by Adrian Smith
“I don’t think so. Doesn’t make sense. I was thinking about it earlier. Take a left here.”
Farmers working in nearby fields, dressed in blue, looked up as they sped past.
“In the bar, the yakuza were speaking Japanese. They shot you and Holder, then took Sofia. When we escaped, we shot the others. Later they were speaking German.”
“Two groups?”
“Yes. It’s the only way to explain it. Two separate groups after us. The Japanese yakuza will know we’re coming. They wouldn’t bother chasing us.”
“That’s just great,” Booth said.
They swerved left and right, taking turns at random, tires squealing on rough cobblestones. The Corolla skidded around men carrying bushels of rice on bicycles and women pushing carts of flowering plants. Mothers and fathers grabbed kids by their hands and yanked them out of the way of the speeding car, shaking their fists and shouting obscenities. They swung down skinny streets. Under bridges and around stunned bystanders. A few people snapped photos with their smartphones.
“Watch it!” Ryan spotted the old castle. “Up there, and right!” he shouted above the revving engine.
The tires screeched and slipped on the tarmac before gripping and shooting the car around the tight bend. Still the yellow rider followed. No matter what they did, the bike copied them. The rider swung up an MP5 and fired on the fleeing Toyota.
“Get down!” Ryan shouted as bullets pinged off the bodywork.
Booth swerved around a dog, skidding and fishtailing as he tried to retain control. Bullets continued to pepper the metal body, igniting sparks of orange. Some bullets hit the back window, showering them with tiny shards of glass.
Ryan had had enough. He cracked open his door.
“When I say, swerve right.” He crouched and brought the Glock level with the side window. “Now!”
Ryan swung the door open and fired. The movement caught the yellow rider by surprise. He stopped firing and ducked.
They sped around the ancient Japanese castle with its arched pagoda-like roofs, thick, exposed beams, and whitewashed walls. The yellow rider backed off but still followed, wary now that he knew they were armed. They needed a plan. They had to disable the rider, knock him off his bike, if they were to have any chance of reaching Koyasan.
They sped on, back through Iga, dodging around school children holding ice creams, careering past shoppers clutching their goods, and out into the countryside lined with rice paddies. Dozens of workers, covered up to protect them from the glaring sun, were bent over in the paddies.
A blur of black whizzed by in a split second. The yellow rider opened fire again, his rounds peppering the small car.
Ryan opened the door and squeezed the trigger. His third shot hit the weapon. The rider dropped it and gripped his handlebars with both hands.
“Stop now!” Ryan shouted. He used his left leg to hold open his door. The yellow rider smashed into the open passenger door and cartwheeled into the air. He slammed onto the road and tumbled a few times before sliding out of view.
One down. One to go.
The black rider spun around in his seat and raised his MP5. His bullets cracked the windshield, spider-webbing the glass. Booth sped up, attempting to ram him with the battered Corolla. But every time he got close, the black rider zoomed just out of reach.
Ryan nudged Booth on the shoulder and gestured to the west. The landscape was filled with forested mountains and twisting roads. He had a strange suspicion that the black rider wanted them to go there. As if to confirm his thoughts, the rider stopped shooting and sped off, his bike roaring up the mountain.
“You okay?” Ryan said.
“Just like old times, eh?” Booth said. He grinned and changed gears.
The cold mountain air whipped through the open window. Ryan took a deep breath and studied the map on his phone, searching for an escape route. Unfortunately, they were on the only road. It went up and over, down into the neighboring valley, passing through a national park.
“How do you feel about going off road?”
“In this? That’s crazy,” Booth said.
“This is the only road for miles. But there should be forest tracks or something. Maybe we should dump the car and hike out.”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
The rider was ahead, but was there anyone behind?
“Wait. We’re idiots,” Ryan said. “Why don’t we just go back?”
“Doh.” Booth pulled the Toyota into a rest area and rolled to a stop. “I only saw two bikes chasing us. You took out the one wearing yellow. That leaves one. Ahead of us.”
“I still think this is another group,” Ryan said. “If what you say about YamTech using the yakuza is true, they’re going to know we’ll be coming for Sofia. It’s logical.”
“Maybe they think we’re dead. I mean, they shot Holder and me, then took off when the police turned up.”
“We shot their guards and were chased through Shinjuku. Someone would have reported that.”
“Thoughts?”
“I say we go back to Iga, ditch this car, and take the train to Osaka. From there, we can carry on as planned.”
The whine of a high-powered engine as a vehicle shifted gears alerted them to a new threat coming from the direction of Iga. Now the forest was the only option left.
They didn’t have to wait long for the car to come tearing up the road. It looked like it was straight out of a Fast and Furious film. Glossy black paint gleamed in the afternoon light. Red lights glowed from underneath and next to the headlights, giving it a menacing presence. Like an evil KITT.
The car swerved off the road and barreled toward them. It slid sideways and slammed into the back of the Corolla, shunting it several meters into the forest.
“Go!” Booth cried, wrenching the door open and sprinting into the trees.
Again they were running. Running from unknown assailants, but this time Ryan didn’t have the familiar streets of Shinjuku to duck and weave through. This time all he had were trees. At first they followed a ridge, climbing higher, before they cut across a shallow ravine and tracked back. Three yakuza gave chase, shouting insults and occasionally firing, but they were lousy shots. With every miss they became angrier, until they stopped shooting and just cursed and spat.
“What’re they saying?” Booth said. He clutched his injured side.
“The usual. How they’re going to kill and torture us.”
“Both at the same time?”
“Well, they’re really angry.”
“Can we slow down a bit? This wound is hurting like hell.”
“Soon.”
Ryan paused in the undergrowth on the edge of the forest access road. In the past it would have been for logging trucks to haul timber to the mills. Those days were long gone. Now the forest was used for recreation.
The gunmen fired again, their bullets thunking into the pine trees overhead. Still lousy shots.
“C’mon,” Ryan said, pushing off his heels. “I’ve got a plan.”
As they ran, he debated what to do. The chasing yakuza were crashing through the undergrowth a couple of hundred meters away. There was no way they were going to catch up.
“Let’s steal their car and leave these bozos in the forest,” Ryan said.
“Good idea. How many men did they leave behind, though?”
“I counted four. Three are back there.”
“Reinforcements?”
“Maybe. Only one way to find out.”
It didn’t take them long to reach the rest area. Using hand signals, Ryan indicated to Booth to go right and flank the car. Just as he’d suspected, the youngest member had been left to mind the vehicle in case he and Booth backtracked. It was sloppy. Older members of gangs thought the job beneath them. They should have left someone with more experience.
The yakuza guard looked barely twenty and was slouched against the front of the car, smoking a cigarette. An MP5 hung limply at his side.
W
hen Booth was in position, Ryan spent a few seconds willing himself to do what needed to be done. He had always struggled with killing young people. Bad and evil, no problem if it meant protecting others. But a kid? He was probably too young to realize what he was doing. Still had time to redeem himself.
The sounds of crashing undergrowth forced his hand. Ryan burst from his cover. Raising his gun, he fired two quick shots.
Pop! Pop!
One hit the youth’s arm, the other went in just above the sternum. The cigarette fell from his lips as he toppled over, blood gurgling from the wound.
“Sorry kid,” Ryan said. He knelt beside the youth and said a quick prayer. He only killed out of necessity. For years he had thought of a way to seek atonement for his sins. Maybe that was why he had helped people like Chihiro and Haku. Trying to balance the spreadsheet.
He threw the MP5 to Booth. “Let’s get out of here.”
“You drive this time,” Booth said, waving the submachine gun.
Within seconds they were hurtling up the mountain road, leaving the unknown gunmen behind, bumbling through the forest.
Eight
Near Portland, Oregon
Zanzi Connors was growing frustrated. She rolled her chair away from her workstation and took a sip from her water bottle. What she really wanted was a strong cup of coffee or, even better, something to take the edge off. She glanced up at the digital clock on the wall: 18:26. Saturday nights were for blowing off steam. Maybe seeing a live band. Not staring at blood samples. She was looking forward to catching up with her friends for a few quiet drinks and tacos. It was a Saturday night tradition that had carried on from freshman year. Whatever they were doing, they always tried to catch up.
She squinted into the microscope. What the hell is that?
Frowning, she checked the settings. Nothing was out of place. Next, she checked that the sample hadn’t been contaminated. As a new staff member, she’d been tasked with checking all the blood samples from the girls the FBI had rescued a week ago. Her superior, Doctor Kohli, had scoffed at being asked to do it by the director, Lisa Omstead, and given it to Zanzi instead.
Zanzi checked her notes and, using her finger, scanned down the page in her logbook. She then cross-referenced the FBI’s findings with her own. Nothing too out of the ordinary. Most of the girls had low iron in their blood. A couple lacked vitamins. All had unusually low levels of creatinine and serotonin. All but her current sample had traces of heroin and ketamine. But none of that explained what she’d seen on the glass slide. Zanzi adjusted the magnification and looked at the sample again. She shook her head and searched through the blood.
Was I imagining it?
She looked over at her colleague, Dr. Sachin Kohli. He should be looking at this. Pathology was more his field of expertise.
“Hey, Dr. Kohli?” Zanzi said.
“Yeah.”
“Would you take a look at this blood sample?”
“Why?”
“I just want a second opinion. I saw something strange.”
“Strange? How do you mean? It’s blood. White cells. Red cells. Platelets and plasma.” He sighed and looked up from his work. His brown eyes glared at her. “Really, Ms. Connors. You studied at Stanford. I expect more from you.”
“I think you should have a look. I saw something unnatural.”
“Probably just agglutination. Is the plasma clumped together like islands?”
“No. It’s normal.” She clenched her jaw. The problem was, she had no idea how to explain what she’d seen. Regardless, she was beginning to doubt herself. She’d only seen it for a brief second.
“I saw what looked like a tick, clinging to a red cell. But when I looked again, it was gone.”
“A tick? It’s late, Ms. Connors.” Kohli turned to face her and frowned. “Make a note of what you saw, label the sample, and I’ll look tomorrow. I’ll put it through the TEM.” He waved his hand dismissively and returned to his work. The TEM—transmission electron microscope—was capable of viewing objects at a much higher resolution. Dr. Kohli hated anyone other than him using it.
“Yes Doctor.”
Sachin Kohli was brilliant but arrogant and, at times, a misogynist. Zanzi tried hard not to judge people on a character flaw but Kohli certainly made it difficult. She pushed aside her frustrations and went through her clean-up routine, carefully labeling the last sample and checking she had the name correct.
Harriet/ Unk.
They used the moniker Unk when they didn’t know the subject’s surname. All the samples went in the refrigerator at the end of the lab. With one last check, she logged out of the lab and exited into the main corridor, heading for the elevators.
As she reached the elevators, her phone chirped, alerting her to a message. Zanzi checked her cell phone and groaned. It was from Kohli.
Urgent. I need you back in the lab.
“C’mon, it’s Saturday night,” she murmured to herself. Zanzi was halfway back to the lab when her phone rang. She answered it without checking the ID.
“Zanzi speaking.”
“It's Director Omstead. I saw that you’re still in the building. Can you swing past my office on your way out?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“Better if I tell you in person. It’s about Ryan.”
“Dad? What trouble is he in now?”
“I’ll explain when you get here,” Lisa said, hanging up.
She had known the director all her life. Taken frequent trips to visit her in Alaska, hiked in the wilderness, camped under the stars, had conversations by the fire.
Zanzi was studying for her Masters in Biomechanics. She had spent three years at Stanford University and one year abroad at The University of Western Australia in Perth. On her return stateside, Director Omstead had offered Zanzi a position in the research and development department of LK3 while she continued her studies. She’d thought it meant cutting-edge technology. So far all she had done was clean up. Test urine, stool, and blood samples. Hardly the glamourous job she’d imagined.
She changed direction again and headed back to the elevators, taking one to the top floor. Her phone vibrated several more times. She glanced at the screen. The messages were all from Dr. Kohli, asking her to return immediately. She sent a quick reply.
On my way. Seeing the director about something first.
Zanzi reached the mahogany door of Lisa’s office and knocked softly.
“Come in.”
“Director.”
Lisa smiled from behind her desk. She had brown eyes that seemed to assess your every move. Analyze your words and body language. Always cautious and intelligent.
The towering presence of Mt. Hood dominated the vista behind her, momentarily distracting Zanzi.
“How’s the lab work treating you,” Lisa asked.
“Permission to speak frankly?”
Lisa chortled. “This is LK3, not the military. What’s on your mind?”
Until Zanzi had joined, she’d thought her parents and the director had worked for the IRS and Interpol as investigators, looking at global corporations. Making sure they paid the right amount of taxes. That they didn’t break any international or local laws.
Now she knew what LK3 did. Recon. Infiltration. Espionage. Extraction. The research and development was to help the operatives in any way they could.
“It’s boring as hell. I thought I’d be working in the prosthetic department,” Zanzi said. “I mean, that’s what I’m studying, after all.”
“And you will. Just bide your time. Learn from Dr. Kohli. He is very good at what he does.”
“Yeah, I know. He’s just…” Zanzi trailed off, letting her thoughts go unsaid.
Lisa pushed back her chair. “I know he’s old-fashioned. But Dr. Kohli is one of the brightest minds in bioengineering, particularly in blood-borne viruses and nanotechnology. His expertise could help find cures for cancer. For Alzheimer’s. Dementia.”
“He is brilliant. Mum always sai
d you can learn something new from everyone. You just have to stop, listen, and take it in.”
“Sounds like something Cal would say,” Lisa said. “I have some news about your father. I’m sure I don’t need to explain to you the importance of keeping this between us.”
“Of course. I know what I signed up for.”
“Good. I needed to be sure. I’m only telling you because he’s your father and we’re basically family.”
“Okay.”
“As you know, he was in Tokyo. Something we’re working on, the details of which I can’t tell you, also happened to be in Japan. Booth was going to make contact, to ask for his help.”
“What happened? Is he okay?”
“We don’t know exactly. All we know is that I have an operative down, another taken captive, and Booth and your father are missing. I have friendlies working on it.”
Zanzi covered her mouth with her hand, stifling the sob in her throat. She and her father hadn’t parted on good terms. Her mind cast back to the blazing row they’d had a year ago when her father told her about going to Japan indefinitely. She was still furious at him for abandoning her so soon after her mother had died but didn’t really blame him. He’d lost his wife and son in the space of eighteen months. What bothered her was that he couldn’t see that she, too, had lost her mother and twin brother. Liam had died protecting others during a mass shooting at their high school, turning his back toward the shooter so that his classmates could climb out a window to safety.
She brushed away a tear. “Friendlies?”
“That’s what we call people who pass us information. Alert us to situations. They work for the police or companies. Government departments. Anywhere, really.”
“And?”
“A friend in the Shinjuku police department alerted us to an ongoing investigation. The operative in question is an Australian national. It’s a mess. Eyewitness accounts tell of two men of European descent leaving the scene. That’s all I have for now, but I’ll keep you updated,” Lisa said.
Zanzi’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She grabbed it and glanced at the screen. It was from Kohli again.
Where are you?
“I’d better go. Dr. Kohli wants me back in the lab,” Zanzi said.