End of Enemies

by Grant Blackwood

  Again Ieyasu simply nodded, saying nothing.

  “Takagi’s involved, that much we know. What we don’t know is, with whom and how. My question to you is, will you continue to help us? Can we trust you?”

  Tanner felt naive asking such a question, but the success of espionage ops often came down to the solidity of personal relationships. In a word, trust.

  Ieyasu was silent for a minute. “I’ve seen too much to think the world is black and white, and that good and evil obey national borders. I am a patriot, but I am not a fool. So, the answer to your question is, yes, you can trust me. Tell me what you need.”

  Tanner briefly outlined Ohira’s interest in Toshogu and their subsequent search for her. He opened his laptop, called up the file into which they had downloaded the digital photos from Alaska, and turned the computer toward Ieyasu.

  “There were eleven bodies. This one we know; he’s an engineer who disappeared a few days before Toshogu sailed. According to the records, she sailed with seven crew and a representative from Skulafjord. That’s nine, leaving two unaccounted for … these two here, we believe. I’m hoping you can use some of your contacts to identify them.”

  “That is not necessary,” said Ieyasu. “I know these men.”

  “From where?”

  “In the CIB we had a list similar to your FBI’s Most Wanted. Both of these men are still on that list. They are Rengo Sekigun, Japanese Red Army. Both are wanted in connection to the subway gas attacks. Back then, I was certain they had served as go-betweens for Takagi. Until now, no one had seen them for over eight months. How were they killed?”

  Tanner told him.

  “Oh, my. Your theory about Takagi is more plausible now. The JRA has strong links to Mideast groups; these two men were well-traveled: Lebanon, Syria, Iran.”

  They talked for a few more minutes before Ieyasu stood up. “One more thing I thought you would like to know: Ms. Fujika’s funeral is tomorrow in Totsukawa. As I understand it, Hiromasa Takagi will be attending.” Ieyasu shrugged. “Whatever it is worth.”

  Tanner nodded. “Thanks.”

  “I will be in touch.” Ieyasu left.

  Finally Cahil said, “Don’t tell me you’re thinking about it.”

  “I am.”

  “Not a good idea, bud.”

  “A bad idea, in fact. But I think it’s time we met Hiromasa Takagi face-to-face.”

  Holystone Office

  That something that had been nagging Oaken was a tiny voice shouting, “You missed something!” The answer popped into his head while he was shaving in the Holystone bathroom.

  He stopped, razor poised on his cheek. “That’s it.” He wiped his face, ran to his desk and thumbed a stack of folders. It took him only moments to locate the photo he wanted. He grabbed a magnifying glass from the drawer and peered at the corner of the photo. “Bingo.”

  Dutcher accepted a cup of coffee from Oaken and pulled up a chair in front of his desk. “I know that look,” Dutcher said. “It’s your ahha face.”

  “First, Briggs and Ian called.” In fact, Tanner had called a second time to report Ieyasu’s ID of the two JRA soldiers.

  Dutcher raised his eyebrows. “So they found her.”

  “Yep.” Oaken related the story. “Eleven bodies, three of them identified; the rest was probably the crew. I’m running the JRA names now.”

  “Good. Without the ship, though, we’re spinning our wheels. Does Briggs have any idea why she was scuttled?”

  “Not really, aside from it being a very permanent way to dispose of witnesses.”

  “And evidence, whatever the hell that might be. We still have no idea what Takagi’s up to.”

  “True, but we may be able to find what Tsumago’s been up to. Remember the deck log from the shipyard Briggs photographed? It listed her as having made eight trips in the last six months, each about five days long.”

  “Shakedown cruises?”

  “Maybe, but I doubt it.” Oaken handed Dutcher one of the photographs. “That’s her helm console. I knew I’d seen the design before. I saw an article on it in Jane’s last year.”

  “I assume there’s something special about it.”

  Oaken nodded. “It’s going to tell us where she’s been going.”

  Japan

  Sumiko’s home village lay in the mountains, an hour’s drive from Osaka. In a steadily falling rain Tanner and Cahil parked in what appeared to be the village’s central square and got out. Tanner asked directions from a passing woman, and they began walking.

  They found the Fujika ancestral shrine sat at the edge of a spruce forest.

  A dozen or so mourners surrounded the shrine, which was decorated with small wooden plaques called ema, each a memorial from a family member. Tanner knew many Japanese practiced a blend of both Shinto and Buddhism; this seemed the case with Sumiko’s family, for while the shrine was Shinto, the presiding priest was Buddhist.

  “Tell me what’s wrong with this picture,” Cahil whispered.

  “I see him.”

  Standing a dozen paces away from Sumiko’s family, was Hiromasa Takagi. Tange Noboru stood by his side, sheltering him with an umbrella.

  The priest recited a prayer, wafted an incense stick over the shrine, then turned and nodded to the mourners. It was over.

  “Some would question your judgment in coming here,” a voice whispered.

  Tanner turned and saw Inspector Tanaka standing behind them. Tanner felt rage flood his chest. Tanaka had helped cover up both Ohira’s and Sumiko’s murders, and now here he was at her funeral. As far as Tanner was concerned, he was as guilty as Noboru and Takagi. He took a deep breath and turned his back on the man.

  Near the shrine, the mourners were dispersing, except for Takagi, who was speaking quietly to Sumiko’s grandmother. After a moment, she began weeping.

  “Inspector, why don’t you introduce us to Mr. Takagi?” Tanner said.

  Tanaka laughed softly. “I don’t think that would be wise.”

  “Introduce us, or I will.”

  Tanaka shrugged. “Very well.”

  Flanked by Noboru, Takagi stopped in front of them. Up close, Noboru was even more imposing, a bull of a man with huge shoulders and a thick neck. Deadpan, he stared at a spot in the middle of Tanner’s forehead.

  Standing this close to Hiromasa Takagi, Briggs could feel the man’s power radiating outward, like a palpable force. He suddenly realized just how dangerous Takagi was. This was a man who could do exactly as he wanted, to whomever he wanted, with near impunity.

  Tanaka made the introductions. Takagi bowed stiffly. Briggs countered with an inclination of his head. Takagi accepted the insult with a thin smile. We’re gnats to him. So far, they’d been simply annoying. That was about to change.

  “Inspector Tanaka tells me you knew Ms. Fujiko,” Takagi said.

  “She was kind enough to show us around Osaka,” Tanner replied.

  “And now that you’ve seen my country, what do you think of it?”

  “Aside from the crime, it’s beautiful.”

  Takagi frowned. “Ah, yes, I see. Mr. Ohira. Terrible thing. Interesting that both the Takagi employees you’ve met have died under mysterious circumstances. Some might call you bad luck.”

  “There’s little mystery involved,” Tanner replied. “Ohira was executed by a sniper who escaped in a truck very similar to those you use at your shipyard, and Ms. Fujika was butchered in the parking lot of your headquarters. It’s been three, by the way.”

  “Three what?”

  “Three Takagi employees I’m aquatinted with. The third was an engineer in your maritime division.”

  Takagi’s eyes darted toward Noboru. “And has your bad luck affected him, too?”

  “If you call being chained inside a sinking ship and dying of hypothermia bad luck, then I’d say yes.”

  Takagi’s face went red. Noboru growled and took a step toward Tanner. Cahil blocked h
im and shook his head: Bad idea.

  “The job was botched,” said Tanner. “She didn’t go down right away. Not to worry, though: The water’s at least a mile deep where she sank. No one will ever reach her, and no one will ever know … except for us, that is.”

  Takagi balled his fists. “What are you after, Mr. Tanner?”

  “You, Mr. Takagi.”

  “A lot of men have tried that.”

  Tanner gave a hard smile. “I love a challenge. Plus, I think you’ll find I do business a little differently than you’re used to.”

  “We will see.”

  “At last something we agree on.” Tanner leaned forward and stared into Takagi’s eyes. “Make no mistake, though,” he whispered. “Whatever it takes, however far I have to go, I’m coming for you.”

  “Enough!” Takagi barked. “I suggest you leave Japan, Mr. Tanner!”

  Takagi stalked away, drawing Noboru and Tanaka in his wake.

  Cahil clapped Tanner on the shoulder. “And yet another Christmas card you won’t be hanging over your mantel.”

  Tanner let himself exhale, then smiled. “So many friends, so little mantel.”

  34

  Japan

  Tanner knew Takagi had no intention of letting them leave Japan alive. That left only one alternative: Get out before he could trap them. Tanner hated the idea of running, but cliché or not, here discretion was in fact the better part of valor. Staying would get them nowhere.

  It was dark by the time they returned to the Royal Palms. The lobby was empty except for the receptionist standing behind the front desk. Tanner recognized the young man. “Evening, Kenzo. Any messages?”

  Eyes on the counter, Kenzo shook his head. “No, sir.”

  “Can you check anyway, please?”

  “Oh, sorry, just a moment.” He walked over, checked Tanner’s box, and returned. “No messages.”

  Tanner stared at Kenzo until he looked up.

  “Everything okay?” Briggs asked.

  “Oh, yes, fine.”

  Tanner joined Cahil at the elevators.

  “What’s up?” Bear asked.

  “Kenzo’s not his usual gregarious self. He wouldn’t even look me in the eye.”

  “You know him well enough to—”

  “I’ve never seen him without an ear-to-ear grin.”

  The elevator’s doors parted. Tanner glanced back at the counter. Kenzo was nowhere to be seen. “I’m getting a bad feeling, Bear. Come on.”

  The kitchen was closed for the night, so they walked through the grill area to the exit. Written on the door in both English and Kanji were the words Emergency Exit: Alarm Will Sound.

  “Bear, I need a—”

  “Hang on.”

  Cahil rummaged through a nearby drawer until he found a steel spatula. Tanner wedged it between the jamb and the door’s bolt, then pushed the crash bar. Cahil held the spatula in place as Tanner slipped into the alley. He returned a minute later. “There’s a Takagi security truck on the road behind the trees.”

  “That didn’t take long. Do we have anything in the room we need?”

  “The laptop’s in the Rover; so’s most of our gear. I’ve got the cell phone and my passport.”

  “Me, too.” Cahil shrugged and smiled. “What say we check out.”

  After making sure Kenzo was still absent, they walked through the lobby and into the parking lot. They were halfway to the Range Rover when Tanner saw a figure—another Noboru clone—crouched beside the rear bumper.

  Briggs gestured for Bear to circle through the trees, gave him a minute to get into position, then walked toward the Rover. When he was ten feet away, the man looked up.

  His eyes went wide. He reached inside his jacket. He was fast; his gun was already clear when Cahil slipped from the bushes behind him and palm-butted him at the base of the skull. He crumpled. Tanner walked over, kicked the gun away, and checked his pulse. He was dead.

  Tanner looked around; the lot was empty. “Grab his feet.”

  They loaded the body into the rear of the Rover, covered it with a tarp, climbed in, and drove away.

  With nowhere else to go, they drove into the forest north of Mitsu’s village. Once well into the trees, Tanner doused the headlights and coasted to a stop. They carried the body to the mangrove creek, found a large rock, tied the body to it, and rolled it into the water.

  They hiked deeper into the forest until they found a small clearing. Here and there, fireflies winked, and the trees were filled with the occasional clicks of cicadas. Tanner plopped down on his duffel bag, pulled out the cell phone, and dialed.

  Ieyasu picked up on the third ring. “Briggs. Where are you?”

  “Don’t ask.

  “Did you go to the funeral? Are you okay?”

  “Yes and yes. We’re leaving, though. Forget you met us and lay low.”

  “Briggs—”

  “If Takagi finds out you’ve helped us, you’re dead.”

  Some might call you bad luck, Takagi had said. It had struck a nerve, Tanner admitted. Though not true of Ohira, Sumiko had died because of her involvement with them. “You’ve been a great help and a good friend, Sato, but promise me you’ll leave it alone.”

  “I promise. You take care of yourselves, both of you. You will contact me if—”

  “You have my word.”

  Tanner hung up and checked his watch: early morning in Washington. He dialed Holystone, listened to it ring, then heard a double-click as the call was routed to Oaken’s home.

  “Hello?”

  “Did I wake you?” Tanner asked.

  “No. Where are you?”

  “Camping. How soon can you and Leland be at the office?”

  “I was on my way there; so is Leland. We were getting ready to call you.”

  “Good timing, then. Call us when you get there.”

  “What’s this business about camping?” Dutcher asked an hour later.

  “We’re persona non grata at the hotel,” Tanner said, then explained.

  “I told you to lay low. I wouldn’t call going to this woman’s funeral and throwing rocks at Takagi laying low. What were you thinking?”

  Tanner didn’t know what to say. Leland was right; he was wrong. “It was a bad idea, I know. Takagi sits back, orders the execution of dozens of people—that we know of—then has the balls to go to Sumiko’s funeral. I wanted to look him in the eye. I just wanted to see for myself.”

  Dutcher sighed. “Well, it’s done with. Two things: We checked on the names of those two JRA soldiers. Ieyasu was right. They were hard-core members, active in the Mideast. They even did some mule work in Israel a few years ago. You remember the bombing in at the Hagana Museum in Tel Aviv?”

  “I remember.”

  “Word is, one of these boys carried the explosives across the border. Whatever they were doing for Takagi, it was dirty.”

  “And second?” Tanner asked.

  “Walter’s got an idea about Tsumago. I’ll let him explain.”

  Oaken asked, “How do you guys feel about another tour of Takagi’s shipyard?”

  Cahil groaned. “Oh, boy.”

  “What have you got in mind?” asked Tanner.

  “You remember her computerized helm console? I’m betting it logs the ship’s projected courses and speeds. Unless the crew is unusually meticulous, they probably didn’t clear the computer’s buffer after each trip.”

  “How big’s the buffer?”

  “Just guessing, I’d say a gigabyte. Plenty of space to record her last dozen voyages. In the last six months, she’s made eight of them.”

  “Oaks, you’re the best,” said Tanner. “Leland, are we paying him enough?”

  “Not enough money in the world.”

  “Okay, okay,” Oaken said. “Can you do it? Can you get back into the dock?”

  “We’ll get in. Tell me how we download the data.”

  Oaken
explained the procedure. “Once you’ve got the laptop plugged in, it’ll load the data onto the hard drive. Any questions?”

  “None,” said Tanner. “Leland, we’re gonna have to move fast. As soon as Takagi realizes we’re gone, he’ll start making calls: police, Immigration, the works.”

  “We’ll handle that. You worry about getting into the shipyard … and back out.”

  They loaded their gear into a single duffel, walked to the main road, and found a bus that took them to Wakayama, where they found an open rental car agency and used one of Tanner’s sanitized credit cards to rent an Accord. From there they took the ferry across to Shikoku and drove south to Mugi. The dive shop was closed, but it took them all of five minutes to break in, collect what they needed, and leave a generous bundle of yen on the counter.

  Thirty minutes later, they were crouching in a cluster of trees across from the shipyard. Cahil was sorting through their gear as Tanner scanned the sea fence one last time. He lowered the binoculars. “Ready for round two, Bear?”

  Cahil dipped his hand in the water. “Warmer this time, I think.”

  Hovering motionless in the water, Tanner could see the green glow of Cahil’s chemlight beside him. Briggs peered ahead but was unable to see the fence. He checked his watch and compass. Perfect. Now it was just a matter of time.

  In the distance, he heard a faint grinding sound, like metal scraping concrete. He signaled Cahil to wait, then finned up to the surface and popped his mask above the water. He focused his binoculars on Dock 12.

  The hangar door was open, and the interior was dark except for several flashing yellow lights. A tugboat sat at the mouth of the dock. He tapped twice on his tank and Cahil surfaced beside him. “We’re too late,” Tanner whispered and passed him the binoculars.

  “They’re rigging the tow lines. I count three … no, four crew on the forecastle. Can’t see the bridge. They’ve got it pretty damned dark in there.”

  “All the better to skulk away. How long before she’s at the gate?”

  “Twenty minutes at most,” Cahil said. “Unless you want to hitch a ride …”