The Last Assassin (15 page)

“Roger that.”

Two minutes later he called me back. “It's done. Anywhere they go, we can tail 'em from a distance and we'll know where they stop. And if they walk, we can just follow the sounds of the earth shaking beneath their feet.”

“Right,” I said. I pictured the four darts we had. Kanezaki had said they were good for anything up to a rhino. I hoped he meant it literally. Otherwise, we were going to be in trouble.

T
HE NEXT THIRTY HOURS
were mostly watching and waiting. The inn's
kaiseki—
Japanese haute cuisine—was excellent, and its
onsen
hot spring baths were wonderful. I availed myself of both lest my reticence be remarked on, and felt a little bad amid the luxurious surroundings about having to leave Dox in the van. Twice on our second day at the inn I drove us out to more remote areas so he could stretch and get some air. He was never anything other than cheerful and I thought some distant Marine gods must be proud.

The clouds of the previous day coalesced into a storm that broke just after midnight. I sat in the alcove of my room, the lights off, my gaze alternating between the GPS monitor, which indicated the Cadillac hadn't moved, and the dark sea without. At a little after two, my cell phone buzzed. It was Dox.

“Our friends are getting in the car,” he said. “Wonder who they could be going to meet at this hour and in this weather.”

“We're going to find out,” I said. I got up, pulled on the waterproof pants and jacket I had bought for this very occasion, and headed for the door.

The lobby of the inn was deserted. I was prepared with a story, of course, about wanting to walk in the rain, but that would have been thin and I was glad not to have to employ it.

We followed the Cadillac from a half-kilometer back. Dox, in a black nylon-lined fleece, monitored the transmitter from the passenger seat. The Cadillac showed up as a blinking red light on the mapping software and we had no trouble tracking it. So far, so good.

We passed no cars on the coastal road. After a few minutes, the red light started moving around erratically—figure eights and zigzags.

“They're looking for problems,” Dox observed.

I nodded. “That's why we're hanging back.”

After another few minutes, the red light turned right, into the park I had reconnoitered earlier, then stopped.

“What did I tell you,” I said, smiling.

He chuckled. “Like I said, devious minds think alike.”

I cut the lights and we drove the rest of the way with the night-vision goggles on. Everything showed up fine. A hundred meters past the park, we pulled off the road and stopped. The rain played a drumbeat on the van's steel top while we geared up inside.

“Remember, the neck,” I said, wrapping tape around my pant legs to make sure the material from the left wouldn't make noise rubbing against the right. “The farther away from the neck you hit, the longer it's going to take the tranquilizer to kick in. And I don't want to have to dance in the dark with two half-drugged, pissed-off sumo wrestlers.”

“You sure? I'd pay good money to see it.”

In the green glow of the night-vision equipment I saw he was grinning below his goggles. “Start with one dart each,” I said. “See if that does the trick. We'll only need them down for a minute, but with the size of these guys I don't know. So if the first shot doesn't work right away, hit them again. Don't take chances. If we wind up having to shoot them, it's not going to look like they ripped off the Chinese. And that's the whole point here.”

“Roger that.”

I double-checked the HK to make sure a round was chambered. “You ready?”

“Never readier, son.”

“Let's go.”

I had already made sure to shut off the interior dome light, and the van stayed dark as we exited. We closed the doors softly, but the rain was really coming down now and I doubted anyone would have heard regardless.

We crept along the sodden ground to the Cadillac, heads and guns tracking left and right as we moved. Everything was illuminated beautifully in the goggles. The car was empty. We paused alongside it and looked down the gently sloping ground to the water.

There they were, ten meters away, standing at the edge of the surf like a pair of boulders overlooking the sea. They were wearing trench coats and held umbrellas that looked like little parasols hovering above their bulk.

“Man,” Dox whispered. “If you stuck bulbs in their mouths, you'd have yourself a pair of damn lighthouses.”

One of the sumos had a phone to his ear but I couldn't hear him over the steady downpour. The other guy was looking at a small LCD monitor, and I realized they were using their own GPS equipment to link up with the boat that was bringing in their shipment. A black cargo bag was on the ground between them, presumably payment for the drugs.

I took off the goggles for a moment and let my eyes adjust. I wanted an idea of how well anyone could see unaided in the darkness. Not well at all, I was pleased to note. There was some ambient light from distant streetlights and the moon behind the rain clouds—enough for the Chinese and sumos to make the exchange, I thought, but not enough to make out individual faces. As long as we took care not to silhouette ourselves against the reflected light from the town we wouldn't be seen until it was too late.

I put the goggles back on. A moment later there was a flash from somewhere on the water. The sumo with the phone took out a flashlight and blinked back. I signaled to Dox and he nodded, then moved off to settle into sniping position.

There was another series of flashes from sea, closer this time, and responses from the sumo. After a few minutes I heard the thrum of an engine through the steady beat of the rain, and then an inflatable catamaran came cutting through the waves.

My heart started hammering.
Here we go,
I thought.

I took out the cell phone and called Dox. The screens on both our units were taped to prevent light from giving us away. “You in position?” I whispered.

“Roger that. I'm fifty yards behind you, prone on higher ground. Perfect position and a clear field of fire.”

“You see the boat?”

“I see it. Looks like two…no, wait, make that three Chinamen on board.”

“All right. Wait until they're off the boat, or as many of them as look like they're going to get off, then drop the sumos. I'll take it from there.”

“Roger that.”

I clicked off and put the phone away.

The boat came closer. As it reached the shoreline, I could make out individual faces. No one was sporting any night-vision equipment. Apparently, they didn't think they'd need it.

One of the Chinese cut the engine and raised it out of the water. Another jumped into the surf and waded in, pulling the boat behind him by a rope. When the boat was grounded, the other two Chinese got out, too. Each of them carried a large waterproof duffel bag. They went back to the boat twice more. When they were done, there were six duffels lined up next to the boat.

The Chinese who had jumped out first gestured to the sumos. The other two stood off to the side, watching the sumos warily. One of the giant men picked up the cargo bag and came closer, his buddy following from behind, no doubt to provide cover if something went wrong. As indeed it soon would.

I eased out from behind the Cadillac and moved silently toward the water.

The Chinese unzipped one of the bags, presumably to show the lead sumo the product inside.

I reached the surf ten meters down from them and went in up to my knees. The water was cold but I barely felt it. I started moving in from their flank, crouching low, the HK out at chin level in a two-handed grip. I moved deliberately, trading speed for stealth, wanting to get as close as possible. If I failed to drop them all instantly, whoever I missed might return fire on whatever muzzle flash escaped my suppressor, and I was less than enthusiastic about the prospect of panicked triad members spraying bullets in my uncovered general direction from a stone's throw away.

There was a soft crack from somewhere behind us. The rear sumo cried out and slapped a hand to his neck with a loud
thwack.

Everyone froze and looked at him.

I crept in closer. Four meters now.

If the lead sumo hadn't turned, too, I expected the Chinese would have dropped him then and there. But his hands were out and he seemed as surprised as they were.

The rear sumo took an unsteady step forward. The lead Chinese yelled something, a warning, presumably, and backed away.

Three meters.

The lead sumo started to turn back to the Chinese, his hand going to his jacket.

There was another soft crack. Instead of reaching into his jacket, the sumo cried out and grabbed his neck.

The C0
₂
cartridges produced no muzzle flash. And in the dark and rain, it was impossible to tell where the sounds of fire had come from, or even what they were.

The sumos were both staggering now. The Chinese were all watching with the internationally approved expression for
What the fuck?
frozen on their faces.

The first sumo sank to his knees. The other stumbled into him and tripped. The Chinese scattered, and the falling sumo landed on his partner like a tree felled by a logger. The ground shook with the impact, and, as one, the Chinese cried out and pulled out machine pistols. They pointed them first at the sumo pile, then, their higher brains perhaps getting a word in edgewise, started looking around wildly, their eyes wide in the dark.

I put the infrared laser on the head of the man farthest from me. I saw the dot clearly in the night-vision goggles. Without the goggles, I knew, the dot was invisible. I took a deep breath, exhaled, and rolled my trigger finger in.

Pfffttt.
The .45 round caught him in the side of the head and he flopped soundlessly forward onto the ground.

Pfffttt.
The second guy went down the same way.

The third guy looked at his fallen comrades. Then, possibly realizing what had happened, he started to wheel around toward me.

Too late. I shot him in the head, too, and he collapsed beside the others.

I scanned the beach. A few meters away the sumos were still piled one on top of the other, both facedown. I realized with a start that the guy on the bottom might be suffocating. His face was in the mud, and large as he was, that was a hell of a load bearing down on him from above. If he suffocated, this wasn't going to look the way we needed it to look. I signaled to Dox to come in, and started wading ashore.

I walked up from behind and prodded them each with a wet boot. No response. Okay, they were out. I secured the HK in the holster and felt under their jackets. The lead guy had reached for something at one point, so I knew they were carrying. There it was, a pistol in his unending waistband. I pulled it out and flung it into the surf, then, in spite of all the folds of flesh, managed to repeat the operation for the other guy.

I grabbed the top guy's wrist. I pulled hard but it was like trying to uproot a tree.

Shit, the bottom guy was definitely eating mud. I pulled hard again. Again he didn't budge.

A moment later, Dox reached my position. “Nice shooting,” he said. “One shot, one kill. Or in this case three shots, three kills.”

“Give me a hand with this guy,” I said, still trying to pull the sumo by the wrist. “I think he's smothering the one underneath him.”

“Ah, shit.” Dox dropped the tranquilizer rifle and grabbed the sumo by the arm. We managed to pull him partly off his partner, but not enough. I squatted down and lifted the bottom guy's head off the ground. His eyes were shut and his face was covered with mud. I couldn't tell if he was breathing.

“If that boy needs resuscitating, you can count me out,” Dox said from behind me.

I put my ear near the sumo's mouth but couldn't hear anything. “He's still getting crushed. We've got to move the one on top. Roll him or something.”

“Shit, man, I'd rather try moving that Cadillac back there.”

“I'm serious, goddamnit. We can't have one of these guys dead from suffocation. It won't fit.”

Dox moved up alongside me and we both grabbed the back of the top guy's coat. The material was slippery with rain and mud and it was hard to get a solid grip. I thought,
Worst case, if he's dead, we grab one of the machine pistols and shoot him. Then it'll look like he died in a gunfight with the Chinese and his partner got away with the money and drugs. Not as good as three dead triads and two missing yakuza, but not a total loss, either.

I looked at Dox. “One, two, three!”

We pulled. The inert mass of the sumo pulled back. The inert mass won.

“Now there's a quality garment for you,” Dox said. “For a second there, about four hundred pounds were suspended by nothing but raincoat.”

“Again. One, two…”

With a berserker yell, the sumo rolled over and seized my wrist in one massive paw. Whether he'd been playing possum or had come to suddenly, I didn't know. I yelled, “Fuck!” and tried to jerk away, but I might as well have been a child.

Dox reacted instantly. He took a long step back and cleared leather. “Don't shoot!” I yelled. “Not with the same guns that did the Chinese!”