PRIMAL Fury (The PRIMAL Series) (36 page)

“He’s going to wake up with a nasty headache,” said Saneh as they retreated to the balcony. They closed the glass door, strapped on their rope bags, hooked back into their ropes, and waited.

Down below Kenta had left the car, wearing a black bomber jacket and a cap. The clothing was emblazoned with the logo of a local security company. He carried one of the long D-cell Maglites popular with night watchmen. The gangster was waiting in a dark spot between two streetlights, hidden from view.

“I think this might be our delivery,” Bishop reported twenty minutes later as he peered over the balcony. Saneh was sitting in one of the balcony’s chairs.

A long, silver Lexus sedan stopped in front of the building. The passenger door opened and a man in a dark suit walked up to the entrance and pressed a button.

The intercom inside the apartment buzzed.

“Yep, that’s our guys,” confirmed Bishop. “Kenta, you’re up.”

“OK.”

The guy at the front door buzzed again and again. He waited for a while, then walked back to the Lexus and got in.

At the same time Kenta strolled down the road in his security outfit. “I can confirm there’s a girl in the back,” he transmitted. He approached the vehicle and tapped on the front passenger window.

“Hello, can I help you?” he asked as the window wound down.

“Do you work in the building?” the dark-suited passenger asked.

“No, I just walk the grounds.”

“Then you can’t help me.” The Mori-Kai gangster raised the tinted glass.

Kenta tapped his Maglite against the window and it lowered again.

The man pulled back his jacket to reveal the butt of a pistol. “Look, old man, I don’t want any trouble. You need to keep your nose out of our business.”

“That’s fine but you need to move your business along,” Kenta replied. As he gestured with the flashlight it slipped out of his hand and bounced into the gutter.

The passenger rolled his eyes. “We’re going anyway. Hurry up and get your light saber.”

The driver laughed at the joke and started the engine.

Kenta dropped to a knee and reached into the gutter. He pretended to fumble the flashlight as he unclipped a false magnet base and transferred it to the underside of the car.

“Hurry the fuck up, Granddad.” The passenger had lit a cigarette and dropped the ash out of the window. It landed in Kenta’s hair.

Kenta slowly got to his feet and proudly showed the Maglite to the men. “I got it.”

“Great work, Skywalker,” laughed the passenger as the Lexus pulled away from the curb, the window rising.

Kenta watched the limousine disappear before heading back to his car. “The tracker is attached,” he transmitted.

“Good job, mate. See you on the ground.” Bishop turned to Saneh with a grin. “Race you down!” Bishop pushed off from the balcony and hissed away into the darkness.

“Child,” sighed Saneh as she descended after him.

Aided by nearly fifty extra pounds, Bishop hit the ground first, touching down lightly. A split second later Saneh was next to him. They ran the lines through their equipment and started stashing them in Bishop’s backpack. He activated an app in his phone and the two micro-detonators he had attached earlier cut the lines on the roof with a snap. The weight of the ropes pulled the anchor lines clear of the roof and they landed on the sidewalk with a thud. Kenta pulled the Toyota alongside; they bundled their gear into the trunk and jumped into the back of the car.

As they drove away, Bishop activated the tracking application on his phone. The flashing icon of the tracker came up straight away. “Good job, people, we are up and running. Very soon we’re going to know exactly where the Mori-Kai are holding their most prized possessions.”

CHAPTER 68

RESIDENCE OF THE YAMAGUCHI-GUMI OYABUN, KOBE

“And once again we find ourselves watching and waiting.” Kurtz slumped back in his chair. “This is pointless…the Yamaguchi have better security than half the government agencies I’ve worked with.”

Aleks grunted and fumbled with a pair of chopsticks as he tried to eat a soba noodle salad for breakfast. The pair were sitting in the security room of the
oyabun
’s residence with two of the uniformed Yamaguchi security guards. Located deep within the mansion, the room’s sophisticated security system controlled all of the access doors and monitored the CCTV cameras.

“Did you see the photos in the foyer?” Kurtz continued. “Every one of those guys has been assassinated. None of the
oyabun
die of old age—that’s why their security is so high.” He gestured to the rack of Mossberg shotguns on the wall. “Us being here is a waste of time. We should be out helping find Karla.”

“Could be worse,” Aleks said between mouthfuls.

“How? I doubt there is really a threat. Bishop just wanted me out of the way.”

A noodle slipped through Aleks’s chopsticks and back into the bowl. “Sweet mother Russia! How do these people not starve to death?” He lifted the bowl up to his face and used the sticks to shovel the noodles into his mouth.

“That’s right, Aleks, you focus on the important things.”

“What? I’m sorry, did my eating interrupt your whine? Perhaps you would like some cheese with that.”

Kurtz gave his partner a withering look, then burst out laughing. “You are such a clown.”

“Look, another Mercedes.” Aleks nodded toward the monitor covering the front gate. “These guys love them.”

“That’s because they’re German engineering. All the best things are German.”

Aleks rolled his eyes and continued with his meal.

“That’s the fifth one this morning. They must be having a meeting of their leaders.”

“Or they’re all members of the same car club.” Aleks scraped the last of the noodles into his mouth and placed the bowl down on the table.

“Yes, a car club whose members are Japanese businessmen that hang out with heavily tattooed, fingerless thugs.”

They watched the screens as the cars stopped in front of the stairs and the blue-shirted servants scrambled to get in place. They bowed low as the Yakuza leaders, all in suits, walked up the stairs and gathered in the foyer.

Kurtz turned to one of the Yamaguchi security guards, who was absentmindedly looking at the screens. “Where is the
oyabun
?”

The man stared at him blankly.

“The
OYABUN
,” he said slowly.

“
Hai, oyabun.
” The man hit a button and the view on one of the screens changed to an image of the kitchens, where the
oyabun
was overseeing the preparation of the food trays.

“The
Führer
is more obsessed with food than you are,” said Kurtz.

“Huh?” Aleks looked up at the screen. The cooks were preparing a feast for the arriving guests.

“Never mind. Here comes another car.” On a different screen the compound’s metal gates slowly swung open as another black Mercedes drove in. One of the two Yamaguchi guards manning the gate leaned forward to confirm the identity of the passenger. He was greeted by the muzzle of a pistol. A distant crack was heard and the man collapsed.

Kurtz leaped out of his chair. “Shots fired! Front gate.”

Aleks joined him, reaching for body armor and assault rifles.

“Comms check.” Aleks donned an earpiece and opened a channel on the iPRIMAL.

“Loud and clear.”

Automatic fire sounded from the front of the building, followed by pistol shots. On screen the Mercedes had been joined by a large delivery van. Heavily armed gunmen were spilling from both vehicles.

“At least twenty of the
Schweine
,” said Kurtz. “They’re wearing armor, carrying automatic weapons.”

The two security guards were screaming at each other in Japanese. One of them grabbed a shotgun off the rack and bolted out the door.

“Where the fuck is he going?” asked Kurtz.

“To join the fight.” Aleks pointed at the screen. It showed the guard running toward the foyer.

The other guard armed himself with a shotgun and stared at the two PRIMAL operatives, clearly looking for direction.

“
Oyabun
!” Kurtz pointed at the screen that showed the kitchen. “Protect the
oyabun
.”

The man nodded and dashed out the door.

More gunshots sounded from the front of the building where the drivers and servants had been waiting.

“What’s the plan, comrade?”

“The
oyabun
is safe in the kitchen for now. We need to stop these
Schweine
from killing all of the clan leaders.”

The PRIMAL operatives ran down the corridor that led to the foyer. Sporadic gunfire could be heard. A shotgun boomed; the security guard was in the fight.

Bullets ripped through the air as they burst into the waiting area. The traditional Japanese building materials of paper and wood were offering little resistance to the full-metal-jacket rounds used by the attackers.

Half a dozen of the Yamaguchi-gumi clan leaders were standing in the waiting room, their pistols drawn. One of the house servants was with them.

“GET DOWN!” Kurtz screamed at them over the sound of gunfire.

The servant dropped to the floor as a round slapped into one of the tattooed lieutenants. He toppled over, blood gurgling from his severed throat. The other men immediately lay down.

“Does anyone speak English?” Kurtz yelled.

“Yes I do,” the servant replied.

“Get these men to the kitchen,” Kurtz ordered. “They need to protect the
oyabun
.”

The young man nodded and relayed the order. The Yamaguchi lieutenants filed back down the corridor as intermittent gunfire continued outside.

Aleks checked the Aimpoint sight on his suppressed Tavor. “Let’s do this.”

Kurtz kicked open the front door and was greeted by an AK-wielding maniac. The Korean screamed with rage, firing his gun blindly from the hip. Kurtz double-tapped him in the face, blowing his brains across the landing.

Bullets snapped through the doorway, forcing Kurtz to lunge to the side.

A pair of gunmen charged up the stairs until they collapsed in a hail of bullets, Aleks rapid-firing his Tavor as he cut them down. He peeked out the door, surveying the carnage.

The bodies of Yamaguchi servants, drivers, and guards littered the driveway between bullet-riddled limousines. The remainder of the attackers were spread out, hunting down the last few Yamaguchi men outside before assaulting the main building.

“Kurtz, can you cover me?” At the bottom of the stairs a Yamaguchi guard was trying desperately to crawl into the house. He had been shot in both legs, leaving a smear of blood on the driveway.

Kurtz ejected a magazine from his Tavor, slapped in a fresh one, and released the working parts, all in one smooth motion. “Covering.” He leaned out from the front door and started firing bursts at the intruders.

Aleks charged down the stairs and had almost reached the wounded man when a volley of rounds slammed into the Yamaguchi guard’s body, spraying him in blood.

Bullets ricocheted off the stairs as Aleks dashed back inside. Attackers closed in after him, covering each other as they advanced on the new threat.

Kurtz emptied his magazine and knelt behind the door as he pulled out a D-cell battery–size smoke grenade. “Too many out there,” he said, rolling the grenade down the stairs.

Aleks was crouched on the other side of the doorway, catching his breath. “
Da,
we need to get back to the
oyabun
and defend from the kitchen.”

“Go!” Kurtz fired another burst at the attackers as billows of smoke filled the entrance. Silhouettes appeared from the haze, the Koreans screaming fiercely as they charged.

Aleks took his cue and peeled back into the corridor that led toward the kitchen. He propped on one knee and aimed at the front door. “Covering!”

Kurtz sprinted back as bullets slammed into the door and attackers burst into the foyer, firing their submachine guns.

Aleks fired automatic bursts, cutting down the first wave. More figures emerged from the smoke, replacing their fallen comrades.

“ON ME!” Kurtz yelled as he retreated down the corridor toward the kitchen.

Aleks walked backward as he engaged targets. The rifle ran dry and he let it drop, drawing his pistol, then continued to shoot at the charging attackers. He felt Kurtz’s elbow pressing against his shoulder and they edged backward.

They moved instinctively as a pair, killing another two of their assailants before they reached the kitchen. As they pushed through the swinging steel doors, a bullet smashed into Aleks’s back. He grunted and snapped his pistol around to face the threat.

The smoking revolver was held in the shaking hand of the Yamaguchi-gumi clan leader.

“I’m on your side, fuckhead,” Aleks snapped, pushing the revolver down with a gloved hand and entering the industrial-size kitchen.

The gray-haired leader of Japan’s largest criminal syndicate was leaning on his cane with a defiant look on his face. Two of his chefs, both wearing aprons, and four of his clan leaders were all that was left of his entourage. They were armed with an assortment of kitchen knives and pistols.

Kurtz fired a burst into the corridor and joined them. “That’s the
oyabun
.”

“I know.” Aleks holstered his pistol and changed the magazine on his Tavor.

“We need to get him out of here.”

“
Da
, I know that too.” He started shoving an industrial stainless-
steel refrigerator across the floor to block the entrance. Kurtz grabbed the front of the appliance and they slid it screeching in front of the door.

Rounds thudded into the refrigerator. A Korean attempted to climb over the barrier until Aleks shoved his Tavor against the man’s skull and blew off the top of his head.

“Is that a way out?” Kurtz asked a Yamaguchi crouching beside a door at the other end of the kitchen.

The man shook his head. “Enemy. Too many!”

Sporadic gunfire could be heard approaching from the corridor.

“What about in here?” Kurtz opened a door that led to stairs heading downward.

“That is the wine cellar,” a voice spoke out in clear English. The house servant that had led the clan leaders to safety appeared from behind an upturned bench. He was clutching a meat cleaver.

“Is there anything else down there?”

A few of the Yamaguchi bosses gave blank looks. The servant looked down the stairs. “The underground parking lot is near but does not connect to the cellar.”

Kurtz nodded to Aleks. “You check it out.” He pointed to the rest of them. “Help me barricade this door.”

As the others focused on the defenses Aleks inspected the wine cellar. It was cool, refrigerated to preserve the rows of wine and sake stacked on the oak shelving. He shoved crates of wine aside and knocked on the walls. He inspected the far wall, tapping it with his pistol. Loosening his armor, he twisted it to get to one of the back pouches. The demolition charge contained less than two pounds of explosives, about half what he would use for an exterior wall. He tore the adhesive coat from the back, stuck it to the smooth concrete, and pulled out the arming pin.

“Hurry up!” Kurtz’s voice urged through the transmitter in his ear.

“Almost done.” Aleks stacked a few crates of wine in front of his demolition charge and armed the charge using his iPRIMAL. “Five seconds.”

“Four.” Aleks ran up the stairs and slammed the cellar door shut. “Three.” He crouched to one side of the door. “Two. Eyes and ears! One.”

The slab detonated with an almighty explosion, blasting the cellar door open in a spray of broken glass and wine. A haze filled the kitchen and the entire building shook.

Aleks gave it a few seconds to settle, then inspected the damage. The explosives had shattered every single bottle of wine. The floor of the cellar was ankle deep in liquid, the earthy smell of red wine and the metallic taint of sake blending in a pungent assault on the nose. But the rear wall had also been breached, a jagged three-foot hole blown through the cinder blocks.