Cajun Justice(98)

Cain unhooked the rope and began tying a bowline knot to the propellers. If they try to flee, he reasoned, this’ll stop the props and burn up the transmission. I can’t keep chasing ’em all around Japan. It ends tonight.

When Cain finished, he ascended to the surface. He wasn’t worried about decompression sickness—he hadn’t gone deep for long enough. He saw a man in a dark suit standing guard on board and another man standing near the helicopter on the second deck—most likely the pilot. He was clad in a blue flight suit with patches and was smoking a cigarette.

I guess the visibility was at least one mile, Cain thought, harking back to that day when assassins had ambushed Sato’s motorcade.

Cain moved silently, careful to go unnoticed. He inflated his BCD with a few presses of a button. The short bursts of air filled his BCD and were not heard over the yacht’s massive generator, which was providing electricity and hot water to the luxury boat. Once buoyant, Cain pulled the quick-release buckle and his ten-pound weight belt sank to the bottom of the ocean. He unsnapped the clips of his BCD and removed it from his shoulders. Under the moonlight, the ocean looked like a smooth velvet sheet—a place of comfort and relaxation. But Cain knew better. The sea was mysterious and merciless, indifferent to whose lives she claimed.

He used the remaining rope to hold the BCD and tied it to one of the cleats on the yacht’s aft. He stretched out his arm and latched onto the yacht for stability as the vessel rose and dipped with the ocean’s current. He removed his flippers one at a time, turning them upside down to pour out the salt water before quietly laying them on the deck, and then pulled himself onto the Minashigo. He was trespassing into the dragon’s lair; all he could think about was Hayabusa’s tattoo and how the dragon’s tail wrapped around the geisha, suffocating the life out of her. This war between the Lemaire family and the yakuza began that night at the Angel Cloud, and Cain was going to end it now.

He saw an orange box bolted to a bulkhead. He walked toward it and opened the metal container. It contained a flare gun and two extra cartridges. Cain grabbed the gun and pocketed the two extra flares. He began exploring the deck, peeking into each window, searching for clues to Bonnie’s whereabouts. The fourth window he came upon was different. It was a large rectangle, and he soon realized why. It belonged to the yacht’s luxurious grand room—it was at least three times larger than the average Japanese home’s living room. Glass cabinets stretched to the ceiling, displaying treasures of antique Japanese pottery and expensive bottles of alcohol from around the world. His heart pounded against his chest like a drum when he recognized the two men he saw talking to each other. One of them was Yamamoto.

Cain felt a gut-wrenching knot form in the pit of his stomach. Betrayal was the worst type of pain. I would have given my life for him, and he crossed me like this. He betrayed me and Bonnie. Koichi Sato was behind her kidnapping the whole time!





Chapter 78



Cain methodically scanned the grand room, searching for any other yakuza members he would have to fight. I can’t just go blasting in there, he thought. That’ll be certain suicide. Can’t rescue Bonnie if I’m dead. Self-preservation was one of the tenets the Secret Service taught at its academy in Maryland. Rookie agents thought they were issued bulletproof vests for their protection, but in reality, the point was merely to keep the agents alive long enough to protect the VIP until backup arrived.

Cain noticed a gruff-looking Japanese man in the corner of the room. A tattoo sprawled across his neck and covered his bald head. Cain leaned his face against the window to gain a better view and to size him up. He could tell from the man’s visible scars and how his suit looked—custom-tailored in order to accommodate his bulging biceps—that he was going to be a tough opponent. And then there was something odd about his ear—as if a piece of it was missing.

Movement in the corner of the room caught Cain’s eye. He pressed his face against the window even harder. Bonnie! His heart fluttered with joy but just as quickly sank when he realized she was tied to a chair in the far corner, her hands and feet bound by rope. Her nude body was bruised; there was no hiding that she had been punished for Cain’s actions.

Yamamoto shouted something in Japanese, and the bald guard walked toward the middle of the room and retrieved two swords from their traditional stands. He bowed and extended the swords with both hands. Yamamoto ceremonially received one, and then Sato received his. They unsheathed them; the razor-sharp blades reflected the overhead light.

Are they gonna kill Bonnie? Cain’s mind swarmed with emotion. He envisioned them slicing her head off with a single proficient swipe of the samurai sword. No! he reminded himself. She’s worth more alive to them than dead. The mere thought of her being forced into sexual slavery sickened him. He counted three men—Yamamoto, Sato, and the bald guard—plus Bonnie in the room. He readied himself to burst through the door and run into the room. He felt tunnel vision setting in, and he reminded himself to combat-breathe and continue to look around in order to make as many observations as possible. He inhaled and slowly exhaled in a calculated manner. He put his hand on the doorknob and began turning it when suddenly the yacht’s diesel engines roared to life. The motors whined as they struggled to break the rope and spin the propellers. The odor of burnt transmission fluid permeated the air. Black and gray smoke bellowed into the night sky and was carried away with the breeze.