part0035

Time doesn’t even have the decency to stand still. There are eight guys in a wide semicircle in front of me, and I have nowhere to go.

Luckily, I’m holding my gun ready to shoot. These guys are holding theirs simply to keep them off the floor, which isn’t the same thing.

Plus, I’m me, and they’re not.

I apply a simple formula in my head. A tried and tested calculation I worked out very early on in my life:

Instinct plus adrenaline, multiplied by confidence, equals unparalleled violence.

That basic equation has solved every problem I’ve ever had. And the good thing about math is that it’s universal. It works every time.

I squeeze the trigger, firing a short burst to my left as I slam the door shut behind me. I dash right toward the crates—my only option for cover. I drop the first guy stood by the port side railing. I slide behind the boxes and lean out to the right. Another quick burst drops the nearest guy by the railings on this side. His friend seeks cover of his own by the crane.

Two down. Six to go.

I’m maybe down a third of the mag already. I can’t afford for this to turn into a long, drawn-out firefight—I don’t have the ammunition for it.

I need to be economical.

I move back to the left side of the crates, ducking momentarily as a short hail of bullets splinter the wood above my head.

I poke my head out, not even for a second, to catch a glimpse of my next target. It’s small, but I have a clear shot. Three guys on the left have sought refuge behind the speedboat. Rookie mistake. The first rule of a gunfight: never take cover behind anything flammable.

I switch my weapon to single-fire mode, pop out, and fire two rounds at the speedboat’s exposed fuel tank.

The explosion is instantaneous and deafening. I turn away, screwing my eyes tightly shut so as not to ruin their adjustment to the dark. The brilliance of the blast is rivalled only by the scalding devastation it’s created. The ferocious roar even silenced the raging storm around me.

I look around and see nothing.

Then I hear something that makes me look up, and—

I dive right, out from behind the crates. The blackened, burning remains of the boat lands on the deck, a little bit nearer to me than it originally was. The blast must have catapulted it skyward. The impact did what the weather and the turbulent tides have so far failed to—the yacht rocks and sways uneasily in the water, and for the first time since getting on this damn thing, I’m momentarily unsure of my footing.

Well, I think it’s safe to say the three guys who chose to hide behind it are regretting that decision now.

The repeating stutter of automatic gunfire pings off the railings around me.

Fuck! Forgot about them…

I move left, back into cover. The heat from the flaming wreck nearby is overpowering, making it harder to breathe as it burns the oxygen from the air.

Beats being shot, though.

I chance a peek out of cover. I can only make out two guys by the crane now, ducking behind it at the far side, near the starboard rail. Can’t be a hundred percent, but it looks like I took out one of the three over there with the speedboat, which would be a nice bonus.

I need to think about this for a moment. I can’t move left and go around to flank them because of the burning wreck. There isn’t anywhere to move to the right unless I want to get wet, so my only option is to move forward and engage. But they have a tactical advantage; in the far left and right corners from where I am are stairwells leading down to the lower deck. There, they can potentially restock their ammunition and get help from their friends. Being lured down there would be suicide. Too much cover for the enemy. Too easy to get trapped.

Unless Miley and Kazawa are down there, in which case, what choice do I have?

One problem at a time.

I fire a couple of blind rounds to force them behind cover, then move out. I quickly turn and raise the gun to check above me, making sure no one was hiding out by the chopper.

I turn back and move toward the crane. Crouched, purposeful steps. The gun is trained dead ahead, always following my line of sight, as if linked by invisible string.

One of the guys was ducked behind the railing that overlooked the stairwell. My gaze snaps to him. My arms and weapon follow.

A double tap. Instinctive. Rapid, like snapping my fingers.

I reach the crane and pause behind it for a moment. No sign of movement. Did the other guy make it down the stairs?

I move around and continue, aiming for the stairs. As I draw level with the opposite side of the crane, I see a blur of movement, mostly concealed by the night.

No… he didn’t go downstairs.

Rookie error, Adrian.

The guy was crouched behind the crane. He popped out and clocked me with the butt of his gun, right in the side of the head. I dropped and slid across the soaked deck, colliding with the railing that borders the stairs.

That shook the cobwebs loose. Jesus…

He races toward me, raising his gun, refining his aim with each step.

Fuck this. I’m not getting taken out by some no-name, low-level Yakuza.

I scurry to my knees and lunge forward, pushing both his thighs with my hands as he reaches me. His legs fly out from under him, and he falls forward, head-first and rigid. I allow my own momentum to carry me to the deck, so the guy falls on top of me.

Except he doesn’t.

His head catches the top bar of the railing on the way down. I heard the dull, hollow dink as it connected. Sounded painful.

I roll away, turn, and push myself up to one knee in time to see his face slide over and off the top railing and flop down onto the second. The angle of his body is enough to hold him there. His hips are almost flat to the floor, but his back is being held up at an angle most yoga instructors would blush at. His chin is hooked over the middle railing, keeping him in place.

I ease myself to my feet, stretch and crack my aching bones, then bring my leg up and stamp my foot down hard on the back of the guy’s neck. I feel his throat give against the stubborn metal railing. Pretty sure I heard a snap too.

His head slides off the railing and hits the floor, finally letting him rest flat.

I quickly crouch and take the mag from his gun. Put it in my pocket. Then I stand up and turn a slow circle, surveying the carnage now engulfing the deck of Kazawa’s yacht. No more signs of life, although if there are more guys below me, I’m pretty sure they know I’m here now.

Just need to find—

I finish my turn staring ahead to the bow and the bridge that stands upon it, level with the height of the helipad at the opposite end. It has windows on all sides, offering whoever’s inside a three-sixty view of the boat and the ocean.

Standing side-by-side at the window, looking out at the flames and the dead bodies, are Miley and Kazawa. The glare of the fire illuminates the glass enough for me to see their faces inside.

His eyes are wide. Shock? Probably. Fear? Maybe. If he’s not scared, he fucking should be.

Miley’s a little easier to read. She looks pissed.

I stand my ground. Square my shoulders. Take a deep breath. Relax. A sigh of relief this particular battle is over.

Then I wave at them and smile.

I see Miley slam her hands down and turns to Kazawa. I can’t see her mouth moving, and I can’t lip-read even if I could. But a blind man could see she was shouting at him.

Excellent. My work here is done.

See you soon, assholes. I’m going to—

That feels a lot like a gun barrel pressing against my head.

I glance over my shoulder and find myself staring at the barrel of a handgun. It’s pointing directly at my head, held steadily in place about an inch from me. Looks like a Heckler and Koch USP. Pretty sure the Japanese version of a SWAT team uses that. Makes sense that some of Kazawa’s security detail are cops, I guess.

I shift my focus beyond the gun, to the person holding it. Somewhat surprisingly, it’s a woman. She’s not as tall as me, but the look of determination in her eyes, coupled with the understandable confidence she has, tells me now isn’t the time to resist. There are three men standing right behind her, all with their weapons trained on me.

“Drop the gun,” she says.

I do, allowing it to hang loose on my shoulder. Immediately, one of the guys behind her moves around to my side and takes it from me, discarding it across the deck, toward the fire. He stays there, shoving my shoulder, directing me forward.

I throw him a look that tells him if he touches me again, it’ll be the last thing he does. No need for words.

“Let’s go,” orders the woman, pointing to the stairs.

Looks like I’m being taken below.

As I reach the top of the stairs, I look back over at the bridge. No sign of Kazawa, but Miley is there, laughing at me.