PRIMAL Fury (The PRIMAL Series) (29 page)

Kenta was out a second after Bishop. He grabbed Saneh by the arm and hauled her from the backseat like a sports bag.

“Everyone OK?” Bishop asked between bursts. All three were taking cover behind the GT-R.

“I’m good.” Saneh had her own looted submachine gun out and was firing from the rear of the car.

“OK,” Kenta grunted.

“We’ve got at least six hostiles around the black SUVs,” Bishop said. “Looks like they’re cutting their way into the Merc.”

“Takahiro!” Kenta yelled as he sprinted forward, firing his PX4 on the move.

“You gotta be kidding me.” Bishop fired a burst from his weapon to cover the lumbering Yamaguchi.

Bullets sparked off the sidewalk as Kenta ran. He reached a mailbox and crouched behind it. The squat red cube offered minimal protection from the Kissaki’s fire.

“Looks like Wyatt Earp’s found the only cover between us and them,” said Bishop.

“I wouldn’t call that cover,” responded Saneh as rounds smashed into the soft metal of the mailbox.

The roar of an engine drew their attention. Another black Mercedes swerved around them and sped toward the Mori-Kai. Bullets slammed into it and it careened across the street, crashing into a light pole a mere fifty feet from the black SUVs. The car doors swung open and three Yamaguchi heavies came out, pistols blazing. Automatic gunfire cut down the first two Yamaguchi. They crumpled to the road as rounds tore through their expensive suits.

“NO!” Kenta reloaded with a fresh magazine and fired his pistol from behind the mailbox.

“Don’t you fucking move!” Bishop screamed at him. “Cover me,” he said to Saneh and dashed across the road toward the crashed Mercedes.

Saneh fired a series of short bursts at the black-clad Mori-Kai, forcing them to duck behind their vehicles.

Bishop reached the bullet-riddled Mercedes, which, unlike the
waka-gashira
’s vehicle, was not armored. He crouched where a lone Yamaguchi was cowering. As he suspected, the man was in shock, never having seen a real gunfight before. Bishop looked inside one of the open doors. The metallic smell of fresh blood filled his nose. A moan sounded from the front seat, the driver still alive, at least for now.

The loud shriek of an industrial cutting tool drew his attention. From his new position he could see one of the black-clad Kissaki finish cutting in through the back window of Takahiro’s armored car.

Bishop took careful aim, snapped off a single shot at the saw operator, and scored a hit on the man’s legs. The Mori-Kai toppled over the saw, crashing to the ground. Bishop was forced to take cover as an onslaught of fire returned in his direction.

The sound of gunshots was replaced by the roar of engines. Bishop stuck his head up and could see the Mori-Kai had moved an SUV next to Takahiro’s car, blocking the view. Too late, he thought. They were probably pulling Hero from the limo and loading him in the SUV. The other balaclava-wearing gunmen stepped up their fire, covering each other as they embarked in their own vehicles.

Sensing they were out of time, Kenta advanced, firing his 9mm one-handed at the black four-wheel drives. As soon as the breech locked open on an empty magazine, he drew his revolver with the other hand and continued firing.

Bishop and Saneh also increased their volume of fire. A gunman was shot in the back as he attempted to get into the back of one of the SUVs. He collapsed into the vehicle as the door swung open.

Bishop’s eyes locked with the passenger sitting in the backseat.

The look on Masateru’s face expressed his own recognition of Bishop. He punched his submachine gun out and fired as he accelerated away.

Rounds zipped past Bishop’s head as Masateru’s vehicle roared off down the street. The other two trucks sped after it, disappearing around the corner with a screech of tires.

Kenta was looking into Takahiro’s Mercedes. “He’s gone, but the driver is still alive.” The wailing of sirens could be heard in the distance.

Bishop joined him and inspected the damage. “You deal with the ambulance,” he told Kenta. “You’ve got two more guys alive in the other Merc.”

A deep rumble announced the GT-R as it pulled up next to them, Saneh at the wheel. The car was looking the worse for wear, peppered with bullet holes. The windshield was shattered, the engine was running roughly, and fluids leaked onto the road.

“Do what you can for the wounded,” Bishop told Kenta and jumped into the Nissan. “We’re going after them.”

He slammed the door shut as Saneh punched the accelerator, pushing him back in his seat. She took the first corner sideways, balancing the throttle in a controlled slide.

“Holy shit,” said Bishop. “Why haven’t you been driving the whole time?”

Saneh floored the accelerator in pursuit of the last SUV disappearing around another corner. “Because you’re a misogynist control freak.”

CHAPTER 55

“Why are you slowing down?” Bishop asked as they rounded another corner in their pursuit of the black SUVs.

“I’m not,” Saneh snapped as she struggled to hold the damaged GT-R on the road. “We’re losing power. They must have hit something vital.”

The GT-R was still moving fast but it wasn’t accelerating with its usual vigor. The engine sounded as if something was trying to escape from under the hood.

“Get us closer and I’ll shoot out the tires.” Bishop used the butt of his pistol to bash out the remains of his window.

Saneh slid the Nissan around another corner. Despite its failing engine the sports car had made considerable ground on the rearmost SUV, now only fifty feet in front of them.

“Gun!” warned Bishop as the tailgate of the SUV opened to reveal one of the Mori-Kai gunmen sitting in the rear compartment. His MP9 spat lead as Saneh wrenched the GT-R to one side, narrowly missing the hail of bullets.

Bishop fired rapid shots from his pistol, but his aim was off as the GT-R swerved back. Saneh managed to wring a few more horses out of the mortally wounded engine and brought the GT-R almost alongside the SUV.

“Garbage truck!” Bishop warned as they raced up behind the slower traffic. He fired two more shots as the municipal vehicle loomed in front of them.

“Garbage truck, Saneh.”

“I see it.”

“We’re going to fucking hit it.”

“I’m on it.” At the last second she wrenched the steering wheel, sending the GT-R up onto the sidewalk on the outside of the truck, putting it between them and their target.

Bullets rang on the metal sides of the truck as the Mori-Kai fired.

Saneh downshifted and revved what remained of the engine. They roared off the sidewalk and back onto the road, narrowly missing a bus shelter, the maneuver putting them slightly in front of the SUV.

A loud bang came from under the hood. “That’s it, she’s done,” Saneh yelled over the clatter of gunfire. Bullets riddled their hood as she flung the stricken sports car to the left, hitting the back right corner of the SUV. The impact shunted the rear end of the vehicle sideways, sending it into a tail slide. The driver panicked and slammed on the brakes.

In the GT-R airbags exploded and they slid sideways, the Nissan’s low center of gravity keeping it on the asphalt.

The taller four-wheel drive was a different matter. The impact pushed it one way, while the driver jerked the steering wheel opposite while braking. Tires screeched and smoke filled the air as the SUV slid sideways, throwing the gunman from the open tailgate. As it slid, the rear tires hit the curb and the truck flipped. It rolled sideways down the street, throwing debris in all directions for three full revolutions before it came to rest on its roof.

“That’s not exactly how I saw it happening,” said Saneh as she pushed the airbag from her and took off her seat belt.

“Pretty shit-hot nonetheless,” Bishop grinned.

They got out of their ruined car and ran across to the SUV. Bishop checked the front. “They’re dead. No seat belts.”

Saneh checked on the third body that had been flung from the vehicle. “This one’s also dead.” He lay in a crumpled heap at the base of a light pole, his head ninety degrees to his body.

Bishop peered in the open tailgate. “No one else in back. They must have Hero in one of the other vehicles.”

They looked around as the early-morning traffic built up around the accident site. There was no sign of the other two SUVs.

“Fuck!” Bishop kicked the door of the truck. “He’ll be dead within the hour. That
Miami Vice
asshole was in the truck with him.”

“You mean Masateru? You sure?”

“Yep, looked the slippery motherfucker right in the eye.”

Sirens could be heard approaching.

Saneh turned and headed back to the GT-R to grab their bags. “C’mon, Aden, let’s get the hell out of here.”

Bishop grabbed his backpack from her and stormed down a side alley. “This is a seriously fucked-up situation now.”

“I know,” she said, following. “Targeting the
waka-gashira
is a game changer. What do you think the Yamaguchi will do?”

“What can they do? The Mori-Kai are way beyond Yakuza thugs; that shit they just pulled has special ops written all over it.”

“One thing’s for sure: We’re going to need more firepower. We’ll have to lay low until Aleks and Kurtz arrive with our weapons delivery.”

Bishop dialed a number as they walked. “Kenta, it’s Wilson…No, they got away. We need a pickup.”

CHAPTER 56

MORI-KAI CASINO CONSTRUCTION SITE, HIMEJI

The two SUVs were waved through the security checkpoint at the front of the construction site. They continued along a rutted access track and down a concrete ramp into the partially completed parking area of the future casino. The complex was one of the Mori-Kai’s more ambitious projects: an exclusive hotel and casino, designed to cater to even the most depraved desires of their clients.

“What happened to the other vehicle?” Masateru asked Ryu after they had parked.

“They crashed with the car that was following us.”

“How many men?”

“Three.”

“A small price to pay for such a successful operation. Make sure the others are rewarded: cash and women.”

Ryu nodded and issued a set of orders to his men.

Hideaki dragged their prisoner from the SUV into a storage room. His hands and feet were bound, head covered by a black hood. The room was empty except for a solitary chair. An equipment hoist was bolted to the concrete roof.

“Put him on the chair.” Masateru lit a cigarette as he watched them drag Japan’s second-most-powerful Yakuza gangster across the floor like a carcass. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” he whispered.

Hideaki pushed Takahiro into the chair. Then, with a nod from Masateru, he ripped the hood off.

The Yamaguchi lieutenant’s hawklike eyes darted around the bare room. A startled expression appeared on his face as he locked eyes with Masateru.

“Hinata, you piece of shit!”

Masateru slapped the immobilized Yamaguchi as hard as he could. “My name is Masateru,” he hissed in his former boss’s ear.

Takahiro threw back his head and laughed. “I heard you were trying to be a big man now. Got a few thugs with guns and suddenly you think you’re somebody? You’re still the same weaselly piece of horseshit we exiled for selling heroin.”

The Mori-Kai gangster flicked his tanto blade out from his jacket and spun it in the palm of his hand. “Horseshit?” He slashed the blade across the prisoner’s face; it bit deep into his cheek, opening up a gash an inch wide. “Who’s the fucking horseshit now?”

Blood poured from the wound. Takahiro flinched but did not utter a word.

“You’re obsolete, with your tattoos and your self-righteous code. The world is changing and the Yamaguchi are being left behind. Look around you. My men are armed with machine guns, not clubs and knives.”

“Your men are trained monkeys,” said Takahiro between gritted teeth, the blood from his cheek soaking into his white shirt. “Let’s see how well they fare against real Yakuza.”

Masateru wiped his knife clean with a handkerchief, closed it with a flick of his wrist, and dropped it into the pocket of his pants. “Real Yakuza? Is that what you think you are? The Mori-Kai are the only real Yakuza. The Yamaguchi are nothing but fat businessmen and relics like you. You have forgotten what it truly is to be Yakuza. I mean, who ever heard of the Yakuza cooperating with the police or, worse, the American FBI?”

Takahiro sat upright in his chair and matched the Mori-Kai lieutenant’s piercing stare. “You cannot change what you are, Hinata. You had no honor when you were expelled and you have none now.” He spat a mouthful of blood onto the concrete. “We should have put you down like the rabid dog you are.”

“String him up.” Masateru pulled out a thin cigarette and lit it.

Hideaki grabbed the hook that hung from the equipment hoist. The pulley system clattered as he pulled it down and looped it through the bindings on Takahiro’s legs.

“Your death will be swift if you tell me where the FBI agents are staying.” Masateru puffed at his cigarette.

“Go fuck yourself, dog.”

“I thought as much.” He gave a nod.

Hideaki pulled on the chains and the pulley screeched, lifting Takahiro off the ground. He reached up and repeated the process until their prisoner was hanging upside down with his face at head height.

“Strip his shirt.” Masateru dropped his cigarette and took off his jacket, handing it to one of his men.

Hideaki used a knife to cut the Yamaguchi lieutenant’s shirt from him, revealing a torso and back completely covered in tattoos. Dragons intertwined with flowers, koi, and other intricate works of Japanese art.

“What beautiful work…So sad for it to be lost.” Masateru rolled up his sleeves.

“You don’t scare me, Hinata. I will tell you nothing.”

“Oh, I don’t need you to talk, old friend.” He took the knife from his pocket and flicked it open again. The sinister blade glinted under the harsh fluorescent lights. “I just need you to deliver a message.”

“What’s this?” Baiko asked as a member of his team dropped a file on his desk. The veteran policeman had just sat down and was stirring a sugar into his coffee.

“Initial incident report from the shootout in Kobe.”

“What shootout in Kobe?”

“You haven’t seen the news?”

“Not yet; did something big go down?”

“I guess you could call it big. Somebody shot up a Yamaguchi-gumi car, killed half a dozen of their men, then split across town. Word on the street is they got Saemonsaburou Takahiro.”

“As in the Yamaguchi
waka-gashira
?”

“That’s the rumor. Unconfirmed.”

“Do we know who made the hit?”

“No. Not yet. In my opinion it has to be the Koreans. We’re talking full-auto weapons here. A step up from the usual Yakuza operations.”

“You could be right. The Koreans are becoming more active in Kobe. Is there anything else interesting in this?” He waved at the report.

“Not really. It’s not very comprehensive. Those Kobe police are second-rate Neanderthals.” The officer started to walk back to his own desk. Halfway he stopped and turned. “There was one other thing. There was a mention in the report of a witness describing two Caucasians fighting alongside the Yamaguchi.”

“That’s odd.” Baiko opened the file.

“Not unheard of. Perhaps they were Russian mafia.”

“Perhaps.” It took Baiko a few minutes to read through the document. His colleague was right: It said very little of the incident. He got the impression that the Kobe police knew a lot more than they were letting on.

The link to the Caucasians was particularly interesting. It had to be Agent Wilson. That meant that in less than forty-eight hours he had been involved in three significant incidents in the area. That did not seem like normal FBI behavior, even if he was just a contracted agent.

Baiko opened his computer and looked up the contact details for the US Embassy in Tokyo. He could not remember the name of the liaison officer who had initially vouched for Agent Wilson but found the embassy FBI number in the police directory. Using his private cell phone, he punched in the number, determined to get to the bottom of exactly who Agent Wilson was.