The flight from Matua Island to Japan had been uneventful. Jackson had sat up front with Yuri to keep him company while Mitchell kept a close eye on Atsuko. She sat there, never saying a word, her head hung low. She was defeated, drained of all emotion. Met in Sapporo by a small army of security guards, they quickly transferred to a jet belonging to the Satomi Corporation and then flew to Tokyo. Again, security was tight. Mitchell was pleased to see that Taro Satomi was finally taking his and his daughter’s safety seriously.
A side door opened.
Yuri and Jackson stopped going through the plans Yuri had found on Matua Island and respectfully stood up.
Taro Satomi walked as best he could into the room. Dressed in casual attire, he looked as exhausted as they did.
“My daughter is sleeping now,” announced Satomi. He had had been talking to her alone in his study ever since they had arrived in Tokyo.
“I will need to speak with her when she wakes up,” said Mitchell respectfully.
“Naturally.” Taro Satomi took a seat and was then handed a cup of coffee by his servant.
“How is she doing?” asked Jackson, taking his seat once again.
“She is an emotional wreck. The man she thought she loved just tried to have her killed. My daughter is confused and deeply ashamed of all that has happened,” replied Satomi. “She was rebelling against me for being a poor father. That I can forgive, but for all of the death that has followed, she will have to answer to the authorities.”
“Did you tell her about the attempt on your life?” asked Mitchell.
“Yes. She was shocked and said that she was unaware that Cypher had ordered my death.”
“Do you believe her?”
“Yes, I do, Mister Mitchell. If you could have seen the look of horror and revulsion in her eyes when I told her, you would have no doubt, either.”
Yuri said, “Sir, Cypher is playing a big game of chess. Your daughter was nothing more than a pawn to him.”
“In a sense yes, but she was also a willing one. She is old enough to make up her own mind and to know the consequences of her actions. I am deeply ashamed that I was not a better father to her when she was growing up.”
“Sir, my son fell in with the wrong crowd during one of my deployments overseas,” said Jackson. “With a bit of tough love and structure he came around and is doing just fine now.”
Taro Satomi smiled weakly. “Mister Jackson, if I had paid more attention like you have when Atsuko was younger, we wouldn’t all be in this predicament. Unfortunately, you cannot change the past, only influence the future.”
Satomi painfully stood. His broken foot still hurt when he placed any weight on it. He said, “I am going to get some sleep now. Johnson will show you to your rooms when you’re ready to put your heads down. You must all be exhausted after all that you have been through.” With that, Satomi left the room.
“He looks like he’s aged ten years overnight,” said Mitchell, feeling sorry for Satomi.
“I don’t envy him. That’s for sure,” added Jackson.
Mitchell turned his attention to the plans spread out all over the table. “So, Yuri, what can you tell me about the bomb they were building?”
“Ryan, I’m not an explosives expert,” said Yuri, “but from what I have read, this bomb was designed to be dropped near its target in order to cause an earthquake. Inside the tail section was a massive parachute. When the bomb was nearing the ground, the tail fin section would be jettisoned and the parachute deployed to slow the descent of the bomb. The drill would then activate, allowing it to penetrate deep into the earth before detonating.”
“Quite ingenious. But how would it cause an earthquake?”
Yuri paused for a moment to ensure that what he was about to say in English made sense. “The device is a tectonic weapon. It is designed to manipulate electromagnetism in the earth to produce an earthquake from one as small as the one in Mongolia to ones capable of levelling entire cities.”
Jackson shook his head. “Yuri, you lost me at electromagnetism. All I know is, if Cypher has built one or more of these devices you can bet your bottom dollar that he intends to use them.”
“Yeah, but when and where?” said Mitchell, absentmindedly running his hand over his stubble-covered chin. “We need to inform General O’Reilly and Mike Donaldson about this.”
“Sir, if I may suggest,” said Satomi’s butler from behind Mitchell. “I can provide you with a secure laptop. We keep several in the house, should Mister Satomi’s business guests need them.”
Surprised that he hadn’t noticed Johnson was still in the room, Mitchell thanked him and then waited for the butler to return. He looked out at the rising sun and wondered what Jen was up to and when he would see her again.
40
Jen grabbed her gym bag and waved to a couple of friends. “Are any of you coming to the gym tomorrow? I’m going to take in another cross-training class.” With staged groans, her friends all agreed to meet her again to be tortured by a woman barely out of her teens who seemed to have limitless energy and enthusiasm.
She stepped out onto the busy street. Jen was dressed in loose-fitting sweats. She swung her gym bag over her shoulder, and started to make her way home. The sidewalk was packed with people still making their way home after another day at work. Jen found that spending time at the local gym with some of her close friends was a good way to burn off a few unwanted calories. It also kept her mind from constantly worrying about Mitchell while he was away. Glancing down at her watch, Jen saw that it was closing in on seven in the evening. She had skipped supper to join her friends at the gym; her empty stomach growled loudly, reminding her that it was time to eat. Trying to decide what to have — a salad or a small portion of salmon with rice — Jen didn’t notice a black woman wearing an open, dark red jacket and blue jeans step out from a side street and begin to follow her.
For a few minutes, Jen strolled up west 145th street, oblivious to the threat stalking her. She waited for the traffic to stop so she could cross the street. Unexpectedly, she felt a hand tap her on her shoulder. Jen turned her head and looked into the face of a tall, lean black woman.
“Miss, I think you dropped something,” said the woman with a thick, East African accent.
Jen’s heart skipped a beat when she saw a small pistol in the woman’s hand aimed straight at her stomach.
The woman’s eyes turned as cold as ice. She stepped in close to Jen and said, barely above a whisper, “Don’t make a sound, Miss March, or I will kill you. Now turn about slowly and keep walking.”
Jen turned around and joined the stream of people crossing the street. Fear filled her mind. She had never seen the woman before in her life, but her gut told her it had to do something with Mitchell’s current assignment. Jen knew that if the woman had intended to kill her that she’d already be dead. The criminal wanted her alive for some reason. Moving as slowly as she dared, Jen tried to see a way out of her dilemma. With a pistol jammed tight in her back, she doubted that she would get more than a meter or two before being shot. Jen wasn’t a former soldier like Mitchell. She was an academic and had never fired a gun in her life. It was something that she intended to correct if she ever had the chance.
An ordinary-looking, yellow-painted taxi pulled over to the curb just in front of Jen and the woman. The rear driver’s-side door opened, and a short man with a baldhead stepped out. He looked every bit as unforgiving and deadly as the woman did.
“Keep quiet and get it in the cab,” ordered the woman.
Jen’s heart was racing wildly in her chest. She had mere seconds before it would be too late for her.