PRIMAL Fury (The PRIMAL Series) (28 page)

CHAPTER 54

DOWNTOWN KOBE

Except for the early risers, shopkeepers, and cleaners, the streets of Kobe were deserted. Without any traffic, the black Mercedes sedan cruised freely through the outskirts of the city. Neon reflections flashed on its armored glass as it drove toward the business district and the Yamaguchi-gumi’s morning rendezvous at the Hotel La Suite.

It was a journey that the
waka-gashira
Takahiro took every Sunday to meet with his subordinates. The second-in-command of Japan’s largest Yakuza clan oversaw every aspect of Yamaguchi activities throughout the country. Today’s meeting was even more important, and consequently earlier than usual. The threat from the Mori-Kai had forced him to request the presence of all of the underbosses.

“Drive faster, we’re running late.” Takahiro adjusted his tinted glasses and glanced at the expensive watch that adorned his heavily tattooed wrist.

“Yes,
waka-gashira
,” his driver replied.

“Is the problem at the construction site resolved?” The Yamaguchi lieutenant turned to the man sitting next to him.

“It will be. The Koreans have agreed to an increase of five percent.” The assistant was dressed in the same dark suit and white shirt as his boss.

“Five percent?” he exclaimed. “The dogs are leeching us dry.”

“The strike was costing us ten million yen per day.”

Takahiro took a pack of cigarettes from his jacket. He extracted one of the slim menthol smokes with a flick of his wrist.

“How much cheaper are they than Japanese labor?” He lit the cigarette with a gold Dunhill lighter.

“Half the price.”

“But also half the quality.” He stared out the solid laminated glass window as smoke filled the cabin. “What happened to the old days when we could kill the ringleaders and force them back to work?”

The driver adjusted the air-conditioning in an attempt to clear the sickly sweet smoke.

The assistant coughed. “The Korean gangs have grown stronger,
waka-gashira
. We could force them but it would take all of our strength. The Koreans would fight back and there would be a war. It would engulf Kobe.”

Takahiro did not notice the black SUV at the intersection facing them. “We have become nothing more than weak businessmen. We are even relying on foreigners to help deal with this new Mori-Kai threat.”

The black SUV leaped forward and sped at them. It had a heavy metal bull bar, unusual for the streets of Kobe.

“Look out!” Takahiro yelled.

The powerful vehicle hit the front of the Mercedes, throwing it sideways with a crash and screech of tires. It slammed into the side of a building, knocking the
waka-gashira
forward into the back of the driver’s chair. He blacked out momentarily from the force of the blow. When he came to, his assistant was already opening the car door.

“Stay inside!” Takahiro yelled.

Gunshots rang out and bullets thudded into the car’s armor. The assistant fell backward onto the door, his face blown apart. Takahiro scrambled across the seats, kicked the dead man’s body out of the way, and grabbed the heavy door. He slammed it shut as a black-clad figure appeared at the rear of the vehicle.

“Lock the fucking doors, get us out of here.”

The driver quickly hit the central locking and dropped the heavy Mercedes into reverse. There was a crunch and Takahiro spun around to see a second black four-wheel drive wedging them against the building. Another burst of machine gun fire thudded into the armored rear window, damaging the laminated polycarbonate but leaving it intact.

The driver floored the accelerator, causing the rear wheels to spin. “We can’t move; they’ve trapped us!” He spoke rapidly, panicked. “They’re going to kill us, they’re going to kill us!”

“Calm down, you fool.” The
waka-gashira
pulled his cell phone from his jacket, dialed a number, and waited for it to connect. “Our people will be here before they can get in.”

On the other side of town, Bishop, Saneh, and Kenta were in the GT-R on their way to the meeting. This time Saneh was wedged in the backseat. Kenta was driving, giving them a rundown on the Yamaguchi-gumi’s history in the city as he sped through the quiet early-morning streets.

“We have been a part of Japan for over seventy years,” Kenta explained.

“I read that it all started in the chaos after World War Two,” said Bishop.

“That is correct. The Yakuza is much older but the official Yamaguchi-gumi formed after the war.”

“In the debris of war the rats grow fat on death,” Bishop quipped.

Kenta laughed. “We do not shy away from what we are, Agent Wilson. To lose touch with the past would also lose all that has been learned. You might be unaware but we also helped rebuild Japan’s cities, even the ones destroyed by your nuclear weapons.”

“Hey, you guys started it when you bombed Pearl Harbor, buddy,” said Bishop.

“You’re a little ray of sunshine this morning, aren’t you?” Saneh added from the backseat. “Too much sake—” She was interrupted by the sound of Kenta’s phone.

“Please excuse me.” He picked it up, listened for a few seconds, then fired a torrent of Japanese down the line. A moment later he had the information he wanted. The phone was tossed onto Bishop’s lap.

“
Chikushou
!”
he swore. The GT-R’s quad exhaust roared as he punched the accelerator to the floor, sending the car screaming down the highway.

“Bad news?” said Bishop.

“Hero has been ambushed.”

“Fucking Mori-Kai!” Bishop checked the looted MP9 he had in his backpack. “How far? Is he still alive?”

“Other side of the city, maybe five minutes. His car is armored and he is still alive.” Kenta drove the nimble GT-R like a madman, weaving in between early-morning commuters, overtaking them as he gained speed.

“He should be OK in an armored Merc. Those things are built like a safe,” said Bishop.

Saneh had a concerned look on her face. “Not if they know what they’re doing. What will happen if they kill him?”

Kenta honked the horn, blasting through a red light. “It would not be good. He is the only one who is keeping the clans together.”

“How long now?” Masateru asked from where he was sitting in the back of one of the SUVs.

“Three minutes,
oyabun
,” Hideaki replied from the front seat.

“What the fuck is taking so long?”

“I will find out.”

“No, stay where you are,” Masateru barked. He wound down the window and called out to Ryu. “Hurry the fuck up!”

“It’s locked, windows armored,” Ryu answered through his balaclava. “We’re going to need to breach.” The Kissaki commander was dressed in the same tactical gear as the rest of his men. Head to toe in black. A nylon-covered ballistic chest plate laden with pouches adorned his front. He had a pistol on his hip and a submachine gun in his hands.

“You’ve got three minutes. Deal with it.”

Ryu ran from the vehicle back to where his men were guarding the Yamaguchi Mercedes. One of their three SUVs was positioned behind it, wedging it against a wall. Two of his men were guarding the doors, making sure their target did not try to make a run for it. Another two were covering the street and a third pair was guarding the intersection behind Masateru’s vehicle. His second-in-command was removing the breaching equipment from the back of his vehicle.

Ryu glanced at his watch. This was taking longer than he had planned. He stormed over to his man. “Hurry up and get him out of the damn car!”

“Yes, sir,” the man responded sharply. He pulled a pair of goggles down over his eyes, picked up the bulky circular rescue saw, and yanked the pull start.

The saw snarled as he gunned the trigger, its diamond blade hissing like an angry snake. He jogged it across to the captured Mercedes and, under Ryu’s watchful eye, placed the saw against the glass of the rear passenger window. The blade shrieked as it bit into the armored laminate, steadily cutting through it. The stench of burnt plastic filled the air.

Inside, Takahiro sat quietly, his hands on his knees, unarmed. His assistant’s pistol now lay outside the vehicle along with his corpse. The driver was of no use either. The young man was sweating, his face pale, hands clapped over his ears to keep out the noise of the saw.

The
waka-gashira
looked across at the saw cutting its way through the glass with an ear-wrenching screech. By the blade’s progress he judged it would be through in a couple of minutes.

“He’s somewhere along here.” Kenta eased off the accelerator and they scanned the road ahead. There were mid-rise buildings on each side of the street, plenty of overwatch positions for a Mori-Kai shooter.

“Up ahead!” As Bishop spoke the windshield of the GT-R cracked, a bullet hitting the glass. “Shit!”

Kenta braked hard, sliding the car sideways, as bullets slammed into the bodywork.

“Out, out, out!” Bishop had his door open before they came to a halt. In a heartbeat he was crouched behind the hood of the Nissan, laying down covering fire from his MP9 submachine gun.

Gunfire echoed down the concrete canyon as rounds ricocheted off the road and rang on the metal of the GT-R. The stricken Mercedes, surrounded by Kissaki and black SUVs, stood only a hundred feet away.