A sour taste filled Brognola's mouth as he leaned back in the chair. The chain of logic his mind wrestled with had been completed. "Winterroad is Tucker's replacement on the CIA end of things," he said. "I'm supposed to meet him at the airport in less than an hour."
* * *
Ransom busied herself at the wood-burning stove in the small kitchen, heating water for rice and tea. "The Hosaka family has been a part of my life ever since I was born," she said as she measured the tea into cups.
"Grandfather pledged himself and his life to Joji Hosaka after World War II when Grandmother was sick. Hosaka knew my grandfather for what he was, so I don't think the offer was made out of the kindness of his heart. You saw him the day of the banquet. I'm sure someone at least mentioned Kiyosha Ogata."
Bolan nodded. "I was told he was a bodyguard."
"That's only part of the truth." Ransom dropped rice in the boiling water and covered the pot as she put it to one side. She made the tea automatically, then poured it into small, handleless cups and handed one to Bolan. "The whole truth is that my grandfather is an assassin." Ransom looked at him, as if to judge what his reaction might be.
Bolan confronted the issue head-on rather than trying to dodge it. "I'm after the people responsible for the deaths in the United States. Did your grandfather have anything to do with that?"
Ransom shook her head. "No. Those things were done by whoever sent those men to ambush you. There are two enemy camps here. One belongs to Hosaka, because you are now believed to be the murderer of Saburo. The other belongs to the American interests."
"But Hosaka's the common denominator?"
"More precisely, the consortium Joji Hosaka is proposing is the common denominator. Let me tell the story from the beginning. I've found it's always the best way for me." Ransom cleared her throat. "I've known since I was a little girl what services my grandfather has provided for Joji Hosaka. It didn't stop him from being a loving person, a good husband, a good father to me when my parents died."
Bolan listened to her, hearing the emotions behind her words, willing himself not to be swayed by them.
"Until Joji Hosaka, my grandfather had never taken a life. His art was taught to him by his father and has been passed on in such a fashion for generations. My ancestors were spies for the emperors in the past and gave their services when they felt their allegiance was owed or when fishing was poor. Perhaps it's something you can't understand as a Westerner. America has such a limited history."
"I understand," Bolan said. The fires of his own honor hadn't been extinguished in the personal hell that came after Vietnam.
"Tradition, obligation, loyalty, these are powerful cornerstones in the Japanese mind," Ransom explained. "And I have found them nowhere if not in my grandfather. That's why I knew he wouldn't leave Joji Hosaka's side when this began. What do you know of the consortium?"
"Not much," Bolan admitted.
"How can you involve yourself if you don't even know what's at stake here?"
"Why don't you tell me?"
"Business is a tool," she said in a more neutral voice. "A very dangerous weapon in the right hands. The United States has been using it effectively for years. Now they suddenly find themselves at the mercy of that same weapon, only they refuse to open their eyes and acknowledge its presence. You see media coverage about Japan and other countries buying into American lands and businesses. People shake their fists at the thought of the United States being owned by the French, the Japanese, the Middle East, and others, but they don't stop to realize the steps it would take to tip the world trade balance back in their favor. Those who do see it seem to be more willing to close their eyes than anything else. American financial independence is being stripped away with every pound, franc and yen they borrow. And with the financial independence, often goes the political." She looked into his eyes. "That's what this is about. The consortium Joji Hosaka wants to create could conceivably crush America's financial security in weeks. Do you know the havoc that could wreak back there? What would the American people be willing to sacrifice to keep that from happening?"
"Do you think that's what Hosaka is trying to do?"
"I don't know." Ransom eyed him critically. "But if it was, what would you be willing to do to prevent it?"
Bolan didn't reply. The question was moot at this point.
"You see, everything Joji Hosaka and the consortium could do would be perfectly legal. There are no laws about a creditor requesting a debtor to repay money the debtor has been lent. That's called foreclosure. And if there's ever been a country hovering on the brink of foreclosure, it's the United States at this point in time. And in this war there will be no Geneva Convention or Marquis of Queensbury rules, only Dun and Bradstreet listings and Dow Jones quotes."
"You paint a bleak picture," Bolan told her.
"It's a bleak world."
"Where do you fit into this?"
"I'm a reporter, covering the Orient and the Middle East in general, and Japan in particular. I've lived in the United States for ten years now. I got my break as a photographer because I'm good with a camera. After a year of hand-to-mouth existence in New York City waiting tables, I parlayed my pictures into a photojournalist's career. I followed that with some magazine articles, eventually a few books. I'm good at what I do. Damn good. Now I work as a free-lance reporter and I make a good living. A month ago I was tipped about the consortium by a friend in the business district of Wall Street. He wanted to know what I knew about it, which was nothing at the time, but I discovered enough to arrange an assignment over here. I could have come alone, on my own, but I wanted the cover."
"Why?"
"Because of the Hosaka family." Ransom paused. "I told you they had always been a part of my life. Even by going to America it seems I haven't been able to get away from them."
"How did you know about the assassination attempt on my life?"
"I have friends, contacts, associates, or whatever you wish to call them, over here. No doubt your agency can say the same thing." She put her empty tea cup down. "At first, when the violence began to erupt in the States, I believed, as did most of the Foreign Affairs people, that it was some kind of covert action to break up the courage of the people in the consortium. I thought it had backfired, because Hosaka's influence in the shaping of it became even more powerful." She looked at him. "Instead, I'm told there's a group of American mercenaries in the shadows of Tokyo vying for control of the consortium through Joji Hosaka."
"How?"
"Threat of death, or of blackmail. My informant wasn't sure. There's a man, someone who's known to Joji Hosaka, who knows much about him. I was told their relationship goes back a number of years."
"To the occupation?"
"I'm not sure. The information is sketchy at best. But I did know about the attempt on the Justice agent that was upcoming."
"Hosaka had a lot of Yakuza connections after the war," Bolan said as he finished his tea and set the cup aside. "Would that have been enough to open him to blackmail?"
"No, I think he was being set up from inside his own family. I'd heard about the passports the Americans arranged through one of Saburo's men."
"And you figured Saburo as the inside man?"
"No, that didn't make sense. Saburo was an animal, reaching out and taking what he was powerful enough to; take, then throwing it away when he was done."
With her words, an image of Saburo Hosaka talking to Ransom came to Bolan's mind, followed swiftly by the first day they had met, when she threatened him with the stiletto.
"It wasn't until I saw Saburo's body — that he had been given no chance to defend himself — that I knew for sure who was behind the internal struggle of the Hosaka family."
"Yemon."
"Yes. Saburo was loyal to his father, disobedient perhaps, but he would never allow anyone to speak against Joji Hosaka. I saw him cut a chauffeur with a knife for cursing his father when I was just a girl. Violence came naturally to him."
> "And Yemon was able to operate through Saburo's channels?"
"Some of them. Yemon never had anything to do with the drug deals Saburo handled. Even Joji handled some matters through Saburo."
Bolan focused on her eyes. "So why didn't you go to someone about this?"
"I was afraid for my grandfather. If officials moved too slowly, and they would with the scanty information I would have to provide, chances were good that my grandfather would be killed with Joji Hosaka." She turned away from him. "The Hosaka family has had control of my grandfather's life for too long already because of his loyalty and honor. I don't want his beliefs to be the death of him, as well. I'm not altruistic, and I'm not out to save the world. Only my grandfather. He's the only true innocent I see involved in this."
"So why have you decided to trust me with this now?"
She walked to the wood-burning stove and put the rice back on to heat. "Because I've seen you in action, and I know of you. You have honor and, even more, you understand how it can be twisted and manipulated against the person who bases his life on it. You aren't so very different from my grandfather."
"If your grandfather's hunting me," Bolan said softly, "continuing what I'm doing is going to increase our chances of a confrontation. What will you do then?"
Her eyes were flat, dark mirrors of her soul. Her face was unreadable as she ladled rice onto a plate for him. "When I was seventeen," she said in an emotionless voice, "I was brutally raped by Saburo Hosaka. I had been training in the arts with my grandfather, and maybe I could have killed Saburo for what he did. If I had, my grandfather might have been ordered to kill me, leaving him no choice but to take his own life for failing Joji Hosaka. In Japan it isn't unusual for rape victims to take their own lives in the name of honor. I wanted to. I felt dirty, unclean, and I've never forgotten the feel of Saburo's hands on my body. My grandmother knew. She helped me hide what had happened from my grandfather. I was trapped. If I told Grandfather what had happened, he would have killed Saburo, then himself. It took Grandmother's reasoning to talk me out of the knife I held to my chest, to make me realize that taking my own life would have the same results. The hardest thing I've ever done was to let Saburo Hosaka live after that day. But I did. Because of my grandfather."
Ransom stood, and Bolan watched her walk to the bedroom and slide the door closed behind her.
* * *
"Hello, John."
Winterroad turned toward the whisper, automatically reaching for his pistol.
"The gun's not necessary," the voice insisted.
The CIA agent peered through the dim lighting of the hotel lobby and saw Ross Tuley standing next to a ceiling-to-floor window that overlooked downtown Tokyo. His ex-partner looked as lean and whipcord tough as ever, making him conscious of the extra pounds he'd put on himself since the last time they'd seen each other. He released the butt of his pistol as he walked over to the man. "How did you get in?"
Tuley shook his head and laughed. "Hotel security's a joke," he replied. "The Justice Department's less than worthless in this operation."
"I heard a guy named Belasko kicked the hell out of one of your teams," Winterroad drawled. He came to a stop a few feet in front of Tuley. "It's in all the reports I received when I arrived."
Footsteps sounded behind them. Winterroad glanced over his shoulder and spotted a big man standing to one side of the hallway. He looked back at Tuley.
"New partner," the merc offered. "We take care of each other."
"Is that supposed to be a dig?"
"Was the crack about Belasko?"
"You don't like me very much, do you?" Winterroad asked.
Tuley smiled broadly. "I might say the same thing to you."
"I wasn't supposed to like you," Winterroad replied. "You were my partner."
"You kind of forgot that at the Agency hearing a few years back."
"I did what I could."
"Sacker believes you did, or you wouldn't be here now." Tuley breathed in through his nose and let it out in a whistle between his teeth. "You're playing in the big-time now, guy. You're going to like it. No more red tape, no more people pulling you away from doing something you know is right, no more bullshit. Sacker always does what he sets out to do."
"I know," Winterroad said. "That's why I came."
"Have you met Brognola yet?"
"He brought me in from the airport."
"What do you think about him?"
"We've met before."
Tuley looked at him without saying anything.
"He's a good cop," Winterroad said. "I knew that going in."
"He's also the one backing Belasko. Brognola isn't playing this operation strictly aboveboard."
"Seems to be in keeping with the general guidelines laid down by this operation."
A white-jacketed room service waiter rapped his knuckles on a door down the hall.
"I didn't want you involved in this," Tuley said with honesty, "because I don't trust you the way Sacker does. You still believe in America first, the same as I do, but you have your own way of going about things. I tried to tell that to Sacker, but he wasn't listening." He smiled. "So here I am, the welcoming committee to let you know Sacker's backing your play while you're here. And just a personal note from me to you, to let you know I'll be watching."
Winterroad put on a fake smile. "I'll keep that in mind." He walked away, waiting until he was inside the elevator to pull the walkie-talkie from his pocket.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Bolan started with the Uzi, breaking it down and cleaning it with the gun kit Akemi had been able to acquire. There were only eight rounds left in the clip. When he was finished reassembling it, he loaded the clip with ammunition from the case Brognola had brought over in the diplomatic pouch. He laid the weapon aside and glanced through the window.
Darkness stained the forest beyond the small patch of yard claimed by the house, growing deeper and blacker with every passing moment. He felt better. He'd eaten twice since Ransom had made the midday meal, both times rousing from a slumber. His body still ached, but stretching exercises had relieved most of the cramps and kinks from the muscles.
He sat with crossed legs, his internal clock ticking away the seconds. Soon it would be time to call Brognola.
He reached for the Beretta, fieldstripping and cleaning it automatically, letting his mind wander elsewhere, vectoring in the numbers on the mission.
"My grandfather often sits cleaning his weapons as you're doing now," Ransom said. "Seemingly without conscious thought, as if they're old friends."
Bolan looked up. "I didn't hear you come in."
She stood in the doorway, still wearing the yellow dress. Her eyes looked clearer. "That's because you were attuned to noises outside the house. You've accepted that you have nothing to fear inside."
He smiled. "There's tea in a pan on the stove and some leftover rice. You need to eat something before you take the anti-inflammatories Akemi left with you. The tea's nothing to write home about, but it's got plenty of caffeine." He laid the separate pieces of the 93-R before him, then began the cleaning process.
"I only wanted to apologize for my behavior earner. I had no right to be so hard on you. It's just that…"
"I was convenient."
"Yes." She smiled, and it was the first genuine one he could remember seeing on her. But the weight of fear still rolled restlessly behind it.
"Apology accepted."
The silence that followed was full of tension.
"Where do we go from here?" Ransom finally asked.
"I've still got a mission to complete," Bolan replied. "I'm going to make a call in a few hours and see if I can find out where the rest of the Hosaka clan is."
"I can tell you where they might go."
He looked up at her.
"Joji Hosaka keeps a house on Oshima Island. Actually it's more of a fortress. But I think, given the uncertainty of the present circumstances, he'll go there."
"And Ye
mon?"
"I don't think he'll leave his father's side at this point."
"I'll mention it to my friend."
"I want to go with you."
Bolan shook his head.
"I can help." Her look was pleading.
Softening his voice, Bolan said, "You've helped enough. It's time you cleared out of it. This situation's going to get a lot uglier before it gets any better."
"And what of my grandfather?"
"You need to remember that your grandfather and I have been taking care of ourselves for a long time."
"He's hunting you. If you find him before you find Yemon, what then?"
Bolan had no answer.
"Grandfather will listen to me, and I can take care of myself." Ransom returned his stare full measure. "If you choose to go without me, I'll make my own way. I'm giving you a choice now because two together will have a better chance than one alone. I've earned the right to go, even in your eyes."
As the warrior reassembled the Beretta, he knew he'd have a fight on his hands if he disagreed. And she was correct about earning the right. Ransom had proved capable of taking care of herself, as well as willing to go the distance. The warrior had learned a long time ago that that was all you could expect of your teammates.
* * *
Dressed in black and wearing a .45 on his hip, Philip Picard climbed out of the helicopter and bent low under the whirling rotors as he made his way to the waiting yacht docked at the pier.
Once he and the other five men were clear, the helicopter took off, throwing blinding sheets of sand in every direction. Picard took the lead, jogging down the shore and across the wooden pier to the waiting boat. He felt jubilant as he stepped onto the deck. This night would see the culmination of years of planning.
He climbed the stairs leading to the wheelhouse, taking them two at a time. The yacht's engines kicked to life and they headed out to sea. Behind him Picard could see the lights of Atami. He looked back at the blackness sandwiched between the cloud-filled sky and the dark expanse of water, knowing Oshima Island and his quarry were just ahead of him.
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