“Family collateral? Are you saying they’re going after his wife and little girl?” asked Ward.
“So you don’t know that Gregg Westwood’s wife is hospitalized? She reported the abduction of her fourteen-year-old daughter to the Kawasaki Police yesterday,” said Mariko.
Steve Brown and Jeff Ward looked at each other in disbelief.
“You need to hear about one other development,” said Mariko.
“We are all ears,” said Brown.
“Our informants at the Tokyo dockyards are confident something is going down soon. It involves smuggling a container of contraband through customs and diverting the contents to several destinations in the United States. The perpetrators are spreading money around like fucking crazy,” said Mariko.
“New Jersey?” asked Ward.
“The Cambridge Queen’s Head near Harvard. Listen, the perpetrators are connected with none other than the boys shown in the photo. It’s one of those great coincidences,” she said.
“What’s Gregg’s status with the Japanese police?” asked Brown.
“He’s not on the radar screen. Our boys over here whitewashed the scenes quite well,” said Mariko.
“Anything else?” asked Ward.
“Wasn’t that enough? You better get ready to shell out big-time on some nice wine when we hit the O-Club. I’ve bought some new shoes and am sure to get your attention,” she said.
Steve Brown raised his eyebrows and Jeff closed the connection to Mariko’s office.
Ward’s voice took on a passionate edge. “Steve, I can’t ignore bastards ready to leverage family collateral. I think Gregg’s predicament became our problem when the bad guys crossed the line. Gregg is our man, and every report and drone video analysis indicates he manned up and acted decisively and with courage. We sent him on a simple exercise as a courier, and he ended up operating as a wingman for one of our most dangerous assassins. Why practice our kind of work if we can’t protect our own people?”
Brown nodded and ran his hand down his tie. “We’re limited in Japan, but we have enough resources to support our new initiate. Gregg will need some luck and must do the heavy lifting on his own. I’d like to deliver one simple message, and our new man will once again be the courier.”
“What would be your courier’s message?” asked Ward.
Steve Brown stood up and straightened his suit jacket. “Don’t fuck with the Lone Ranger,” he said.
Chapter 32
Shinjuku Park Hyatt Hotel
The godfather started the morning with his family at the New York Grill located on the fifty-second floor of the hotel. He wore a dark tailored suit and shirt open at the neck. “Look out the window. I’m counting three helicopters, and I think that is Mount Fuji over there,” said Leo Morello. He touched his granddaughter’s blond hair and smiled at his daughter.
“You’re right. It’s hiding behind some clouds, but it’s definitely Mount Fuji,” said his daughter.
“Where are you going today? I can never follow your busy itinerary,” asked Morello.
His granddaughter squeezed his arm, “Nonno, we talked about this yesterday. We’re going to take the bullet train called the Shinkansen to Kyoto. That’s the ancient capital city of Japan and has beautiful temples and real live geisha,” she said.
“You don’t mind being left behind? We would be pleased to wait a day and travel together,” said his son-in-law.
“You’ll have to take care of my girls. I’ve got some business scheduled today, but my guys and I will meet you at the airport on Thursday,” said Morello.
“Yes, sir,” replied his son-in-law.
“We’ll be fine,” said Morello’s daughter.
“Have a nice time, and don’t worry about hotel expenses. My guys have got it all covered,” said Morello.
“Thank you, and good luck with your meetings,” said his son-in-law before turning to follow his wife and daughter out of the restaurant.
Morello wasn’t left alone with his newspaper very long before three men arrived. His colleague, Nicolas Fabbro, towered over the two Japanese men he escorted. “Good morning. Do you remember Minoru Sato?” asked Fabbro.
Morello worked to get out of his chair and grimaced with discomfort. He rubbed his back before offering his hand. “It’s nice to see you again,” he said.
Sato bowed. “Thank you for coming to Tokyo. This is Nori Nakada, who is a junior executive in our organization.” Nakada offered his business card to Leo Morello. It was formally held with both hands and positioned for Morello to read.
“Nakada Consulting Company. Nice. Here’s my card.” Morello passed it to Nakada with one hand.
“Thank you, Morello san,” said Nakada.
“Shall we move up to our luxury suite? We’ve taken all precautions to prevent eavesdropping and unwanted surveillance. Security is positioned around the hotel to assure our safety as well as privacy,” said Sato.
***
Park Hyatt Luxury Suite
Morello lifted his glass and everyone around him moved to engage in his toast. “We made more progress today than in all our past meetings,” said Morello, and he smiled at his Japanese hosts. “Let’s raise our glasses and toast to a continuous business with unimagined possibilities.”
The group touched their crystal champagne flutes and Sato stood up. “We have much work to do and face serious challenges, but risk can be negated with careful planning and professional execution. Mr. Morello and his associates bring both expertise in strategic planning and the power to walk the project through to completion. Let’s toast to Mr. Morello and his fine associates.”
The glasses clinked once again, but Sato did not sit down. “Please excuse Mr. Morello and me for a moment,” he said. Morello stood and straightened his tie before following Sato out to the lobby and away from the other guests. “I want to share some details crucial to the operation and can’t chance anyone else with the knowledge,” said Sato.
“I’ve always respected prudence and believe more gets done in a hallway stand-up meeting than at boardroom tables,” replied Morello.
“We’ve greased all the wheels necessary to move our cargo past customs without detection. It will be sorted and sent on three different ships to Seattle, San Francisco, and Los Angeles, where your people will receive it and distribute it. It’s been a costly investment, as everyone has their handout,” said Sato.
“Every deal comes down to money and terms of payment. What do you want?” asked Morello.
“We will receive and ship one thousand kilograms of fentanyl with an American street value of $1.6 billion. Our costs include payment to the supplier and the expensive measures to circumvent the customs and police detection at the Port of Tokyo. I am asking you for $200 million in advance and the balance of $200 million upon receipt,” said Sato.
The two men looked at each other with only the sound of the humming air conditioner and their own heartbeats to fill the silence for a long minute. “We can give you $100 million after inspecting the merchandise while here in Tokyo and the balance thirty days after the product lands in the States,” countered Morello.
“Your offer is unacceptable. You’ll need to share the risk in order to make this project a success,” replied Sato.
“I see,” said Morello. He took out his cell phone and punched in numbers and considered them for a moment before replacing the phone in his suit pocket. “We can increase the down payment to $150 million but we’ll need sixty days to pay the balance after the product is off-loaded on the mainland,” he said.
Sato offered his right hand, and the two men completed the verbal contract with a handshake. “Let’s return to our dinner to enjoy the cheesecake. I’ve been told it’s exquisite,” said Sato.
“Welcome back,” said Nic Fabbro. He stood and waited for the two senior mobsters to take their seats. Fabbro returned his attention to the cleavage of a Ginza nightclub hostess invited to the party by Sato. He soon stood up and offered his hand to the hostess.
“Come with me, babes. I’ll show you the view from my room.” She smiled and walked on three-inch stiletto heels toward Fabbro’s bedroom and giggled when Fabbro smacked her rear end.
She gave the Mafioso a hug and laughed loudly. “Don’t be silly, Nic,” she said. Fabbro opened the door for his companion and waived good night to his boss and the Japanese business partners.
“Have a fine night,” said Morello, winking at his protégé.
“We call it mizu shobai,” said Sato. Leo Morello looked interested and he continued the explanation. “It literally translates as ‘water business’ or ‘selling water.’ Four hundred years ago, our transportation was dependent on the river and canal systems in Tokyo. A woman would hang a lantern near the shore to attract boatmen or merchants ready to enjoy sake and her warm company. Customers would pull up and dock ready for a value-added dinner.”
“One-stop shopping,” said Morello, and he laughed.
“We still call the work done at hostess bars and soaplands mizu shobai,” said Sato. He finished his commentary and filled Morello’s glass with fresh scotch, and the American returned the favor.
“When do we inspect the merchandise?” asked Leo Morello.
“As soon as your down payment arrives at our offshore account,” replied Sato. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of letter-sized paper. “These are the bank transfer details. I trust arrangements will be made soon?” asked Sato.
“I’ll get on it as soon as you depart,” replied Morello.
“Then you’ll excuse me, as your work takes precedence over my glass of scotch. I’ll see myself out,” said Sato.
***
American Embassy, Toranomon, Tokyo
It was a moment at a cocktail party painfully familiar to those working in the American government as expatriates. Steve Brown found himself standing alone and observing the room full of Japanese and American bureaucrats, businessmen, and expatriates registered and approved for social events. They were scattered around a buffet table loaded with smoked salmon, sandwiches, shrimp, and other tapas.
Interpreters stood behind their clients energetically supporting the ambassador, the governor of Guam, who was the guest of honor, and other dignitaries. Steve caught the eye of a man across the room and recognized him from a briefing he’d attended a few weeks earlier on potential opiate traffic moving through Tokyo transport hubs en route to the USA. He walked over to the middle-aged, blond-haired man and held out his hand.
“I’m Steve Brown and work at Yokota Air Base. I attended your briefing held at the New Sanno Hotel a few weeks ago. It was informative and well presented,” said Brown.
“Beau Veazey. Please call me Beau,” said the DEA agent.
“How are you settling into life in Tokyo?” asked Brown.
“Tokyo and the lifestyle here are great, but I’m concerned about the opportunity to make things happen before my watch is over. I’ve always been a hands-on type of personality, and working out of a desk here at the embassy is a new concept for me. Late-night and early-morning conference calls are becoming the norm,” said Beau.
“Are your Japanese counterparts helpful?” asked Brown.
“How can I answer your question diplomatically?” asked Beau.
Brown laughed. “What’s on your radar screen?” he asked.
“There’s something big coming into one of the local ports soon, but it’s all rumor and speculation at this point. My Japanese counterparts tend to lecture me on the scope of the traffic at the Ports of Tokyo and Yokohama. The Port of Tokyo will receive thirty-two thousand transport vessels this year, and Yokohama will unload close to three million containers. It’s challenging,” said Beau.
“How’d you end up with this posting in Asia?” asked Brown.
“Do you want the full story or the abridged version?” asked Beau.
Brown looked at his watch and nodded. “Let’s start with the executive summary and develop the details over a beer sometime,” said Brown.
“I was part of the team who took down the brothers running the Tijuana Cartel. It started in 1992 when I was a rookie with less than six months experience with the DEA. It was a tough assignment with lots of casualties. Several of my informants disappeared or were found dead after suffering horrendous torture. One of my close friends suffered multiple stab wounds in a taxi while en route to his hotel in Tijuana. The operation took its toll on everyone involved.”
“The Arellano-Felix Organization were a scary bunch of bad actors. I understand you captured the cartel leaders by tracking their yacht into international waters?” asked Brown.
“We caught a major break and bugged the luxury vessel before the brothers made the purchase. It was a long shot, but it paid off in the final hour,” said Beau.
“Were you satisfied with the results?” asked Brown.
“In 2013, Eduardo, the last of the cartel executives, was extradited to the United States for trial. His fifteen-year sentence for money laundering after supervising murder, kidnapping, and drug trafficking didn’t make a lot of sense to me. Some of his criminal associates paid the US government for reduced sentences. I found the whole process revolting. The guys we removed have now been replaced with an alliance of equally ruthless bastards calling themselves “the New Generation.”
The two men looked at each other for several seconds, and Brown nodded his head. “The world’s a lot bigger than us,” said Brown.
“I’d be open for advice on how to do my job better in this city,” said Beau.
“Have you received any reports on meetings between Leo Morello and Minoru Sato?” asked Brown.
“The truth? I knew Morello was in town but hadn’t been briefed on meetings with his yakuza connections. Can you share anything?” asked Beau.
Brown pulled Beau into a vacant corner of the room and pulled a pen out of his pocket. After twisting the top, he returned it to his pocket. “This won’t go over well if we take too much time. A container vessel called the MV Salacia took a load from a fishing boat near North Korean waters. Work with your Japanese contacts to track and move on it,” said Brown.
“I’ll pull in some favors and get it done,” said Beau.
Both men noticed two marine guards enter the room, and Brown pulled the jamming device from his pocket and shut it off. “Never piss off the embassy security team,” said Brown.
Chapter 33
Tachikawa
Jeff Ward had driven twenty minutes from Yokota Air Base when he pulled into the parking lot of the chain restaurant Gyoza no Ohsho in Tachikawa where Steve Brown waited in his wife’s white Subaru Impreza. Brown motioned to the passenger seat and Jeff opened the door and stepped into the vehicle for their off-site discussion.
“You know this ugly little car was Subaru’s top-selling model in Japan. Trust the Japanese to sell reliability,” said Brown.
“It’s a microcosmic example of the Japanese quality-first purchasing ethic,” agreed Ward.
Brown activated a small device and placed it on top of the dashboard of the car. “Borrowing your wife’s car is serious stealth, boss,” said Ward.
“We don’t really have time for levity. Have you set the courier project into motion?” asked Brown.
“I’m bringing contractors into the game as directed and will be meeting with Gerry Levy today,” replied Ward.
“Your lady at the domestic desk seems to have her finger on the pulse,” said Brown.
“She’s not really my lady,” replied Ward.
“Whatever, now listen. A report from a Japanese submarine trickled down to my desk and we’re checking it out. They observed a cargo transfer from a Japanese squid-fishing boat to a container ship in the Sea of Japan. The exchange took place a few kilometers outside North Korean territorial waters,” said Brown.
“Let me guess. The squid boat didn’t check out?” asked Ward.
“No, it wasn’t identified on any public registry. We have tracked the container named the MV Salacia and found
it registered in the British Virgin Islands. It landed two days ago, and its cargo is being off-loaded as we speak,” replied Brown.
“What’s our play in this one?” asked Ward.
“We’re supporting a special task force assigned by the Japanese Ministry of Finance, and a special agent from the DEA will be coordinating our involvement with the operation,” said Brown.
“Do the Japanese want us around their turf?” asked Ward.
“Not at all. However, we might be dealing with dangerous contraband destined for American ports, and our Japanese allies don’t want to look complicit in the process. After increasing our focus on the Port of Tokyo, we’ve substantiated Mariko’s concern for the yakuza involvement and widespread corruption infecting key functionaries. On top of all this, we’ve monitored to the best of our ability meetings held at the Park Hyatt between Minoru Sato and Leo Morello.”
“Holy shit. We’ve stumbled into something big. Do you think we will be called in to do any actual work?” asked Ward.
“The Naicho will have their hands in the pie and they might call in a few favors. Let’s change gears. What’s your next step regarding the kidnapping?” asked Brown.
“You know we have to move aggressively, as the police are sitting on their hands. Do I have your permission to take the necessary actions to fulfill my mission?” asked Ward.
“Do whatever it takes,” ordered Brown.
“Hi-ho, Silver. Away!” replied Ward.
***
After traveling several miles with scuba gear and the aid of an underwater scooter, the North Korean agent ditched her underwater equipment and swam to the beach. She emerged from the cool waters of the Sea of Japan in a stylish full-coverage swimsuit popular in Japan and walked casually to Nishikaigan Park where her contact handed her a towel. The flat waterproof wound covering protected the incisions closing her wound on her hip, and it was undetectable. “How was your swim?” the contact asked in Japanese.
The Courier Page 15