[Thomas Caine #1] Tokyo Black (19 page)

“
Daijobo desu
. I’m fine; it’s just a scratch.”

Caine heard the mechanical clicking of the men reloading behind the doors. “Okay, look, we have to split up. One of us has to get that girl and get her back to Isato. It’s the only place she’ll be safe.”

Koichi shook his head. “I’m not limping back to lick my wounds. We go together.”

Without warning, another barrage of bullets burned through the air above them. Chips of paint flew off the walls and fluttered to the ground like snow.

“Very noble,” Caine snapped. “But if we both stay here, it’s over.”

A strong, chemical smell filled the air. It smelled familiar. Caine examined the cart he was using for cover. He rummaged through the cleaning supplies and stuffed garbage bags. Finally, he located the source of the odor: a punctured bottle of bleach leaking across the floor.

Caine glanced over at Koichi. “Cover me!”

Koichi sat up and fired a stream of bullets into the doors. The Tokyo Black men ducked back.

“We can’t hold this position much longer, Caine-san.”

“Just give me a few seconds!” Caine grabbed the bottle of bleach. He tore open the closest garbage bag and searched through the debris that spilled onto the floor. Grabbing an empty plastic water bottle, he removed the cap, and filled it a quarter full with bleach. He mixed the bleach with a few more cleaning chemicals from the cart. The caustic liquid sloshed into the bottle, stinging the scrapes and cuts on his hands.

The Tokyo Black men reached around the doors, blindly firing into the hallway. Bullets ricocheted though the passage. The air filled with a fine cloud of dust as the walls began to crumble. Koichi popped up and blasted another round of bullets at their attackers. “Caine-san, I’m almost out! Whatever you are doing, it better be quick!”

“Just a few more seconds,” Caine muttered through clenched teeth. Moving back to the garbage, he found a foil wrapper, clinging to the uneaten remains of a hot dog. He tore the foil into small pieces, crumpled them into balls and dropped them into the bottle of chemicals. He sealed the cap and shook the bottle.

Nothing happened.

The Tokyo Black men opened fire again. The bullets thudded into the cart, sending a spray of cleaning supplies and debris into the air.

Caine shook the bottle again. “Come on, damn you!”

Caine focused his eyes on the bottle with laser-like intensity. Inside, the cloudy liquid was still, unmoving.

Then he saw it.

The sodium hydroxide in the bleach began to react with the aluminum. The liquid churned and foamed, filling the clear water bottle with a thick white smoke.

“I need cover now!”

Koichi leapt up, firing a wild series of shots towards the partially open doors. As the Tokyo Black men ducked for cover, Caine rose up and took aim. He threw the bottle towards the doorway. It arched through the air, crashing down just in front of the doors. It rolled down the slope, behind the two gunmen.

For a split-second, Caine saw the bottle swell and distort. The thin, clear plastic struggled to contain the expanding gas and heat generated by the chemical reaction. Then, with a loud crack, the bottle exploded.

The two men turned, startled by the sudden noise. Within seconds, they were surrounded by a white cloud of noxious, burning vapors. Coughing, they stumbled backwards, desperate to escape the makeshift tear gas that stung their eyes and lungs.

As they crashed through the doors, Caine and Koichi stood up and fired. The Tokyo Black men’s bodies jerked and twisted with each bullet hit. Then they fell to the ground, dead.

Koichi coughed and fanned the air as the burning smell drifted towards them. “Nice trick.”

“Something I picked up in Afghanistan.”

They checked their pistols. The clips were empty. They moved forward to search the dead bodies. The KG-9s were almost empty as well, but each man carried a Beretta pistol in a shoulder holster. Caine and Koichi armed themselves, then passed through the swinging doors.

The loading dock was a stunning scene of slaughter. Workers’ bodies littered the ground, and the stench of blood was thick in the air. Koichi gaped at the carnage. “These men … they are insane! To kill like this, all to find this girl?”

Caine shook his head. “There’s more going on here. Kusaka’s not just involved with Tokyo Black. He has ties to the CIA, China … whatever he wants, it’s bigger than Hitomi, maybe even—”

The familiar explosion of gunfire cut Caine short. Four more Tokyo Black men came storming down the corridor behind them. Caine dropped to one knee and took aim. As the men poured through the doorway, he opened fire.

His rapid shooting dropped two of the men, but the survivors surged into the room. One took cover behind a metal freezer. The other charged Caine, screaming and opening fire.

Caine rolled behind a steel rack of serving trays for protection. Koichi stood his ground, raised his arm, and fired. A bright red hole opened in the thug’s forehead as he fell.

Koichi nodded his head towards the freezer. Caine nodded back and began to creep towards the edge of the room.

Koichi called out to the hidden assailant. “Any more of you parasites crawling around? No? Just you then?” The Tokyo Black man leaned out, but in the split-second he needed to take aim, Koichi opened fire. Bullets sparked off the metal freezer, and the man ducked back without getting off a shot.

Caine crept along the dark, shadowy edge of the room. He could just make out the furtive movements of his target, wedged between the wall and the freezer.

Koichi fired off another pair of shots, the sound echoing in the tiny metal canyon behind the freezer unit. The shots had the desired effect, keeping the thug’s attention focused forward. Caine aimed his pistol. He had the man in his sights.

Before he could fire, the man lurched forward. Caine squeezed his trigger, but the shot clanged off the metal pipes of the freezer. He cursed and spun around, moving back towards the center of the room. Before he cleared the freezer, he heard two sounds: the clanking metal of the loading dock door echoing through the room. And then a single, lonely click.

The sound of a gun jamming.

As he ran out from behind the freezer, he saw Koichi, struggling to pull back the slide on his pistol. The Tokyo Black man fired from the hip, sending a spray of bullets through the air. Koichi spun and dove to the ground, but he was too late. Bright splashes of red tore through his body as he hit the ground and rolled. He did not get up.

Caine darted over to him. “Koichi!”

He brought his pistol to bear on the Tokyo Black soldier, but he knew in his heart he had made a mistake. The other man would pull the trigger first, and his life would end on this cold, dark loading dock floor.

But instead of the spray of a submachine gun, he heard three single shots ring out in rapid succession. The Tokyo Black man crumpled to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

A woman’s voice echoed through the room. “Security Bureau. Drop your weapon. Put your hands on your head. Do it now please.”

Caine turned and saw a woman staring back at him over the barrel of a pistol.

He blinked. He recognized her. She was wearing a slim pair of jeans and a leather jacket, instead of a fancy cocktail dress. But he was certain it was the girl he had met in the bar.

“Mariko Smith?”

“Officer Murase, if you please. Do as I say, Mr. Wilson. Or Mr. Waters, or whatever you’re calling yourself now.”

Security Bureau
, Caine thought.
Japan’s version of the FBI
. He dropped his pistol to the ground and turned to Koichi. He felt the older man’s neck. There was a pulse, but it was weak.

“He needs medical attention.”

She nodded. “I’ve already called it in. Paramedics will be here any minute, along with the police. We have to leave. Now.”

Caine squinted at her. “Why is that, officer?”

Mariko ignored his query. Instead, she reached into the pocket of her jacket with one hand. She used the other to keep her pistol aimed at Caine’s head. She pulled out a set of plastic wrist cuffs and tossed them on the floor in front of Caine.

“Put those on, please.”

“Officer Murase, I’m getting the distinct sense you don’t trust me.”

“Small wonder. Just about everyone you’ve encountered in Japan has ended up dead. Now stop wasting time. One way or the other, you’ll be leaving here. It will be better if you leave with me than the Tokyo Metro Police.”

Caine looked back at Koichi. He was unconscious but breathing. He looked back at Mariko. “Are you arresting me?”

Mariko’s dark eyes locked with his, unblinking. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On who you really are and what you’re doing here. But once the regular police show up, I won’t have a choice, will I?”

Caine sighed. “There’s always a choice. Just not always a good one.”

He picked up the cuffs, slipped them over his wrists, and tightened them with his teeth.

He stood up. “Mariko Murase, pleased to meet you. I’d shake your hand, but….” He held up his cuffed hands.

Mariko stepped forward, keeping the gun trained on him, and spun him around. She kicked the pistol on the floor away from them and did a quick frisk. After confirming he had no other weapons, she marched him to the to exit.

“So, what should I call you?” she asked.

“It doesn’t matter, as long as you listen to what I have to say.”

Rebecca lifted her head. She had passed out again, a remnant of the drugs in her system. Whatever Mr. Douglas had injected her with, it was potent. But now her vision was clear.

Her arms were still shackled to the chair behind her. She looked around the empty room, then twisted and pulled at the restraints. She heard her bracelets jingle together and breathed a sigh of relief. They had missed something. It was a small comfort, but it was something.

OK
, she thought.
Remember your training. Scan, analyze, assess. 

They were still in Pattaya. A basement. She sniffed the air—dank, humid. The mold on the walls indicated they were near the beach. A dark corridor led off to her right. She could hear the droning of a television off in the distance. The basement had to have at least two rooms, maybe more, judging by the size of the hallway. Her brain clicked through the principles she’d absorbed in her CIA orientation classes. First rule of escape: change your circumstances.

“Bernatto! Allan, please…,” she cried out.

She heard a sigh and the creaking of springs from down the hall. Then footsteps. She counted the seconds in her head. As Allan entered the room, she did some quick mental calculations. He was about twenty-five feet down the hall. Mr. Douglas stepped into the room behind him and took up a position next to the door. Bernatto stared down at her.

“What is it, Ms. Freeling?”

“I’m getting the sense this is going to take a while.”

“And your point is?”

“Unless you want this hole to smell even worse, I’m going to need a bathroom break.”

Bernatto looked at Mr. Douglas, who shrugged. He turned back to Rebecca, his eyes lingering for a second on her chest. She suppressed a shiver of revulsion. “You can hold it. Shouldn’t be much longer now. One way or the other.”

She looked at up at him, her eyes feeble and pleading. “You don’t know that. Caine hasn’t called in yet, has he? Please, Allan, it’s not my fault you abducted me from a coffee shop. This place does have a bathroom, doesn’t it? You can wait right outside. Where am I going to go?”

Bernatto sighed and turned to Mr. Douglas. “Take her. Don’t let her out of your sight.”

The operative smiled and stepped over to the table full of guns. He picked up an HK pistol, loaded a clip, and racked the slide. He held it in a loose grip as he walked behind her. “It would be my pleasure.”

He unlocked the cuffs, and she felt the warm tingle of blood flow returning to her wrists.

“Stand up please. Nice and slow.”

She did as he said. Her eyes drifted to the table full of weapons and equipment across the room. She forced herself to look down as the man grabbed her arm. “Let’s move,” he said, his voice rough and low.

Whoever Mr. Douglas was, he was good. He had the weathered look of a freelance contractor. Black Water, Delta Blue, or one of the other private military firms the United States government used to farm out off-the-books work.

In her experience, those men came in two models. Rugged, natural-born warriors, burned out by their time in the Armed Forces. These men knew no other life than to fight for a cause they believed in.

And the others … killers looking for an excuse, the ones the military could not wait to get off their roster once the initial fighting was done. The ones who liked it, who couldn’t get enough of it. Some might have called them broken men, but the truth was they had never been whole in the first place.

There was something about Mr. Douglas that made her think he was the latter. Maybe it was the way he looked at her. He seemed to stare through her, as if she were already a ghost—a temporary piece on the chessboard, one he would enjoy removing when the word was given.

He was good. But he had made a mistake, she reminded herself. He had missed her bangle.

He gave her a gentle push forward, towards the corridor. As she stumbled into the dark hallways, the sound of the TV grew louder. A newscaster was speaking in English, discussing the growing tensions between China and Japan, and the Senkaku Islands dispute. The US Secretary of State was scheduled to mediate talks between both countries tomorrow.

She paused. Could that be what this was about? Was Bernatto involved in the talks in some way? As they walked past the television, Bernatto broke off and entered the dark room. She heard the squeak of springs as he sat down on whatever moldy piece of furniture he had scrounged up.

Mr. Douglas spoke from behind her. “Keep moving, please. The bathrooms are up ahead.” Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and she saw the door at the end of the hallway, ahead of them. When they reached the door, she stopped. There was silence for a moment, then Mr. Douglas’s voice, pleasant, but with the steely undercurrent of a knife’s edge. “After you, Ms. Freeling.”