The Traitor's Gold, page 11
But then the floating casino fiasco happened.
Miura still cringed about it now, despite the recent warming memories that curdled his brain. He remembered boarding that ship, getting struck in the face by some fiery-eyed, raven-haired woman, and had then known nothing else for about ten minutes. By the time he recovered, their enemies were outside in some car being chased by two of his men. It was a washout. A disaster. But then…the two men chasing lost their prey.
Miura had swallowed it hard. They were essentially back to square one; the prey called Aoki snatched away from them. And, even worse, it was the same enemy that had thwarted them back in Dublin.
Of course, circumstances hadn’t enabled the SED to bring their full force. They couldn’t operate with impunity in public. It was a hobble that Miura didn’t need. He brought the matter to his superiors every day, asked them respectfully for more leeway. It was a request that, so far, hadn’t been granted.
Civilians.
Miura would exact revenge from them. He would make them pay for humiliating him and his men. Miura would never exceed his authority, though; kidnapping and torturing the Japanese national had been part of his purview. Miura knew that, to his employers, he was just another asset, another head to put into motion. But he kind of respected and liked that. The leaders, far and immediate bosses, shouldn’t feel the need to explain themselves. And Miura had no qualms about going into action.
He just wished his hands weren’t partly tied.
Miura returned to the present, waiting for his men to make a plan, to make something happen. His thoughts turned towards the ancient Chinese casino.
A prize. A national asset, not a dirty place for enemies to pick over. Miura had been told by people who knew that the casino had vanished beneath the sands, destroyed by a gigantic earthquake back in the fifteenth century, that it had been full to the brim at the time. Not just with people, but with all sorts of wealth.
Coins. Jewels. Tapestries. Paintings. Bracelets. Necklaces. A veritable capital of the nation’s wealth. It had been the most famous casino of its time, the biggest. Why did Miura need to know all that?
To understand just what it meant to the men in charge. To have no illusions about the importance of his mission.
Miura was happy in any scenario that pitted him against a capable enemy. It gave him scope, choice, fewer fetters. He had little respect for his adversaries. The only scenario he didn’t like was where the enemy was winning.
But no more. Not after yesterday.
In his mind’s eye, Miura could still smell the fresh blood, still see the torn flesh. It had a kind of beautiful symmetry to it, more fulfilling than any sunrise, any blazing sunset. Miura wondered who else they might capture and interrogate soon. He was sure somebody would come along.
Filled with the peace that the thought of torture and murder brought him, Miura started walking. He made sure not to touch the filth that passed by, made sure not to follow in their tracks. He was a man alone among inferiors. He knew it, had always known it. Above all, he was entirely loyal; he loved the Shadow Kings. At any cost, he would avenge them even if the slight hadn’t happened yet. If his bosses pointed him at it, he would kill it.
My superiors demand that I win.
And Miura would win.
Chapter 16
It was after six by the time Mason and his team had called a taxi, given the driver Kenji Kimura’s address and then sat in silence as the vehicle wound its way through the suburbs. Here, Mason saw a very different Japan from the Tokyo he’d visited yesterday. He saw dilapidated shacks, dirt roads and children playing out in the street in their dirty rags. He saw malnourished dogs roaming the streets, men and women standing on corners with little to do. Yes, it was a reality often found behind the main façade of, say, a bustling street market, but it was a reality that existed everywhere, it seemed.
Eventually, they arrived. A dirt path led to a row of squat homes just off the street. They all climbed out of the taxi and asked it to wait, but the man inside either didn’t understand them or couldn’t be bothered, because he drove off at speed. Which left Roxy waving at the vanishing car, looking like she wanted to get hold of the driver by the neck.
‘Bastard,’ she said.
They walked up the dirt path. Immediately, Hassell and Roxy had gone into surveillance mode, observing in all directions. The houses – Mason counted nine in a row – were all attached and all the same: two front windows, a wooden door and an inverted V-shaped roof. He walked down the path, stopped at the door and gave it three raps.
He waited. Nobody answered. Aoki came forward and tried to do better, giving the door five good whacks. Still nothing.
Mason, ready for anything, saw the front door ease inwards with a low creak at that point. It wasn’t locked, wasn’t even fully closed. He reached out and pushed it open.
‘Heads up, guys,’ he said. ‘Be ready for anything.’
He led the way inside, moving swiftly and carefully. Quaid backed him up, followed by Aoki and then Sally and Luciane. Hassell and Roxy stayed outside a while longer and then entered when they were sure the coast was clear.
Mason walked down a narrow corridor, immediately presented with a room to the right and a far door, through which he could see an oven and a sink. He checked the door on the right first, conscious that the light slanting in the front windows was dimming already. The room was empty of life, inhabited by a two-seater sofa that had burst, leaking stuffing, a high, scarred table and an old radio that sat on an incongruous nightstand.
He checked out the floor too, saw the mud on the floorboards. Either Kenji was incredibly messy or a lot of men had tramped their way through here recently. The mud wasn’t totally dry. Mason knew they’d already announced their presence to anyone in hiding, but he crept down the narrow passage quietly, and entered the kitchen with stealth.
It was small, dark; just a few surfaces, a cooker and a small fridge that buzzed loudly. There were dirty dishes in the sink. Mason could have believed that Kenji hadn’t been home for a few days, maybe a week. Perhaps he wasn’t here at all, hadn’t been for days, weeks. It would be better for him if that were the case.
Mason turned in a circle. There really wasn’t anything else to look at and they couldn’t all fit in the kitchen. Quaid and Roxy had gone through the other door in the hallway and found a small bedroom. They called out that it, too, was empty, and that there was a lot of mud on the floor, and dozens of footprints.
Mason checked the kitchen floor. It was the same. He walked over to the back door. Saw that that too was partly open.
It didn’t feel right. Surely Kenji Kimura didn’t go out and leave all his doors open, leave this kind of mess on the floor. Mason saw myriad boot prints in the mud.
He turned to the back door.
Opened it. Went back out into the bracing wind and the dying of the light. It wasn’t night yet, was barely sunset, but the clouds had rolled in and were suffocating a lot of the ambient light. Mason stood on a flagstone and stared hard at the centre of the garden.
He gasped.
The others followed him outside. For a long minute, Mason didn’t move. His stomach turned over, the breath caught in his throat. He narrowed his eyes, desperate to unsee the sight that appeared before his eyes.
In one corner of the garden, under the wooden fence that separated Kenji’s garden from the next one, a figure lay. They had staked him out, wooden spears bashed through his hands and feet, pinning him to the earth. Congealed blood was everywhere, and bits of clothing, rags. The man was naked, his mouth wide open.
And he was still moving.
Mason ran to the weakly struggling individual. Aoki was with him, the man’s eyes wide with fear and expectation. Mason reached the figure and fell to his knees.
He reached out but didn’t touch the man. Aoki leaned forward.
‘Kenji,’ he said. ‘Who did this to you?’
Kenji’s glassy eyes fixed first on Mason with fear and then on Aoki with recognition. He struggled again, winced with the pain. Mason saw many encrusted stab wounds covering his body like a latticework. The only thing his enemies hadn’t touched was his mouth and eyes.
‘Kenji,’ Aoki said again, voice soft.
Mason sensed the others coming up, gathering around. He looked up. ‘Form a perimeter,’ he said. ‘I don’t think whoever did this will be back, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.’
‘On it.’ Roxy and Hassell drifted away.
Mason looked directly at Aoki. ‘Can you get him to tell us what happened?’
‘He needs a hospital,’ Aoki said.
‘And he’ll get one. But the men responsible for this, and for your own dilemma, are out there. We need to catch up and get ahead of them. Is this how you want to end up? I know I don’t.’
Aoki bent to Kenji, close to the man’s wide, blinking eyes, and spoke. Through translation, Aoki related the conversation.
‘My friend,’ he said. ‘I am sorry. Who did this?’
‘Soldiers,’ a whisper came rattling from the parched, bloody throat. ‘Soldiers did this.’
‘Why?’ Aoki asked.
‘Coins,’ Kenji whispered. ‘They wanted the coins. You remember?’
Aoki nodded, bending closer still to his friend. ‘I remember those damn coins. I’m still paying the price for them. Though not as hard as you,’ he added.
‘What did you give them?’ Mason asked suddenly, not following the conversation but conscious they needed an answer to the question.
Aoki whispered in his friend’s ear. ‘What did you tell them?’
Kenji struggled weakly. Mason had left the stakes in for now; the blood had encrusted all around them and was no longer flowing. Kenji was badly hurt, but not dead. If he’d been lying staked out in this garden all night, though, things might be different.
‘Tanaka,’ Kenji said simply. ‘Do you remember Tanaka?’
Aoki blinked rapidly. He certainly remembered Tanaka, and now it all made sense. ‘Tanaka gave the coins to you?’
Kenji nodded.
Aoki turned to Mason. ‘He says Tanaka gave him the coins in the first place. He told this to the soldiers.’
‘Who’s Tanaka?’
‘We’ll get to that. Tanaka is a relatively famous guy. I can tell you all I know, but first we have to help Kenji.’
‘We are helping Kenji. The SED did this. We’re here for him, and we’re calling an ambulance. But please, tell me all about this Tanaka as quickly as you can.’
Mason pulled Aoki away from the prone man. He was fully aware that they had to act fast, but he had also thought this whole scenario through to its bitter end. There were no options here. He felt sorry for Kenji, but they couldn’t be here when the ambulance and the cops arrived. There would be too many questions. It could put them back days. And if they couldn’t be here, they couldn’t yet call an ambulance. It was tough, but it was clear enough to Mason. He looked hard at Aoki.
‘You give me everything you have on Tanaka and then you’re gonna have to stay behind. With Kenji. You can say you came to visit your friend and found him that way.’
‘It will look better if I stay behind on my own,’ Aoki admitted.
‘That’s sorted then. Can you pull it off?’
‘I’m a gambler. I have the poker face.’
Mason didn’t get into the man’s losses and debts. This wasn’t the time. He had to hope that Aoki was as good as he thought he was.
‘Now,’ he said. ‘Tell me all about this guy Tanaka.’
Chapter 17
Mason and the others were on the road again, this time trundling through the prefecture of Saitama on their hunt for the man named Tanaka.
Leaving Kyoto, they’d flown back to Tokyo, arrived late and then spent a few hours kipping in a hotel. They’d hired a car, a large black Nissan, and then set out on their journey through central Japan.
‘His name is Tanaka,’ Aoki had told them before they left him behind with the dying Kenji. ‘He is a travelling salesman, well known, famous, in fact. He trawls a known corridor from the outskirts of Tokyo to Saitama to Kumagaya, Takasaki and Ueda when he’s not flying to Kyoto market for supplies, which he does once a month. He has been doing the same urban journey for more than a decade. His journey follows the corridor of Highway 18. As a joke, people call him Tanaka 18. That’s how systematic he is. He visits the same people, same homes, same faces, on his loop that takes him two weeks. Through Kenji, I know two people on that loop. Take your pick.’
They had a description of Tanaka. They knew what make of car he drove – a dark grey Toyota Hilux, a vehicle Tanaka was synonymous with. They knew his route. Sally had worked out the supposed days he would visit any single place. All they had to do now was surveil the people Kenji knew of, and wait.
All we have to do…Mason thought.
It was loose, he knew. But Tanaka was a creature of habit, had been for a decade, and Mason thought they could rely on him to stay true to form. They drove through Saitama City, passing the great stadium and a few high-rise buildings on their way. Saitama was big. Luckily, both of their addresses lay beyond the city.
They drove for hours, Mason and then Hassell at the wheel for a change. Quaid sat in the back alongside Luciane, the two conversing quietly.
‘Thank you for saving me back there,’ Luciane said.
‘Back there? Oh, you mean in Dublin?’ And Mason realised they hadn’t had time to stop or take more than a few minutes to themselves since leaving Ireland. They’d been in full-on chase or research mode.
Quaid smiled sideways at Luciane. ‘You’re welcome,’ he said. ‘As soon as I knew you were in trouble, I jumped on a plane.’
Luciane slipped her hand into his. ‘Thank you.’
‘It’s no bother,’ Quaid said a little gruffly. ‘And hey, it’s been a few minutes.’
‘Since we last saw each other? I guess it has. You look well.’
‘I am well.’
‘Still active. Still take charge. Paul…’ She sat forward. ‘What happened to you, honey?’
Quaid closed his eyes briefly. ‘You mean since we last saw each other? Wow, that’s a long story.’
‘Tell her about Anya,’ Roxy said.
Quaid winced.
‘Who’s Anya?’ Luciane asked.
Quaid turned to Roxy with a thanks a lot look and then switched back to Luciane. ‘Since we last met,’ he said pointedly. ‘I grew out of love with the army. Got sick of playing a politician’s game, fighting enemies one week who ended up as allies the next, seeing good men die along the way. I became enlightened.’
‘You found God?’
‘No, no, nothing like that. My eyes opened to the corrupt ways of government. I wanted nothing to do with it. So I left the army. Branched out on my own. Spent years growing already good contacts and helping those in need, buying and selling, accepting a small profit whilst helping the less fortunate in luckless, war-torn countries. I guess I dropped off the radar.’
‘You certainly did.’ Luciane clasped his hand. ‘I tried to reach you more than once.’
‘Sorry’ was all Quaid could think of to say.
‘So who’s Anya?’
Quaid swallowed. ‘Just a lady I met along the way. Met on my travels. You know how it is.’
Luciane smiled as they went over a pothole. ‘I definitely do with you.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘A woman in every port, sometimes two. That’s the Paul Quaid I remember.’
‘They’re contacts. Extremely good ones.’
‘Yeah, contacts,’ Roxy laughed. ‘Stick with that.’
‘Stay out of it. I didn’t ask for your—’
But now Luciane was looking around the car, from one team member to the next. ‘So how did you come to be working with this team?’
Quaid bit his lip. It was a good question. ‘Well, Sally,’ he said. ‘Her father died recently in a raid on the Vatican. Joe and Roxy were also involved. They tried to save him. Sally hates wealth and privilege, fought against it for years, but she inherited a fortune when her dad died, and has tried to put it to good use. One of these uses was to form this team, Quest Investigations, and now we travel all around the world safeguarding or transporting or hunting for ancient artefacts.’
Luciane nodded at Sally. ‘Sounds like a good cause.’
‘Hassell?’ Quaid sighed. ‘Is hard to explain. When we met, he was a baddie. Now he’s a goodie.’ Quaid smiled as he tried to lighten the conversation. ‘He’s an expert infiltrator, and he’s on a journey of enlightenment. Seeking something. The bad guys did some terrible things to him.’
Luciane looked at Hassell’s stoic face and tried a smile. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Then we have Roxy,’ Quaid went on with the proper introductions.
‘Be careful,’ Roxy said.
‘What the hell can I say about her? She’s raw, an ex-assassin or something. Hard ass with a heart of gold. This team just wouldn’t work without her. It’s really difficult not to get on her wrong side, but she doesn’t hold a grudge.’
Roxy made a face. ‘That’s what you think, asshole.’
Quaid shook his head, turning finally to Mason. ‘And then there’s Joe. He’s ex-army too. Mason is the glue that holds us all together.’
‘A fighter, like me,’ Luciane said.
‘We’re all fighting something,’ Quaid said with a shrug. ‘That’s who we are.’
Mason kept concentrating on the road as the conversation turned in the back seat. He learned a bit more about Luciane, understood what drove her to do what she did – a love of history, a desire to do something different and a willingness to go out of her way for something long lost, long forgotten in some instances. She loved a lost cause and the art of trying to make it live again.
