Travis Justice (4 page)

“Kai knows I'm trying to retrieve the blade. And he wants to do a swap. The blade for . . .” Her voice broke and she couldn't even get her son's name out.

This time, Ernie's usual adept movements were so clumsy his cup went sideways in his saucer and tipped over. He caught it but not before some of the tea spilled. He grabbed up a towel and dried the splash, taking several deep breaths. When the counter was clean, he looked at her with those incandescent quicksilver eyes, his dislike crystal clear. “The unregenerate piece of pond scum.”

Hana stared over his head at the sparkling stainless-steel vent hood, but she was seeing in her memories something far less attractive. After Kai took her son, she'd demanded to see Takeo and Kai had acceded, but only when she agreed to be hooded and transported by his own men.

Her hood wasn't removed until she was inside his impregnable compound, a warren of tunnels and caves attached to, she was pretty sure, some type of sprawling mansion over the Edwards Aquifer. The water table was porous with limestone and easy to excavate. The elaborate tunnel system El Chapo had used to escape his Mexican prison had been his model. Kai was nothing if not thorough; the authorities would never catch him. From birth, he'd been tutored in two of the most arcane but disciplined credos on earth: Japanese perfection by practice in everything, and Yakuza tactics.

That night Kai had baited her, rejecting her pitiful offer of ten thousand dollars in ransom, all the money she had. He'd told her he knew she was after the Nakatomi katana to give to her grandfather before he died. He wanted it as soon as the old man passed. Just carrying the sword at his side would give him status among the three competing Asian gangs in central Texas. Even the Chinese with their roots in the Triad lusted for Masamune blades....

With little choice, Hana had agreed to the devil's bargain. Then he'd allowed his men to abuse her just short of rape. They were all products of the Yakuza, right down to their tattoos, but had also taken on the characteristics of the worst Latino gangs in their new American home.

Only when she was able to swallow her rage and hatred and pretend submission, did he allow her to see her son for a brief moment. Long enough to hug him and dry his tears and promise she'd come back for him as soon as she could.

Ernie hauled her back to the present. “Let it go. Quiet your mind. Hatred is not your friend.”

Hana gulped down the last of her tea, savagely glad of her scalded lips and throat. The pain brought her back from her vision of using her family blade for its most exquisite purpose: to kill Nakatomi enemies. Kai prided himself falsely on his samurai heritage as a Japanese; she knew his lineage was full of fishermen, not samurai. Her own lineage could be traced to a major samurai clan all the way back to the 1200s. She'd often wondered if that was why he'd chosen her as his Pygmalion-like teen mistress so many years ago. How charming he'd been . . . at first.

Thankfully, Ernie interrupted her painful memories.

“You can't give him the sword, Hana. No matter what. He's already got an edge over the other gangs, if you'll pardon the expression, and the symbolism of that blade will give him even more authority.”

Hana nodded. “I'm aware of all that, but if it's my only option to get Takeo back, I'll take it. His compound is virtually impregnable. From what I saw of it, which wasn't much.” She shook her head.

“I know. I've been there.”

“You have?” Hana was surprised, for Kai had only finished the compound in the last couple of years. “Hooded and escorted?”

“Yeah. Kai contacted me, asking me to train his men in karate and swordsmanship. I declined. I have no illusions about who he really is and I was still livid with him for . . . leading you into a life of crime, then deserting you when you got caught. And he was such a promising student.... You didn't let your talent spoil your character. He did.”

Hana was touched. Few values got between Ernie and his bank account, but her heart leaped in her chest as she contemplated his news. “Do you think you can get into the estate to check on Takeo?”

“Possibly. But getting him out would be very difficult. You know how many guards Kai keeps around.”

Her tea finished, Hana propped her chin on her hands, glum again.

Ernie didn't mince words. “Hana, if you keep going after the sword and get caught.... Kai will have full control of Takeo then.”

Hana sighed heavily. “I've already made plans to disappear as soon as I have my son.”

“And you'll raise an impressionable five-year-old alone, as a fugitive? No family, little money?”

Hana slammed her hand down on the quartz counter, her palm tingling. “What the hell else can I do?”

* * *

Later that evening, in exactly the same manner, Zach slammed his hand down on the counter before his father in the family kitchen. “Dammit, I can't perform my job if you don't listen to me.”

“You're not official yet.” John Travis finished making his huge sandwich, set it on a plate and cut it in half, offering a piece to his son. “And we have no idea yet if it's a sole slaying or if there will be a pattern and a broader message.”

“And you want to be the next message?”

“I can't hole up and still do my job. It's a public position and I won't set an example of fear. Surely you know me better than that.”

Zach looked down at his sandwich. He usually loved his dad's sandwich concoctions, but this time it was unappetizing. He shoved it away and propped his elbows on the counter, swiveling his bar stool back and forth because he couldn't be still. “How much longer before they make a decision?”

“I'm told another few days. A rush decision. There was some talk about nepotism and conflict of interest in having you guard me, but you're clearly the most qualified candidate on paper and that should carry enough weight to get you hired. And since it's a brand-new position contingent on budgeting, a direct appointment from the governor's office rather than Ranger management, they're being more lenient in their findings.” John took a huge bite of sandwich, chewing with a relish his son eyed sourly.

“Dad, how can you eat at a time like this?”

“Starving won't give me any elucidation or insight into forensics.” John took another big bite.

However, when his official encrypted cell phone rang, John gulped down his food and answered immediately. “Yes, do you have the results?” He listened, then tapped up a secure e-mail account on the iPad sitting next to him on the counter. “Thanks, I have it.” He used his forefinger to page through what appeared to Zach to be a criminal file.

He was about to leave the kitchen when he glimpsed, upside down, a photo: a long fall of dark hair. He skirted the counter and looked down at the iPad. He saw an arrest record attached to a top sheet with a photo and the usual stats of height, weight, and gender. Hana Nakatomi was the name at the top. His father shoved the iPad in front of him,
I told you so
on his face, if not his lips.

Zach wasn't surprised he'd rushed the hair sample through the lab, but his heart sank as he paged through the girl's arrest record. She'd been a mule, arrested for shoplifting while in her teens, and was a known gang member of the worst Asian Yakuza offshoot that had set up shop in central Texas in the last few years, the self-named Edo Shihans. Roughly translated: respected old Japanese experts.

Zach read on, relieved to see that at least she was twenty-three now and he didn't see any charges in the last few years . . . but what did that prove?

His father's eyes were a dark, steady blue as he appraised his son's expression. “Why are you so drawn to this girl? She's totally inappropriate for you, quite aside from the fact that she may be a murderer as well as a drug pusher and shoplifter.”

Zach snapped off the iPad. “I don't deny I was attracted to her briefly for the obvious reasons. But now my only interest is in seeing her detained and questioned.”

John nodded. “Good.” But he still watched his son very closely.

Zach turned away and walked toward the kitchen door, glad his father couldn't see his stomach was tied in knots. “I'm going to the gym to spar in the ring. Text me if you get the go-ahead from HR and I'll show up at the office first thing in the morning to sign everything.”

* * *

Inside Ernie's kitchen, Ernie and Hana crouched over his laptop, reviewing all the news info they could Google about the Buckhorn Estate double murders. When they were done, they both plopped down into Ernie's plush armchairs in the attached, spacious living room.

Ernie fired up his pipe. Hana inhaled tentatively, relieved when she smelled only the sweet scent of expensive tobacco. Above all, she had to stay clearheaded. Besides, she didn't really like illegal drugs, not even marijuana or prescription-strength painkillers. She'd tried them all while dating Kai, but they only dulled her passions and made them more unmanageable when she came back from the high.

Finally Ernie tapped out his pipe into a crystal ashtray. “You think Kai did it?”

“I don't know.”

Ernie frowned. “Surely Kai's too smart for that. He has to know offing someone at that level in the Texas Rangers will bring enormous retribution down on him.”

“Yes, but if he implicates one of the other gangs in the process, he wipes out a major competitor and disrupts the state-level leadership of the various task forces trying to stop the Asian gangs from further infiltration. To tie up their resources at the least, because I'm pretty sure he's expecting a massive shipment. It may be a distraction tactic and this will be the only murder.”

“Wouldn't he start with the DEA instead of the Rangers?”

“They may be next on his agenda. If I know him, his true goal is chaos, especially if he keeps moving up the chain of command.” Hana took a deep breath. “And plants some of the blame on me. After I get the sword I'm expendable.”

Ernie put his pipe down, the words obviously distasteful in his mouth. “Hana, it makes me sick to my stomach to say this, but you need to go to the authorities. If you help them intercept this shipment, they'll know you're on the right side of the law and you'll be safe. Plus, if another murder occurs, obviously you'd be in their custody.”

Hana looked away. “And Jiji? Takeo? You know they'll probably throw me in jail until they figure out whether my intel is any good. I can't afford any delay, Ernie. If you saw my grandfather . . .”

Ernie stood. “As usual, you refuse to be sensible. One thing at a time. Let's pull up some plans on this warehouse.”

T
wo days later, after his swearing-in to his newly created position of Chief of Personal Security, Texas Department of Public Safety Executive Offices, Austin, Texas, Zach was trying to get used to the typical Ranger uniform-not-uniform. Like his dad, he wore a crisp white shirt, jeans, tie, and Stetson as he stood at attention at the closed door in the governor's mansion. Zach was in the process of vetting applicants to the newly created department he headed, but for now he was it. Where his father went, he went. Almost all of John's meetings these days were with other high-level officials, so Zach was in protective mode for everyone in the room.

The governor's office had been renovated a number of years back with extensive security measures installed. However, he still warily eyed the hallway outside the ornate salon that was used mostly as a conference room. He appraised every entrance and exit for the umpteenth time before he relaxed slightly. More security personnel patrolled the grounds and exterior, so they should be fine.

The low rumble of male voices behind the door occasionally grew heated. He knew they were discussing the most recent developments in the Asian gang incursion into Austin. The operational heads of the central Texas DEA, the FBI, and the Austin Chief of Police were all at this meeting. They were trying to create their own joint-response team with shared intel and security protocols in case the assassins planned to strike again, but in Zach's experience, these well-intentioned alliances seldom worked: Too many different priorities, budgets, and constituents, not to mention big egos all around.

He was still considering that point when a familiar figure entered the hallway outside the meeting room. Ross Sinclair was accompanied by a tall, regal woman of indeterminate age whom Zach had never seen before. However, Ross had an easy manner with her, and she wore a visitor's badge, so he knew she'd been vetted by gate security.

“Hey, Zach,” Ross said. “We have some new data I felt should be shared immediately, as it's extremely timely. Do you know how much longer they'll be?”

Zach glanced at his watch. “The meeting was scheduled for an hour, but they've obviously run over.”

Ross nodded. “Zach, this is Abigail Doyle, the forensics expert I mentioned to you. Abby, meet Zachary Travis, former Army Ranger, the new head of personal security for the executive officers of the DPS and Texas Rangers.”

After Zach and Abigail shook hands, Ross added, “Abby has new information about Asian gang activities. She thinks part of the escalation is competition over control of the new designer drug that just hit the streets.”

Abby hoisted her laptop bag over her shoulder as if it weighed heavily on her, in more ways than one.

“I know we're not scheduled to be in the meeting,” Ross said, “but I think everyone will want to see this evidence for themselves as it may impact their tactical response. As you know, your dad asked me to take a temporary assignment managing the various response teams until we catch these murderers. I brought Abigail in because she's the best at putting together complex arrays of evidence.”

Zach smiled slightly. “Yeah, he told me last night. How does Emm feel about you being away so long?”

A twinkle turned Ross's blue eyes even brighter. “A few weeks away is OK while she works on the new building in Amarillo. After that . . . well, I'd rather face the murderers single-handed than explain to her why I can't come home when scheduled.”

Zach nodded, smiling, while Ms. Doyle laughed as if she too knew Emm.

Zach responded, “I'll see if I can get their attention,” and knocked lightly on the heavy door. After a muffled “come in,” he walked inside. He was uncharacteristically nervous as, for the first time, he faced the heads of the major law-enforcement agencies investigating Asian gang activity in central Texas.

As everyone looked curiously between him and his father, obviously knowing his background, Zach murmured in his dad's ear. John Travis glanced inquiringly at his own boss, Chief Jeremy Porter. Nodding, Porter made a beckoning move with his hand.

Zach ushered in Ross and Abigail, turning to walk out again, but Chief Porter called him back. “Stay for this, please, Zachary, as it may impact our protection detail. John was going to brief you after the meeting but this will save us all time.” The ghost of a smile crossed his tanned, lined face when Zach hesitated as if he didn't want to desert his post. “Relax. If we're not safe at the governor's mansion, where
would
we be safe?”

Nowhere
, Zach wanted to retort, but of course he didn't. He sat as indicated, but he still felt confined in the jeans and Stetson, especially laden with weapons as he was. He'd gotten one stipulation through all the bureaucracy: He was allowed to pick his own arms. After they were approved by the DPS he could even carry them at his discretion, government issue or not.

His discretion was simple: 24/7 vigilance. Sleeping with his weapons near to hand. No more open windows, and at night his bedroom door stayed wide so he could hear the slightest sound. Even the motion detectors inside their house were activated now at night. And he seldom sat down during his duty hours.

He half listened to the introductions going around the table, adjusting his bristling arsenal by shifting his body weight. Standard-issue Glock in his visible hip holster, six-shot featherweight revolver strapped to his calf beneath his jeans, fifteen-round custom Browning. 45 in the hidden holster under his armpit. His last backup was a Silver Trident sheath knife with a double-serrated edge strapped in the small of his back. It weighed over a pound and because of its supreme balance, it was perfect for throwing, which was why he stored it where he could grab it easily.

As Ross recapped the forensics conclusions based on the remains of the victims, facts he'd already heard, Zach still couldn't get comfortable. Even in one of the most secure buildings in the state, he was on edge. But as Abby took center stage, he began to listen.

After Abigail hooked her laptop to the room's projector system, she began flashing PowerPoint slides. “These are some of the samples of this new designer drug we've sourced back to China. It's only been on the streets in Austin for a couple of months. It started in Europe and has since moved to the East Coast and is now spreading through the South and Midwest.”

Zach eyed the bright, appealing packaging, tilting his head to read the label:
Blue Moon incense
. Or
Zinger tea
, and so on. All innocuous home products.

“I'm sure I don't need to tell this audience how hard these drugs are to interdict,” Abby said. “The distribution is different from any of the usual illegal pipelines: mom-and-pop stores, raves, independent gas stations. Sometimes the proprietors don't even know what they're selling. And increasingly, people buy them on the Deep Web, often using digital currency like Bitcoin that makes the transactions difficult to track.”

The next images were even more troubling. She flashed through them quickly with obvious distaste: people of every shape and size, but mostly young, in various states of illness, hooked to IVs. Some looked as if they were in comas and more than a few looked as if they'd overdosed.

“These designer drugs hit the streets before we even know what's in them,” she continued. “All too often they mimic the highs of heroin, or cocaine, or methamphetamine. Equally addictive; in a few cases, even more so. They obviously have no quality controls so one packet can be much stronger than the next on the same rack. Users are taking enormous risks without realizing it. As soon as the labs identify the chemicals used to make these drugs, and we get the legislation through to ban them, they reformulate and add plant products that are used for such things as tea and incense and release them with new packaging under innocuous new names.”

DEA chief Dexter Rhodes was nodding impatiently. “We know all of that. We tried banning them several years back when they had the all-encompassing label
bath salts
, only to have them reformulate, exactly as you said . . . But what does this have to do with the murders of our people?”

Abigail switched to a different picture: A muscular man of medium height. A chill crept up Zach's spine. He'd seen a similar apparition before, though the black nylon had molded a much different form. He was looking at a male version of Hana, the Japanese girl. Like her, this man was garbed head to toe in black. He wore a samurai sword strapped to his back, and another shorter one in a belt sheath. His hood looked very similar to the one the girl had worn the night he'd fought with her. The photo had a grainy nature, as if it had been taken from a distance, but the man was still imposing in his menace.

“We believe this is the leader of the Edo Shihans gang, which as I'm sure you all know, seems to be winning the wars with its rivals. We know him only as Kai. We think he grew up around Okinawa, the son of a prominent Yakuza boss. He tried to take over his father's gang and was disgraced and banned. That's when he came to the U.S. He keeps a very low profile, obviously aware the DEA is trying to track him.”

Abby switched screen shots yet again, flicking through various major U.S. ports: Los Angeles, Miami, New York, Houston. She shared her detailed research as she switched slides. “We think Kai had an ally in his father's gang who helped him finalize connections in China with the source of this new drug known as Blue Moon. He outbid his rivals for a massive shipment. He's spent the last few years setting up his trade routes and distribution channels, though he was a minor player in the hard stuff like heroin. However, rumor on the street is this new product is much stronger and more addictive than previously, so it's priced higher.”

She switched screen shots again, showing prostitutes plying various streets. “Until recently he stuck to nonviolent ventures like identity theft and prostitution. However, his rivalry with the Green Gang, the Chinese offshoot of a prominent Shanghai-based former Triad group, has heated up recently. They pride themselves on their roots as Friends of the Way of Tranquility and Purity.” Abby continued over Dexter's scoffing sound, “In the last week, we've found the remains of two Green Gang members, or I should say former members.” Taking a deep breath as if she had to brace herself, Abby flipped to a new slide.

Even the most hardened cops among them had to look away. Zach's stomach roiled as he stared. Good God, he'd known their foe must be ruthless and brutal . . . but this. This was a message.

The corpses were hardly recognizable as human, as they'd been butchered into pieces, like cattle. Zach had seen more than his share of dead bodies, mostly blown to bits by IEDs or machine-gun fire. These pictures, disgusting as they were, had an almost clinical air. The shots had obviously been taken well after exsanguination. The cuts on the torso where arms and legs had been attached were smooth diagonals, as if the blade that severed them had been very sharp and wielded with both power and experience, cutting through in one stroke. Zach recalled the feel and touch of that female ninja-like figure. Surely she couldn't be involved in this? Was she even strong enough to do something like this in one stroke? His lunch bubbled in his throat and he had to force himself to concentrate on the presentation.

Abby's voice was soft. “The bodies were scattered. The coroner had a difficult time . . . reassembling, but when he finished we ID'd them as Green Gang from their tattoos. No next of kin came forward so their remains were cremated. The examiners had never seen anything like this, but I had once, in Japan, where I was called upon to investigate the Yakuza. These cuts are taught to those who profess to follow the way of the samurai. Each cut even has its own name, such as
Do
for the abdomen cut and
Kiriachi
for the lateral thorax cut.”

Zach asked, “Are you saying they use humans as practice dummies?”

Abby tilted her head slightly and eyed him with steady gray eyes so acute and assessing they might have looked through him to the wall behind his head. “If you mean is this barbarism, a twisted test of their artistry in battle, absolutely. Only the most advanced samurai can make such clean cuts and it requires a very sharp blade and a great deal of strength and accuracy. The medical examiner believes these cuts were each made with one blow.”

Zach and his father exchanged a look.

“So you think this Kai had some of his rivals terminated like this to send a message?” interrupted Porter.

“Yes. While we have no proof, these two bodies turned up two days after one of the Edo Shihans was beheaded. Beheading is another ritual of the samurai. In the middle ages, samurai were judged on the number of heads they took in battle.” She flashed another slide. Grisly as it was, the one-stroke killing seemed merciful in comparison to the other blows.

“The final indisputable point is,” Abby concluded, going back to pictures of the new drug, “these two gangs are in a fierce turf war over the distribution of this new drug, and probably over other criminal activities we haven't identified yet. And their violence is obviously escalating.” Abby's tone lowered until they all had to strain to hear. “And most troubling of all, both gangs seem to have twisted the original honor the samurai historically held for their shogun masters into allegiance to their gangs. Which means most of the members, if not all, will die before they betray their leaders.”

The FBI chief scowled. “We've never had gang wars this bad before, even between the Crips and the Bloods. What the hell is going on here?”

Ross spoke up. “That's why I thought it critical you all hear this as soon as possible.” He stood, nodding at Abby. She popped up a new screen, showing a rising graph depicting the growing Asian population both in Texas and nationally. “Analysis of recent census data shows a sharp rise in Asian immigration. As you can see, Asian immigrants are projected to be the largest minority in the U.S. within the next thirty years or so. Unfortunately, with their good influence comes the bad . . . and obviously there are huge cultural differences between them and our fiercest Latino criminals. These gangs already have ties in the Orient. As you can see, some of their tactics put the worst Mexican cartels to shame. It behooves us to figure out their methodologies now, before they become deeply entrenched. This isn't just a murder investigation—it needs to be an interdiction. We need to capture the leaders of these gangs before they spread their influence.”