“From what I hear,” she said, her voice matter of fact, “Mr. Yoshizawa is quite generous to his close associates. Money, drugs, girls….”
Caine looked her in the eye, but her dark black pupils gave away nothing. They merely studied him with mild curiosity.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know who you’re talking about. You must have me confused with someone else.”
She took another sip of her drink. “That’s certainly possible. Things can get very confusing, where these people are concerned. So, you don’t know Mr. Yoshizawa?”
Caine said nothing.
The woman shrugged. “Then, as you say, I must have confused you with someone else. Do you play pachinko, Mr. Wilson?”
The pachinko parlor. The bodies….
“I’m sorry Miss…?”
Her lips curled into a bitter, sarcastic smile. “Smith.”
Caine smiled back. “Mariko Smith?”
She nodded. “Yes. I know it’s a rather dull name, Mr. John Wilson. But at least it’s simple. Easy to remember.”
Caine stood. “Well, Ms. Smith, I’m afraid I really do have to go. Enjoy the drink.”
“I will. Thank you. I hope we can run into each other again.”
“Somehow I doubt that, but you never know.”
As he turned away, she whispered into his ear, “Ja, Mata.” See you later.
He looked her over one more time. “Sayonara.”
As he walked back to the curtain and up the dark stairs, he hoped the goodbye was as final as he intended.
He stalked the streets surrounding Kabukicho for nearly an hour, but saw no signs of the Toyota sedan, or the man in the grey suit, or Miss Mariko Smith and her lace dress.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ethan eased back in his chair as the girl on his screen twirled around. Her skirt lifted up as it spun through the air, revealing the curves of her body underneath. Dog moved closer to the screen.
“Oh baby, that is beautiful. What’s your name again?”
“I’m Ashley,” she said in a breathy voice. She was employed by a one-on-one video chat service Ethan liked to use when he felt the need to relieve stress. It ran a little over two dollars per minute, but the cost was immaterial, of course. He had hacked their billing software. All his charges were forwarded to a secretary at the EPA who had stood him up on a date once.
“What do you want to see next?” Ashley asked.
Ethan gulped as her fingers crawled up her inner thighs….
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
He jumped in his chair as the small black window covered the images on his screen. Red letters typed out a short message:
SECURE CONNECTION REQUEST. RF-07716. STATUS: MOUNTAIN
“Crap,” Ethan muttered. Ashley and her lovely behind snapped off his screen. He initiated a homemade program that tagged the video call with a virus. In a matter of seconds, all records of the exchange erased themselves from the chat company’s servers.
He turned his attention to the chat window that had interrupted his fun, and tapped a response on his keyboard.
SECURE CONNECTION INITIATED. DR-23748. STATUS: ORIOLE
The black box was replaced with another video chat window. Rebecca stared back at him with a curious look on her face.
“Ethan, you okay? You look a little red.”
Ethan laughed as he adjusted his glasses and ran his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, yeah, boss. All good. Just working on some, ah, some reports.”
She glared at him suspiciously. “Right. Look, are you alone? Is this connection secure? I mean, airtight, secure?”
“Yeah, definitely. End to end encryption, my own algorithm. What’s up? Your guy find the girl yet?”
Rebecca looked hesitant. “No, not yet. The op is in progress. But there are some … irregularities. Some things I need you to look into. Off the books.”
Ethan cracked his fingers like a pianist and grinned. “Off the books is where I do my best work. Ask and you shall receive.”
Rebecca nodded and looked off screen for a second. She bit her lip, then turned back to Ethan. “Okay, two things. One is intel for the op. I need you to see if you can dig up any mention of a group called Tokyo Black. Splinter group from the yakuza, but politically oriented. Rightwing, nationalist leanings. Check the usual sources. Propaganda websites, extreme rightwing politicians, hate crime records, you know.”
Ethan scribbled the words on a note pad on his desk. “Tokyo Black. Sounds like a punk rock band. What else?”
“Ethan, this is sensitive. You have to be careful. Do you understand? No one can know about this.”
Ethan blinked, then smiled. “Come on, Rebecca, you’re freaking me out. But look, I’m the Digital Ninja. I live in the internet’s shadows. If I don’t want someone to see me digging, they won’t see me digging. It’s that simple.”
“Right. Except, you were caught once. That’s why you work for me.”
“I wasn’t caught; I was entrapped. There’s a difference. And you may be a pain in the ass for a boss, but you beat life in federal prison.”
She nodded. “Okay. The operative we found, Thomas Caine. Bernatto doesn’t know about him, right?”
“Nope. I purged all records of his arrest like you said. He hasn’t turned up on anyone’s radar but ours.”
“Good. I need you to look into his last assignment. Operation Big Blind. Some things don’t add up.”
Ethan sighed. “Rebecca, that was what, eight or nine years ago? God only knows how much that intel was massaged, cut, redacted. Even if I can find anything, verifying it will be next to impossible. No one wants to dig up that skeleton again.”
“Impossible? Even for the Digital Ninja?”
Ethan laughed. “This Caine guy got under your skin, huh?”
“Ethan, please. It’s personal.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll see what I can do.” Rebecca opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off. “Yes, yes, I’ll be careful. I’ll be an invisible wind, a shadow in the night, a—”
“Ethan,” she interrupted.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t ever watch porn in my office again.”
He gulped. “Right. Sorry, boss.”
Rebecca smiled as she reached forward to sign off. “Thanks, Ethan.” She tapped some keys, and her image disappeared from the screen.
Ethan sighed and leaned back in his chair. He shook his head, before tapping away on the keyboard once again. He opened a new secure connection. Once he had received the proper call sign-in, he typed another short message.
SHE’S DIGGING. WE NEED TO MEET.
Birds chirped and squawked as they soared above the thick forest trails of Theodore Roosevelt Island. Ethan was no nature expert, but he was pretty sure the brown bird circling overhead was a hawk, or some other avian predator. He watched as it lazily drifted by the clearing where the remains of an old manor house lay sunken in the ground.
He huffed and puffed in the cool air. The island was accessible only by foot, via a small bridge on the Virginia Bank, and he was unaccustomed to traversing such distances. The forested island served as a monument to Theodore Roosevelt’s love for nature and the untamed wilderness. No cars and bikes were permitted anywhere on the grounds, and there were no roads—only long, winding dirt trails, pounded to a smooth surface by decades of use.
He shifted his backpack on his shoulders as he peered down into the sinkhole. It was covered in vines and tangled weeds, but he could spy signs of cracked, weathered field stone lining parts of the sunken pit. The house had belonged to some old banker named Mason. A fire had destroyed it long before the United States government took ownership of the island. Years of weather and neglect ate away at the remaining walls and structure. This hidden foundation was all that remained of the old house, save for an occasional fragment of old china washed up by the rain.
He heard footsteps crossing the grass and vegetation behind him. A tall man in a black overcoat approached.
Bernatto.
>
Ethan stood in silence and jammed his hands in his pockets as Bernatto walked up to him. For a few moments, they stood together, staring into the deep hole.
The hawk soared above, a dark shape against the blue sky. There were few other visitors on the island this late in the afternoon. The shriek of the bird rose above the distant rumble of traffic on the Roosevelt Bridge.
Bernatto turned and stared at Ethan. “Well?”
“You said to let you know if she started digging, if anything seemed out of the ordinary.”
“Get to the point Ethan. If you called me, something must be up. Don’t waste my time.”
“Look, we had a deal right? I do this for you, act as your eyes and ears on this op, and then I’m out. No more cyber-crimes unit. No more ratting out my old hacker friends, no more restricted computer access. I’m free to start over.”
“You did the right thing, Ethan. Everyone deserves a second chance. This is an important operation. I need to make sure everything goes according to plan. You help me take care of this, I’ll take care of you.”
“Good. Something’s got Rebecca spooked. She’s asking about some kind of Japanese terror group, something called Tokyo Black.”
Bernatto stared at him. “Go on,” he said, his voice low and flat.
“Well, I don’t know how they fit in with this girl you want found, but I dug up some information about them. They’re like the Japanese version of our wackjob militia groups, you know? Some yakuza guy got radicalized in prison. Gets out, comes home, decides the yakuza have lost their way. Feels like they’ve lost touch with their roots, they don’t represent Japan anymore, or the Japanese people.
“So, he puts a cap in his brother’s ass, takes over the family chapter, and turns them political. Low-level, domestic stuff. Kidnappings, extortion, a few bomb threats at government buildings. They say they want to unite Japan against China and their other common enemies. Japan is destined to be the Asian super power, that kind of stuff. They start turf wars with the other yakuza families, steal their money, weapons … anything to keep the group running.”
Bernatto nodded. “Fascinating, but that sounds like Japan’s problem, not mine.”
Ethan pulled a manila folder from his backpack. “There’s more. I know you didn’t want details on the asset. Deniability, right? See no evil, hear no evil?”
Bernatto glowered at him, his teeth clenched. Ethan handed him the file folder.
“Right, well, this guy we found … I think you should take a look. I’ve never seen anything like it. Aside from his operational record, half of which is blacked out, he’s a ghost. No background, no history, no military record, nothing. It’s like he just popped up at CIA headquarters one day and started killing people. For all I know, he’s a freaking terminator robot you guys built.”
Bernatto took the file, but didn’t open it. He looked out over the dark hole of the old foundation and squinted. “What’s the asset’s name?”
“He surfaced in a Thai prison under the name Mark Waters, but that was just a cover ID. Rebecca said his real name is Thomas Caine. You know him?”
Bernatto nodded and opened the file, flipping through the pages without reading them. “Oh, yes, I know Thomas. Mr. Caine is a very dangerous man.”
“Sure. Well, he’s a spook, right? So now, Rebecca is digging into this old operation of his. Something called Big Blind. She asked me to go through a bunch of files about it. It’s full of holes, man. Lots of conclusions, lots of supposedly dead people. But no bodies. No evidence. Lots of black marker, you know what I mean?”
Bernatto folded the file in half and slid it into his inner coat pocket. “Is this everything?”
“I mean, that’s all I found on Caine. The Big Blind files are on Rebecca’s office computer.”
Bernatto looked up at the hawk. “Do you know why I picked this spot, Maslin?”
“Old dudes love to walk?” Ethan grinned.
“This island is a sanctuary. A peaceful, idyllic monument to nature.” Bernatto held out his arms and took a deep breath. “But did you know that after the US government took over this island from the Mason family, it was used as one of the first weapons testing sites in America?”
“They didn’t mention that in the brochure.”
The old man smiled and went on. “In the Spanish–American War, they used this island as a testing ground for the electrical ignition of dynamite. For the late 1800s, that was cutting edge weapons tech. Way ahead of its time.”
“Yeah, real bleeding edge.”
“Underneath all this beauty and nature, there’s death and decay,” Bernatto said. “Behind peace, there is war, and blood, and sacrifice. Always.”
Ethan stepped back. “Look, man, that’s all I got. We had a deal, so I called you, but I have to get back.”
Bernatto laughed. “Like you said, I’m an old man. I have a taste for history. Indulge me, for a minute. You see those field stones down there? Did you know Mason, the original owner of this island, had them imported from Scotland? He said he always wanted his homeland beneath his feet.”
Ethan leaned over the pit. “Really? Seems like a lot of trouble for your basement.”
Bernatto clamped a gloved hand around Ethan’s mouth and slid a black tanto blade knife out of his coat. He thrust the straight, flat blade forward, punching the weapon into Ethan’s struggling body. The young man screamed, but Bernatto’s vise-like grip across his face muffled the sound.
The blow didn’t strike any major organs, but the wound gushed blood, pumped by Ethan’s panicked heart. Bernatto whipped out the blade and placed it along the soft flesh of his victim’s throat. He sliced left to right, then kicked the body forward, into the hole.
There was loud crack as Ethan’s head struck one of the broken stones. His body rolled over, and his glazed eyes rolled back in their sockets. Blood continued to bubble and flow from the gaping throat.
“George Mason wasn’t Scottish, you idiot,” Bernatto hissed.
He wiped the blade clean on the dirt and pocketed the knife. Then he walked back towards the footbridge that connected the island to the mainland.
As he passed the island plaza and the majestic bronze statue of Teddy Roosevelt pointing towards the sky, he pulled out his cellphone. “Hello? Yes, I need to book a ticket on your first flight out to Pattaya, Thailand.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The izakaya pub in Osaka is dark, smoky, and loud. Caine throws back a glass of sake. The rice wine is expensive, and he knows it is a waste to shoot it like cheap tequila. But the Japanese men surrounding him all laugh and cheer. “Banzai!” they shout. Caine laughs and slams the tiny glass down.
The surface of their table is buried in empty glasses, bottles of liquor, and food. Platters of takoyaki octopus balls, tempura, udon noodles, grilled meats … it is a small feast to celebrate their partnership and the profitable deal he has brought to them.
Isato Yoshizawa sits next to Caine. He’s chosen an expensive navy blue suit and a white silk shirt for the occasion. Most of the gangsters in Caine’s company have shed their jackets and unbuttoned their shirts. But not Isato. He is the oyabun. He commands respect.
Across from them is Koichi, indifferent to the ruckus around him. Caine finds him impossible to read, but feels distrust in the old man’s stare. Caine gestures and makes a joke, but the pub is so loud he can’t even hear his own words. Shaking his head, Koichi gets up from the table. Two of his lieutenants stand and follow. He lights up a cigarette and navigates his way through the crowded bar.
Caine leans over to Isato. “I don’t think he likes me.”
The oyabun smiles. “Give him time. Koichi is old-fashioned. He is wary of working with barbarians.”
Caine shrugs and pours another finger of scotch into Isato’s glass. “Well, I’m glad you’re more open-minded.”
“One must stay current or become obsolete. I want the next generation to inherit a strong family. Still, it is difficult for old gangsters like us to c
atch up.”
Caine senses movement at the front of the izakaya. Some sort of commotion. Isato’s smile fades as Caine’s hand dips towards the opening in his suit. A small child bursts out of the crowd near the entrance and runs towards Isato, smiling. Caine sighs, and his hand falls back to his side. He knows this boy. It is Isato’s son. Kenji Yoshizawa.
The effect on Isato is mesmerizing. The stern old man transforms into a proud, grinning father. Caine watches as Isato lifts the boy up on his lap while a stately Japanese woman rushes towards them. Rioko, Kenji’s maiden aunt, bows slightly to Caine, then deeper to Isato.
“Gomenasai!” Rioko says. “He ran out of the hotel room. I had to chase after him!”
Isato laughs, tousling the young boy’s hair. “He knew we were just talking about him! My son is a smart boy, eh?”
At the far end the izakaya, the manager and some of the patrons stare at the child with disapproval, but no one says a word. Isato whispers something into the boy’s ear, and his face turns pensive. Isato kisses Kenji on the cheek, then shifts him off his lap, handing him to Rioko. The boy takes her hand, and they push their way towards the front of the izakaya.
“What did you say to him?” Caine asks.
Isato sips his scotch, hesitant. Finally, he answers, “I told him he was the future. both for me and for the yakuza. And that, someday, he would know what that truly meant.”
Caine shakes his head.
“Heavy stuff.”
“Not for him. He has my blood. And my love. There is nothing he cannot do.”
Caine holds up his glass. “To the future.” The pair clink glasses and drink.
As the aunt leads her nephew to the exit, Kenji looks back at Isato. The old man smiles, and Kenji breaks free of Rioko’s grip.
Time seems to slow to a crawl.
A figure appears over Rioko’s shoulder, a mountain in a grey sharkskin suit. His black hair is swept back into a small, tight bun, like a sumo wrestler. Half his massive face is covered by a snarling tiger tattoo. Caine has never met this man, but he knows who he is from the CIA briefing reports. Bobu Shimizu. A member of the rival Shimizu crime family, and brother to the Shimizu oyabun.
[Thomas Caine #1] Tokyo Black Page 9