Shouts of “on-on” and whistles blew from the road to Gregg’s far right when the true trail was identified. Successful runners dropped fistfuls of hash made with damp flour and sawdust. This marked the trail for the stragglers, and front-runners led the way by blowing whistles and yelling until all took notice. The pack streamed to the road on the far right, passing small groups of families leaving flowers and tending to their ancestors’ tombs.
Gregg returned from his search of a false trail on the left and joined the pack cruising up the road confirmed as the correct trail. The pace quickened as the path sloped downward. The hashers ran through pine and bamboo groves, glimpsing small burial sites cut into the side of the rocky hill. Gregg was rounding a curve when he heard his name called.
“Gregg Westwood, I presume,” said Jeff Ward. He was dressed in generic running gear and a Dodgers baseball cap.
“You scared me. I thought one of the residents of this memorial park was calling my name,” said Gregg.
“They don’t seem like the chatty types. Do you mind if I join you?” asked Ward.
“Do I have a choice?” replied Gregg.
The two men jogged beside each other for less than a minute before the road split. The path to the left lined with small rocks narrowed as it ran through the bamboo forest. The road to the right was the hare’s trail, marked with arrows and splashed with the powdery hash.
“Let’s take the path less chosen,” said Ward.
“You’re not much of a team player. Why leave the group?” asked Gregg.
Ward wiped his forehead with a small towel. “We need to talk. I’ll get us to the on-in with a little help from my friends,” said Ward.
The path dipped for forty meters and flattened out next to a small grouping of Japanese ohaka, burial tombs. The course took them by a funeral ceremony in progress. A Buddhist priest dressed in purple and white robes conducted the ritual for about twenty mourners dressed in black. The women wore pearls and men black ties. Incense burned, and the priest chanted a mantra. The two foreigners continued walking past the funeral but removed their hats. They looked downward, offering the family privacy.
Twenty meters farther, they cleared the funeral ceremony, and the path diverged downward to their left once again. It wound around a small isolated family plot carved into the hill, surrounded by bamboo. It wasn’t a windy day, but a rock slid and scratched across the marble grave marker closest to the path. The two men sped down the hill and doubled their pace. They ran for about half a kilometer through pine and bamboo forest, finishing when the gravel trail ran into a busy urban road near a local Lawson convenience store.
Ward pointed at the Lawson. “Can I buy you an iced coffee?”
Gregg shrugged his shoulders. “Why not?”
The two men found an empty bench outside the convenience store. “Tell me the rock scratching across the gravestone wasn’t weird,” said Gregg.
“It was just the wind. Freaky, yes, but nothing more than the wind. Now listen, we’ve got a twenty-four-hour project for you. It requires leaving on an international flight tomorrow. Are you ready to get started?” asked Ward.
“Yes, I am interested, but why the drama? I mean, pulling me out of a hash run?” said Gregg.
“You are a free agent and off the radar. This is a strategic advantage and the reason we want to work with you. We’re making every effort not to compromise your status,” said Ward.
“Fair enough. Tell me about this project?” asked Gregg.
“You’ll be making a delivery and will be under our surveillance throughout the exercise. Certain American government institutions in Asia are susceptible to communication leaks, and you can circumvent contact with some of the high-risk components as an amateur without any association with our agency. Combine this with your Canadian identity and you should be able to complete the courier mission without detection.”
“What exactly do I have to do?” asked Gregg.
“You’ll travel to Narita Airport tomorrow morning on the N’EX train. You’re booked on a departure from Musashi-Kosugi Station at 7:17. Upon arrival, you’ll check in for Thai Airlines flight 643 departing at 11:45. You’ll travel business class and have lounge access. A carry-on bag containing all the items necessary to complete the mission will be passed to you before you board.”
“Will I be transporting contraband?” asked Gregg.
“The material you’ll carry will be valuable, but we are not asking you to break any laws. Consider your first project a practicable exercise and a way to get your feet wet. You’ll be given a communication device and directions to a rendezvous location,” said Ward.
“There has to be something more to this. Anything else to offer?” asked Gregg.
Ward shook his head and chuckled before he opened his fanny pack and pulled out an identification card. “I almost forgot this useful item. Don’t bring it with you on the trip tomorrow.” Ward handed it to Gregg without further explanation.
“A Gregg Westwood official US DOD gate pass, with an expiration date of January 2022. Thank you,” said Gregg.
“All your time wasted on red tape and in lineups renewing entry passes will be eliminated for a few years. The documentation will get you onto most US government properties, but I wouldn’t push my luck in Washington, DC. Stick to the bases you visit on business and the pass is yours until expiration,” said Ward.
“I’ve got to explain a few things to Miki. Shall we get going?” suggested Gregg, and the two men started jogging.
Chapter 11
Kawasaki
Gregg limited himself to a single can of Asahi beer before slipping out of the hasher’s on-in celebration. He caught the Nambu commuter train for the ten-minute ride home. He wasn’t intoxicated, but his head was spinning. He was preoccupied with the details of Ward’s briefing and the tasks ahead. “A guy has got to do something for kicks,” Gregg said softly to himself.
The train stopped at Noborito and he exited the station. It was only a two-minute walk to his stand-alone three-story house. It always reminded him of the tall and narrow homes he’d seen in Amsterdam. Gregg stepped into his front entrance and took off his shoes. He yelled, “Miki, are you home?”
When no one replied he moved down the hallway to their bath and shower room on the first floor. Gregg anticipated the welcome relief offered by a cold shower after the midday summer run. He entered the bath and shower room and pulled off his sweaty running gear. He removed the plastic top used to seal the tub, and steam filled the place.
He sat down on the plastic stool designed for a Japanese bath and turned on the shower spray. He tested the water temperature with his hand and adjusted the temperature from warm to cool. He lathered up with body gel and rinsed from top to bottom. The job was all but complete when someone opened the shower room door. Miki leaned toward Gregg. She offered a broad smile and her large brown eyes sparkled.
“Would you like some company?” asked Miki.
Gregg touched her face. “Only a fool would say no.”
“Good,” said Miki and closed the door.
Gregg watched her through the glass as she dropped her jeans and T-shirt to the floor. Her figure reminded him of paintings he’d enjoyed at the Musée d’Orsay in Paris. Tahitian women were immortalized in nude portraits by Gauguin. Miki could have modeled for the French post-Impressionist. Gregg admired her slim brown body and her long black hair flowing far down her back.
She stepped into the shower room and embraced him. He returned the favor and caressed her. His hands moved down her back and thighs as she hugged his waist.
“How’s my lady doing this afternoon?” Gregg asked.
“Better now,” she said and kissed his chest. “Did you miss me?” she asked as the steam rose around them.
“Why don’t I show you how much?” asked Gregg.
She laughed. “What do you have in mind?”
“How about this,” said Gregg. He picked his wife up, and she wrapped her legs around him. She
released her right hand to reach down and guide him inside her. Her long legs squeezed his waist and Miki gripped his neck. Gregg touched her breasts with his right hand.
Miki moaned and the pace of their lovemaking picked up. Her tiny body bounced away and she pushed her hips forward to maintain the union. She gasped and placed her head against Gregg’s neck. “It’s good, and I’m coming,” said Miki.
A deep moan escaped her, and her body went rigid.
Gregg’s reaction was less subdued. Noises loud and primal escaped his throat without restraint. Miki covered his mouth. “You’ll scare the neighbors.”
They laughed and slid slowly to the floor. Their chests heaved and filled with steamy air. After a few minutes they stood up and showered off. “Shall we dry up and go for dinner?” she asked.
***
Gregg pulled the Ridge Estate Chardonnay out of the refrigerator and got to work with the corkscrew. “I need to share some news with you,” said Gregg.
Miki left the preparation of appetizers and walked to the table to stand by Gregg. “My contacts at the air base offered an interesting opportunity. It starts with a business trip to Bangkok,” said Gregg.
“Oh, when do you need to leave for Thailand?” asked Miki.
“Tomorrow morning. They booked a flight on Thai Air leaving about noon. It’s a simple courier job and a short two-day project. The assignment will give me a break from my usual routine. It pays well, and we can always use the air miles,” said Gregg.
Miki considered his explanation and Gregg noted concern on her face. “Things are moving quickly. I didn’t think you’d ever be interested in a government job. Have you signed a contract?”
“Not yet. We’ll see how they treat me with this first assignment. Jeff Ward seems to feel positive about the possibilities, and he’s matched my current salary. Let’s sit down with him after I get back from this trip and review the package,” said Gregg.
“Fine,” said Miki and walked into the kitchen. Her posture was stiff as she stepped to the refrigerator without looking back at Gregg. She pulled the refrigerator open with excessive force and squatted down to observe the contents of the vegetable cooler. She rifled through the produce before pulling out lettuce and other items for a salad and placed them in the kitchen sink. She started rinsing and scrubbing the vegetables without looking up at Gregg.
“I’m going upstairs to pack,” said Gregg.
Miki acknowledge him with a nod.
“It’s a job and a new opportunity,” said Gregg.
“I guess it is. Congratulations,” replied Miki.
Chapter 12
Narita Airport Parking Lot, Sunday, August 10
“Let’s review things one more time before you go,” said Ward.
Gregg sat up and yawned. He finished the remainder of his can of Red Bull and said, “One, arrive at Bangkok’s Suvarnabhumi Airport at 17:14.”
Ward nodded his head and motioned with his hands to carry on.
“Two, clear customs as a tourist,” said Gregg.
“Right, use your Canadian passport for everything. The second passport in your travel package is for emergency purposes. Its data matches your identity with one exception, no middle name. Consider it a signal flare, as we’ll be alerted when you use it,” said Ward.
“Three, take an airport limousine to the Conrad Hotel,” continued Gregg. I will at all times be discreet, confident, and careful to avoid unnecessary attention. Four, I’ll check into the hotel and pay with cash,” said Gregg.
“Good, there’s plenty of American and Thai cash in your handbag. We created a government Visa card for you, but it’s best to use cash and keep all receipts,” said Ward.
Gregg looked at Ward and was surprised to recognize his serious demeanor. These guys required receipts like every other government agency on the planet. He was to “only use the government Visa card in case of an emergency.”
“Five, leave the Conrad by taxi at 5:30 a.m. for the Oriental Hotel,” said Gregg.
“Yes, be as close to 5:30 a.m. as possible. Traffic worsens exponentially from the morning,” said Ward.
“Six, I’ll go to the fantail boat docks near the Oriental Hotel and charter a river taxi to Wat Arun Temple.”
Ward raised a hand. “The locals call it Wat Chaeng Temple and it is located on the west bank of the Chao Phraya River. They don’t take credit cards at the ferry docks,” he said.
“Seven, I’ll find a place near the temple entrance to sit and drink a bottle of water. I’ll bring it from the hotel room’s courtesy bar. The temple doesn’t open to tourists until eight thirty, and a crowd will line up before moving into Wat Chaeng,” said Gregg.
Ward handed Gregg a black generic baseball cap. “Wear this flex-fit cap as an identification piece. It’s also a safety measure, as the Bangkok sun can be murder.”
Gregg took the cap. “Eight, I’ll wait until the agent makes contact. He will identify himself by telling me that Canada’s IIHF World Juniors hockey team lost to Sweden 17–1 in 1975. Talk about a real shitty introduction. Who’s the creative genius?” asked Gregg.
“Live with it. The truth hurts,” said Ward, and he seemed to work at not laughing.
“Nine, I’ll place my satchel on the ground and return to the docks for an on-time lunch at the Conrad,” said Gregg.
“You have the afternoon and evening free. Please keep a low profile and hang out at the hotel. You’ll enjoy the pool and bar,” said Ward.
“Ten, I’ll stay the night at the Conrad and set the wake-up call for 6:00 a.m. After taking a taxi to the airport, I’ll check in and catch the ANA 848 flight departing at 10:25.”
Ward handed Gregg the travel bag with documents, cash, and credit cards before opening his door and stepping out of the car. Gregg followed suit, as did the driver.
“Good luck,” said Ward and shook Gregg’s hand.
“I think I’m going to need all the luck I can get,” said Gregg. He nodded in the direction of both Ward and the driver as he picked up his carry-on bag.
“One moment, you’ll need this package. It has the courier papers inside. Don’t open it, and protect it until it is delivered to our contact at the Wat Chaeng Temple,” said Ward.
“Got it,” he said, shaking Ward’s hand. He was surprised when the driver held up a massive fist. They bumped knuckles. “May I have your name?” asked Gregg.
“No,” said the driver and added, “have a good one.”
Gregg turned and walked into the south wing of Narita Airport’s Terminal 1.
Chapter 13
Yokohama
The Yokohama Naka Ward is home to Yamashita Park, the Marine Tower, Chinatown, and the Yokohama Baseball Stadium. It is interesting geography with steep hills and winding streets reminiscent of San Francisco. The peak of the Naka Ward’s hill is home to the Yokohama International School, the gaijin bochi cemetery for foreigners, and several beautiful estates. Tucked into a corner of this elite part of Yokohama is the Hakushika, or the White Deer Estate.
The large brass sign fixed to the secure front gates of the White Deer Estate read, “FOUNDED IN 1905.” It was built by a British trading company to house young accountants and executives sent to Japan to oversee silk shipments. The estate was burned to the ground during allied bombing raids during the Pacific War. It was a pile of black-crusted rock and ash when Kenji Sato purchased the property in 1960 and invested in reconstruction.
Sato made a fortune leading his yakuza family in the establishment and aggressive defense of pachinko parlors in Yokohama and Kawasaki. Pachinko was a rare opportunity for Japanese to gamble and was legitimized due to loopholes in the laws from the 1950s. Kenji’s son, Minoru, inherited the White Deer and his father’s business in the 1980s. Minoru expanded the flourishing pachinko operation by introducing new technology, upgrading pachinko machines in line with the advancements of slot machine capabilities in Las Vegas.
Sato cherished the Hakushika and spared no expense purchasing and importing Span
ish stone, French glass, and hardwood from Africa. He contracted French architecture firms and German engineers to realize the exotic Western appearance he desired. It was an extravagant statement of wealth and power and an economically sound investment. Sato made cash payments to construction companies with untaxed funds produced by his illegal operations. Over time the real estate investment grew into a valuable and transparent part of his portfolio.
It was also a fortress with concrete-reinforced guard houses and high-tech observation equipment. Sato installed state-of-the-art security technology capable of shredding tires and stopping any commercial vehicle in his driveway. Detection systems similar to those deployed by American border security organizations were monitored around the clock. The possibilities of a surprise police raid or an attack by rival yakuza groups were marginalized by Sato’s preparations.
Guards armed with sniper rifles and machine pistols were positioned around the breathtaking landscape featuring manicured lawns equal to the putting greens at exclusive country clubs. Dozens of yakuza patrolled the estate with dogs while elite Japanese gardeners worked with the juniper and exotic flora. The bonsai trees displayed around the Japanese garden were subjects of popular magazines, but the yakuza soldiers were never mentioned in articles or caught on camera.
The backyard ran into a bamboo grove lining a steep slope and finished at a public road three hundred meters below. Any foolish trespasser traversing the hill to the estate’s backyard was dealt with severely. Two middle school boys once climbed and crawled to the top of the hill to enter the White Deer’s back garden. They made it to the koi pond before being knocked to the ground and threatened by two vicious German shepherds. The mud-covered and traumatized youngsters were picked up by Yokohama Police constables. Each of the boy’s families paid handsome regret presents to Minoru Sato before dinner the same day.
Two men posted outside the estate watched Shimano’s black BMW M4 roll up to the front gate. The security wore navy uniforms and their caps were embroidered with bright yellow thread stating “SECURITY” in English. They examined his identification and called in the data to the control office. Shimano and his facial images were confirmed by the White Deer computers linked to front gate cameras. The guards opened each door and inspected both the trunk and the engine area of the BMW. Round mirrors attached to rods were placed under each corner of the car to search for explosives.
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