weapon like it. Takashi Sakai’s words. Imparted several years back as Yoshisa and he had sat down to dinner.
Mineyuki’s blade swung in a horizontal motion to slice Zeb guts. It pierced the air a few inches away from his tee, and then Zeb was falling. His knees going limp, his body powering down in a move another master had taught him, faster than the movement of the blade.
Faster than Mineyuki’s reflexes.
His right palm slapped Mineyuki’s wrists, right on a nerve point. He saw the shock race through Mineyuki. His left palm slammed into the yakuza’s belly. An iron fist meeting tight abs. No match.
Mineyuki’s katana started falling. Zeb caught it. Turned it around like a knife. Mineyuki’s knee started coming up to attack Zeb’s face.
‘That monk, Yoshisa. He’s my brother. He’s better than me. Much better. He’s a better swordsman than both of us. Because he doesn’t have to prove himself to anyone.’
And Zeb swung the katana deep.
Chapter 46
Zeb stood slowly, panting. The police had overcome the yakuza gangsters while he had been fighting and they now flooded the dojo. They were all armed, and from their appearance, he guessed they were Nishikawa’s elite officers.
He went to Shinoda, who was being tended to by medics, and even as he watched, the killer gasped out his last breath.
There were a few more yakuza bodies on the floor. A couple of them seemed to be injured, while others were dead.
So much bloodshed. Mineyuki could have surrendered and none of this would have happened. He would have had a fair trial, as would Naoki.
He ran a tired hand over his face, and to his surprise, it came away wet, and red. Then he remembered. Mineyuki had cut his cheek while fighting. His chest had the horizontal slash. The cuts started burning, now that his battle high had started to wane.
A figure came to him and presented a soft towel.
Nishikawa.
He wiped his face gingerly and then his hands, discovering tiny cuts on his palms. Another medic approached him and inspected the cuts.
‘They are not deep,’ the medic said to Nishikawa, thinking the gaijin didn’t know his language.
‘Will they heal on their own?’
‘Hai.’ The medic looked startled for a moment when Zeb replied and bowed. ‘They will take a few days. I can apply some salve, but if you’re okay with natural healing, that’s best.’
‘How did this happen?’ Zeb pointed at the police officers in the dojo.
‘Carter-san, you think we couldn’t take down a few yakuza?’ Nishikawa proudly drew himself to his full height. ‘Everyone was watching you fight. The yakuza were distracted. My men are good. They are specially trained. We overpowered them without much resistance.’
‘Weren’t there yakuza surrounding the dojo? Outside?’
‘Hai. My people took them out.’
‘What about civilians?’
‘We cordoned them off.’
‘Lost any men?’
‘No. Some scratches. Some yakuza died. Fools tried to take my men on.’ The police chief didn’t have any sympathy for gangsters.
‘Nishikawa-san, how will you explain this?’
Instead of answering Zeb, his friend turned to face his men. ‘Listen, all of you. Carter-san wants to know what our story is.’
‘We broke inside the dojo to find Naoki-san fighting with Mineyuki-san and Shinoda-san. It was a terrible fight. We tried to break it up, but we were too late. All three lost their lives,’ the police officers spoke in one voice.
‘Simple.’ Nishikawa beamed. He turned serious when he saw Zeb’s bemused expression. ‘Carter-san, my country is very old. Lot of history and culture. Modern world exists with tradition. There are many secrets in my country. This will be another secret. It’s for the best. No messy explanations or investigations.’
‘You can do that?’
‘Of course, Carter-san. I am the Keishicho head.’
‘Carter-san,’ Nishikawa said when the medics and ambulances left with the dead and injured, ‘was that true? Did Takashi Sakai Kokawa train you?’
‘Hai.’ Zeb couldn’t help smiling at the awestruck expression on the normally taciturn cop. ‘I was privileged, Nishikawa-san. He
taught me and Yoshisa.’
‘And I beat you. In the Keishicho dojo.’ His friend’s eyes twinkled.
‘Hai, Nishikawa-san,’ Zeb replied gravely.
* * *
That night, when Japan was sleeping, Dana Kantor and Jessica Whitley arranged a press conference in New York. It was held in the same hotel where Avichai Levin was staying, and had tight security. There were Mossad kidon masquerading as security guards, along with NYPD officers.
In attendance were Levin, Mandel Leclair, and Sir Alex Thompson, along with Commissioner Rolando and several other dignitaries. The world’s media was present. CNN, NBC, BBC, Asahi Shimbun, Asian broadcasters, and all the big news and TV channels.
Holly Nicholson, Susan Thompson, Mulan Yao and several TKWC women flanked Kantor and Whitley.
Dana Kantor introduced Jessica Whitley to the attendees as a special WAS reporter and handed the floor over to the ambassador’s daughter. Jessica explained how she had witnessed yakuza gangsters kidnap women in a remote village on Hokkaido Island. She had reported the abduction to the police, but nothing had come off it.
Determined to do something about it, she had approached WAS and had persuaded Kantor to be their undercover reporter. Her investigation had taken a year. She talked to women and pimps. Former yakuza gangsters and police officers. She took statements and photographs.
She wore a concealed camera and recorded interviews with current gangsters, who denied any involvement. Then, several women had volunteered to wear cameras. Jessica started playing videos, and the room fell silent.
There were recordings of women in brothels, of yakuza gangsters herding young girls into rooms, their gang ink clearly visible. Several recordings of Masaaki Hayagawa discussing drug deals with his sons. Similar videos of Kitaru Hashimoto discussing illegal deals with his men. Recordings of the two other yakuza bosses.
In one recording, Mineyuki Hayagawa explained how new women would be distributed to various ‘centers’ in Japan. Another recording showed two yakuza brutally beating a woman who had tried to escape.
There was one last video, in which Jessica Whitley interviewed a girl who seemed to be no older than seventeen years.
‘Why are you doing this?’ Jessica asked the girl as she attached a concealed camera to her dress. ‘You know the danger. They will kill you if they find the camera.’
‘I know,’ the girl replied calmly. ‘There is no hope left for me. But I can give hope for others.’
* * *
Masaaki Hayagawa came to his Tokyo office early the next day. He greeted his elderly secretary, who had arrived before him. He closed the door to his office and watched a recording of the press conference for a while. He turned off the TV, settled into his chair and clasped his hands.
His sons were dead. Newspaper headlines and TV channels had only one item to report on. THE END OF THE YAKUZA, ran one headline.
The kumicho of the other gangs had gone into hiding. Keishicho and police in other cities had arrested hundreds of yakuza members in overnight raids. Several gangsters had turned themselves in.
And the press haven’t even talked about the killings, Masaaki mused bitterly. No article, no report, mentioned the Hayagawa-gumi’s role in Shira Levin and Theresa Leclair’s deaths. There was no item about Naoki turning witness or the information he had given.
The police are saving all of that for the prosecution.
He looked at his watch. Seven a.m. At ten, he had a meeting with Keishicho. Nishikawa had called the previous day and had made the appointment. They will arrest me.
A chair squeaked, and when he raised his eyes, he started.
It was the gaijin. Seated in front of him. Masaaki’s eyes flew to the door. It was shut. How had the gaijin come inside? Why hadn’t his secretary warned him?
The gaijin regarded him expressionlessly for several moments. ‘What are you left with?’ he asked finally.
‘Nothing. I had everything two days ago. I had my sons. Mineyuki would run the Hayagawa-gumi. He wanted to be prime minister. He could have been, too. He was capable.’
There was no pity in the gaijin’s eyes. No sympathy. There was nothing. The eyes were dark tunnels, and Masaaki shivered as he dragged his gaze away.
‘What will you do now?’
Masaaki pulled open a drawer in his desk and removed a silver revolver. He fingered its finish and pointed it at the gaijin.
‘This.’
Masaaki Hayagawa’s office was soundproofed and the secretary didn’t hear any sound from within. She tapped on the door at nine a.m. to remind her boss of the Keishicho appointment. She pushed it open when there was no reply, and screamed when she saw his lifeless body sprawled on the desk.
Keishicho arrived soon after and questioned her. They checked security cameras and dusted the room for prints. The secretary hadn’t seen anyone else enter or leave the room.
Suicide, the police decided. The angle of the shot pointed in that direction. It was only when another cop pointed to the open window that they wondered. The window was high above street level. No one could escape from it. All one could see was the glass side of the building from it, and tiny, insect-like figures far below.
‘That window is never open,’ the secretary insisted. ‘Masaaki Hayagawa hated open windows.’
The police shrugged. It was a mystery for sure, but it didn’t alter their suicide finding. Only a bird could have entered or escaped through the window, and birds didn’t fire revolvers.
* * *
Four hours after watching Masaaki Hayagawa kill himself, Zeb was in a tiny village two hours away from Kobe. It had several gassho-zukuri, farmhouses, and small huts and houses. The village had no more than ten thousand people, many of whom were elderly.
Zeb didn’t go to any house. He went to the central shrine in the village, walked around it, to the graveyard behind. It was lush green, and despite a steady rain, there was a poetic beauty to the graveyard.
He went to a stone in at the edge of the nearly deserted yard. It was plain, simple, and had a name on it.
Heita Oyahashi.
A young woman was holding an old man’s arm in front of the stone. The two stood with their heads bowed, rain dripping off their faces. Zeb stopped a few paces behind them, and when he opened his eyes, they were regarding him curiously.
‘Did you know my brother?’ the woman asked him.
‘I wish I had known him better.’
She waited for an explanation, and when he didn’t speak, she took hold of her father’s arm and led him away. She cast curious glances back at him until they disappeared behind the shrine.
Kahoko Oyahashi. Twenty-three-year-old medical student at Kobe University. Meghan had dug out Oyahashi’s family details. She had found that the yakuza had cut off contact with his family. However, he had funded his sister’s education at medical school.
That funding was under threat now that Oyahashi had died.
‘Zeb, we can’t allow that,’ Meghan had warned him.
‘We won’t. She and her father will not lack for anything.’
* * *
Makito Nakai was having dinner with his family when a neighbor pounded on his door.
‘Makito, there’s someone asking for you at the dock. Says you ordered a trawler.’
Makito choked on his soup. Toshio thumped his back while his wife looked at him angrily. ‘You bought a new trawler?’
‘No. Where would I get the money from? There must be some mistake.’
He and Toshio ran to the flood-lit dock, past returning fishermen, and went to the edge of the pier. There, among the old boats, was a gleaming white trawler.
A man waved his hand from its deck. ‘Makito Nakai?’
‘Hai,’ Makito replied, bewildered.
‘Come and sign these papers,’ the man snapped irritably. ‘I have a three-hour drive back to return the trailer.’
Makito looked behind him, and over the buildings, he could see the cab of a trailer.
‘I
didn’t order a boat,’ he exclaimed. ‘I can’t pay for it.’
‘It’s all paid for. I don’t care who ordered it. It has your name. Just sign this and let me go.’
Makito climbed to the deck and helped Toshio over. He inspected the papers while his son ran off to explore the boat.
Yes, that was his name and address. The papers said he owned it. Surely there must be a mistake. He looked up to protest and caught the deliveryman’s angry face. He scrawled his signature, and the man left without any farewell.
‘Papa,’ Toshio called out excitedly while Makito was still scratching his head. ‘You have to see this.’
Makito joined his son in the cockpit and stared at the envelope attached to the wheel. The envelope had his name on it.
‘Open it, Papa.’ His son ripped off the envelope and handed it to him.
Makito removed the sealed cover with trembling fingers and extracted a sheet of paper. It had a single line on it.
Hope you catch big fish, Makito-san.
Makito let his son snatch the sheet from his hands and turned blindly towards the pier. He didn’t know if the gaijin was watching. It was possible he wasn’t even there. It was likely he was in Tokyo or back in America.
That didn’t matter.
Makito bowed deeply, once, twice, his tears falling to the deck of his new trawler.
* * *
Zeb watched him from the shadow of a building on the dock and inclined his head in return. He could hear Toshio’s whoops as he headed back to his rented car and drove away to Kobe.
Kobe to Tokyo was a Shinkansen journey, and once he reached the city, he called Nishikawa.
‘Nishikawa-san, I am leaving.’
‘Carter-san, you don’t know how happy that makes me. Peace will come to my city, at last.’
Two hours later, Zeb was in the Gulfstream as it took off from the Land of the Rising Sun and headed in the direction of the sunset.
Three months later, he was reading a newspaper in his office when an alert sounded on his phone. Werner sent such alerts whenever it came across incidents related to their missions.
