When all movement had stopped, Gamay figured they had traveled about ten miles. “We seem to have been placed into storage,” she said.
They listened for any sounds but heard none.
“Let’s find out where we are,” she said.
Paul did the honors, crawling across the sacks of rice to the corner of the container where he could gaze through one of the ventilation slits. “Warehouse,” he said. “I can’t see anything but other containers.”
“If it’s all quiet out there, we should probably make our move.”
After shoving the heavy bags aside, they opened the door a crack. The warehouse was dark and looked deserted.
“All clear,” Gamay said. “I say we make our way to the American Consulate. If we can get inside unnoticed, we can get this information back to Washington and escape with our lives.”
28
MOUNTAIN DISTRICT, JAPAN
SUPERINTENDENT NAGANO followed Ushi-Oni using the tracking coin. It was an ingenious piece of electronic design, transmitting a signal on the cell phone band and sending a pulse only once every thirty seconds, which made it virtually undetectable to any person holding it.
At a long distance, the signal was relayed by the nation’s vast network of cell towers, but, closer in, Nagano used a dedicated receiver to home in on the GPS coordinates being transmitted from the coin.
The signal led him out of Tokyo and onto a twisting mountain road. When the assassin stopped at a gas station to get fuel and use the restroom, Nagano snuck up to his car and placed a second transmitter under the bumper in case Oni used or lost the coin.
With two transmitters in place, Nagano dropped well back of his quarry, keeping out of sight and waiting for the opportune moment to arrest him.
To his surprise, Ushi-Oni continued higher into the mountains, heading to the foothills of Mount Fuji, before turning onto an obscure side road and finally stopping an hour later.
Nagano studied the satellite image. It displayed nothing but a forested hillside. A yellow icon suggested a small guesthouse was hidden beneath the trees. As was a natural onsen—a traditional hot spring, mineral bath. In addition, a Shinto shrine lay nearby.
Nagano drove past the guesthouse, continued several miles up the road and then pulled over. When thirty minutes had passed without any movement from either of the two transmitters, he doubled back and approached the inn cautiously.
Ushi-Oni’s car remained in the lot, along with twenty other vehicles. The busy state of the guesthouse didn’t surprise Nagano—both the hot springs and the Shinto shrines were popular spots to visit. Some drew millions of visitors per year, though this particular shrine was smaller and all but unknown.
According to the information he was able to pull up on the computer, it was not even open to the public. All in all, he found it a strange place for Ushi-Oni to stop.
Nagano checked on the location of the original transmitter just in case Ushi-Oni had come here to switch cars. The tracking coin was signaling him from a spot inside the guesthouse.
Convinced that Ushi-Oni was there, Nagano parked in the lot and called his most trusted subordinate. “I’ve tracked the Demon to a shrine in the mountains,” he explained. “Bring two of your best men. We’ll arrest him tonight.”
After being assured that reinforcements would be there soon, Nagano loosened his tie and waited.
* * *
• • •
USHI-ONI stood in a small room, pressed against the wall and peering through a tiny gap between the curtain and the window frame. Seeing no movement in the parking lot or out on the street, he eased the curtain back into place and walked away from the glass.
He opened a small case, pulled out a pair of throwing knives and slipped them into slots in the loose jacket he wore. He then closed the case, checked his watch and left the room. He still had time. Plenty of time.
He made his way through the inn and out onto a narrow path that led to the onsen. Disrobing completely, he showered first and then lowered himself into the bubbling w
ater of the natural hot spring. He sat with his back against the wet black rock that surrounded the bath as the steam enshrouded him and obscured anything beyond the rim of bubbling waters.
After several minutes, a shape came down the path, emerging from the fog beyond. The new arrival wore a white robe and an oddly shaped black hat known as a crow hat, or karasu. He was a Shinto priest.
“Shinsoku,” Oni said, addressing the man by a term that meant employee of the gods. The term was reserved for those who took care of the shrines. “I was beginning to doubt that you would come.”
The priest was staring at Oni’s colorful tattoos. “You are the one who contacted us?”