“Yes, my associates identified her location. I’m going to get her tonight. We’re going to bring her home,” said Gregg.
Miki crumbled against her pillow and started crying softly. “Thank you,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” said Gregg.
“Gregg,” said Miki.
“Yes,” he said.
“If you don’t find Kou, I never want to see you again,” she said.
Gregg’s heart broke when the line went dead.
***
When Gregg slipped the cell phone into his pocket and shook off the emotional kick to his guts, he realized someone was watching him. He looked up to see the veterinarian standing nearby and seemingly waiting for him to say something. “What would you like?” he asked.
“David asked to see you before you go. He’s recovering well and will be able to take a few steps soon. We’ve reduced the morphine dosages and he’s thinking logically and speaking clearly. Please come with me to see him,” she said.
Gregg followed the petite doctor to a bedroom in the back of the veterinary clinic. It was decorated simply with photos of wild animals and neutral colors. “I hear you’re feeling better,” said Gregg.
“Yes, no thanks to you. When you go for a walk with Gregg Westwood, you’re likely to end up in some friggin’ animal hospital with a bullet in your gut,” said David.
“Negative feedback, as of the last ten minutes, seems to be a recurring theme. My popularity rating lies somewhere between diarrhea and bad body odor,” replied Gregg.
“Don’t make laugh because it hurts like hell. They’ll increase my morphine and I’ll never get out of here. Bring me up to speed. I’ve heard lots of rumors and hallway chatter but don’t know if I’ve been dreaming or imagining the nightmares,” said David.
“We were attacked by yakuza and I don’t really know why. It started with my trip to Bangkok and must be related somehow. They’ve kidnapped Kou and we’ve located her whereabouts and I’ve got to get out of here and bring her home,” said Gregg.
“Why aren’t they sending a professional?” asked David.
“Police corruption, restrictions due to jurisdiction, and we are running out of time. The ones who’ve got Kou are sick puppies who make pornographic movies with children. Say good-bye and wish me luck,” replied Gregg.
“Good luck. But wait. I have two requests before you go. Number one, give me the strong grip,” said David.
“We’re not in a lodge,” Gregg said.
“This might be the last opportunity,” replied David.
Gregg shrugged and they locked arms in the manner of their fraternity.
“Now, let me sign your cast,” said David.
Chapter 39
Yokosuka
Gregg rolled his rental car into a parking lot and checked his cell phone. He’d punched in the coordinates and the navigation had brought him to the location. He looked around the parking lot and found it empty before stepping out and identifying the rendezvous point. The navigational directions led him to a noodle shop less than a hundred yards from where he stood. He jogged to the restaurant and entered to find it empty except for the cook stirring a large bubbling pot full of pork broth and bones.
“You looking for the Skipper?” asked the cook.
“Maybe,” replied Gregg.
“Well, maybe he’s waiting outside the back of the shop,” said the cook and pointed the direction with his free hand.
Gregg followed a short hallway to a screen door and left the restaurant to find a well-tanned middle-aged man sitting on a motorbike in the back lot.
“Are you the Skipper?” Gregg asked.
“Who might you be?” he asked.
“The Courier,” replied Gregg.
The Skipper threw him a bike helmet and Gregg caught it and looked it over.
“Hurry up and get on the back of this bike. We’ve got a lot to cover before you head to Miura. Your helmet is total blackout and is necessary to keeping my business confidential. Don’t take it off until I knock on your head,” ordered the Skipper.
***
The Skipper’s Locker
The Skipper led Gregg blinded by the blackout helmet into a room and sat him down. He signaled Gregg with a knock on the helmet and he removed it to find himself sitting by an indoor target range with several weapons laid out in front of him. “I understand you’re on a solo mission to free your daughter from armed hostiles and you have no practical military experience,” said the Skipper.
“That’s correct, sir,” said Gregg.
“Call me Skipper and listen carefully. The best-case scenario would be for you to walk into the Midori building and leave safely for home with your daughter and without firing a shot. This is our mission intent and we have to work within certain constraints, which include your experience with weapons and the potential for collateral damage involving innocents in and around the vicinity of the Midori building. Are you with me so far?” The Skipper’s voice was soft but dripped with professional confidence.
“Yes, Skipper,” said Gregg.
The Skipper placed a photo of the Midori building in front of Gregg and pointed to its top floor. “Our intel identified the film studio as a high-activity location on the third floor located next to the side-door entranceway on the east side of the building. You will enter on the east side of the building and toss in an M84 stun grenade to blind and disorientate any of the hostiles guarding the hallway.”
“How do we know the door is unlocked?” asked Gregg.
“We don’t, but you’ll have a lock pick gun designed to open every commercial mechanism sold in Japan,” replied the Skipper.
“Is it easy to use?” asked Gregg.
“Yes, and you’ll have time to practice with it once before we leave for Miura. You’ll also fire off one of the M84 flashbangs and a full round with this Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine gun. I selected it because it’s easy to move from safe to semiauto and will fit into the duffel bag you’re carrying into the fight. The MP5 is still considered one of the best submachine guns available.”
“I thought you might send me out with a shotgun,” said Gregg.
“Not a bad idea, except you’d probably injure your shoulder or face when you fired for the first time. Buckshot doesn’t discriminate between hostages and the bad guys. I assume you do want to bring your daughter home alive?” asked the Skipper.
“Yes, I do,” said Gregg.
“Please keep your questions on track with what I’m offering you. We just wasted a minute and your daughter might not have many seconds left,” said the Skipper.
“How many rounds will I carry?” asked Gregg.
“You’ll leave with a thirty-round magazine in place and ready to fire. We’ll equip you with one extra magazine, and you can practice reloading right now,” replied the Skipper. He demonstrated by moving the MP5’s selector to the safe position, pulled the bolt to the rear with the palm of his hand, and inserted the magazine into the gun’s well. “Now you lock it to the rear and close the bolt with the palm of your hand,” instructed the Skipper.
The Skipper removed the bolt and watched Gregg charge the weapon without any indecision, but his casted hand slipped on the bolt piece. The Skipper made the amateur repeat the exercise once more with similar results. “You’re doing fine, but when did you break your arm?” asked the Skipper.
“Last week,” replied Gregg.
“We’ll cut off your cast for today’s mission. You’re going to need full movement of your fingers,” said the Skipper.
“Do you have a fiberglass cast saw?” asked Gregg.
“Doesn’t everybody? Sit down here and lay your arm across the top of this table,” he ordered.
Gregg complied and the Skipper brought out a cast saw and plugged it in, and within ten seconds Gregg’s arm was free from restraint. “Medical training is part of my background,” offered the Skipper. He picked up the cast and examined it. “Who’s David?” he asked.
“My best
friend,” replied Gregg.
“I like this guy,” said the Skipper and handed the cast to Gregg.
He read David’s inscription signed on the bottom of his cast for the first time. It read “F**K them up!”
“Thank you. What’s the second step of the mission sequence?” asked Gregg.
“Let’s review the entire plan step by step for the next twenty minutes, then get you geared up and over to practice at the range. We need to leave here as soon as possible, and I’ve volunteered to act as your transporter to the scene.”
“Who’s assisting with the evacuation?” asked Gregg.
“I don’t know but the pickup point is the six-story parking lot behind the Midori building,” said the Skipper.
Chapter 40
Yokohama
Gerry Levy walked around the petroleum tanker truck to quickly inspect the machine. The front of the heavy-duty vehicle proudly listed the manufacturer, Isuzu, and the large metal petroleum container tank shone in the sun. He took off his hat and ran both hands through his thick curly hair and initiated a call to Jeff Ward from his earpiece. “Have you had recent head trauma, or are you simply out of your mind?” he asked.
Ward laughed. “Touché, but I can’t take credit for the creativity behind this operation. It came from higher up, and should you accept this mission we will certainly send a clear message to Minoru Sato and his yakuza bastards,” replied Ward.
Gerry climbed the ladder, pulled open the truck’s door, and pulled himself into the cab. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m all in and agreed to this mission, but I remain curious about the motivation. Is this about the kidnapping of the teenager?” asked Levy.
“It’s more about the five hundred kilograms of fentanyl sent to our home country by Sato’s crime family. Every day, 191 people die from an overdose of illegal opioids in the United States, and if we don’t capture Sato’s shipment, the numbers are expected to increase dramatically. North Korea might be the contraband’s country of origin, and we can’t sit back and ignore this attack on American citizens,” said Ward.
“Where’s the owner of this thing? If the police bag me, my days as a university history professor are over,” said Levy. He started the petroleum container truck and put it into gear while listening to Ward’s reply.
“Let’s call the answer to this one a need-to-know situation,” said Ward.
“I am now confident in knowing the truck is clean, and I have no worries should I be forced to pull over by Japanese authorities?” asked Levy.
“Let’s go with your assessment. Shall we run through a technical review of the machine you’re driving toward Yokohama? Its tank holds twenty thousand liters of gasoline, which is over four thousand American gallons contained within the carbon steel tank. The truck weighs sixteen thousand kilograms when full, and it’s currently at ninety percent capacity. The beast moves at a top speed of ninety kilometers per hour.”
“All fine and good. Now what, exactly, is my plan of action once I’ve reached the White Deer Estate?” asked Levy.
“You simply back the tanker truck up to the iron gates of the estate, set the charges left for you on the floor in front of the cab’s passenger seat, and walk a block for a departure as a motorcycle passenger,” said Ward.
The connection was silent for a painfully long duration before Levy replied. “I’ve got a good future in education and am not prepared to conduct a kamikaze suicide raid on a fortified yakuza stronghold because you and Steve Brown are pissed off,’ said Levy.
“You underestimate us. We’re not playing this by ear and have already positioned a world-class sniper to cover your six,” replied Ward.
“Why not let him take out a dozen of Sato’s guys and call it even? This is going to blow up half the neighborhood when the charges go off,” said Levy.
“The Hakushika is isolated, but the smoke and debris will certainly disturb some sensitivities in Yokohama’s Naka Ward. We’ve already started distributing misinformation to nudge the Japanese press toward blaming the atrocity on terrorists,” said Ward.
Levy checked his speedometer as he passed a traffic policeman standing in front of a white Toyota Camry while issuing a young male driver a ticket. “I’m passing a cop who’s focused on the driver he’s pulled over. The kid was probably talking on his cell phone or wasn’t wearing a seat belt. Thank God for careless drivers,” said Levy.
“Were you a military brat?” asked Ward.
“You know I was. Why?” asked Levy.
“There was a parking lot built up against a forest near a middle school I attended on a base in New Mexico. Security had placed a warning sign in English and Spanish stating “EXPLOSIVE DISPOSAL RANGE KEEP OUT,” and until recently I’d never thought much about it,” said Ward.
“Are you trying to say we’ve been conditioned to do the extraordinary since childhood?” asked Levy.
“No, but you have to admit they picked a dangerous place for a school. Pull through the ETC toll gate,” said Ward.
Levy steered the truck through the automatic toll gate system and the gates lifted seconds before he passed back onto the highway. “I guess the petroleum company is covering our travel expenses. Please give me a brief walkthrough on the essentials regarding the explosives,” said Levy. He pulled the vehicle to his left to let a string of motorcyclists pass the truck.
“We obtained some small explosives, which are applied similarly to the navy’s limpet mines. You simply remove them from their safety packaging and apply them to the carbon steel tank. The magnetic force will make it impossible to remove without the aid of specific technology. Twist the circular blasting agent clockwise twice until it locks and starts to flash. You’ll have ten minutes to move away from the truck before detonation.”
“What are we dealing with, exactly?” asked Levy.
“A combination of nitroglycerin, sorbents, and stabilizers capable of releasing about half the energy of a common stick of dynamite,” replied Ward.
“Two and a half sticks of dynamite might be considered overkill. You’re not asking for much. Who exactly have you contracted to protect my ass?” asked Levy.
“Remember the sniper who made the difference at the Battle of Al Qaim? He left his hospital bed to support this operation,” said Ward.
“Marron is backing me? Let’s make this thing happen,” replied Levy.
Levy took the Yamashita Park exit off the Metropolitan Expressway Bayshore route and started up the hills and the narrow streets of Yokohama’s Naka Ward and passed through several traffic lights before heading up the steep hill past the gaijin bochi cemetery for foreigners. He worked the clutch and gear assembly to aggressively downshift and allow the oversized petrol tanker enough torque to power up the steep hill.
“I’m bringing the eagle into the communication triangle and will use our eyes in the sky to support you both,” said Ward.
“Am I on the air?” asked Marron.
“Eagle, you’re loud and clear,” said Ward.
“Copy that,” said Levy, and he pulled over and checked his navigation system. He chartered his course to finish in front of the estate with room to back up to the gate. He started pulling back onto the road when a silver Bentley came flying toward the truck at a breakneck speed. The driver’s eyes widened in surprise and steered the car clear of the truck without incident.
The Isuzu tanker truck powered to the crest of the hill where the White Deer’s driveway became visible. It was two hundred meters away, requiring a slight right turn from the main road to enter the approach to the estate. The truck’s 9,830-cc engine screamed on the way up the hill and rumbled rhythmically in neutral at the crest. “It’s time to put today’s comprehensive explosive training into practice,” thought Levy.
Levy pulled the satchel full of the explosive charges onto the seat and inspected them. They were cased in hard plastic, and the tops twisted open quickly, revealing the munitions. He delicately removed each from its packaging and carefully put the exposed explosive
s back into the canvas satchel and away from anything metal in the vehicle. He opened the cab door and climbed down using one hand while holding the bag in his right and moved around the truck, quickly fastening the charges to the carbon steel petroleum tank.
Levy took a moment to look around the neighborhood and saw a small vehicle approaching. It was driven by a young woman with a child strapped into a car seat in the back and passed him on the opposite side. He waived and was ignored as the vehicle disappeared around the corner on the way down the mountain. Levy returned to the truck’s cab and touched his earpiece. “Those are serious black clouds blowing in from the south. We’re going to have some heavy rain soon. I’m ready to take the truck to the gates of the Hakushika. Eagle, can you prepare the way?” he asked.
Marron’s ghillie suit colored for Japanese landscapes combined with careful positioning behind clusters of weeds and bamboo stalks made him invisible to the naked eye. Heat packs charged and distributed around the small mountaintop made detecting him with infrared equipment challenging. His trip to the sniper’s nest involved walking through the front door of a neighboring estate conveniently vacated twelve hours earlier. He’d dressed in a Yokohama Gas workman’s uniform carrying all the instruments of his trade. His ankle was heavily bandaged, but only a careful observer would detect his limp.
Marron had climbed systematically through high grass and bamboo groves to reach the top of the rocky hill undetected and was rewarded with a perfect sight line to the Hakushika Estate. “I’ve got eyes on a rooftop sentinel. Controller, have you identified any other gunman in position to cause this eagle harm?” asked Marron.
“There are guards stationed behind the bay window looking over the estate’s parking lot, but they’d have to make their way to the roof to prove a risk,” said Ward.
“I might have something to negate the possibility of their participation in our upcoming summer lovefest,” said Marron.
“Start with the rooftop sentinel and take out the gate guards and anyone stationed in the vicinity of the parking lot. Have fun with the boys in the window once the immediate landing area for our delivery truck is secure,” ordered Ward.
The Courier Page 18