PRIMAL Fury (The PRIMAL Series) (30 page)

CHAPTER 57

LASCAR ISLAND

Mitch Freeman hefted the forty-pound gas can above his head, held it high with outstretched arms, and started the climb up the jungle track. Thigh muscles burned, lungs heaved, but he powered on, step after step. A hundred meters later the track leveled out. He dumped the can in the soft mud, crouched low, and leaped into the air, arms outstretched.

The branch flexed under his weight as he caught it. He pulled his chest up, counting out the reps. “One, two, three, four, five…”

Twenty-five reps later he was finished and the gas can was back above his head as he navigated the track. One hundred meters ahead came another clearing. This time a heavy sledgehammer and an old truck tire lay waiting.

He pounded the thick rubber, the muscles in his shoulders burning as he slammed it down, over and over again. Then the gas can went back in the air and he was off again.

The track led down the ridge into a creek line. He plunged in and the water rose up to his chest, bringing instant relief from the oppressive humidity of the tropical island.

He carried the gas can down the creek until he reached a lagoon, where the water quickly rose to neck height. After crossing, he roared, threw the heavy container up onto the bank, and climbed out of the water.

Muscle-bound, with a shaggy beard and a mop of hair, PRIMAL’s resident scientist resembled an island castaway.

“How ya feeling, champ?” Vance was lying in a hammock strung between two palm trees a short distance from the lagoon.

“’Bout as shagged as those palm trees, mate,” Mitch replied, collapsing into the sand.

“What are you talking about?” Vance adjusted his Hawaiian shirt–clad frame and the palms creaked ominously, bowing under his weight.

Mitch smiled and helped himself to a bottle of water from a cooler beside the hammock. “So what brings you out here?” he asked as he regained his breath.

“Same thing as you, little bit of fresh air.”

“Gets pretty musty in that bunker of yours, hey? Maybe you should join me out here next session.”

“I’m too old for that cross-shit training, Mitch. How ’bout we rack up some metal and fit in a squat session tomorrow? That is, if your little circuit hasn’t got you all worn out.”

“You’re on.” Mitch laughed as he crushed the bottle and tossed it in the cooler. “So, how’s the team tracking?”

“Good, Aleks and Kurtz are finishing up and Mirza’s team is about to head to Myanmar.”

“And now you get time for some R&R?” Mitch climbed back to his feet and made an attempt to brush some of the sand from his wet cargo pants. “You going to head over to Thailand again? Maybe catch up with that lady friend of yours? All work and no play makes Vance a dull boy.”

Vance laughed as he swung his legs out of the hammock. “Not this time around. Maybe when the teams wrap up. I just wanted to check that there were no problems with getting the gear into Japan. The team’s going to need it. Things are starting to get messy.”

Mitch glanced at his watch. “It should hit the docks first thing tomorrow morning. Kurtz is going to pick it up.”

“I don’t want to know how you’re going to get over a thousand pounds of ordnance through customs.”

Mitch picked up his gas can and emptied it of the water it contained. “I’ve got my ways, old man. You know, sleight of hand and all that jazz.”

They walked down to the beach, where Vance had parked his ATV next to Mitch’s.

“Years of living and working in shitholes across the globe didn’t prepare me for this life,” Vance said as he looked over the crystal-blue waters of the Pacific.

“Not bad, mate, that’s for sure.” Mitch tossed the gas can onto the cargo rack of his quad bike. “Race you back. Bet you twenty bob I win.” Mitch pressed the ignition button of his customized ride. The 1,000cc engine roared to life.

“You serious? God knows what you’ve done to that thing. Probably goes like a jackrabbit on meth.”

“Come on, Vance, everyone knows you and Flash are the biker heads. There’s no way yours is stock.”

Vance grinned as he climbed into his ATV, barely fitting inside the roll cage. He turned over the engine and it gave an angry snarl. “OK, you’re on. Let’s see if we can beat Saneh’s record.” With that he sent the buggy ripping across the sand.

Mitch gunned his quad bike after him, whooping like a rodeo bull rider.

CHAPTER 58

RESIDENCE OF THE YAMAGUCHI-GUMI OYABUN, KOBE

“The
oyabun
will see you now.” The house servant bowed low, indicating that Bishop and Saneh should move through the door. This time the
oyabun
had invited Saneh to join the meeting, a direct response to her involvement in operations against the Mori-Kai.

The room where the
oyabun
was waiting was much smaller than the one where he had first met Bishop. About the same size as a family living room, it was decorated in the traditional Japanese style, polished wooden floors with tatami mats around a low table. The
oyabun
was sitting cross-legged on one of the mats, a tray of cookies and a pot of coffee on the table.

“Agent Wilson and Agent Scott, thank you for coming at such short notice. Please take a seat.” He looked more hunched over than usual, his brown eyes tired.

“We could hardly refuse after you have been so supportive of our mission.” Bishop sat down at the table, Saneh at his side. A servant offered them both a tray with hot towels while another poured coffee.

The two PRIMAL operatives freshened up and returned the towels to the blue-shirted attendant, who moved to the back of the room and waited.

Bishop took a cookie and spoke as he dipped it in his coffee. “We’re sorry about the loss of
waka-gashira
Takahiro. Have you heard anything else?”

The
oyabun
snapped his fingers and the servant left the room. “No, my people are scouring the city but they have found no trace of him.” There was a hint of sadness in the old man’s voice. “That is part of the reason I wanted you to come. Your efforts to save Saemonsaburou Takahiro were commendable, and for that we will forever be in your debt.”

“We are deeply ashamed that we could not save him.” Bishop bowed his head.

“That is foolish talk. You were outnumbered by men with superior firepower. It is a credit to your skill as warriors that you were able to kill three of them. If it wasn’t for you, the Yamaguchi-gumi would have lost all respect in this town.” The
oyabun
dipped his head at Saneh, acknowledging her.

“Thank you,
oyabun
,” said Saneh. “With your men helping I am sure we will soon find the
waka-gashira
.”

“We may, but then again we may not. The threat posed by the Mori-Kai is far greater than we anticipated. My concern now is that by aiding you the Yamaguchi-gumi has made an enemy that we are not equipped to fight.”

Bishop finished his cookie and put his coffee down. “Yes,
oyabun
, but working together—”

“You do not understand, Agent Wilson. Takahiro had arranged a meeting of the subclans. He was attempting to bring them together against the Mori-Kai, but his abduction has struck fear into their hearts. They will not pledge men and money to battle an enemy that terrifies them.”

“That’s exactly what the Mori-Kai want. They want the Yamaguchi to splinter.”

“Then they have succeeded.”

“And you are simply going to bury your head in the sand and ignore the threat?”

“There was no threat until you arrived, Agent Wilson,” the
oyabun
said sternly.

“When we arrived you were happy for us to fight the Mori-Kai. Working together, we’ve had some success. They capture your
waka-gashira
, and now you want to ignore them?”

The elderly Yamaguchi boss’s hands started shaking.

“With all respect,
oyabun
, surely it’s better to deal with a threat than live in blissful ignorance,” said Saneh. “We mean no disrespect. You’re in a difficult position and have suffered a terrible loss. But surely there is something we can do?”

The
oyabun
’s expression did not change. “I will leave the Mori-Kai to their own devices and when the time is right I will offer them terms for a peaceful existence—”

“That is foolish at best,” interrupted Saneh. “These people are evil and will stop at nothing to expand their empire. They’re already moving in on your—”

“Agent Scott, that’s enough,” Bishop said. “
Oyabun
, please excuse my partner. The events of the last few days have been very stressful. Perhaps it would be better if we resumed this conversation at a later date.”

The
oyabun
made to speak when there was a knock on the door. “Enter!” he yelled.

The door slid open and Kenta came in, carrying what looked to be a tall framed painting wrapped in brown paper. He gave Bishop and Saneh a nod as he placed the picture against the wall in front of the
oyabun
, bowing low. “
Oss
.”

“What is it?” the
oyabun
asked in Japanese.

“I don’t know,
oyabun
,” Kenta responded in English, “but I did not think you would want to wait. The delivery boy said it was a gift from the Mori-Kai.”

“Unwrap it.”

Bishop watched Kenta tear off the brown paper. The first thing he noticed was the elaborate gold frame. As the wrapping was removed it became apparent that the artwork inside looked strange and dull, almost like it was printed on parchment. It was a similar design to the tattoos on Kenta’s arms.

Bishop looked at the
oyabun
; the old man’s face had turned deathly white and for the first time he saw genuine fear in his eyes. Then he realized what the Mori-Kai gift was. The golden frame held the tattooed skin stripped from Takahiro’s corpse. It was a message, one designed to strike terror and warn against further action.

The
oyabun
held on to the sides of the low table to stop his hands shaking. “How can we fight this?” he croaked. “How can we fight men who have no honor?”

“We will kill them all,
oyabun
!” Kenta shouted angrily.

“I’m with Kenta,” said Bishop. “Give us his support and use of your facilities. I have more men arriving very soon with heavier weapons. Together we will hold the Mori-Kai to account.”

“I cannot be seen to support you. I cannot risk an all-out war with these madmen.”

Now Bishop smiled. “Then let us wage the war for you. It’s what we do best.”