Japantown (43 page)

“Must be something.”

“Well, there isn’t. We’ve done all we can. They’re on their own.”

CHAPTER 74

I
TURNED
my head carefully and glanced behind me into the well-oiled barrel of a baby Glock.

“Casey.”

His look was cold and hard. “First you, then I scale the tree and put a bullet in the girl. I want you to
know
that before you die.”

So close. So damn close. If only Jenny hadn’t given away her location, at least she would have survived.

“Drop the piece, and turn around slowly,” he said.

“How’d you find me?”

He wore no black, no belt. Only night-vision goggles. Unlike Dermott, Casey hadn’t had time to gather his own gear, so he’d grabbed goggles and the closest weapon at hand.

“Once we circled the area and couldn’t pick up your trail, we checked along the road then doubled back to the mansion before heading to the cottage. Knew you’d make your way there eventually. We arrived too late, but you left a clear trail. Dermott and I followed but split up a minute ago when your direction became unclear. If Dermott hadn’t been so eager to bag you himself, you’d be lying in his place. But no matter. Look at me, Mr. Brodie. When I kill you, I want to see the light die in your eyes.”

I turned slowly, studying his gun, then said, “And I, yours.”

Before he could say another word, I whirled around and planted the barrel of my Beretta in the center of his forehead, the steel kissing his brow as his mother had probably done years ago in more innocent days.

“Too late,” he said, and pulled the trigger.

There was a click but no discharge. Casey’s instincts took over. Even as he fired lightning glances, first at the malfunctioning Glock and then upward to the muzzle pressed to his forehead, he slammed my gun arm aside, going for the weapon. But knowing his Glock had been disabled, and that my Beretta was equally useless, I was a beat ahead of him. He never saw my blow coming. I rammed the heel of my left palm into his nose and felt cartilage collapse.

Casey stumbled back. Normally, my strike would have triggered an immediate defensive response from a fighter of his caliber and, pain or not, years of high-level training would have kicked in. But, with the gun at his head, the misfiring of his piece, and a thrust that made porridge of his nose—I’d opened up a split second’s advantage.

Which my years of training wasted no time in exploiting.

While striking him with my left hand, I’d cocked my hips for a follow-through. Now, as Casey staggered back, I unwound them, spinning around and unleashing a roundhouse kick. Providing unbeatable power, a roundhouse leveraged enough movement to stop someone of Casey’s superior abilities. That was its appeal. Time was the major drawback. Swinging the leg around for the full effect took an extra second, so the blow was easy to deflect or avoid, which was why I needed Casey off-balance and distracted.

By the time he recovered, I was well into the arc of the kick and less than twelve inches from my target. I caught him in the throat and felt more cartilage cave.

Casey flopped over on his back and began clawing at his neck. His face turned red. Thrashing around among the ferns and deadfall, his body whipped itself into a frenzy. Wheezing, he tried to draw oxygen, but it was hopeless. I’d crushed the larynx and Casey was choking on his own flesh. Snorting sounds erupted from his sinus passages. He dug his nails into his throat. Then his body twisted, shuddered, and grew still, as tangled a mess in death as it had been in life.

Countless hours of sparring had guided me safely through the dual encounters. Instinctively. Automatically. But in the deep forest silence that followed, with my daughter a mute witness overhead, I cringed.
I’d killed two more men.
Once again I felt the urge to crawl into a corner,
but with Jenny still on Soga soil, I had to forge on. Now was not the time for self-recrimination.

Listlessly, I retrieved Casey’s Glock, stared at the long scratch along the barrel, then tossed the neutered piece into the brush.

Distant gunfire snapped me from my lethargy.

The task force’s second assault had begun. I signaled to Jenny to stay put, then headed toward the noise.

CHAPTER 75

B
Y
the time I reached the front of the estate, the assault was in full swing. Canisters of tear gas rocketed over the wall, trailing looping arches of smoke. Wisps of gas snaked through the trees. The Soga compound had taken on the look of a war zone.

A smile crawled across my face. The lively buzz of voices on the other side of the wall told me that reinforcements in numbers too large to oppose had arrived. Unless Soga had some new tricks, only the wrought-iron gate separated us from rescue.

I fanned left, well clear of the target area, then shimmied up a tree until I had a clear view of the activities on the other side. There had to be two hundred men outside the wall. In the moonlight, the crowd bristled with gas masks, riot shields, and full-body armor. Some were NYPD, others were SWAT and sheriff’s department and maybe state troopers. Many of them stood well back from a front line of squad cars, which had been ranged in a loose semicircle around the gate. At the rear, more shields and masks were being handed out from police vans.

I heard a grinding noise at the base of the wall, and the next moment an armored vehicle rolled into view from behind the wall, made a sharp left, and plowed through the stout wrought-iron gate like it was a hedgerow. Police in helmets, full-body shields, and gas masks rushed in behind the vehicle. They drew fire from a treetop on the right and three men went down, writhing in pain. Two NYPD sharpshooters nestled in the trees outside the gate picked off the Soga sniper from the flash of his weapon and a body plunged earthward. Return fire from a new assailant dropped both police marksmen with consummate skill, after which a
third police rifleman tagged the second Soga man with one well-placed round. Then the treetop engagements ceased.

One by one, the patrol cars peeled away and formed a caravan behind the troop of officers and armored vehicle. In under a minute, the police inserted ten cars, followed by a second squad of cops. From this point onward, McCann’s forces could greet anything that moved with a shower of bullets at close range. Soga’s retreat would be silent and swift now. I didn’t see them, but I knew they were pulling back. No doubt Ogi and the others had vacated the property long ago.

McCann’s task force had opted for a show of strength at the main gate rather than attempting to penetrate the grounds from several points along the perimeter and diluting their numbers, and the strategy seemed to be paying off. They encountered no more sniper fire. The tear gas ceased, and the police contingent headed deeper into the heart of the Soga domain, crawling along the narrow road toward the main house.

Renna pressed through with the second wave, and McCann followed. I couldn’t see Noda and Luke, but George and DeMonde, as civilian observers, stood beyond the wall, at the farthest perimeter. While the main column marched slowly toward the house, two auxiliary groups swept through the trees on either side of the road. The maneuver was more military action than cop tactic, but it had to be done, and they handled it as best they could.

Renna joined the group covering the right flank. McCann headed out with the one moving left, away from my position. Time to collect Jenny. To avoid a bullet in the head, I peeled off the hood and the top of my Soga duds, tying the shirt around my waist and shoving the hood in my pocket, then quietly lowered myself from the tree.

Renna’s squad had penetrated twenty yards into the trees when the lieutenant separated from the pack and moved deeper into the woods. I could see him intermittently. I adjusted the focus of my goggles. Renna stiffened and crouched. I scanned the area in front of him and saw a shadow flit across my field of vision from right to left, unaware of Renna’s presence.

Stay away!
I wanted to shout, but couldn’t utter a word without giving away Renna’s approach.

Spotting his stalker, the Soga figure paused a beat then turned away at a sharp angle.

Renna charged, firing on the run, zigzagging left, then right. Standard police training.
A predictable pattern.
Renna squeezed off two shots. The first went wide, but the second round hit the figure in the shoulder and spun him around, sending his drawn gun flying from his grasp. Renna fired again, but the figure changed course and dissolved into the trees. A moment later he reemerged on Renna’s right flank, his hand snaking up from his belt with a blade.

I yelled too late.

The knife sailed across the five yards between them and glanced off the edge of Renna’s protective vest, pricking him in the arm before falling away. The assailant was running again. To steady his aim, Renna dropped to one knee, his barrel swinging left as he tracked the rapidly retreating figure. I watched Frank’s finger close on the trigger. He fired a single shot, high, and the Soga soldier spun and collapsed.

“Got you, you bastard,” Renna said.

He stood, took three steps toward his prey, and keeled over. Hauling himself up again, Renna fought hard for two more paces, then tumbled sideways. He tried to rise a third time, and when he couldn’t bellowed in frustration.

Adrenaline pumping, I sprinted up to my stricken friend. “Stay down.”

Renna turned unfocused eyes in my direction. “Brodie? That you?”

“Yeah. Don’t move.” I shouted toward the gate: “Man down. Need a medic over here!”

Fighting against an invisible force he couldn’t understand, Renna dragged his massive torso into a sitting position. “Damn if I’m going to let these bastards tag me now.”

“They won’t,” I said, gently easing him back down.

“The scumsucker get up?” Renna asked.

“No, you nailed him. Now lie still.”

“It’s just a scratch.”

“No, it’s poison,” I said. “Very potent poison.” I ripped open his vest and shirt. Renna’s eyes rolled up into his head.

“Medic!” I yelled again.

This time I heard footsteps and a shout. “Where?” a voice called.

“Over here. In the trees to your right.”

Renna groaned. “Dizzy. Can’t hear . . .”

I exposed the cut, a two-inch gash along his biceps. The knife had sliced sideways across the muscle and drawn blood. The wound was shallow but the poison had direct access to the bloodstream.

Squeezing the area around the puncture, I bent over and sucked out the flowing red liquid from skin damp with sweat, then spat out the blood. It had a muddy taste. The end of my tongue went numb.

Renna was moaning loudly now. I knew I had to hurry. Drawing out as much fluid as I could, I worked the middle, then each end of the cut.

The paramedic arrived and knelt down, flipping open his kit.

“Snakebite?”

“Man bite,” I said. “Poison from the knife.”

He reached for the weapon.

“Check the handle before you touch it,” I said. “Is there an oily substance on it?”

He squinted and inhaled. “There’s oil on the blade. Flowery smell I don’t recognize. Antidote?”

“I don’t know.”

Renna mumbled something. I leaned closer, cocking my head to hear better.

“. . . sells cars . . . owns thirty-one dealerships . . . got the uncle’s lots . . .”

My breath caught in my throat. Renna had found the person responsible for Mieko’s murder.

“Tell me who, Frank. Just the name.”

Lips parting, he mumbled something unintelligible and slipped under. Damn. I went back to cleansing the wound. My thoughts raced. Renna had identified the owner of the shell companies used to buy the dealerships. The information must have come through in a late-night call after we’d parted.

“We’re losing him,” the medic said.

“Can you inject something? A stimulant?”

“Hard to do without knowing what we’re dealing with. An adverse reaction could kill him later.”

“Do it. The poison’s killing him
now
.”

“Are you his superior officer?”

“No.”

Yellow bile spilled from Renna’s mouth. Glancing back over his shoulder, the medic started to rise. “Need to find his superior.”

I put a hand on the medic’s shoulder and forced him back down. “Give him something now.”

“Can’t without the proper authority. His family could sue—”

“I’m a friend of the family. They won’t sue.”

“I don’t know, buddy.”

“Do it! Now! Otherwise he’s dead.”

Yanking a syringe from his kit, the medic plunged the needle into Renna’s arm.

Renna’s eyes jolted open. “Brodie. It
is
you. Thought I was dreaming.”

“Who is it, Frank? Give me a name.”

His lips moved, but what came out was gibberish and he slipped under again.

Frowning, the paramedic slapped Renna’s face. Left cheek, right cheek. No response. The frown deepened. “He’s gone into shock.”

Bending over Renna once more, I repeated the cleansing routine with renewed energy until I could no longer milk any blood from the wound. When a crew arrived, I stepped away from my friend as they lifted him gently onto a stretcher. I trotted behind the procession as they raced Frank to an ambulance.

Just before they shut him in, I pressed the senior medical officer for a prognosis and he gave me the kind of sympathetic look you don’t want to see.

CHAPTER 76

W
E’D
won the battle, but lost the war.

By my count, Casey, Dermott, and seven Soga soldiers were either dead or in custody, but Ogi had slipped through the police net, as had the rest of his force. Soga would regroup and strike again at their leisure. It was unlikely I or anyone else could stop them next time. It was unlikely we’d even
see
them next time.

Tell me their weakness,
the bureaucrat had said to the informant.

I know of only one. They operate in teams of four. Only one or two people at the top know the whole operation. If you kill the leaders, it would be like killing the queen bee. The workers would be unable to do anything but buzz around aimlessly.