Sentinel Five (The Redaction Chronicles Book 2) (22 page)

Grant relaxed back onto the bed, one hand resting lazily on her hip, both of them enjoying the warmth of each other and the security of the darkened hotel room. Sleep took him and his dreams were fitful at first with his mind in turmoil. What had he become over the past few months, since he left his home in Arisaig? How did he define himself now? He was no longer a government agent of the Secret Intelligence Service; as far as they were concerned, he was old news and didn't exist anymore. But he also wasn't a full-on mercenary or contract killer working for the highest pay-packet either. He was a hybrid, something resting between two worlds. He'd killed people certainly, and he would be killing a lot more before this task was completed. What had he become and where would it take him?
Ronin
. He thought the word suited him perfectly now.

In the darkness it was a good sleep, deep and powerful. Gorilla was always that way before a “job” he slept the sleep of contentment and peace. When he awoke the next morning, Miko had gone, and for a few brief moments he wasn't sure if her visit had been nothing more than a wonderful dream.

Gorilla could sense the end game playing out and tonight would bring the operation of the past few months to a very violent conclusion. Whether he would still be alive at the end of the night was another matter.

He was standing on a street corner in the
Nihonbashi
district, ironically enough, opposite the building which housed Nakata Industries. It was early evening and the streets of Tokyo were teeming with pedestrians. The night was crisp and cold, and he guessed there might be snow in the air before too long. He stood staring at a newspaper absently, not knowing what any of the words meant. The crowds moved around the foreigner, like water avoiding a rock in a stream.

He would never be allowed inside the legitimate arm of the clan, the big glass-fronted building that was the cover for Nakata's official profession. The clan and its facade would forever be two separate entities and in truth, he had no interest in that part of the Raven's operation. It was the
Karasu
's sanctuary he wanted, the place where the clan leader deemed himself to be safe and secure.

He was dressed in clothes suitable for the winter's night. Dark trousers, black turtle neck sweater and a short black coat. Earlier that day, he'd visited the hotel barber and had his beard shaved off and his hair cropped short, revealing his natural white/blond coloring. With the beard gone, his face looked harder and leaner. It was as if he had removed a mask, a disguise, now that the final stages of the operation were happening, to reveal his true identity, his battle face. His shoes, a present from Penn, were heavy-soled and gripped well and were his one concession to his attire. The shoes would be good for fighting in. Good for stability in the snow and with a sole heavy enough to do some damage in a scrap. The shoes held another secret also – a small tracking device buried deep in the sole, no bigger than a coin. It was his lifeline to the rest of the team. As long as he didn't lose his shoes, they'd be able to follow and find him. He knew they would be near even now, sitting in the back of a discreet van they'd bought, watching and waiting.

An hour ago, he'd received a call from Hokku at his hotel, telling him to wait on a certain street at a certain time and he would be 'collected'. So it was no surprise when, almost exactly to the second, a dark BMW sedan pulled up. He instantly reached for the handle and climbed into the car. The interior was dark and warm and the only thing he had to look at was the neck of the driver as he pulled away into the traffic.

“Where are we going?” asked Gorilla

The young driver glanced at him. “To the pagoda,” he announced curtly.

The drive, Gorilla estimated, would take them around two hours at this time of night. Out of the city and away into the vastness of the Japanese countryside. Gorilla just hoped and prayed the tracker in his shoe was doing its job and the rest of the Sentinel team were still 'on' him, in the distance, tethered to him by an invisible lifeline. They passed picture perfect countryside in the darkness, only the odd light here or there providing any hint of civilisation. In the distance, snow-covered mountains stood watch and even down here on the low ground, the gentle snowfall made the forests and plains look as if they'd been painted with white blossom from the trees.

Gorilla lay back in the seat and closed his eyes. He knew what was about to happen and there was nothing he could do about it yet. So rest when you can, that was the golden rule. But even lying back in the deep leather seats of the car, his mind was still working out the angles and what he needed to do. Get the team together, get them focused, get past the guards and then… then was the easy part. The killing, the pulling of triggers, the aligning the sights were all done with speed, aggression and surprise. The team would have to be both ruthless and brutal.

Somewhere on the journey, he must have nodded off for a while, probably only minutes really. But the warmth of the interior and gentle rocking of the car as it traversed the undulating country roads had an effect. He jerked awake with a start. Checking his watch, he guessed they were only another thirty minutes out from their destination. The time of rest was over; it was time for him to do what he did best.

He took one final look at the back of the driver's head, taking in his thin neck and close-cropped hair. He was no more than a kid, no doubt a junior somewhere within the clan, used for running errands and driving people to meet the
Karasu
.
Tough luck,
thought Gorilla. He didn't care who the driver was; how old he was or what he did. He only knew that what he was about to do had to be done quickly, violently and without mercy. With his left hand, he gripped the back of the driver's seat firmly, planted his feet hard against the floor of the car to give him grip and then twisted his short body in an arc. He watched as his hook punch blasted in slow motion into the ear of the young driver, knocking his head like a billiard ball into the glass of the driver's side window. A smear of blood spread onto the cracked glass and then Gorilla was launching more punches, once again into the same spot, the ear. He pounded the side of the man's head mercilessly three, then four times.

The car lurched, twisting in the empty country road, as the driver slipped into unconsciousness. Gorilla was thrown around in the back, bracing himself for what he knew was inevitable as the car seemed to pick a straight course and sped up, aiming for a ditch. There was a sudden, out-of-control spurt as the driver's foot floored the pedal and then a series of slow, descending bumps as it fell deeper down the embankment. Finally, there a solid thud of noise and energy as the vehicle smacked into a large tree. Then there was only stillness and silence.

Gorilla ended up wedged in the rear footwell of the car. He reached up and lifted the door lock, prising open the interior door handle and kicking out with his feet until the door swung itself open. The cold blast of air which hit him made him glad of his heavy jacket on this frosty night. Cautiously, he made his way out of the vehicle and into the night. The car was nose down in the ditch, its bonnet crumpled like a paper cup, and its rear wheels free of the ground and spinning. The driver had been tossed around like a rag doll and he was spread-eagled over the front seats. Mercifully, he was still unconscious. Gorilla made his way up the embankment until he reached the main road. He searched carefully and could see the skid marks on the snow-covered road, they twisted and turned like a snake before veering off into the fringes of the forest. The good news was that anyone finding the car would simply assume it had skidded on a patch of ice, rather than the driver being beaten unconscious.

He stood on the edge of the verge, banging his feet and keeping his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his coat. It didn't take long before the headlights of an approaching vehicle caught him in their glare; he winced and then re-focused as an old van pulled to a halt on the side of the gravel path. It was his team. The driver's window was wound down and a hard face poked out and barked something at him in what sounded like guttural Japanese. Gorilla just stared blankly and then was treated to the English translation when Hodges peered out from the dark interior of the truck's cab. “He says it's a bad night to be out in the countryside alone, especially for a
gaijin,
and especially for someone as ugly as you. Get in; we've got a lot of work to do.”

“You got any double nought rounds?”

“Nah, none left, I'm loaded up. Take the solid shots instead.”

“I need some gaffer tape to hold down these straps. Where's the spare stuff?”

“Can you pass me that spare charge, might come in handy as a back-up.”

The talk in the back of the van was whispered, muted. It was talk Gorilla had heard hundreds of times before. The talk of men preparing themselves for battle. Not loud, not bombastic, just professionals, ensuring that they had everything in place. He sat and watched them all in the back of the van, their outlines the only things visible in the darkness as they passed bits of kit back and forth and made sure they were ready. They talked, all except for the girl, Miko. She remained silent. Her head was leaning forward and her eyes were closed, as if she was indulging in some private prayer.

They drove another few hundred feet, until they found a place to pull in, somewhere quiet and discreet. Takai, the hard-faced young Japanese driver, remained in the driver's seat while the rest of them quickly left the vehicle. The Sentinel attack team – Crane, Lang, Miko and Hodges - were all outfitted in the same manner: black overalls, dark hiking boots, fingerless mittens, black knitted cap and faces smeared with black boot polish, as was the norm for all covert action teams the world over. The only thing which separated them was the different individual weapons; the deadly duo had Remington 1100 combat shotguns, Hodges carried an old Sten gun – clunky, but still operational – and Miko of course, had her specialised weapon, the Type 97 Sniper rifle which was secured in a padded rifle bag to keep the frost and snow from it.

They stood around in a semi-circle, Gorilla, their leader, in the centre. They waited on his word. The Sentinels were once more re-united. When Gorilla did speak, he kept it short. “We can't hang around long. We all know what we have to do, our roles in all of this. I'm the Trojan horse; I'll get us past the first post. As soon as I'm in, Crane and Lang fall in behind me when I give the signal. Hodges, you lay up until we're inside and when the coast is clear, you plant those explosives. Blow those buggers if we're not out within the hour, level the place.” Finally, he turned to Miko. “Find your perch, somewhere high, concealed and with a good view of the grounds. Take down as many on the outside as you can, especially the guards. Getting us in and getting us out is the tricky part… while we're in there, feel free to eliminate anything that has a pulse! Okay?”

She nodded. She knew what was expected of her and was clear in her mind on what she would do. Then as an afterthought, as if she'd remembered at the last minute, she reached into her small rucksack and pulled out two parcels, each wrapped in a dark cloth and handed them to him. His eyes met hers, but they betrayed nothing of their love-making from the night before. That moment was long past for both of them. Now everything was purely business. He unfurled the first cloth and looked down at the contents. It was a Smith & Wesson Outdoorsman with a five-inch barrel; a large heavy revolver which fired six .38 special calibre bullets. Gorilla knew instantly that it was a man stopper. The revolver was sitting in a tan shoulder holster rig. He removed his coat and slipped on the rig, adjusting it slightly so that it didn't move about and remained snug against his body.

He unfurled the material concealing the next parcel and smiled, for there lying nestled in the thickness of the wool, was his old friend and talisman. It was the Smith & Wesson Model 39, contained in a belt holster and accompanied by three fully charged magazines. He'd last seen the '39 more than three years ago when he'd been forced to relinquish it following the operation in Europe. He had feared he would never see it again. Gorilla traced over the contours of the metal frame with his finger and he sighed. It was as if someone had returned a missing limb; he was whole, and he was complete. He loaded a magazine into the '39, racked the slide making the weapon 'live' and flicked on the safety. The other two magazines went into the leather pouch he wore on his hip. He had his primary weapon, the '39 and a backup gun; the Outdoorsman. He was ready.

“Is it what you wanted?” she asked.

She looks beautiful
he thought, even with the boot polish camouflage covering her face and the dark hood covering her hair. He nodded. The '39 was exactly what he wanted. It was, without any sense of ceremony or pomp, a final gift from Sentinel.

* * *

Nestled deep in the heart of Japan's Mie Prefecture, far out on the vast empty plains and surrounded on all sides by mountains, stood Masakado Castle. It was one of the few original pagoda's remaining in Japan and dated from the sixteenth century, when it had originally been built by an enemy of the Nakata clan, Sugitani Masakado, a
Shinobi
of some repute.

In the late 1870's, the Raven's great-grandfather had, through nefarious means, purchased the surrounding fifty hectares and gained control of the pagoda, taking stewardship of it. The old warrior had thought it amusing to dominate what his enemies had once owned and his clan had coveted. He'd celebrated well on the night the sale had been completed. He'd then set about renovating and rebuilding it to his own specifications, painting the exterior of the structure a dense black colour and changing the pagoda to be named, ironically, the
Karasu-Jo
, the Raven's Castle. In the fullness of time, the deeds to the building and all the land had been passed onto his great grandson, Yoshida Nakata, the
Karasu
, who had continued to use it as his private domain, and training grounds for those he judged worthy enough to take on the role of assassins to his clan.

The pagoda was a magnificent spectacle. It was surrounded by a ten-foot-high stone wall which covered some five kilometres of terrain and the castle was protected on two sides by mountains. It stood ninety-six feet in height, consisted of five levels rising to a peak and was surrounded by a moat – the only way across was via a thirty-foot ornamental bridge. Adjacent to the pagoda was the castle's keep, the
Tenshukaku
, as well as a recently-built guard barracks which accommodated the clan's soldiers. It was a fortress. Only the
Shinobi
of the clan had the freedom to enter. Those who were not the
Karasu's
brothers never left alive and were often dismembered in the
Tenshukaku
.

But for this one night, the
Karasu
had ordered that a
gaijin
, an assassin, should be allowed to enter unharmed and unhindered. The
Karasu's
orders were clear. The assassin should be brought to him, kneel before him in the sanctuary of his pagoda and there, the Raven – Yoshida Nakata, the
Oyabun
– would take the head of the Gorilla.