PRIMAL Fury (The PRIMAL Series) (20 page)

CHAPTER 38

THE PENINSULA TOKYO HOTEL, TOKYO

“Room 1407, Mr. Wilson.” The concierge handed him a cardboard slip with his room pass in it. “Your lady friend has already checked in.”

“Thanks.” Bishop took the pass and made for the elevators.

“You also have a package.”

“Ah, yes, of course.” Bishop turned back to the counter, where the concierge had deposited a tough-looking Pelican case.

He rode the elevator up to the fourteenth floor as he mulled over the information that Baiko had given him. He had already purchased two tickets for the bullet train to Kobe. The plan to meet the Yamaguchi was sketchy but it was all they had. He would run it past Saneh and see what she thought.

He reached room 1407, knocked on the door, and swiped himself in. The bathroom door was shut, the shower running. He dropped his bag in the corner, taking no notice of the sweeping city views through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He placed the heavy Pelican case on the bed and swept his iPRIMAL over it. The device synced and the case’s lock opened with a snap.

Inside was a block of foam. He removed it, revealing three pistols, complete with suppressors, holsters, and loaded magazines.

“It’s amazing what you can get sent by FedEx nowadays,” Saneh said as she walked out wrapped in a robe.

“Only if you know the right people.” Bishop closed the box and sat down in a chair; like many things in Japan, it was compact and functional. He gave Saneh a quick update on his meeting with Baiko.

“Sounds like a long shot,” she said as she lay back on the double bed.

“That’s what I was thinking. We could just cut it away and spend a few days in Tokyo waiting to see what Chua and the team come up with, then head back to Hong Kong and jump a Lascar flight over to the island.”

Saneh raised one of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. “Really? Aden Bishop wants to give up on a tenuous lead and wait for better intelligence? Avoid running into what could by all accounts be a trap?”

Bishop laughed. “OK, not when you put it like that.”

“You’re getting a little wiser in your old age, Aden.” Saneh got up off the bed and padded across the carpet to where he was sitting. She bent down and kissed him gently on the forehead, letting her robe fall open. He caught a glimpse of her breasts and reached out to wrap his arms around her.

She pushed him away. “That’s all you’re getting, stud. I still haven’t forgiven you for that stunt in the castle.” Saneh strolled back into the bathroom. “Some room service might improve my mood. The sashimi salad looks amazing.”

“So what do you want to do tomorrow?” Bishop asked as he flipped through the menu.

“Kobe.”

“I thought you said…?”

“I did, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to follow up on the lead.”

“Women,” Bishop sighed as he picked up the hotel phone.

CHAPTER 39

STEAK MATSUSAKA RESTAURANT, OSAKA

“Welcome to our humble establishment, Superintendent Supervisor.” The owner bowed his head low.

“My table?” asked Yoshiharu Tanaka, director of the regional police bureau.

“This way, sir.” The elderly restaurateur led the way through the dimly lit dining room to the private booths. Despite its humble entrance and dingy interior, Steak Matsusaka was a highly sought-after dining experience. The owner pulled back a curtain and gestured for the police chief to enter.

“Bring me sake.” The policeman removed his shoes and suit jacket and sat at the low table.

A moment later one of the thin wooden panels on the wall behind him slid to one side. A well-built man in a smart suit stepped through the gap, gave the room a once-over, and stood back outside.

The next person to pass through the doorway was a middle-aged gentleman dressed in a dark-gray business suit, white shirt, and bright tie. He had a gray moustache and long salt-and-pepper hair that almost touched his shoulders.

Superintendent Tanaka jumped to his feet with a confused look on his face as he recognized the man. Then he connected the dots and bowed deeply. “
Oyabun
, it is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“No, the pleasure is mine, Yoshiharu. Please.” The
oyabun
responded with a dip of his head and gestured to the low table.

They sat and a waiter appeared with a pot of sake and two earthen cups.

The
oyabun
removed his jacket and handed it to the waiter. “The sake here is very good.”

Tanaka picked up the sake flask and filled the cups. They downed it at the same time. “You’re right, it is excellent.” He dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “Your taste in sake is as good as your selection of women.”

The
oyabun
laughed. “Something that you have been taking full advantage of.”

“You said…”

“I did and nothing has changed. The women are still available whenever you want them. The Mori-Kai looks after its friends.”

The policeman bowed his head low. “An honor,
oyabun
.”

The
oyabun
reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a thick wad of cash, and placed it on the table. “We look after our brothers.”

“It is too much,
oyabun
.”

He scowled. “You dare insult me?”

“No,
oyabun
.” The money disappeared into Tanaka’s jacket. He quickly lowered his hands to hide their tremor. Even the region’s most powerful law enforcer had fears, and the man sitting opposite was not one he ever wanted to displease.

“That is a small gesture, only the beginning.”

“I have a gift for the Mori-Kai in return. Information on the man whose picture you sent me.”

“He’s in Japan?” Gray eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Yes.” The policeman took two pieces of paper from his pocket and unfolded them. He pushed them across the table. “This man arrived at Narita this morning. The woman as well.”

The
oyabun
studied the photo intently. It had been captured by a digital camera on an immigration clerk’s desk. He recognized the man, a thirty-something
gaijin
with dark eyes and a mop of brown hair. It was the same man who had infiltrated the operation in Hungary.

“He arrived on a flight from Hong Kong; the girl came separately. His immigration details say he is a security consultant from Philadelphia. The name on his passport is Brian Wilson.”

“And the girl?” The
oyabun
studied her photo. She was beautiful. High cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes, and a mane of long black hair. She would be a worthy addition to his stable.

“She claims to be a fashion blogger from Turkey. I don’t have any more information on her. Wilson said he was working for the FBI. He met with an investigator at police headquarters in Tokyo, the anti-Yakuza section.”

“FBI? But at the airport he said he was a security consultant.”

“He apparently said he was contracting for the FBI, but when I made further inquiries I could not verify this. It may be a cover.”

The
oyabun
nodded, deep in thought. “Good work. Do you know what this Mr. Wilson discussed with the anti-Yakuza section?”

Tanaka shook his head. “No, but my people indicated he was coming this way. I think he wants to talk with the Yamaguchi-gumi.”

“You have done well, Yoshiharu.”

“Do you want me to have them found and arrested?”

The
oyabun
shook his head. “No. I will have my people take care of it.”

“I would prefer that it didn’t happen in my district.”

“I understand. I will have my men deal with them before they arrive.” He clinked his sake cup against the warm pot and a few seconds later a waiter appeared. “For now let us enjoy our food; then perhaps we could partake in some other delicacies.”

CHAPTER 40

TOKYO TO KOBE

Saneh and Bishop boarded the bullet train to Shin-Kobe at 0715. At precisely 0720 it pulled away from the station, on time. They relaxed into the plush seats of green class and watched the scenery race past at an increasingly rapid pace. It didn’t take long for the gentle motion of the train to lull Bishop into sleep.

“Aden, wake up.” The urgency in Saneh’s voice immediately snapped him out of his slumber.

“What is it?”

“We’re being watched.”

“What? By who?”

“The two big guys sitting up in the front. They just got on at Osaka and they’ve walked past us a couple of times now.”

Bishop sat up a little taller and sneaked a glimpse. The men both sported short, military-style haircuts and looked like bruisers.

“I swear they were casing us when they passed,” whispered Saneh. “What do you want to do?”

Bishop glanced at his watch. They still had twenty minutes to go before they hit Kobe.

“Just keep an eye on them. If they try anything we’ll be ready.” Bishop unzipped his backpack at his feet. He slid his hand in and touched the grip of the pistol, reassuring himself it was still there. Saneh did the same with her overnight bag.

“They’re coming back,” said Saneh.

The two men had started down the aisle toward them. They strode with military bearing and were obviously well built underneath their bulky jackets.

“We’re out of here!” Bishop took Saneh’s hand and led her down the aisle, then hit the button that opened the doors to the next carriage. They opened with a hiss; Bishop sent her through the airlock, then followed, glancing over his shoulder as he moved ahead. The men following had their hands under their jackets, only a few seconds behind.

As the first door closed, Bishop drew his suppressed pistol from his backpack and fired a round into the latching mechanism, destroying it. He slid the gun under his jacket.

The two assailants were trapped on the other side, helplessly pushing the door button. They glared at Bishop as he turned and followed Saneh through the airlock’s second door and into the next carriage.

“We’re running out of train,” said Saneh as they moved through the carriage.

“Damn, there are more of them.”

At the other end, another pair of Japanese heavies were making their way up the aisle.

Bishop looked back; the two men behind them were trying to force the door open. It wouldn’t hold them for long.

“I’ll deal with them.” He pushed past Saneh. “Keep an eye on the guys behind us.”

The two men in front of them looked more like traditional Yakuza. They wore their trademark dark suits, tattoos peeking out from the collar and cuff.

“Bishop, they’re through.” There was panic in Saneh’s voice.

He pushed deeper into the carriage, focusing on the newer threat as he pulled his pistol from his jacket. The passengers on the train looked at him in shock.

As soon as he saw the black pistol, the stocky Yakuza directly in front of Bishop lifted his hands. “Friend, friend!” he yelled. Bishop couldn’t help but notice one of his little fingers was missing.

“What the fuck?” Bishop lowered the pistol as the solidly built gangster stepped past, knocking him into a row of seats. He landed on the lap of an elderly woman.

The second Yakuza followed the first and both men strode past Saneh, directly into the path of the military-looking guys, who had now broken through the jammed door. The stocky, fingerless Yakuza barreled straight into them. The other, a thin whippet of a man, pulled a small club from inside his jacket and rained blows down on the stunned pair. Having gained the initiative, they turned and ran. “There’s more, go, go, go!”

Saneh was already sprinting toward the next carriage door. She punched the release button and Bishop joined her.

“We can’t go any farther.” Saneh was punching the release button on the next door. It wouldn’t open. They had reached the last car.

“Shit.” Bishop turned around as their Yakuza allies reached them, frantically searching for a way out.

The roar of a submachine gun filled the confined space of the train. Bullets slammed into the plastic and glass, sending shards flying through the air. One of the military-looking thugs had pulled an MP9 machine pistol from his jacket.

The thin Yakuza convulsed as bullets tore into him. He stumbled and fell forward. Screams filled the train.

Bishop and Saneh pressed themselves up against the walls.

Their stocky guardian dropped to one knee and raised a stainless-steel revolver. It boomed, sending a high-velocity slug down the aisle. He rolled sideways as a burst of automatic fire narrowly missed him.

“Who are you?” Bishop demanded as he returned fire with his suppressed Beretta.

“Yamaguchi-gumi,” the barrel-chested man growled as he fired another two rounds from his revolver.

“And those guys?” Saneh asked, pulling her own pistol from the overnight bag slung over her shoulder.

“Mori-Kai dogs.”

“Bingo,” muttered Bishop under his breath. “How many?”

“Four, maybe more.”

Another torrent of bullets slammed into the rear of the carriage.

“If we stay here we’re dead.” Saneh checked that her suppressed PX4 had a round in the chamber.

The burly gangster nodded. “We need to attack.” He thumbed out the cylinder of his revolver, dropped six shells, and reloaded, one round at a time. “I will lead.”

“No, wait—” Bishop started.

The Yamaguchi had already stepped out into the aisle, firing his six-shooter like an old-West gunslinger.

“Here we go.” Bishop followed him, the PX4 held ready. Saneh tucked in behind, aiming over his shoulder.

Their two .45 pistols snapped as they spat rounds past the Yakuza man’s shoulders, the PRIMAL operatives drawing on hundreds of hours of training. The old-school gangster seemed to have had no such training; he simply fired one-handed as he ran.

The first two Mori-Kai gunmen were hit by Bishop’s and Saneh’s rounds. One had the top of his head taken off with a wet slap, throwing him backward. His partner staggered as a volley of .45 rounds slammed into him, finally toppling when a bullet hit his face.

“They’re wearing armor, aim for the head,” Bishop yelled.

“Reloading.” Saneh knelt in a vacated row of seats.

Their Yamaguchi juggernaut powered on until he was struck in the shoulder. He grunted and staggered, tripping on a bag left in the aisle.

Bishop stepped past and over him, his PX4 drilling another of their attackers through the skull. He went to fire at their final assailant when his pistol jammed, an empty cartridge wedging itself in the slide.

The remaining Mori-Kai operative fired his machine pistol. The burst ripped past Bishop’s head as he knelt and racked the slide of the PX4. He shook out the offending shell, released the slide, and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. He stared directly into the muzzle of the MP9 machine pistol. “Fuck.”

A weapon belched flame with an ear-splitting boom. Bishop flinched. The MP9-wielding Mori-Kai was thrown backward as a .357 magnum slug smashed into his chest.

“The old ones never fail.” The Yamaguchi grimaced, lowering the six-shooter, his left hand grasping his shoulder. The weapon fell out of his hand and hit the floor with a solid clunk. Saneh stepped forward and finished the Mori-Kai with a bullet to the face.

Bishop picked the revolver off the floor and stood up. The pistol had polished walnut grips and a stainless finish, a Colt Python. He handed it to the Yakuza man, who took it with his left hand.

“Thanks, buddy. Name’s Brian. And you are?”

“Kenta.”

“You OK?” The shoulder of Kenta’s suit jacket was wet with blood and his right arm hung limp.

“It’s just a scratch.”

The wound was serious and the pain would have been considerable but Kenta showed no outward signs of discomfort.

Terrified faces appeared from behind the seats on both sides of the carriage. The passengers looked around in horror at the bodies littering the train. Kenta spoke in a deep voice, addressing them in Japanese. There was a pause and they stood up and started clapping.

“What’s that all about?” Bishop asked, taking a bandage from his backpack.

“I told them we were special agents and we just defeated an attempt to hijack the train.”

“I can see why they’d be happy about that. How about you sit down and let us bandage that shoulder.”

Kenta holstered his revolver and slumped into a seat. Saneh took the bandage from Bishop. “My name’s Sarah. Let me take a look at that.”

“It’s OK.”

“Actually, you could do with a few stitches.” The bullet had cut through Kenta’s shoulder at an angle, opening up a deep gash. Saneh helped him remove the suit jacket and gave him a compress to hold against the wound, slowing the bleeding.

“The
oyabun
sent me to bring you to him,” Kenta grunted.

“We would be more than happy to meet him,” Bishop replied.

“Good, we get off at the next station.”

The train started to slow and Bishop dropped into the empty seat opposite the Yamaguchi man. He glanced at his watch; they were only a minute or two away from Kobe. He took Saneh’s pistol and stuffed it into his backpack with the rest of their weapons and ammunition. For a second he considered leaving it on the train but he knew it was unlikely that armed police would have had time to establish a cordon. Plus, he did not want to be caught without a weapon if the Mori-Kai made another attempt on their lives.