“It goes without saying that what I am telling you is to never leave this room. Each time a president takes office he is given this briefcase. The tradition of handing over the briefcase has been quietly continued between presidents since our founding fathers. Each president adds or takes away letters and documents from the briefcase on his last day of office. Ever since president Truman a message from the Japanese Emperor has remained. There is currently only one other man that was not a previous president that is aware of our tradition and that knows of this particular message from the Japanese Emperor. Lieutenant Felix. So count yourselves as very privileged men, the Lieutenant has become a good friend since I have taken office.”
James interrupted with wide eyes. He clenched his tie as he spoke. “Sir, Lieutenant Felix is an old man with dementia. I don’t believe he is able to recall his last meal let alone state secrets.”
The president grinned towards Roger, then he looked at James. “James, Lt Felix is one of the healthiest men you will ever meet and a treasure of our great nation. Fifteen years ago he decided that the best way for him to retire would be to go into a retirement home and be diagnosed with ‘dementia’. He’s been dribbling in front of every visitor ever since. It’s a very good act but his nurses know better. Once a month he calls me. We chat. He tells me about the fishing he’s been doing. That whole retirement home is a front. He’s been hiding there, fishing and watching documentaries about conspiracy theories. Good comedies according to him. Lt Donald Felix is a true American patriot.” The president looked at James for a second and let his last words linger in the air.
“Anyway, it is the message that I want to share with you. I’m sure Lt. Felix wouldn’t appreciate me telling you about his personal life. The note is a telegram sent an hour before the Japanese Emperor officially announced his country’s surrender. He writes, I may surrender and my country may surrender. But some people in my country will never accept this. Too many lives have been destroyed. Too many mothers weep for their sons. Too many fathers have lost their little girls. We may move on as a country but these people, they will never forget…” The president paused for a second.
“The name Yoshimitzu Kamitoze was scribbled on the bottom of this note by President Nixon, he initialed and dated it so a future president would know, but that’s all he wrote.”
When the name Yoshimitzu Kamitoze was mentioned all the men stopped breathing for a second.
“Of all the files in that briefcase this was the one I took the least notice of,” the president admitted. “There are threats of terrorists in the Middle East. Plans to destabilize our nation causing a Civil war. Even Russian plans to invade Alaska…. I would have bet my wallet on any of these being a bigger threat than some crazed old Japanese man seeking revenge for the Second World War,” the president said, biting the nail on his thumb.
Warren wondered how much was in the President’s wallet. The president sighed and walked over to the window. He digressed for a moment, as Roger knew he would. The president often went off on a tangent when serious matters were being discussed and today would be no different.
“Did you know that on the Island of Okinawa there were underground tunnels that thousands of young Japanese men went into and committed suicide. The holes in the walls from the grenades they used are still there today. I think of that and I think of the watery graves that so many of our sailors suffered at Pearl Harbor. War, huh, no one wins.” The president frowned and looked at all four men who sat in front of him who remained silent.
“But that is something that really cannot leave this office. If the media ever heard my personal view on war they would string me up and say I’m a limp wristed weakling who tried to dodge the draft and the country isn’t safe under my leadership. I would be out of office by the end of the week! The media. They just love to spread hate and fuel anger. I’m sure they won’t be happy until they have created such a dichotomy in our great nation that we have a civil war. Just so they can boost ratings and increase revenue. The people that run these organizations should be ashamed of themselves. Reporting every facet of negativity they can find. Even in a positive story! Even worse is this so called social media. At least the established press has corporate responsibility. Some people on these platforms make up whatever they want and create one sided or even fictional reports just to increases followers and views. Bunch of Machiavellis!” The president’s voice rose higher and higher, he was almost shouting.
“It’s all for money, of course. People will watch and then comment and the hate spreads. These people have no morals or decency. They just create their crap and to hell with the consequences!” The president paused. He stared at his reflection in the pristine clean windows of his office. Then looked on through the glass to the immaculate lawns and shrubbery. The president sighed and looked up towards the sky. There was a soulful glint in his eyes.
“Y’know, if we all could speak without being so scared of what the media or the keyboard warriors on social media write then the American race would start to build bridges and trust between communities. I got into politics to try and help. I realized after a few years that I am still only one man and I’m fighting Goliath…but… I’ve digressed… yet again.”
The president had been a philosophy student at University and his mind had never stopped wanting to find ways to recalibrate society. He rubbed his hands across his brow and pursed his fingers together. Everyone was hovering over their seats, barely able to contain themselves at the president’s revelations. He wasn’t saying anything they didn’t think although Bill didn’t use social media so had no opinion of what happens on it.
The president sat in his chair for a moment to cool off. He was facing the window instead of the men in his office and realized they were silent and likely confused by him jumping from one issue to another. He put aside his personal opinions and, with a deep breath, continued his story.
“Where was I?” he asked.
“Yoshimitzu, sir,” Roger said softly, like a teacher helping a student.
“Yes. Well. Yoshimitzu, he was first seen as a threat in the late 60s when his true identity was unveiled by the secret service. He is the Emperor’s cousin. The final line in the telegram that the Emperor sent said he has relinquished responsibility to someone else to take revenge for the losses of every innocent person who was killed in Hiroshima, Nagasaki and every other soul that rested on his conscience. The file on Yoshimitzu is thin but it is thought that he has a small group of people in Japan that continued their own war under the rules of Kamikaze, which is fighting until death. No surrender. They are likely loyal old warriors who have brought their children in to continue their vendetta. Truman thought the letter was nothing more than an empty threat when he first received it.” The president shuffled his weight from left to right and continued his revelations.
“It is regrettable that we couldn’t just have removed this bomb but the Emperor’s threat was clear. We would be attacked, if not today, one day. The bomb has acted as an insurance policy ever since.” The president reached for a glass of water. Silence descended on the room once again. Roger made a noise as if he was about to speak, but nothing came out. The president continued.
“I must stress that it is no longer the new Emperor or Japan that would want to attack us. They have moved on and we have a good relationship with them. It’s this separate faction that was headed up by Yoshimitzu. Koishi, his son, must have taken over after his father died. It seems they have become obsessed with the bomb in the Emperor’s gardens. If they moved it and tried to blow it up on American soil it would be powerful enough to destroy the whole of Manhattan or the downtown area of any American city. It would be an attack like no other on American soil. We believe around eighty people work secretly in Japan for this terrorist group. The problem I have is that they have never known how the bomb is coded. It appears that Kioshi has found out how. If he tortured the professor before he killed him then he may have found out about Project Parasite. If he knows abo
ut that Project then he knows who he needs to kill!”
James and Bill stared at the floor, wondering who would be first to ask. Bill decided to be the one.
“Sir, could you explain anything more about Project Parasite? What you’ve told us is very useful but we need to know what all these projects are, why is Ben, or Lindon as he calls himself these days, so important?” The president smiled.
“A very good question, but unfortunately not one that I can answer. You know everything you need to know. Project Parasite, this protects the bomb in Japan, and it protects America every day without anyone knowing about it. Another masterpiece by Lieutenant Felix.” Bill was very disappointed not to be told any more. Roger looked offended.
“Sir, why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?” he asked.
“Roger, this is privileged presidential information we don’t just share out the nation’s secrets with anyone.” Roger felt as though he had just shrunk in his seat.
James decided this would be the perfect moment to claim he had single handedly secured the future capture of Lindon.
“Sir, I want to make everyone aware of a recent development. Through some CIA back channels we have been able to organize a job that will include Lindon and will result in his capture. The job will be in London and is taking place in a few days.” Bill and Roger couldn’t believe James had been able to hold in such a revelation for so long. Warren and the president listened intently to every word.
“Are you sure of this?” the president asked.
“Yes sir. We have a trusted agency that we use for this type of work. They were the ones that sent Lindon to track down Roger.” Bill leaned back in his seat for moment.
“Is this the agency that we first thought Lindon may be working for as mercenary after intercepting some of their communications?” he asked.
“Yes. We had tried to secure him some work on American soil but he wouldn’t play ball. We recently found out he was planning to go to London on another job and so decided to see if we could secure a job to capture him there. The men are not our own but they are highly skilled. From what I understand two of them are ex-US military.” The president tried to make sense of this new information.
“So you’re saying that in a few days we have arranged to employ Lindon on a mission that will result in his capture?” he asked.
“Yes sir. We hoped to have him detained sooner but it appears he has a job in London already with an unknown agency. Most likely reconnaissance or guard work. So any concerns about Lindon will be settled in a few days time but until then our biggest concern is that Kioshi catches up with him before we do.” Bill stared at his shoes, desperately trying to think of something wise to say. The president nodded several times.
“OK, well since the CIA has done such good work I suppose the only real concern right now is where is Kioshi Kamitoze?”
Everyone fell silent. James had delivered his revelation and was happy the president had heard it from him.
All the men sat stunned at the last half an hour of surprises. Warren wanted to speak but his jaw was frozen. Roger couldn’t think of any words worth saying. Bill looked down and noticed the stain on his shirt - it was BBQ sauce from the pork ribs - he looked at the president and couldn’t believe what he was now embroiled in. At least he now knew that Kioshi was their prime target. Now that they had a confirmed target it was time to go hunting.
Chapter 18
Lindon’s evening had been uneventful.
Three women had turned up. All of different race, they had long legs and immaculate make-up and dress. They were polite and compliant. Rena had body searched all the women whilst Lindon inspected their bags, coats and high heels. The prince greeted the three women and disappeared upstairs after fifteen minutes leaving Rena and Lindon on guard duty. This was an opportunity to take turns sleeping. Lindon woke up at midnight. Rena started her power nap a few minutes later. Occasionally Lindon heard giggles and laughter from upstairs and an odd thud as someone fell over. He listened to any loud noises to try and detect panic. At 1.45am Lindon did his last sweep of the lower floors before his two-hour shift finished. Nothing to report inside and outside was quiet, he thought. He walked to the front of the house and inspected the street; a brand new Range Rover drove past. There was a man driving and no other occupants. It looked like a chauffeur. A common sight along the local streets.
Lindon woke Rena and took his next break. At 4am Rena shook Lindon. “Nothing new,” she said as she went to lie on the couch. Lindon rubbed his eyes and did a quick floor scan. The sun was still a few hours away and so there was still little to be seen outside. The silence of the house was broken at 4.24am. Lindon could hear loud voices upstairs that were clearly a male and a female arguing. Seconds later a woman appeared.
“Give me my coat!” she barked at Lindon.
“Are you leaving or just stepping outside?” he asked, standing in front of her and trying to be as non-threatening as he could.
“Just give me my coat!” she barked again in an accented voice.
“If you’re leaving and not returning, you know you have to be searched,” he said in a sterner tone.
“Fuck,” she said angrily. “Fine, do it,” she said with less of a bark.
“Would you rather my partner do it?” Lindon moved his left palm in the direction of the room Rena was sleeping in.
“Do you really think I care? I’ve already had that pig upstairs touching me.” Lindon thought about questioning her. Surely her job meant she crossed paths with many people she didn’t like but they pay the big bucks, he thought. He decided not to ask questions. He hesitated about what do next. The girls were sex workers, highly priced, upmarket sex workers, but still sex workers nonetheless. Lindon liked to try and keep as much respect and dignity in his interactions with the girls as he could. The woman in front of him was standing in a lace red bra. Her delicate skirt looked as if it had been torn on the edge and her makeup was smeared.
“OK, you know the drill,” Lindon said with a sigh. The woman pulled back her long blonde hair so Lindon could check her earrings. As he did Rena appeared from the room she had been napping in.
“Lindon?” she said. He looked over his shoulder to her with a face of relief. “Want me to take over?” she asked as she walked towards the young woman. Lindon motioned for her to take over but didn’t speak. It took a full two minutes for Rena to complete her intimate search.
“OK, you can leave,” Rena said to the woman, standing within a few inches of her.
“I want my coat!” Lindon was standing behind the woman and handed the coat over her shoulder.
“You need a car?” Lindon asked as the woman reached for the door handle.
“I’ve already got one,” she snapped. Rena turned to Lindon. He walked to the door and stood holding it as the woman walked down the stairs and into a waiting Mercedes. The driver looked like an elderly man. Lindon squatted slightly to get a better look at him. Either Lindon or Rena looked at everyone who made any interaction with the prince no matter how removed they were or how irrelevant they seemed. The woman sat in the car for a moment before it moved. Thirty seconds passed. The driver was staring at Lindon as the woman talked to him. The car slowly pulled away. Lindon watched until the black Mercedes had turned a corner and was no longer in sight.
“Weird guy, she must have told him what happened. Do you reckon he was some sort of pimp?” Lindon asked, closing the door.
“I don’t think so, but he couldn’t get enough of you. Maybe he’s into guys?” Rena smiled. Lindon did not.
The woman stayed in the Mercedes clutching her coat closed. The driver reached an agreed drop off. Another car was waiting for her. Two goons sat in the front seats filling the entire windscreen. Both were bald and had tattoos on their face and neck. The men were there to protect their asset. The young blonde woman. No harm would come to her or the boss would be very angry. Before she stepped out of the Mercedes the driver asked a few questions. He nodded at the a
nswers. The driver produced a photo that had been taken by a camera mounted to the side of the car. She nodded, “Yes. Yes. Lindon. Yes, I heard the woman call him that, yes, definitely,” she said, then got out of the car.
One of the goons was now standing next to the driver’s door of his car smoking a cigarette. He was at least 6ft and had a neck wider than most people’s legs. She walked over the road to his Silver Audi Q7 and the engine fired up with a growl. Before they drove off the man who had been standing next to his car walked over to the Mercedes and tapped on the driver’s window. The window dropped a few inches and a thick envelope slipped through the gap.
“Do I need to count this?” The accent of the goon was unmistakably East London.
“It’s all there, ten for the girl, ten for the information and five for the boss.”
The man in the Mercedes doubted whether the goon could count £25,000 on his own. No other words were spoken. The driver rolled up the window and drove away as the goon returned to his car, which sped away the moment he sat down.
The prince got out of bed at 8am and walked downstairs. Lindon asked whether everything had been alright during the night. The prince said everything had gone well. Except one of the girls began acting very strange at around 3am and goading him into an argument. He had tried several times to settle her down. “Must have been the alcohol,” the prince suggested, or the drugs Lindon thought. Neither of them discussed it any further. She hadn’t stolen anything and didn’t act suspiciously up to the point of wanting to leave. The prince didn’t plan to complain. He had already paid the agency that sent them and had enjoyed his time with the two other women until 6am when they left.
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