“Cologne or perfume, ma’am?”
“Perfume. I don’t know what brand, but it was definitely perfume.”
Bingo. A man and a woman.
“Did Jenny say anything else after she called out?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Three people.
Two people to manhandle Miriam into the trunk while a third muzzled Jenny.
Spilsbury nodded at her partner and he stepped over to the radio car to broadcast the new information.
Spilsbury snapped her notepad closed. “That’s a great help, Mrs. Renna. We’ll put out an APB with the little girl’s description, alone or in the company of an adult couple. Possibly three adults, with at least one female. It’s a start.”
At least one female.
It made perfect sense. Two men accompanying a small girl might draw curious looks, but a couple with a child in tow wouldn’t rate even a cursory glance.
“Thank you,” Miriam said. “When will I hear from you?”
“We’ll contact you as soon as we have any news. After you rest, I’d like you to come to the station so we can go over this again. You might remember something else.”
“Certainly.”
Someone moved into the field of my peripheral vision and approached at a casual pace from the back of the crowd. In two steps, he slid in behind me and pressed a ring of steel into the small of my back. The gun would be in a jacket pocket, his body angled toward the crowd to shield his action.
“Stay cool, my friend,” the stranger said. His voice sounded vaguely familiar. The bristles of a beard brushed my shoulder. Mustang.
Without turning, I said, “Where is she?”
“Don’t know, don’t care.”
“Then why am I talking to you?”
“Damn good question. They don’t usually hire me to talk.” The gun dug into my back. “You understand me?”
“Fully.”
“This time it’s a message, boyo. They know some of your Tokyo lads have done a skip-to and they don’t like it. You hearing me?” He worked the edge of the barrel into my spine until it pinched a nerve.
I arched my back. “Yes.”
George and Noda had boarded separate flights to Hong Kong and Singapore, respectively. They had arrived at their Asian stopovers under their own names, then changed planes and passports and slipped into Los Angeles and New York under the cover of false identities to set our coastal affiliates in discreet motion. All local communications were being handled in person. No emails, no computers, no telephones. Nothing digital Soga’s hacker could intercept. Our affiliates would, in turn, scrutinize the personnel of Gilbert Tweed Associates, looking to match any Japanese or Japanese Americans to a profile built from our trip to Soga-jujo. We were grasping at straws—and we considered ourselves lucky to have them. Toru had put us on our guard. Chances were good, he assured us, that Gilbert Tweed’s computer whiz had set up a tracking program to alert him to any sudden movement on our part. Looked like Toru was right.
“Whatever you’re planning, you are to cease and desist. Take a
good gander at the maid. That will be your daughter, you try anything foolish.”
As if on cue, two paramedics rolled a stretcher out the front door with a body strapped down under a beige canvas sheet. Murmurs rose around us. Miriam put her hand to her mouth.
“The woman cop’s a message,” Mustang said.
At the sight of Lucy Cooper’s body, my simmering anger flared. It was a drastic move, killing a female police officer. And a game crusher. We’d hit them hard in Japan, now they’d struck back. And if they were keeping score, more bodies would follow.
“What do they want?” I asked.
“For now, you sit on your ass. They’ll be in touch.”
“Not sure I can do that.”
“You don’t, your daughter dies. Your choice, boyo.”
He backed away through the crowd. I waited a beat, then glanced over my shoulder. Standing at the back to the crowd, Mustang gave me his two-finger salute and sauntered away.
They’ll be in touch.
CHAPTER 57
H
EFTING
a mug of steaming stationhouse coffee, I sat with Renna in his office. It was late. Ten at night in San Francisco, one in the morning in New York. I’d filled him in on everything since we last talked. Now we were waiting for a call. A vital call. The office door was closed. Neither of us spoke.
The phone rang. Renna snatched up the receiver and said “Yeah,” listened, and shoved the handset at me. “Gotta be for you. There’s a gremlin on the other end I can’t understand.”
“That you, Noda?” I said in English for Renna’s benefit.
He grunted.
I nodded to Renna and switched to Japanese. “Any progress?”
“Maybe. Need one more day.”
“Well, make it quick.”
“Why?”
“They took Jenny.”
Saying it out loud brought home the kidnapping with a new intensity. Until this moment a small part of me still held out the hope that Jenny might walk through my front door later tonight or tomorrow, but that wasn’t going to happen. Jenny wasn’t coming home today or tomorrow or any other day unless we were extremely careful, extremely lucky, or both. The realization tied me up in ways I’d never felt. My chest seemed to implode and breathing became painful.
Noda said, “When?”
The answer caught in my throat.
“Brodie?
When?
”
Noda’s gruff practicality jarred loose an answer. “This . . . afternoon. Timed for my arrival.”
A snarling sound erupted from the other end of the line. “They been in touch?”
“A personal warning. They know you and George skipped town but don’t know where you went. That set them off.”
“Just need another day.”
“Fine, but stay out of sight. Make sure George does the same. They see either of you, Jenny could pay for it.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Noda?”
“Yeah?”
“In the forest, you told me they didn’t take hostages.”
“I remember.”
“What . . . about now?”
There was a long silence at the other end. “Sometimes I’m wrong.”
My throat felt scratchy and dry. I had sensed Noda mentally stretching for an answer that would ease my apprehension. Problem was, he didn’t sound convincing.
By-the-Book Robert DeMonde tapped on Renna’s door and stuck his head in. He wore a three-piece blue pinstripe and a red silk tie. A straight arrow, down to his wardrobe. I had trouble picturing him as the city’s next mayor after Hurwitz. He seemed too tightly wound for San Francisco.
Into the phone, I said, “Gotta go. You know how to reach me.”
“Yeah,” Noda said, and the line went dead.
DeMonde said, “Brodie, I heard what happened. I’m sorry. If anyone can get her back, our department can. Frank, are Miriam and the kids okay?”
“Yes, thanks, Bob. You want to join us?”
“No, but I’ll need a word directly after. Boss’s orders. And Gail wants to talk too. Something about toning down the department press releases.” DeMonde gave Renna a significant look, nodded at me, and strode away with crisp steps.
“What’s that about?”
“The mayor believes things have spun out of control. He wants full-time eyes inside and By-the-Book’s his man.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“As hard as it is to believe, I’d take him over Gail Wong any day. Officially, she’s only his spokesperson, but she rules that office. Nobody crosses her and lives.”
Then Renna gave me the rest of it. The only reason he still oversaw the Japantown team was because no sane person would step up to the plate. After what had happened out at the safe house, the volunteer pool had evaporated. No one wanted to put their family at risk. Immediate or extended. Everyone of consequence had read Renna’s briefs of my findings, and once they grasped the vindictive side of Soga, not to mention the extent of their expertise, the career climbers went elsewhere. With public pressure building, the mayor’s office opted to monitor the task force’s progress close-up until the community outcries rose beyond bearable, at which time Renna would be offered up.
“Sorry, Frank.”
“Not your fault. Knew this one could be tough when I took it on. If anything, I owe
you
an apology.”
“How so?”
“For the idiot who yanked the boys off Jenny. That was a class-A fuckup. As big as they come.”
Having revised my view on the mishap, I shrugged dismissively. “Better they weren’t there.”
Renna stared at me. “You don’t mean that?”
“I do. Soga are pros.”
Pride kindled a fire in his eyes. “What are we? Dim sum?”
“Of course not. But murder, assassination, and kidnapping are routine for these guys. If your boys were there, Soga would have run over three of your people instead of one.”
“Not so.”
“You ever think about what might have happened to Miriam if the trunk had not been conveniently open?”
For the first time in all the years I’d known him, Renna blanched. His steel-gray eyes teetered on the edge. The next instant the reaction was gone.
“I see your point. We underestimated them. Big-time.”
“That we did.”
“This thing, normal rules don’t apply.”
“Won’t get any argument from me.”
Renna leaned back in his chair. Marbles rolled. “But you know what? These bastards will go down just like any other scumbags. They’re going to pay you a visit. We’ll wire your place, put some shooters on the rooftops, undercover in the street, and nail their asses to the wall.”
“Won’t work.”
“I’ll put my best people on it.”
“They’ll spot ’em. They know your playbook.”
“You got a better idea?”
“Just let Soga come and lay out their cards.”
“Too dangerous.”
“They took Jenny, then put a gun in my back
at the FBI safe house
in front of forty people, not to mention half a dozen cops. They don’t miss a trick, and if we don’t keep that in mind, Jenny will suffer.”
Renna rolled his marbles and frowned. “Not how I’d handle it, but you know these dirtbags better than any of us.”
“And there’s Jenny.”
Renna nodded. “First and foremost.”
Back in Tokyo I’d promised I’d get Renna to watch my back. But Jenny’s abduction called for a change in plans. Narazaki wouldn’t like it, but the stakes had risen.
“One more thing,” Renna said.
“What’s that?”
“With an aggressive revenge kidnapping like this, chances are you’ll hear from them sooner rather than later. So be ready.”
DAY 8
LOST
CHAPTER 58
W
HEN
they walked into my antiques shop the next morning brandishing identical Glocks, I gathered they weren’t in the market for art.
There were two of them. Homeboy and a sleek, muscular man in his mid-thirties.
I reached for the weapon under the register. Gone. I pressed the silent alarm. Deactivated. Abers and I were penned in behind the counter at the front of the store, trapped. Fanned for three strikes in a flash. I’d called it right: the SFPD wouldn’t have stood a chance with these guys.
The new man placed the muzzle of his gun in the middle of my forehead. “If you wish to live through the next thirty seconds, Mr. Brodie, stay absolutely still.”
I didn’t move. I didn’t speak.
Homeboy raised his gun and squeezed off a round into the rear of my shop, swung the muzzle to the right, and released a second bullet.
I remained still.
The new man shifted his gun from the center of my forehead to the center of Abers’s. “Look around, Mr. Brodie, but keep your feet planted.”
Twisting at the hips, I examined the wall to my left then the back of the shop. With two shots of supreme accuracy, Homeboy had turned an eighteenth-century Shigaraki vase to powder and opened a hole in an Edo-period hanging scroll. They happened to be the two most expensive items in my store. Soga was pointedly demonstrating their unequivocal mastery of every aspect of my private and public life. Gun,
alarm, shop, daughter. The simmering rage of yesterday unfolded itself and spread its curdled heat to every corner of my soul.
Homeboy’s partner said, “Do we have your attention yet?” His hands were slim and manicured, his eyes penetrating brown disks. A holster burdened his shoulder under a black jacket.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
“Good. Now, if you wish to live out the minute, you’ll take seats over there. My colleague is going to handcuff you both. Then we’ll talk.”
He took a step back and leveled the Glock at my chest. His movements were efficient, his English impeccable. He held the weapon with a languid casualness that told me he was beyond good. There was an elastic grace to his movements that came from pursuing martial arts with a singular dedication. He’d be good at that, too. Homeboy was dangerous, and I’d barely held him off. His partner would demolish me.
Abers sat, but I lingered near the counter, watching for an opening.
“Dermott, I believe Mr. Brodie has other ideas. Please disillusion him.”
Dermott pointed his gun at Abers and pulled the trigger.
A bullet tore into the wall two inches above Abers’s left shoulder, and he jumped, his eyes wild.
I raised my hands in surrender and took the chair beside my assistant.
“As you seem to have a disregard for your own life, Mr. Brodie, my gun will be on Mr. Abers while my colleague handcuffs you both. Should you make a play for Dermott and succeed in distracting him for even a moment or two, I will shoot Mr. Abers first, then deal with you. Dermott tells me your reflexes are extraordinarily good. Such talent often leads to overconfidence and foolish behavior, so rest assured that a fraction of a second after you make your attempt, I will pump three bullets into your associate. My shots will be nicely clustered and his death will be instantaneous. Best-case scenario, you overpower us both and Mr. Abers will be dead. Worst case, you get a punch in and Mr. Abers will be dead.
Any
movement on your part will see Mr. Abers dead. Are we clear?”
I nodded. He spoke in the manner of someone used to dealing out orders and having them followed.