“Get them off the street if you can,” Chavez said. “If you can manage to stop shooting, the cops might think these other dudes are responsible—at least until ballistics comes back. These idiots appear to be ready to go down in a hail of bullets, so they won’t be around to question, either. I figure you got about five minutes while the cops still have their hands busy.”
Yuki picked the lock to the back door of a bar off the alley, leading into a storage room stacked high with boxes of wine and assorted liquor. Midas dragged in Kim Soo’s body as well, in case any local police came up the alley from the other end to investigate. Ryan and Yuki leaned Chen against a stack of Suntory whiskey boxes and brought him around with a pinch to the underside of his upper arm. Shamisen music came from the thin door to the main bar along with a sliver of green neon. Otherwise the storage room was dark.
“Jack san,” Yuki said. “You must give me the revolver.”
Ryan shook his head. “Not yet. Still too sketchy out there.”
“I will return it if needed,” Yuki said. “Possession of a firearm is seven years in prison in this country. No matter who you are.”
Ryan groaned and handed over the revolver, butt first. He took his frustration out on a moaning Vincent Chen.
“Tell us something, champ,” Ryan said. “What are you doing in Japan?”
Chen put a hand to his shoulder, exploring the wounds, then looking to the floor at Kim Soo. “I think the bitch shot me,” he said.
“I think so, too,” Ryan whispered. The gaping exit wound in front of Chen’s chest indicated the shot had come from behind. “Seriously, though, you some kind of bagman or what? I can get you protection if you help us out.”
“Protection would be most welcome,” Chen said. “They will kill . . .” He began to cough up a pink foam, choking on his own blood.
“Damn it!” Ryan hissed. At least one of the rounds had punched through Chen’s lung. He put a finger to the man’s lips, grateful for the shamisen music. “You gotta hush, dude, or they’ll find us.” He had no idea who “they” were, but Chen was scared of somebody.
“Gang . . .” Chen coughed again. “F . . . f . . . four . . . Ki . . .” He attempted another cough, but there was no energy in it. His words trailed off in one last rasping breath.
Yuki put her fingers to his neck. “He is gone.”
“Son of a bitch!” Ryan hissed. “They trail this guy all the way around the world, and now he dies spewing nothing but gibberish. “Did he say ‘kill’?”
“Couldn’t tell,” Midas said. “He might have. Maybe ‘gang four-key’ or ‘gang for kill.’ Hell, none of it makes sense.”
“Gang of Four?” Adara guessed over the net. “That’s got Chinese implications.”
“Could be,” Ryan said. None of this helped him figure out what threats might be facing his father. “How’s it looking out there?”
“One shitbird is down,” Chavez said. “And the other has to be running out of bullets. You guys haul ass as soon as you’re able. We’ll sit tight here and play innocent bystander until things simmer down.”
“Copy that,” Ryan said. He grabbed Vincent Chen’s leather briefcase, relieved to find a laptop computer inside. That was something anyway. With any luck, Gavin could link to it remotely and give them a little nugget to go on. Yuki took Kim Soo’s ID and cell phone. Ryan draped the case over his shoulder and took a quick peek out the back door.
The police were still busy at the other end of the path. Rain pummeled the pavement, throwing as much spray back up as came down. If anything, it was raining even harder than before. They couldn’t retrace their steps. There would surely be crowds gathered around the wounded—and possibly dead—they’d left behind. The police might even be there by now. Better to go straight out the front of this place.
The shamisen music stopped abruptly when Yukiko led them into the cramped six-by-fifteen-foot bar, shouting like the place was on fire and pointing back at the storage room. Ryan didn’t know exactly what she was saying, but he was pretty sure it was something about dead bodies and men with guns. They were out the door before anyone recovered from the shock.
Keeping east, they fell in with a fleeing crowd and were shunted through the red torii gates of the Hanazono Shinto shrine by a line of police officers staffing a barricade.
“You were right,” Ryan said as they slogged through the rain, over the gravel courtyard of the shrine. “A female brought down Vincent Chen.”
He looked at Yuki, rain pressing a pale shirt to her shoulders, dripping from her bangs. Long tresses clung to her cheeks. A woman would probably be his downfall as well.
59
Protocol dictated that the paramount leader of China should arrive last, just prior to departure. Support staff and Colonel Huang had timed the ride to the airport so they could lift off moments after President Zhao was seated. The plane was a Boeing 747 used by Air China as a passenger jet when it was not pressed into service to fly the Chinese president on international trips. Prior to becoming China’s version of Air Force One, the 747, usually one of two, was fitted with more luxurious furnishings, including beds, sofas, and plush seating. Madame Zhao enjoyed flying in such comfort. She had wanted to accompany him to Japan, but present circumstances made that an imprudent idea.
Zhao was not surprised to see Foreign Minister Li’s motorcade already on the tarmac as his armored Hongqi L5 limousine came to a stop behind the uniformed military escort. He was, however, surprised to find Minister Li speaking with that detestable General Xu of the Central Security Bureau. The sun was up, a dull orange disk through the greasy pall of haze to the east, but lights illuminated the base of the plane and the length of red carpet rolled out from the air stairs.
The gaggle of men around Li and Xu snapped to attention when they saw the president approaching. Li gave a slight bow. Xu, a bow that was even slighter.
“Good morning, Zhao Zhuxi,” Li said. He gave Colonel Huang a look of uncharacteristic sympathy. “I was sorry to hear about your men. The criminals responsible will be captured and punished to the fullest extent, I am sure.”
Colonel Huang thanked him for his courtesy, but looked nervously up and down the tarmac.
“Zhao Zhuxi,” General Xu said, “the attack on your protective staff is what finds me here to greet you this morning. I have seen personally to providing three replacements from among our very finest at the Central Security Bureau.”
Zhao nodded thoughtfully. “I was under the impression that the very finest would be assigned to the paramount leader in the first place.”
“Just so,” Xu blustered. “But CSB has many talented and skilled officers. Is that not correct, Colonel Huang?”
“It is, General,” Huang said.
Zhao turned to him. “Do we need more personnel?”
“General Xu is correct,” he said. “We should not travel without a full complement.”
“Do you know these replacements, Colonel?” Zhao asked.
“I do, sir,” Huang said. “By name and reputation. I have not had the pleasure of working with them.”
“You know best, of course, General,” Zhao said.
“Is something wrong, Zhao Zhuxi?” Li asked.