Chapter 4

Friday, August 10, 2035, PM

Hirano Muso was uncomfortable. His collar seemed too tight, and the room seemed twenty degrees warmer than it was. He waited for Kiso to acknowledge him, saying nothing. He knew anything he said would just make things worse.

Finally, Kiso looked up from the papers he had been studying. "You have failed me, Muso, and you have failed our ancestors. The death of the American is nothing. You killed ineffectually. We still do not have what we wanted."

Muso remained quiet. He could feel a drop of perspiration starting to run down the small of his back. Outwardly Kiso appeared calm and collected. "You take too much pleasure in killing, Muso. I feel nothing about the killing of the American. To me it is a matter of business. He had to die, but only after we took his processes."

Kiso looked blandly at Muso. "We could not let him go to the police with accusations against us."

With a sigh of what might have been frustration, Kiso asked, "What did you plan to do next?"

Muso squirmed a little in his chair. "I am sorry, Kiso. I did not mean for him to die when he did. I think we should put some pressure on his wife. Maybe she knows something."

Kiso leaned forward over his desk. " For now, Muso, I want you to leave the woman alone. She is just a woman. I want you to do is break into Modern Electronics. Do it early this evening right after they close for the day. Take Ryu with you. Go through the entire office. I want you to look for hidden files and especially for hidden safes. Let Ryu search the computer system. If there are encrypted files, copy them and bring them to me. Do you understand?"

Muso bowed slightly, grateful that Kiso hadn't unleashed his anger toward him. "Yes, Kiso, I understand. Should I do anything about his brother?"

Kiso looked at his brother and nodded. "What is this, Muso? Was that an original thought? After you have searched the offices, get Mr. Al Green to a private place and find out what he knows. Be very careful though. Do not let this one die until you have what we want, or you are sure he does not have it. Now, go. I have work to do"

As he left Linda's home just after noon, Al realized how exhausted he was. He drove slowly on the way to his apartment because he didn't trust his reactions to drive faster. He kept checking the rear view mirror, but did not see a black Honda.

Al fell onto his bed with all his clothes on, and was asleep within seconds. He was awakened just before five o'clock by the sound of his cellular phone ringing. At first he couldn't find it, but as his mind began to clear he realized that it was very close. He finally managed to dig it out of the rumpled mess of covers he had left from last night.

"Hello, this is Al Green," he mumbled. His mouth was stuck together and tasted like he had a dead cat in there.

"Mr. Green, this is Mr. Agawa. I spoke with your brother last week about purchasing his business. I know this is a bad time to call, but I am going to be traveling to Tokyo tomorrow, and I would very much like to talk with you before I leave." The voice had a strong oriental accent, but Al felt that the man had probably spent most of his life in the States.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Agawa. As you probably know, my brother was murdered last night. As you said, this is not a good time."

"I understand, Mr. Green, but it is your brother's murder I wish to speak to you about. I may know who is responsible."

"If you know something about the murder, Mr. Agawa, I think you should call Lt. Slavens at the San Francisco police department."

"But, you see, Mr. Green, I can not do that. As I told you, I am leaving for Tokyo tomorrow morning. If I go to the police, they will force me to delay my trip. I would lose a lot of money. I can not afford to do that, Mr. Green."

Al was unsure, but what the guy said did make sense. "Very well, Mr. Agawa, what would you like to tell me?"

"I can tell you nothing over the phone, Mr. Green. Telephone lines are not secure, and I would be putting my life in jeopardy. If you could meet me this evening at the Little Tokyo Restaurant on California street, I will tell you all I know. Say at nine o'clock?"

Al squirmed around on the bed. He was apprehensive, but didn't think there would be much danger meeting at a restaurant. "OK, Mr. Agawa, I'll be there. How will I recognize you?"

Al heard a soft laugh. "Do not worry about that. I will recognize you. My sons favorite computer game is Cosmic Crusaders, and your picture is on the back. I will see you then."

There was an emptiness in the pit of his stomach as he hung up the phone. He couldn't quite place what it was, but something about Mr. Agawa didn't ring true. Well, he guessed he would find out more later, so no use worrying about it now. Al set the chrono on his watch and turned over to get another couple of hours sleep.

The little red sports car was never intended for the slow pace at which it was proceeding down California Street. Al had looked up the address of the Little Tokyo Restaurant, but he was unfamiliar with this section of town and was driving slowly, looking for numbers on the buildings he was passing. He wasn't paying much attention to the car in front of him, until it suddenly stopped. Al's car crashed into the one in front before he could even hit the brakes. Almost immediately a car rammed into his from the back.

Two men jumped out of the car he had hit, and two more came out of the one in the rear. Al tried to jam the door locks down, but wasn't fast enough. One of the men jerked the driver's door open and shoved an automatic under Al's nose. All four men were wearing ski masks, and only the one with the gun did any talking.

"Out!" he said quietly. Al could see no way to gain an advantage so he meekly climbed out of the car.

"Hands behind your back," the gunman breathed again.

When Al had his hands behind his back the second man from the lead car tied his thumbs together using plastic wire ties. Both lead car occupants dragged Al to the rear of the lead car, opened the rear door, and shoved him in. In the mean time, one of the men from the trailing car had gotten into the sports car, while the other returned to the trailing car. Within seconds all three cars were rolling. Except for some glass from Al's headlight, the street appeared as if nothing had happened.

"Where the hell are you taking me?" Al demanded.

The passenger in the lead car turned toward Al, and casually smashed the barrel of the automatic across his mouth. "Lay down on the floor and keep your mouth shut," the thug whispered. Al could feel the coppery taste of fresh blood as he clumsily made his way to the back floor of the car. It was uncomfortable, but he was afraid to complain. Not another word was spoken until the car pulled into the driveway of an abandoned house about half an hour later.

One of the thugs opened the rear door of the car, and again said the single word, "Out."

Al ended up sprawling out on his face as he tried to comply with this order. His legs were cramped from being on the floor of the car, and weren't working properly. He felt a rib snap as one of the thugs kicked him. Again, not a word was spoken, but Al new he had to get up. He struggled to his feet, using the side of the car for support, and the masked men shoved him in the direction of the back door of the house.

There were holes in the back porch floor and he stumbled again. This time he managed to keep his feet under him as they ushered him into the dark kitchen of the house. One of the thugs pulled out a chair, and they forced Al into it. Again, they used wire ties to tie his arms to the chair.

Without saying a word the thug who seemed to be in charge started slapping Al, first forward, then backward across the face. This kept on for what seemed like hours. He was bleeding from both the mouth and nose when the thug stopped and said one word, "polyhedrons."

All looked him in the eye. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

The first thug nodded to the other one and stepped aside. The second thug began hitting Al in the face, the chest, and the stomach. He could hear a roaring in his ears, and his head seemed to be three feet in diameter. The last thing he remembered was a fist in a black glove smashing him in the nose.

Bonnie Gillespie was walking through the San Francisco police department detective offices when she saw an old friend, Lt. Slavens. "Hi, Art, what's shaking?"

"Oh, God, the Chronicle," he thought. He put on his best public relations smile and turned toward the pretty auburn haired lady reporter. "Hi Bonnie, what brings you out here? Couldn't find any ambulances to chase?"

"Naw, I gave up chasing ambulances. I had one stop on me, and the dentist bill was outrageous."

Lt. Slavens laughed and motioned her into his office. "Seriously, what brings you out on a Friday night? I'd have thought a beautiful girl like you'd be out on a date."

Bonnie walked over to the straight backed chair on front of the lieutenant's desk, moved a pile of file folders to the floor and gracefully perched on the edge of the chair. "Fraid not, Art. I've given up on men. I just thought I'd see if there was anything interesting going on. Are you working on anything good?"

"I sure wouldn't call it good, but I am working on a strange case. Can't tell you much about it though. There really ain't that much to tell anyway," Lt. Slavens said between sips of coffee.

Bonnie gave him her best seductive smile. "Come on, Art. Give."

Lt. Slavens thought for a moment about how much to tell this lady. She wasn't your typical reporter. She wore her auburn hair unfashionably long, and unless she was at a function that required formal dress, she was always in jeans. Although she was below medium height, she gave the impression of being tall and graceful. Her blue eyes flashed as she realized what Slavens was doing. He finally responded. "I was out until after midnight last night. A guy who owns a local electronics company had gotten himself beaten and tortured to death."

Bonnie leaned forward and placed her elbows on the edge of the desk. " Yeah, I heard about that. Aside from the torture, what makes it interesting?"

Lt. Slavens leaned back in his chair, which groaned with the effort. "It seems that he had just invented a new process for making memory devices. Supposed to revolutionize the industry. The rest is confidential."

"Come on, Art. You can tell me. I'll keep it off the record till you say it's OK."

If there was one thing he knew about Bonnie, it was that she was honest. She was also an excellent reporter, and a competent investigator. He knew that if she could use his information to find out something else, she would. "All right, but this is strictly off the record, Bonnie. If it gets out, I'll burn your butt on this one."

Bonnie smiled. "Quit being so melodramatic, Art. I promised. Get to the good stuff."

Lt. Slavens took another long sip on his coffee. He sure did like an attentive audience. "Two Japanese businessmen visited him just a few days before he was killed. They were trying to buy him out. It made such an impression on him, he wrote a letter to his brother to be opened after his death. Does any of this remind you of anything?"

Bonnie jumped to her feet as if someone had stuck her with a pin. "Oh, God! The Miller case! What was the guy's name? Edward, wasn't it?" Bonnie went on without waiting for a reply as she paced back and forth in the small office. "There were two Japanese businessmen who visited him just a couple of days before he was murdered. If I remember right he had just made a breakthrough in some kind of bioengineering, but no one ever found the research papers. Do you think there's a connection?"

Lt. Slavens grinned. He had her attention now. "Yeah, I think so. Get this. The guys who visited Miller said they were from Nagasaki LTD. The guys who visited Green said they were from Hiroshima LTD. Get the connection?"

Before Bonnie could answer, the phone rang and Lt. Slavens motioned her to be silent.

He picked up the receiver. "Lt. Slavens speaking... Oh, shit! I'll be right there. Don't let anyone else in."

Slavens was on his feet and moving before he remembered Bonnie. "Come on. You might be interested in this. It's Green's brother. Looks like someone kicked the shit outa him."

Bonnie grabbed her purse and took after Slavens. "Where is he?"

Lt. Slavens laughed. "Let's just say weíll be chasing an ambulance."

As they raced across town, Lt. Slavens filled Bonnie in on what he knew. "Some little old lady called into dispatch. She said that there were lights and strange noises coming from the abandoned house next door. We happened to have a patrol car in the area so they went over to check it out. I don't know the whole story yet, but evidently there were two perps. They ran off when the patrol car pulled into the driveway. The officers found Mr. Green tied to a chair and called an ambulance."

Bonnie had been staring through the front window, but now turned toward the driver. "You think these could be the same guys?"

Lt. Slavens mused for a moment before replying. "I don't know if it's the same guys, but they're probably connected. The two guys who visited Sam Green were Japanese businessmen. Although... Mrs. Green did say that her husband described them to her as gangster types."

Bonnie laughed. "Guido with a Japanese accent."

Lt. Slavens sighed. "You know its not funny, Bonnie. The Mafia hasn't been a force in organized crime for over thirty years. It's the Orientals and the Russians who run the prostitution rings and drug cartels now. Everything else, seems like."