Beijing Airport
China
Kaito Yoshima handed his passport through the window and smiled easily as the control officer examined him with unveiled contempt. The standoff in the Senkaku Islands had calmed somewhat with the withdrawal of Japan’s new battleship, but his unsuccessful attempt on General Takahashi’s life had inflamed both countries. Just as he’d predicted.
Of course his superiors would run for cover. They would blame his inexplicable failure for the escalation between the two countries. As though a successful assassination would have been more palatable to the Japanese people and China would treat Takahashi’s death with solemnity instead of celebrating it in the streets.
“What is your purpose here?” the man said in halting English.
Yoshima pulled out a piece of paper covered with Chinese characters. The document said that he was an economic consultant under contract to the Chinese government. A convenient cover story for when it was impractical for him to travel under his Chinese identity.
In the past the document had made these low-level workers snap to pretty quickly, but that power seemed to be waning. Instead of handing it back to him with a curt nod, the man examined it with an expression turning from contempt to disgust.
Finally he slammed his stamp into the well-worn Japanese passport and looked past him to the German tourist next in line.
Yoshima walked through the crowded hallway toward baggage claim, spirited along by the flow of people around him.
It had been impossible to know how to react to his situation, so he’d done what he always did: taken the most dangerous course.
Now, though, he was beginning to regret his decision. There had been nothing but silence from his masters after Takahashi’s survival was confirmed by the press. And while he was confident that he would soon find himself in the role of scapegoat, there was some question as to what that meant exactly. After the inevitable flurry of politicians looking to leverage the failed assassination to further their careers, would it be quietly acknowledged that he had followed his orders to the letter and that Takahashi’s survival was a bizarre fluke? Would he receive a formal reprimand that would be completely meaningless in a profession as clandestine as his? Or would he disappear like so many of his classmates before him?
In truth, though, that wasn’t what was causing him to hang back and obsessively scan the crowd surrounding him.
No, at least in the short term, he had a much more dangerous situation to contend with.
Of course he had cameras and other security devices hidden in his condominium, each uploading to its own secure site on the Internet. He knew Randi Russell had been there, but he also knew that she’d made no effort to disable his security, disguise her identity, or even make her search look workman-like. Why? Was this her idea of a request for a parley? Or was that just what she wanted him to think? Perhaps her real goal was to draw him close enough to kill.
Yoshima felt someone press a hand against the back of his neck and then a sudden weight in his jacket pocket. He spun violently only to find the startled face of an old woman who quickly scurried into the crowd. A quick brush of his fingers beneath his collar turned up a strip of tape stuck to his skin and the small, hard bump beneath it.
A search for who had put it there would be futile, he knew. It could have been anyone—even the old woman. Randi loved criminals and he had no doubt that in a scenario like this, she would have employed one of the finest pickpockets in the country.
His jacket vibrated and he reached for the phone that had been placed there, once again letting himself be swept forward. There was little point in further caution or worry. He was entirely at the mercy of the person on the other end of the line.
“Hello, Randi.”
“Kaito—or should I say Li? Who are you today?”
“I’m Kaito.”
“The thing stuck to the back of your neck is an explosive. It’s one of our latest. Tiny, subtle, surprisingly quiet. Not qualities you appreciate apparently, but enough to snap your spine.”
He sighed quietly. Undoubtedly her words were an allusion to the massive explosion in Tokyo and the admittedly unconscionable number of innocent victims. “I suspected as much.”
“It’s one of the things I’ve always liked about you, Kaito. You’re not stupid. Did you check luggage?”
“No.”
“Come out through baggage claim. I’m in a blue BMW.”
When he stepped out onto the sidewalk, Randi leaped from the car in a silver miniskirt that bordered on the obscene. She had long blonde hair that Yoshima suspected was a wig and narrow heels that he noted would make it hard for her to move quickly—a detail he filed away in the chance it might become useful in the future.
She threw her arms around him and kissed him hard on the lips. She was hardly the first blonde to pick him up from the airport this way, and it would look completely normal to anyone who might be watching.
She had a cell phone in one hand, and he focused on it for a moment while playing along with the charade she’d crafted. Undoubtedly the detonator for the device on his neck was integrated into the phone but he had no way of knowing how it worked. Did she have to push a button? Or perhaps she was already pushing the button, and it was releasing it that would separate his vertebrae.
“Why don’t you drive, sweetie?” she said, climbing into the passenger seat and closing the door.
It started to rain while he was standing there and he walked deliberately around the back of the vehicle, tossing his hand luggage into the backseat and then slipping behind the wheel.
“It’s good to see you,” she said as they merged into traffic. “How long has it been? Four years?”
He shook his head. “You’re forgetting Cambodia.”
“Oh, God, you’re right. It was a hundred and six degrees with ninety percent humidity. And don’t even get me started on the snakes.”
“Is the car clean?” he asked.
“I got it out of the lot, so I assume it is. But with this police state you live in, it’s hard to say for sure.”
“You stole it?”
“Me? You’re the one driving.” She flashed a broad smile. “Relax. I’ll return it when I catch my flight tomorrow morning.”
“After you’ve killed me?”
“For God’s sake, Kaito. Can’t a girl visit an old friend? Catch up a little?”
He didn’t respond.
“Is your condo clean?”
“Yes.”
“Great. We’ll do our catching up there.”