by Barry Lancet
Noda’s pills kicked in gradually. As the minutes passed, I felt myself growing more alert. There was a prickly sensation in my extremities. I felt vessels pulse in arms, legs, and torso. My muscles flexed.
Anticipation and concern occupied equal shares of my thoughts. I became aware of noises inside and out: Noda shifting his legs, a soft breeze tickling the windowpanes. Somewhere in the ryokan, the plumbing hiccupped. A midnight current rustled the leaves of the bamboo grove behind the inn.
Noda’s breathing was steady and unlabored. The hours passed. My edginess waned to a soft medicinal glow.
As the last revelers found their way home, I heard celebrants’ drunken caroling, mothers shouting after children, a dog howling in the distance. The noises of nature slowly usurped the revelry and the town grew silent. Cicadas and frog song grew louder. The cicada’s lament was as vibrant as a shamisen. Male frogs called to prospective mates, the louder, more resonant song attracting the female. A shade too loud and a winged predator would swoop down on them.
Our predators also came from above.
—
A ceiling panel slid back and a man dropped to the floor soundlessly, his knees flexing to absorb the shock of the plunge. Padded footwear stifled all sound of his descent except the small sphhut of tatami compressing to absorb the sudden impact of an adult male.
My heart slamming against my rib cage, I feigned sleep, my eyes narrowed to slits, seemingly closed, lashes splicing the room into segments. I hoped Noda was doing the same. This was where I found out if I had any chance of making the grade. I kept my breathing low and steady, realizing Noda’s pills had saved us: had we succumbed to sleep, we would have died a quiet, slumber-filled death, without struggle or knowledge of our passing.
Sleek and dark, the intruder fanned left, looking upward for a partner whose legs were already coming through the aperture overhead. His companion descended with an identical sphhut on the matting. Female this time, I thought. Both of them stood motionless for nearly five seconds.
A light sweat bathed my body. These guys were good. Extraordinarily good. A voice in my head screamed Run! I ignored it.
I peered at the two intruders. They were sheathed in black. The moonlight filtering through the shoji caught the shiny surfaces of the room fixtures but sank deep into the blackness of the intruder’s clothing. I could just make out a tight belt with loops and snaps and hanging objects at their waist. None of the objects looked heavy or bulky or gave off the telltale glint of metal, but most of them were surely hard, maybe forged from a blackened titanium alloy. Lightweight state-of-the-art tools and weaponry. Like the bugging device Toru had found at Brodie Security.
On my side of the room, a black-gloved hand glided toward the belt. Instinct and training took over. I watched the hands and hips. My every nerve and muscle tensed. The man’s motion was swift and fluid, and as his hand rose—holding something long and slender—I rolled away from it. A slender tensile form smacked into my bedding where I’d lain a moment before.
Noda shot the attacker twice, bullets closely grouped to the right of the sternum, and he crumbled. Reacting to the sound, the woman tucked, rolled, and, keeping herself small and hard to hit, retrieved a knife from her body suit and slung it at Noda.
Fanning left, the barrel of Noda’s gun tracked the tumbling figure and spit two slugs at the coiled mass. The shots struck a half beat before the female intruder launched the blade, their impact altering the course of the projectile, which embedded itself in the tatami matting inches from Noda’s foot.
Noda never moved. He had dispatched both attackers with the gun tight against his leg, the weapon hidden, the dark mouth of the silencer nudging the top of his thigh. He’d made no telltale movement to give away his attack, to catch their eye and set them off. Very shrewd and very professional.
One of them did. And two of them didn’t.
A shiver crept down my spine. Even forewarned, the ploy had given Noda less than two seconds’ advantage. I rose cautiously, a sense of dread seeping into my bones.
Noda said, “Don’t turn on the light.”
“Wouldn’t think of it. But Christ, what are these guys?”
Noda held a finger to his lips. “Keep your voice down. We’re supposed to be dead.”
Deep in my chest, primal shadows stirred. I’d traveled to Soga with the outrage of a hunter, but the terror of the hunted now consumed me. Only now did the full weight of our predicament make itself felt: we stood in a small room of a small ryokan in a small Japanese village completely isolated from the rest of the world—with who knew how many black-suited killers waiting for us outside.
We were trapped. The Viper would be guarded. They would cut us down the second we hit the parking lot. Our only means of escape lay with a rental car miles away on the other side of the mountains.
Stepping forward, Noda shot each fighter through the head.
In a low voice I said, “So what are they? Mercenaries? A private army? What?”
“They’re cockroaches.”
“You know what I mean.”
“There are two less of ’em for us to deal with.”
I said, “Would have been nice to get some answers.”
“Not now. No way to touch them without getting pricked. And one prick . . .”
“Says you.”
Noda jerked his head toward the steel shaft of a knife piercing my futon. “Says that. Poison on the blade. One near me has poison on the handle.”
I squatted for a closer look. The shaft of the weapon in my futon glittered with an oily substance. The weapon was double-edged and serrated. My chest hammered with recognition. Homeboy’s knife was of the same make.
I said, “The guy who drew on me in San Francisco packed the same blade. Looks hard to use.”
“So he was Soga. They like one-way weapons.”
“One way?”
“Can’t throw it back at them.”
“Why not?”
“Knife’s got a one-of-a-kind balance.”
“You could stick them, though.”
“If you got close enough. And if the poison didn’t get you.”
The blade excreted a sweet fragrance. “What’s that smell? Magnolia?”
“A local scrub extract. Kills in seconds.”
I didn’t have to ask how he knew.
I examined our would-be assassins.
Black body suit, black head covering, and black padded toe socks thickened at the soles.
They wore black from top to bottom.
They used poison.
They fought with one-way weapons.
The Nakamuras never stood a chance.
And neither would my daughter.
“I need to get more protection for Jenny,” I said.
Noda grunted. “Next on the list. After we get what we can here.”
“We can start with their uniforms. Looks like SWAT blacks, only better.”
Noda pinched the material on the woman’s calf, then at her ribs. “It’s thin. Ultralight. Special order.”
Around the openings in the face mask, lampblack covered the exposed facial area. The whites of their eyes were blackened by almond-shaped contacts, the centers of the lenses clear. An involuntary shudder rocked me. No simple mercenaries, these. They were more evolved, more carefully conceived.
In a low voice I said, “You did the right thing.”
Under the black body suits, the flesh was firm and robust and possessed the muscular resilience of professional athletes. I wondered about the faces behind the masks. Had I seen them earlier tonight? Was the man the one I had caught glaring at me when I’d turned without warning?
I said, “They weren’t going to bother with threats and intimidation, were they?”
“Nope.”
“I think we’ve outstayed our welcome.”
“Like a mother on a wedding night.”
“Back door’s through the kitchen.”
“Grab the luggage,” Noda said. “We’
ll change outside. You did good.”
“How do you figure?”
“Didn’t get yourself killed.”
I shouldered the pair of duffel bags, thinking that our lives had hinged on instinct, a sliver of advance knowledge, and four pulls of a trigger.
What had we stumbled into?
I still had no answer as to who or why, but I now knew what—and wished I didn’t.
Any way I sized up the scene before me, I had no doubt more of the same—or worse—waited for us beyond these walls.
CHAPTER 35
WHEN a board underfoot creaked as we descended the stairs, the mistress of the inn cracked open her door and stared at us in astonishment. She took in the duffel bags and asked, “You’re leaving?”
“We had visitors,” Noda said. He held the gun by his side, out of sight.
Wonder filled her eyes. Then fear. “But you’re alive?”
“Yes.”
“Who are you?”
“That’s not important.”
As if to confirm something to herself, the okami-san nodded. “We call them the invisible ones. Mostly guests just disappear. Sometimes, when I clean up, there is a spot of blood on the futon. Like a feeding mosquito had been swatted.”
“Is that what happened to Mori?” I asked.
Her lips trembled. “Yes. During an afternoon nap. I was out shopping.”
Her words struck me like a physical blow. I stumbled back half a step and felt a wave of nausea roll over me. “You told us he went for a walk.”
“What else could I say?”
Noda said, “You don’t mind, we’ll use your back door.”
A determined look firmed the lines of her mouth. “No, not the back door.”
“Why not?”
“They’ll be watching. Go through the delivery entrance on the opposite side, away from the parking lot.”
“Is the car usable?” I asked, dreading the answer.
The innkeeper shook her head. “No, it’ll be booby-trapped. You’ll have to leave it behind.” She took a step toward the front door.
“Where you going?” Noda said, his gun rising and tracking her movement.
“Shoes.”
The gun slipped from sight.
After scooping up our footwear, she led us down a dark corridor toward the rear of the inn. We turned several times, our way lit by moonlight seeping through the occasional transom window. She turned on no lights. In a passage beyond the bathing quarters, she set down our footwear and reached for the side door.
Noda grabbed her wrist and twisted hard. A muffled a cry of pain. I felt a stab of guilt, but it needed doing.
In a brusque whisper Noda said, “Why are you doing this? Hayaku!” Quick!
His tone was sharp and accusing. If he didn’t believe her answer, or detected a false note, he would shoot her. Blind trust in our newfound guide was not an option. Why should she befriend us at this late stage when earlier she had been so evasive? Why couldn’t this be a fallback trap? We were certain of only one thing: a single wrong move and we would be slaughtered like pigs.
Alarm flickered across the okami-san’s features, but it was nearly impossible to determine the origin of her fear. Was she frightened of Noda or afraid of them if she didn’t lead us into their trap?
“Answer plainly,” I said. “Now.”
Nervously, eyes darted to her captured wrist, then to the gun in Noda’s other hand. “They have my son.”
“His name?”
“Ryo Nagayama. He’s my only son. There are some of us—mothers mostly—who fight them in our own fashion. Centuries ago, we were a poor farming community. Samurai ruled the country, and the Ogi clan ruled our town.”
I recalled the well-attended monument to General Ogi in the center of the village.
“They found a way out,” she said, “but not a good way. There was a great demand for people willing to do dirty work. It always came from the authorities. That was the clan’s genius, and our village has been caught up in their scheming ever since. Even today the Ogis are revered. We live better, but not freely. We are cared for, but watched. And they entice our children with money and games we can’t compete with.”
Noda scrutinized the innkeeper closely, as did I. Her expression was dark and solemn, her tone sincere. I could detect no false flicker. She was either trustworthy or an actress of immense talent.
Noda released her.
The innkeeper said, “Who are you?”
I said, “Doesn’t matter.”
“No one survives an attack.”
“Things change.”
“Not here. Not for three hundred years.” She hesitated. “May I ask if you have an escape route?”
Noda and I were silent.
“You are right not to tell me. They could force me. But I guess you have prepared one.”
We remained silent.
“No matter. Go,” she said, giving me a gentle shove toward the door. “They will come, and when they do they’ll find me sleeping soundly. They’ll have no reason to disturb me or suspect me. But I will tell you this: the river is the best way out. You cannot be seen in the shallows along the left shore because of the high bank and the trees overhead. Stay in the water. It is not deep this time of year and there are many nocturnal snakes in the rocks along the banks. Even they fear the snakes. Now go. Quickly.”
CHAPTER 36
NODA crouched in the doorway for a long beat, scanning the darkness before us, then dashed across three yards of open ground and vanished into the bamboo thicket. Attentive to every sound and shadow, I waited for a response to the chief detective’s foray into the night.
Registering no movement, I left the safety of the inn and sprinted in Noda’s wake, hauling our gear, wondering if unseen eyes tracked me, visualizing a bullet zipping toward my back. I entered the foliage without incident.
“Change farther in,” Noda whispered. “You first, I’ll watch.”
“Got it.”
I pushed deeper into the stand of giant bamboo. The stalks were taller than houses and fatter than summer squash. In the grove, the air was damp but cool despite the heat that hung over the valley. Noda’s call to slip into street clothes outdoors was a shrewd one. The bamboo provided more options than the confining walls of the inn room.
Screened by the stalks, I stripped off the yukata. Crickets chirped nearby. “Think we can get out of here in one piece?”
“That’s the plan.”
Noda was tense and attuned to every shade of the darkness around us, as was I. He sounded confident but I didn’t share his conviction. For one thing, we were too deep in their territory. For another, only an orderly and silent retreat could save us. A headlong rush through the mountains assured a quick death. By rigging the Viper, Soga had cut off our main escape route and limited our options.
I pulled on jeans and a dark blue T-shirt, laced up black Reeboks, then spelled Noda on watch while he changed. After he finished, the chief detective came to the edge of the grove, squatted by my side, and said, “We follow the river out.”
“That’s it? Your whole plan?”
“Yeah.”
“Tell me you’re going on more than the innkeeper’s word.”
“Am.”
Great. I couldn’t push the master of laconic without irritating him, and I didn’t want to irritate the man who held my life in his hands.
On the roof of a three-story farmhouse some hundred fifty yards away, I caught a glimpse of an incongruent shadow that didn’t follow the contours of the roofline. I kept an eye on it. The shadow moved and glided on to the neighboring two-story, then slid down the steep slope of ceramic tile, taking the drop to the ground noiselessly before turning away.
I said, “You see that?”
“Yeah. Stay alert.”
We plunged into the forest and travelled at an even clip, our advance swift but silent. I left the reassuring shelter of the bamboo with reluctance, an adrenaline charge propelling me forward as I calcu
lated our chances for survival. The sky, glimpsed through a canopy of pine and cedar, was coal black and distant. Stars were icy blue points that shimmered and blinked and seemed to shift if you tried too hard to get a fix on them.
Noda pointed to a path in the distance. “You see the left fork? Two hundred yards down is a ravine, maybe twenty or thirty feet deep, river at the bottom. Go down. Wait five minutes, out of sight. If I don’t show, go on without me. Two miles, the river bends to the right. Climb the far embankment. George is there.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Make sure we’re not being followed.”
“You sure about the route?”
Noda gave me a look. “Walked it today.”
“While I was at the festival?”
Scanning the forest, Noda nodded, and I heaved a silent sigh of relief. We weren’t traveling blind.
I said, “You never expected to get any information, did you?”
“Only what we’ve got.”
“They knew who we were, didn’t they?”
“Yeah.”
“Didn’t matter that we used false names.”
“No.”
“Which means they were involved in Japantown and now we know it. And they know we know it.” The sudden realization sent a chill through me.
“Sorry. It was the only way.”
“They’ll be looking to get even.”
“No, they’re pros. They’ll regroup and watch.”
“If we get out of Soga.”
“Yeah. If. We get to Tokyo, they’ll pull back.”
“Why?”
“Because they know we don’t have squat.”
“So they regroup and kill us in Tokyo.”
“Not there.”
“Why not?”
“City’s off-limits. Don’t know why.”
We heard the sound of a scurrying animal and listened intently for a moment.
I said, “You sure they weren’t watching you this afternoon?”
“I’m sure.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
“We’ll be dead shortly.”
I shut my eyes to steady my nerves. Sometimes I wished the chief detective were a little less forthright.