They drove out to the old cotton dyeing factory, having found the address easily online, also discovering the reason why the mill had been shut down. It was set in a quiet rural area, several miles from the nearest town. The reason for its location had been its good source of fresh, clean water for the dyeing process, though this reason had also been part of its downfall. For that ‘fresh clean water’ was similarly important for the villages and hamlets it meandered through on its way to join up with the other tributaries making their way to the sea on Fukushima’s coastline.
Their inhabitants had been complaining for many years about the ‘brackish taste’ their once beautiful fresh water now had, but no evidence could be found of any contamination, a change in the water’s ‘taste’ being a very subjective element to prove. Then one day an accident at the plant had caused a solution of almost pure dye to leach into the river. The dye was instantly caught by the clear waters, which instantaneously turned a vivid green colour. The tainted wave sped down the valley by the river’s natural flow, staining everything it came into contact with.
The incident had occurred late at night. When the locals, preparing for their morning routines, had fetched water from a nearby stream to make breakfast and brew tea. Unknown to them, the water was contaminated with a dye. This dye, although harmless, had a remarkably strong pigment. It was typically used by sewage engineers to identify leaks in waste pipes due to its vivid colouration and ability to starkly discolour other substances. The following morning, a number of residents experienced a startling revelation. After consuming the water, they observed their urine had turned a luminous green. This unusual phenomenon caused widespread panic, leading many people to seek hasty medical attention, fearing a severe problem with their health. It was only discovered later the true cause of their concerns; the water from the stream infected by the dye spillage.
The disaster had caused a huge local scandal, even though no one had been seriously hurt – though a good many of the locals said that the discovery of expelling a stream of translucent green had caused more than a little psychological damage – the plant was quickly shut down by the authorities, never to be reopened. The owner had objected, stating that the leak had been caused deliberately, accusing the locals of purposely sabotaging the plant to get it closed down. But she could not prove anything, and it remained closed. Following this, claims and counter-claims had been going through the courts for years, but still nothing had been settled. The owner’s name, he noticed, was one Kurosawa Azumi, the daughter of Kurosawa Ichirō, who had run the business successfully for many years before he handed it over to her in his will after his death. She had kept it operating quite successfully for several years until the time of the accident. As the detectives approached the site, they could see that it was a labyrinth of greying timber buildings, a water wheel stood unmoving, adjacent to near the bank of the river. They drove along the side of a traditional stone wall that led along the fields adjacent to the site and into the car park. Pulling the car to a halt across two spaces, they surveyed the frontage of the main building with a collection of smaller ones scattered around it. They were all constructed using traditional techniques working with nature’s most abundant raw materials: wood, stone ,and iron.
They surveyed the area from the car in silence. The place reminded Matachi of a reconstruction of a feudal Japanese village, that modern-day Shokunin would have used their inherited skills to build. The place held an air of foreboding about it, that made him uneasy. There seemed to be no sign of occupation, but he felt they were being watched by the very buildings themselves.
‘This place gives me the shits,’ blurted out Tekiō, breaking the eerie silence and making Matachi start. ‘Wouldn’t want to spend any time here after dark that’s for sure.’
‘Then it’s a good job we arrived here fairly early, isn’t it?’ said Matachi trying to be bullish to hide his unease. They both opened their car doors and got out at the same time.
‘Let’s have a look down past the water wheel, and Tekiō, I have an uncomfortable feeling about this place, so make sure you bring “Herman” with you.’
‘You know I never leave home without him, boss.’ Matachi nodded, saying, ‘Check, check.’
‘Check, check,’ responded Tekiō, patting the left breast pocket of his jacket.
They headed towards the water wheel and down past weather- beaten, but still serviceable, buildings intersected by low stone walls, that ran at angles from the buildings. Peering in through the windows they witnessed various bits of manufacturing paraphernalia and machinery, each item appeared to be clean and serviceable.
‘It’s like a fucking museum around here, just look at this stuff,’ said Tekiō pushing his face against another window to view the odd treasures within. He took his phone out and started taking pictures of the rooms’ contents.
At the water wheel Matachi stopped and looked down into the dry weir, with its entry and exit locks firmly closed against the deep water on the other side. Tekiō carried on down the alley of the stone buildings swanning from window to window, still taking pictures as he did so. He had got about thirty metres ahead of him when Matachi heard Tekiō cry out… ‘Girl!’ He started to run back towards Matachi, who stared bewilderingly at the sprinting fat man. It was then he realised that if Tekiō was running from something, then it was something worth running from. Matachi was about to turn around to also put a bit of serious distance between him and whatever his partner was sprinting from, when, as Tekiō passed by him, the man reached out with one of his enormous arms, scooping him up off the floor. He tucked Matachi under his right side, carrying him along in the direction of their parked car. Matachi appreciated the sentiment, but being crushed under one of Tekiō’s armpits like a folded newspaper was starting to lose its appeal, on account that his lungs were no longer able to take in any air. He thought he was about to pass out when he was dropped unceremoniously onto the ground near the side of the car.
‘What the fuck is it?’ he managed to gasp.
Tekiō was peering over the roof of the car, hands fumbling for his personal weapon.
‘Get on the blower right now and tell control there’s a woman running around with a fucking rocket launcher down here,’ he shouted at Matachi.
‘You screamed “Girl” you fat idiot, if someone has a rocket launcher, I believe the gender designation is by default, irrelevant and the correct nomenclature I believe is R.P. … fucking G!’
‘RPG!!’ yelled Tekiō, as a small girl with a big rocket launcher over her shoulder, came around the side of the building they had just sprinted past and took a very deliberate aim at their car.
‘Fuck me,’ cried Matachi getting up and starting to run for one of the low, ornate stone walls lined the side of the track behind them. He had almost reached it when he was overtaken once more by Tekiō. There was no denying the bastard was fast over short distances, as he witnessed his friend clearing the wall a millisecond before the blast from a huge explosion carried him over it as well.
Matachi lay on his back on the other side of their impromptu ballistic barrier, as bits of their Toyota rained down on them, trailing fire and smoke as they did so. He scrambled back to the comparative safety of the wall, next to Tekiō. The man had curled himself up into a foetal position, face down into the dirt, pressed up against the substantial stonework, looking for all the world like a large hibernating bear. Matachi now drew his sidearm and started shooting in the direction of where he had last seen the girl.
‘What the fuck are you doing, you’re going to draw her attention to us for fuck’s sake, you dumb runt!’ said Tekiō’s muffled voice. ‘It may have escaped your attention, but we are somewhat outgunned here!’
‘No, I think not. What has escaped your attention, you chicken-livered oversized cretin, is the fact she only had the one missile.’ Tekiō raised one of his massive, slab-like arms, revealing his face as he leaned forward to gaze at Matachi. His head tilted at an almost upside-down angle, a tense, wide tight grin stretched across his face, pulling his lips back over jaws that were clenched tightly together.
Matachi glanced down at him briefly, a bullet cracked through the air, passing frighteningly close to his head. He shouted at Tekiō, ‘Hey “Pennywise” get that fucking cannon of yours into action.’
Tekiō had not had the time to draw the service pistol holstered under his right arm during their sprint for safety, he now ignored it, instead moving his hand deep under his left armpit he pulled out ‘Herman’ a Pfeifer-Zeliska .600 Nitro Express pistol. It was a revolver that was at the extreme end of handgun design, engineered to be able to fire hunting rounds, ordinance normally used for killing big game.
The reason for having ‘Herman’ at all, was because of an incident early in their relationship, involving a disappointing shootout with some heavily body-armoured individuals. After landing several hits on the Kevlar-clad criminals without any noticeable results, the limitation of their service pistols was blatantly obvious. Later, after the men had disappointedly got away, Matachi had suggested that perhaps they should look at acquiring an ‘upgrade’.
After some extensive testing of a number of potential weapons, covertly brought onto a police range, the Austrian weapon was chosen. The effect of being hit by a .600 Nitro Express bullet would be devastating on anyone, even someone wearing body armour and that was exactly the effect they were looking for.
The weapon was far from being a standard police armament and not an insignificant purchase at 4,000,000 Yen, with even its shells retailing at an eye-watering 6000 Yen a round. An official purchase of such a weapon was highly irregular, but then everything about their unique set-up was. It was agreed that sometimes the ends must justify the means, and the protection of their ability to safely operate and continue to have such amazing results must be protected, so the weapon had been approved.
After their poor performance in their last gunfight, an incident that could have easily gotten them killed, Matachi saw the weapon as a solid investment. The fact that, as a revolver it retained its cartridge casings, was also very appealing, particularly when one was using not exactly a strictly legal weapon.
It weighed around five kilos and was fifty-five centimetres in length, being essentially a collector’s piece for firing on a range. It was not a weapon that could be handled effectively or safely in a tactical environment by a normal sized person. However, it was not a normal sized person who now held it, arms outstretched on the wall, both hands supporting the weapon. The gun looked impressive even with most of its outline lost in Tekiō’s huge hands. With large booms, the gun started to put 58-gram slugs down range at 2,139.7 km/h. The blockwork wall behind the girl began to shatter under the impact, as the huge bullets smacked into it showering her with bits of rubble. Matachi could see that the smoke from the burning Toyota was obscuring Tekiō’s usually excellent aim.
‘Cover me,’ he shouted as he moved behind Tekiō, trying to outflank the girl on the right-hand side. Adding as he did so, ‘And watch what you’re doing with that fucking cannon, your aim is shit today.’
The girl slipped back into a doorway and disappeared as he made his move to the right.
‘You just have to hope she does not have a re-load for that fucking stove pipe,’ barked Tekiō after him. ‘Because if she does, you are on your fucking own.’
Matachi zigzagged for the cover of the first building that ran adjacent to their protective barrier in front of them and began firing with his pistol at the doorway. Tekiō had now used up the five rounds the weapon held and was reloading. Because of their weight and bulk, Tekiō only carried ten more bullets, Matachi held another five of the cigar-sized rounds in a small leather pouch attached to the back of his belt.
‘Move!’ he shouted across at Tekiō, putting a few rounds from his 9-mm into the doorway.
Tekiō landed with a thump against the building wall by his side. Panting hard he said, ‘We need to get some back-up, PDQ, boss.’ ‘That will be quite difficult without a radio, they were all in the car. You had better make a “One Ten” call on your phone.’
Tekiō nodded in the direction of the water wheel. ‘I dropped mine when I grabbed you.’
‘Shit!’ responded Matachi.
‘It was you or the cell phone, what would you have preferred?’ said Tekiō testily. ‘I have reloaded, let me cover while you call on yours.’
The two men switched places and Matachi holstered his pistol and searched for his phone. Not finding it in his inside jacket pocket he started to search himself more frantically, patting all his pockets in turn with both hands.
Tekiō glanced at him.
‘What’s with the “fisherman’s fag dance”?’ he said. ‘Don’t tell me you have fucking dropped yours as well?’
‘Fuck knows where it is, could be anywhere after the acrobatics I have just performed.’
‘Without back up, we are seriously in the shit, it must be between the wall and the car somewhere, nip back and have a look.’
Tekiō was right, there was no doubt they needed help, and fast, he readied himself to dash back.
‘Okay, cover me, on three: one… two… three!’
Matachi started running back the way he had come. At the same time Tekiō started firing around the corner with his standard issue pistol. Matachi made about five metres, when a burst of automatic gunfire tore up the ground in front of him. He halted his run and got back to the safety of the building, achieving the return journey a great deal faster than he had headed out. ‘Fuck that,’ he said breathlessly on his return.
Tekiō looked worryingly at his boss. ‘Sounds like an AK,’ he said and took a quick glance around the corner. ‘She is down by the wheel, tucked up in that fucking weir.’
Another salvo of bullets stitched up the side of the building where Tekiō had just put his head. The steel jacketed 7.62 rounds splintering off the corners of the stonework.
‘It’s definitely an AK and this girl is not fucking about. What’s the plan?’
‘The girl is no lady that’s for sure,’ said Matachi as he cupped his hands up to his face and shouted. ‘POLICE, LAY DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AND COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP, YOU ARE UNDER ARREST.’
Tekiō, looked at Matachi in disbelief and covered his head with one arm to protect himself from the splinters that he was certain were about to be blasted off the stone corner of the building again, a strong feeling telling him that was going to be the main response to his boss’s stupid demands of the girl.
‘Is that the best you can come up with, and you say you’re the brains of this outfit… you fucking tube!’
They lay there, pressed up against the stone, tense, and cringing, awaiting another burst of automatic fire. But nothing happened. Matachi gave an encouraging nod to Tekiō indicating he should take another look around the side of the building. Tekiō did not exactly feel emboldened by the gesture, demonstrating the fact, by moving his fist vigorously up and down at the wrist, to Matachi’s face. However, with a discerning scowl towards his boss, he did as he was asked.
Drawing the other pistol, he gave a darting glance around the stonework, then held his head out a millisecond longer, pointing both weapons in line with the movement of his head, scanning the area as best he could. He turned back to Matachi saying, ‘I think she has fucked off, can’t see any sign of the bitch. Go, get the phone now!’
Matachi made his pistol safe and secured the weapon into its holster, then was up and sprinting back towards the metre-high wall, quicker than dysentery with daps on. On reaching it, he performed a graceful swan dive, clearing the wall’s top with ease. From the proceeding crunch, loud winded grunt and cacophony of foul language that followed the clearance, Tekiō assumed that the landing had lacked a little of the same grace as the dive. He could not see what was happening beyond the wall, but after a few seconds he was relieved to hear Matachi shout, ‘Got it, calling it in now.’
‘I would not do that if I was the person on the other side of this,’ said a voice quietly, but firmly behind him.
Matachi felt the deathly cold touch of steel at the side of his neck. He slowly moved his head to look down the length of a long sword, at the end of which was a man with his left knee to the ground, pointing the blade at arm’s length, parallel with the thigh of his outstretched right leg. The stance was reminiscent of a European-style fencer. But this was no dandy’s rapier in his hand, it was a Japanese Katana, arguably one of the finest and deadliest swords ever created.
With uncomfortable effort he brought his gaze up to the man’s face. From what he could see, from under the dark tendrils of black hair that dropped across his captor’s features, was the angular appearance of a handsome fiend. Unexpectedly sharp teeth slowly formed a dangerous smile on the man’s face; a sneer that Matachi found more threatening than the sword against his throat.
‘Place your weapon on the ground and then call to your fat friend with his super-sized cannon to do the same,’ the swordsman said.
‘Kurosawa-san, I presume?’ said Matachi.
* * *
The little rocket girl took back her cell phone from him. He had just spoken to the director of intelligence at the Cabinet Intelligence and Research Office. He thought there was something odd about these two and now he had been informed that they were operatives of CIRO, Japan’s spying organisation. He thanked her with a polite bow, she glared at him in response. Matachi had thought the brother was scary, but his sister was in a different league. Curiously he could see that Tekiō was smitten, the lecherous idiot had all but dropped a wing for her. Having beauty and the beast rolled into one must be his type. He started to fantasise on what that courtship would look like, and the unlimited potential for ridicule he could force his friend to endure, when her cell rang again. Without a word, she again handed him the phone.
‘Hello,’ he vacantly said, as the voice of his boss, Commander Ōno, came into his ear, which brought him back to immediate concerns.
‘Is that you, Matachi?’
‘Yes sir. It is my good self, sir.’
‘What on earth is going on down there? Since your deployment the whole bloody prefecture has imploded around you!’
‘With all due respect, sir, I don’t think we can be held responsible for the tsunami.’
‘I was not talking about the tsunami; I was referring to the political shit storm that is erupting back in Tokyo. You have managed to put your foot into a wasp’s nest it seems. It looks like Commander Nomura has been running a sideline in espionage, trading secrets with the Koreans. The civil elements may have led us to this, but they are now irrelevant. You are to hand over all information to the Kurosawas and give them any assistance they require. It looks like there is a spy network that is desperately trying to extract itself and they are quite content to burn every bridge in an effort to do so. You may not have heard, but the Municipal Government Building went up in flames last night. We need to find out what the hell is going on down there. The Koreans are up to something, and it has to mean a lot to them if they are acting so blatantly.’
‘I think the information we are deciphering from Matsumoto’s USB stick will hold some weight to that hypothesis, sir.’
‘It is no hypothesis, Matachi, you understandably have not been introduced to the six dead Koreans the Kurosawa twins have stashed in the Mill.’
‘No, I have not, sir. Regrettably our introduction was a rather fraught affair. We have had little time for any cultural exchanges to take place – as of yet, and I did not know they are actually twins, sir.’
‘Believe me, Inspector, when I tell you they are of one mind.
It would be prudent for you to keep relationships cordial, so to speak. And as they have informed you, they work for CIRO, so share with them totally and openly any information you have on this case, is that understood?’
‘Yes, sir, absolutely, sir.’
‘Good. One other thing, you were also correct about Nomura, leaking information to Uchida. Unfortunately, before we got to him, he had withdrawn your surveillance on Ikeda Fuyuko, he has also passed on the information you requested from forensics on Kurosawa. You had better inform them of that, because that may be how the Koreans tracked them down to the Mill. It is possible that they have gleaned more intelligence on them both from Nomura’s actions of which they were not fully aware.’
Matachi looked at the two strange siblings who now stood talking to Tekiō. Perhaps, he thought, he might need to delegate the passing on of news that he may have possibly dropped the two psychos in the shit.
‘Yes, sir, I will inform them immediately.’
‘Very good, Inspector. Oh, and Matachi.’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Good luck.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
He handed the cell phone back over to the bat shit crazy sister. Both siblings stared at him without any expression on their faces at all. There was definitely something not right about these two, he thought.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I just need to have a quick word with my sergeant here, he can complete his update for you and then it seems we are all yours.’