Chapter 9: The Bonenkai
Azuma Bank. December 9, 2004. Thursday evening.
The holiday party was just getting underway. During the ride down in the elevator, Neal could feel the familiar surge of adrenaline that accompanied the beginning of a con. Vijay was excitedly talking about outrageous pranks pulled at past bank parties. Shogo in his Christmas jester's hat looked like a coiled Jack-in-the-box, impatient to be sprung. But the expression in his eyes reminded Neal more of a cobra rearing back in its basket than any child's toy.
When they exited the elevator, they were greeted by the sounds of Mannheim Steamroller Christmas music. The event was being held in the bank lobby. Few extra decorations were needed since the two-story lobby with its ornate plaster ceiling, soaring Ionic columns and overhanging mezzanine had already been lavishly decorated with Christmas trees and greenery. Neal counted four bars as he scanned the space. Buffet stations were set up at several locations while wait staff circulated throughout the lobby with platters of snacks. Two sushi tables manned with chefs and their assistants were at opposite ends of the lobby. A yakitori station was particularly popular with a line already forming in front of it.
The wide assortment of Christmas hats ranged from the cartoonish to the elegant. Most of the women had opted for headbands festooned with antlers, Christmas bows, or poinsettias. A large number had also added a sprig of mistletoe. Many of the men had chosen more outrageous headgear—transforming themselves into elves, Christmas trees, Santas with dreadlocks, or reindeer with comical antlers. The holiday hats added a note of unreality to the proceedings. It was as if Christmas tree ornaments had come to life and sprouted limbs.
Neal and Vijay strolled to one of the bars. On the way, Neal spotted Peter talking with a couple of managers. El had picked out his hat. She'd been kind. His red velvet Santa hat was one of the more restrained ones there.
Vijay nudged him. "Check out that waitress. I want to get whatever she's offering."
Neal glanced at the object of Vijay's desire and hid his grin behind his shrimp toast. Diana was a sugarplum vision in her emerald-green uniform with a short bouffant skirt. Red pompoms dangled from her petticoat. Complimenting her attire were her red-and-green-striped tights, ankle boots, and long green gloves with faux red fur. She wore a matching green Santa hat with a large red pompom which was also bordered in red fur. This was one look that would require a snooper-pen photo at the first opportunity.
"Vodka martini, please," Neal requested when they arrived at the bar. Jones was also wearing a Santa hat. No pompoms to be seen on his red plaid vest and bow tie. He was handling his bartender chores with aplomb.
"You got it. Like an olive or twist with that?"
"Dry with a twist." With a wink at Vijay, he added, "Shaken, not stirred."
Vijay ordered the same for himself. "What's a yakitori?" he asked. "Is it worth waiting in line for?"
"Japanese shish kebabs. You'll love them. If you go over, grab me one too."
Vijay took off on his mission to acquire yakitoris, giving Neal a chance to touch base with Jones. Afterward, he cruised the room, stopping to talk with his fellow analysts. He spotted Hiroki and Shogo by one of the sushi tables.
"Canapé, sir?" Diana offered him a napkin.
"Do you have any of those smoked salmon bruschettas?" he asked, knowing full well she didn't.
"I'll have to check in the back," she said with a long-suffering sigh.
Neal got close to her as if to make a pass. "Keep an eye on the sushi chef in the northeast corner. Shogo and Hiroki were talking to him earlier. Could be nothing."
"On it," she said. "I'll see what I can find out while looking for your salmon."
Diana didn't get back with the salmon, but Neal didn't miss it. He was enjoying the party. His fellow analysts were a lively crowd. Hiroki kept his distance but Shogo wandered in and out. A clump of directors had formed around one of the bars. Peter and Stratton were among them. Neal spotted Peter on his cell phone once. At 6:45 p.m. Hiroki made his way through the crowd and stood next to him. "You ready for some fun?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Neal saw Jones watching them. "It's about time. I was getting restless."
Hiroki passed him a plastic ID card. "This will get you into the secure elevator." In a low voice, he gave him the security code. "Use that for the keypad. Enter the elevator at 7 p.m. When you step out, the guard's station will be in front of you. Think you can distract him for fifteen minutes?"
"Will that give you enough time? I could keep him occupied for longer."
Hiroki laughed. "That kind of can-do attitude will get you far in investment banking. Let's make it twenty to allow a safety margin. You can then head back upstairs."
Neal strolled toward the bar after Hiroki left. Glancing over at the sushi table he'd pointed out to Diana, he noticed another chef had taken the first one's place. Neal looked for Diana and spotted her surrounded by several young bankers. Catching her eye, he gestured for her to join him.
"I asked about the sushi chef," she said in a low undertone, rotating the platter for him to make a selection. "He claimed to not be feeling well and was replaced."
"I'll leave for the elevator at seven. I'm to distract the guard for twenty minutes." He gave her a sloppy leer and fingered one of the pompoms on her petticoat.
"Good luck," she murmured as she swatted his hand away.
#
"What can I make for you, sir?" Jones asked when Peter stepped up to the bar.
"Scotch on the rocks." He'd waited till Jones wasn't busy with other customers before approaching him. The party had been going for an hour now, and the decibel level of noise was drowning out the music. Leaning over the bar as if to make himself understood over the noise, he asked Jones if he had anything to report.
"Spoke with Caffrey a couple of times," Jones said as he poured Peter's drink. "No problems."
"Good. I'll be with Stratton." As Peter walked back, he saw Neal flirting with Diana. They made a good pair. It reminded him of the convention in October when they were Cleopatra and Mark Antony.
Peter had stayed with Stratton throughout the party. Like Peter, he'd adopted a restrained look, wearing a black top hat with a sprig of holly in the red ribbon. His tie, crimson with tiny Christmas trees, contrasted with the garish ties most men were wearing. Stratton was chatting with another manager when Peter walked up with his drink. He had a relaxed, benevolent air as he gazed around the crowd. That wouldn't last. Peter intended to give him a major case of heartburn.
He pulled Stratton aside and asked, "Is there any chance I can have payment tonight?"
Stratton jerked his head around to stare at him. "We agreed on noon tomorrow."
"Yeah, but I would have thought a man of your expertise would want to demonstrate your skill by being early."
He swallowed. "Tomorrow morning's as early as I can make it." Stratton took him by the elbow and led him to a relatively empty spot behind one of the columns. "Do we have to talk about this now?" His eyes darted around to the other managers nearby. "Here?"
"What better place? No one transacts business at a holiday party. And we're not either, are we?"
"No, of course not." Stratton fiddled nervously with his tie.
"Good," Peter said jovially. "How are you coming on your Christmas shopping? Have you bought your wife the diamond tiara she's demanding or is it the villa in Nice?"
"More likely Milan," muttered Stratton. "She's been nagging me for a townhouse there. Claims she needs it for her shopping during Fashion Week. How about your kid?"
"Henry?" Peter rolled his eyes. "He may only get coals this year after the losses he racked up in the market this quarter. I don't think I'll ever be able to control him. But he's family. What can you do?"
"Got that right." Stratton eyed Peter appraisingly. "You know, we have a pretty sweet arrangement. What would you think of extending it a while longer? With your position in internal audit and my access to the funds—we could have plenty to remove all our worries."
"More fun with Samurai bonds?" Peter remarked. "Like in Sydney?"
Stratton looked at Peter in shock. "How'd you—"
"I'm good, Stratton, very good. You can't hide stuff like that from me."
Stratton exhaled sharply. "Yeah, okay, I do have a source for Samurai bonds. You might even say I've cornered the market."
And I cornered you. Prosecutors wouldn't have any difficulty with the case thanks to Strattons's unwitting help. It didn't seem possible that he was the brains behind the robberies. Hiroki fit the profile much better. Ruiz may have been right in his assessment. Hiroki or his Yakuza boss could decide at any time that Stratton was no longer useful and cut him loose.
During his conversation with Stratton, Peter continued to monitor Neal's movements. He was now moving toward the elevators. Peter glanced at his watch. Seven o'clock. The timing was working out well. He'd gotten all he needed out of Stratton and could switch his entire focus to the vault floor.
Peter approached Jones at the bar and waited till he'd finished making a drink for a customer. "I went ahead and put my earpiece in," he said. "My hat covers it—there's gotta be some good out of wearing this ridiculous headgear—and I don't want to stay out of communication with what's happening in the vault. Keep an eye on Stratton. Make sure he doesn't leave the room. Have you got your earpiece in?"
Jones nodded. "My hat disguises it. I'll get my relief to take over at the bar."
Peter could hear the elevator door close. Neal must have just gotten off. Footsteps sounded in his ear. "Hi ya, are you all alone down here? You're missing a helluva party! Want me to bring you anything?" Nick, the party boy, was in his element. He was slightly slurring his words. The guard appeared to be amused by his ramblings.
Peter walked over to one of the buffet tables. He took his time making his selection while continuing to listen. As he stepped back to let others approach the table, he noticed Diana striding toward him. She wasn't carrying a platter and had a determined look on her face. Peter didn't wait for her to come to him but met her in the middle of the room. The din of the party was so loud he wasn't worried about being overheard. "Anything wrong?"
"I'm not sure and I don't like it," Diana said, her eyes flitting to one of the sushi tables. "Neal told me about a sushi chef that he'd seen Hiroki and Shogo talking to. He asked me to check on him. The chef disappeared around 6:30. The staff said he wasn't feeling well. It sounded okay, but he's still not back. I just searched the back area, and he's nowhere to be found. The coordinator hadn't heard he was sick. This is an unknown variable and it bothers me."
Peter shared her concern. The chef could be an accomplice. "I'll alert Ruiz. Tell Jones what you know and then both of you report back to me. We may need to change plans."
She nodded and took off.
Pulling out his cell phone, Peter called Ruiz and told him about Diana's suspicions.
Ruiz was skeptical and argued with him in a low voice that was hard to hear. "Look, Burke, everything's good at our end. The two suspects just entered the vault. We can see them well in the camera feed. They're wearing dark clothes and hoods. Haven't taken out the bonds yet. We'll wait till they do and then move in."
"What about the camera in the corridor?"
"We've got clear views of the vault entrance and the stairs. There's no one else there. Your agent's overreacting. She's young. Probably has probie jitters."
Peter continued to listen to Neal's banter through his earpiece while he talked to Ruiz. After he signed off, he checked his watch. Neal had exited the elevator seven minutes ago. Ruiz could be right, but Diana's instincts were good. Neal was prattling on about the party and other holiday bank parties. Was he making this stuff up? The tales were becoming increasingly preposterous.
"In Tokyo two years ago—now that was a wild party—you should have been there."
Peter snapped to attention. He looked over at Jones and Diana and they were already moving toward him. Neal sounded so relaxed, but that was his panic phrase.
"Man, I'm telling you it was a wild party."
Why weren't Ruiz and his people moving in? They should have intervened at Neal's first use of the panic phrase. Peter called Ruiz on his phone. No answer. Travis broke in through the earpiece. He couldn't get through to Ruiz either and was directing the standby team to move in. "Diana, find Nakahara and bring him to me," Peter ordered. "Jones, take Stratton into custody. Once your backup's arrived, report back here."
In his earpiece, Neal mentioned wild party a third time. Suddenly Peter heard the rapid pops of gunfire. Neal was yelling to the guard to take cover. Now Peter's earpiece was crackling with gunfire and screams. His heart hammering a fierce drumbeat, Peter headed for the elevator doors.
Neal whispered rapidly, "Two gunmen on the stairs. Guard dead—" His voice cut out abruptly. Pounding footsteps. Voices ... It sounded like they were speaking Japanese. Damn it, where was Ruiz?
"Don't shoot!" Neal's voice projected real terror. Peter had a nightmare vision of Neal on the floor, holding a hand up in a futile gesture to ward off the gunmen approaching him.
An FBI unit in assault gear swarmed into the lobby and closed off the exits. When the revelers caught sight of them, their cries of panic became deafening. NYPD officers arrived on the scene and acted swiftly to control the chaos. Jones joined Peter close to the elevators. Holding his watch-communicator close to his mouth, Peter asked Travis, "Any word from Ruiz?"
"Still trying to reach him," Travis reported. "Nothing coming through ... Wait, he's calling on his phone. I'll patch him through to your phone." Peter put his cell to his other ear while continuing to listen to Neal's feed through his earpiece.
Ruiz sounded out of breath. "Had to retreat into the holding room. When we opened the door to go to the vault, we were ambushed by two gunmen on the stairs. I have two men injured. We had no other option but to retreat. When we closed the door, they must have used the security code to lock it. We're trapped now."
Diana had arrived with Nakahara in tow and had fitted him with an earpiece. He'd have to serve as their interpreter until the NYPD interpreter arrived. Nakahara's Santa Claus hat appeared to be someone's idea of a cruel joke as he listened with an anguished expression.
"I'll check on the feed from the security cameras in the vault," Diana said and sprinted off.
Through Peter's earpiece, he continued to hear Japanese. "What are they saying?"
"They're debating whether to kill Neal," Nakahara replied, his face pale. "Two, perhaps three, voices. One of them is arguing that he's more valuable as a hostage."
His mind racing through the options, Peter couldn't find any he liked. "We can't take the elevator down," he muttered to Jones. "They're most likely at the guard's station. We'd be sitting ducks."
"The stairs aren't any better," Jones warned. "Should we coordinate an assault through both the stairs and the elevator?"
"If we charge in, it'll be a bloodbath." Peter shook his head slowly. "But they're not giving us a choice." He gave himself a few seconds to consider and then told Jones, "We'll move into position in the stairwell."
Peter raised his communicator to his mouth to have Travis patch him through to the auxiliary unit when the voices in his earpiece started speaking English. He motioned to Jones to go ahead.
One voice, probably Hiroki, said, "On your feet, you gutless pansy. You wanted thrills. How's this?" Sounds of a scuffle. A gasp—that must have been Neal. Peter could hear heavy breathing, a choked-back cry.
"Not had enough?" The audio dissolved into random noise as a loud crackle ripped through Peter's earpiece. Grimacing, Peter rode out the static while Travis adjusted the feed.
Travis's voice came through a few seconds later. "Looks like the watch was damaged. The feed's breaking up."
Through the static, Neal's voice could be heard, speaking raggedly, "The guard pressed the alarm ... The place will be swarming with police. You need me." Peter raised a warning hand for everyone to stay in place while Neal tried to negotiate his way out of the crisis. They couldn't storm in on them now.
"He's right." That sounded like Hiroki. "He'll be our ticket to escape."
The feed was breaking up badly now. Impossible to piece together everything that was going on. One voice came through. "Stop squirming." That was probably Shogo. "You'll only make it worse."
Neal screamed. More static. Sounds of heavy panting. Peter flailed for the trained response which should come automatically. He couldn't allow himself to think about what had happened. Neal was still conscious. That was a good sign. Focus on that.
With a final ear-splitting pop, Neal's transmission went quiet.
Peter frantically surveyed the others, demanding, "Don't we have any eyes on what's happening?"
Diana had rushed up during the last seconds of transmission. "We brought up the auxiliary camera, but there's no feed. It's dead." She stopped, appalled at what she'd just said. "I meant equipment failure."
"We can't wait any longer. We're moving in now." Peter barked his orders to the assembled agents. Some were in riot gear with protective shields ready, not knowing what was awaiting them on the vault level. Peter took the stair route with five other agents while Jones led a team to the elevator.
The alarm on the entrance door to the stairwell was still off, and they encountered no hostiles on the stairs. As Peter and his team descended the stairs, the silence was disquieting. Every step, every rustle of gear cast a jarring note and set his nerves more on edge. When they arrived at the door to the vault level, they stopped and listened intently for any sounds inside, but nothing could be heard. Speaking in muffled tones, Peter coordinated with Jones on the timing of their teams to open the doors simultaneously.
When they burst through the doors, the corridor was quiet. No hostile fire. No gunmen. From the emergency stairs, the guard station was to the right. The vault and storage room where Ruiz and his agents were still trapped were to the left. Peter ordered agents to free Ruiz using the lock code provided by Nakahara while he joined Jones and his team at the guard station.
The guard was lying in a pool of blood on the floor, dead from multiple gunshot wounds. No sign of Neal and no indication that any of the perps had been wounded.
Ruiz ran up as Peter was conferring with Jones. "What happened?"
"You should be telling me," Peter said angrily. "How could you let yourself get trapped like that?"
Ruiz didn't attempt to answer.
Peter stilled his anger. It wasn't clear how much of this was Ruiz's fault. An inquiry would have to sort that out. "How badly are your men injured?"
"A couple were hit by gunfire. Their wounds are not life-threatening," a subdued Ruiz responded.
"Medics are on their way," Jones said.
Peter ordered Ruiz to divide up his team. Most of them would join the manhunt immediately with one to remain with the injured. Travis reported that the entrance to the parking garage below the bank had been barricaded off. An NYPD unit was handling traffic control and monitoring the entrance. No one was allowed to leave.
Agents had already moved into positions along the exits of the emergency stairs. The stairs from the vault terminated on the fourth floor. The suspects could have exited on any of the floors and were now hiding in one of the offices. Peter withdrew to the main floor lobby and entered a side office that had been commandeered to be their command center. Blueprints of the building were spread out on a desk. The Japanese NYPD interpreter had arrived and had been fitted with an earpiece. FBI and NYPD forces were conducting a door-to-door search while other agents combed through the multilevel garage.
Peter beckoned Jones and Diana over. "The parking garage is three stories deep. It's going to be tough to cover. How many stairs lead down to the garage?"
Jones scanned the blueprints. "Two, one at either end of the building."
"Diana, check on the status of the garage. We may need additional units brought in."
"On it, boss." She took off to consult with the NYPD officer who was coordinating the search.
Peter turned to Jones. "Were you able to get any information out of Stratton?"
"Stratton is sweating big time. Claims not to know how they'd planned to get the bonds out of the building. He's admitted to being part of the robberies in Sydney and Rome. In both cases, Hiroki had given him his share the day afterward at a prearranged location."
Travis called in while they were speaking. "Agents on the second floor are reporting a shootout in progress."
Peter sprinted for the stairs, accompanied by Jones. They could hear the gunfire inside the stairwell, but by the time they opened the door to the second floor, the battle was over. Several NYPD officers in riot gear were sweeping the offices. A burly officer strode over to Peter when he arrived and explained that two suspects had fired on them when they entered the floor and had both been killed.
One of the gunmen was the missing sushi chef. Jones was able to ID him. The other wore a suit. The middle-aged Asian could have been one of the bank employees. An Organized Crime agent was searching the body. He looked up at Peter. "No wallet or ID that I can find."
All the offices were searched but there was no sign of Neal, Hiroki, or Shogo. Bags of cash and bonds were found close to the gunmen. It was a significant haul, much larger than they had anticipated. Had the earlier robberies merely been dress rehearsals for the heist in New York?
Peter told Jones, "These two probably took off immediately with the money after the initial confrontation on the vault floor."
Jones nodded. "They may have intended to stash the cash in one of the offices and then disappear in the crowd."
Peter and Jones returned to the command center on the main floor where Peter updated Diana. All the other searches were coming up blank. "They may be hiding in the garage," he told Diana.
"There are agents on all floors of the garage," she pointed out. "So far they haven't found anyone."
Peter shook his head. "That's where my gut's telling me. Get me the blueprints. I'm going to Stratton."
Stratton was being held under armed guard in a small office off the lobby. Jones had already questioned him and Stratton had been made aware of Peter's true identity. When Peter walked in, he was sitting at a desk, arms folded in front of him, his head bowed. He jerked his head up and flinched at Peter's arrival.
Peter didn't mince words. Grabbing a chair and sitting down across from him, he said, "You know who I am. You know you're going down for bank fraud and a host of other charges."
Stratton mutely nodded.
"But here's the thing. I don't think you're a murderer."
Stratton shook his head, his eyes wide with fear.
"But your goons, the men who work for you, who steal for you, who you control—"
"Now wait, I'm not responsi—"
"Who are acting on your orders," Peter continued ruthlessly, "have already killed a guard. They've taken an FBI operative prisoner and are holding him hostage. If we don't find him, they'll kill him as well, and you're going down for murder right along with them."
"I didn't give the orders, you have to believe me." Stratton was stumbling over his words, his face white.
"Where are they?"
"I don't know. I've already told you I don't know!" His voice was shrill with fear and denial.
"You must know," Peter said, slamming a fist on the desk. "Does either one own a car?"
"I don't know," Stratton moaned.
"Yes, you do. Think. One of them must have said something. You help us. You have a chance of not spending the rest of your life in prison."
Stratton squinted his eyes in concentration. "Mustang. Hiroki was bragging about how he had a new Mustang. It was red, I think, or maybe black."
"Where does he park it?"
"I've no idea, but most of them use the second floor of the garage."
Peter was already out of the door. He found Diana waiting for him in the command center. She spread a blueprint of the garage on the desk. Together they scrutinized the layout. Pointing to the north wall, he said, "This wall is thicker than the others. What do you think?"
"Lockers, perhaps? Crawlspace?"
Peter held up his hand. "Shhh." His earpiece was crackling. While listening, he got on the phone to Travis. "Is that Neal's communicator?" he demanded.
"I'm pinpointing it now."
The crackling sound came in and out as if the watch-communicator were being shorted. A short burst of Japanese could be heard between the static. Peter fixed his eyes on the interpreter, who was listening intently. "They're arguing over if it's safe to leave," he said. "Two voices."
"We can't afford to wait any longer," Peter said. Pointing to Jones and Diana, he ordered, "Stairwell now." The signal was breaking up badly with very little except static now being heard.
Travis called in. "The signal's coming from the second-level garage, north side."
Peter let out a quick exhale. Jones and Diana exited the lobby with him. Once they left the lobby, there was no sign of anyone but NYPD and FBI agents. As they started down the stairs, Diana said, "Boss, I have an idea. If we find them, we'll most likely have a hostage situation, right?"
"What do you have in mind?" Peter asked, not pausing.
"You think if you used Morse code with your fingers on your pants leg, Neal would understand it?"
"Maybe something very simple," Jones said. "We know he's injured."
Diana explained her idea. They'd reached the second floor of the garage. Peter stopped and considered her proposal. "You're assuming Neal can move rapidly enough to make it work," he warned. "He may not be able to."
"We could use it as an option," Jones said. "If he doesn't respond, we haven't lost anything."
Diana's plan would give Neal the best chance of getting out of the line of fire. But Peter kept hearing his anguished cry before his communicator cut out. What kind of condition would they find him in?