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Miakahashi was insed. His dark rugged face had turned a crimson red and the veins in his neck pulsed like worms in a bait box. One of his key lieutenants, his wakagashira and sed in and, had been murdered in a way that was so shameful that he was tempted to order the whole gang, who had been at the exclusive Cherry Blossom club in downtown Tokyo that night, to it seppuku, the ritual slig open of their own stomachs, instantly. But Nobu Takahashi atient man, a virtue that had seen him rise from the son of a lowly Kyoto shopkeeper to one of the most important men in Japan. He had ordered the gang, through his saiko-komon or personal adviser Hirayama, for the oyabun himself had minimal tact with the Yakuza, to leave no stouro find the killer and bring him to a swift and bloody justice.But that was the least of Takahashi’s problems. Upon news of Yamamoto’s embarrassih, Hirayama had discovered a list of Yamamoto’s tacts around the world and the deceased’s laptops had revealed a side ihat threateo destroy everything that Takahashi had worked so hard for. There had always been rumors, denied religiously of course, that Takahashi was the head of the powerful Yamaguchi-gumi Yakuza fa to which Kenzo Yamamoto belonged. And Yamamoto’s blackmail victims included powerful people in Japanese and iional society. Luckily, the deceased wakagashira had kept extensive records of his activities, encrypted and protected by mega-viruses but twenty puters and twenty-four hacker hours later, the extent of Yamamoto’s betrayal was clear to see.
It appeared from Kenzo Yamamoto’s unication logs that<strike></strike> the vast majority of his tacts where basic mules, hackers and informants who had no idea what the information they provided would be used for. What worried the minister however, were the receipts for two mailed DHL packages that Yamamoto had sent abroad just hours before his death. The receipts had been found on Yamamoto’s body but the stubs for the packages, the ohat would list the names and addresses of the recipients, were missing. It appeared Yamamoto had destroyed them. And why would Yamamoto have the receipts in his wallet? That suggested that he had sent the packages personally. Why do that when he could have instructed any one of an army of Yakuza to do it for him. Takahashi wao know what was in the packages.
The ese had actually doakahashi a favor. Without Yamamoto’s death, the scale of his betrayal would have remained a secret eating away at his legacy. Withiy-four hours, the Yamaguchi-gumi’s army of hackers had gained access to Yamamoto’s Swiss Bank ats and security deposit boxes and discovered assets and credit to the tune of one billion Euros. The scale of it was shog. Mohat should have goo the collective pocket of the Yakuza had been siphoned off for Yamamoto’s personal be. Takahashi was determio see the credit land in his own myriad set of Swiss credit ats.
Hopefully his adviser Hirayama would bring him some good news before they departed his secluded mansion oskirts of Tokyo. The minister was soon to leave Tokyo for a rented luxury hideaway on Guam Island where he and a few of his most important kyodai, his blood brothers, had plao spend a few days of extra-curricular activities and a little business before returning to Tokyo. Yamamoto, if he were still alive, would have beeoo helping to keep the barking dogs among the ranks at bay. He might have to cel the trip.
He had already spoken privately to the prime minister and gained his assurahat the iigation into Yamamoto’s death ure rigmarole, a public relations exercise. The prime minister was more than pleased with the financial arras Takahashi had made on his behalf. They were after all childhood friends. Uhe prime miakahashi had never<cite>.99lib.</cite> married. He preferred to play the dashing bachelor politi while the prime minister had gone on to give new meaning to the term extended family.
Takahashi poured himself a Remy Martin from an expensive-looking crystal deter at the bar and strolled towards the expaop floor baly of his mansion. Below the baly lay the sublime beauty of his exquisite Zen garden. In the darkness, he could make out the gilded forms of his prized koi as they swam about in th<dfn></dfn>e rock pools. Living art. He never failed to be amazed by the symmetry and harmony of it all, the balance created by the dark shadows that had retired to one side of the garden, LEDs blinking itently in the winter night. That harmony had now been temporarily broken by Yamamoto’s shameful death and his treachery.
Nobu Takahashi was of medium build but stocky with the hairy features of Japanese from southern Japan. His thick black hair was streaked with gray, naturally curly and flowed ba thick keratin waves from his impressive forehead. His hough slightly on the large side was not large enough to be a liability. He was often described in the media as ‘ruggedly handsome’, much to his well cealed delight.
His saiko-komons voice wafted through the half open door of one of the mansions rooms that served as offices. Hirayama was tying up loose ends with the iigations. The view of Tokyo city at night was truly impressive. He sighed nostalgically, p hoan could regaieology lead that New a had taken away over the last two decades. Japan was still an innovator but it was lagging behind New a in almost every other area of trade and industry. And what to do about those two names on the list?
Hirayama walked calmly out to the baly.
“I hope it’s good news,” Takahashi growled with feigned gruffness. Hirayama was a dog to be kept down at all times otherwise his es might start to show.
“We found out the details on the packages Yamamoto sent and where he sent them. They were sent to two addresses. One was sent to a Dr. James Joplin in Boston and ao a Cad Caldwell in London. Our merag them dht now oyabun.”
“Iing, and what was in them?”
“It appears Yamamoto got away without declaring the tents,” Hirayama delivered this not-so-good news with his head bowed.
“But we find out from DHL, right? They must have that<footer></footer> information in their systems.” It was more of a statement than a question.
“Our teis are currently attempting to retrieve this information. So far it seems there are no records of the tents at DHL Japan but we might be able to get something from their overseas systems. I really don’t uand why, in this day and age, he would send those packages to these fners, oyabun.”
“Yamamoto was a devious man and a traitor.”
“Yes, who would have guessed it?”
“Yet, we still revenge our own. Any ID on the assassin?”
Hirayama broke into a smile.
“He took out all the CCTVs in the building but it appears that the Cherry Blossom had hidden cameras ihe toilets of the men’s lavatory too. Why oh they would want to film the genitals of a man easing himself is beyond uanding. Probably some new demand from young Japanese girls turning the tables on perverted male chauvinist pigs. Just yesterday the Yomiuri Shimbued that a salaryman was groped in broad daylight on the way home from work by a group of teenage schoolgirls. Anyway, the killer was caught on camera d the toilet seat. A still image was sent to us a few minutes ago. Aoilet attendant at the Cherry Blossom has firmed <kbd></kbd>seeing a small ese man hanging around the toilets. The analysis of the toxin firms this too. It’s a ese nanobot variant of the neuromuscular toxin botulinum.”
“Run the image against the databases and the pattern reition AIs. Find out who he is. Tell the others that the trip to Guam is celled. We o tie up these loose ends, quickly.”
“Yes oyabun. Please accept my apologies for the slress sir.”
“Quite the trary, ohe assassin and those fners are dead and the soles retrieved safely, you will be well rewarded.”
“They are as good as dead, oyabun,” Hirayama promised, as his voice drifted out into the cool Tokyo night.
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