The Rising Sea

15

THE SUN had already dropped below the horizon when the gleaming Bentley Mulsanne left the highway and drove onto a narrow road that led out of Tokyo and into the countryside.

An ultra-luxe sedan, with five hundred horsepower, the Mulsanne was the latest flagship from the famed British automaker. It was large, especially by Japanese standards, with a bulky shape, softened by streamlined edges. The design conveyed a sense of speed, power and the possibility that DNA from an Abrams battle tank was hidden beneath all the luxurious touches.

Kurt and Joe sat in the back of the three-hundred-thousand-dollar car.

“My first house was smaller than this,” Kurt said, admiring the spacious cabin.

“Probably cost a lot less, too,” Joe added.

The ride was crisp, smooth and silent enough to be a sensory deprivation chamber. The cabin was appointed with cream-colored leather, offset by mahogany trim; the seats were perfectly designed to cradle the occupants. When Kurt tilted his seat back, a footrest extended from below, supporting his legs.

Joe copied him, putting his hands behind his head for good measure. “Too bad we only travel like this when we’re undercover and headed toward our probable doom.”

Superintendent Nagano had learned from an informant that a large payoff was about to take place within the confines of an illegal casino on the outskirts of Tokyo. His informant wasn’t sure if the payment would go to Ushi-Oni or not, but the timing and the location were correct.

Using other contacts, he’d arranged for Kurt and Joe to enter the casino, posing as wealthy Americans. That was the easy part. The hard part would come when they tried to place a tracking device on the Demon if they saw him.

“If anyone gets suspicious, we won’t make it out of there alive,” Kurt warned.

“At least we’ll look good in our caskets,” Joe said.

Kurt laughed at that. Joe was dressed in a sharply cut Armani suit. It had narrow lapels, was made of silk and fit his athletic build perfectly. Beneath the crisp black jacket, he wore a maroon dress shirt. And, for added effect, he’d shaved three days of stubble into a thin Vandyke beard. It gave him a slightly devilish look.

“If you end up in the netherworld, they’re going to mistake you for management.”

“All part of my plan,” Joe said, “just in case I haven’t been as good as I think I have. You, on the other hand, are going to be mistaken for the maître d’.”

Kurt smiled and took the comment without rebuttal. He was dressed in a double-breasted white dinner jacket with a silk shawl collar, a crisp white shirt and a trim bow tie. Shades of Bogart in Casablanca.

Unlike Joe, he was clean-shaven, though he’d let his sideburns grow down a bit and had dyed his silver hair black to make it less likely he’d be recognized. “How far to the Sento?”

Superintendent Nagano, dressed as a chauffeur, glanced back at them from the driver’s seat. “No more than five minutes. Enough time for me to ask once again whether you want to risk this?”

“It’s the only way,” Kurt said.

Joe nodded his agreement.

Nagano turned his gaze back to the road ahead. “You understand once you’re inside, I cannot assist you. For obvious reasons, the police cannot raid this establishment without causing a bloodbath.”

“I’m not expecting any violence,” Kurt said. “If the place is run as tightly as you suggest, Ushi-Oni won’t be armed.”

“He can kill without firearms or knives,” Nagano said. “He can kill with his bare hands or with a hundred different everyday objects. Death is an art form to him. Be extremely careful that he doesn’t see you place the tracking device.”

Kurt nodded. In his pocket were two coins; inside each lay a sophisticated beacon. Joe was carrying two similar coins. The plan was to slip one into the pocket of the Demon and another into the pocket of whoever paid him off, track them, once they left the building, and take them down outside the gambling palace. Whoever found themselves in closest proximity to the targets would make the attempt. Knowing that Ushi-Oni had fought Joe face-to-face already and might easily recognize him, Kurt intended to make sure he would get there first.

“We’ll be careful,” Kurt said. “Anything else we should know?”

“Only that things should go smoothly up front,” Nagano said. “My informant has placed you on the list. They will know Joe as a boxing promoter from Las Vegas. You are listed as a hedge fund manager with ties to Joe’s company. Websites, addresses and other background details have been arranged just in case anyone checks. I suspect the owners will be interested in getting you both to the tables. Reputations for betting and losing large sums have been established.”

“At least that part is accurate,” Kurt joked. He felt the billfold in his pocket. They each carried over a million yen, a little more than ten thousand dollars, but that was just for starters. Once they burned through their cash, the Sento’s staff would access accounts set up in their names and give them markers for ten times that amount.

“Where are we most likely to find Ushi-Oni?” Kurt asked.

“Impossible to say. But he’s the type that appreciates brutality. Look for him in the viewing stands of the combat arena.”

“Boxing isn’t necessary brutality,” Joe pointed out.

“There will be only one boxing match,” Nagano said. “Five rounds. It’s just a prelude. Bloodier combat will follow. I regret that you might see someone die on the floor in there. You will have to allow it or your cover will be destroyed.”

“Fights to the death?” Kurt said.

“Not necessarily,” Nagano told them, “but using weapons that can easily kill. Knives, swords, chains. Deadly combat, most often performed by those in the organization who have disgraced themselves. It is a chance for them to prove themselves worthy. But for those who fail… Let me just say, what you’re about to witness isn’t for the faint of heart.”

They spent the next two minutes in silence, driving the last quarter mile beside a twelve-foot fence of iron bars that sprouted from a formidable brick wall. Finally, they arrived at a massive front gate.

Armed men dressed in suits checked their credentials, searched beneath the car with mirrors and led two dogs around the outside to sniff for explosives. When the car was cleared, they were allowed to pull through.

A long driveway led up through ornate gardens. Brightly flowering shrubs, ornamental lanterns and cherry trees filled with blossoms lined the path; as they neared the building, they drove across a decorative wooden bridge that spanned a tranquil koi pond.

The traditional cues vanished as they reached the main building, which was of modern design with a façade made up of tinted glass. It rose two stories and was capped by a layer of smooth concrete. There was a definite curve to the structure and both sides vanished into hills covered in thick grass.

“Postmodern bomb shelter,” Kurt said, voicing the first thought that came to mind.

“More like an ultra-efficient building designed to take advantage of the Earth’s temperature-regulating properties,” Joe said.

“You are an optimist,” Kurt said.

“What you’re looking at is only the top level,” Nagano said. “This structure is designed like a stadium, circular and with a hollow interior, but instead of rising above ground, it punches down into it.”

Kurt had seen aerial photos taken before the building was finished. Behind the hills lay a natural depression. The hills and the man-made structure enclosed it and covered it.

While it was technically a hotel, lodging was offered only on the upper level. Farther down, one could find the darker parts of the operation: gambling, prostitution and drugs. At the bottom lay the combat arena that acted as the main attraction, visible through glass walls from everywhere else in the building.

The Bentley slowed as they approached the entry door. A valet walked up to them, but Nagano waved him off and parked just beyond the entry.

“Wish us good luck,” Kurt said.

“You have the coins for that,” Nagano replied, as he opened the door.

Kurt stepped from the car, buttoned his jacket and waited for Joe. As Nagano got back in the car and drove off, they walked up the steps and into a lobby as elegant as that in any five-star hotel.

Marble floors, crystal chandeliers and modern furniture were arranged in the open space that curved around in both directions. A pianist, with a violinist accompanying him, played quietly in one section of the lobby, while tall women in daring dresses moved here and there carrying silver trays covered with champagne flutes.

“Nice place,” Kurt said. “Can’t believe you’re my date this evening.”

Joe adjusted his cuffs. “How do you think I feel?”

They were ushered through security, where their phones were confiscated and placed in small lockers. Each of them was given a key.

A body scan came next, using a wand similar to those at the airport. It beeped repeatedly at Kurt’s side. He pulled out the transmitters, holding them out for the security guard to see.

The man grinned. The five-yen coin, with its distinctive yellowish tint and small hole in the center, was considered good luck all across Japan. The guard had seen these coins before; many gamblers carried them.

“For luck,” Kurt said, offering one to the guard. The man refused and the coins went back into Kurt’s pocket.

Finished with the security check, Kurt made a straight line to the nearest hostess. He took a champagne glass from the tray, smiled at the woman and glanced around.

Joe met him a moment later. “Pretty good crowd.”

“I heard the Colosseum used to pack them in, too.”

“Split up?”

Kurt nodded. “I’ll go this way,” he said, pointing. “Let’s make a few laps and check out the levels. Look for exits in case we need them. If we don’t bump into each other in an hour, let’s meet back here by the piano. Feel free to blow through some of that money. The faster we go into debt, the quicker we’ll get front-row seats to the fight.”

Joe scanned the crowd. “I think I’ll mingle as I toss the cash around. These look like the type of women who appreciate a large expense account.”

Kurt tipped his glass to Joe and let him wander. After a final scan of the lobby, he turned in the other direction. Kurt moved slowly, without any sign of haste, one hand holding the champagne flute, the other in his pocket, fingers on the lucky coins.

Joe wandered the ring-shaped building, studying the faces that passed while he pretended to look at the art on the walls. Though he’d given Kurt the best description he could, Joe was the only one who’d seen Ushi-Oni up close and that meant Joe was far more likely to spot the man they were looking for than Kurt.

He made a circuit of the upper level, moved to the inner wall and gazed through the floor-to-ceiling glass. Down below, at least four stories beneath him, lay the combat arena. Circular instead of square, it was partially obscured by a bank of floodlights suspended from a metal rigging secured to the walls by guide wires and a catwalk.

The lights were off at the moment and the arena was empty — as were the seats around it. For the time being, he’d have to look elsewhere for Ushi-Oni.

Kurt was on his second glass of champagne by the time he reached the casino level. He’d yet to spot anything resembling a feverish hit man nor had he spent a single yen of the money given to him by the Japanese Federal Police. It was time to change that.

He passed several high-stakes blackjack tables, looked in on a craps game, where the players were stacked three deep, and then wandered through an aisle packed with old-fashioned machines that were clanking and clunking as heavy silver balls bounced around inside them and neon flashed and flickered in pulsating frenzy.

Patrons stared at the machines as if the mysteries of the universe would be found within, taking no notice of Kurt as he examined their faces.

“Pachinko?” a voice suggested.

Kurt turned. A seductively dressed hostess was motioning toward an open machine.

“Arigato,” Kurt said. “Not right now.”

He passed through the pachinko hall and took a seat at one of the pai gow poker tables. Passing over his million yen, he was given a stack of clear chips and slid most of them into place right off the bat. The cards came out with incredible speed.

“Nine,” the dealer said, looking at Kurt. A few more cards were dealt and she pushed a stack of chips next to his.

Kurt smiled, left all the chips on the table and waited for the next hand. He received another natural 9. The highest and unbeatable score. The dealer had an 8 and lost by one. The stack of chips doubled again.

Feeling he was on a hot streak — despite the plan to lose money fast — he moved his bet, placing all of it on the dealer instead. Essentially, he was betting against himself. This time, he ended up with a 4 and the dealer had 7. Technically, the dealer won, but Kurt got paid.

The huge stacks of chips were doubled again and then pushed back toward him. “Table limit,” the dealer said. In three hands, he’d grown his stack to eight million yen.

Kurt looked at the winnings. This would never happen if it was my own money.

He decided to bet lower amounts until his luck changed for the worse, tipped the dealer handsomely and pushed a few chips into place. As the next set of cards came out, he felt someone slide up behind him. A hand with perfectly manicured fingernails slid softly onto his shoulder. He turned to see the attendant from the pachinko lounge. She’d followed him to the table.

“You are lucky,” she said.

Kurt grinned. He must have been doing well if the shills were already gathering. “So far,” he replied.

He didn’t shoo the woman away. Her presence would help him blend in and her beauty would draw eyes toward her instead of him. It would make looking around the room easier and less dangerous.

The next hand was a loser, something Kurt was thankful for, but he’d made a small fortune already and would have to lose a lot more before he could ask for credit.

He bet again and continued scanning the room for any sign of Ushi-Oni. At first, nothing caught his eye. Then, at a table across from him, partially blocked by the pit boss, he noticed a familiar face. He focused through the smoke, squinting just to be sure.

“You win again, sir,” the dealer said.

“Damn,” Kurt whispered, reacting not to the latest unwanted victory but to a face he hadn’t expected to see. Sitting at the table across the pit was Master Kenzo’s missing acolyte, Akiko.

She was dressed elegantly, heavily made up and smoking a long, thin cigarette, while her gaze flicked from the cards in front of her to every corner of the casino floor.

Kurt could imagine several reasons she might have chosen to be here and none of them were good.