PRIMAL Fury (The PRIMAL Series) (45 page)

CHAPTER 83

RESIDENCE OF THE MORI-KAI OYABUN, HIMEJI

“None of them got away?” Toru Nishimuru, the Mori-Kai
oyabun
and mayor of Himeji, screamed his question at Ryu and Masateru.

“The SAT used gas and massacred the gangs. The rest were captured. There was nothing we could do,” said Masateru.

His Kissaki commander stared at the floor. They neglected to mention that nearly half their Kissaki force was dead or in the hospital.

Nishimuru threw his whiskey glass at the windows of his office. It smashed on the armored glass, shattering into pieces on the bamboo floor. “Fucking police. What do we pay them for?”

“We will be able to replace the weapons and the men,” said Masateru.

“Not any time soon! Word will get around that working for the Mori-Kai puts you in prison or a grave.”

“Our money is still good. We will raise another army.”

A phone beeped. Ryu moved to the corner of the room to check his messages.

“The time to strike was today but somehow the
gaijin
outwitted us. They made you look like a fool!”

Masateru’s face turned red. “All is not lost. Our facilities are still running—” He clenched his fists, fighting the urge to draw his knife.

“Apologies for interrupting,” Ryu said softly.

“What is it?” Nishimuru took another glass of whiskey from a house servant.

“You wanted an update on the search for the Yamaguchi leader.”

“Yes, go on.”

“We are still searching.”

“What about the foreigners?” Masateru asked, regaining his composure.

“They have disappeared.”

“What fucking use is your informant network if you can’t find anyone?” The veins on the side of Nishimuru’s head bulged. “Double the price on all their heads.”

“Yes,
oyabun
.” Ryu stepped out of the study, leaving the two men alone.

Masateru waited for the door to shut. “I will find the old Yamaguchi dog and skin him personally so you can mount his hide on your wall.”

“I want to know what you are going to do about the
gaijin.
” Nishimuru slumped into a settee and downed his whiskey.

Masateru poured his boss another drink. “Until I find them, it might be wise to move you to a more discreet location.”

“You want me to run like a scared little girl?” His thick eyebrows furrowed as he glared over his glass. “I will not run.”

“It would only be until the threat has passed. Once the Kissaki have destroyed the Yamaguchi and the
gaijin
you will be able to return to the manor.”

Nishimuru studied his drink. “But they are unaware of my identity.”

“Yes, but there are others who are not.”

“Superintendent Supervisor Tanaka. That fool failed us…He should be dealt with accordingly.”

“I think it might be premature to eliminate him; he may yet prove valuable.”

“Perhaps.” The
oyabun
placed his drink back on the table. “Send for the helicopter. I will retire to another location until our enemies
are dealt with.”

As if on cue, the crackle of gunfire penetrated the walls of the mansion. From inside, it sounded as if an army was descending upon them.

“It’s the police! Tanaka must have sold us out!” The
oyabun
’s eyes were wide with fear.

The door to the study burst open and Ryu stormed in with his G36 in hand. “The guardhouse is under attack. We need to lock down the estate.”

“Do it,” Masateru ordered. “Have the patrol reinforce the guards at the front gate.” He glanced at his watch. “I have already called the helicopter. It should arrive soon.”

“Yes,
waka-gashira
.”

Masateru turned to the
oyabun
. “If it were the police we would have been warned. This has to be the
gaijin
.”

“Good,” said the
oyabun
. “Kill them all.”

The steel fasteners on the sewer grate screamed in protest as Kurtz attacked them with a small, battery-powered grinder. Sparks arced off the diamond carbide blade as it cut into the high-tensile steel.

The sound was drowned out by the cacophony of noise coming from farther up the valley. The gunfire simulators were doing their job: Flashing in the darkness, they gave the impression that the guardhouse was under attack by at least a platoon’s worth of weapons.

Kurtz ground out the final fastener and the grate dropped off the culvert with a thud. “We’re through,” he told the group.

Bishop led, sliding into the three-foot-high tunnel on his stomach. He held his weapon in one hand and used his elbows to drag himself forward. His helmet filtered out the rank smell of the water.

He slid out of the tunnel and rose to a knee, scanning the area with his helmet sensors. “All clear.” The drainpipe had given them access to the gardens of the Himeji mayor’s residence. The lights of the house created a faint glow high up on the hill in front of him, past the sprawling gardens.

One by one the team slid through the drainpipe. Aleks came last, a tight squeeze for the big man. Then they fanned out, pausing for any sign that their infiltration had been compromised.

“Push up into a fire-support position.” Bishop directed Aleks with a gloved hand.

The hulking Russian was an intimidating sight in his black full-body armor and helmet. He moved in a crouch, climbing a small rise that led up toward the estate. Kenta followed and the pair disappeared into the shadows. Sixty seconds passed before they reported.

“In position.”

“Let’s go.” Bishop led Kurtz and Saneh up through the gardens. The gunfire simulators petered out, expending the last of their cartridges. It left an eerie stillness as they moved through the stone outcrops, manicured lawns, sculpted shrubbery, pebble paths, and small ponds of the traditional Japanese garden.

“It’s beautiful,” Saneh’s voice came over their integrated helmet communications.

“Some good cover and concealment,” Bishop added.

“Tangos heading down hill,” Aleks broadcast from his position.

“How many?” Bishop asked as his team went to ground behind a large mound covered in manicured turf.

“Four, heading down toward the gate,” Aleks replied. “I’ve got them.”

An assault rifle barked in close vicinity to the team and rounds snapped through the air. Aleks fired a burst from his Mk48, the suppressed machine gun clearly audible in the still night air.

“Kurtz, jam their comms.” Bishop crawled forward, looking for a better position.

On the back of his armor Kurtz wore what looked like a radio with a short whip antenna. The electronic attack module was controlled by his forearm-mounted iPRIMAL and could block communications within a three-hundred-meter radius.

“Frequencies jammed. Let’s kill these bastards.” Kurtz crawled up alongside Bishop.

More automatic bursts could be heard coming from Aleks and Kenta’s position. “Aleks has them pinned. We can hit them from the flank,” said Bishop.

“Let’s do it.” Saneh joined them.

The three moved forward in bounds, one at a time, dashing between the perfectly manicured grass mounds and rock features.

Saneh closed in on two of the Kissaki pinned behind a boulder, Aleks’s 7.62mm rounds impacting around them in controlled bursts. She lined them up with the infrared laser on her Tavor and cut them down with rapid-fire shots, armor-piercing ammunition tearing through their Kevlar vests.

“Good shooting.” Bishop moved in next to her. “Where are the other two?”

“We got at least one,” radioed Aleks. “I think the other guy pulled back to the mansion.”

The modern, two-story structure was lit up with powerful floodlights. Angled outward, they were designed to reduce the effectiveness of night vision and illuminate any intruders. The PRIMAL team’s CAT helmets automatically adjusted for the increase in light, relying on thermal imaging to provide a clear image.

Bishop’s orders came through over their comms system. “We’re going to keep heading up the left flank. Aleks and Kenta, I want you to run ahead and provide fire support.”

“Acknowledged, we are moving now,” said Aleks.

Bishop led his team along the edge of the property toward the side of the mansion, sticking to the darkest shadows and avoiding the floodlights. They reached the side of the mansion without incident, staying hidden in the garden. From their position they could see through the ground-floor windows. The second level of the building overlooked their approach. He could detect no movement inside.

“It looks like they’ve locked down and are waiting for us,” Kurtz said.

“We could breach in through the garage,” Bishop said, pointing at the driveway that led down to a roller door.

“It looks heavy duty,” said Kurtz. “We should target the windows, it’ll be quicker.”

“All right, I’ll pop the distraction, and you hit them with the forty mil. Then Saneh and I will hit the lights.”

“Good plan.” Kurtz cracked the grenade launcher slung under his Tavor and used his thumb to check he had a round chambered. He aimed the weapon at the floor-to-ceiling windows on the ground floor.

A flash lit up the sky when Bishop remotely detonated the explosives at the back of the estate. Half a second later the sound of the explosion rolled over them. He activated another icon on his iPRIMAL
and half a dozen more gunfire simulators started going off in the same
area.

Kurtz’s 40mm grenade arced through the air and slammed into the windows with a crump.

Bishop and Saneh fired their weapons at the floodlights, plunging their side of the mansion into darkness. Guided by the multispectral sensors in their helmets, they moved swiftly through the garden toward the house.

“Fuck! It didn’t breach,” Bishop yelled as he got closer. Kurtz’s grenade had blasted a fist-size hole through the armored glass, which remained otherwise intact.

A burst of automatic fire from one of the balconies stitched the ground at his feet. “SHOOTERS HIGH, SHOOTERS HIGH!” he screamed as he returned fire, backpedaling into a ditch at the edge of the garden.

Caught in the open, Saneh emptied her magazine in the general direction of the upper floor and ran for the cover of the down ramp to the garage. Rounds slapped into the gravel as she sprinted across it.

There was a thump as another of Kurtz’s grenades slammed into the heavy balcony wall protecting the shooters on the upper floor.

“Damn it, I’m pinned.” Bishop was lying as low as he could. Bullets thudded into the lip of the ditch, showering him in dirt.

“I’ve got nothing here.” Saneh was standing against the heavy steel roller doors of the garage, hidden from the shooters on the second level. A grenade landed on the ramp with a clunk and rolled toward her.

“GRENADE!” She grabbed it and tossed it up the ramp.

It landed a few yards from Bishop and exploded with an ear-splitting crump, showering him in gravel. “Thanks for that,” Bishop said. His helmet had protected his ears and eyes from the blast.

“Sorry.”

“Kurtz, we’re pinned here. You going to take out those clowns upstairs or should I have a nap?”

“I know, I know, I’m on it.” Kurtz fired his last grenade at the second story. It detonated on the balcony but failed to neutralize the shooters. “
Scheisse
.” He fired a burst from his Tavor and dropped back into cover.