“Hell no, man. I’m not doing it.”
“Have it your way.” Pearce raised the pistol to Oshiro’s face.
The yakuza saw the cold hatred in Pearce’s eyes. “Okay. Okay!”
The cleats in the Okinawan’s golf shoes scratched on the cement as he stepped gingerly toward the edge. He gulped.
“Dude, I can pay you, big-time.”
“Last chance, fat man. So help me God, I’ll put a bullet in your throat and watch you drown in your own blood.”
The Okinawan whispered a prayer to an ancestor. His face darkened with resolve. He opened his eyes, glaring at Pearce.
“Fuck you, gaijin!”
Oshiro turned and leaped over the side, shouting a war cry.
Pearce leaned over the side to watch.
The corpulent body thudded into the turf. Even this high up, Pearce heard bones cracking in the soft grass. Oshiro screamed in agony. A three-hundred-pound worm in bloody black silk.
“There’s your break,” Pearce said, watching the fat man writhing in the grass.
Pearce knew that Kenji wouldn’t have approved. But at least he would’ve understood.
Pearce lifted his pistol, put three rounds into Oshiro’s head. The screaming stopped, a mercy.
Better than he deserved.
SEVENTY-FIVE
Tanaka knelt on the polished hardwood floor, his keikogi pulled down around his waist, exposing his muscular torso. The family’s Shinto shrine loomed in front of him, its unvarnished shelves laden with offerings of rice wine, fish, and fruit. Candles and incense burned near the amulets representing the Tanaka household gods. A simple plaited rope hung slack above it all.
Tanaka whispered a prayer to his ancestors, fearsome samurai who loyally served the shogunate for centuries. Satisfied, he reached for the most cherished family heirloom, a short-bladed tanto belonging to his most ancient ancestor. He unsheathed it and set the scabbard down with ceremonial precision, placing the tip of the razor-sharp sword against his stomach, preparing for seppuku, the ritual self-disembowelment of a samurai who failed his mission.
Tanaka’s powerful hands grasped the hilt and the blade as he prepared to open up his stomach and remove his own intestines, but a heavy thump outside his door broke his concentration. He opened his eyes but didn’t move. Heard the shoji door behind him slide open.
“Pearce,” he said, without looking back.
“Afraid I was going to be late.” Pearce stepped over a body in the hallway into the room, sliding the door behind him shut. He gripped a familiar pistol shape in one hand.
Tanaka twisted around, still clutching the tanto. “You’re just in time to watch how an honorable man behaves.”
“How is suicide honorable?”
“I failed my mission. I must show the way.”
“To whom?”
“My people.”
“By killing yourself?”
“Life is not so important as integrity.”
“I’ve read the Hagakure, too.”
Tanaka nodded. “Yes, it makes sense that you would have. But to have read it and to have lived it all of one’s life are two different things.”
“Funny, I don’t remember you putting on a uniform.”
“Sadly, asthma prevented me from entering military service. And even if I had, what would I have done but take orders from you gaijin taskmasters? The gods smiled on me when they took my breath away. In my weakness, they showed me a better path to strength. But I failed in that mission.”
“So now you seek a heroic death, an inspiration to your followers.”
Tanaka smiled. “So you do understand. My death will be my greatest victory.”
“You tried to drag my country into a war with China.”
“To save my country, yes. I’m a patriot, the same as you.”
“You’re neither a hero nor a patriot. You’re a murderous bastard.”
“Japan can never prosper so long as your two countries keep feeding on her flesh.”
“You had my friend Kenji Yamada killed. He was trying to save your country, too.”
“Save us? How? By robbing us of our only source of energy? By keeping us slaves to American oil companies?”
“He was a good man. Better than you. You deserve to die.”
“So let me die.” Tanaka turned back around and faced his family altar. Tightened his grip on the sword—
Pearce raised his pistol. “That’s the general idea.”
Fired.
Two needle-shaped probes embedded in Tanaka’s back. Pearce pulled the trigger and sent five thousand volts of electricity coursing into Tanaka’s body, disrupting the neural signals between his brain and muscles. The blade dropped from his hand as his entire body contorted in a violent spasm, writhing on the polished wooden floor in searing pain. Tanaka hissed at Pearce through gritted teeth, eyes raging.
Pearce knelt down next to him, close to his contorted face. “No worries, Tanaka. Your gods will be smiling again, very soon.”
Pearce’s cell phone vibrated. A text message from Ian. His face blanched.
He texted Myers, now back in Denver. Told her where to meet him.
He glanced back down at Tanaka, passed out from the pain. “Enjoy it while it lasts, asshole,” Pearce grunted.
His plans for Kenji’s killer would have to wait a few days.
SEVENTY-SIX
The self-possessed young woman behind the desk wore a nurse’s white coat over a black shirt, and a simple black nun’s veil draped behind her back. A gold-winged caduceus was pinned to one lapel; a humble silver crucifix was pinned to the other. “Only family. He left strict orders. I’m sorry.”
“He doesn’t have any family.” Pearce towered over the diminutive nun.
“He knows that and so do I. Since you do as well, then you must know that he’s a very private man and doesn’t want any visitors.” She was stopping Pearce cold with a disarming smile.
“We go a long way back. We used to work together.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“We used to work for the same… company.”
“You mean the CIA?” Another smile. A smirk, really. “Then you understand his need for security as well.”
Pearce chuckled. “I’m surprised he told you.”
“Confession is good for the soul.”
Pearce took a deep breath. Never realized that stubbornness was a religious virtue. “I’ve brought him something.”
She held out a delicate hand. “I’m happy to take it to him for you.”
“It would be better if I delivered it in person.”
“It would be better for me to give it to him than his not getting it at all, wouldn’t you agree?”
Pearce glanced around. No security. Hardly surprising. Who’d want to break into a hospice? She was all of a hundred pounds soaking wet. He could just walk past her. Decided against it. Played his trump card. Pointed a thumb at the woman standing next to him.
“Do you know who this is?”
The nun shook her head. “Should I?”
“She’s the godda—”
Myers quieted Pearce with a hand on his arm. “We’re friends, and we’ve come a very long way. Perhaps you can tell Will that Troy Pearce needs to see him? There can’t be any harm in that.” She flashed her own charming smile, but the commanding tone in her voice struck home.