NEVER SAY DIE: Mark Cole Takes On the Yakuza in His Most Thrilling Adventure Yet!

by J. T. Brannan

  Cole nodded his head in understanding, placed his hand on hers. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I know.’

  Moments later she looked back up, restored. ‘When I got to Japan, Chomo had me meet with all his computer experts, but they didn’t impress me, and I told him so. He thought it was funny, I was just some precocious kid, so I said “Okay, let’s see”, and I asked for a little competition with those older guys, with their degrees and their doctorates and everything else.’ She grinned, and Cole could see the pride in her. ‘I wiped the floor with them, just like Chomo hoped I would, and I started work soon after.’

  ‘Doing what?’ Cole asked.

  ‘At first it was just setting up their computer systems more efficiently, making them run smoother, you know? Then I went into their security, made sure everything was bulletproof. I was still having lessons, learning from retired professors from the big universities and big-time hackers, anyone who could teach me something. But I was a natural, I guess. You know Mozart wrote his first composition when he was only five years old?’ She shook her head in amazement. ‘Just five years old! You can’t tell me that this is the sort of thing that can be taught – Mozart just knew, he felt it in his bones. And that’s how I am I guess, I don’t see numbers, digits, binary code – I feel it like a piece of music, intuitively. It’s kind of hard to explain.’

  Cole could see the passion she had for the subject, the strength of her feelings for it, and knew that Chomo’s job would have been easy; he just had to appeal to her ego, the raging beast that told her she was the best and dared her to prove it, dared others in turn to prove her wrong.

  So easy.

  Cole’s heart went out to her, his daughter manipulated into – what, exactly? He still didn’t know why she was the Omoto-gumi’s golden princess. Patience, he reminded himself, patience; he would learn soon enough.

  He’d already had one of his questions answered though – how she had managed to find him in the first place. She would have been able to find evidence of Mark Kowalski being in Bangkok, but he’d not understood how she had managed to tie that identity to Mark Cole. But if she was – as she claimed – some sort of computer genius, then she might well have been one of the few people in the world capable of hacking into the networks of the CIA, the Office of the DNI, the NSA, even the Paradigm Group and Force One. If she’d had enough time, and been patient enough, she could have tracked him. Indeed, she had tracked him, he reminded himself; which was all the proof he needed that she was as good as she said she was.

  ‘I understand,’ he said, getting his mind back on track. ‘It’s different on some levels, but when I’m operating, in the thick of the action, everything is so natural, there’s no conscious thought, no involvement of the forebrain at all; it’s all instinct, so completely natural. So addictive.’

  Michiko’s eyes met his, recognizing in him for the first time a kindred spirit, someone who perhaps could understand her. ‘That’s it,’ she said. ‘It was addictive. I was determined to be the best, even when I learned about the Omoto-gumi and its activities. I tried to remove myself from the ramifications of what I was doing, concentrate purely on the technical side of things.’

  ‘But,’ Cole asked, ‘what exactly were you doing?’

  ‘Have you heard of sokaiya? she asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s a classic yakuza racket,’ Michiko explained. ‘Basically, a criminal group buys stock in a publicly listed company, so that its members can attend the annual shareholders meeting. And then they threaten to disturb the meeting, publicly humiliate the companies and their management if they don’t pay up.’

  ‘Blackmail?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Michiko confirmed, ‘it’s blackmail and extortion, taken from the street to the corporate boardroom. And if you can make a few thousand dollars from the local crab cake seller, how much do you think those big companies will pay?’

  ‘A hell of a lot more, I guess,’ Cole said. ‘But why pay? Why don’t they just call the yakuza’s bluff?’

  Michiko smiled. ‘This is Japan,’ she explained, ‘the country where saving face means everything. Company leaders would rather lose millions than look bad in front of their shareholders.’

  ‘So where do you come into the picture?’

  ‘Well, what worked in the twentieth century doesn’t work so well in the twenty-first. Profits began to slow down as legislation hit the sokaiya rackets. So I came up with something new.’

  ‘Go on,’ Cole urged.

  ‘Do you remember a few years back, when North Korea hacked Sony? Leaked emails from producers about actors, saying bad things about them, vice versa, you know? Embarrassed a lot of people, and all because of a Hollywood film about Kim Jong Un. It was the Korean’s form of revenge, and a new form of warfare too.

  ‘But I remember wondering how much Sony would have paid to keep those emails and files out of the public domain. We wouldn’t be just talking about keeping embarrassing things out of a stockholders meeting, but out of view of the entire world media. What price could you put on that?’

  ‘You want to tell me?’

  ‘A lot,’ she said, and Cole couldn’t tell if she was proud or slightly ashamed by what she was saying; it was probably a bit of both, he decided in the end.

  ‘And that’s what you did? Hacked into company files and blackmailed their executives?’

  Michiko nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘After the Sony incident, everyone tightened up their security. It made things harder, but – forgive me – I am an artist, and I wasn’t about to be put off. And so, yes, I spent the ensuing years hacking into the files of most major corporations in Japan – and later beyond – and threatening to go public with the information if they didn’t pay up. As well as the embarrassment and humiliation, there was also the financial argument to consider. The Sony hack ended up costing the company about one hundred million dollars. Who wouldn’t pay a single million to stop the same happening to them? Or two? Or five? Or ten?’

  ‘So how much was it?’

  Michiko shook her head. ‘It is impossible to say. Over the years? Perhaps billions of dollars in such payments, direct to the Omoto-gumi, with a healthy cut for the Yamaguchi-gumi too. Think about it – dozens at first, then hundreds of companies, all paying us a certain percentage. Mitsubishi alone pay a hundred thousand dollars a week to stop us exposing their secrets. They try and update their security, but guess what? I’m always one step ahead. And we don’t just target Japanese companies, not anymore. The internet is global, so why not repeat our success elsewhere? We now get payments from all over the world, from Sinopec Oil in China to GMC in the United States – our tentacles spread everywhere, and the money is more than you could ever believe.’

  Cole nodded, amazed by the girl, hardly able to believe that she was behind the scheme – the sokaiya of the computer generation. He tried to do the sums in his head, but the money involved was too colossal for him to figure.

  Michiko was hard to figure too – she was clearly proud of her abilities, like any genius; but then she also had to carry the huge burden of guilt associated with her actions. Was she one of the bad guys? In a way, Cole supposed, she was; she had come up with the idea and seen it through, had even taken pride in it. But then again, what other life had she known? She’d had to survive, and giving her family what they demanded was the key to that survival.

  ‘I can see why they were upset when you left,’ Cole said eventually.

  ‘You’re right,’ Michiko said. ‘There were others I’d helped to train, but they didn’t feel it the way I do. They managed to keep the scheme moving, but the family was starting to lose money. They were desperate to have me back. And when they got me, they were sure to not let me go again. They put me in a small room above the club where I could work, under the eye of guards. I had another room to sleep in, a bathroom, and that was it. They weren’t going to lose their little golden princess again.’

  ‘But they have,’ said Cole with a twinkle in his eye.<
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  Michiko smiled back, her own eyes lighting up for the first time. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And I guess I have you to thank for that.’

  ‘It was my pleasure,’ Cole said. ‘Really.’ He remembered something from their escape then, and leaned closer in. ‘You shouted something at me back at the club,’ he said, ‘when you were warning me about the sumo guy. Otosan, I think you said. What does it mean?’

  Michiko looked vaguely embarrassed, and Cole wasn’t sure she was going to tell him. But then she looked up into his eyes, a nervous smile on her lips. ‘It means “father”,’ she explained. ‘In the heat of the moment, that’s what I called you.’

  Cole bowed his head, heart jumping ever so slightly.

  Otosan.

  Father.

  And then he relaxed, contented, back onto the couch; filled with the feeling that everything might work out between them after all.

  7

  Mitsuya still hadn’t told Chomo about the girl. How could he? His quest for the Yamaguchi-gumi leadership depended to a large extent on the billions of yen brought in by Michiko’s specialist extortion racket. With her gone, Omoto-gumi profits would plummet – as they had before – and Chomo would find himself with far less support than he needed. If news of the golden princess’s escape should become widely known, it would open up the leadership contest to Watanabe Haruto and all the other pretenders, a situation that was completely unacceptable – both to the Omoto-gumi, and to their friends and partners in Zen Ai Kaigi.

  And anyway, Mitsuya fully intended to find her and bring her back before anyone knew any different. He already knew where she was, down to the room she was staying in at the New Otani. Now all that remained was to move in and get her back. Mitsuya assumed the American was with her too, and – despite the threat he posed – a part of him hoped that he was there; it would enable Mitsuya to get the girl back and avenge his loss of face in one fell swoop.

  The loss of the club was a severe blow – the place brought in millions every year. It was also going to cause untold damage to his reputation if he did not bring swift justice to bear on the culprits.

  He knew that rumors would already be starting to leak out – both about the one-man American war machine, and the escape of the golden princess. Such things were unavoidable. But he hoped to be able to sort things out and remedy the entire situation before the rumors could be proved.

  He had spent the past few hours organizing his troops, planning the upcoming operation; and now everything was in place, just as the first vague hint of dawn was brightening the lower part of the night sky to the east. The sun would be fully up within the hour, and the time for action was at hand.

  He’d had agreement from his contacts in the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department that his men would have a small window of opportunity before the police moved in at dawn, and Mitsuya intended to take full advantage of it.

  His Omoto-gumi soldiers were well armed with pistols, machine pistols and submachine guns, all brought to the scene from the group’s central armory, and they were using the latest, crystal clear digital radio sets.

  His troops – numbering nearly thirty after he’d mobilized everyone in the immediate aftermath of the club incident – were already spread out around the New Otani, moving steadily closer toward their target as Mitsuya monitored the operation with his high-powered binoculars from the high rooftop of nearby Akasakamitsuke Maeda Hospital.

  The hospital was located on the garden side of the New Otani, across the moat which separated the hotel from Akasaka Palace and its large, forested gardens. He had highlighted Michiko’s room with his binoculars, but had seen no activity inside – the curtains were fully closed, and the lights were off. Sensible policy, but Mitsuya knew exactly where she was anyway.

  He moved the binoculars, and took in the small groups of armed men moving in on the hotel from all sides. Perfect. Everyone was in place.

  He was about to give the ‘go’ signal when he spotted something out of the corner of his eye, moving his binoculars in a wide sweep until he saw what it was – a line of police cars all streaming toward the New Otani at top speed.

  Son of a bitch! He’d been told he had until dawn!

  He got onto the radio immediately, alerting his men. ‘Cops are on their way early,’ he said quickly, ‘you need to move now! Go! Go! Go!’

  Nakamura was incensed beyond measure. Over the past couple of hours, he had developed information which indicated where Baxter and the girl were hiding, and yet the raid by the Special Assault Team on the New Otani had been delayed until after dawn.

  Nakamura knew that the best time to attack was in the twilight hours, not when the sun was already up and shining, and had no idea where the order had come from to hold fire. The whole thing felt wrong, and he would make sure he found out who was responsible and make heads roll when this thing was finished.

  After the call to Baxter’s cell phone, he had launched a city-wide interrogation of CCTV footage, and turned up various potential images. Using Asakusa as a starting point, he had eventually traced the couple’s route across the city; and at the same time, he had requested information from every Tokyo hotel regarding new guests during the night. He had then compiled both sets of information, which had left the New Otani as his best guess for the fugitives’ location; and a man answering to Baxter’s description had indeed checked in a little after two that morning, in the name of George Browning.

  The duty manager had repeated Browning’s story about the Grand Hyatt, which Nakamura had then checked out, not surprised to find out that the alleged conversation between Browning and the Grand Hyatt staff had never happened. Browning hadn’t arrived on any flight into Tokyo that evening either, or at any time in the past few weeks. Indeed, there was no record of a George Browning entering the country at any airport, at any time.

  Which meant that Browning was another identity being used by Baxter; which could also mean, in turn, that Baxter was an assumed identity itself, leaving Nakamura to wonder just who the hell the man he was chasing really was. A call to the Washington Post didn’t help resolve matters much – they didn’t have any record of a potential story on the sex trade between America and Japan, but the execs Nakamura spoke to often didn’t know what their freelancers were up to. However, Nakamura’s gut feeling was that there was something deeper going on here; it wasn’t just about a newspaper story, but much more than that. He was starting to believe that Baxter – or whatever his real name was – might be a foreign intelligence agent. His mission? Nakamura had no idea. But he’d called some of his friends in the intelligence community and asked that someone try and find out if there was any American operation occurring here.

  Nakamura didn’t know for sure whether Michiko was with the man, but assumed she was; to avoid suspicion, he probably registered alone and then brought her up later. But even if she wasn’t there, it wouldn’t matter; Nakamura’s target was the man, and if he was caught, he would be able to lead Nakamura to the girl anyway.

  Nakamura had put together a task force as quickly as he could, armed police officers from the TMPD’s Special Assault Team ready and waiting to move in with enough firepower to blow a great deal of the New Otani from the face of the earth. But then word came through for the team to stand down until after dawn, and Nakamura – not about to let his quarry get away – decided to initiate things himself, without the SAT.

  He was in the lead car of the convoy, racing toward the New Otani with a dozen loyal men from the Organized Crime Control Bureau. They weren’t as well equipped as the SAT troops, but they could hold their own against a man and a girl. And there was always the armed backup waiting for their dawn call back at the TMPD headquarters; if Nakamura called them with an urgent request for assistance, they would move in despite the hour.

  He saw the New Otani rising up before him in the pre-dawn gloom, checked his Glock semi-automatic, and hoped that it would never come to that.

  ‘What is it?’ Michiko asked as Cole moved into he
r room from the lounge where he had been sleeping, ordering her to get up, get changed.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Cole whispered. ‘Just a feeling. We’re not safe here. We’re too much of a target. I must have been tired last night, made a mistake. If the police are on the ball, they’ll check for late guests at the big hotels. If they hear the story I gave the manager here about the Grand Hyatt, they might check it out.’ Cole knew that Nakamura would, if he was the man on the case. ‘Then they could check flight records, see the name I’m staying under didn’t enter the country officially.’

  Michiko nodded her head, already reaching for the lamp next to her bed.

  ‘No,’ Cole said, ‘no lights. If anybody’s watching us, they’ll see it.’

  Cole returned to the living area and prepared, stuffing money and documents into his pockets, checking the Taurus was in working order, slipping it into his waist band, hidden by his jacket.

  Michiko emerged soon after, ready to go.

  ‘Good,’ Cole said. ‘We can make it out of here while it’s still dark, lose ourselves in the streets.’

  ‘Okay,’ Michiko agreed. ‘Let’s go.’

  They were down on the lobby floor soon after, strolling as casually as they could out of the elevator and moving toward the main exit onto Kioicho.

  There was a female receptionist at the front desk, but she paid them no attention. Despite the early hour, there were a few other people in the lobby too – some new guests arriving, others going for an early morning walk or business meeting – and Cole and Michiko effectively blended into the background.

  A few more steps, and they would be back to the safety of the streets.

  ‘She’s moving,’ Mitsuya said over the radio system, ‘she’s already down at the lobby level. Who’s there?’

  ‘Asai and my men,’ the voice came back, reassuring Mitsuya. Asai had three men with him, all competent killers. There would be another four-man team converging on the lobby of the main building too, connected to the other by a long passage which led past the garden lounge.