close behind like a shadow. The narrow alleys were no obstacle for the bike or its operator.
Morita-san hit the horn with his palm and held it as he yelled out in Japanese. Shoppers and businesspeople scattered in every direction and leaped out of the way to avoid the massive car barreling through.
As the motorcycle pulled alongside the passenger compartment, Cain grabbed the handle of Sato’s briefcase and swung the case all the way from his hip into the helmet of the motorcycle’s passenger. The briefcase busted open and sent papers flying as the Samsonite case broke the face shield and catapulted the rider off the motorcycle and into the wall of the tight alley.
“Sato-san is bleeding!” Umiko cried out.
Cain looked down and grabbed Umiko’s cherry blossom scarf from around her neck. He quickly untied it and placed it against Mr. Sato’s neck.
“Keep pressure on it!” he yelled as the scarf continued soaking up blood. “And stay down!”
Police sirens wailed loudly as two Japanese police officers joined the pursuit. Red emergency lights flashed from the powerful white Honda motorcycles.
“It’s about damn time!” Cain exclaimed. He grabbed the handheld radio and keyed the mic. “Tanaka, what’s your status?”
The radio crackled. Cain twisted the squelch knob and turned up the volume so he could hear over the blaring sirens.
“Tanaka?” he repeated. “Report in.”
There was no response. Cain’s stomach seized. He feared the worst. “Dammit, Tanaka!” he yelled in anguish. “Report in!”
“Minor injuries from shattered glass,” Tanaka said, his voice fading in and out over the airwaves. “But we are okay. Van is disabled on the side of the road. I gave your direction to the police. Is Sato-san okay?”
Cain emitted a huge sigh of relief, knowing that everyone in Tanaka’s vehicle was safe. “We’re all okay. The good guys are finally here,” he announced over the radio. “Rendezvous back at base.”
The police downshifted their transmission, maximizing every ounce of torque their V-4 engines could provide. The assassin and motorcycle police officers blew past Cain and his injured passengers. The police quickly caught up to the remaining assassin, who had to abort or risk arrest.
Morita-san let off the accelerator and stomped on the emergency brake. When the rear tires locked up, he swung the steering wheel to the left. The car slid 180 degrees around the weight of the heavy engine, coming to a dramatic stop.
Cain jumped off Mr. Sato and ran his fingers through the executive’s hair and across his face and neck. He then inspected the man’s fingers for blood and other signs of life-threatening wounds. He removed a golf ball–size piece of glass from Sato’s neck. Cain held it up for Sato to see. “You’re a lucky man. This missed your artery by half an inch.”
Mr. Sato nodded, clearly shaken by the attempt on his life. “I’m okay, thanks to you and Morita-san.”
Cain was on autopilot as the adrenaline raced through his body. He ripped open Sato’s button-down shirt and was shocked by what he saw.
Sato forcibly removed Cain’s bloody hands and buttoned up his shirt. “I told you: I am fine. Now get me back to the office. There are people everywhere taking photos!”
“Yes. You’re right. Let’s get you back to the office. We’ll regroup there and have a medic look at your neck.”
Cain turned to Mr. Morita, who was outside the car, inspecting the damage. “Damn! Morita-san, you are the shit!”
Mr. Morita lowered his head in shame. “I am sorry, Cain-san.”
“Sorry for what?”
“You say I am shit.”
Cain chuckled. “No, Morita-san. It’s an expression. You were awesome! You are the man! Where did you learn to drive like that?”
Mr. Morita raised his head and beamed. “The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift.”
Cain laughed out loud. “Get us back to the office. Too many onlookers gathering and snapping photos, and we gotta get Sato-san checked out.”
“Hai!”
During the short drive back, Cain’s thoughts bounced around in his mind—the ambush, the assassins, the automatic weapons, Mr. Morita’s awesome driving—but one question kept nagging at him: Why did Mr. Sato have a dragon tattoo on his chest?
Chapter 44
Mr. Sato’s personal physician, an accomplished doctor who had trained in Australia, examined him in the safety of his large office at the automotive headquarters.
“That was a close call,” Sato said in English, for Cain’s benefit.
“Yes, it was.” The doctor continued attending to Sato’s neck. “No stitches needed, though. Just some cuts from the glass. You’re lucky you had your American security guard with you.”
“They are the lucky ones! If they had been brave enough to face