[Thomas Caine #1] Tokyo Black (28 page)

“I see now why you’ve caused me so much trouble. You have the fire inside you. Like Bobu. And that girl, Mariko. You know what you are, Mr. Caine? You’re a goddamn ronin! A true hero, right out of a fairy tale.”

Caine shook his head. “I’m no hero.”

“Whatever you say. As to your question, we don’t have much time left, Mr. Caine. Let’s just say that, as Japan has fallen, an old enemy has risen to new heights of industrial and economic power.”

“China,” Caine said.

“Yes, China. The United States and Japanese governments have done their dance of diplomacy and trade. Both are blinded by greed and willful ignorance. Each is afraid the other will seduce this powerful new ally, and turn against the other. Meanwhile, China grows more and more powerful every day. And history tells us war is inevitable. And when war with China comes, as things stand now, we will both lose.

“Men like Bobu have the will to take action against this enemy. But protests and marches, beating up immigrant business owners … that is not the way to defeat this enemy. He lacked the scope of vision necessary. I gave him that vision. And Bernatto shared my vision as well. He helped with the technical particulars.”

“That’s what’s on the drive?” Caine asked. “Information from Bernatto?”

Kusaka smiled. “Ah, so you weren’t able access the drive, were you? I was curious. I took great pleasure in questioning Hitomi about that…. Now I know she wasn’t lying.”

“Where is Hitomi now? What did you do with her?”

Kusaka waved his hand in the air, dismissing Caine’s concerns with the gesture. “Don’t waste your time on Hitomi. That girl … she’s my one bad habit. The weakness I just can’t kick. I suppose it’s better this way. Now that she’s back where she belongs, under my control, I can give her a proper goodbye.”

“You know that’s your daughter you’re talking about?”

Kusaka’s face flared with anger, and he pounded the table with his fist. “What do you know about it? You think she’s the first girl to show up at my door? Desperate for money, for a better life? For the acknowledgement of my blood in her veins? She’s another example of the cancer eating this country from the inside out!”

Caine watched Kusaka build himself into a seething rage. The old man’s eyes stared forward, but they were no longer focused on Caine. It was as though Kusaka was looking through him, not even seeing him. Somehow he saw the object of his rage and anger instead.

“Just a half-breed whore!” he shouted. “I don’t care who she is. I don’t care what she is. All she means to me is—”

Caine lunged forward, cutting off Kusaka’s rant in mid-sentence. Grabbing the metal ring in front of him, he swung his legs up into the air and slid his body forward on the table. The old man lurched backwards, but he was too late. Caine’s legs clamped around his neck.

Kusaka gasped for breath. He strained to break free of the hold, but Caine locked his ankles and twisted his torso. Using his legs, he dragged Kusaka forward onto the table. Then he began to squeeze.

“I don’t care who you are either,” Caine hissed through gritted teeth. He clenched his legs tighter.

The door exploded open. Five Caucasian men wearing body armor and tactical gear stormed into the room. Caine looked up.
White guys, unmarked body armor, grey polo shirts … definitely private security contractors
, he thought. Probably on the CIA’s payroll.

“Jesus Christ!” one of them exclaimed. “What the fuck is this?” The Japanese official escorting them began shouting in Japanese.

Kusaka threw his body weight back and forth, struggling to dislodge Caine’s chokehold. One of the contractors walked up to Caine, raised his rifle into the air, and slammed it down on Caine’s skull. The blow snapped his head back, but he held his grip on Kusaka.

The contractor slammed the rifle down two more times, and Caine’s body collapsed. He slumped down on the table, and his legs went limp.

The old man leapt up, coughing and gagging. One of the contractors helped him stand. “Are you all right, sir?”

Kusaka pushed the man away. “I’m fine,” he sputtered, overcome with another fit of coughing. “Just get him the hell out here. I’m sure you have your orders.”

“Yes, sir,” he answered and turned back to his men. “Secure the prisoner!”

Caine rolled over on the table. Blood streamed from the impact wound on his temple. He stared up at the man who had battered him and spit blood into the air.

The man leaned in close and whispered into his ear, “Bernatto says hi, asshole.”

Then he clubbed Caine across the face one more time. Caine’s vision went dark.

Mariko flung open the door to office 257, the office of her superior. She marched up to his desk as his assistant rushed in behind her. “Excuse me,” the flustered young woman said. “I told you Director Yamamoto is on an important call. You can’t just—”

Mariko glared at the woman, and her complaints died down to a whimper. A middle-aged man with a long, gaunt face and thinning grey hair held a phone receiver to his ear.

His uniform’s silver buttons and trim gleamed with a polished shine. Behind him, the windows of his office offered a breathtaking view of the morning sun, as it rose over the bustling Tokyo metropolis.

Director Yamamoto looked at Mariko, then turned to his assistant. “It’s fine, Hiro-chan,” he said. “You can leave us.”

He spoke into the phone. “
Hai
. I understand. The security team has been granted access to the prisoner. He will be placed in their custody. We will not interfere. Thank you, sir.”

He hung up and shot a weary glance towards Mariko. “Officer Murase. Please, sit down.”

Mariko did not sit. “Sir, you’re turning over Caine without a debriefing? No questioning, no interrogation? I wasn’t even allowed access to him, and he’s my prisoner!”

“Sit down!”

The director’s voice sharpened, but Mariko stayed where she was. “Sir, did you at least read my report? I’ve uncovered new evidence that—”

The director picked up a manila folder from his desk and shook it in the air. “This report, here? The one that details an illegal investigation into a prominent, respected Japanese businessman? A man who has provided our government with invaluable assistance? And a man who has made significant charitable contributions to this department?”

“Arinori Kusaka is a criminal, sir. I can prove he has associations with the Shimizu yakuza clan. He has provided financial backing to a violent splinter group of that organization known as Tokyo Black.”

“There is nothing in your report that conclusively links Kusaka-san to this organization. And speaking of violence, it wasn’t Tokyo Black that left a trail of dead bodies across this city over the last twenty-four hours. It was you and this American operative, Thomas Caine.”

“That American is a material witness. He can link Kusaka to Tokyo Black, and to other crimes involving his daughter, Hitomi—”

“Arinori Kusaka has no children, Officer Murase.”

“She’s illegitimate and living in Japan illegally, which has allowed him to pimp her out to the Shimizu sex clubs, while he systematically abuses her in every way imaginable. This ‘respected’ man you’re so intent on protecting? He’s a monster who rapes his own daughter and funds terror and bloodshed on the side!”

Director Yamamoto sighed. He held out his hand and gestured towards the chair in front of his desk. “Murase-san, please. Sit.”

Mariko allowed herself to sink into the chair. The director’s voice softened and took on a fatherly tone.

“Even if your report could prove that these allegations are true, and we both know it can’t, your investigation of Kusaka-san is unauthorized. You are suspended from duty. Any evidence or information in this report is inadmissible. The best I can do is start fresh and open a new investigation of Kusaka’s possible yakuza ties.”

The director pulled a sheaf of crisp white papers from a drawer. He slid them across the desk to Mariko. “And, I can remove your suspension and allow you to resume active duty.”

Mariko eyed the papers in front of her. “You would do that? I’d be back on the Kusaka case?”

The director steepled his fingers under his chin and paused for a second. “No,” he answered. “Sign there, and your suspension will be lifted, but I can’t have you investigating someone like Kusaka-san based on a personal vendetta.”

“Personal vendetta? This man is a threat to Japan! I have a duty to—”

“I read the report about Aokigahara Forest … your sister. I’m very sorry for your loss, Officer Murase. I should have insisted you take some personal leave. It was poor judgement on my part. But now I’m sure you can see how it could appear that grief is clouding your judgement, that your personal feelings are motivating you to pursue Kusaka-san … and this case.”

Mariko was silent. Her intense glare seared into the director’s eyes, but she didn’t say a word.

“Please,” he said, “consider my offer. You’re a dedicated officer. There is nothing I would rather do than allow you to resume your duty and continue protecting the people of Japan. Take some time; put this all behind you. Then come back to us. In the meantime, I will assign an impartial officer to this case.”

He set a monogrammed pen on top of the forms and pushed them a few inches closer to Mariko. “Sign the form. Resume active duty, let this go. It’s for the best.”

Mariko picked up the pen and stared at it. It looked expensive. “What about the American? What happens to him?” she asked.

The director leaned back in his chair. “That’s above our pay grade, Officer. He’s a rogue CIA operative, and he’s wanted by his government for treason. Someone in the CIA has made a deal with the Japanese government to turn him over to a private security team, for immediate rendition. I have no idea what they offered us in return, but I assume it must have been substantial. As it stands, I’ve been ordered not to talk to the prisoner or interrogate him in any way. All we have to do is release him to the security team.”

The director paused and checked the dial of the Rolex on his wrist. “By my count, he should have left the building with them ten minutes ago. They’ll remove him from the country, and at that point, he’s no longer our concern. Problem solved.”

Mariko tossed the pen on the desk and stood up. “Beautiful pen. Mont Blanc? Did Kusaka’s blood money pay for that?”

“That’s enough, Officer,” the director answered in a curt voice. “Take the offer while it still stands, or you can consider your suspension permanent!”

Mariko nodded. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I do have a personal stake in making Kusaka pay for his crimes. But unlike you, my devotion to my duty is not for sale. Sometimes honor and duty can become personal, but that’s not an excuse to turn away from what you know is right.”

She stormed out of the office. As she left, she called back to Yamamoto, “And you’re wrong about Caine. If the CIA gets him out of the country, our problems are just beginning.”

Secretary of State Janet Kelson peered out her tinted window at the dreary weather. As the limo pulled up to the American Embassy in Asakusa, tiny droplets of rain drizzled down the glass. The dark, grey skies did little to flatter the architecture of the embassy building. A heavy-duty iron fence surrounded the plain concrete structure. The building sat on a thin slice of land leased from the Japanese government. An American flag hanging from a lone pole fluttered in the slight breeze.

Her limo driver stopped at the main gate to present their credentials. The guard stepped into his tiny booth to confirm their information on his computer. All standard procedure. A few minutes later, he stepped back out and tapped her window.

Janet forced a smile as the window powered down. Her jet lag from the fifteen-hour flight made this simple act more of a challenge than she expected.

The guard handed her an ID badge. “Thank you, ma’am. Just making sure it’s really you back there.”

Her assistant leaned forward. “Thank you, Officer. I’m sure you’re aware the secretary has an important meeting at the embassy this morning. It’s critical that we meet the other delegates in a timely manner. Will that be all?”

 “Yes, ma’am.” The gate swung open at his wave, and the limo cruised forward onto the embassy grounds. And just like that, she was now on United States soil. She had experienced this hundreds, perhaps thousands of times in her diplomatic travels. But the feeling never failed to give her a warm sense of pride and patriotism.

She was proud of her country and proud of her role in its international affairs. She felt a surge of confidence. She was certain that the afternoon’s talks would be a success. Rain or shine.

The limo stopped, and embassy staff stepped forward to open her door. Cool droplets of water spattered her designer trench coat as she got out of the car. The rain increased its staccato beat on the metal roof of the limo. She turned to Susan, who had exited the limo on the opposite side. “Looks like you were right about that rain.”

Susan held up her enormous cellphone and smiled. “Thank the Google gods.”

A man jogged up to them and snapped an umbrella open over Janet. Susan joined her underneath, and he escorted them to the building entrance. They were met by a handsome Japanese man wearing a tailored navy suit. A US Diplomatic Service pin adorned his plum silk tie. He smiled and extended his hand.

“Welcome to Japan, Madam Secretary.”

“Don’t you look dashing, Peter? Always a pleasure.”

Peter Takahara, the embassy’s Deputy Chief of Mission, shook both their hands. Then he led them into the embassy building.

“Are the others here?” Janet asked.

Peter nodded. “They arrived a few minutes before you did. We’ve got China’s Foreign Minister and Japan’s Minster of Foreign Affairs. Both are complaining that they’re hungry, but otherwise I’d say they’re in good spirits.”

“Well, I can’t say I blame them,” Janet whispered as Peter led them into the foyer.

They marched through a series of ornate, white columns that circled the room. Beige settees surrounded a navy throw rug in the center of the room. An American eagle was woven into its fibers. One of the eagle’s talons clutched an olive branch, the other a quiver of arrows. It stood ready, for peace or war.