Cajun Justice(52)

“The danger and threat against Sato-san are real,” Cain told his security team. “And we have fewer resources than I’d prefer. Don’t drop your guard.”

The elderly Mr. Morita smiled and lifted his white-gloved hand in the air, acknowledging that he understood his role as the primary driver. Cain had already talked to him about procedure in the event that they encountered any vehicle problems. They would pull over to the side of the road, and Sato would quickly get into the van that would be following behind them. “The show must go on,” Cain had said. “That’s why we always have at least one backup vehicle.” He knew that statistically, a flat tire or a mechanical failure was more probable than an assassination attempt while commuting.

The main lobby’s glass doors slid open, and Umiko, Mr. Sato, and his entourage of advisors flowed out toward the vehicles. With a slight bow, Cain opened the rear passenger door. Mr. Sato took his seat in the black Nissan President while Umiko gracefully slid onto the long back seat from the other rear passenger door. The President PGF50 was Nissan’s finest sedan, and it had been used by Mr. Sato for the last three years. Mr. Morita took excellent care of it and had hand-washed and waxed it for this big event. Cain understood that appearances were important, especially in Japanese society.

Cain looked at Tanaka, who was standing outside the follow-up vehicle, a black Elgrand luxury passenger van. Tanaka made one last check to be sure the support staff was situated inside the van. Once this was confirmed, Tanaka gave Cain a thumbs-up. Cain returned the signal and took his position in the front seat of the Nissan President. Their handheld radio earpieces had not arrived yet, so Tanaka and Cain had to communicate by hand signals and text messages. Otherwise, their radio broadcasts would interrupt Sato’s train of thought and any conversation he might be having in his car.

Because the Japanese drove on the opposite side of the road from Americans, Cain sat on the left side of the luxury sedan.

“The radio says traffic is very bad today,” Mr. Morita announced as the motorcade pulled away from the lobby doors. “Too much Tokyo construction and bad weather,” he told Cain.

“I must rely on your expertise, Morita-san. I’ve never driven in Tokyo.” Cain hated that he hadn’t had time to survey the routes and do a walk-through of the Tokyo International Forum himself, but he’d been busy overseeing all the physical security improvements at Sato’s house and at the company’s headquarters. He had, however, tasked Mr. Morita with doing the survey route the day prior.

Mr. Morita flashed his headlights and the guard pushed a button, opening the massive vehicle gate. Cain waved, and the uniformed guard bowed as the motorcade passed. The man did not rise from the bow until the motorcade had passed.

After a few moments of driving, the Nissan President turned onto the main street that would eventually connect them with the toll road. The motorcade slowed to a stop at a red light. Cain’s eyes were drawn like a magnet to a black motorcycle that crept up beside them. The motorcyclist was wearing black boots, black pants, a black jacket, and a full-face helmet with a dark tinted visor. The operator turned left to look into the unarmored vehicle. An uneasy feeling moved over Cain. When he had protected POTUS and other VIPs, no motorcycles like this would have ever been allowed to get so close to the motorcade. He double-checked to make sure the vehicle’s doors were locked. They were. He looked back at Mr. Sato, who was holding his speech with two hands, resting it in his lap. He was quietly reading his speech and was unaware of what was happening outside the car. The traffic signal turned green and Mr. Morita eased on the gas. The motorcycle turned right and fell out of sight.

Cain took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He texted Tanaka: DID NOT LIKE THAT MOTORCYCLE NEXT TO US. FOLLOW VEHICLE. MAKE SURE THAT DOESN’T HAPPEN.

Mr. Sato began talking to Umiko. They were speaking Japanese, so Cain couldn’t understand them, but he assumed it was about Sato’s speech. He saw Sato scribbling some last-minute notes in the margins of his sheets of paper.

Cain’s attention zeroed in on the roadblock that was up ahead in the distance. Two Japanese construction workers wearing white helmets and dressed in the typical blue overalls with light-reflective jackets were in the road directing traffic. Close to them were several yellow road barrels with black stripes.

“What’s going on?” Cain asked Mr. Morita. “What does that sign say?”

“Road repair,” he replied.

“Were they doing construction yesterday when you ran the route?”

“No.”

I don’t like this, Cain thought. Not at all. Has all the textbook signs of an ambush. “The road looks perfect to me, Morita-san. Don’t stop. Just keep driving.”

“Cain-san,” the driver replied, “we must obey all Japanese traffic rules. Or I lose my license.”

Cain reached for his handheld radio and twisted the volume knob up. He pushed the mic and was about to talk to Tanaka when he heard a troubling sound in the distance.

The dull whine of two sport motorcycles had broken the silence. The high-pitched sounds of their exhausts were growing louder by the second as they drew closer. Cain whipped his head over his left shoulder. In the side-view mirror he saw two sport motorcycles quickly approaching from the rear. They were definitely a pair. Each had a passenger on the back, and the models matched the motorcycle from before.

One of the construction workers was waving a handheld flashlight with a blinking red light on the end. He was holding it in such a way as to ensure that the motorcade remained stopped while the other worker was repositioning one of the road barrels.