Caine padded down the hall, pretending to look for his unit. As he walked, he checked the ceiling out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t see any security cameras.
Most of the capsules had thin bamboo shades drawn over the entrance. Caine could hear the snoring and grunting noises of the men inside.
He found his capsule. He had rented it only for cover, but he decided he could spare a few minutes to try Rebecca one more time. He had still not been able to report in, and she might have more information for him.
He climbed the short metal ladder to the second row of capsules and slid into his small plastic room. It was white, sterile, and reasonably clean. He turned on the TV and set it to a channel that displayed only late-night static. Then he dialed Rebecca’s number.
The phone rang three times before it picked up. No one spoke.
“Hello?” he said. “It’s me. I finished the Murakami book.”
He could hear faint static on the other end of the line.
Then a voice. A man’s voice.
“I don’t have the proper response, Tom. You’ve got me there.” The voice was raspy and strained, but Caine still recognized the man on the other end of the line.”
“Allan Bernatto.”
“Yes, Tom, it’s me. Glad to hear you’re still alive.”
“Well, Allan, I find that a bit hard to believe. The last time we spoke, you sent a hired killer to finish me off.”
“It was nothing personal, Tom. We’re all expendable in the end. You know that.”
Caine felt trapped by the smooth plastic walls of the tiny room. They were closing in, growing smaller and smaller, giving his rage nowhere to go. It simmered in the small, hot room.
“What are you doing with this phone?” he snapped. “Where’s Rebecca? If you’ve hurt her, I swear I’ll—”
“You’ll do what, Tom? I’m not in Japan, so making threats just makes you look weak at this point. Did you find the girl?”
Caine clenched his teeth. Bernatto was right. There was nothing he could do, but every muscle in his body had one desire: to reach out and strangle the voice on the other end of the phone. He took a deep breath. Get it under control, he told himself.
“No,” he said calmly, “that’s not how this is going to work. First, I want to talk to Rebecca.”
Allan sighed. It sounded like a wheeze. “I suppose I could lie, but sooner or later, I know you’d demand proof of life. The truth is, I don’t have her. Not anymore. I don’t know where she is now. I don’t even know if she’s alive. She caused quite a ruckus in her escape.”
“Then we have nothing to talk about.”
“Did you find Hitomi? Did she give you the drive?”
So Bernatto knew about the drive all along, Caine thought.
“What’s on the drive, Allan? Why do you want it so bad? Leverage against Kusaka? You know who this girl is? What he’s done to her?”
“Arinori’s perversions are none of my concern, but there is certain information on that drive ... information I provided him that I need to get back.”
“What information?”
“Arinori and I were working together on something—something big, something that could benefit both our countries. But he’s taken it too far. I need to limit my exposure.”
Caine sat quiet for a moment, processing Bernatto’s words.
“This terrorist attack ... it’s real, isn’t it? You planned it with Kusaka? Some sort of false flag operation. What’s the target, Allan?”
“I can’t say any more. Call me when you have the drive. I can clear your record, Tom. I can fix things. You can come back home. Just work with me on this.”
The person in the next cubicle grunted and rolled over on his mattress. He kept his voice a low hiss, so it wouldn’t carry through the thin plastic walls.
“Here’s what’s going to happen, Allan. I’m going to get that hard drive. I’m going to stop whatever Kusaka is planning. And then I’m going to find you. Do you hear me? You better pray Rebecca is alive and well. Because if she isn’t, nothing in the world is going to stop me from bleeding you out. You know what kind of man I am, Allan. And you know I can do it.”
“Tom, wait. Just listen for a—”
Caine hung up the phone. He clenched his shaking fist to steady his nerves. After all these years, hearing Bernatto’s voice brought back the years of suffering, the pain, the betrayal. In an instant, nothing else mattered. All he wanted to do now was leave Japan and find the man who had burned him, who had twisted him. The one who had made him a killer. Find him and make him pay.
Bullshit, said the inner voice, the one he could never silence. Bernatto didn’t make you a killer. You were always a killer. That’s why he recruited you. You were just a weapon he used for his own ends.
Caine ran his hands through his hair and breathed out slowly. Enough. He had a mission. Survival meant moving forward. Like a shark, forever swimming against a relentless current.
He raised the shade on his capsule and dropped to the floor. He thought about the push-button lock Hitomi had described, and reached back into the cubicle. He grabbed the small toiletry kit the manager had given him.
Then he made his way back to the stairs, heading for the top floor showers and Hitomi’s locker.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Caine stood facing a plain wooden door in a small vestibule on the hotel’s top floor. The doorknob sat below a push-button combination lock, just as Hitomi had described.
He glanced up again, checking the ceiling for security cameras. When he was satisfied that his actions were unseen, he pressed the small silver buttons in the order she had given him. He turned the doorknob.
Nothing happened. The door was still locked.
They must have changed the combination, he thought.
He unzipped the toiletry kit and removed a slim tube of talcum powder. He shook a small amount into the palm of his hand and kneeled in front of the lock. A quick puff of his breath blew the powder into the air, coating the metal buttons with a thin film of white. He gently blew on the lock again to dislodge any loose powder.
His careful dusting revealed masses of fingerprints next to the various buttons. The buttons were numbered 1 through 5. The concentration of prints seemed heaviest at the 1 and 4 buttons. He pressed those two buttons simultaneously, then pressed the 2 button with his other finger.
He heard a soft click, and this time the door opened.
He did not walk through. Instead, he leaned forward to check the area.
He spotted the metal housing of a security camera, mounted to the ceiling on the other side of the door. Keeping his back to the wall, Caine slid into the room. As he moved, he made sure to keep the camera directly above him, staying out of its field of view.
A small cluster of red and black wires led from a hole in the wall to the back of the camera. He gave them a sharp tug, and they yanked loose, cutting off the video feed.
Unlike the men’s floor, the women’s section was not carpeted. The floors were smooth hardwood and much cleaner. The air smelled of perfume and deodorant. The grunts and snores from his floor were replaced by soft sighs, the rustling of sheets.
He was flanked by row after row, chamber after chamber of women, separated from him by only a thin shade of fabric. Caine realized how alone he had been the past few years. How long since he had truly connected with a woman. Now he was surrounded by them. He imagined their bodies tossing, turning, writhing under the thin white sheets, lit from all sides by the harsh, sterile glow of the capsules.
He thought of Rebecca, then of other women he had known during his exile in Pattaya. All touched by the pain and darkness following in his wake.
Shaking his head, he moved on.
He stepped past a row of cubbies stuffed with bathrobes, shampoo, and slippers. The floor changed from wood to a pale pink tile. He could hear the sound of someone showering around the corner.
Damn. Mariko had been right.
He could see the
lockers on the other side of the shower stalls. Whoever was enjoying her late-night shower was out of view. Caine crept forward. As he crossed the communal shower, the woman came into view.
Her back was to him as he snuck past. He watched as the droplets of water traced the curve of her thigh. She turned and threw her head back. A huge splash of water slapped the floor as she rinsed shampoo from a glistening dark mass of hair. The lather slid down her back, over her buttocks, and down her legs.
Caine tore his gaze away and moved on. The sound of the shower masked his footsteps, allowing him to make it to the lockers without drawing her attention. He turned the corner, putting himself out of her line of sight, and breathed a sigh of relief.
He found the number matching Hitomi’s key. Inside were a few of her belongings ... a pair of slippers, some gum, a crumpled transit card. Caine pushed these aside and found a small, rectangular package. It was wrapped in a pink t-shirt, with a picture of Masuka Ongaku on the front. Inside the shirt was a silver metal device with black rubber bumpers on the edges.
Caine recognized the Iron Key drive immediately. He had used them before himself to transport sensitive information. They were built by a company in America, with funding from the United States government.
Iron Key drives contained high-level hardware encryption. They could also be set to shut down, or even erase, all onboard data if accessed by an unauthorized system. Whatever was on the drive, Kusaka was serious about keeping it secure.
But Bernatto’s angle was still unclear. He said he needed leverage against Kusaka, that the man had gone too far. What did that mean, exactly?
A shudder of disgust ran through his body. He imagined the horrors Kusaka had inflicted on Hitomi. Was the evidence of his abhorrent perversions all he was protecting? Hitomi didn’t think so, and Caine had to agree.
Kusaka had been a CIA asset, providing information through his Chinese industrial connections, but now he seemed to be working with Bernatto on something far more complex. What was their plan? What were they trying to accomplish? And why did they now seem to be at odds?
The hard drive he held in his hands was the key to answering those questions.
A woman’s scream rang out. Caine tensed and slid the hard drive into his jacket pocket. He heard a man shouting in Japanese.
Caine peered around the corner and saw a man wielding a pistol. He was waving it in front of the naked, terrified woman. She was sitting on the tile floor of the shower, struggling to cover herself with her hands as the water cascaded around her.
The man looked yakuza ... flashy suit, slicked-back hair, the usual signs. But Caine didn’t see Tokyo Black scars. The thug pointed the gun at the woman and shouted again, asking her if she had seen a gaijin man on this floor. She shook her head no.
Caine stepped out into the shower area. “Hey!” he shouted. The gangster wheeled around and pointed his gun at Caine. The woman looked up, her eyes wide with fear.
Caine took a step forward. “Looking for me?”
The yakuza man grinned and stepped forward. He gestured with his gun. “Someone wants to speak with you, gaijin.”
Caine shrugged. “That’s fine. Lead the way.”
The man circled behind Caine. “Downstairs. Move it ... nice and slow.”
From the corner of his eye, Caine saw the man move towards him. He felt the muzzle of the gun brush against his left arm, and he knew it was time to act.
Caine shrugged his arm backwards, as if he were about to take a step. The movement was slight, but it shifted the angle of the gun backwards a hair, moving him just out of the line of fire.
As soon as he felt the gun shift, Caine’s body exploded into motion. His left arm shot out, knocking the other man’s gun up and away from his body.
Caine wrapped his hand around the wrist of his attacker’s gun hand and twisted his body sideways. As he turned, he slammed his right elbow into the other man’s face.
His victim spun around, blood streaming from his crushed nose. Caine drove his knee into the thug’s groin.
The man grunted and pitched forward. As the air exploded from his attacker’s lungs, Caine grabbed the barrel of the gun. With a quick twist, he yanked it free from the man’s grasp. In one fluid motion, he swept the arm back, whipping the other man across the face with the pistol.
Then he lashed out with his leg and kicked the man forward.
The terrified woman screamed and scurried out of the way as the yakuza collided with the shower wall. Caine stepped under the spray of water and grabbed the man’s hair. He slammed his face into the wall over and over again, until the man slumped to the ground, unconscious.
Caine stepped back, panting. The woman cowered in the corner, staring at the pulverized face of the man lying on the ground. When she looked up at Caine, her eyes glazed over with fear and shock.
Caine tucked the pistol into his waistband. He pulled off the man’s blazer, draped it over the woman, and helped her to her feet.
“Here, put this on,” he said. “Daijoubu desu. Everything’s going to be okay. Go back to your capsule. Stay there. Don’t come out for anyone other than the police, you understand?”
The woman nodded, although Caine doubted she actually understood what he said. As she ran off, Caine kneeled down and tore open the man’s shirt. There were no scars.
Instead, intricate yakuza tattoos covered the man’s skin. One curled up his arm, featuring three koi fish. One blue, one red, and one black, swimming up a stream of water, through a wooden gate. Caine recognized the design at once.
The man was not Tokyo Black. He was a member of the Yoshizawa clan.
It looked like Mariko was right again. His alliance with Isato seemed to have dissolved. The old gangster had helped Caine find Hitomi. Maybe now he considered his debt fulfilled.
Caine checked the thug’s pistol, making sure it had a full load, and headed for the stairs. He could no longer trust Isato and his yakuza. Rebecca was missing, or worse. And Tokyo Black had influence over the police.
The only two people he could count on now were waiting for him downstairs in a dark alley.
Caine snuck downstairs and slipped out the side door. As soon as he hit the pavement, he knew something was wrong. He couldn’t say why exactly, but something about the thick night air, humid and heavy, felt off. The light mist that enveloped him hinted at the familiar scent of danger.
Maybe it was paranoia due to so many betrayals and surprises, but Caine had lived a life based on instinct and he didn’t think twice about trusting his intuition now. He slid the pistol from his waistband and thumbed off the safety. He kept close to the alley wall and walked back to the street.
Peering around the corner, he saw several cars parked across the street, their headlights facing the alley. Shadowy figures approached, indistinct against the blazing backlight.
He heard the explosive blast of gunfire. He ducked back behind the wall as bullets sent chips of concrete flying through the air. He returned fire, shooting blind around the cover of the wall. Then, for a moment, there was silence.
A voice called out. “Waters-san, it’s me, Kenji! Come on out, man. We need to talk.”
Caine’s eyes darted back and forth as he tried to make sense of this new information. Isato was a gangster, yes. He may have withdrawn his support, maybe even put out a hit on Caine to tie up loose ends.
But there was no way on Earth he would send his son. From everything Caine had seen, Isato went out of his way to insulate Kenji from his yakuza activities.
“Kenji?” he called out. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Meet me in the middle of the street. Let’s work this out before one of these ladies gets hurt.”
Caine cursed under his breath. Hitomi and Mariko. Kenji must have surrounded them, got the upper hand.
He was torn. This was a no-win situation. He didn’t have enough intel to know what was going on with Kenji. He knew the drive was the mission. Hitomi had led him to the drive. Mariko h
ad helped. Now that the drive was in his possession, they were both expendable. Just as Bernatto had said—everyone was expendable.
The smart thing to do would be to head the other direction. Get out of the alley before Isato’s men closed off the opening behind him. Take the drive, get somewhere safe, and plan his next move. Find out what happened to Rebecca. That was the right play.
But it didn’t feel right.
He stood up. “Just you and me, Kenji. I get the feeling your family isn’t too happy with me right now.”
“Sure, man. Just you and me. For now.”
Caine slid the pistol back into his waistband. He stepped out into the street, his hands held loosely in front of him, open and unthreatening. He took a few steps forward.
He could see Kenji, flanked by a group of eight yakuza thugs. Caine recognized a few of them as Isato’s men. One had an arm draped across Mariko’s neck, her hands tied behind her. Caine looked her in the eye as he walked towards the group, and she returned his gaze. She looked scared, but she lifted her chin and nodded slightly. She was ready to make a move if need be.
Behind the group of men, Caine saw Hitomi sitting in the passenger seat of a pearl white Lexus LFA. She turned to look at him, her eyes blank. They showed no fear, or regret, or recognition. Caine knew that look. He had seen it in the mirror many times. It was the look of someone who had made peace with death. Someone who longed for it. Because the alternatives that awaited them were far worse.
Not this time, Caine vowed.
Caine stopped walking and turned his attention to Kenji. The young man nodded and approached him.
“I hope this isn’t about the GTR, Kenji. Sorry, you know how Tokyo traffic can be.”
Kenji smiled. “Of course not. I was tired of that ride anyway. As you can see, Mr. Caine, I’ve already replaced it.” He nodded back towards the Lexus.
Thomas Caine series Boxset Page 21