The procession continued until they were heading into the mountainous countryside surrounding Subic Bay. Glancing in her rearview mirror, Fatima could tell that the black van was holding its position. The two cars were ahead in the far right lane and scrupulously staying at the speed limit.
She didn't like her position between the Japanese and whoever was trailing. She was too close to the Japanese Yakuza, and there was a good chance they would detect her presence. She didn't want to take a chance, though, and go behind the van, since she didn't know who was at the wheel of that vehicle. For all she knew, there were other Japanese.
They approached a point where the road cut a tunnel through the knee of a mountain. Fatima was a hundred feet behind the Camaro, which was right on the bumper of the LTD. Both cars slipped into the mouth of the tunnel, and she kept her distance. She glanced in her rearview mirror; the van was also keeping its place.
As Fatima returned her attention to the front, she automatically pulled her foot off the gas pedal. The brake lights on the Camaro were bright red in the tunnel ahead. She heard the squeal of rubber as the Camaro spun about. A car in the other lane narrowly avoided collision, swerving out of the way. Fatima slammed her foot on the brake as the headlights of the Camaro fixed on her windshield.
She halted, but the other car didn't. The front bumper of the Camaro smashed into the left front grill of the Chevy, jolting Fatima forward against her seat belt, then snapping her head back, bouncing it against the headrest. The Camaro pinned the Chevy against the wall of the tunnel, the right front side hitting concrete.
Two men jumped out of the Camaro, M-16s at the ready. Fatima ducked before they fired, the bullets shattering the windshield above her, showering her with broken glass. Either the M-16s weren't those she had given them or the missing firing pins had been replaced.
She unbuckled her seat beat and slithered between the front seats into the back, where the backseat was down. Bullets continued to stream by over her head. She added a few rounds with her pistol, shooting out the right rear window of the car.
Gathering herself, she dove out through the opening she had just created. She bounced off the right wall of the tunnel, grunting as she felt pain jar through her shoulder. Hitting the pavement, she rolled, pistol at the ready, peering underneath her Chevy. She could see the legs of the Japanese on the near side of the Camaro. She fired twice, both rounds hitting the man in the ankle, tearing his leg out from under him. Fatima fired again at the prone figure, this time a head shot, killing the stunned man instantly. All of four seconds had elapsed since the accident, and the only noise had been that of the collision and the bullets shattering glass.
Now there was the sound of another car coming to a hurried halt, and Fatima took a chance, popping her head up over the trunk to see what the tactical situation was. She expected the LTD to be there, disgorging more gunmen, but was surprised instead to see the black van twenty feet away and a man leaning out the passenger's side, a silenced Steyr automatic rifle in his hands. He hosed down the second Japanese, blowing blood and guts all over the right side of the Camaro. Fatima froze an image of the man in her memory: Oriental, mixed, although more Japanese features than Korean, short and thin, and from the way he handled the gun, a professional at the job of killing.
Her visual inventory was brought to an abrupt halt as the man turned the smoking barrel of the Steyr in her direction. For the second time, she dove for cover as bullets tore chips out of the concrete above her head. Fatima fired underneath, but the man was inside the van, and all she could shoot at were the tires.
The firing abruptly ceased, and she heard a vehicle accelerate away. She carefully edged her head around the rear of the Chevy. The van was gone. Two smashed vehicles and two dead bodies. She watched the van disappear down the tunnel to the east.
"Fuck," she said, standing up and dusting off broken glass from her clothes. There was a bottleneck of frightened motorists in their cars to the west, but no sign of police yet. Fatima reached into the front of the Chevy and pulled out her homing device. There was nothing else in the vehicle that could identify her.
She brought the muzzle of her weapon up as a white van wove its way through the halted cars and raced up to her. She had a perfect sight picture on the driver, who leaned over and threw open the passenger door. "Get in!" the woman yelled.
Another Japanese person, Fatima noted, keeping her weapon steady. She heard sirens in the distance.
"Get in!" the woman repeated. The sirens were getting closer.
Fatima hopped in, keeping her weapon trained on the driver. The woman took off, heading west. They passed through the tunnel and out into the night air on the other side of the mountain.
"I don't see them," the driver said, peering ahead.
"And you are?" Fatima asked. The woman appeared young, somewhere in her mid-twenties by Fatima 's best guess. She wore gold-rimmed glasses and a very nice dark gray outfit. Fatima pressed the barrel of her pistol into the side of that suit and repeated her question. "Who are you?"
"My name is Araki," the woman replied. She appeared not to notice the gun poking into her side.
Fatima spared a glance out the windshield. There was no sign of either the van or the LTD. "And you are with?" Fatima asked.
"Japanese CPI," the woman said. "I assume you are with a Filipino government agency," she added.
"Why do you assume that?" Fatima asked. She knew what CPI was: Central Political Intelligence, a secret arm of the Japanese government formed after the Tokyo gas attacks a few years back.
"You were following the Japanese Yakuza," Araki said.
"And?"
"Who else would be following them?" Araki asked. "Other than police or other Yakuza. And you do not appear to be Japanese, thus I deduce you are police."
Fatima wasn't sure whether to take Araki for what she claimed to be, but since she had the gun in the woman's side, she wasn't overly concerned at the present moment about the veracity of her claim. If Araki wanted to think she was police, that was fine with her. With her right hand, Fatima flipped open the cover on her direction finder and turned it on.
Araki glanced over as they wound into the jungle between Subic and Manila. "You have a fix on them?"
Fatima nodded. "They're southeast."
Araki accelerated.
"Coming up on due east," Fatima reported.
Araki took a turn onto a dirt road in that direction.
"Do you know of a man named Shibimi?" Fatima asked.
"Yes. He was in the Ford LTD. He is a senior member of the Black Tentacle Yakuza." Araki slowed as the road narrowed. "Do you mind?" she asked, pointing at the gun that Fatima still had poking into her side.
"Actually, I do mind," Fatima replied, keeping it in place. "I have no proof you are who you say you are, and I just had two different groups of people shoot at me for no reason that I know of. So forgive me if I'm not exactly in the most friendly mood."
"I understand your concerns about my identity," Araki said. Her English was precise, and she enunciated each word clearly. "But you must know that I do not carry an identification card. I am working in your country on a mission of deep concern to my own country."
"Pretty weak," Fatima said, checking the direction finder. The small dot indicating the Japanese had stopped less than a kilometer ahead. "Unfortunately, I really don't have the time to have a deep discussion with you about all this. There is someone I have to catch up with."
Araki nodded. "Shibimi. Why are you following him?"
"Why are you?" Fatima asked.
"I am not following Shibimi," Araki said. "I am following a man who is following them."