PRIMAL Fury (The PRIMAL Series) (22 page)

Takahiro stared at him through tinted lenses. “If that is what you want to call me, then that is what you can call me. Now follow.” He led Bishop back to the waiting area.

“What’s going on?” Saneh asked.

“This is Hero, our new liaison; he wants us to follow him.”

“Hero?” Saneh asked.

“Trust me, you don’t want to try his full name, wheelbarrow something or other.”

Saneh rolled her eyes and followed them through another doorway and down a flight of stairs.

“This place has some pretty heavy-duty security,” Bishop commented.

“We are not strangers to violence, Mr. Wilson.”

“Please, call me Brian.”

“Very well, Brian. Five years ago our
oyabun
was killed in a raid by rival Yakuza. Changes were made to the building to ensure it does not happen again.”

They traversed a stone-lined corridor and emerged in a garage filled with black Mercedes sedans. Kenta was leaning against one of the vehicles, a cigarette in his hand. He was wearing a leather motorcycle jacket. He showed no sign of his bullet wound.

“I have many things that I must attend to. Kenta will look after you and if there is anything you need he will provide it. He will accompany you at all times.”

“That’s a nice gesture but we don’t really need a babysitter,” said Bishop.

“Does your lady friend speak Japanese?” Takahiro asked bluntly.

“No,” Bishop replied.

“Then Kenta will prove very useful. If you are worried about your protection, he was once the
Tokko Tai-Cho.
He will keep you safe.” Bishop made to object but Hero stopped him. “This is not negotiable. Now if you will excuse me, I will leave you in Kenta’s care.” With that, he turned and disappeared back down the corridor.

Bishop waited until he was out of sight, then turned to Kenta. “Wow, he’s an intense guy.”

“He is the most favored of the
waka-gashira
and destined to one day be chairman,” Kenta replied. “How was your meeting with the
oyabun
?”

“He seemed genuine enough. I get the feeling he doesn’t quite trust me yet.”

“It is not every day we have an FBI agent ask to work with us. One who carries a silenced pistol and wants to destroy our enemies…”

“True, it’s an unusual situation, but the Mori-Kai is not your average gang.”

Kenta nodded. “The
oyabun
is wiser than you think, Mr. Wilson. You should know it is a great honor that you were able to see him. It is an even greater honor that he ordered one of the
waka-gashira
to provide you with help.”

“There’s more than one
waka-gashira
?” Saneh jumped in on the conversation.

Kenta laughed. “Yes, there are a great many.”

“Tell me, Kenta, what is the
Tokko Tai-Cho
?” Bishop asked, pronouncing it “Tokyo Thai Show.”

“An old title I used to have. Those days are gone now.” Kenta dropped his cigarette on the ground and stomped on it with a black leather shoe. “So what car would you like?”

“Any of them.” Bishop made a mental note to Google Kenta’s old title later.

Kenta nodded.

Saneh had crossed the garage and was inspecting a Kawasaki Ninja. “Does it have to be a car?” She stroked the tank of the black sports bike.

“It is all at your disposal, except for the other one.” Kenta gestured to a vintage Kawasaki cruiser parked next to the Ninja. “That one is mine.”

Saneh sat on the Ninja motorcycle. “What do you say, Agent Wilson? It’s fast, unobtrusive, and we can cover multiple locations.”

“Knock your socks off, kiddo. I’ve got something a little more comfortable in mind.” Bishop walked to the back of the garage, where he had spotted another vehicle. “The
oyabun
said anything, right?”

“That is correct.”

Bishop patted the hood of a late-model Nissan GT-R. “Then let’s get the keys for this bad boy.”

The residence sat on a hill that overlooked the city of Himeji. It was a fusion of modern technology and Japanese culture. The glass-and-concrete structure had sweeping views; the stone garden and interiors were a tasteful merging of minimalist Japanese art and landscape design.

The boss of the Mori-Kai lay in a robe on a low settee, oblivious to the picturesque surroundings. His eyes were closed, his face emotionless as a masseuse worked on his bare feet. A glass of Yamazaki whiskey sat on a table next to him along with a half-empty bottle.

“My apologies,
oyabun
.” Ryu entered the room and gave a deep bow. The commander of the Mori-Kai’s militant Kissaki was tall and lean with angular features, his head completely bald, shaved clean with a razor. Like the men who had attacked Bishop on the bullet train, he normally wore practical clothing: cargo pants with a bulky jacket to hide weaponry. Today, however, he wore a formal dark suit. In one hand he carried a full-length samurai sword, in the other, a shorter version.

“What do you want?” The
oyabun
did not open his eyes.

“You wanted to be informed of the mission to kill the
gaijin
.”

“Yes.” His eyes snapped open.

“They failed. Yamaguchi men were there and killed the team.”

“The Yamaguchi-gumi killed three of the Kissaki?”

“Yes,
oyabun
,” the man bowed his head. “I offer my own life as an apology for our failure.” He presented the handle of the sword to his master.

The
oyabun
remained on the lounge. “Do not be a fool. The lives of my best men will not be squandered on obsolete traditions. It is bad enough that three of you died at the hands of those Yakuza dinosaurs.”

“As you wish,
oyabun
. I will have the rest of the men ready. We will exact revenge for our loss.”

The Yakuza boss closed his eyes and returned to a relaxed state. “Not yet. Masateru will soon return, then we will strike a far more devastating blow on the Yamaguchi-gumi. Continue to gather information. Find the Westerners and do not lose them. They remain our priority.”

“Yes,
oyabun
.”

“Have you informed Masateru of your failure?”

“No, he’s still in the air and I have been unable to reach him.”

“But he is aware of the Englishman’s presence here in Japan? That he is with the girl and is claiming to be an American FBI operative?”

“Yes,
oyabun
, I spoke to him before he left Kiev.”

“Very well. That is all.”

Ryu turned on his heel and made to exit the room.

“One more thing.”

“Yes,
oyabun
.”

“Get rid of those swords. We no longer use blades, we use bullets.”

“Yes,
oyabun
.”

“Also, did the shipment of weapons arrive?”

“Yes,
oyabun
.”

“Excellent, have your team start training the others. I have a feeling we will need more foot soldiers in the coming weeks.”

CHAPTER 42

SVALYAVA, UKRAINE

“Something’s not right.” Aleks was sitting with Kurtz in the Audi. It was late afternoon and they were conducting a handover of responsibilities. Kurtz had been watching the hospital for the last eight hours.

“Yes, this is shit coffee.” The German was drinking from a takeout cup. He gave it an angry look but continued sipping from it.

“No, not the coffee.” Aleks pointed to the car’s windshield. “The guy over there, he’s been hanging around too long.” The middle-aged man was standing opposite the medical clinic with a newspaper under his arm.

“He has been there for a while.” Kurtz activated his iPRIMAL. “Let’s check him out.” His fingers danced over the screen. “No electronic emissions except for a phone. I can’t isolate the number.”

“He’s definitely watching the hospital.”

Kurtz was still looking at his interface. “Nothing out of the ordinary here.”

“He’s looking at us.”

Kurtz looked up from the screen. “I think we need to talk to him.”

“Too late, he’s moving.”

Their target stepped out onto the street as a white sedan slowed in front of him. He glanced once more in their direction and jumped in the vehicle.

“We should follow him,” said Kurtz.

“You sure?” Aleks started the Audi.

“Yes, quickly, they’re getting away.”

Aleks pulled the Audi away from the curb and onto the road. The white car was pulling away from them and he accelerated to catch up. They passed through the small town center and into a residential area.

“Not too close.” Kurtz dialed a number on his iPRIMAL and made an encrypted call. “Bunker, this is Kurtz. Can you run a check on the following plate number?”

“Roger, send.”

The white car continued down the road at a leisurely pace. Aleks matched its speed, staying a few hundred meters behind.

“I read bravo, sierra, three, four, seven, whiskey, romeo.”

The watch officer in PRIMAL HQ repeated the numbers and told Kurtz to wait.

Aleks continued to follow the car.

“Kurtz, this is Bunker. Ukrainian road registry has nothing outstanding on those plates. They are privately registered.”

“Acknowledged, thanks. Out.”

“Nothing?” Aleks asked.

“
Ja
, nothing.”

“So what do we do now?”

“Keep following them.” Kurtz reached over to the backseat, lifted a blanket, and pulled out an MP7. Both men were already wearing low-profile body armor and pistols under their jackets.

“Turning left.”

“Close up,” Kurtz said as he cocked his submachine gun and checked the magazine.

The white car turned into an alley between two fenced-off industrial compounds and disappeared from view. Aleks steered the Audi after it a moment later. The wheels skidded as they hit the gravel single-lane track.

“We’re going to lose them.”

The car was already turning another corner farther down the road. Aleks accelerated to catch up. As they rounded the corner into an open area he slammed on the brakes.

The white car was stopped fifty feet in front of them in what looked like a builder’s lot. Piles of bricks, steel, and other debris offered plenty of places to hide. The car’s doors were open. It was empty.

“Back up, back up!” yelled Kurtz.

It was too late.

Gunfire slammed into the Audi. Both men lay low behind the dash as bullets ripped through the windows. Aleks floored the car in reverse and its wheels spun. There was a huge bang and the engine died under the hail of bullets.

Aleks had his pistol out and was leaning sideways across the center console to stay below the windows. Bullets continued to rip through the windows and thud into the doors.

“At least we know the Kevlar works,” Aleks yelled as more rounds thudded into the reinforced doors. Unable to procure another fully armored vehicle at short notice, Yuri had ensured their sedan had sufficient modifications to increase survivability.

Kurtz pulled the glove compartment open and handed a set of thermal-imaging goggles to Aleks. He pulled his own pair on over his face.

“You get smarter every day: It’s light outside, comrade space cadet.”

More bullets slammed into the car as Kurtz reached into the center console and retrieved an ignition device. Four leads ran out of the bottom of it into the dash. He flicked the safety off. “Not for long it isn’t. You ready?”

Aleks smiled. “
Da
.”

Kurtz crunched the clacker, which sent an electric pulse to the four smoke grenades cable-tied under the car. Tiny detonators snapped each of the ties and they dropped onto the road, handles flying off.

Within a matter of seconds thick smoke had obscured the vehicle and the surrounding area.

“Let’s go.” Kurtz activated his goggles and pushed open his door, diving out onto the ground with his MP7. Aleks replicated the move with his pistol.

A hail of gunfire slammed into their car as their attackers fired blindly. The rapidly expanding cloud of smoke had engulfed them.

The thermal goggles’ view cut through the smoke, the hot weapons of their targets glowing red in the cool evening air.

Kurtz took a prone firing position and shot one of the heat signatures as it stood from behind a pile of bricks. A man screamed and fell to the ground. Kurtz rolled sideways from the car and popped up behind a wall, the sight of his MP7 superimposed into his thermal goggles as he scanned for targets.

On the other side of the car Aleks had crawled in behind an abandoned pile of scrap metal. An old refrigerator gave him some cover.

“You see anyone?” Kurtz communicated through his iPRIMAL.

“Negative, they’re laying cat.”

“Laying what?”

“Laying cat. Bishop says it all the time. You know, laying cat to make sure they’re not seen.”

“You mean lying doggo?”

“
Da
, that’s the one.” Through the smoke Aleks caught a glimpse of three heat signatures moving back as a tactical unit, covering each other as they withdrew. “There, toward their car.”

Aleks fired his pistol at one of the shapes; there was a cry and the man stumbled, hitting the ground. A burst of return fire sent bullets hissing through the smoke around him.

Kurtz took aim as one of the men grabbed his wounded partner and started to drag him. The other man fired his submachine gun blindly in an attempt to cover them. Kurtz fired a long burst into the wounded man and his rescuer. Their bodies convulsed as the 4.7mm rounds cut through them.

Aiming toward the sound of gunfire, the other man let rip another wild burst. Kurtz ignored the bullets, adjusted his aim, and fired a double tap. The target dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.

The two PRIMAL operatives waited as the smoke slowly cleared. Seconds passed, then minutes. No one else appeared.

“I think that’s it,” Kurtz said. “Check it out. I’ll cover you.”

As Aleks moved forward, Kurtz’s pocket began to vibrate. He pulled out his iPRIMAL and checked it. Nothing. He checked his other cell phone, a local phone. He had two missed calls; both of them were from the phone he had given Karla. “The hospital!”

Aleks knew what his partner meant immediately and he ran straight to the white car. The keys were not in the ignition.

He inspected the men they had killed, stripping their pockets and using his iPRIMAL to capture images of their faces. The gunmen all looked Japanese.

Kurtz did the same with the first man he had shot behind the bricks. “Got the keys!” The driver had been the only European out of the group. “You get the rest of the gear,” he said as he started the white sedan and backed it up to their shot-up Audi. They transferred their bags to the new vehicle, including what they had taken from the dead bodies. Aleks dropped a thermite grenade on the driver’s seat of the Audi and they sped off. The four-thousand-degree detonation would burn it to the ground, covering their tracks.

“It was a diversion,” said Kurtz.

“More Japs.”

“Yes, all except the driver we followed. Did you see how they moved?”

“Well trained, ex-military.”

They slid sideways out of the alley and sped back onto the main road. Kurtz thumped the horn as he narrowly avoided a car coming the other way. He pushed the little sedan to its limits, the engine screaming.

“
Scheisse
!” He thumped the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. “How could I be so stupid?”

“We,” Aleks reminded him. “We both fell for it.”

Kurtz sent the car careening through the town, his hand constantly on the horn. They screeched to a halt directly in front of the medical center. Kurtz sprinted through the front door. His boots rang on the polished floor as he stormed past the nurse’s station. Ignoring the duty nurse’s cry he pushed open the door to the girl’s room.

Kalista was sitting up in bed, tears streaming down her bandaged face, mobile phone clutched in her hand.

Kurtz punched the wall in frustration.

They were too late.