by Adrian Smith
As Victor Offenheim talked, Ryan and Cal inched backward. Cal stiffened as she bumped lightly against the low wall. All they needed to do was get downstream. Booth or Sofia would intercept, and they would be gone. Whispers on the wind.
Offenheim grinned at Ryan and snapped his fingers.
Ryan sprang into action in the same split second. He had seen Offenheim’s cheek twitch and read what was going to happen. He pushed backward off his heels and shoved Cal and himself over the wall. As they tumbled backward, a flash of silver whizzed past Ryan’s right eye. What was that? A knife?
“Kill them!” Offenheim screamed.
Ryan flipped over and turned his head, peering down at the swirling gray water below as the soldiers opened fire, sweeping their carbines from side to side. Bullets pinged against the rocks and water. The river swallowed them in its cold embrace. Ryan kicked and broke the surface.
Cal yelped and clutched her arm.
“You hit?” Ryan shouted above the noise of the water.
“No, I broke it.”
“What?”
“My arm. It hit a rock.”
“Crap! Hang on.”
Ryan cradled Cal in a lifesaver embrace and swam toward the steep bank littered with car-sized boulders. He had no chance of pulling her out of the river here, but they were far enough away to feel safe from rifle fire.
“You’re bleeding,” she said.
“I’m okay. Let’s just concentrate on getting away from here.”
For fifteen minutes they floated downstream, shivering in the cold water. Even though it was late spring, the water ran directly out of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. They kept in the shadows of the banks, where the water was calmer.
Desperate, Ryan searched for somewhere to drag Cal out and into the forest, but giant boulders covered in algae and moss crowded the sides. The thick trees would provide the cover. Cover they badly needed so they could radio for help. By now their team would know something had gone wrong and be springing into action. They were professionals and had been through situations like this plenty of times. They had backup plans for backup plans. All he and Cal needed to do was get out of this river and activate their locator beacons.
After several minutes of futile searching, Ryan spotted a tree blown over in a storm. Some of its branches were within reach. It was sketchy at best but would have to do. It meant a swim across the turbulent river.
There were no signs of the soldiers now, but they would be on their way, that was guaranteed. Offenheim wasn’t one to give up on a chance to kill them so easily. Straining with the added weight of his wife, he kicked his legs.
“The other side. C’mon,” he said.
The thumping of a helicopter reverberated around the mountains. It grew closer as the rough rapids of the river threw them about like rag dolls, spinning and twirling. Somehow Ryan managed to fight his way to the opposite bank and cling, exhausted, to an overhead branch.
“You okay?”
“My arm hurts like a bitch,” Cal said
“I’m going to swing you toward the bank. See if you can grab onto something.”
Cal nodded and gritted her teeth.
The sound Ryan heard next would haunt him for the rest of his life. Like a dozen jet engines roaring all at once, a wall of water tore down the river like a tsunami.
Boulders smashed together like giant marbles. Trees snapped as they were sucked into the maelstrom, tossed around as if they were matchsticks. Mud and water mixed in a slurry of terror.
He turned to Cal. “You can do it!” he shouted, tugging on her good arm, trying to swing her onto the bank. The branch he held splintered and frayed, dropping them farther into the frothing water.
Cal looked at him with her beautiful blue eyes, her face pale. “I can’t hold on.”
“Yes, you can. Don’t give up. Don’t you dare!”
The roar of the chopper edged closer, thumping over the noise of the flash flood. Its rotors echoed around the rock-filled valley.
“C’mon. Fight!” Ryan screamed.
The branch sagged farther. Ryan searched for an alternative, but the rest of the bank was free of anything remotely suitable.
“Save yourself. It’s the only way,” Cal shouted.
“No! Hang on. It can hold both of us.” He gritted his teeth and pulled on his wife’s arm. But the water tugged harder. The branch creaked and splintered.
Cal’s grip tightened. She cried out and flung her broken arm toward him, feebly catching his shirt.
“A little more!” Ryan risked pulling on the frayed branch.
Cal screamed.
She went limp, and her wet hand slipped farther down his arm before she let go. He made a desperate lunge as the branch cracked and sagged.
Ryan cried out, an anguished sound full of pain and sorrow, as his wife tumbled down the raging river, dragged away by a cascade of trees and rocks.
Above him, the branch groaned. He grimaced and used the last of his strength to reach out and grab onto a smaller branch above it, hauling his tired body up the sandpaper-like bark.
Gasping as he flopped on the muddy bank, Ryan banged the sodden earth and wished he was with his wife, protecting and holding onto her as boulders and trees slammed into their bodies. They had suffered so much together. Fought through so many life or death moments. Laughed together. Marveled at the wonders of nature. Cried as the twins were born, blue and barely breathing. Beamed with pride as they excelled in school, and sobbed as Liam’s coffin disappeared into the furnace. Whatever had come their way, they had managed, because they were united. Pillars of strength. Now she was gone. Torn away in a cruel twist of fate.
An image of their daughter hung in his vision. Zanzi would need him more than ever now. He had to be strong for her.
I’m sorry, Cal. I’m sorry.
Ryan crawled into the thick scrub and pulled his emergency locator beacon from its waterproof pouch. He pressed the distress button and slipped into unconsciousness.
Three
Shinjuku, Japan
Present Day
“Connors!” Booth said.
Ryan blinked, shook away his pain, and returned his gaze to the grainy photograph. Could it be true? Had Cal survived that torrent?
He felt betrayed by his friends. The game was in full effect: secure the help you need, then hit them with the Hail Mary. He glanced up at Sofia, searching her face. She was avoiding his eyes. As much as he wanted to be angry at her, he couldn’t summon up the energy. Maybe she had hardened over the years. Grown tougher by the job.
“I’m sorry, Ryan. I didn’t believe it myself. But seeing your reaction confirms what we suspected. Hoped. Cal’s alive,” Sofia said.
“This was taken six days ago. At a private airport near Osaka.” Booth jabbed the image. “Six days ago. The same day Keiko went missing.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s her.”
“The tattoo? Her height? Her features?”
“Similar. Yes. But Cal is dead, for crying out loud!”
Ryan rubbed his hands over his face. All he wanted was to live a quiet life. Forget the past. Exactly the memories that were being dragged to the surface. “I’m tired. Tired of this. That’s why I couldn’t go on.”
Booth spent a few seconds staring at him before standing and straightening his suit. “0900. Tokyo train station?”
“I’ll be there,” Ryan said. “To help find Keiko. Nothing more.”
“Sofia?”
“I’m staying for a while.”
“Fine. See you back at the house. Let’s go, Holder.”
Ryan let him go, and the two suited men weaved their way between the tables. His mind was a whirl of thoughts and emotions. It had taken him two years to come to terms with losing Cal and another year to bring some semblance of normality and routine back into his life. Now Booth and Sofia had yanked him back in. The dread of uncertainty reared its ugly head again.
Had he done enough looking for her body? Had he exhausted all
possibilities? Should he have demanded more?
Tires screeched seconds before the gunfire erupted, booming above the sounds of the city like bolts of lightning. Ryan spun, searching out the source.
Crack! Crack!
Booth’s voice shouted out something, but the rain and gunfire made it inaudible.
All those years of training and instinct saved Ryan. It kicked in, shouting through his murky, conflicted brain. He vaulted over the bar, pulling Sofia with him. He grabbed the phone and thumb drive, slipping them inside his satchel. Next, he pulled the barkeep down as more gunshots echoed outside. He checked the mirror above the bar. Two gunmen dressed in black suits entered, weapons held casually at their sides.
Yakuza. What the hell are you guys mixed up in?
Some of the patrons held up their hands, while others cowered behind tables, chairs, and bamboo screens. Any cover they could find. But the yakuza ignored the customers and scanned the room. They seemed to know that he and Sofia were there. They must have been watching the whole time.
The yakuza started shouting at the customers. “Where are they? The gaijin?”
Several fingers pointed in their direction. Ryan cursed.
Pieces of glass and mirror rained down on him, and screams filled the air as the patrons ran from the bar to escape the yakuza firing into the bar. Bullets tore into the woodwork around him, sending slivers of timber into the air, pricking his skin.
Ryan whispered in Japanese to the old man. “Do you have a lighter?”
The old man, shaking, pulled out a Zippo.
The gunmen continued to fire sporadically at the bar, yelling taunts in heavily accented English.
“Hey gaijin. We’re going to kill you. Just like your friends outside.”
“Hey gaijin. Where do you want your bodies to be found?”
“Harbor?”
“Or the rubbish tip your mothers gave birth to you on?”
Ryan figured he only had a few more seconds before they looked over the bar and drilled him and Sofia with lead.
Sofia had remained quiet, rubbing her fingers over the silver pendant hanging from her neck.
“Hey gaijin. Tell you what. We only want the pretty lady.”
The gunmen stopped firing and started arguing in rapid speech Ryan couldn’t decipher.
“Ms. Ortiz. Come with us and your daughter lives.”
Sofia slipped her silver pendant into Ryan’s hand. Before he could yank her down, she stood, arms raised above her head.
“I’m coming but don’t harm anyone else,” Sofia said, stepping toward the gunmen.
“Sure, sure. Whatever you say. Nice and slow walk outside to the car,” one of the gunmen said.
As Sofia complied, Ryan counted in his head the number of steps to the front door.
He filled two glasses with brandy and nodded at the old barkeep. “When I move, run.”
Strangely, he found he missed the action. Glancing in what remained of the mirror, he waited until the two taunting yakuza were back at the bar. Stupidly, they held their Glocks loosely. Their overconfidence was written across their faces like their smugness.
He spent a few moments centering himself and counted to three.
One…
Two.
On three, Ryan leapt up and threw the brandy in their faces, temporarily blinding them. They reacted just as he’d planned, by using their hands to rub away the alcohol. He flicked the lighter and ignited the brandy on the nearest gunman, who screamed in pain. Ignoring him, Ryan grabbed the other gunman by the shoulders and slammed his face onto a brandy glass, cutting him deeply.
Ryan wrenched his Glock free and shot both yakuza in the head.
For a split second he watched them fall to the ground. He was surprised at how easily he had killed again. Three years of redemption, gone in seconds. He turned and dashed out of the bar.
Four
Ryan burst into the rain-soaked alley moments after the old man. A gunshot sounded and a bullet pinged off the brickwork, centimeters from his head, sending splinters of clay into his hair. He dived right, behind a metal dumpster, and prayed the barkeep followed suit.
Frantically he sought the source of the gunshots. Three men dressed in black suits were jogging toward him from his left.
Great. Just great. Anyone else?
These were dressed like yakuza, but something was off. It was the way they carried themselves. And their choice of weapon. These men wanted everyone to think they were the infamous gangsters, but they were something else. Similar, but different.
A new syndicate?
Ryan had studied criminals like the yakuza. Memorized their habits. Their objectives. Their culture. It had been his job to know.
Ryan shoved the dumpster into the line of sight of the gunmen. Using it as a barricade, he pushed it into the middle of the alley and glanced down into the canal. He caught wafts of rotting fruit and other food. It was one of only two options left for escape, the second being a souvenir shop filled with clutter. Clutter that could aid him and cover his escape.
The approaching gunmen opened fire, peppering the metal sides of the dumpster. Looking over his shoulder, Ryan caught a glimpse of the old barkeep crawling away into a neighboring restaurant. More to keep the yakuza guessing than to do anything useful, Ryan shoved the dumpster toward the gunmen, using it as a moving wall. Then, ducking as low as he could, he fled into the souvenir store. Thankfully it was full of tourists shopping and sheltering from the rain. Some glanced in his direction at the sound of gunfire but didn’t appear to notice what exactly was happening.
He zigged and zagged his way through the shoppers, offering apologies, and looked out the front window, searching for more yakuza. Revelers searching for entertainment blocked his view. So far, the gangsters were staying out of sight, but he knew what they were like. They wouldn’t care if the general public saw them kill a couple of Westerners. It would only be a matter of time before they showed their faces again.
He noticed the street was crowded with umbrellas. Thinking fast, Ryan grabbed one and opened it as he dashed from the store. Immediately he looked right, to where he had seen the car in front of the restaurant. Holder lay slumped at an awkward angle, his blood mixing with the rain, draining away like his life.
Using the umbrella to block any prying eyes, he crouched down and checked Holder’s pulse. It was still. He didn’t know the agent, but losing anyone was a tough cross to bear, even in their line of work. He shut the Australian’s eyes. “Be at peace, brother,” he murmured.
While he searched for Holder’s ID, he noticed a second pair of legs tangled underneath.
Ryan rolled Holder to one side. Booth lay there gasping, holding a hand to his left side. Blood seeped through his fingers.
“Holder?”
Ryan grimaced, unable to find the words.
“He’s dead?” Booth said.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Bastards were waiting for us behind umbrellas. I didn’t see them. Holder did. He saved me by jumping in front and taking the main barrage.”
“We’ll honor him tonight. Right now, we need to move.”
“We can’t leave him here. No one deserves that.”
“I hear you, Booth. Normally I would say let’s wait for the authorities, but not this time.”
“They took Sofia.”
“I know. We’re going after her. You okay?”
“I’ll live. Where did the yakuza go?”
“They’re out back for the moment. Can you walk?”
Booth groaned and tried to rise. Ryan waved him down and moved behind him. He dragged him a few meters into a nearby luggage shop.
Police sirens wailed in the distance. Ryan pulled a bag from the display and wheeled it in front as a shield. It wasn’t the best concealment but, given the circumstances, it would have to do. Just enough to give him time to patch up his oldest friend.
The sirens soon flooded the street. Several yakuza dashed from the now-burning rest
aurant and leapt into the waiting Toyota Crown. Tires squealed as it tore off into the night, and the police cars gave chase.
“How bad are you hit?”
“They just nicked me. A through and through, I think,” Booth said.
“Just a graze?”
“‘I hope so. Still hurts like a bitch.”
“Let me look. Where’s your field kit?”
“Left pocket.”
All LK3 operatives carried a field kit. It was the size of a cigarette packet. Watertight, it contained essential equipment supplied by the medical research team, most of it not available to the public.
Moving as fast as he could, Ryan sprayed a foam to clot the blood and applied steri strips, pinching the edges of the wound together. Lastly, he bandaged it and injected painkillers and stimulants into Booth’s thigh.
Booth had been right. It was a through and through. Nasty, but he would live, after proper medical treatment to stop any infection.
As he worked, the cries of confused civilians drew closer. The operatives needed to move as soon as possible. A night explaining to Tokyo police was not what they needed. Let alone the sticky diplomatic situation it would put them in.
Police began shouting orders. Perfect. He would use the agitation to escape.
“Right. That will have to do. You ready?” Ryan asked.
“Yeah. How bad is it?”
“You’ll live. Unfortunately, you’ll have a new scar to show all your girlfriends.”
“We need to find Sofia and Keiko, Connors. It’s all connected. The codes being sold. The files on that thumb drive.”
“I’m sorry. Can you forgive a stubborn old fool?”
“There’s nothing to forgive. I lost count the number of times you saved me,” Booth said, holding his side. “Admit it.”
“Admit what?”
“You missed this.”
“Maybe.”
“We have a safe house down by Seibu Station.”
“If they knew we were here, your safe house is compromised.”
“We have others. Ginza. Marunouchi.”
“Too risky. We need to leave the city.”
“You have somewhere in mind, don’t you?” Booth said. “Wherever we go, I need a doctor. And a stiff drink.”