Russell Brooks - Pandora's Succession

Fox held the paper over the open flame on the table. He let the fire consume it until it reached his fingers, and then he blew it out. He dropped the blackened pieces onto his lunch plate.

This guy knew Fox better than he’d thought. How’d he know to look for me here? He had been certain no one had followed him and he had personally swept the premises for bugs or any other listening devices. The place was secure, but whoever this guy was, he was top notch, and if he was on the run from the Boeisho, it would explain why he’d been able to avoid them.

With that taken care of, his attention focused on the meal. Where else could one get a foreign meal prepared the right way on such short notice? He reached into his wallet and took out a wad of bills. He had already run out of Japanese currency. The last cab driver didn’t complain when Fox gave him two hundred dollars for dropping him off at the mall and then picking him up ten minutes later from another entrance in his new disguise. Oh, what the hell.

He tore out a few American bills and tossed them on the table, right beside Dr. Parris’s table napkin. Well, how about that-she forgot her own table napkin. She’s too steamed. Better to wait and give it back to her later when she’s cooled off. With West Indian women, it was always about timing. But Parris, as he now learned, was a lot more unpredictable.

He folded it and placed it into the breast pocket of his blazer. He checked the tip on the table. Three fifties, was that enough? Fox tore out a few more bills from his wallet. There, an extra hundred should make them happy. No need to piss anyone else off today.

Koishikawa Korakuen Gardens, 7:58 PM

The park lamps beside the path glowed like individual lighthouses on a foggy distant coast. Fox could not see much from either side as the thick fog obscured everything that was more than thirty feet away. His informant could not have predicted the fog. That didn’t bother Fox considering that it would be harder for someone to follow him. On the other hand, it would also be easy for someone to ambush him. Fox sat down on a bench beside a sign that said Shidarezakura, which meant Weeping Cherry in Japanese. He looked at his watch, leaned on the arm rest and tapped his fingers.

A couple passed by him, hand in hand. The age difference was obvious. Jesus, another sugar daddy. They were a few feet away when Fox glanced at them a second time. He’d recognize them for sure if he saw them again.

Why the hell did I get stuck with someone that holds grudges? He rubbed the spot where Parris had kicked him. It still hurt slightly to the touch. Maybe I deserved that. An older couple walked by in the opposite direction from the previous couple. Maybe I should’ve added ginger beer or the sorrel to the lunch menu today. Those were popular Caribbean drinks from Barbados. Fox rested both elbows on his knees. Here I go again, thinking about what I did wrong. Why the hell am I even thinking about her? Why should I even care if she likes me or not? Fox glanced at his watch a second time.

Maybe things would’ve been better had he been partnered with an antisocial, like Levickis. He’d be more focused and have no one to pester him, that would work. Thanks to him, he was now armed with a Beretta 92G Elite II regular sidearm, along with its relative, the Beretta 950 Jetfire mini-pistol that was concealed in his ankle holster. Fox then checked the pen in the breast pocket of his jacket to make sure the micro video camera lens was facing outwards. Other than the weapons, the other concealed item he had was a Hexagon Pharmaceuticals guest ID.

At that point, Fox noticed a man approach. His face was partially hidden under the peak of his baseball cap. He wore a green polyester spring jacket, blue denim jeans and slightly worn running shoes. He came close to being five foot five inches tall-about the same height as the man that had bumped into him at the airport. But it was the brown paper bag he carried that gave him away. Fox stood and joined him in his stroll.

“I trust you weren’t followed,” said the man.

“I trust that you trust me when I say I wasn’t.”

“I’ll take your word for it. You can call me Ken Katori, a Boeisho operative. I’ll make this meeting as brief as possible. I take it that you met with Tanaka?”

“Yes.”

“I am one of three that had infiltrated a doomsday cult. We had reason to believe that they were planning a major attack on Japan. But our cover was blown.”

“Was it Tanaka?”

“Yes, he’s the mole for the cult. He blew our cover.”

Fox looked at him. “Explain.”

“Have you heard of a man named Hideaki Hashimoto, the CEO of Hexagon Pharmaceuticals?”

“Tanaka spoke of him.”

“His group somehow got to Tanaka and recruited him,” said Katori, as they walked around a curve.

“Why would Tanaka join with Hashimoto?”

Katori dropped the paper bag in a trash can. “He didn’t join Hashimoto’s group, he was coerced.”

“Hashimoto brainwashed him, didn’t he?”

“So you know of his alleged involvement with the Soviets during their war with Afghanistan.”

“I’ve been briefed about it.”

“Well it doesn’t stop there. It appears that he’s started up his program again. Tanaka, along with members of the police department and other organizations, were also his victims. My colleagues didn’t know about Tanaka until recently. The Boeisho has been keeping a close eye on cults since cult groups were responsible for the wave of pipe bomb explosions and other terrorist activities that rocked Japanese cities back in the mid 1990s. Hashimoto’s group was no exception. I was recruited as one of the guards, or a ninja if you wish, and so were my two colleagues. He’s recruited people from all over the world to build his group, mostly those between the ages of thirteen and twenty-five, from all cultural backgrounds, and of all types.”

Fox checked their surroundings surreptitiously to make sure they were not being followed. “What do you mean by types?”

“Hashimoto hasn’t limited his selection to a specific group of people. Along with small-time criminals and juvenile delinquents, he’s mostly recruited academics. Not the ones you’d find interning or looking for jobs, but the ones who failed or cheated on their exams. Especially those that were kicked out or who had dropped out of school. There were many from all over the world.”

“So Hashimoto’s been profiling these individuals. Why?”

“I’ll get to that part later.”

Both Fox and the informant descended a curved stairway while they continued talking.

“What about the ninjas? Were they brainwashed also?”

“No. They’re Hashimoto’s own private army, and they’re all loyal to him. They will do everything necessary to protect him and his goals. But before my team and I were compromised, we suspected that Hashimoto may be taking orders from someone.”

“Like who?”

“We weren’t able to find out. But we discovered Hashimoto’s plans to assault Ares’s Groznyy laboratory to steal a specific bio-weapon, we immediately informed Tanaka. The problem is that he informed Hashimoto and that’s when they decided to get rid of us. If only we’d known that Tanaka was on their side from the beginning, one of my colleagues would still be alive.”

They both got to the bottom of the stairs and continued along the path.

“But they didn’t attack the Groznyy lab after all,” said Fox.

“No, they had a change of plan and attacked the Ares lab in Belarus.”

“It figures. I didn’t leave much behind for them in Groznyy.”

Katori looked at Fox. “So it was you.”

“Damn right it was. What happened to your partner?”