Japantown (40 page)

“Right.”

I drew a long breath, collecting my thoughts. “Hara’s case is different, isn’t it? Japantown says that. Hara’s always been clever. They couldn’t quietly chip away at his empire with audits or by changing some statutes like they usually do, because Hara would fight, and win sympathy from the people for his struggle. So they needed a new way to take him down.”

Ogi was motionless against the edge of the desk, listening closely, enjoying himself.

Think
. A ministry gofer shows up and prods Hara about Teq QX, then threatens him. The performance is repeated. After the shock of
Japantown, Hara starts hunting for the culprit. There are too many possibilities and it’s driving him mad. He’s lost his family, he can’t nail down their killer, and slowly, inevitably, the tenacious rebel begins to unravel. I saw clear signs of his disintegration in Tokyo, and now I saw how it was meant to end. When Hara’s downfall was complete, stories about the once great, now broken, man would begin to circulate.

Japantown was a face-off between the entrenched powers and a rebellious upstart.

I took the logic to the next level and the answer slotted home. “The killings in San Francisco will be remembered for a long time. They’re a warning to Hara, as well as to others not to follow in his footsteps. That’s why you left your calling card.”

Ogi brought his hands together in silent applause. “That was quite a show, Mr. Brodie. Your talent’s wasted in antiques. Hara is a part of a new breed of Japanese business leader who forsakes the clannishness of tradition for more selfish Western ways. He’s outspoken, independent. He acts without considering the greater good of Japan, and Japan Inc.”

“Which is directed by the ministries.”

“Of course. Japan is a small country. The bureaucrats control the economy, the laws, the politicians, the people. All facets of life. They control who does business in Japan, and
with
Japan. They control
your
dealings. Do you deny it?”

“No. I’m very aware of their meddling.”

Ogi said, “Hara’s growing profile signaled a trend the ministries didn’t like. Should it continue, they foresaw control slipping away. That is when they called us.”

Keep him talking.
“How high does it go?”

“The top.”

“Yuda, then?”

His eyes flinty, Ogi brought his hands together once more in silent accolade.

My breathing grew ragged, my insides burning with rage. Shingo Yuda, as head of the Ministry of Finance, was the most powerful bureaucrat in the land. Famously, he had railed against what he called the “selfish, unpatriotic new business ethic.” His was the rallying cry of the Iron Triangle, the old crony system.

“There’s one other thing,” I said.

“What might that be?”

Older man . . . sixties or seventies . . . arrogant and brutal . . .

“You wrote the kanji found in Japantown, didn’t you?”

Ogi grew unnaturally quiet, and for the first time I glimpsed anger behind his haughty bearing. I’d made a grave mistake. The force of his displeasure pressed in on me.

Ogi glared. “I should have listened to Dermott from the first, when he begged me to dispose of you. A major blunder we’ll repair tonight. But you asked about the kanji. Consider my answer a parting gift. Yes, I wrote it and Casey delivered it.”

Casey delivered it.
The man in question reddened, gratified to be singled out for praise by his superior. Jesus.

I shook off my disgust. “The kanji was for Japanese eyes only, wasn’t it?”

“Correct. A reminder to any others who might consider following Hara’s footsteps once he self-destructed. Leaving our trademark in Japantown was a low-risk proposition since channels to Tokyo had been shuttered. Until you showed up. Now, if that is all, we have other items on our agenda tonight.”

This time the finality of his tone was undeniable. But I had one more question.

“What about Jenny?”

“We’ve already discussed that. She’s to die.”

“Can I see her?”

“I
could
arrange a brief reunion, but I’m not inclined to do so.”

Jenny is alive . . .

I felt relief, though it was a false relief. We had lost. Utterly. I was penned in behind enemy lines while Renna and the task force were miles away, dreaming about a tomorrow I’d never see.

“Good-bye, Mr. Brodie.”

Ogi’s fingers crab-walked up his sleeve. I heard a whizzing sound of metal over cloth, and watched in alarm as a length of wire wormed its way from the patriarch’s clothing. His fingers curled around wooden pegs at both ends of the wire and pulled it taut.

Wire . . . handles . . .

It came in a flash of understanding, the old powerbroker mourning his loss:
Three years ago, my adopted son—the man I’d handpicked to carry on after my retirement—was found dead on the streets of Karuizawa, his neck sliced clean to the spine. Garroted.

All at once, I understood how my life would end. Mumbling a silent good-bye to Jenny, I closed my eyes. Behind the dense blackness of my eyelids, I grasped the stillness. The thief stood before me, but I was anchored in a calm he couldn’t take.

I was ready.

CHAPTER 67

J
UST
then a distant explosion rocked the manor, and a fine spray of dust sifted down from the exposed beams overhead.

Ogi shot a frown at his two soldiers. “Find out what that was.”

After hurried bows, Casey and Dermott bolted from the room.

Ogi turned burning eyes on me. “You want to tell me about that?”

Explosives? Had to be Luke. McCann’s reach wouldn’t stretch that far. Neither would Renna’s. Noda’s background was limited to guns, knives, and hand-to-hand. That raised a troubling thought I had no time to consider but found extremely disturbing: if Luke willingly rigged something as destructive as a bomb, he wasn’t the traitor.

“It’s beyond me,” I said.

Ogi scowled. “No, it isn’t. And you’re going to tell me.”

Taking a step forward, Ogi raised the garrote. I pressed myself back in my chair, putting maybe four more inches of distance between us, for all the good it would do me.

Hurried footfalls approached and the next instant a young recruit in Soga black, his hood pushed up, dashed into the room, halted abruptly, and bowed deeply before speaking in a breathless but controlled voice. “Ogi-sensei, they destroyed the boats.”

“Both of them?”

“Yes, sir.” The messenger bowed and retreated. For some reason his superior did not want to broadcast the news via their headsets.

Smart,
I thought.
Retreat by sea had just been eliminated.

Ogi glared at me. “Bringing you here was a costly indulgence.”

My time was up.

Another pair of footsteps echoed in the corridor, then a second soldier appeared in the doorway. “Ogi-sensei, Naito-sensei wishes to see you immediately.”

Sensei
. Another commander was present in the field. Soga was out in full force.

“What is it?” Ogi asked.

The fighter glanced my way. “He requests a word in private, Sensei.”

Ogi frowned. “I’ll contact him over the wire.”

The messenger shook his head. “Naito-sensei insists his communiqué cannot go out over the public line.”

“All right. Get Casey and Dermott back here. They are to guard Brodie but leave him for me.”

Turning his back on us, the messenger relayed the orders softly, cupping his hand around a microphone in his ear to hear the response. “They’re on their way.”

“My friends are here,” I said.

“We prepared for that possibility. But I am curious. How many are there?”

I held my tongue.

Irritated, Ogi cast me a sharp look. “No matter. They will not stop us. If they get too close they will die. This is what Soga does. What our ancestors have done for three centuries. We never lose.”

“You lost in the village.”

“Those were first-year trainees. Infants by our standards. I offered you up as a live exercise. Your art dealer background fooled me, but I won’t make that mistake again. Tonight, you will die. If our Long Island base has been compromised beyond repair, so be it. It’s inconvenient but easily rectified with relocation. It wouldn’t be the first time. Already, Gilbert Tweed has been purged. Our men are gone, their files shredded.”

Raising a hand to his earpiece, the young messenger stirred restlessly. “Naito-sensei is waiting. What shall I tell him?”

Ogi cast a look my way. “You’re not going anywhere and Casey will be back momentarily.” To the messenger he said, “Take me to him.”

The Soga leader showed me his back, and once more I heard the sound of metal rubbing cloth and the wire snaked up his sleeve.

As soon as I was alone, I sliced through the remaining fibers of my bindings. With one shake of my hands the rope fell away. My heart thumped wildly. This was my one chance. I needed to be gone. If they caught up with me, I’d be executed in an instant.

As I dashed for the door, I caught the sound of footsteps approaching fast.
Too fast.
I changed course, flung open the window, then dove into the chair well under Ogi’s desk.

From the hall, Dermott said, “Okay, Brodie, it’s payback time.”

“The old man wants him,” Casey said.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t . . . he’s not here.”

Casey drew up short. “How did he . . . ? Doesn’t matter. He’s only postponed his death.”

“
Now
he’s mine,” Dermott said.

“Only if you find him first. Escape triggers a priority clear. He’ll be shot on sight.”

“I’ll do more than that when I catch the bastard,” Dermott said, slipping out the window as I heard Casey broadcast my getaway over their wireless system.

CHAPTER 68

O
NCE
alone, I leapt from my hiding place and searched Ogi’s desk in haste, Casey’s words echoing in my ears:
He’s only postponed his death.

With the issuance of a
priority clear
, at least a dozen armed Soga agents on the grounds had standing orders to shoot me on sight.

I fumbled for the drawer handles, my breathing heavy and erratic. In the bottom pullout, I found a baby Glock and a .22-caliber Beretta with a spare clip and silencer. Neither weapon betrayed the telltale coating of poison that had nearly finished me in Soga.

I slipped the Beretta into my waistband and pocketed the silencer and extra clip. The Glock stayed. Firing an unsilenced piece would draw return fire from any Soga personnel in the vicinity and get me killed. Only a silent retreat gave me a chance at survival. A slight one. I had no delusions about how lucky we’d been to escape the village.

However, abandoning a working weapon bordered on suicidal, so I wedged the pointed end of a brass letter opener into the workings of the Glock, snapped off the firing pin, then etched a faint line along either side of the barrel with the severed pin to mark the defanged gun. An old South Central trick.
Disable when you’re able.

Freshly armed, I exited the back of the manor, heading out the opposite way Ogi and troops had gone. With Soga in fighting mode, the estate lights had been extinguished. After I’d put a good fifty yards between the house and myself, I dodged behind a large pine tree and examined the Beretta. I released the clip. Eight rounds. Eight more in the spare. The chamber was empty. Sixteen shots. I replaced the clip,
attached the silencer, jacked a round into the barrel, and stuck the gun back in my waistband.

Then I paused to listen. I heard nothing. No footsteps shuffling through the undergrowth. No one brushing aside branches and shrubbery. No shouts from the house at my escape. But then again, this was Soga. It wouldn’t be that easy. A lucky break had given me another chance, and I wouldn’t waste it. Caution was key.

My friends are here,
I’d said.

We prepared for that possibility.

In the far distance, near the gate, I heard gunshots. Then screams. Then nothing.

Damn. The screams confirmed Ogi’s boast. He was prepared. This might be Long Island but the setup was pure Soga: isolated location, good cover, hard to penetrate. The home advantage was overwhelming.

The screams announced that the first preliminary push by McCann and company had been repelled and there were casualties on our side.

Soga wouldn’t scream.

I could only hope McCann and Renna had brought enough manpower. But in the haste with which they must have been forced to assemble tonight’s team after I’d gone missing, I thought it unlikely. McCann would have only been able to cobble together a handful of city cops and Long Island deputies. I didn’t see or hear anything suggesting a retreat on Soga’s part, which only confirmed that McCann’s team was probably bantamweight and Soga had made a sizable dent in it. Once our side took casualties, we would retreat and call for serious backup. But that would take time. Time I couldn’t spare. Not if I wanted to see Jenny again.

Any way I looked at it, I was on my own. I was half a mile from the outer perimeter, separated by a forest infested with Soga’s troops. But that was only the beginning of my worries. Jenny was now expendable. With the police at the gate, she went from leverage to liability. From hostage to potential witness. When Soga retreated, they wouldn’t take her along. They would kill her.

I had to hurry.

I headed deeper into the woods. The minty scent of pine filled my lungs. Silver shafts of moonlight filtered through the canopy. If I were
Soga, I’d guard the front gate long enough to allow Ogi and other senior officers to retreat and put a lot of distance between themselves and the compound. I’d strike, fade back into the foliage, and wait. Guerilla tactics. With the boats demolished, a pullback became more complex. I’d have the gate detail linger longer to hold off the next push, discouraging a quick advance. Maybe fire warning shots and wound a few cops to temper eagerness. But as soon as the main contingent was safely away, I’d want the guards to vanish as well.