Brute Force

Chapter 23

Emiko Miyagi stood from her sidewalk table halfway down the block and across the street the moment she saw the maroon SUV. It had normal license plates, but the small black puck antenna on top identified it as being wired for a two-way radio, equipment civilian cars were unlikely to have. A balding man wearing a fishing vest stepped out of the passenger side, hitching up his slacks and exposing a dangling pair of handcuffs that were stuffed in his waistband. Miyagi shot a glance over her shoulder to see another SUV arrive, this one white and bulging with more men in tactical gear and ill-fitting suits.

She warned Garcia on the radio, simultaneously drawing the short sword from behind her back. Holding it with the point down, parallel to her thigh, she padded up quickly behind the white SUV. She’d counted six men, two in the lead and four in the white follow car. Formidable, but their superior numbers made them complacent. She was able to kill the first three before the fourth realized she was even there. She drew the blade across the fourth man’s throat as she ran to help Garcia.

In front of her, a younger agent pushed open the door of the espresso shop, exiting to the street. He waved the maroon SUV forward with a flick of the pistol in his hand. Miyagi, still fifty feet away, picked up the pace as two more agents followed him out. One carried an unconscious Garcia over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. Another dragged a handcuffed Senator Sue Gorski toward the second SUV. A young Japanese woman followed them out.

Emiko slowed, struggling to keep a grip on the short sword as she looked at the face she’d not seen for two decades — the face of her own daughter. The bearing, the walk — the resemblance was unmistakable.

“Ran!” Miyagi gasped, head spinning. Like herself, the young woman’s clothing was swathed in blood.

The younger woman’s head shot up when she heard her name, glaring. She too stumbled, shaking her head as if to clear her vision. Shoving the agent with Garcia into the waiting SUV, she froze, dagger in hand. She cocked her head to one side, entranced.

“Ran?” Miyagi said again.

The younger woman shook it off, and jumped in the front passenger seat. Benavides dragged Senator Gorski into the back, sending the remaining two agents to take care of Miyagi as the SUV sped away.

Both agents began to shoot immediately, oblivious of the crowd of pedestrians that had gathered to watch the spectacle. Miyagi sprang sideways, letting her blade clatter to the sidewalk. She drew her own sidearm, desperate not to lose sight of the departing SUV. Her Ducati was parked around the corner. If she could see to these two remaining agents, she’d be plenty fast enough to follow and see where they took Garcia.

Two more IDTF agents rolled up in a black Crown Victoria sedan, bailing out behind the cover of their car and sending Miyagi diving into a nearby shoe store. Rather than trying to capture her, the agents simply kept her pinned for two minutes before speeding away in the opposite direction of the maroon SUV.

Sirens began to wail as onlookers figured out this wasn’t some reenactment or street performance and called 911. Miyagi pushed her way through the gathering crowd, down the street to her Ducati. The SUV, Ronnie Garcia, and Senator Gorski were long gone. Miyagi had seen Dillman’s body as she’d run past the espresso shop and known from the blood on Ran’s clothing that she’d been the one to murder him.

Straddling the bike, Miyagi caught her breath as she punched a number into her cell. The shock of finally seeing her daughter after so many years combined with the frustration at having lost Garcia. Her shoulders shook uncontrollably, and for the first time in many years she felt as if she might break down.

Winfield Palmer picked up on the first ring. “Yes.”

“All is lost,” Miyagi said, clearing the catch in her throat. “I repeat. All is lost.”