“When was this taken?”
“Some time last year. I assume people in the Asian underworld are talking. Let’s see if Asaki’s untimely death can lead us to what happened to Dan and Candace in Tokyo. They went dark the second week of January and we have little reason to suspect they’re still alive.”
That was the bomb Ashwood had waited to unleash. The mood in the room shifted instantly from light-hearted and playful to dark and ominous.
Hannah and Carrington were silent, their somber faces reflecting surprise and deep concern. Until that moment, they were unaware that CIA officers Dan Stevens and Candace Cahill were unaccounted for. The pair made an enviable team in the spy world — attractive, seasoned and savvy. It would have taken professionals of the highest order to get the best of them — or a traitor.
Carrington had worked with both agents on various assignments and knew them well. He wondered where and when they’d made a fatal mistake. Stevens was always so careful. He’d made his bones at the FBI and later the CIA as an “electrician”. Although his commercial work vans advertised Dan Stevens Electric — Residential and Commercial — his forte lay in installing electronic surveillance systems, particularly “bugs” hidden in offices, homes, and hotel rooms. He was a pro at eavesdropping and a savvy field agent.
Ashwood rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “We found the last vehicle they drove abandoned in the Ginza. It was wiped clean. No blood. No fingerprints. No sign of a struggle. The vehicle had been reported stolen from Narita Airport on New Year’s Eve. The steering column was pried open and the ignition hot-wired. We believe Stevens and Cahill stole the vehicle and drove it into the city. We don’t know what happened after that. Obviously we’d like to find out who is responsible for their disappearance and get a little payback.”
“I say let’s do it,” said Carrington, forcefully slapping the corner of Ashwood’s desk before thrusting the fingers of both hands through his blond hair, combing it straight back from his forehead. It was more a gesture of exasperation than vanity. “I’m ready. When do we leave?”
“Later this week.”
Hannah seemed puzzled, her mouth slightly open in surprise. “Why wait? Why not leave today?”
“You won’t be going in on a black insert. We need you visible, on a commercial flight. Personally I’d like to send you both on your way this afternoon because we’re already a month behind on this. The FBI sent two of its people to Saipan last week. Since the island is a U.S. protectorate the Feebies assume they have jurisdiction. I’m sure the local police were not pleased to see them. They don’t like being told how to run their own island. You two, on the other hand, will be flying to Tokyo and taking connecting flights to Guam and Saipan where you’ll be visiting as beach-loving tourists. Hannah, you’ll be representing an Argentine travel company interested in setting up Saipan flight and hotel packages that focus on surfing and parasailing, scuba diving and beach volleyball. You know the drill. And Billybong, you’ll be tagging along as her business associate.”
Hannah’s eyes swirled open, radiating disbelief and amusement. “Did you just call him Billybong?”
“I did. Forgive me. It goes back to our days in Vietnam. He often mingled with the locals to get intel on VC movements and the political climate, and in doing so was forced to partake in smoking a few bowls.”
Carrington was smirking. “All in the line of duty. It was an insult if you didn’t take a hit or two from the bong or hookah if it got passed your way. Same with the Thai sticks.”
“I see,” said Hannah, a wry smile plastered to her face. “Nothing like first-hand knowledge.”
“Well, let’s make sure we keep it at that level,” said Ashwood, chuckling. “Heroin is a different ballgame, especially with these people. And who knows, we may learn something about how all this white powder is getting from Thailand to Saipan, and how it manages to leave the island without a trace. That’s what Stevens and Cahill were trying to find out.”
Hannah shifted in her seat. “Were they able to get any intel?”
“Some, but not all. Cahill spoke fluent Japanese. She lived in Tokyo for a year while in college, and she was comfortable traveling throughout Asia. Over the past four years, she’s built a trusted network of sources.”
“So what went wrong?”
“I wish I knew. They’d made contact with a celebrated tattoo artist in Tokyo, a businessman named Yoshi Yamamoto with ties to the yakuza and apparently some financial interest in a casino and hotel resort on Saipan. Cahill begged him to create a dragon tattoo on her wrist, which is how she eventually got him to start talking. The guy was unhappy and afraid that his life was spiraling out of control. He was willing to tell them all he knew about the drug trafficking, gunrunning, and a few other activities in return for starting life over in the U.S. under new identities for him and his niece. We had a witness-protection plan ready to go.”
“What happened to him?”
“He’s also gone dark.”
“And the niece?”
“Her name is Hiraku and, unfortunately, she has also disappeared. From what we know, she may very well be key to bringing down their operation. Based on our last report from Cahill, a powerful yakuza boss named Orochi Tanaka had taken a liking to the girl. Her uncle feared Tanaka might kidnap her. Not so unusual when the yakuza are involved. So it looks like the girl may have gone into hiding. Stevens was scheduled to file a follow-up report with more details, but he never did.”
Ashwood pulled another black-and-white photograph from his desk. “Orochi Tanaka. His nickname is Big Snake. A foul human being if ever there was one. Right now he’s in position to become shogun of heroin smuggling throughout the entire Pacific Rim. If that happens, it’ll be almost impossible to bring that situation under control. He’ll be unstoppable. So the stakes are high.”
Hannah fiddled with a few strands of her wavy blonde hair. “And the girl, the tattoo artist’s niece, why is she so important?
“Because there’s a good probability that she, just like her uncle, has the information we’re looking for – the names of the players, the smuggling routes, the contacts in each location, and how the money is being laundered. According to Cahill, the girl is an important key to the puzzle, but she never got to explain precisely why. It’s my gut feeling that Yoshi Yamamoto is dead, but if we find Hiraku, we can still win this war. If we don’t, America’s streets become a heroin shooting gallery and we can watch as the fabric of our society unravels. We’ve got to find her and get her back here in one piece. Hopefully we’re not too late.”
Hannah was still struggling with the news about her two colleagues. Her throat was dry and swallowing difficult. She immediately recalled Candace Cahill’s zany sense of humor that usually made her colleagues double over with laughter. Cahill was young and good looking, with four years of field experience, and now she apparently was dead.
“And you think this Asaki might have had direct involvement in the heroin trafficking? Why would…”
Ashwood palmed up his right hand to halt Hannah’s next question. “I didn’t say that. Right now all we know for certain is that Asaki had some sort of business interest in the same Saipan casino and hotel where Yoshi Yamamoto worked as a manager. Shortly before Christmas, a Japanese tour group spotted Asaki’s body bobbing face up in the surf at the foot of Banzai Cliff. The Saipan police weren’t exactly shocked. Apparently suicides are common there.”