was okay, and the chief handed him an underwater flashlight and fifty feet of coiled three-eighths-inch-thick polypropylene rope. The navy preferred this type of rope because it was water-resistant and it floated.
Cain hooked the rope to a D-shaped aluminum carabiner and tugged on it to make sure it was secured. He turned to face the Minashigo. He got his bearings and mentally calculated the distance. The boat was approximately one hundred yards away.
“Good luck,” Chief Alvarez whispered, and gave Cain a thumbs-up. “I’ll be waiting right here for you when you’re done.”
Cain stared through his mask while the water slowly engulfed him as he submerged. He caught himself sucking in too much oxygen as he tried to perfectly buoy himself—that sweet spot where he could dangle between the two worlds without surfacing or sinking to the ocean floor. He was out of practice, and he had never thought he would be diving again. After a few moments, he found himself getting back into the swing of it. Just like riding a bike, he thought before calmly and rhythmically kicking his rubber fins to propel himself toward the yacht’s two massive diesel engines. It took only about ten minutes, but it felt more like an hour. He knew from his training that the time warp was caused by the adrenaline flowing through his veins. Tonight he was either going to rescue Bonnie or die in the process. His father’s words to Cain’s adolescent self came to mind. Cain had been in the seventh grade when he told his dad about wanting to fight a bully at school who was picking on Bonnie. “Nobody messes wit da Lemaire family,” his dad had declared. “Even eef you don’t win da fight, make sure he walks away dinkin’ eet wasn’t worth tanglin’ wit a Lemaire. Dat’s da Lemaire brand of Cajun justice.”
Cain unhooked the rope and began tying a bowline knot to the propellers. If they try to flee, he reasoned, this’ll stop the props and burn up the transmission. I can’t keep chasing ’em all around Japan. It ends tonight.
When Cain finished, he ascended to the surface. He wasn’t worried about decompression sickness—he hadn’t gone deep for long enough. He saw a man in a dark suit standing guard on board and another man standing near the helicopter on the second deck—most likely the pilot. He was clad in a blue flight suit with patches and was smoking a cigarette.
I guess the visibility was at least one mile, Cain thought, harking back to that day when assassins had ambushed Sato’s motorcade.
Cain moved silently, careful to go unnoticed. He inflated his BCD with a few presses of a button. The short bursts of air filled his BCD and were not heard over the yacht’s massive generator, which was providing electricity and hot water to the luxury boat. Once buoyant, Cain pulled the quick-release buckle and his ten-pound weight belt sank to the bottom of the ocean. He unsnapped the clips of his BCD and removed it from his shoulders. Under the moonlight, the ocean looked like a smooth velvet sheet—a place of comfort and relaxation. But Cain knew better. The sea was mysterious and merciless, indifferent to whose lives she claimed.
He used the remaining rope to hold the BCD and tied it to one of the cleats on the yacht’s aft. He stretched out his arm and latched onto the yacht for stability as the vessel rose and dipped with the ocean’s current. He removed his flippers one at a time, turning them upside down to pour out the salt water before quietly laying them on the deck, and then pulled himself onto the Minashigo. He was trespassing into the dragon’s lair; all he could think about was Hayabusa’s tattoo and how the dragon’s tail wrapped around the geisha, suffocating the life out of her. This war between the Lemaire family and the yakuza began that night at the Angel Cloud, and Cain was going to end it now.
He saw an orange box bolted to a bulkhead. He walked toward it and opened the metal container. It contained a flare gun and two extra cartridges. Cain grabbed the gun and pocketed the two extra flares. He began exploring the deck, peeking into each window, searching for clues to Bonnie’s whereabouts. The fourth window he came upon was different. It was a large rectangle, and he soon realized why. It belonged to the yacht’s luxurious grand room—it was at least three times larger than the