Collector of Secrets (51 page)

Max could easily have done without the history lecture while the Range Rover charged south. He was seated in the back, feeling light-headed, trying not to stare at the driver’s seat, but Lloyd Elgin was too magnetic a draw. Was the guy a stone-cold killer? Or were collateral deaths simply an acceptable byproduct of his work?

Lloyd’s cold green eyes suddenly flicked to the rearview mirror. His orders were calm, as if he’d given them a million times before. “Get down on the floor. Stay there until I tell you otherwise.”

Max hesitated, queasy stomach tensing. Was it a trick?

Sarcasm dripped from the front seat. “We’re near the War Memorial. If you want any
Yakuza
posted on the road to see you, then please continue to sit where you are.”

Max felt his breath catch as he struggled with the seatbelt release. Throwing himself to the floor, his ribs strongly objected. He winced and lay still, listening to the gloating chuckle floating in the air. “If you and your girlfriend want to live, you’ll do whatever I say.”

A minute later, the Range Rover slowed and turned, leaving the main road behind. The pavement ended soon after that, as evidenced by the vehicle’s washboard action. Lloyd’s voice rose over the increased noise. “You can get up now.”

Clambering onto the backseat, Max gazed around. The view surprised him. It seemed as if they’d left the civilized world behind and entered a wild jungle. On either side, stands of bushes and untamed grass rose higher than the vehicle’s roof, while farther back the branches of tall, leafy trees could be seen. Looking ahead, he saw that the dirt road’s two tracks were almost completely overgrown. “Where are we?”

“East of the meeting place.” The vehicle bounced forward until it was blocked by a metal gate. “We walk from here.” Lloyd killed the engine and climbed out while adjusting his khaki pants and hunting shirt. “This is Kevlar, which means I can take a bullet. Keep that in mind if you’re planning to do anything stupid.” A belt loaded with grenades and canisters appeared in his hands, drawn from beneath the front seat. His mid-length jacket swung open as he fastened the device around his waist, revealing a pair of handguns holstered to his chest.

Max felt an instant rush of panic, and he grasped the Range Rover’s door frame for support.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

Lloyd was already several paces away before he turned back to glare. “Are you coming?”

Max hurried to catch up.
I’m the guardian, the new guardian. Just keep telling yourself that . . .

Fifty yards down the trail, they came to a wide dirt clearing surrounded by a circle of thick bushes and dense, tall trees. On the far side, just off to the right, a barricade had been placed, blocking a split in the soaring leafy wall. The dark blue waters of the horizon were visible above the graffiti-covered, waist-high concrete.

Max moved to the open edge and looked down the steep southwest cliff face. Exposed rock dropped a third of the distance to the ocean before meeting a heavy blanket of trees covering the more gradual descent to the bay. Ocean waves rolled relentlessly against a distant reef, creating a foam line where the water met the land. It was hard to imagine so many lives ending in such a beautiful place.

Glancing back to the clearing, the questions running through Max’s brain must have been written on his face. Lloyd answered without being asked. “I have my reasons for picking this place, and yes, we simply wait.” His head flicked suddenly left and right; eyes scanning the clearing’s perimeter. It wasn’t evident what he was sensing, but his voice took on an ominous tone. “It won’t be long now.”

The sun was preparing to sink below the horizon. It was seven o’clock, and Max was working hard to quell the agonizing tension in his neck. It was a Mexican standoff—and it was about to begin.

Voices could be heard coming down the path and he followed Lloyd’s lead by turning to face the approaching noise.

Two barrel-chested men swaggered into view. Dressed in dark suits, each was brandishing a machine gun. Max guessed they must be Oto Kodama’s henchmen. Scurrying in their wake was a rumpled, scholarly-looking old man in a brown blazer.

Close behind came the intimidating figure of the
Yakuza
leader himself. Sporting slicked-back hair and a scowling face, he was shorter than expected. His black suit matched his round sunglasses, and he strutted with an air of pompous authority.

Max’s anger flared.
If it wasn’t for you this wouldn’t be happening; we wouldn’t have to be here.
He envisioned seizing Lloyd’s gun and finishing the job, avenging the murder of Mrs. Kanazawa. The world’s criminal count would be down by one, but what about the cost?
Then who would be the killer?

J
un’s seething eyes stared from behind the bushes surrounding the clearing. He had endured heat and stinging insects while lying in wait, but it was worth the pain. The troublesome
Gaijin
was again within striking distance, straight ahead and a just a few steps to the right.

However, the presence of the other, older American was unsettling—an unknown threat—but Jun reassured himself that with so much firepower on their side, it wasn’t a concern. In the end, the map would be obtained, with Hiro taking the fall for what would now be two dead foreigners.

Father had blessed the sneak attack, but not before they had the map well in hand. The blood and horror would be spectacular, and in his mind he allowed the cartoon carnage to unfold: snapping bones, screams for mercy, and finally the dramatic, wrenching fall to the rocks below. Jun, the hunter, trembled and flexed with anticipation, watching Father’s entourage enter the clearing to his left.

T
he commander pressed his shoulder close to the tall grass while making his way on foot down the winding dirt road. His men were strung out in a single line behind him, guns drawn.

Dropping to a crouch, he motioned for the group to catch up. He pointed ahead at the parked vehicles coming into sight: Oto’s Mercedes, the white van, and a Range Rover were parked twenty paces ahead. The young officer behind him whispered, “It’s the vehicle that picked up the American.”

“Masami Ishi was right, then. Oto and the American are working together.”

From around the van’s far side, a slender man appeared. Dressed in jeans, with long, flat-ironed hair, his tattoos showed beneath rolled-up sleeves. He was smoking a cigarette while practicing his golf swing with an imaginary club.

The commander knew he needed a game plan to quietly get past the sentry, a reason to be walking in the lane. Grabbing a discarded whiskey bottle he began a staggering walk forward.

“Get out of here!” The thug’s thin arms hung loose at his side.

The two men were only feet apart when the commanders struck, delivering a hammering blow to the young man’s jaw. The cigarette popped from the
Yakuza
’s lips like a cork from a champagne bottle, as he dropped to the ground.

Signaling his men forward to join him, the commander slipped between the vehicles and under the metal gate before creeping quietly up the darkening trail.

OTO KODAMA removed his sunglasses, revealing cold, hard eyes. He snapped his fingers, sending the scholarly old man in the blazer marching toward the center of the clearing. Stopping after a dozen steps, the old man held out a hand before uttering in broken English, “Give-u me map-u.”

Max shifted forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with Lloyd. “No deal. I want to see Tomoko first.” He tried hard to project confidence in his voice.

The nervous scholar translated the words back to Oto, who in turn bellowed a gruff call into the air. Men appeared from the bend in the path, shoving their two prisoners from behind. Max felt a surge of elation course from his head to his toes―
thank God she’s alive
―only to be replaced by the painful sting of seeing her hands bound. Mr. M’s grandiose thoughts for a higher purpose seemed absurdly ridiculous at this point. Surviving was all that mattered now.

Tomoko’s steely expression softened when she spotted him, tears escaping down her cheeks. Even from a distance, he could recognize the flex in her jaw as she pursed her lips together, controlling her urge to cry out. The bound
Yakuza
next to her looked a mess. He was limping with each step, blood seeping from a deep wound on his forehead.

As soon as the prisoners entered the clearing, the old scholar came closer yet, holding out his hand, shaking his empty palm. “Give-u map-u.”

Pulling up a grimy pant leg, Max retrieved the soft paper from inside his sock, saying a silent prayer before unfolding the edges to present it. The fake was good, but if the guy was any kind of historian, there was only one way the charade could possibly end.

Take your time, why don’t you,
Max thought, as the detail was scrutinized.

The old man finally refolded the map and carefully placed it in his blazer pocket, acknowledging authenticity by raising both arms over his head into a circle.

Then, without warning, reality imploded as Lloyd dropped to the ground, sweeping his left leg backward and catching Max painfully in the shins, sending him hurtling forward.

What the hell―

As the ground rushed toward his face, Max heard the snap of branches followed by the distinct pop of gunfire. A volley of bullets sailed overhead, exactly where he’d been standing. He looked up and caught a glimpse of Thick Neck bursting from the bushes, racing forward, gun waving, screaming like a maniac. Max slammed hard into the ground, his mind reeling.

Impossible! That guy fell off Ben’s roof. He’s supposed to be dead!

A single bullet from Lloyd caught the big
Yakuza
in the shoulder, spinning him backward and away from Max, who flinched as the first smoke grenade detonated with a flash in the clearing’s center. He looked to his right just in time to see Lloyd rolling away, tossing spewing canisters, before disappearing into the thickening white haze.

T
he commander heard the unmistakable crackle of gunfire and explosive snaps. He motioned for his men to split apart as they raced forward. Ahead, a smoky fog rolled toward them, and seconds later Oto’s two guards stumbled from the cloud, wiping at their eyes. They raised their machine guns at the sight of the five men crouched facing them as the commander shouted surrender over the barrel of his hoisted gun.

A raging voice rose from the billowing smoke. “Get back in there and kill everyone! Get me that map!” Oto emerged just as the first machine-gun blast broke the air.

The volley of returning gunfire burst like fireworks. A bullet slammed hard into Oto’s leg, and he staggered backward, vanishing from sight.

H
iro heard Tomoko scream as Jun rose up, just feet away, and renewed his charge forward, vanishing into the rolling cloud. All around, shadows raced through the burning mist while voices shouted against the thunder of exploding gunpowder. The air burned his mouth and nostrils.

Beside him, Tomoko collapsed to her knees, shoved roughly from behind by her escort.

“Don’t touch her!” Hiro sputtered as he spun into retaliatory action. A driving kick from his good leg knocked the first man backward, allowing him to wrench free the man’s baseball bat. Clutching it in his bound hands and swinging madly, he delivered a lethal series of silencing blows. The second escort scrambled backward before disappearing in a frenzy.

Hiro tossed down the bat and slumped purposely to the ground, keeping his face low in an attempt to draw in better air. Blood drained into his right eye from the gash in his forehead, making it difficult to see, but he refused to give up. Tomoko had peered inside his soul and seen him for who he could be, and not what he was. She had given him something he’d never expected, and his gift in return would be her freedom.

Working his bound hands free, he found her huddled form. Grabbing her wrists, he tore frantically at the knots in the rope, ignoring the pain from his missing finger.

P
ositioned on all fours, Max fought to gather his bearings. Estimating distance or direction was impossible in the cloud of surrounding chaos, but he knew it was critical to move fast. He closed his eyes against the stinging air and rushed in what he hoped was Tomoko’s direction. Abruptly, he felt a crashing weight of bone and flesh slam hard against his left hip. The impact drove him back to the ground as Thick Neck tumbled overtop. Max ignored the shooting pain and struggled back to his knees, darting ahead into the thick white soup as the thud of Thick Neck’s feet closed in behind him.