Caine looked back at Koichi. He was unconscious but breathing. He looked back at Mariko. “Are you arresting me?”
Mariko’s dark eyes locked with his, unblinking. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“On who you really are and what you’re doing here. But once the regular police show up, I won’t have a choice, will I?”
Caine sighed. “There’s always a choice. Just not always a good one.”
He picked up the cuffs, slipped them over his wrists, and tightened them with his teeth.
He stood up. “Mariko Murase, pleased to meet you. I’d shake your hand, but....” He held up his cuffed hands.
Mariko stepped forward, keeping the gun trained on him, and spun him around. She kicked the pistol on the floor away from them and did a quick frisk. After confirming he had no other weapons, she marched him to the exit.
“So, what should I call you?” she asked.
“It doesn’t matter, as long as you listen to what I have to say.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Rebecca lifted her head. She had passed out again, a remnant of the drugs in her system. Whatever Mr. Douglas had injected her with, it was potent. But now her vision was clear.
Her arms were still shackled to the chair behind her. She looked around the empty room, then twisted and pulled at the restraints. She heard her bracelets jingle together and breathed a sigh of relief. They had missed something. It was a small comfort, but it was something.
Okay, she thought. Remember your training. Scan, analyze, assess.
They were still in Pattaya. A basement. She sniffed the air—dank, humid. The mold on the walls indicated they were near the beach. A dark corridor led off to her right. She could hear the droning of a television off in the distance. The basement had to have at least two rooms, maybe more, judging by the size of the hallway. Her brain clicked through the principles she’d absorbed in her CIA orientation classes. First rule of escape: change your circumstances.
“Bernatto! Allan, please,” she cried out.
She heard a sigh and the creaking of springs from down the hall. Then footsteps. She counted the seconds in her head. As Allan entered the room, she did some quick mental calculations. He was about twenty-five feet down the hall. Mr. Douglas stepped into the room behind him and took up a position next to the door. Bernatto stared down at her.
“What is it, Ms. Freeling?”
“I’m getting the sense this is going to take a while.”
“And your point is?”
“Unless you want this hole to smell even worse, I’m going to need a bathroom break.”
Bernatto looked at Mr. Douglas, who shrugged. He turned back to Rebecca, his eyes lingering for a second on her chest. She suppressed a shiver of revulsion.
“You can hold it. Shouldn’t be much longer now. One way or the other.”
She looked up at him, her eyes feeble and pleading. “You don’t know that. Caine hasn’t called in yet, has he? Please, Allan, it’s not my fault you abducted me from a coffee shop. This place does have a bathroom, doesn’t it? You can wait right outside. Where am I going to go?”
Bernatto sighed and turned to Mr. Douglas. “Take her. Don’t let her out of your sight.”
The operative smiled and stepped over to the table full of guns. He picked up an HK pistol, loaded a magazine, and racked the slide. He held it in a loose grip as he walked behind her. “It would be my pleasure.”
He unlocked the cuffs, and she felt the warm tingle of blood flow returning to her wrists.
“Stand up, please. Nice and slow.”
She did as he said. Her eyes drifted to the table full of weapons and equipment across the room. She forced herself to look down as the man grabbed her arm.
“Let’s move,” he said, his voice rough and low.
Whoever Mr. Douglas was, he was good. He had the weathered look of a freelance contractor. Black Water, Delta Blue, or one of the other private military firms the United States government used to farm out off-the-books work.
In her experience, those men came in two models. Rugged, natural-born warriors, burned out by their time in the Armed Forces. These men knew no other life than to fight for a cause they believed in.
And the others ... killers looking for an excuse. The ones the military could not wait to get off their roster once the initial fighting was done. The ones who liked it, who couldn’t get enough of it. Some might have called them broken men, but the truth was, they had never been whole in the first place.
There was something about Mr. Douglas that made her think he was the latter. Maybe it was the way he looked at her. He seemed to stare through her, as if she were already a ghost—a temporary piece on the chessboard, one he would enjoy removing when the word was given.
He was good. But he had made a mistake, she reminded herself. He had missed her bangle.
He gave her a gentle push forward, towards the corridor. As she stumbled into the dark hallway, the sound of the TV grew louder. A newscaster was speaking in English, discussing the growing tensions between China and Japan, and the Senkaku Islands dispute. The U.S. Secretary of State was scheduled to mediate talks between both countries tomorrow.
She paused. Could that be what this was about? Was Bernatto involved in the talks in some way? As they walked past the television, Bernatto broke off and entered the dark room. She heard the squeak of springs as he sat down on whatever moldy piece of furniture he had scrounged up.
Mr. Douglas spoke from behind her. “Keep moving, please. The bathrooms are up ahead.” Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and she saw the door at the end of the hallway, ahead of them. When they reached the door, she stopped. There was silence for a moment, then Mr. Douglas’s voice, pleasant, but with the steely undercurrent of a knife’s edge. “After you, Ms. Freeling.”
Rebecca turned around, a look of disgust on her face. “Does this place have spiders?”
Mr. Douglas took a step backwards, keeping the gun trained on her. “Do you have to go or not?”
The doorknob turned in her hand with a rusty clicking sound, and the door creaked open. The room was pitch-black. Damn. No windows. Again, she felt the gentle push on her back. She stumbled forward. “I can’t see a thing,” she said. “How do you expect me—”
She heard a click, and the room filled with a green, flickering glow. An old fluorescent light hung from the ceiling, surrounded by spiderwebs, mold, and chipped paint. The rest of the bathroom was just as filthy. The stinging scent of urine was overwhelming.
Spattered patches of black and brown mold colored the walls. A large, dark spot marked where the wall buckled inwards, most likely caused by water damage from a broken pipe behind the warped drywall.
Mr. Douglas shut the door behind them and tilted his head towards the stalls. “Let’s go.”
Rebecca stared at him for a second. “Um, would you mind waiting outside?”
“Yes, Ms. Freeling, I would. I’ll be right here, in case you see a spider.” His thin lips curled into a smile.
She shrugged and turned towards the toilet stalls. One had a bent, mangled door that hung open. The other stall’s door was missing. Judging by the mangled metal of the hinges, it appeared to have been ripped off.
She chose the stall with the door and closed it behind her. She gagged, the stench of urine magnified in the tiny space. In the flickering light, she could see his feet, standing at attention outside the stall door. Which meant he couldn’t see her body. At least he had given her that much privacy.
His second mistake.
She dropped her shorts down to her ankles for his benefit. With slow, silent movements, she slipped one of her bangles off her wrist. It was large, thick, and hinged in the middle. Unlike her other jewelry, this one was cheap and hollow. She had used this hidden cavity inside to her advantage. She tilted the unhinged bangle, and a tiny black canister slipped into her hand. It was thinner than a tube of lipstick, and featureless, save for a red button on the top an
d a tiny indented nozzle on the side.
She took a deep breath. The man standing outside her stall was an experienced killer. She had training, but she knew she was not in his league. She was an analyst. A desk jockey. Mr. Douglas lived in a different world. So did Caine, she realized. Bernatto had been right about that.
“Ms. Freeling, we have to get back.”
She pulled her shorts back up and fastened them. She took another deep breath. Bernatto seemed confident that this would be wrapped up soon. If she waited any longer, whatever he was planning would come to fruition. She couldn’t allow that to happen. She had to get free, call for help, call Caine.... She had to act.
She palmed the canister and placed the bangle back on her wrist. She spoke to hide the clicking noise it made as she shut the hinge. “I’m sorry, I can’t go with someone watching me like this.” She then reached forward and quietly unlatched the stall door. “Could you please just stand outside for a few minutes? I’ll be quick, I promise!”
She heard footsteps approach the stall door. He instinctively knew something wasn’t right. Men like him had an operational awareness, a sixth sense for when things were wrong. She was counting on it. She sat down on the toilet seat, raised her feet off the ground, and positioned them in front of the door.
“I’m afraid that’s enough,” Mr. Douglas said, his voice tinged with annoyance. “For your own safety, Ms. Freeling, I think we’d better go back.”
She heard the metal scrape of the stall door pulling open. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Her doubt and fear swallowed her courage in an inky black maw of darkness. Every action she imagined taking ended with a bullet in her head and Mr. Douglas staring at her lifeless corpse.
Then she thought of Caine. He had left her, true. He had lied to her. Maybe she had never truly known him. Maybe she still didn’t. But she knew he had been betrayed. He had suffered torture, he had been branded a criminal, a traitor ... and she had believed all the lies. The man responsible was down the hall, watching television.
Whatever else he might be, Caine had proved himself a survivor. Now it was her turn.
Her mind snapped back into focus. The door moved a fraction of an inch. As it cleared the doorframe, she lashed out with her legs. All the days she had run, all the early morning hours she had spent pounding the pavement ... every mile, every foot, every inch she had pushed herself to complete ... she focused all of it into one powerful kick.
The door exploded outwards, smashing into Mr. Douglas and his outstretched arm. He stepped backwards, avoiding the full force of the blow, but the impact was still enough to throw him off-balance. His gun hand dropped to his side as he blocked the swinging door with his left forearm.
Rebecca lunged forward. She swung her right arm towards the operative’s face. The swing was wide, clumsy. She was off-kilter, her muscles paralyzed with fear and exhaustion. She stumbled as she moved in close for the blow.
Mr. Douglas had already recovered from the bruising impact of the door. He grabbed her arm in midair, stopping her fist inches from his face. He yanked her forward. “Ms. Freeling, that was foolish. But I appreciate your spunk. It will make the rest of our activities so much more satisfying.”
Rebecca opened her fist, revealing the tiny black canister. She closed her eyes and depressed the red button with her thumb. The hissing jet of compressed gas filled the air, and Mr. Douglas screamed.
In less than a second, the blast of red pepper spray inflamed his eyes, nose, and throat. As his hands flew to his face, Rebecca broke free of his grasp and dove backwards as fast as she could. In the small, dingy bathroom, the cloud of spray had already expanded to fill the air. She could feel the sting of it in her eyes and nose. But it was nothing compared to the point-blank blast she had delivered to the man’s face.
She coughed and stood up. Through squinted, tearing eyes, she saw the operative grabbing and clawing at his face. He stumbled backwards towards the door. She reached down and grabbed the filthy porcelain cover of the toilet’s water tank.
Hefting the brick-like slab in her hands, she swung it down on Mr. Douglas’s head as hard as she could. The blow connected with a dull thud. Something between a grunt and a scream emerged from the man’s mouth. He dropped to the concrete floor. His body twitched and jerked, as his mouth struggled to form words.
The white weapon in her hands was now streaked with blood. She hefted the weight over her head. Her arms shook. She saw Mr. Douglas turn and look up at her, a snarl of pain and anger replacing his usual cold, calm stare.
“Satisfied now, asshole?” she hissed.
She dropped the porcelain cover on his face. The impact shattered the white brick into several fragments. A geyser of blood erupted from his crushed nose. His body went limp. Rebecca grabbed the gun from his lifeless hands. She tumbled off the safety and checked to make sure it was loaded.
It was.
She took a deep breath. Her legs buckled, and she almost lost her balance. She steadied herself. You’re not out of this yet, she thought.
She aimed the gun at Mr. Douglas’s unmoving body.
No, she thought. If Bernatto hadn’t heard the commotion, he would certainly hear a gunshot. Right now, the element of surprise was the only thing she had on her side.
She had to get out before Bernatto armed himself and made it back to the bathroom. She turned and kicked at the buckled, collapsing wall. Plaster and drywall crumbled to the ground. She kicked again, harder. Cold, dank air wafted in where a small black hole opened up. The air smelled of mold, rust, and sewage.
Rebecca smiled.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Mariko led Caine past a row of delivery trucks in the parking lot, careful to keep out of sight. Caine heard distant screams coming from the dome. It was impossible to tell if someone had discovered the grisly scene they’d left behind or if it was just the general commotion of the concert. As they walked, Caine twisted his wrists back and forth, working to loosen the plastic restraints. Mariko had checked their tightness, but a couple millimeters could make all the difference later.
“I suppose I should thank you for saving my life.” Caine flashed her a charming smile.
She ignored him and scanned the parking lot. “Keep walking.”
“Where are we going? And why is a PSB officer in such a hurry to leave a crime scene instead of waiting to file a report with the police?”
“Damare!” she hissed. “Quiet. I can’t hear myself think. Do you always talk this much?” She shoved the pistol in his back, prodding him forward.
“Sorry. Guns make me nervous.”
She led him to a parked Toyota. It was a grey sedan.
“That car looks familiar....”
“It should. I’ve been following you since your first night in Kabukicho. Get in.”
She opened the rear passenger door, and Caine slid into the car. A Japanese man in rumpled clothing waited in the driver’s seat. He looked fit, despite the lines of age in his face. Caine recognized him at once. He was the forward tail, from the night he met Mariko.
A scowl settled onto his face when he saw Caine. He turned to Mariko as she sat next to him. “What the hell are you doing, bringing him here? Are you crazy?”
She closed the door with a thud. “He knows something. Drive.”
The man shook his head and started up the car. As they pulled out of the parking lot, Caine could see a row of police and ambulance lights flashing in the distance. The lights cut a path through the standstill traffic.
Mariko turned around to face him. The harsh glow of the neon and streetlights outside reflected across her face.
“All right, Mr. Wilson. I’m listening. Talk.”
“Call me Tom.”
She said nothing.
“I can’t tell you everything.... To be honest, I don’t know everything. But I can tell you that all of this, the yakuza, Tokyo Black, the fighting, it’s all over one girl. Her name is Hitomi Kusaka. She’s Arinori Kusaka’s daughter, and she�
��s in danger.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Arinori Kusaka? The businessman? You’re certain he’s involved?”
Caine wondered if he had said more than he should. Her entire demeanor had changed at the mention of Kusaka’s name. He’d struck a nerve.
“Your turn,” he said. “Why have you been following me?”
She bit her lip as she glanced over at her partner, then back at Caine. “I’ve been investigating links between the yakuza and certain rightwing groups. Groups that have potential to commit acts of domestic terror.”
“Groups like Tokyo Black?”
“Hai. Exactly. Japan has always had organizations such as these. The Red Army, Aum Shinrikyo. Death cults, secret societies. But Tokyo Black ... I’ve never seen anything on this scale before.”
“What the hell do they want? Who’s pulling their strings?”
Mariko shrugged. “They’re radical conservatives. They claim that Japan has allowed itself to become weak, subservient to other nations. Particularly China. It began as a gang, in Fuchu Prison. A man named Atsutane Yuasa started it, after he was sent there for a gas attack on a subway in Osaka. One of his followers in prison was a man named Bobu Shimizu.”
Caine leaned forward. “Bobu Shimizu? Tetsuo’s brother? Big guy? Tattoo on his face?”
“Yes, although he no longer has the tattoo. Before he was yakuza, Bobu was a low-ranked sumo wrestler. He hurt himself a few times in the ring, got addicted to painkillers. From there, he moved to heroin. He was Atsutane’s cellmate in Fuchu. Atsutane helped him clean up, got him through the withdrawal. Bobu left prison addiction-free, but he became fanatically devoted to Atsutane’s teachings.”
Mariko paused. “Now, your turn. Who are you really? When you popped up on our computers as Mark Waters, I thought maybe you were brokering another arms deal with the Yoshizawa family.”
Caine shook his head. “No, that’s not why I’m here. I told you, I’m looking for this girl, Hitomi. Tokyo Black wants her as well.”
Thomas Caine series Boxset Page 16