Tokyo Kill

by Barry Lancet

  “Not particularly.”

  Inoki stared at me some more.

  “Wu,” he said finally. “I gave you the lead. The old quack is alive. I heard stories but never believed he could possibly survive the shooting at the river. I’m right, aren’t I?”

  I said nothing. I’d made a promise not to spread Wu’s name around, and I’d kept it. But some circles were too small. The Chinese spy Zhou had peered into the shadows and seen Wu. Inoki divined more from even less. In his eighties, Inoki’s mind remained facile. On many levels he was still a dangerous man.

  The old fighter’s interest in Wu waned. “Do you know how long I’ve been looking for Pu Yi’s treasure?”

  “Are you sure it belonged to the Last Emperor?” I said. “He died penniless.”

  “Oh, I’m sure. Overseeing its relocation was one of my last assignments. When Japan began to falter at the end of the war, Pu Yi’s minders ordered my unit to spirit away half of the treasure as a precaution. Pu Yi’s most trusted Chinese confidant accompanied us to record the entombment. We hid five wagons’ worth in a cave deep in the mountains. On the way back bandits ambushed us. With our superior firepower, we made short work of them. But”—Inoki’s eyes brightened—“Pu Yi’s confidant caught a stray bullet.” He grinned. “We brought back the poor man’s body, and those of a few bandits to prove we’d been attacked. But after I shot Pu Yi’s right-hand man with one of the bandits’ guns, I altered the map. Pu Yi would never be able to find the caves.

  “Then two weeks later the surrender came without warning and my war days were over. Worse, it was suddenly open season on Japanese. The Chinese were hunting us. And the Russians, too. Three of the four men who went with me to hide the wagons were killed the very next day. We had planned to drive south to the nearest port. The five of us could have pulled it off. But with three of my trusted friends dead, I slit the throat of the fourth in his sleep to keep the secret to myself. Everyone who knew the real location was dead except me. The treasure was mine.

  “But alone I could not escape with five wagons. Immediately after the surrender China degenerated into chaos, so I decided to come back when the dust had settled. But then civil war broke out again between the Communists and the Nationalists and it dragged on for years. After the Communists won, they sealed the country. When China finally reopened in the seventies, I joined a tour and went alone to the cave, but the stash was gone.

  “Tatters of my old Chinese network survived the war. Most of them were poor. I’d funneled funds to them over the years and they were grateful and loyal. These two men are the grandsons of my great friend Kuang.” He broke off, looking at the two men fondly, then scowled. “This summer rumors of the treasure surfaced, so these two checked it out. The original caves were close to Anli-dong. The treasure had simply been moved to another location by one of the village peasants. Since he couldn’t trust any of the local officials and had no way to move the goods overseas, he contacted Doi, from Miura’s old troop. Doi! A man dumb enough to risk his life for some goldfish. But that was three years ago. Three long years and I only heard about it this summer. But even then, we didn’t know about Doi.

  “The villagers approached him on one of his charity trips to the mainland. They liked and trusted him. He’s financially secure, so he didn’t have any interest in it himself, the dumb sap. He went to his old lieutenant. Miura was away at a hot springs resort with his wife, but Yoji was there tending the house, and Doi told him the story. Since Yoji had some connections on the mainland through his company, he said he’d take care of it, but begged Doi not to tell his father because Akira had a weak heart. His heart was fine, but Doi didn’t know that and agreed and they formed a partnership. It took three years but Yoji got the treasure out. The last installment shipped from Hong Kong in July. When we were together at the house, Doi told me some of the story out of earshot of Miura. But not the secrets, of course. When the idiot left to feed his goldfish, my boys beat the rest out of him.”

  “I’m confused. Why go after Doi at all? Didn’t you get everything from Yoji before you killed him?”

  Inoki looked startled, then barked with laughter. “You think we killed Yoji?”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “No.”

  “And Hamada?”

  “Who?”

  Strange. His responses were instant and genuine.

  “The men who came after me on the ferry?”

  Inoki shook his head. “You’re babbling, trying to rattle me. It won’t work.”

  His rapid-fire answers unsettled me. If his group had no hand in those events, then there was an unseen party nearby. Another point in favor of Noda’s white knight theory.

  I said, “But what are you doing in Miami?”

  Even before I finished the utterance, I suddenly understood.

  Booked the previous morning, with a time stamp earlier than my arrival at Miura’s to talk about the treasure.

  He’d come for Pu Yi’s stash.

  The older Kuang, who had been antsy for most of our conversation, said something in Chinese and a conversation I couldn’t follow ensued.

  Inoki’s look was severe. “My partner doesn’t want me to tell you any more but I told him not to worry. You’ll be dead soon. He agreed to let me answer your questions only if he could kill you himself. Hardly a fair trade, but in a leadership role you must sometimes sacrifice your own pleasure for the greater good. Do you know any kung fu?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Then your death will be quick and painless. I’ve seen him snap spines. Now, where were we? Yes, Miami. Thanks to Doi, we traced Yoji’s group to Miami. With Doi and Yoji gone, there’s five left. None of them are ex-military. We’ll take the treasure from them and kill any that give us trouble. But first, we must dispose of you.”

  Inoki nodded and the older brother lunged.

  CHAPTER 66

  INOKI had asked the wrong question.

  I didn’t know kung fu, but that didn’t mean his native karate and judo wouldn’t afford me a defense.

  I soon discovered Inoki’s confidence was misplaced. Kuang was mediocre at best. His skills were all gristle and no meat. He knew the basic moves and was strong. Against an opponent with little or no martial arts skills he was formidable. Against me, he had little chance.

  Which put me in grave danger.

  While I could fend him off, in winning I’d lose. Two weapons were trained on me. Once Kuang was down, retaliation fell to the firearms. They would shoot. I couldn’t defend myself against bullets. My only defense was Inoki’s so-called kung fu master. And it would be painful.

  I let Kuang drill me once during each maneuver. I pulled back enough to blunt the effect of his blows, or deflected them with a last-minute block while letting him partially connect. To an observer, it would look like Kuang was slowly and painfully wearing me down. I grimaced appropriately. It wasn’t hard. Kuang was powerful, and his punches carried an undeniable brute force.

  Before each new clash, we circled each other. His two companions gave us a wide berth. By the eighth or ninth exchange, I’d positioned myself as I wanted, and when Kuang next pounced I let him in, then seized his arm as I dropped to the floor, planted a foot on his abdomen, and flung him over my head at his brother. I rolled over, sprang up, leapt after him.

  Kuang collided head-on with his sibling. Both men went down, the forward momentum carrying the older Kuang another five feet beyond his felled relation. As Kuang the Younger regained his feet, I plowed a fist into his stomach, grabbed his gun, and sluiced behind him, yanking him upright by the hair and pressing the barrel of the captured weapon to his head.

  Inoki frowned. “You’re just delaying the inevitable, Brodie.”

  “This is a game changer, Inoki.”

  “No it’s not.”

  I gave the old assassin the benefit of the doubt and made myself small behind my hostage. Even if Inoki’s shooting skills had declined with age, a distance of ten feet wouldn’t be a potent d
eterrent. Inoki was certainly confident. The muzzle of his weapon probed for a shot. As did that of the older brother, who had scrambled to his feet, red-faced, and snatched up my gun.

  “I’ve got pressure on the trigger,” I said. “You shoot me, I fall backward. My body weight will pull the trigger and your boy will be dead or a vegetable even if you hit the bull’s-eye.”

  Kuang lowered his weapon. Inoki maintained his bead on me. The elder Kuang growled something at the old fighter in Chinese and Inoki let his arm fall.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do,” I said. “You decamp, I’ll send your boy out after you.”

  Inoki shook his head. “No way you’re leaving this room alive.”

  I scooted sideways toward the closest bedroom, dragging my hostage with me. I kicked open the door, took a flash-glance at the layout, then looked back at my audience. Neither had used the opportunity to advance, which was smart.

  “Okay, alternate scenario,” I said. “I scuttle into the bedroom, shoot this brother, then wait for the next of you through the door and put a couple quick rounds in him. That’ll make it two dead and one-on-one. That’s your second and last choice.”

  I kept my Japanese slow and clear so the older brother could understand.

  They were quiet.

  I said, “Does Junior here speak Japanese?”

  “No.”

  “English?”

  “No.”

  “Then give him a hand signal to wait and not struggle. No speaking.”

  His brother mimed a wait sign and convincingly conveyed the idea that all would be well, then whispered something in Inoki’s ear.

  The old special-ops soldier said, “My Chinese friend here wants to shoot you himself.”

  I solidified my grip on his brother, removed the barrel from my captive’s head, and pointed it at the brother’s heart. “Your move.”

  Kuang grimaced. “You bastard. How we know we can trust you?”

  “Do I want to take your kid brother home as a souvenir? You walk out, you get him back.”

  “Okay. We go. If he no come out, I kill you. If not do today, I look forever and ever. Then I kill you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’ll get him. Just don’t point your guns at me again.”

  They backed toward the door, their eyes bouncing from me to my hostage.

  Kuang reached for the doorknob and I said, “Set your pieces on the stand and clear out. Close the door behind you.”

  They placed their weapons on a polished mahogany side table, then walked out, shutting us in.

  One battle won, though not the war.

  I shuffled toward the front of the room, keeping the young Kuang between the entryway and me in case Inoki burst back in with a second weapon. Ex–military men rarely come to a war party underequipped.

  At the door, Kuang began to squirm.

  “Settle down,” I cooed in English, hoping the tone would get my message across.

  It didn’t.

  I pressed the barrel against his carotid and he froze.

  “Good boy,” I said, again in a soothing voice, but this time in Japanese. “This isn’t rocket science. Stay still and you’ll live. Bump me the wrong way and you may hit my trigger finger.”

  Since his brother spoke some Japanese, this guy might know a scattering of words. He only needed a few to get my drift. The next thirty seconds were crucial and I didn’t want my charge panicking at the wrong moment. An ill-advised move could get us both killed.

  With my head, I indicated for him to open the door, then pressed the muzzle deeper into his neck. “Slowly,” I said.

  He got the message.

  He reached for the doorknob and pulled gingerly. I stalled the door’s progress with my foot. I peered through the crack into the hall. No sign of either man.

  “Okay, out you go,” I said.

  I yanked open the door and shoved Kuang into the hall, pivoting back against the wall as I slammed the hatch shut. I threw the dead bolt. I pressed my back against the adjoining wall.

  I heard retreating footsteps, then a second later, multiple sets of footfalls approaching at a fast clip. I couldn’t tell how many. A bullet came through the door at chest level.

  Young Kuang called out something in Chinese. Damn. I didn’t have to understand the language to know what that was about. I dove for the floor as two more shots came through the wall panel I’d been standing against a moment before.

  I rolled onto my back, and from a prone position returned fire, sighting about ten inches below the two holes. I heard the older Kuang scream and then a lead-footed retreat.

  But I couldn’t tell how many of them had left. Or might still be out there.

  CHAPTER 67

  I CALLED Noda.

  “You been gone too long,” he said. “You all right?”

  “Walked into a trap. Inoki and two Chinese goons.”

  “They gone?”

  “Not sure. Shots were fired. I hit one of them. Need you two to come get me.” I gave him the room number and descriptions of the Kuang brothers.

  Four minutes later there was a tap on the door.

  “All clear. You still in there, Brodie?” Durgan said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hurt?”

  “Only my ego.”

  “Okay, we need to vacate. Heads are poking out of doorways. Security’s probably close. Come out slow.”

  A pro’s answer. Durgan was worried I had a gun at my head and couldn’t speak freely. I checked the peephole and saw neither man. I tucked my weapon in the front of my waistband where they could see it, turned the deadbolt, and strolled out with my arms loose at my side. A hand yanked me to the right. Durgan squatted two yards back to the left, against the opposite wall, firearm angled to take out anyone who came through the door after me. I looked at him. A few beats passed. Noda released me.

  “Guess you’re alone,” Durgan said.

  I nodded. “Appreciate the thought, though.”

  Durgan rose and studied the bullet holes in the wall and the door and shook his head. “Maryanne’s gonna be pissed. Think it best we exit via the far stairwell.”

  We walked to the end of the hall.

  “How pissed?” I asked.

  “She’s the assistant manager, home hacking her guts up. That damn norovirus is suddenly looking like a savior. Once we’re clear, I’ll need the badges and the blazers back.”

  We trotted down the stairs, and on the second-floor landing passed Durgan the Biltmore lapel tags. The blazers would wait until we left the hotel grounds.

  “Can you find them again?”

  “Five times as hard the second time ’cause they know you’re looking. I’ll need full details once we’re clear.”

  At ground level we pushed through the stairwell door into bright Florida sunshine and a grassy area leading to the golf course.

  “Back exit,” Durgan said.

  We strolled into a vast expanse of rolling grassland. There were palm trees and rosebushes and walkways. Farther on, there were fairways as far as the eye could see. To the right, beyond the rosebushes, was a roofed patio and poolside dining.

  We turned toward the swimming area. Women in designer beach dresses or cover-ups lounged with men in knit shirts and trunks. Most of the women had colorful cocktails. Mojitos were prominent, with sprigs of mint and purple lilies spilling over the edge. The men had whiskey in crystal tumblers, or martinis.

  Nary a beer in sight.

  “This way,” Durgan said under his breath. He turned away from the restaurant area and followed the covered egress that ran alongside the pool toward the front of the hotel.

  I paused a moment to take it all in. The pool was the size of a small lagoon. Whales could frolic in it. Yacht crews could practice their regatta moves.

  Tiled tables and wrought-iron chairs populated the patio. On the far side of the water were private cabanas for rent with lounge furniture and trellises a
nd lush pockets of protective greenery.

  As I gazed around, a familiar figure caught my eye. She sat three tables down in the shadows and sipped delicately from the straw of a raspberry mojito. Her pinky finger was extended in a ladylike manner.

  On a cushioned chair, cradling her son in her lap just as I’d last seen her in Tokyo, was Yoji Miura’s wife.

  CHAPTER 68

  MY, my. How quickly some recover from tragedy. Uninvited, I slid into the padded chair across from the widow Miura.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” I said.

  Even as amazement flew across her features, recovery erased it. When she spoke, only a balanced poise was in evidence. “Mr. Brodie, this is an unexpected pleasure. Are you on vacation too?”

  With her husband’s body still in the police morgue, she was soaking up the Florida rays, most likely with a lover nearby. And she was looking good while doing it. Over a coral-red bikini Mrs. Miura wore an elegant full-length white chiffon beach dress that flared at the bottom. I looked around for her companion but couldn’t pick him out. Probably out on the links.

  “Call it a working vacation,” I said. “Have you spoken to Inoki-san yet?”

  “Who?”

  A lame guess I didn’t think would pan out, but I flung it at her anyway. She looked genuinely confused, which made sense. The Kuang brothers had gotten Yoji’s playbook from Doi, which no doubt included a stay at the Biltmore for Yoji and his partners.

  “Did your husband choose this hotel?”

  She shifted in her seat. A pleasing feminine fragrance wafted my way. With an aimless smile at full wattage, her son watched a couple of kids splashing in the pool. His head lolled to the side, his eyes watchful but unfocused. His arms and legs and hands were twisted at unnatural angles that probably weren’t all that unnatural for him.

  “Yes, way back when. It was to be the first stop on our way to the islands. I told you about the trip when you first visited us.” Her smile was faint but not without warmth.

  During my visit to her home, her reference had been oblique. She’d whined about her fate and her future and her lack of a financial safety net, then threw a temper tantrum, neatly avoiding telling me the slightest bit of useful information.