[Thomas Caine #1] Tokyo Black

by Andrew Warren

  The driver shook his head. “Sorry … big concert at the dome tonight. Masuka Ongaku. Traffic is worse than usual, and that’s bad, if you know what I mean.” The driver chuckled to himself.

  Caine handed a wad of yen to the driver. “Here. Just let me off at the station up here. I’ll walk the rest of the way.” The driver maneuvered the cab over to the side of the road. Caine got out and followed the signs directing pedestrians towards the dome.

  The driver rolled down his window. “Sir, wait! This is too much!”

  “Sorry, I don’t have time for change!” Caine pushed his way past a crowd of teenage girls with bright, dyed hair. They clutched small, colorful stuffed animals, and anime characters adorned their t-shirts and bags. Caine paused to look at the huge posters lining the walking route he’d chosen. They were advertising for the evening’s concert, and the picture looked familiar. He pulled out Naka’s cellphone and flipped through the text messages.

  He located the conversation with Hitomi. Her avatar was an anime character’s face. Big eyes, neon green hair, black leather clothes. It was the same design as the posters. Masuka Ongaku. “Looks like I’m in the right place,” he muttered as the crowd swept him along.

  It took about fifteen minutes to reach the dome. The massive structure arching up into the sky was nicknamed “The Big Egg” for its curved, oval shape. Rows of colored lights ran up the side of the building, gleaming lines of purple, green, and yellow. An enormous circle of white neon rimmed the top, and just below, huge glowing blue English letters spelled out “Tokyo Dome.”

  Caine could hear the distant thumping of music: the concert had begun. Throngs of eager concert-goers gathered around the dome’s entrances. They poured into the narrow doorways like bright colored sand spilling through an hourglass. As he approached, Caine noted the rectangular metal detectors and the security personnel. They were checking bags and purses for drugs, alcohol, and weapons. He scanned the crowd, but saw no sign of dark suits or scars.

  Caine peeled off from the crowds and headed for the back of the dome. He knew the men he had chased in Ikebukuro had probably reported in before he’d caught up with them. If Tokyo Black was hunting this girl, too, they would be here as well, or at least on their way.

  What was so important about this girl? he wondered. What did this group want with her? Was it a kidnapping plot? It didn’t feel right. Everything about this girl was a mystery. Yet the CIA had sent him, at no small expense, to find her. And this Tokyo Black group had proven itself willing to kill, and die, to track her down. Caine knew he was missing a vital piece of the puzzle.

  But Hitomi was not the only one whose life hung in the balance. Rebecca had been digging at his past, uncovering secrets Bernatto had killed to keep hidden. If he caught wind of her investigation, if he was on to her….

  Enough, Caine told himself. The best way to protect Rebecca was to find what Bernatto wanted before someone else did. He had to focus.

  As he circled the building, the crowd thinned out. The pounding bass from inside grew louder. The thumping tones echoed from the open doors of a cargo dock, where workers were busy wheeling in food supplies on metal carts.

  Koichi stood to the side of the huge, open doorway, illuminated by the harsh glow of a work light. He was smoking a cigarette, watching the workers go about their business with an air of bemusement.

  “All this work for fake concert. What a waste,” he said as Caine approached. He flicked his cigarette to the pavement and ground it out beneath his heel.

  Caine surveyed the workers, looking for signs of burns or scars. “What do you mean fake? Sounds pretty real to me.”

  “You never heard of Masuka Ongaku?”

  Caine shook his head. Koichi shrugged. “Come on,” he said. “You’ll get a kick out of this.”

  Caine followed him into the loading dock. “Did you drop off Kenji?”

  “Yes, he is with his father. Safe. He did ask about his car, however.”

  Caine’s jaw clenched in a tense smile, but he kept his eyes focused on the hallway ahead. “Right. About that….”

  As they approached the door to a service corridor, a pair of security guards flanking the entrance intercepted them. Koichi gave them a harsh glare, and they stepped aside. “Please enjoy the concert, Mr. Ogawa,” one of them said, shouting to be heard over the music. The two guards bowed. Koichi opened the door, and they made their way into the dome.

  “What was that about?”

  “The Yoshizawa family has ties to the construction company that built this place. And they own the company that staffs the security here. Naturally, as a sign of respect, the dome lets us attend whatever concerts we wish.”

  “Naturally,” Caine smirked. “Here, take a look at this.” Caine handed Koichi Naka’s cellphone, showing him the text conversation with Hitomi. “These numbers here … that’s where Naka and the girl are supposed to meet right?”

  The old yakuza nodded. “Hai. Box seats, upper level. Follow me.”

  Koichi threw open a set of double doors at the end of a sloped corridor. He and Caine stepped into the interior of the Tokyo Dome. It was like being born into a world of exploding lights and sound. The music was deafening, a high-pitched, electronic pop song. The singer’s vocals were warped, cartoonish squeaks. She sounded like a cross between a digital synthesizer and an opera singer, a musical instrument from the future.

  Looking down from the mezzanine level, Caine saw the crowd beneath them sway to the music. The dark figures surged up and down to the frantic beat. A sea of neon green glow sticks waved in the air, a synchronous pulse of light rippling through the crowd. Caine’s focus drifted through the chaos of light and sound, settling on the stage.

  He had never seen anything like it. Masuka Ongaku looked like her pictures. Literally, exactly like her pictures. She appeared to be a glowing anime character. Her backup band was hidden away in the shadows on the stage. Caine could see they were real people, hunched over keyboards, pounding on drums, jamming on electric guitars.

  But Masuka herself was something else … she was a living, dancing, anime cartoon come to life, with giant blinking eyes, a tiny mouth, and an impossibly pert figure. As she danced and performed, her glowing green hair shimmered in slow motion, like a serpentine dragon snaking through the hazy air.

  A halo of glowing light radiated from her slim body. Her image had to be computer generated, but her movements seemed to have depth and weight to them.

  “What the hell is that?” Caine shouted into Koichi’s ear.

  “I told you. Fake concert. The name Masuka Ongaku is a play on words. In English, it roughly sounds like ‘Musical Mask.’ It’s a hologram, projected on stage. The fans can download her software onto their computers, phones, whatever. They write the songs, sing them into a microphone. And the computer sings them back in Masuka’s voice. The company that owns her licenses the songs they like from the fans.”

  Caine shook his head. “Unbelievable. Let’s get this over with.”

  They climbed a steep set of stairs, and Koichi led him through another set of doors. Once again, the music dropped to a deep, thumping beat, reverberating through the walls.

  “The box seat from the text is this way,” said Koichi. Caine followed as they circled around the upper level of the dome. Here, the crowd thinned out and looked wealthier. Rich young mistresses walked arm in arm with their corporate boyfriends. Parties of older men in expensive suits laughed, as they drank sake and beer while standing at small circular tables.

  It looked like every other exclusive concert Caine had seen. Only at this one, the star performer literally did not exist.

  The numbers on the doorways they passed were going up. Caine forced himself to tune out the noise from the concert. Box number 25B was just a few doors down when he grabbed Koichi’s arm. “Look!” he hissed. “There.”

  Outside the box seat entrance stood a pair of men dressed in black suits, eyeing the crowd passing before them. One of them turned to watch a
pretty girl in a pink dress walk by. As his jacket flared open, Caine spotted the butt of a pistol hanging from a shoulder holster.

  “Let me guess…,” he said. “That’s 25B?” Koichi nodded, and they backed up until Caine was certain they were out of sight. He perused the remaining crowd on the upper level, but no one else stood out. To his left was a door marked “Maintenance.”

  He looked over at Koichi. “You sure you’re up for this?”

  Koichi’s lips curled as a look of distaste crossed his face. “I promised my oyabun I would assist you until the girl is found.”

  Caine nodded. “Okay then. I have an idea.”

  “I can’t believe you got drunk on our shift! Do you want to get us both fired?” Koichi continued berating Caine in Japanese as they made their way towards box 25B. They were both dressed in the same purple smocks the rest of the dome staff wore, and he pushed a plastic cart full of cleaning supplies ahead of him. Caine kept his head bowed as he shuffled along next to the older man. “Hai! Yes, sir. Sorry, sir,” he answered in broken Japanese. He was carrying a spray bottle of cleaner in one hand and a sopping wet towel in the other.

  The two men stiffened as they approached. Koichi smiled and waved his hand. “I am so sorry to inconvenience you. My gaijin partner here passed out and forgot to clean this box before you arrived. Please forgive his laziness. I will make sure he remedies his mistake immediately and gives you the Tokyo Dome experience you deserve.”

  The two men looked at each other. Caine could make out the tell-tale red scars on their necks as they twisted their heads and whispered in each other’s ear. “Go away. You are disturbing our employer,” one of the guards replied with an angry sneer. “You can clean up later, when he’s done with the box.”

  “Sorry, sir, dome policy. All box seats must be cleaned before customers arrive.” Caine slurred his words and pretended to stumble forward.

  “Leave now, or the next janitor will be cleaning your blood off the floor.”

  “Okay, okay.” Caine raised up his hands in defeat. “We’ll just have to clean up out here.” He saw the flash of recognition pass across the man’s features, but it was too late.

  He lifted the spray bottle and fired a blast of liquid directly into the guard’s face. The Tokyo Black soldier screamed in pain as the caustic liquid splashed into his eyes. He drew his gun and swung it blindly, struggling to aim the weapon at Caine.

  Before anyone in the surrounding crowd noticed the commotion, Caine swung the wet towel like a whip. The heavy, soaking rag snapped through the air, striking the man’s face with a loud slap. He stumbled backwards, blinded and in pain. It took him a second to realize he had allowed Caine to get too close.

  And a second was all Caine needed.

  Caine rushed forward and yanked the gun out of his grip. Meanwhile, Koichi had burst into motion, driving his cart towards the other sentry. The weight of the cart slammed into him before he could draw his gun. The momentum knocked him back through the door. Koichi kicked the cart forward, knocking it and the guard back into the darkened room.

  Caine stepped through the door, pushing the blinded guard in front of him. Inside the darkroom, he spotted a third Tokyo Black member. The man was looking up, entranced by the overwhelming music and a bright light hovering in the room. He whirled around as the two guards stumbled backwards and fell to the ground. “What the hell?!” He reached for his gun.

  Caine dropped to his knee, the guard’s pistol in his hands. Behind him, he heard the sound of Koichi kicking the door shut. Caine tuned out the chaos assaulting his senses. Then he fired.

  Six tiny explosions crackled through the room. His bullets found their targets, two in each enemy. The three Tokyo Black members lay on the floor, blood seeping from fatal wounds.

  Koichi surveyed the carnage. “I enjoyed that,” he confessed with a sheepish grin.

  Caine stood up and took a deep breath. “I didn’t know you had a sense of humor.”

  Koichi looked surprised. “I wasn’t joking.”

  Caine looked through the glass windows. There was no sign that anyone had heard the gunshots over the thumping bass of the concert. He then turned his attention to the rest of the room, a small, luxurious box seat.

  Dim lights set into the ceiling illuminated several cushy chairs perched on a sloping platform, overlooking the concert below. A small bar ran along the wall, and various bottles of liquor sparkled in the shifting light. A laptop sat open on the bar, a colorful screensaver dancing across the screen.

  In the center of the chamber was a circular table, its top slanted at an angle and covered with a strange, shimmering material. The hovering light that had so engrossed the third guard beamed down from the ceiling.

  There was no one else in the room.

  Caine turned to Koichi. “Okay, where the hell is she?”

  “Maybe they got to her first.”

  “No. I am here.” A voice echoed through the room.

  It was an artificial, robotic chirp. It sounded familiar. Caine turned back to the table. The lights in the ceiling had rotated and pivoted. They were projecting an image down through the hazy air. The shimmering film on the table reflected the image upwards, giving it the illusion of a three-dimensional object. Caine stared in surprise. He was standing face to face with Masuka Ongaku herself.

  He reached out, letting his hand drift through the image. It looked solid, real, but his hand passed through it as if it were a reflection in the still water of a pond. Masuka’s head seemed to turn and follow his movements, as his hand cut through her incorporeal body. The image laughed, a squeaky, girlish giggle. “You can’t touch me. I’m a digital ghost.”

  Koichi drew his pistol and stood next to Caine. “They must have installed these projectors in the box seats for the concert. Anyone could be using the Masuka software.” He did not take his eyes off the glowing image as he spoke.

  “It’s not anyone,” Caine answered back. “It’s her.” He turned and looked at the laptop on the counter. “Hitomi Kusaka? Is that you?”

  The Masuka hologram brushed a shimmering strand of neon green hair from her face. She looked up at him with huge, luminous eyes. “Maybe. Maybe not. Who are you?”

  “Hitomi, please listen. We’re here to help you. There are dangerous men looking for you.”

  The image of the girl spun around in the air, her short, black skirt twirling around her. She looked back at Caine over her shoulder. “You think I don’t know that? Why do you think I downloaded this software? Where is Naka-san? He was supposed to help me.”

  “Naka is dead. Hitomi, the same people who are after you killed him. We have to find you. We can help you; we can keep you safe.”

  “I doubt that. Those men you just killed. They are the ones who killed Naka?”

  Koichi stepped to the door and stood guard as Caine followed the hologram with his eyes. “Yes. Or other men like them. They call themselves Tokyo Black.”

  The image of Masuka turned back to face him and nodded. “Hai. I know who they are. They work for my father.”

  So that was it … the missing piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Arinori Kusaka was linked to Tokyo Black. And this girl, his daughter, could somehow tie him to the group’s activities. But what could Bernatto’s angle be in all this? Rebecca said Kusaka was a CIA asset. Was Bernatto simply protecting a valuable source of intelligence? No, Caine thought. It had to be more than that.

  Caine forced himself to silence his racing thoughts. He could untangle the whole mess later. First, he had to find the girl. Before Tokyo Black did.

  “Hitomi, please listen to me. We can talk about all this later. Mr. Naka is dead, and these men have tracked you this far. They won’t stop now, and you can’t run forever. Please, let me help you.”

  “You never answered my question,” the cute voice chirped. “Who are you?”

  Caine paused for a moment. He wasn’t sure how to answer. It had been so long since he had told anyone the truth. He was surprised how
difficult it was.

  “My name is Thomas Caine.” Koichi looked at him in surprise. Caine shrugged and gave a half-smile, then turned back to the hologram. “I realize you don’t know me, but you saw what I did to these men. I have skills, training, and I have friends we can trust. I’m your best shot at getting out of this alive. Please, let me help you.”

  The hologram paused. For a moment, it seemed frozen, unmoving. Caine wondered if the projection software had suffered a glitch. Then a flicker of light ran through it again. Masuka’s long neon hair bobbed and drifted with life. Her eyes blinked. She sighed, and her petite shoulders slumped. The effect of the artificial character acting so human was unnerving.

  “Very well. I’m tired of running anyway. You can’t outrun my father’s money. It just goes on and on, forever.”

  “Hitomi, where are you?”

  “I’m in Shinjuku. I rented a room at a karaoke bar called The Space Age. I logged into the laptop in the box seat remotely.”

  She gave him the address. Caine committed it to memory and turned to Koichi. “Twenty minutes away,” Koichi muttered.

  Caine nodded and looked back at the hologram. “Okay, we’re on our way. Stay where you are. Don’t open the door for anyone else. Not police, not your father, nobody. Wakarimas ka?”

  “Hai.” The image of Masuka nodded, indicating she understood. Caine found the cute bobbing head and swirling green hair a bizarre contrast to the gravity of the situation. “Please hurry,” she chirped.

  The projector lights hummed and dimmed, then shut off with a click. As the image disappeared, Caine grabbed the guns from the bodies on the floor and handed one to Koichi. The old yakuza stared at Caine as he jammed it in his waistband. “Thomas Caine, eh? That your real name?”

  Caine nodded.

  “Why did you tell the girl that? You didn’t have to say it in front of me.”

  Caine’s green eyes blazed as the shimmering lights from the concert danced across his face. “It’s like she said. I’m tired of running.”

  Koichi gave a thin smile and opened the door. “Somehow, I don’t think we’re through running for the night.”