by Rob Jones
“And now, die.”
Hashimoto pulled the hammer back but at that second a police siren wailed in the distance. The Yakuza man cursed, kicked the limo door and folded his hand around the ring. He and Mori spoke in rapid Japanese and then fled into the crowd.
Scarlet came to and saw the ring was gone. “What the hell happened?”
“Hashimoto got the ring,” Ryan said.
Behind him, Zeke was gently trying to bring Hiroko around while Lexi smashed her shattered window out and crawled into the street. “We have to get going, guys. Police on our six.”
The rest of the team followed Scarlet out of the car. Zeke was last, with a barely conscious Hiroko in his arms. “I can’t leave her like this.”
“And we need a diversion,” Scarlet said. “Lexi and Ryan wait till the police see you and then do a runner over there. Zeke, you get the job of handling all this shit.”
“What the..?”
“Deal with it. That’s life in ECHO.”
“Bless you, sweetheart, but I ain’t even in ECHO!”
“Think of it as a temporary secondment.”
“What about you?” Ryan asked.
Scarlet turned and watched Hashimoto and Mori as they made their way deeper into the growing crowd of shocked commuters now gathering on the scramble crossing. Somewhere overhead she heard the familiar sound of helicopter rotors and presumed either TV news or police.
“I’m going to get that ring back.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Amidst the chaotic tinny racket of a nearby pachinko parlor, Scarlet heard the sound of car horns blaring and the screams of confused, scared people. She turned the corner and saw the Yakuza fighting their way through the scramble crossing, flick knives in their hands and snarls on their faces. Some of the men and women noticed the tell-tale signs of yubitsume – the finger-shortening punishment used by the infamous gangsters – and made themselves scarce as fast as possible.
Scarlet struggled to follow the thugs as they pushed deeper into the world-famous crossing. Neatly placed outside the busy Shibuya railroad station, the crossing was one of the busiest in the world and had featured in countless movies from Lost in Translation to Retribution. Now, the Englishwoman was standing on tiptoes in a bid to keep her eye on the gangsters as they slipped into the insane crowd.
Neon flashed and car horns honked. The rainstorm had retreated to a light Tokyo drizzle which now fell from the electric sky like ash. It was a scene she would remember forever, but business was business and the Yakuza and the ring were getting away. She blew out a breath and slowed her breathing as she scanned the scene.
And then she saw them.
They were running into Shibuya station and obviously planning on getting onto a train to make good their escape with the ring. She was sure they had no idea of the value of the thing, but she were damned sure they were going to keep hold of it now.
Above everything.
She sprinted over the crossing, raising a warning hand to stop taxis as they drove toward her in the night. Pedestrians gasped and stepped away from her. Many filmed her on their phones. Some presumed she was a famous actor making a movie and looked around for a film crew while others scanned the air for a police chopper. Chaos reigned, but Scarlet Sloane didn’t care a damn. She had to get the ring back at all costs.
Gone again. The place teemed with people moving in a dozen directions. The smell of dashi emanated through the extractor fan of a nearby restaurant as she climbed onto the hood of a parked car and scanned the area once again for any sign of the fleeing men. She saw them again, much closer to the station’s entrance, but a thick cloud of smoke billowed out the door of a yakitori restaurant and obscured them. When the drizzly breeze cleared the smoke, they were gone.
Damn it.
A policeman called out to her from the other side of the crossing and started to wave his way through the crowd toward her. She leapt down from the hood and hurriedly pushed a strand of wet hair away from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear as her heart quickened. The cop drew closer and was now on his radio.
Damn it again.
Did they go into Shibuya Station or not? She tossed a coin in her head and went with the trains. They’d made the effort to get all the way to the station’s entrance after all, and why bother doing that only to change direction in the last few steps?
She went with her gut and ran down the underground steps two at a time. Her gun was holstered but her hand was never more than a few inches away from the grip. Like all professionally trained soldiers she knew exactly how many rounds were in it and that there was one in the chamber. She would use it if she had to, but the general idea was to protect the public, not start a fire fight in the middle of countless innocent people. There were children here, holding hands with their mums and dads as they went about their evening. The gun would stay out of sight for as long as possible.
She made the platform just as the doors on an eastbound train were starting to close. She saw the two men split up. Hashimoto ran for the train while Mori moved further along the platform toward another exit.
Clever.
Which one had the ring?
She tossed another coin in her head. From the exchange in the elevator she believed Hashimoto was the senior man. Unlikely he would have given the job of protecting the ring to his junior.
With Mori long gone and Hashimoto well out of sight somewhere on the train, she darted across to the train and slipped through the sliding doors with half a second to spare.
Eyes peeled and hand on gun grip, she walked slowly through the packed train as it raced along the Ginza line eastwards out of Shibuya, carefully scanning the faces of the commuters until she found Hashimoto. With one hand under her jacket, resting on the grip of her weapon, she moved from the rear of the train toward the front, expecting a lethal firefight at any moment.
The train pulled into Shimbashi Station as she was reaching the last carriage. Up ahead she saw him now, in his black jacket and his slicked-back hair. He was weaving through the people on the train like a salamander, one eye on her and one on the exit door at the end of the carriage.
The train reached its automatic stopping place and the doors lined up with the corresponding marks on the platform. A sigh of hydraulics as the doors swished open, and then Hashimoto was off the train and heading for an exit at the southern end of the busy platform.
Scarlet stepped off the train. People waited patiently in perfect queues to board the train but she pushed into them to get closer to the fleeing gangster before he slipped out of sigh. She had followed him halfway across the heart of Tokyo and she was sure as hell she wasn’t going to let him get away now.
Hashimoto glanced over his shoulder and smirked just as he slipped out of sight behind the tiled exit, but Scarlet was only a second behind, hand still gripping the gun in her shoulder holster. She turned the corner to see him bounding up the steps three at a time and instantly gave chase.
She reached the ground level. Another world of cream-colored tiles and bright white strip lights all around her. Ahead of her Hashimoto walked pass a vending machine and headed for the station’s exit.
She followed him outside.
Back in the rain. Hashimoto was jogging away from the station, dwarfed by yet more towering skyscrapers and flashing neon. This city must go to the end of the world, she thought as she watched the man turn right at a busy junction.
When she reached the intersection it was just in time to see him running toward the entrance of Yurikamome Station. He was leading her to the end of the world, or more likely into a terrible trap but she had no choice but to follow. Like a bolt of lightning, he darted onto the next train just as it was pulling away from the platform.
By the time Scarlet reached the platform the computer controlling the line had locked the doors and started to pull the train out of the station. She sprinted hard, rain in her face and her lungs aching with pain as she powered herself to catch up with it, just grabbing the
rear of the final carriage in time.
The Yurikamome automated guideway is a computer-controlled transit service running on an elevated rail a hundred feet above the streets of the city; Scarlet Sloane took her life in her hands and clung to the back as it gained speed and headed out into the stormy night.
Wiping the rain from her face, she climbed onto the top of the train and made her way along the carriage’s roof as the world-famous train jerked forward. Rapidly gaining speed on the elevated guideway now, Scarlet took a second to take the situation in and consider her game plan. She knew there was no way to avoid creating a panic if she wanted to take back the ring.
They were racing out of the station now and entering the heavily built-up area around the waterfront of Tokyo Bay. Theaters and palaces and shrines flashed past them in a blur of other buildings – schools, hospitals and parks but there was no time to admire the view.
She had one goal in mind and that was the retrieval of the third ring before either the Yakuza, or the Oracle or Razak could get it. With careful footfall to avoid slipping on the slick stainless steel roof, she made her way slowly to the front where she had seen Hashimoto entering the train.
She took a breath and pulled her gun. Either side of her the immense metropolitan sprawl of Tokyo receded to the horizon like something out of science fiction dystopia. The carriage rocked gently from side to side in the wind as its rubber tires moved along the raised concrete bridge. The streets far below teemed with life. Lines of cars belched exhaust fumes and an A380 groaned and whined above her on its way to Haneda International, flashing in and out of the rainclouds almost low enough to touch.
She climbed down in between the first two carriages and pulled her gun. Swinging the weapon up to the window at the end of the carriage, she emptied her magazine into it. The thick, safety Perspex took a hell of a beating from the nine mil rounds but stayed in place. People inside screamed and ran to the far end of the carriage while she hammered on the Perspex with the grip of her gun.
Making a hole big enough to reach into, she operated the safety release and the door slid open to reveal the faces of dozens of terrified people looking back at her.
Where was Hashimoto?
Movement behind them, and she fought her way through the passengers just in time to see the Yakuza man struggling to open the other door.
“Hold it right there!” she yelled.
He froze like a statue, then twisted his head slowly toward her. He was calm, but there was a rage in his eyes and a fiendish grin on his face. “Looks like you got me at last. I’m impressed.”
“I’m not trying to impress anyone, Hashimoto. Just give me the ring.”
He was wearing it on one of his fingers and now he craned his neck forward and looked at it. “What’s so special about it?”
“That’s my business. Hand it over.”
“It’s good quality gold, but it has no other value,” he purred. “Or maybe it does?”
She refreshed her grip on the gun and raised it from his chest to his face. “No more talking. Give me the ring.”
The Japanese gangster turned to her, face to face and pulled himself up to his full height with a steely determination on his scarred face. He wanted to reach for the gun in his holster, or maybe there was a switchblade tucked away on him somewhere. She wouldn’t be surprised, but if he made a move for either of them she would bury a bullet in his head before his hand moved half an inch, and it looked like he knew it.
He was sweating now, and Scarlet noticed a woman move behind her. She took a step back and to the left so she could keep the woman and Hashimoto in her sights at the same time. The woman was reaching for the emergency stop button.
“Get away from it,” she said sharply, gesturing with her gun to make the woman understand she should back off. She obeyed instantly, babbling a terrified apology and raising her hands as she stepped away from the button.
The train trundled on through the night, high above the city.
“The ring, Hashimoto. Throw it over to me, now.”
“And what if I refuse?”
“You know what happens next.”
The grin widened. “Tell me.”
“I’ll shoot you dead and take the ring off your finger.”
His eyes glinted dully in the artificial lighting of the carriage. “You must want this ring pretty badly, foreigner.”
“You’ll find out how badly in less than three seconds. Last warning. Three…”
“You think you can threaten Yakuza?”
“Two…”
“And get away with it?”
“One…” she pulled the hammer back and squinted down the sights.
“Wait!”
She blew out the breath she had been holding to steady her aim and her nerve. She had won. She had beaten him, and now he was pulling the ring off his finger. He moved calmly and coolly, gently slipping the ring from his finger and then holding it up between them as if it were the world’s most precious object.
And maybe it was.
“Good boy,” she said quietly, keeping one eye on the other passengers. She could tell from the lighting outside the train that the next station was approaching. “Now throw it to me. Any funny business and I’ll shoot you dead first and ask the funeral director the questions.”
“What is this ring all about?” he asked as he tossed it at her. “Why have you crossed the Yakuza tonight?”
Scarlet caught the ring in one hand just as the train came to a stop and the doors opened.
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because tonight you have made an enemy – one that will never stop hunting you until you are dead and this dishonor is avenged. I must know why.”
“The devil made me do it, Hashimoto, so take it up with him.”
And then she was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Honolulu International Airport is the biggest airport on Oahu and one of the busiest in the entire United States. The first properly built airport in the whole state of Hawaii, travellers to the island had to use landing strips or cleared fields before its construction in 1927, but when the ECHO team arrived it was a small city of runways and shops and departure lounges powering up for another busy day.
They approached from the north, cruising through Pearl Harbor on the Kamehameha Highway. Reaper was at the wheel and Lea and Nikolai were sleeping in the back. Hawke looked out across the harbor and saw the monuments on the east coast of Ford Island.
As a former military man with serious combat experience he felt a deep sense of loss and respect as the USS Arizona Memorial came into view, and then the USS Missouri Memorial where the Japanese surrendered, ending the bloodiest war in history. It loomed out of the darkness almost as distant as 1945 itself, but it was there, all the same, and Hawke gave a silent salute before turning back to face the road.
“We’re here,” Reaper said, gently turning McKenna’s stolen pickup truck off the highway and into the airport. “Let’s just hope the Athanatoi are still here, too.”
Hawke looked at his watch. “Should be. Lea checked what McKenna said about the flights and the first ones aren’t until just after five. Must be some noise abatement law like they have in London Heathrow.”
“You think anyone found Cobb and McKenna tied up on their boat yet?”
“I’ll check the news,” Lea said. “Much later.” She yawned and stretched her arms. “I don’t know about you guys, but I could sleep for a hundred years.”
“I hear you loud and clear,” Hawke said. “But they never sleep, or so it seems.”
“Et ça, c’est le problème,” the former legionnaire followed the signs to the short stay parking lot. “We must win before we sleep.”
Lea glanced at Nikolai who was snoring quietly beside her. “Well, this one sleeps, that’s for sure.”
They cruised past various car rental companies until finally pulling into the parking lot and killing the engine. The new silence woke Nikolai in the back. He ya
wned, checked his watch and peered out the window. “At last,” he growled. “We get closer to the prize.”
Hawke watched the former Athanatoi man carefully in the mirror. The seed of doubt was still in his mind. Could he trust this weird monk? This man whose early life in Moscow had been a baptism of fire? The man who had been closer to the Oracle than anyone else they knew – the man who had come closer than anyone to the holy grail of immortality?
Maybe he had made a mistake by letting him join them. Maybe saving Lea’s life was nothing more than a piece of theater aimed at hooking them and reeling them in. Had Nikolai been honest with them, or was it all nothing more than a piece of bait designed to lull them into a false sense of security before the Oracle made his last, devastating move against them?
Hawke felt the suspension rock as Reaper shifted his not inconsiderate bulk out of the truck and slammed the door. The sun was nearing the horizon now, and the temperature was already over twenty degrees Celsius. The airport parking lot lights shone down on them like LED stage lights, turning everything a ghostly arctic blue color.
“Let’s get this over with,” Hawke said, popping his belt buckle. “Where are the gates for private planes?”
Lea was already on it, phone in hand as she climbed out of the back of the truck. “Looks like it’s just over there. Quickest way is through the main terminal and then hang a right.”
They walked into the bright lights of the terminal and followed Lea’s directions, heading into the west where the private aprons were situated. En route, Reaper had to be pulled away from the welcoming mint and chocolate brown glow of the Honolulu Cookie Company store.
“Never come between a Frenchman and his stomach,” he growled.
“We’re sort of pressed for time, Reap,” Lea said with a smile.
“Oui, mais…” He rubbed his stomach and sighed. “All right, but later.”
“Yes, later,” Lea said.
Walking through the air-conditioned calm of the airport they started scanning for any sign of the men who had raided the plantation and snatched the ring. To their right, three men dressed in black were walking into the mall section of the airport where vendors were opening up their stores for the day.