to be thinking like a yakuza. What would the combination be?”
“How would I know that? It could be his anniversary, his birthday. It could be anything.”
Cain looked at the battered thug. “This dirtbag ain’t married, and these guys don’t look like the birthday-celebrating kind of people.”
“Damn!” Champ thought out loud. “Okay, try four, six, four, nine. It’s a popular phone code in Japanese because the numbers—yo, ro, shi, ku—mean hello.”
“Hello? Are you shittin’ me?” Cain asked.
“How have you done so far?” Champ replied defiantly.
“Hold on a second.” Cain tried those numbers. “Nope, that ain’t it. What else you got? I’ve only got two tries left before the phone freezes up.”
“Pressure is my middle name. I operate best against the clock,” Champ said arrogantly. “Um, let me see. What would a yakuza member use? Six, six, six, six? Nah, that’s too American. Oh, I got it! Of course, it was there all along. Try eight, nine, three, zero.”
“Why that number?” Cain asked.
“Ya-ku-za is Japanese for eight, nine, three. It’s based on a card game called oicho-kabu. The worst hand to be dealt is eight, nine, three because it’s good for nothing.”
“Good for nothing, huh? That sums up the yakuza perfectly.” Cain punched in the digits. “It worked! I’m in now! You’re the man, Champ!”
There were two loud knocks at the bathroom door, followed by some shouting. Cain couldn’t understand the Japanese, but he knew there was another man trying to use the bathroom, and that man was in a hurry.
“Where are you?” Cain asked Champ.
“Getting closer to the Yokohama marina. I can smell the sea.”
“I’ll head that way right now,” Cain said as he slid the gangster’s phone into his front pocket.
He managed to give one last command before his battery died. “Don’t lose that son of a bitch! You’re our only hope right now.” His phone’s screen shut off. Cain grabbed the tactical backpack and squeezed himself through the window as the yakuza shoved the bathroom door open.
Cain saw several yakuza members rushing outside, filling the alleys as they searched for him. The sight of the bare-chested tattooed yakuza shocked the town’s commuters, who froze in fear. Cain hurried toward the taxi stand in front of the Kamakura train station. One of the yakuza noticed the tall American in the crowd, pointed, and alerted the others.
Cain sprinted to the closest taxi. The cabdriver casually pushed a button to open the rear passenger door, but Cain threw open the front door and jumped in. The startled driver began speaking in Japanese and motioning for Cain to get into the back seat. Through the windshield, Cain noticed one of the yakuza pointing frantically toward the cab. Several yakuza began rushing toward him.
“Go! Go! Go!” Cain commanded the driver.
Oblivious to the immediate danger, the stubborn driver continued ordering Cain to move to the back seat. His demand was interrupted by the shattering of the driver’s side window. Glass flew into the car as a pair of tattooed arms reached into the broken window and seized the slender driver by his dress shirt.
The terrified driver screamed and desperately grabbed the door to prevent himself from being dragged out. The broken glass cut through his white gloves and skin, and the bleeding caused him to lose his grip.
As the cabdriver and his attacker fell away, Cain slid into the driver’s seat. Shifting the car into drive, he grabbed the steering wheel and stomped on the gas pedal. The taxi accelerated toward the angry mob of yakuza, colliding with two and hurtling them onto the hood and over the top of the fleeing vehicle. The car fishtailed as Cain skidded left onto the main road, which was divided by a pedestrian median. In the distance, he recognized the red wooden torii, Kamakura’s shrine gate, and sped in that direction. Once clear of the danger, he plugged his phone into the cigarette lighter and called Chief Alvarez.
“I need a big favor,” Cain said.
“Name it,” Alvarez replied, shouting over loud music playing in the background.
“Get the boat and a set of scuba gear and meet me at the Yokohama marina,” Cain instructed. “Apply full military power.”
“Roger that, Hurricane. See you in thirty.”
Upon arriving at the seaport, Cain saw Champ looking toward the ocean through the lens of his camera and adjusting the detachable telescope. Champ heard the car approach and no doubt clocked the cracked windshield and broken driver’s side window. He peered curiously into the battered taxi. “You left the meter running,” Champ observed.