Collector of Secrets (22 page)

The battling vehicles crested a small hilltop above a four-way stop, the van riding the center line as it pushed the SUV precariously close to the roadside ditch. Ahead, a second police car blocked the middle of the intersection. Unable to change course, the van T-boned the police car, causing both vehicles to spin wildly. Shattered glass filled the air, raining down like crystal hail.

Max stabilized the swerving SUV and climbed the rising road. In the rear-view mirror, he watched the sliding van come to rest down an embankment at the same time as the first police car crested the hilltop. Next to him, Tomoko twisted backward in her seat, a look of horror painted on her face as the black-and-white vehicle tore into the already shattered remains of its sister car before flipping onto its roof.

The road through the forest ahead wound up into the Hakone Mountains. A cover of trees and houses flickered past and soon the roadside carnage disappeared from sight. It was impossible to tell if the gray van had started moving again.

Max’s anxious voice filled the cab. “Are they following?”

Tomoko’s response was fractured. “I . . . I don’t know . . . but the police . . . must be hurt. We should . . . go back.” She kept staring out the rear window.

“No way! Those
Yakuza
are probably just shaken up.” He pointed to the daypack lying at her feet. “Use Mr. M’s cell phone to call for help. Then turn it off again.” Max could tell she was taken aback by his response, and he pulled his attention from the twisting forest road. “Listen to me. These guys aren’t playing a game. They won’t just threaten us. And we’re not gonna die like Mrs. Kanazawa. We’re not gonna die!”

THE ARSENIC-GRAY limousine sat idling in the empty parking lot. Exhaust fumes puffed from its tailpipe and dissipated into the early morning air. Senator Andrew McCloy bit on the end of his pipe as he stared out the window at the barren park. Spring would arrive soon and with it the muggy warmth of a D.C. summer. He actually liked the cold weather. It was a nice change from the year-round Florida heat he had come to endure. But his wife loved the constant sunshine; it helped with her arthritis.

A dark blue Lincoln town car drifted into sight on the adjacent road, and he watched as a familiar heavyset man exited from the back. Even though both vehicles were registered to legitimate businesses, he knew that Ray Hylan would never risk any unfriendly eyes associating the two license plates. His covert Black Pearl Operations was quietly sheltered in a nondescript Washington office complex, and he would want to keep it that way.

Ray spoke to his driver before turning to walk the twenty yards toward the waiting limo. The April wind whipped his thinning auburn hair as it gusted between leafless beech trees and across the brown grass of the nearby field.

At the limo’s rear, a tinted back window slid halfway down. “Go round the other side,” the senator said.

Dissatisfaction was clearly stamped on Ray’s face, and as he climbed inside he commented. “Stale tobacco and Old Spice. Two things I’d rather not smell so early in the morning.”

“Hello Ray. How are you?” the senator said, unmoved by the jab.

“I’m good, Andy, and yourself?”

Smoke drifted from the senator’s mouth. “Don’t be smart. You know not to call me that.”

Ray appeared to stifle a homerun grin. “My apologies, Andrew. I forgot how much you dislike the informal.”

“With your I.Q., I doubt you forget anything, except your manners.” He shook the polished walnut pipe with the three fingers on his left hand that had survived his military tour in Korea.

“I see you’ve switched off cigarettes. Was that by choice?”

The senator stifled a laugh. “Sylvia’s been on my case for the last four decades to quit smoking. She’s like a moth buzzing round the same porch light.” All the years in Washington couldn’t remove the Tennessee twang from his voice, try as he might. “I finally agreed to smoke this damned thing. But it just isn’t like a good old pack of Marlboros.”

“Please give my best to Sylvia.”

“You know I won’t be talking to her about this meeting,” the senator chided.

“Fine, then let’s dispense with the pleasantries and get to the point. What’s with all the extra secrecy? Why are we meeting here?”

Andrew tapped his pipe on the door handle. “It’s a bit of a bombshell, really. Lloyd Elgin called.” He glanced up to enjoy what he hoped was a shocked reaction.

“You’re kidding me!” The Black Pearl leader sat a little straighter. “When? What did he say?”

“Not much, really. Just that he received a call from a concerned friend in Tokyo about the murder of a Japanese diplomat and a suspicious office break-in. He made a few inquiries and thought it warranted a visit. He left for Japan a few hours ago.”

Ray attempted to force a calm façade, but for all his skill in espionage the man had a lousy poker face. “I never honestly thought you’d get another call, especially after such a long silence.”

“Eighteen years, to be exact.”

“Let me have my folks check it out.”

“No! Absolutely not. Lloyd can handle it quietly and discreetly. I don’t need a bunch of your operatives stumbling around, drawing attention to something that may prove to be nothing. The last thing I need is the Japanese authorities starting an investigation.”

“How can you be sure your guy can handle it? Who is he?”

“What would his real name mean, anyway? Suffice it to say I was lucky when I found him a decade ago. He’s highly trained and completely ruthless.”

“Andrew, if you don’t let me follow up and your guy gets into trouble, there’s no guarantee I can help.”

The senator flicked his pipe in the air. “Bullshit! When Congress doesn’t funnel you the money for all your private military firms and dirty little operations, who do you come running to? Me! You’ll help out when I ask, or you’ll find yourself hung out to dry.”

Ray’s face reddened and although he didn’t speak the words, it was clear what he was thinking—
it’s time for
you to retire, old man, and let someone else take over The Enterprise.
“Don’t kid a kidder, Andrew. You know the history of all this, what it started out as and what it’s now become. You’re too damn patriotic for that.”

The two power brokers locked eyes.

Ray continued, “Besides, you of all people know the Cold War isn’t over. It’s just changed form. We do the work that nobody else wants to handle. The Black Eagle Trust and the other funds give us the means to battle dozens of private terrorist armies. Nobody has to declare war on the U.S., but they can attack us all the same, then we look like assholes when the government retaliates and fights back.”

“My point exactly. If the money is so valuable to your cause, then you’ll give me help—if and when I need it. Should Lloyd discover something that could be dangerous to us both, he’ll do his best to put a lid on it, by any means necessary.” The senator drew out the last part of the sentence before raising a single eyebrow. ”If he can’t handle it alone, that’s when I’ll get back in touch with you.”

The veins in Ray’s neck looked ready to pop. “I won’t make any guarantees, but I’ll try.”

Andrew McCloy offered a good-old-boy smile. “That’s all I’m asking for―just a little cooperation and reciprocity.”

“What about the rest of the Enterprise council?”

“I’ll let each one know by day’s end.

Ray buttoned his coat. “You’re playing with fire, Andrew. I hope your lone wolf can handle it.”

“I believe he can.”

“He’d better pull it off, because there’s a helluva lot at risk here. If the flow of funds is affected at the same time as the damn bleeding-heart liberals cut the military budget, I can’t imagine the chaos.” Climbing back out into the cool morning air, Ray leaned in and took his final shot. “The president would go insane.”

IT WAS the eighteenth hole of the U.S. Masters, and he was behind the leader by one stroke. The fairway stretched out ahead of him. A hush fell over the throng of onlookers pressed against the ropes. Eyeing the ball, he adjusted his stance and swung.

Masami Ishi sighed as the wretchedness of reality rushed back in. His ball sliced sharply to the left and dropped after seventy-five yards. Bright stadium lights had turned the field from night into day, and the ball was soon lost in the chaotic deluge of white orbs bouncing in every direction.

After setting up again, he straightened his sleeveless argyle slipover. Perched on the third level of the Meiji-Jingu Golf Range, he tried hard not to let the constant drumming of the other 122 golfers break his concentration. It shouldn’t be hard to go the full 150-yard distance, he thought.

Someone stepped into the open walkway to his right; Masami heard the man stridently clear his throat. He focused harder and swung. The ball hooked sharply and hit the ground before the fifty-yard marker. Frustration swelled in his chest and he whirled around to reprimand the idiot watching him.

The police commander’s mustached face was partially obscured as he bent forward from the waist. “My sincere apology for distracting you, superintendent, but you requested an update if there was any new information.”

The urge to vent was unstoppable. “Next time wait until I’ve finished swinging!”

“Yes, sir.” The younger man remained in a subordinate pose.

The Callaway gloves came off as he sat in a molded fiberglass chair and brushed his comb-over back into place. “So what’s the news?” His outward attitude of cool indifference masked an intense thirst for information.

“The license plates of the American’s girlfriend came up during a car chase on the Izu Peninsula this afternoon.”

“Izu? What would she be doing down there?”

The commander shook his head. “I’m not sure, sir, but a gray van was also involved.”

“Was anyone caught?”

“No. The American and his girlfriend got away. And the other two men escaped on foot.”

“What about the van? Who owns it?”

“It’s registered to Oriental Passage Pachinko and Slots, here in Tokyo.” The commander paused and cleared his throat. “The
pachinko
business is controlled by Oto Kodama.”

Yakuza
usually only bothered with
Gaijin
when it was foreign women they were bringing into the country, Masami thought. “Put two men on a detail to follow Kodama-
san
. What could Oto possibly be up to?”

The commander appeared unsure whether to answer. “I don’t know, sir, but there’s more. The female owner of an
onsen
near Odawara was also murdered. Several neighbors reported seeing the same two vehicles racing away from the hotel.”

Masami Ishi folded his arms across his chest. It would be a hell of a lot harder to keep the American’s capture quiet if he was involved in a murder investigation. The constant drumming of clubs hitting balls seemed to grow louder during the momentary lull in conversation. “Tell me, if you were a foreigner being chased by the
Yakuza
, where would you go?”

The commander sucked in air through his clenched teeth. “I would go home to my country.”

“And suppose you were worried the airport was being watched?”

“Then I would try to go somewhere as safe as possible.”

“Exactly. I want you to distribute the American’s picture in a bulletin. But make sure it only mentions the burglary. The press will go crazy with it otherwise.”

“Yes.”

“I also want a dozen men added to the guard detail near the U.S. Embassy. Double-check every person approaching the place. If the American shows up, arrest him before he gets onto the grounds.”

“Yes, sir.”

Masami Ishi drummed his fingers on his chubby tricep. “And remember what I told you before, commander. I’m the first number you call after you catch him.”