Corps Justice Boxed Set: Books 1-3: Back to War, Council of Patriots, Prime Asset (38 page)

Reaching the end of the hallway, the butler
opened a heavy oak door. He held it for the Congressman who stepped
in alone.

“Ah, here he is!” Zimmer recognized Ishi’s
voice in the dimly lit room. He looked around and found himself in
an elegantly appointed dining room. A group of older Asian
gentlemen were gathered near a large plate-glass window.

Brandon put on his best politician smile and
stepped into the gloom. “Hey, Ishi.”

The men in the corner
stopped talking and stared at the freshman Congressman from
Massachusetts.
Who are these guys?
They were giving him the creeps with the way they
looked at him.

“Congressman Zimmer, please let me introduce
you to my father and some of his associates,” Ishi said loud enough
for the room to hear.

Brandon followed Ishi to the group. He went
to glance at the large window, but the light beyond flicked off as
if on command.

“Father, this is my good friend Congressman
Zimmer.”

Kazuo Nakamura stepped forward and shook
Zimmer’s hand. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Congressman.
My son has told me so much about you.” He smiled almost
conspiratorially.

“Please, Mr. Nakamura, call me Brandon.”

“Very well.” He turned to his associates. “I
won’t bother to tell you all their names, but let me introduce you.
These men are my closest friends. They are all captains of industry
and leaders of Japan. We trace our family roots back to the days of
the samurai, through the rise of our Empire during the Second World
War, and now Japan’s rebuilding. Together we’ve known both loss and
success. In short, they are as close as family.”

“It’s very nice to meet you all,” Brandon
said respectfully.

“Do you enjoy hand-to-hand combat, Brandon?”
asked Ishi’s father.

“I’ve watched a little Mixed Martial Arts on
television. It’s okay,” Brandon answered.

Kazuo Nakamura chuckled. “Ah yes. Your
country calls it MMA. Well, what we have tonight is MUCH more
exciting than your MMA. Can Ishi get you something to drink,
Brandon?”

“Uh, sure.”

Congressman Zimmer’s mind swirled. He had a
sinking feeling about the night’s festivities.

+++

A buzz sounded and the door to MSgt Trent’s
cell opened. No one entered.

“Follow the hallway to the left and enter
the weapons room,” the voice overhead ordered.

“Sure would be nice if you said please,”
Trent shot back. When he didn’t get a response he entered the
illuminated hallway. He walked slowly toward the weapons room. At
set intervals he could now see other cell doors and video cameras
installed above. Trent waved to the cameras and kept walking.

Reaching the only other open door, he peeked
in. Inside was an impressive array of weapons displayed in
stainless steel racks. Not the typical weapons Trent was used to
seeing in armories. There were no firearms. All types of swords,
spears, and tridents waited on one side of the space. The other
side housed shields of varying sizes, along with nets. There were
two of everything. Trent whistled quietly and looked up at the
closest camera.

“Impressive shit you have here, fellas.”

“You have five minutes to arm. Take your
weapons of choice and make your way to the door at the other side
of the room,” the voice ordered.

Trent surveyed the racks.
Being a lead instructor at SSI, he had experience with a multitude
of arms. That included weapons of opportunity; everything from lead
pipes to broken beer bottles. He finally found what he wanted.
Ignoring the larger items, he picked up two identical
blades.
Fuck it. If I’m going out, I’m
going down swinging with a couple KA-BARs, baby.
The former Marine Master Sergeant took an overhand
grip on both.

He cracked his neck to both sides, shook the
tension out of his arms and legs, walked to the opposite end of the
room and waited.

+++

Congressman Zimmer tried to be cordial as he
mingled with the group of successful Japanese elders. He couldn’t
put his finger on it, but it felt like they were subtly trying get
his take on the American economy. There were little comments like:
“Would you say the dollar is more favorable than the Euro?” “What
will new housing starts be next quarter?” “Will Congress re-examine
its stance on internet gaming?”

Taken separately and outside the current
situation, they might be innocent questions. He’d heard them all
before. And yet, he sensed a well-concealed urgency in their tone.
What the hell were they after?

These were men of substance. All seemed to
have a fierce determination lying beneath their passive facial
expressions.

A quiet gong rang from some unseen
corner.

“Gentlemen, please direct your attention to
the arena. Our festivities are about to begin,” the white-haired
butler announced.

Congressman Zimmer followed
the excitedly murmuring crowd to the large window. As he found a
spot, the area beyond the glass slowly illuminated. The arena was
about one floor below their vantage point. It looked like a smaller
version of the gladiatorial rings he’d seen in Italy. The floor was
even covered in sand.
What the hell is
this?
Zimmer thought.

Kazuo Nakamura made his way over to Brandon,
with Ishi in tow. He addressed Zimmer in a measured tone.

“
What you are about to see
is usually reserved for our private enjoyment. You see we were all
warriors in our past lives. Now we must feel the sting of a blade
or the blunt side of a shield vicariously through others. This
facility was built especially for such events. We felt that in your
current…situation…it might be useful to have you enjoy this as
well.”

Nakamura turned to the butler and nodded.
The servant pressed a small button on the wall and a door in the
arena opened. Zimmer watched as a huge man entered the small arena.
From his vantage point, Brandon could swear the man stood almost
eight feet tall. He was covered head-to-toe in tattoos. In his
right arm, he carried an enormous spiked club over his shoulder.
Turning to the viewing window, the behemoth bowed.

His host explained, “The warrior you see
below is a very special part of my family. Years ago, we
established a sort of an orphanage on the island of Samoa. We took
very good care of the orphans. The children were rarely placed with
new families and most became employees within our companies as they
aged. Some, like this man, are recognized for their fighting
prowess. We start them in combat training from the age of seven.
This one, he calls himself Poktoo, has an amazing proficiency for
killing. He has never been bested. What do you think of my Poktoo,
Brandon?”

“He’s very, uh, large,” Brandon answered
hesitantly. He wanted nothing to do with the huge fighter.

Nakamura laughed aloud. “Indeed he is,
Brandon. Now would you like to see our other fighter?”

“Sure, I guess.”

Nakamura nodded again to the
butler who pressed another button. The door opposite Poktoo slid
open and another warrior exited. This dark-skinned man looked large
as well, but not even close to the enormity of the first fighter.
Zimmer looked closer and inhaled quickly.
Holy crap! That’s Trent!

“As you now see, Brandon, that is your
friend William Trent. Not only did we want you to be entertained…”
Nakamura paused for effect, “…we also wanted this to be a lesson of
what can happen if our instructions are not followed in the
future.”

Congressman Zimmer could only watch in
horror as Trent paced into the center of the sandy arena and
prepared for battle.

+++

The door to the arena slid
open and Trent peered in.
So now I’m a
damned gladiator. The boys at home will never believe this
one
.

He stepped into the ring and
tested the sand. It wasn’t very deep but it would impede quick
movement. Trent looked across the arena at his opponent.
That’s one big dude. Maybe I should’ve brought
more than my KA-BARs.

The huge tattooed guy was
looking up at the big window waiting for something.
I guess that’s our audience. I wonder when
they’re gonna tell us to…
Trent couldn’t
even finish his thought as a loud GONG sounded and the monster
charged.

+++

“Hey, Cal, I’ve got something!” Neil yelled
into the next room.

Cal sprang up from his laptop and ran into
the living room.

“What’s up?”

“After I got into the Ichiban system, I
started trying to pinpoint anything that might help us. I still
can’t get into their super secure stuff, but I was able to hack
into their logistics software.”

“How does that help us?”

“Well, their logistics package deals with
everything from ordering toilet paper to tasking employees.”

“Come on, Neil. Get to the point.”

“Sorry. Okay, so one of the things they
track is their transportation system. Apparently they have a fleet
of automobiles ranging from delivery trucks to stretch limos.
They’d built this thing so that when an order goes into the system,
the schedule is automatically synced with the smart phone of the
first available driver.”

“How again does this help us?”

“In order to complete the request, the input
must include a start and finish destination. I’m looking at today’s
requests and there’ve been one hundred and thirty-two. Sixteen of
those requests start at different locations but end up at the same
destination.”

Cal’s impatience was visibly growing.

“We don’t have time for this, Neil. How does
that help me find our guys?”

“I’m almost there. The destination of these
sixteen requests is at this location, about twenty miles outside of
Las Vegas.” Neil pointed to a map on one of his computer screens.
“I’m not finding any hotels or amenities in the general vicinity.
The only thing public records show is some industrial property
owned by a subsidiary of Ichiban Gaming, LLC.”

“You sure about this?”

“I mean, I can’t confirm that our boys are
there, but it seems like a good place to start.”

Cal thought for a minute. If they went into
some industrial complex, guns blazing, the local police would be
all over them.

“How long would it take us to drive there?”
Cal asked.

“It’s almost 8:00pm so I’d say…thirty
minutes, forty max.”

“Okay. Message the contingency team and tell
them to get in their vehicles and meet me in the parking garage in
five minutes. I’ll grab Brian and take him with me.”

“You want me to come?” Neil asked
hopefully.

“No. I’ll need you here to help coordinate
and break everything down if this thing goes to shit. Remember what
we discussed, priority goes to keeping SSI out of the papers,”
instructed Cal.

He didn’t wait for Neil’s response. Running
to the bedroom, he grabbed his .45 with three extra magazines and
stowed them in his sport coat. Grabbing his keys off the side
table, he bolted for the door.

+++

He’d already briefed his four team leaders.
In addition to Cal and Brian, there were sixteen men waiting to
step off. They piled back into their four vehicles, a mixed bag of
standard rentals armed with silenced weapons and a variety of
breaching equipment.

“How sure is Neil that this is the place?”
Brian asked Cal.

“I’d say around ninety percent. It’s really
all we have so we’ve gotta go.”

Cal started the car and pulled out of the
parking spot. Every vehicle had the target address programmed into
a GPS. They would each take slightly different routes. No need to
be a bigger target than necessary.

They pulled onto Las Vegas Boulevard. The
streets were jammed with revelers. It was imperative that they get
off the main drag quickly. Cal’s small strike force could be stuck
for an hour on the packed thoroughfare if they weren’t careful.

+++

The politician handed his boarding pass to
the airline attendant. It would be a nice flight out to Las Vegas.
First class was always comfortable. The flight would probably be
the last he’d ever take on a commercial airliner. Next stop: Air
Force One.

+++

The huge Samoan bellowed and
swung a wide sweeping blow at Trent’s head. Willy barely had time
to duck and roll to the side.
This guy is
fast.
Trent thought.

His opponent completed the
swing with a graceful 360 degree spin.
Must be some island fighting style.

Poktoo growled and looked at Trent. I’ll bet
he’s used to killing dudes with the first swing.

The trick with big boys was to either take
out their legs or take them out from afar. He didn’t have a gun so
he’d have to take it close. Unless…

Trent rushed Poktoo with some tentative
downward stabs at the man’s midsection. He needed to get the man
off-balance. Willy roared as he tried to sweep his enemy’s left
leg. Their shins connected and…nothing. The Marine looked up in
shock as the tattooed devil grinned down. Before Trent could react,
the deadly club came up, butt end first, and slammed him in the
chin.

Willy flew back, the darkness threatening to
overtaken him. He heard muted cheers from the observation deck as
he struggled to his feet.

He stumbled back and shook
away the stars.
Okay, shithead. No more
games.

Poktoo had taken the time during Trent’s
stumble to throw his arms up in a victorious roar. As he looked
back down at Trent, the former Marine cocked the KA-BAR in his
right hand and stepped into a powerful throw. Willy knew from
experience that the KA-BAR wasn’t the most balanced throwing knife.
As luck would have it, he’d recently won a few bucks off former
Delta guys at SSI. They’d bragged about their hot shit knife
throwing skills. They used some little blades that were about as
big as a man’s hand. Being a Marine and sick of their bragging,
Trent insisted on using a KA-BAR. After hours of practice, he’d
perfected his throws with the larger blade. He could hit the
bull’s-eye on a log target fifteen yards away. Poktoo was maybe
five yards from him.