Chapter 4
Two days later, after his swearing-in to his newly created position of Chief of Personal Security, Texas Department of Public Safety Executive Offices, Austin, Texas, Zach was trying to get used to the typical Ranger uniform-not-uniform. Like his dad, he wore a crisp white shirt, jeans, tie, and Stetson as he stood at attention at the closed door in the governor’s mansion. Zach was in the process of vetting applicants to the newly created department he headed, but for now he was it. Where his father went, he went. Almost all of John’s meetings these days were with other high-level officials, so Zach was in protective mode for everyone in the room.
The governor’s office had been renovated a number of years back with extensive security measures installed. However, he still warily eyed the hallway outside the ornate salon that was used mostly as a conference room. He appraised every entrance and exit for the umpteenth time before he relaxed slightly. More security personnel patrolled the grounds and exterior, so they should be fine.
The low rumble of male voices behind the door occasionally grew heated. He knew they were discussing the most recent developments in the Asian gang incursion into Austin. The operational heads of the central Texas DEA, the FBI, and the Austin Chief of Police were all at this meeting. They were trying to create their own joint-response team with shared intel and security protocols in case the assassins planned to strike again, but in Zach’s experience, these well-intentioned alliances seldom worked: Too many different priorities, budgets, and constituents, not to mention big egos all around.
He was still considering that point when a familiar figure entered the hallway outside the meeting room. Ross Sinclair was accompanied by a tall, regal woman of indeterminate age whom Zach had never seen before. However, Ross had an easy manner with her, and she wore a visitor’s badge, so he knew she’d been vetted by gate security.
“Hey, Zach,” Ross said. “We have some new data I felt should be shared immediately, as it’s extremely timely. Do you know how much longer they’ll be?”
Zach glanced at his watch. “The meeting was scheduled for an hour, but they’ve obviously run over.”
Ross nodded. “Zach, this is Abigail Doyle, the forensics expert I mentioned to you. Abby, meet Zachary Travis, former Army Ranger, the new head of personal security for the executive officers of the DPS and Texas Rangers.”
After Zach and Abigail shook hands, Ross added, “Abby has new information about Asian gang activities. She thinks part of the escalation is competition over control of the new designer drug that just hit the streets.”
Abby hoisted her laptop bag over her shoulder as if it weighed heavily on her, in more ways than one.
“I know we’re not scheduled to be in the meeting,” Ross said, “but I think everyone will want to see this evidence for themselves as it may impact their tactical response. As you know, your dad asked me to take a temporary assignment managing the various response teams until we catch these murderers. I brought Abigail in because she’s the best at putting together complex arrays of evidence.”
Zach smiled slightly. “Yeah, he told me last night. How does Emm feel about you being away so long?”
A twinkle turned Ross’s blue eyes even brighter. “A few weeks away is OK while she works on the new building in Amarillo. After that . . . well, I’d rather face the murderers single-handed than explain to her why I can’t come home when scheduled.”
Zach nodded, smiling, while Ms. Doyle laughed as if she too knew Emm.
Zach responded, “I’ll see if I can get their attention,” and knocked lightly on the heavy door. After a muffled “come in,” he walked inside. He was uncharacteristically nervous as, for the first time, he faced the heads of the major law-enforcement agencies investigating Asian gang activity in central Texas.
As everyone looked curiously between him and his father, obviously knowing his background, Zach murmured in his dad’s ear. John Travis glanced inquiringly at his own boss, Chief Jeremy Porter. Nodding, Porter made a beckoning move with his hand.
Zach ushered in Ross and Abigail, turning to walk out again, but Chief Porter called him back. “Stay for this, please, Zachary, as it may impact our protection detail. John was going to brief you after the meeting but this will save us all time.” The ghost of a smile crossed his tanned, lined face when Zach hesitated as if he didn’t want to desert his post. “Relax. If we’re not safe at the governor’s mansion, where would we be safe?”
Nowhere, Zach wanted to retort, but of course he didn’t. He sat as indicated, but he still felt confined in the jeans and Stetson, especially laden with weapons as he was. He’d gotten one stipulation through all the bureaucracy: He was allowed to pick his own arms. After they were approved by the DPS he could even carry them at his discretion, government issue or not.
His discretion was simple: 24/7 vigilance. Sleeping with his weapons near to hand. No more open windows, and at night his bedroom door stayed wide so he could hear the slightest sound. Even the motion detectors inside their house were activated now at night. And he seldom sat down during his duty hours.
He half listened to the introductions going around the table, adjusting his bristling arsenal by shifting his body weight. Standard-issue Glock in his visible hip holster, six-shot featherweight revolver strapped to his calf beneath his jeans, fifteen-round custom Browning. 45 in the hidden holster under his armpit. His last backup was a Silver Trident sheath knife with a double-serrated edge strapped in the small of his back. It weighed over a pound and because of its supreme balance, it was perfect for throwing, which was why he stored it where he could grab it easily.
As Ross recapped the forensics conclusions based on the remains of the victims, facts he’d already heard, Zach still couldn’t get comfortable. Even in one of the most secure buildings in the state, he was on edge. But as Abby took center stage, he began to listen.
After Abigail hooked her laptop to the room’s projector system, she began flashing PowerPoint slides. “These are some of the samples of this new designer drug we’ve sourced back to China. It’s only been on the streets in Austin for a couple of months. It started in Europe and has since moved to the East Coast and is now spreading through the South and Midwest.”
Zach eyed the bright, appealing packaging, tilting his head to read the label: Blue Moon incense. Or Zinger tea, and so on. All innocuous home products.
“I’m sure I don’t need to tell this audience how hard these drugs are to interdict,” Abby said. “The distribution is different from any of the usual illegal pipelines: mom-and-pop stores, raves, independent gas stations. Sometimes the proprietors don’t even know what they’re selling. And increasingly, people buy them on the Deep Web, often using digital currency like Bitcoin that makes the transactions difficult to track.”
The next images were even more troubling. She flashed through them quickly with obvious distaste: people of every shape and size, but mostly young, in various states of illness, hooked to IVs. Some looked as if they were in comas and more than a few looked as if they’d overdosed.
“These designer drugs hit the streets before we even know what’s in them,” she continued. “All too often they mimic the highs of heroin, or cocaine, or methamphetamine. Equally addictive; in a few cases, even more so. They obviously have no quality controls so one packet can be much stronger than the next on the same rack. Users are taking enormous risks without realizing it. As soon as the labs identify the chemicals used to make these drugs, and we get the legislation through to ban them, they reformulate and add plant products that are used for such things as tea and incense and release them with new packaging under innocuous new names.”
DEA chief Dexter Rhodes was nodding impatiently. “We know all of that. We tried banning them several years back when they had the all-encompassing label bath salts, only to have them reformulate, exactly as you said . . . But what does this have to do with the murders of our people?”
Abigail switched to a different picture: A muscular man of medium height. A chill crept up Zach’s spine. He’d seen a similar apparition before, though the black nylon had molded a much different form. He was looking at a male version of Hana, the Japanese girl. Like her, this man was garbed head to toe in black. He wore a samurai sword strapped to his back, and another shorter one in a belt sheath. His hood looked very similar to the one the girl had worn the night he’d fought with her. The photo had a grainy nature, as if it had been taken from a distance, but the man was still imposing in his menace.
“We believe this is the leader of the Edo Shihans gang, which as I’m sure you all know, seems to be winning the wars with its rivals. We know him only as Kai. We think he grew up around Okinawa, the son of a prominent Yakuza boss. He tried to take over his father’s gang and was disgraced and banned. That’s when he came to the U.S. He keeps a very low profile, obviously aware the DEA is trying to track him.”
Abby switched screen shots yet again, flicking through various major U.S. ports: Los Angeles, Miami, New York, Houston. She shared her detailed research as she switched slides. “We think Kai had an ally in his father’s gang who helped him finalize connections in China with the source of this new drug known as Blue Moon. He outbid his rivals for a massive shipment. He’s spent the last few years setting up his trade routes and distribution channels, though he was a minor player in the hard stuff like heroin. However, rumor on the street is this new product is much stronger and more addictive than previously, so it’s priced higher.”
She switched screen shots again, showing prostitutes plying various streets. “Until recently he stuck to nonviolent ventures like identity theft and prostitution. However, his rivalry with the Green Gang, the Chinese offshoot of a prominent Shanghai-based former Triad group, has heated up recently. They pride themselves on their roots as Friends of the Way of Tranquility and Purity.” Abby continued over Dexter’s scoffing sound, “In the last week, we’ve found the remains of two Green Gang members, or I should say former members.” Taking a deep breath as if she had to brace herself, Abby flipped to a new slide.
Even the most hardened cops among them had to look away. Zach’s stomach roiled as he stared. Good God, he’d known their foe must be ruthless and brutal . . . but this. This was a message.
The corpses were hardly recognizable as human, as they’d been butchered into pieces, like cattle. Zach had seen more than his share of dead bodies, mostly blown to bits by IEDs or machine-gun fire. These pictures, disgusting as they were, had an almost clinical air. The shots had obviously been taken well after exsanguination. The cuts on the torso where arms and legs had been attached were smooth diagonals, as if the blade that severed them had been very sharp and wielded with both power and experience, cutting through in one stroke. Zach recalled the feel and touch of that female ninja-like figure. Surely she couldn’t be involved in this? Was she even strong enough to do something like this in one stroke? His lunch bubbled in his throat and he had to force himself to concentrate on the presentation.
Abby’s voice was soft. “The bodies were scattered. The coroner had a difficult time . . . reassembling, but when he finished we ID’d them as Green Gang from their tattoos. No next of kin came forward so their remains were cremated. The examiners had never seen anything like this, but I had once, in Japan, where I was called upon to investigate the Yakuza. These cuts are taught to those who profess to follow the way of the samurai. Each cut even has its own name, such as Do for the abdomen cut and Kiriachi for the lateral thorax cut.”
Zach asked, “Are you saying they use humans as practice dummies?”
Abby tilted her head slightly and eyed him with steady gray eyes so acute and assessing they might have looked through him to the wall behind his head. “If you mean is this barbarism, a twisted test of their artistry in battle, absolutely. Only the most advanced samurai can make such clean cuts and it requires a very sharp blade and a great deal of strength and accuracy. The medical examiner believes these cuts were each made with one blow.”
Zach and his father exchanged a look.
“So you think this Kai had some of his rivals terminated like this to send a message?” interrupted Porter.
“Yes. While we have no proof, these two bodies turned up two days after one of the Edo Shihans was beheaded. Beheading is another ritual of the samurai. In the middle ages, samurai were judged on the number of heads they took in battle.” She flashed another slide. Grisly as it was, the one-stroke killing seemed merciful in comparison to the other blows.
“The final indisputable point is,” Abby concluded, going back to pictures of the new drug, “these two gangs are in a fierce turf war over the distribution of this new drug, and probably over other criminal activities we haven’t identified yet. And their violence is obviously escalating.” Abby’s tone lowered until they all had to strain to hear. “And most troubling of all, both gangs seem to have twisted the original honor the samurai historically held for their shogun masters into allegiance to their gangs. Which means most of the members, if not all, will die before they betray their leaders.”
The FBI chief scowled. “We’ve never had gang wars this bad before, even between the Crips and the Bloods. What the hell is going on here?”
Ross spoke up. “That’s why I thought it critical you all hear this as soon as possible.” He stood, nodding at Abby. She popped up a new screen, showing a rising graph depicting the growing Asian population both in Texas and nationally. “Analysis of recent census data shows a sharp rise in Asian immigration. As you can see, Asian immigrants are projected to be the largest minority in the U.S. within the next thirty years or so. Unfortunately, with their good influence comes the bad . . . and obviously there are huge cultural differences between them and our fiercest Latino criminals. These gangs already have ties in the Orient. As you can see, some of their tactics put the worst Mexican cartels to shame. It behooves us to figure out their methodologies now, before they become deeply entrenched. This isn’t just a murder investigation—it needs to be an interdiction. We need to capture the leaders of these gangs before they spread their influence.”
DEA chief Rhodes nodded as he listened, confirming their facts. “I’ve been trying to tell everyone this for over a year, but our resources were mostly deployed near the border.”
John Travis scowled as he glared at Abby’s final screen shot: the figure in black. “Isn’t there enough evidence to at least bring this Kai in for questioning?”
Before Abby could answer, Rhodes elaborated: “The few informants we’ve arrested with ties to the Edo Shihans are going to prison rather than talk. We’re not sure if it’s from loyalty or terror of the consequences.” He looked to Abby to continue.
Abigail nodded. “Probably a bit of both. The Yakuza has survived as one of the oldest criminal organizations on the planet partly because of its strict code. And from the evidence I’ve reviewed thus far, Kai has blended that structure he learned from his father with the samurai mystique and ninja terror tactics. He’s suspected to offer a generous bonus system that rewards loyalty, yet his retribution tactics rival the Zetas cartel . . . ritual sacrifice.”
“Yeah, we’ve never linked him personally to any of the distribution channels,” Rhodes added. “Whatever else he’s involved in, he’s one smart son of a bitch. Plus, we have no idea where his base of operations is except that it seems to be in the area.”
“Do we know where the shipment is coming into the state?” asked Chief Porter.
Abby shook her head. “Nothing is surfacing on any of our tracking mechanisms.” She looked inquiringly at Rhodes. He also grimly shook his head.
The room was silent for a moment.
Zach had listened carefully to the presentation. He looked around, but when no one else voiced his concern he spoke up. “Did you show these pictures to the forensics lab that analyzed the remains of the Taylors to see if there’s a possible weapons match?” Zach asked.
They all eyed the full-length picture of Kai, appraising the swords he carried. Abby responded, “Yes. Inconclusive, though the head of the lab agreed these swords, as far as cutting angles and splatter pattern, could match the gashes on all four victims.”
Zach absorbed that. So far, they had no proof linking the Japanese girl to the Buckhorn murders other than the hood that was found. It was identical to the hood he’d ripped off her head the night she broke into their house, the one they used to match her DNA and identify her. But it had been clean of any DNA, as if it had never been worn. A plant, perhaps? But Zach couldn’t voice that gut feeling because he had no proof. Besides, what motivation would the real killers have to try to implicate the Japanese girl?
All latent DNA residue they’d tested from the murder scene had been male and had not hit any of their many databases, including the one the Japanese authorities had on Yakuza activity in Japan, which they’d been good enough to cross-check. However, the single hair sample recovered showed a strong correlation to Japanese DNA markers around Okinawa. Kai was from Okinawa. The girl had been born in the U.S. Thus, there was only one apparent link between Kai and the girl, and it was literally staring them in the face.
The katana.
With a look at his dad, who nodded, Zach stood and walked to the screen, using his pen as a pointer. “I was stationed in Okinawa for a year. The Japanese value swords, especially family samurai swords, beyond anything we can claim as Americans. The oldest ones are tied to their national identity and the clans who hold them. Whoever is strong enough to acquire one revered from the Edo period, has an advantage in any power struggle. Since there’s only one link between the girl who broke into our house and this Kai, other than the obvious fact they’re both Japanese . . .” He traced the outline of the katana blade with his pen. “Follow the sword. I’d bet my Harley they both want the Masamune blade. Let’s use it as bait.”
* * *
The next night, Hana was back perched on the Tarrytown fence, once more garbed in black so she could scope out the Travis mansion. She and Ernie had formulated an action plan for the following night, when the sword would arrive in Austin. But just in case, she wanted to investigate the Travis mansion so she’d have a backup plan to snatch the sword if for some reason they failed at the warehouse. She used the expensive night-vision binoculars Kai had supplied her with when they’d made their devil’s bargain, along with a sword and various other weaponry, which so far she’d refused to carry.
Sparring with swords had always been her favorite part of her training in the ring. She normally trained with bokken, the wooden sword, and was only allowed to use a real katana when Ernie deemed her ready. She’d never used any blade to render harm, and she wouldn’t start now. She only wished Kai had the same compunction but knew he didn’t. That was another reason she didn’t want to leave him with the sword. If there was any other way to get Takeo back, she’d find it.
Immediately, even without the binoculars, she saw the new security: hired guards in uniform leading dogs around. Not just any dogs, but Belgian Malanois—the favored breed of the armed forces and large police departments because of its intelligence, protective instincts, and loyalty to its trainers. They were much more alert and well trained than the family Rottweilers. She also noted that the upstairs windows were all closed. New motion detectors blinked from all quarters as they moved from side to side.
Yikes! One arc of movement almost included her position. She vaulted down, she hoped, in time. She ran to her car, her mind moving even faster than her feet. Hana had her answer as to potential backup: none.
It was the warehouse or nothing.
The Travises wouldn’t be fooled twice.
The warehouse had digital-dependent security, according to her contacts. The valuable items the transit service handled were seldom there more than a few hours and they counted on their high-tech security and safe more than costly security guards. She trusted Ernie to get past that. Her own skills in breaking digital security usually ended with snipping a few wires, but Ernie was a true Renaissance man. She turned a corner and stopped abruptly, certain she heard pounding feet. She listened: Background noise of a busy city.
She hurried on. She was panting slightly when she finally reached her car. Unlocking and opening it, this time she was certain . . . someone was following her. She spun in time to meet a large shadow in the dim streetlamps.
A very solid shadow. The minute the long, lithe body crashed into hers, forcing her body weight flat against the car and slamming the door, she knew who it was despite not being able to make out the face. No one else she’d ever met had made her nerve endings tingle head to toe like he did.
Hana tilted her head back to allow the dim streetlight to illuminate her face. “Zachary Travis. Somehow I knew I’d see you again.” She gave him a sweeping glance. “But I liked the way you were dressed better the other way.”
He reared back slightly, as if insulted, and even in the dim light she saw his cheeks flush. “Ditto. I figured you’d be back at some point. Scoping out our new security.”
“So you were watching?”
“Always. It’s my new job as head of security for DPS and Ranger execs.” He settled against her so she could feel the holster at his shoulder.
She tried to squirm free, but he held her arms at her sides and let her struggle, his cold smile widening. She stopped and used a better weapon—her tongue. “Go ahead then, take me in. But a charge of trespassing won’t keep me locked up very long, and I also have powerful friends with ties at major media outlets.”
He lockstepped her out of the shade of the tree directly beneath a streetlamp so he could see her face more clearly. “Oh, we know a lot about you now, Ms. Nakatomi. Enough that we’d much rather catch you red-handed with evidence that will stick than bring you in on a misdemeanor. Go on with your malfeasance.”
She was tempted to reach for his weapon, but then she saw the feral gleam in his blue eyes and thought better of it. He wanted her to go for his gun. No doubt that would have some serious penalties attached now that he was an officer of the law.
She tilted her head back and thrust out her pointed chin, as she did when she was cornered. “I had nothing to do with the murders.”
His grip went lax, but then he caught her, more tightly. “At least you get straight to the point. But why would I believe you?”
“Uh, a little thing like motive. I had no reason to kill two people I’ve never met.”
“Yes, well, that’s why you should come in for questioning. Only you can clear your name.”
She made a scornful sound. “Like you don’t know anything about me, huh? You’ll believe me despite my priors?”
That feral gleam softened a bit. “It’s obviously not my call, but I can tell you we’ll all listen to your side of the story. Good enough? Do us both a favor and come quietly.” He moved back half a step, preparing to shove her in front of him. “I’m decent this time.”
Hana smiled up at him, long and luxuriously. “Pity, that.”
When his gaze caressed her lips, she struck, stamping her booted foot down on his toe. His grip loosened enough for her to get one arm free. In one fluid movement, she twisted sideways and brought her elbow up sharply into his jaw. He staggered slightly, but still had presence of mind enough to keep her other wrist manacled, so she was pulled with him. With a growl of anger, he brought his other hand up to latch it around her hair.
She saw it coming. Rather than pull back against gravity as most people would, she used the fall as her friend and followed the curve, pushing with her toes to overbalance them both, hard. He fell backward into the street with her on top. Then she heard his teeth snap together and the grip on her hair went lax. She’d landed on top as she’d devised. She felt a twinge of guilt as she saw blood gush from his lip, now realizing Zach bit his lip when he fell.
No time for recriminations or apologies . . . she was up and running. He scrambled up a split-second later, and then he was in hot pursuit, blood dripping down on his white shirt.
She was half his weight, and faster, so at first veering through cars and leaping over shrubs allowed her to pull ahead, but she’d already exerted herself and her breath soon was labored. She dared a look over her shoulder and wished she hadn’t.
Even in the moonlight she saw the blood on his shirt and that familiar gleam in his eyes, much brighter now. He wasn’t even breathing hard. She realized she might be faster, but he was fitter and stronger.
She ran harder, knocking over a trash can as she went, but he only leaped over it and kept coming. Could she make it back to her car? She veered around a block in the right direction but her legs were tiring. She refused to heed them, pumping harder. She had to get away—Jiji only had a few more days. He was in and out of consciousness now. The sword was coming in tomorrow night.
Everything was set up with Ernie. She had to get away, or Jiji would die while she was in prison. And Takeo . . . despite the stress of the moment, tears filled her eyes at the mere thought of Kai raising her son.
Then she heard sirens approaching.