The Man With The Red Tattoo

by Benson, Raymond

  She swore softly and got up. She limped down the stairs—one floor, two floors—and then she heard voices at the broken window above her.

  The men were shouting for her to come back up.

  Mayumi practically fell down the final flight of stairs, but she made it to the ground and took off, only to slam right into one of the thugs who was waiting for her. He tried to grab her, but she instinctively jumped and delivered an expert ushiro-geri back kick into the man’s jaw. He fell backwards, dropping something. He hit his head hard on the pavement and stopped moving. Mayumi paused to check if he was still alive but couldn’t tell.

  Then she saw what he had dropped. It was a pistol, a semiautomatic. Kenji had once shown her how to fire a gun and he had also taught her a few karate moves such as the one she had just delivered. Mayumi picked up the gun and ran, leaving a trail of blood spots behind her.

  Bond arrived at the Tokei-dai clock tower at 3:45. He stood across the street in front of the tourist information office and watched for Mayumi. Sapporo was asleep. An occasional car appeared on the street but otherwise the city was quiet and dark.

  The clock tower was quite an anomaly. Built in the style of a New England colonial hall, the structure was now a museum and library. It looked very strange set against the rest of Sapporo’s more modern and quintessentially Japanese architecture. Stranger still was the fact that it was the meeting place for a British secret agent and a soaplands girl on the run at 4:00 in the morning.

  At five minutes to four, Bond saw Mayumi come around the corner and walk towards the clock tower. She was limping! He could see blood seeping from a rag wrapped around her right leg.

  Bond ran across the street to meet her. “Mayumi!”

  She was panting and looked scared. “I cut myself on the window when I climbed out of there. You were right, James-san, they were going to kill me. I overheard them talking about it. They’re not far behind.”

  Whatever else, the girl had pluck. Bond had to admit that she intrigued him.

  “I hope you have a way out of here and fast,” she said.

  Bond looked at his Rolex. Another thirty seconds.

  “Here, lean against me.” She did and he felt a lump concealed in the waist of her jeans. “What the hell is that?”

  “Oh, I took it from one of the guards. Don’t worry, I know how to use it. Listen, I’m about to start running again if you don’t get us out of here.”

  Bond looked at his Rolex again. Where was he?

  Suddenly, a Honda Today, to Bond’s eyes a ridiculously small commuter car, screamed around the corner and pulled up in front of the clock tower. Ikuo Yamamaru was at the wheel. He threw open the door.

  “Get in!” he called.

  A black Mercedes swerved around the corner. Bond could see that the man in the passenger seat had a punch perm.

  “How are all three of us supposed to fit in there?” Mayumi asked.

  “Move, Mayumi! Quick!” Bond shouted.

  Bond shoved her into the back seat and he jumped into the front. A gunshot echoed through the street and they heard the bullet ricochet off the road. Ikuo accelerated and the little car’s wheels shrieked. The Mercedes skidded noisily as it torpedoed past the clock tower in pursuit.

  Ikuo jumped a red light, almost hitting a lone city bus on its way to begin its early morning route. He slammed on the brakes and turned the wheel sharply. Mayumi screamed and covered her eyes as the car screeched, narrowly avoiding a broadside with the vehicle.

  “Sorry!” he said. He turned the wheel violently and floored the accelerator. The car bolted out of the intersection and onto a northsouth street containing light traffic. Luckily, the Honda was so small that it could easily run up onto the pavement, which was precisely what Ikuo did.

  “Try not to kill anyone,” Bond said.

  “Especially us,” Mayumi said. “Who is this guy, anyway?”

  “I am Ikuo Yamamaru, hajime mashite,” the driver said quickly.

  “Did you borrow this car from your mother?” Bond asked him.

  Ikuo said, “Laugh if you want, Bond-san, but I have outfitted this little car with an engine that makes your English sports cars seem like golf carts.”

  The Ainu put the car into fourth and they sped along the street, heading towards the huge NHK television tower that dominated the skyline in the centre of town. It was in the middle of a paved square with a few park benches. Dozens of pigeons had arrived for sunrise and were feasting on crumbs. The little Honda jumped the kerb, scattering the birds in a rush of flapping wings.

  The Mercedes was not far behind. They had also driven onto the pavement to bypass the traffic, but the car could not match the Honda’s souped-up engine. The man in the passenger seat leaned out of the car and fired a pistol, knocking out a brakelight.

  “Get down!” Bond shouted to Mayumi. He didn’t have to tell her twice. She was very frightened. “Ikuo, get us out of here!”

  But more bullets tore into the front and rear tyres. Ikuo lost control of the car as it skidded toward one of the tower’s steel legs. Bond saw it coming through the windscreen and shielded his head just as the car crashed into a girder. The impact threw Mayumi into the front seat on top of Bond.

  Ikuo had an ugly gash on his forehead. The window on the driver’s side was cracked where he had struck it.

  The sound of nearby gunfire jolted them out of the temporary haze. Bond drew the Walther and said, “When I say so, jump out of the car and take cover.”

  He peered through the shattered back windscreen and saw that there were three of them. The yakuza had stopped the Mercedes about thirty feet away and had taken cover behind the vehicle.

  “Now!”

  Bond jumped first and crouched behind the engine block, followed by Ikuo. Mayumi rolled out of the car and got behind the steel girder that was a part of the tower’s leg. Both men fired at the Mercedes as soon as they were in position. Bond knocked out a headlamp, but otherwise their shots were wildly inaccurate because both men had been shaken by the collision. Bond heard a third gun resound, turned, and was surprised to see Mayumi firing her Browning at the yakuza. She managed to blast a hole through the Mercedes’ windscreen.

  “We’re trapped,” Ikuo said. “There is no place to run.”

  He was right. Bond surveyed the square and realised that they were wide open. The only possibility would be to run beneath the tower, but then they would be moving targets without cover. Bond had to find a way to take them out.

  Police sirens were growing louder. They would be on the scene any minute. At this point, Bond didn’t want them involved. He had to get Mayumi out of Sapporo without interference or delays.

  He loaded a new magazine and ducked low, beneath the Honda’s chassis. He could just get a bead on the feet of one of the yakuza thugs, which could be seen below the bottom edge of the Mercedes’ door. Bond fired the gun laterally, two inches above the level pavement. The bullet shattered the man’s ankle. He screamed and fell from behind the cover of the car door. Ikuo got a clear shot and hit him in the chest.

  “One down, two to go,” Bond said.

  Realising that they needed to get out before the police arrived, the remaining yakuza got back into the Mercedes. The driver gunned the engine and drove towards them. The other man leaned out of the passenger window, ready to shoot whomever he could see as the car shot past them.

  “Both of you, go for the gunman,” Bond commanded. “I’ll take the driver.”

  He positioned himself on one knee and aimed carefully at the shape behind the wheel. Ikuo and Mayumi concentrated their firepower on the passenger, spraying him with a barrage of bullets. Bond squeezed the trigger once. He saw a spider web appear on the windscreen and then the Mercedes suddenly veered to the left. The shooter jerked violently and dropped his weapon as several rounds hit his upper body. The Mercedes kept going until it rammed into one of the tower’s opposite legs. The front end was smashed pretty badly.

  Keeping his gun trained on the ca
r, Bond got up and ran to it. He opened the passenger door and the gunman fell out onto the pavement. He ran around to the other side and pulled the dead driver out of the car. Ikuo and Mayumi were right behind him.

  “Nice of them to let us borrow their car,” Bond said, nodding at Ikuo, who immediately got into the driver’s seat.

  The police sirens were very near, perhaps a block away.

  Ikuo threw the car into reverse, backed off of the girder, and then drove into the street. He turned the corner and sped away from the scene just as the police cars began to arrive.

  Bond looked over and saw that Ikuo had blood all over his shirt.

  “Ikuo, you’ve been hit,” he said.

  “I know,” Yamamaru replied. “I’ll be fine.”

  Bond reached over and felt Ikuo’s chest. The wound was on the right, just beneath the collarbone.

  “We have to get you to a doctor,” he said. He turned back to Mayumi. “How’s your leg?”

  “What leg?” she asked.

  Bond looked pointedly at her blood soaked jeans.

  “I’m all right,” she said. “Really. It looks worse than it is.”

  Ikuo drove like a whirlwind to the southern outskirts of Sapporo and got on the main highway, but after ten minutes Bond insisted that he pull the car over to the side of the road. Ikuo looked quite pale and was sweating freely.

  “I’ll drive, Ikuo. Change places with me,” Bond said.

  Once they were buckled in, Bond guided the car back into the traffic flow.

  “There is an emergency medical centre just up the road,” Ikuo muttered. “I am afraid we had better stop there. You can drop me off and go on.”

  “I think Miss McMahon needs some attention too, despite her protests,” Bond said. “Perhaps they’ll give us a bulk discount.”

  It was a small clinic that was used primarily for road accidents. The staff were accustomed to those but they had never seen a gunshot wound before. Ikuo showed them an official ID so that he wouldn’t have to answer questions. The Ainu was placed on a trolley and wheeled into a room marked “Treatment.” Bond stayed with Mayumi, who was looked at by a young female doctor.

  “This is a bad cut, how did it happen?” she asked, examining Mayumi’s leg.

  “Broken glass.”

  The doctor cleaned the wound, put in several stitches, and gave Mayumi a tetanus shot. After a sterile bandage was wrapped around her calf, the doctor said that she could leave.

  “Can we see our friend?” Bond asked.

  The doctor told him to wait a minute and then disappeared into the treatment room.

  She soon returned with a note from Ikuo, which said: “Go to hotel in Noboribetsu. Will contact you tomorrow morning.”

  Bond turned to Mayumi and said, “Come on, let’s go. We can’t do any more here.”

  Ten minutes later they were in the back of a taxi on their way to Noboribetsu.

  Mayumi asked, “Won’t they be looking for us?”

  “Undoubtedly,” Bond said. “But let’s worry about that if they find us.”

  The taxi pulled onto the expressway and headed south, leaving Sapporo and the main hub of the Ryujin-kai behind.

  TWENTY-ONE

  DEMONS FROM HELL

  TSUKAMOTO PICKED UP THE PHONE AND KNEW INSTANTLY THAT THE YAMI Shogun was on the other end. There was something about the sound of the air in the earpiece that was distinctive. He rubbed his hand over his stomach and realised that there was indeed a correlation between the sudden attacks of anxiety he had been experiencing over the last few weeks and talking with the Yami Shogun.

  “Good morning, Tsukamoto,” Yoshida said.

  Tsukamoto swallowed hard. “Good morning to you, too, Yoshida. How are you?”

  “Fine. And you?”

  “Very well, thank you,” Tsukamoto lied. “I shall leave for Noboribetsu in an hour. The results of the tests are encouraging.”

  “I am happy to hear that. I have thought of an appropriate name for our plan. Red Widow Dawn. In honour of our insect assassins.”

  “Very good, Yoshida. I shall inspect the product today and if it meets our criteria, then Red Widow Dawn will commence as planned.”

  “The product must meet our criteria.”

  “The product works as it is now. You could go ahead with today’s version.”

  “Our mission requires the best. The more reliable the weapon, the more foolproof the plan. Tsukamoto, I am waiting for your confirmation that everything is prepared.”

  “Yes, I understand. You need not worry.”

  There was silence at the other end of the line. Tsukamoto felt his stomach churn. What was the master thinking? Did he know about what had happened in Sapporo?

  Finally, Yoshida said, “I sense that something is wrong. What is it, Tsukamoto? You are not hiding something from me, are you?”

  Tsukamoto shuddered. “We had a problem,” he said. “Kubo was a traitor and disobeyed my orders to have the girl killed. He had kept her alive without any of us knowing. She escaped early this morning, killing one of our men. Now she is with that British agent. Kubo has been taken care of. But more of our men were killed in Sapporo.”

  There was an ominous silence. Tsukamoto broke it, saying, “I will gladly cut off one of my fingers, Yoshida.” He hung his head in shame.

  “Tsukamoto, I want them killed and I want it done now. You have failed in a very simple task. Find them and do the job right. ”

  The simplicity of this remark sent a chill down Tsukamoto’s spine. He found himself talking too much and too quickly in an effort to dispel his fear. “Our best men are on it. We sent the word out to all of the honbu around the country. They have received descriptions of both the Englishman and the McMahon girl. There was a third man with them, an Ainu, someone whom we believe is an employee of the Public Security Investigation Agency. We will kill him, too. We believe they are probably on their way back to Tokyo so we—”

  “Stop babbling, Tsukamoto,” Yoshida snapped. “It does not become you. Just … find them. We cannot afford interference at this juncture. You know what happens in four days.”

  “I understand, Yoshida.”

  Yoshida raised his voice—something he rarely did. “I do not think you do! This is our time of glory! The master Mishima-san is watching over us from heaven. He is proud of our intentions to rid Japan of the barbarians who desecrate and pollute our culture and our land. We must not let him down! The only consequence of failure is death! ”

  Tsukamoto clenched his eyes. His boyhood friend was truly mad. Mishima-san would never have approved of what they were about to do. Yukio Mishima was no terrorist. Yoshida had taken his tenets and twisted them. How was this going to end?

  “Yes, sensei,” was all that Tsukamoto could say.

  “Call me from Noboribetsu.”

  “Hai!”

  Tsukamoto hung up the phone. He had slipped again and called Yoshida sensei. This time Yoshida had not reproached him.

  He looked at the clock. He dreaded going to Noboribetsu and taking charge of the operation. He had to follow the Yami Shogun’s orders and stand behind them. Supporting Goro Yoshida to victory was going to be a very honourable action, but Tsukamoto felt nothing but dread. Something terrible was going to happen and he was going to be caught in the middle of it.

  Yasutake Tsukamoto, the head of one of the most powerful yakuza crime syndicates in the world, was afraid. He was aware that a day of reckoning would come, sooner rather than later. And that was when he would have to answer for his life of crime.

  The taxi ride to Noboribetsu from the medical clinic had taken a little over an hour. Bond and Mayumi were let off in front of the Dai-ichi Takimotokan, the largest and most luxurious hotel and spa in a town famous for its abundant hot springs. It was a complex made up of four buildings, 399 rooms, two restaurants and a souvenir shop. Tanaka had booked them into the hotel with the reasoning that it was an unlikely place for them to be found. Bond had insisted on investigating the H
okkaido Mosquito Vector and Control Centre outside town before heading back to Tokyo, but he and Mayumi both needed a few hours’ rest. Mayumi’s face was grey with pain, but she was too stubborn to complain.

  The area around the town was volcanic and Bond had to admit that the scenery was extraordinary. A patch of land just behind the Dai-ichi, called Jigokudani, or “Hell Valley,” was a national park full of steaming, sulphurous vents and streams of hot water bubbling out of vividly coloured rocks. This was the source of the hot springs that fed the hotel’s thirty different baths.

  The predominant mascot of Noboribetsu was an oni, a demon known as the King of Hell. He was a fierce-looking, red, horned ogre who carried a club and he was everywhere. A huge statue of him guarded the town, sculptures adorned hotel lobbies and miniature figures of the demon could be purchased in the souvenir shops.

  When they entered the hotel, they were greeted in the lobby by a line of chambermaids and bellboys who called out in unison, “Irrashaimase!” Tanaka had taken care of the reservations; Bond and Mayumi had separate Japanese-style rooms with futons on tatami mats.

  “The first thing I’m going to do is get into one of those hot sulphur baths,” Mayumi said as they walked away from the lobby.

  “Not on your life,” Bond replied. “We’re going to stay in our rooms. We can’t afford to be seen. By anyone.”

  “What? Come on, the baths are what makes this place great. And what about food?”

  “We’ll have room service delivered. Which I will organise. I mean it, Mayumi. We’re not out of danger yet.”

  “You’re absolutely no fun at all,” she pouted.

  They walked past one of the hotel’s main attractions; a uniquely Japanese two-storey-tall mechanical clock shaped like the ogre’s club. At various times during the day, the clock would “strike,” and it did so now. Several doors on it opened and mechanical fairy-tale figures emerged and danced to an elaborately orchestrated soundtrack that resounded throughout the lobby.