Tokyo Port, Tokyo
Oi Container Terminal, Berth 6
19:51 JST
By the time Gabriel came to a stop near the OOCL Charleston as she floated portside against the dock, he knew almost as much about the ship as her own crew of nineteen. She was battleship grey in colour, save for a wide strip of poppy red running along the waterline and the big red letters of 'OOCL' painted in the middle of her hull. Lit up like a Christmas tree from her sharp bow to her wide, flat stern, the Charleston was a perfectly level 820 feet end to end; about three-quarters the length of the Eiffel Tower. At 104 feet wide, she was built to carry 13 containers across; each one the size of a city bus and carefully lowered onto the ship by the monstrous gantry cranes which lined the dock. The containers themselves were stacked in bays at various heights, some two high, some six high, all up the fore and down the aft of the ship. The only part of the Charleston which stood taller than the containers was her deckhouse; a large, flat, white structure which was located towards the stern and rose eight stories into the air.
They had found the ship. Now they just needed to find Riley.
As if reading Gabriel's mind, Griffin turned to him and cocked an eyebrow. "So what now, cowboy? I don't see that mini truck anywhere."
Ignoring the prickles on his lips as he frowned, Gabriel threw the SUV into park and scanned the area. According to its GPS, they were currently within five feet of the truck's last known location and yet there was nothing to see but row after row of shipping containers. It was as if the vehicle had simply disappeared.
On the monitor, Jameson stood with his arms crossed behind Nelson and pursued his lips. "Is it possible they turned off the GPS once they got to the dock?"
Gabriel shook his head. "No, it would have made more sense to deactivate it before they started driving, not after. And Takayama's too ballsy to think anyone followed him after the stunt he pulled."
"So then what? An alien spacecraft came by and beamed it aboard?" Griffin snapped, oblivious to Gabriel's lispy words. "How does a truck just vanish?"
Making no attempt to hide his aggravated sigh, Gabriel's eyes moved from the metal containers to the huge red and white gantry cranes by the edge of the dock. Remembering how they were connected, the beginnings of an idea took root in his head. "Nelson, you were saying earlier that the satellite wouldn't be able to pick up anything on the ship that wasn't out in the open."
"Yeah, because there's too much metal for the signal to get throu – oh." Nelson bolted upright in his chair and smacked his forehead. "Of course! The GPS emits a satellite signal! Put metal between that and the sky and presto – signal's gone!"
Gabriel nodded, figuring that was the answer. Dimly, he could feel the beginnings of a tingling sensation across his face. "And there's no better way of getting a truck full of guns onto a ship than by hiding it in a container and letting a crane move it for you."
Griffin looked incredulous. "So you're telling me Riley's on that ship right now, trapped inside one of those containers?"
"That, or they took her out so the torturing could begin." Eyes narrowing, Gabriel's mood darkened and his hand drifted to his gun. "Either way, if we wanna find out we need to get onto that ship and ask someone real nice."
Jameson looked apprehensive and restlessly tapped a fist against his chin. "You'd better hurry - the ship's scheduled to cast off at any second. I've been in contact with the Organized Crime Control Division and they're still on their way but at this point I don't think they'll reach you before the ship starts leaving port."
Gabriel and Griffin exchanged looks. "Copy that," they chimed.
Exiting the vehicle, the blowing night air smelled of ocean salt and oil as Gabriel walked around to the back of the SUV and popped the trunk.
Griffin stepped out of the car, pulling off his suit jacket and hanging it over the passenger seat before coming around and catching the extra bullet proof vest Gabriel tossed at him. He threw it over his head and started to do up the straps, giving Gabriel a once over. "So you up for this? You do realize that we have less than fifty minutes to sneak onto a ship full of potential hostiles and armed yakuza members, find out where Riley is, rescue her, and then get back off the ship – which will probably be in the middle of the bay by that point - all without getting caught?"
Shutting the trunk door, Gabriel could feel little pinpricks starting at the very tips of his fingers. The ones covering his face were getting worse. "Sounds like a fun night to me," he deadpanned. "Feel free to back out if you're getting cold feet."
The agent scoffed, finished with his vest. "I'm not the one who's been poisoned." Putting his hands on his hips, he stood with the letters of 'USCC' emblazed across his chest and continued to watch Gabriel closely. "Come on, tough guy. Be straight with me. Before we do this I want to hear you say that you're good to go and that I'm not going to be forced into leaving Riley behind."
The knife in Gabriel's heart plunged deeper. It suddenly hurt to breath. Narrowing his eyes, he stared Griffin down and spoke through clenched teeth. "You want me to be straight with you? How 'bout this: Riley is not getting left behind. Got it?"
The briefest flash of confusion crossed Griffin's face before he raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Yeah, yeah, your little 'everybody goes home' rule. I remember." Holding Gabriel's angry gaze, he strummed his fingers waiting for an answer. "Just tell me you're good."
Gabriel let out a slow, hot breath, feeling the prickling of pins and needles from his forehead to chin. Damn, it was annoying. "Yeah, I'm good," he snarled. "Now let's do this."
Spinning on his heels, Gabriel stormed off towards the ship, cursing Griffin's name. That bastard. He had anticipated the Secret Service agent being a problem, but still – the man had some nerve going on now about possibly being 'forced into' leaving Riley behind when he'd been raring to get back into her pants from the moment she'd walked into the hotel. If that asshat didn't get his priorities straight, Gabriel was more than willing to knock them back in place. Or just knock him out. Either option was fine.
Letting out a slow sigh as he flexed his fingers, Gabriel ignored the growing stabs of tiny needles at each tip and focused back on the task at hand. Pressing the button at his ear, he reconnected his comm back to CDOC. "Nelson, that bird in position yet?"
"Yup, ready and waiting for you," Nelson chirped in his ear. "What's the plan?"
Accessing the satellite and switching to thermal, a portion of air in front of Gabriel turned into a dotting of reddish-orange heat signatures. Four of those orange masses were clumped near the deckhouse while another eight walked around in pairs. Most were near the stern of the ship. "No one's near the bow, so that's our point of entry."
Studying the front of the Charleston as he drew closer, the question of how they would get aboard in the absence of stairs was answered when he eyed the mooring lines. There were three thick ropes in all, each running from the tip of the bow all the way to the dock, where they had been tied around their own corresponding dock cleat. The cleats, which looked to Gabriel like wide and short T's, were made of solid metal.
Reaching the edge of the dock, Gabriel knelt down by one of the cleats and ran his hand along the rope. Although his fingertips couldn't feel anything but prickling, it was coarse and rough against the rest of his skin. Not ideal, but it would have to do.
Griffin came to stand on the other side of the cleat and shook his head. "Let me guess. You want to climb up?"
Looking from his position to the top of the bow, Gabriel estimated that the distance was about three stories high. Maybe more. "You see a better way?" he snapped, getting a feel for the rope's tension.
Griffin gave a sigh. Then with a quick glance around, the agent started to unbutton the cuffs of his dress shirt and roll up the sleeves. "You crazy son of a bitch," he muttered. "Let's move."
Oi Container Terminal, Berth 6
OOCL Charleston, G Deck Mess Room
19:55 JST
Locked in position, Riley's shoulder was in agony. It hurt to move. Hurt to do anything – including stand perfectly still with her arms tied above her head.
But of course Takayama had planned it that way.
With great pleasure, he had instructed Broken Nose to tie Riley's wrists with rope, then to throw that same rope around the rafters in the mess room ceiling; pulling it so taunt, her heels barely touched the floor. The strain this caused on Riley's arms was tremendous. It brought on an unending title wave of pain and Takayama had stood there, watching her furiously trying to breathe through it, knowing how much it hurt. Knowing a broken humerus wasn't meant to be in that position.
It was like a hot poker of fire that gouged through her arm, screaming for relief.
She had to somehow cut the rope.
After instructing Broken Nose to stand guard in the hallway, Takayama had walked off into the adjoining galley in order to find things to hurt her with and left Riley to wait for his return. The moment he had disappeared, however, Riley had started looking around for something sharp.
The mess room was about half the size of a grade school classroom, with a total of five tables seating four chairs each. Four of the tables were evenly spread throughout the room with one in each corner. At Riley's left was the fifth table, in the center of the room and acting as the rope's anchor. It was close enough to her that she could have stretched her legs and kicked it with her feet, but that would accomplish nothing other than hurt her. The tables were all bolted down to the floor, and any more transference of body weight from Riley's legs to arms would only increase the pain to her shoulder.
Apart from the tables and chairs, there was nothing else in the room. Nothing to help her escape. Grimly, Riley considered the possibility that the best – the only – chance she had would be using whatever Takayama decided to slowly kill her with from the galley. And relying on that as a possibility was about as smart as a prisoner on death row relying on a pardon in the moments before execution.
At that moment, the yakuza boss appeared with a tray of items in his hands. Riley immediately tensed, feeling her heartbeat quicken in her chest when he caught her eye with a dark smile. Walking towards her, Riley looked away; determined to stay in control of her emotions and once again relieved that Gabriel wasn't around. Given what Takayama would have found for himself in the galley, she would have hated her partner to witness the turning of everyday kitchen utensils into weapons of torture.
While Riley was more of the fast food type, Gabriel's kitchen was his sanctuary. It was the place she saw him smile the most, and not with that mischievous half grin he loved to flash her but with a smile that was serene and gentle. On the nights he invited her over for dinner, which had grown more frequent as of late, he would give her that smile as they talked about the day and he chopped vegetables, stirred pots, and added spices. Gabriel relaxed when he cooked. He laughed and playfully stole things away from her whenever she tried to help. Working away in his kitchen made him happy.
Coming around the table, Riley heard rather than saw Takayama set the tray down next to her. There was a district clinking of metal.
This – this would have made Gabriel nauseous.
Setting her teeth and breathing as steady and even as she could, Riley didn't need to remind herself to stay focused. She didn't need to remind herself not to let fear, pain, or impossibility stop her from trying to escape. Her anger was bubbling over that; keeping her senses sharp. It was anger that was going to get her out of this.
"As a child I was always fascinated by the English language," Takayama began, keeping his back to her. There came another ting of metal. "Your employment of sarcasm, for instance, is not something we Japanese engage in. The same could be said of gross exaggeration; your perchance for description using 'millions' when it is not the case. 'It cost me a million dollars.'" He turned to her and clucked his tongue, as if he was scolding a puppy. "Such unnecessary excessiveness."
Riley inhaled slowly, hotly returning his gaze. Her shoulder continued its silent scream of protest, but she focused away from it, staying sharp.
Takayama continued on, walking in a circle around her and studying Riley the way a butcher would study a slab of meat; deciding which place to cut first. "I spent many years cultivating my knowledge, driven to speak this contradictory, rule-breaking language as naturally as a native. Are you aware that there are over one million words to learn? Fifty years of vocabulary, and there are still some words which elude me to this day."
Completing his circle, Takayama lifted something off the tray and held it in front of Riley's face. It looked like a long, metal fork, but with only two prongs instead of three. Each prong had a narrow, sharp point to it, reminding Riley of the utensil Gabriel had once used to spear the roast he'd made them for dinner.
"I have trouble remembering the name of 'cooking fork'," Takayama admitted, "as I always consider forks to take on the appearance of a trident." His good eye examined the utensil for a moment before focusing on Riley's neck. "It is of little matter, though. Both prongs are sharper than any fork you would find at a place setting. So much better for tearing the flesh."
Riley's heart beat fast as Takayama raised the sharp prongs up and pressed them hard against the base of her throat, nearly puncturing the flesh. Then without warning, he raked the fork down and she sucked in a breath as her skin split apart against the razor sharp talons.
Takayama pulled away to examine the two perfectly spaced lines he'd etched into her. "Yes, so much better, wouldn't you agree?"
Riley said nothing, silently fuming as her skin burned and blood ran down to the neckline of her dress, dying it a deeper shade of red.
She would escape. She would.
Setting the fork back down, Takayama presented something new to her. "This you call a rolling pin. I selected it because it reminds me of your nation's favourite pastime." Holding onto the handle at one end, Takayama took a step back and Riley felt the air move as he swung it like a bat just inches from her torso.
Knowing what was coming next, fingers of fear crept up Riley's throat and she swallowed, only to discover that her throat was dry.
No, she had to stay sharp. Stay focused.
Taking a step forward, Takayama pulled his arms back for another swing and Riley grit her teeth, reminding herself to breath. Reminding herself that she was going to see Takayama rotting in jail. See Gabriel again and his peaceful smile.
WHAM!
The force of the blow would have knocked Riley to the ground had she not been strung from the ceiling. The rope kept her firmly in place as she propelled sideways, choking back a cry from the slam of pain into the space between her ribs and pelvis bone. Breathing in fast, shaking gasps of air, Riley pressed her lips closed and righted herself. Through a haze of pain, she could already feel massive bruises beginning to form.
This son of a bitch. This son of a bitch was going down.
"Such bravery," Takayama cooed. Holding the rolling pin in one hand, he prodded Riley's bottom ribs with the handle. "I promise the next swing shall be higher, and the next one higher still."
Setting the rolling pin down, he picked up something new. It looked like a metal gavel with short spikes on both ends – the same thing Gabriel hammered steaks with before he cooked them. "Now this kitchen tool…this I am ashamed to admit I cannot recall the name of." Pressing one of the spiked sides against Riley's chin, he cocked an eyebrow and grinned. "Would you be so kind as to remind me?"
Grimacing back at him, with her left side and right shoulder two massive balls of pain, Riley would have rather shoved the thing down Takayama's throat. "Go to hell, you bastard," she spat.
Takayama clucked his tongue again, scolding her. "Your manners are appalling," he commented, lifting the spikes from Riley's chin and raising them to her cheek. "A woman should not speak with such vulgarity."
Without warning, Takayama snapped his wrist and the spikes struck Riley's face. The explosion of pain was like thick needles being rammed against her cheek, leaving behind what were sure to be perfectly lined rows of bleeding welts.
"Ah, yes, now I recall," Takayama said, taking Riley by the chin and examining the damage. "It is a 'meat tenderizer'."
With a raging burst of anger, Riley threw her head down. Forehead connected with nose, and she had the brief satisfaction of hearing a faint crack.
Takayama lunged back, with his free hand flying up to stem the blood rushing down over his pencil mustache and onto his lips. There was a pause of silence as he stood there in surprise; blood dripping off his chin and splattering onto the floor.
Riley was breathing hard, simmering with pain and fury. She knew from her training that what she had done was a huge mistake - hostages were never, ever to act in hostility towards their captors – but they were planning on killing her anyway so it wasn't like she had much to lose. She did, however, have everything to gain.
And maybe turning all her pent up anger at him was the way to do it, if she could do it in just the right way.
"I'm done with your damn lecture," Riley snarled. "If I had known you were going to try and torture me with a vocabulary lesson then maybe I would have brought a pillow so I could fall asleep. You're pathetic."
She watched Takayama closely, waiting for his surprise to turn into rage. Expecting him to get riled up like he had with Miyazaki when the man had reported his failed mission. If she could manage to get Takayama seeing red, maybe he'd slip up. Maybe he'd make a mistake that she could take advantage of.
It was a long shot. A long, dangerous shot with enormous consequences. But it was something.
Yet instead of getting angry, Takayama lips curled up into a smile behind his hand. "Such brave words from one whose life will soon be snuffed out." He started to step backwards towards the exit, still holding her gaze. "Is this pain not enough? Allow me to increase it for you." Opening the door, he summoned Broken Nose inside. The man looked startled by his boss's appearance, and was quick to jump into action once Takayama had given his orders.
Coming at Riley, Broken Nose bent down in front of her and pulled off one of her heels. Foot dangling just inches above the floor, Riley felt a sharp incline of pain as he tossed the shoe aside and her weight shifted partially to her arms.
Oh, God. This was going to hurt.
The knife blades in her shoulder stabbed viciously through her bone as the second shoe came off and Riley was left to dangle in the air. Squeezing her eyes shut, she fought back the scream in her throat as her body's weight bore fully down on her arms. The searing hot pain was incredible. It threatened to swallow her up and Riley fought to shift her weight to just one arm; grasp the rope with her left hand and relieve some of the burden from the right.
As she struggled, Riley heard Takayama openly chuckling. "Consider this the prelude," he told her. "When I return, we shall truly begin."
The door closed and once Riley had managed to clasp the rope with her left hand and shift over as much weight as she could to that arm, the screaming, raging pain lessened just enough for her to force back open her eyes. For a second, all she saw was blotched of darkness. Gasping, trying to make herself stay calm and breath, Riley knew she couldn't hold that position forever. She had to get out of there now before her arm lost its strength and the scream that was hammering against her chest came bursting out and never stopped.
Focus. Focus!
Gritting her teeth, Riley glanced around the room and a rush of adrenaline went through her. The place was empty. She was alone.
This was it.
Head turning immediately towards the table, Riley looked down at the tray and saw the cooking fork, the rolling pin, the meat tenderizer, and one more thing: a blowtorch.
A blowtorch.
Blinking through a haze of pain, all at once she knew how to escape. It was risky - there was a very real chance that the pain she'd have to endure would cause her to pass out - but it was a risk Riley had to take. If she didn't try, she was dead anyway.
Stay focused, damn it.
Thinking of Gabriel and those little crème brûlée desserts he loved to toast the tops of with his own blowtorch, Riley took one last deep breath and readied herself for the pain ahead.
Then she quickly got to work.
