by Adrian Smith
The floor under her feet rumbled and jolted up as a thunderous explosion rang out.
Kaboom!
Several sounds assaulted Zanzi at once. Glass shattering. Concrete cracking. Metal tearing and shrieking as the explosion split the walls apart. Lisa bounded around the desk and slammed Zanzi to the ground. The office windows split into spiderwebs but remained intact. An instant after the explosion, klaxons began to blare. Metal shutters slid down over the office door and windows, locking them in.
Zanzi rolled over and gasped. Her ears rang louder than the time she had gone to an Amon Amarth concert with Liam.
“What the hell is going on?” she shouted over the alarms.
Lisa pointed to her ears and shook her head. She grabbed Zanzi by the arm and guided her into the private bathroom. Once they were inside, the decibels of the alarms lessened enough for them to speak.
“We have to evacuate. Follow me. Don’t question. Understand?”
“Understood.” She was surprised at how calm she was. The explosion had rattled her, but her parents had trained her and Liam from an early age to be ready and alert for anything. Running drills and teaching them about firearms, martial arts, and survival skills.
Lisa reached inside the shower stall and twisted the taps to the left. Then she held up her wrist. The toilet beeped and began to move to one side, revealing a ladder disappearing into the darkness.
“Down you go. Hurry.”
Zanzi tightened the straps of her handbag over her shoulder and stepped out onto the metal ladder.
Nine
Near Osaka, Japan
The black rider was waiting for Ryan and Booth at the summit of Mt. Wakakusa. He had parked the bike just off the road, next to three coaches. Tourists milled around, some taking photos of the view while others talked amongst themselves or ate at the small kiosk. From this height, the busy metropolis of Osaka filled the landscape, hugging the large bay all the way to the Pacific Ocean. Being this close to the city, Mt. Wakakusa was a popular day trip.
Booth gripped the MP5 and raised it level with the dashboard.
“Not now,” Ryan said, pushing the gun down.
The yakuza, or whoever they were, would be in communication. It was a logical assumption. By now they would know what had happened to their friends at the rest stop. Could Ryan hope for poor phone coverage? He could dream, couldn’t he?
They rolled past and the rider swung onto his bike, pulling out. His wheels squealed as they met the asphalt. Ryan grumbled under his breath and sped up.
He drove down the mountain, mindful of the dozens of sightseers driving the winding road. The black rider kept his distance, following their Subaru down into the city of Nara. The last thing Ryan wanted was to attract the attention of the police. He didn’t fancy trying to explain the incident last night in Shinjuku, the chase in Iga and on the mountain, or the dead body at the rest stop. The police would already be looking for him and Booth as it was, and Lisa would read him the riot act. She was a dear friend, but when it came to his job, she could be his worst nightmare.
“Get us to a freeway so we can take him out,” Booth said.
“Find me one, then. I’m driving blind here,” Ryan said, turning into a street lined with cafes and clothing stores.
“Take the next left and go straight for a couple of clicks.” Booth swiped his finger over the phone screen. “That should take us to Osaka.”
Three more riders wearing black were parked, waiting, outside a ramen stall. They revved their bikes and pulled out in a loose formation.
“Are you kidding me?” Ryan said, gesturing with his head.
Booth glanced over his shoulder. “More of them? Great, just what we need.” He removed his magazine and checked the ammo. He snapped it back in and clicked off the safety, switching it to semi-automatic.
The Subaru tore through a red light, earning the blare of horns from several motorists. The bikes easily swerved around the halted vehicles and sped up, though they hung back as if they needed permission to pursue.
“How far to the freeway?” Ryan said.
“Half a click. Move it!”
“Not with these bloody trucks in the way.”
Just ahead, two cement trucks blocked their path. Every time he tried to go around one, it moved. He went left, the truck squeezed him onto the shoulder. He went right, the truck veered, thwarting their escape.
He glanced in the rearview mirror. The riders had formed a line across the road, and each rested some sort of firearm on their handlebars.
“They’re going to shoot!” Ryan said.
“On it.”
Booth wound down the window and fired a burst, hitting a rider’s bike. He swerved and, as one, they separated. Booth fired a few more bursts, but the chances of hitting anyone were remote. It was more a tactic to keep them guessing, goad the riders into attacking. The bikes moved behind other vehicles travelling on the motorway, keeping out of range for now.
Ryan feinted right, then left, then right again. The truck drivers had left a big gap down the middle.
Would it be enough?
The back windscreen shattered. The riders had grown bored of their game and slipped back into formation. Bullets pinged off the car’s bodywork, stitching along the passenger side.
“Get us out of here!” Booth shouted.
“What do you think I’m trying to do?” Ryan said. He went left, shifted down a gear, and gunned the engine. The Subaru jumped forward and zipped through the gap. To Ryan’s annoyance, one rider managed to slip through before the gap closed.
Ryan looked around as he floored it down the motorway, weaving in and out of cars and trucks, buses and delivery vans. The biggest problem was, there were too many civilians.
They had once been trapped on a similar type of road in South Africa. A celebrity had been kidnapped by a gang of international poachers. The Nameless had snuck into their bush camp and rescued her, then sped away into the night, only for the gang to catch up and pursue them down the N4 heading towards Johannesburg and the airport. Ryan had the scar on his wrist from that incident. If it hadn’t been for the local traffic cops, he wouldn’t be alive today.
A rider zoomed out from behind a vehicle and fired a couple of rounds from a handgun. Ryan saw his chance, and grinned. He yanked the wheel hard left, hoping to squeeze the rider against a delivery van. The rider took evasive action, whizzing behind the Subaru. Ryan slammed on the brakes, catching the rider off guard. He cringed as the motorcycle smashed into the trunk, but he didn’t have time to celebrate. The other riders had caught up. They abandoned all sense and opened fire, spraying bullets into the Subaru.
Instinctively Ryan ducked and gripped the wheel tighter. Accelerating, he brought the car level with the delivery van. A glance at the driver showed him eyes wide in panic.
Suddenly Booth swung open his door and held it open with his foot, a similar maneuver to the one Ryan had performed earlier. A rider plowed into the door and flipped over. Cartwheeling through the air, the body bounced off the road and rolled once before the delivery van, unable to avoid it, squished him under its wheels.
Two down. Two to go.
Booth slammed his door shut and leaned out the window. The MP5 barked to life, catching another rider in his chest. The bike and rider dropped to the road and tumbled away. Wisely, the last remaining rider slowed down and stopped.
“About time you hit something, old man!” Ryan said.
“Who are you calling old?”
With the mysterious riders dealt with for now, Ryan maintained his furious speed. He looked down at the speedometer: 165 kph.
He weaved the car in and out of the traffic until he had a clearer road, and then lifted his speed to 185 kph. He spotted the sign for Osaka and relaxed a little. It was somewhere where they could dump the car and get lost amongst the populace. Somewhere to regroup.
He saw another sign for the airport exit and an idea came to his mind. A way of getting rid of vehicles.
Booth looked up as they took the exit and joined another motorway. “This isn’t Osaka?”
“Change of plans. We need to dump this car and melt into the crowd.”
“Agreed. But the airport?”
“Best place to hide it. Out in plain sight. You ever tried finding your car in one of those parks?”
Most people, when they want to get rid of a car, think of burning it. Setting the car on fire got rid of fingerprints and other evidence, sure, but the flames and smoke always attracted attention. Vehicle found. Whoever was searching for you knew your last location. A place to start from. Next, people thought of dumping the car in a river or lake. Problem with that was that most suitable bodies of water tended to be out of town. No. To Ryan’s mind, an airport car park was the best place to dump a car. Thousands of cars, some parked for weeks, their owners enjoying sunshine and cocktails on a tropical beach. If it wasn’t for the bullet holes, it would be a long time before the Subaru was found. By then, they could be anywhere. It was a chance they had to take.
The car park at Osaka International Airport did not disappoint. There were thousands, if not tens of thousands, of vehicles. Every color. Every make and model.
“You’re right, Connors.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. Nice shooting back there, by the way.”
“You had your doubts?”
“I haven’t seen you for a while. Nice to know you still have it.”
Ryan scanned the car park as he drove up and down the aisles. He ignored some of the empty spaces. After ten minutes of searching, he spotted what he wanted. Two dark-colored cars grouped together next to a vacant space.
“We should separate here. I’ll take buses to Koya. Less chance of CCTV,” Ryan said.
“Good. I’ll head to the safe house in Osaka. Are you sure it’s secure?”
“Positive. But do a sweep, just in case.”
“Gotcha.”
Ryan stared at his old friend for a few moments and accepted the rucksack Booth handed him. They had been lucky back on the motorway. It could've ended differently, with civilian casualties. But they had been lucky before. Their training and intuition were what really saved them.
“Just to clarify, I’m meeting the contact at midday?”
“Yes. In the old cemetery. At the Nissan shrine,” Booth said. “Burner phone is in your bag.”
Jumbo jets were taking off and landing, screaming into the sky.
“Thanks, mate.” As he turned back to Booth, he saw a flash of yellow turn down the next aisle over.
“Get down!”
“Rider?”
“Maybe.”
“Let’s go, then. Good luck, Connors. Find our friends and get some proof, okay?”
Ryan cracked open his door.
“Stay frosty. We don’t know how these people keep finding us. Get everything ready. As soon as I find Sofia and Keiko, I want us pulled out.”
“Wilco.” Booth rolled under the car.
Ryan counted to twenty before doing the same. He crawled across his aisle and rolled under another car. After observing the car park for a few more minutes, he was satisfied they hadn’t been followed.
Keeping as low as he could, Ryan headed for the buses and Koya.
He smiled to himself. Booth had never been more right in his entire life. Despite the danger they were in with the yakuza harassing them from all sides, even though Sofia had been kidnapped and Keiko was missing, he was happy to be back. Now, he missed his daughter Zanzi more than he had for many months. He had hidden from her, guilty of his pain and selfishness. He was back, working and focused. Ryan wanted to call her and tell her he was sorry. To tell her he was sorry for leaving her alone. But doing so could put her in danger. Until they knew who their enemy was, he didn’t want to risk it.
Ten
Near Portland, Oregon
Zanzi waited for Lisa at the bottom of the ladder. The metalwork was thin but was secured directly into the concrete with thick bolts. Concrete walls bent away; a red cable stapled along its length was the only splash of color. Muffled sounds of gunfire and the occasional whump of grenades rattled the tunnel, but thankfully no more explosions.
Lisa reached the bottom and clasped Zanzi’s shoulder. “This way. Quickly.”
The tunnel began to slope slightly upward, and soon they reached a T-intersection. Lisa took the right tunnel, then right again at the next one. Her pace never wavered, and she kept silent.
After twenty minutes, she took a left and stopped at a thick metal door painted glossy gray so their torchlight danced across the surface. Next to it was a keypad, above which was a biometric hand scanner.
Faint gunfire echoed down the concrete passage. Zanzi furtively shone her torch back the way they had come. Another explosion rocked the tunnel, bringing down clouds of dust.
Assault rifle shots.
Muffled shouts.
Silence.
Lisa pushed Zanzi through the door and flicked on a switch. Light bathed the small room, showing a door at the opposite end and a small table with a bank of screens. Lisa moved to the screens and turned them on. They flickered to life, and soon the images revealed what was going on.
LK3 security personnel were engaged in a firefight with dozens of commandos. The main battle was in the foyer of HQ. The commandos were covered head to toe in black and wore masks and goggles that hid their faces.
“Who are those guys?”
“No idea. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Lisa shook her head. “We grew too complacent. Too confident in our secrecy. Dammit.”
The two women watched the screens as the LK3 security fell back deeper into the building. The screens cycled through the cameras. Every shot showed more work colleagues lying dead in corridors, in offices, and a few in the break rooms.
“They must have come in another way as well,” Zanzi said. As she watched, two scientists ran downstairs, chased by commandos firing small submachine guns: Heckler and Koch MP5s. Thick black smoke poured from her lab, the site of the initial explosion.
She clamped her hand over her mouth. She hoped Dr. Kohli was okay, though logic told her that if he had been anywhere on that floor, he was dead.
“I’m going to call in an emergency extraction,” Lisa said, picking up a red landline. She waited a few seconds before speaking. “This is Piper One. Initiate Operation Theia. Code 1809246-09.”
Next, she opened a cupboard and handed Zanzi a rucksack and a green and brown camouflage jacket.
“Operation Theia?” Zanzi asked.
“It’s a protocol. If we’re attacked. It wipes every hard drive and server in the building. Deletes everything. At the same time, it alerts every operative in the field to immediately get to a safe house. And, if our security hasn’t already, calls in backup. Lastly, a private, unregistered helicopter will pick up any level seven and above agents present at HQ from a specified location. Which is where we’re heading now.” Lisa held out her hand. “Phone.”
Zanzi frowned but complied. Lisa placed it on the small desk and added her own. She clicked a switch and opened the lid on what looked like a paper shredder, but its teeth were bigger and whirled at a faster pace. Lisa didn’t hesitate and dropped the phones in. She added her wristwatch.
“Any other devices? Tablets, smart watches. Anything?”
“Yes, a tablet. But it has all my research on it. My thesis.”
“I’m sorry. It must go. We can’t risk it. I’m sure you have copies.”
“Of course.” Zanzi grabbed the tablet from her rucksack and dropped it into the shredder. She flinched as the shredder ground away at the screen and munched into the circuit boards.
Lisa returned to the cupboard and pushed on the back panel. It chimed and pinged before opening with a hiss. She handed Zanzi an M4A1 assault rifle and five spare magazines.
“I know how capable you are with these.”
Sporadic gunfire echoed in the tunnel.
“How long until they find us?”
“Ten minutes, maybe fifteen.” Lisa clicked the mouse on a highlighted camera. It switched to the tunnel outside. Five commandos were walking down a tunnel, heel to toe, at even spacings. When they reached an intersection, they would split and fire a burst down each corridor. “I designed this system like a maze,” Lisa said “Purposely made it all look the same. All the other tunnels loop on themselves. Unless you know the key, you could walk down here for hours.”
Lisa moved to the opposite door and went through the same security scans. She looked back at Zanzi. “Extraction is three clicks away in the next valley. If you see a bad guy, don’t hesitate. Shoot to kill. Understood?”
“Yes.” Zanzi nodded, but her mind was awash with questions. She now knew why her parents had insisted on her and Liam learning how to use an assortment of firearms, taught them bush craft, lock picking, how to hotwire a car, orientation, martial arts—anything and everything to survive. It was moments like these, when situations went out of control, that those with training had a better chance. She glanced again at the screens, at the sprawled bodies of scientists, computer analysts, and the dozens of other ordinary professionals. She didn’t know most of them, but she felt a pang of guilt that she was still breathing when they were not. She thought of Liam lying in the morgue, his torso riddled with bullets. And she was back.
Back to the game of Lava Ball, a silly game she and Liam had invented one day, a cross between soccer and The floor is lava. Somehow it had caught on and she, Liam, and their parents had played it every holiday, constructing massive obstacles and elaborate tunnels of furniture. Her mother had amended the rules to include points where you had to recite historical facts or geographical knowledge. Her father had added firearm assembly.
It soon became a firm family favorite, something they all looked forward to, and they’d even made a trophy for the champion. The champion could lord it over the others until the next tournament.
She sighed and gripped her carbine tighter, her knuckles whitening at the memories that played in her mind. She brushed them aside. The scents of pine and fir hung in the air, mixed with the acrid chemical smell of the fire.