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Tokyo Terror: Beware the Red Dragon
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
See that you do!
windar
Teller of Tales
It's also about number 8 or 9 in the follow ons to the original Stan Goldman/Barbara Moore story, which is the basis of the book that Stan and Bill Johnson are referring to
https://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/the-bronx-crux-murders.6173/
Mikerytel
Senator
Time for me get reading then
Chapter 19. Thursday, 28 June, 20:18. Punishment Room, The Red Dragon Dungeon Place, Kabukichō District, Tokyo.
Gun’s shrill shrieks of anguish reverberated again and again within the confines of the concrete-walled subterranean space of the Red Dragon’s ‘punishment room’
Barb, who was backed up to and shackled nude with arms overhead against the nearest wall turned away and closed her eyes. She simply found herself unable to continue watching the terrible pain being meted out to her Swedish friend and lover.
Similarly restrained alongside Barb, Annika continued to watch, but with mounting shock and horror.
In the center of the room Sato’s henchmen had suspended poor Gun upside down. She hung by her shackled ankles from a bar suspended by a chain cleated to the ceiling. Naked and sheened with sweat, she writhed, twitched and cried out with each successive electric shock delivered through wires leading to a pair of alligator clips affixed to her nipples, and to the hilt of a dildo jammed into her vagina. Between each successive shocking she was given a brief respite … barely sufficient time to regroup and steel herself for the fresh surge of electrical current she knew was coming.
“That’s ten!” announced the muscular henchman standing before her, and clearly the one in command.
As he spoke he turned his attention to Barb and Annika. His English, like his boss Sato’s, was remarkably good, but sounded more to Barb’s Midwestern ear like something one might hear on the streets of San Francisco.
“See how your friend suffers? Let this be a lesson to both of you.” he lectured them. “What you’re witnessing is just one of the many methods we employ here at the Red Dragon to discipline those of our slave girls foolish enough to defy us. Your friend here behaved foolishly and is now being forced to endure a prescribed ‘corrective’ of fifteen electric jolts. She has another five to go before we’re finished with her. And I should add that if my colleague, Atushi, does not recover from the blow he took to his head earlier this evening when she bashed it into Sato’s onyx desktop, there may be far worse in store for her.”
“You bastards!” shouted an enraged Annika, fists clenched and tugging futilely at the shackles that held her in place.
“Watch your mouth bitch! There’s another chain and bar on that ceiling waiting for you if you choose to step out of line. You’re here to watch and learn!”
Gun gasped and screamed again as yet another shock coursed through her body. By this time she was a pitiful sight … her facial expression more or less constantly contorted with pain, forehead and hair spattered with spittle and drool, muscles twitching uncontrollably.
“Alright. So you’ve shown us that we’re completely under your thumb. We get it. Now why don’t you tell us exactly what is expected of us here?” declared Barb, hoping to learn more of their predicament as well as possibly distracting Gun’s tormentor enough to give her a much needed break. “Are we to wander around the floor up above, wearing next to nothing and conning your customers into paying for expensive drinks or the privilege of having us sit on their laps? Or, are we to take part in one of those ridiculous rotating pretend-dungeon torture tableaus?”
He grinned at that. But delivered another shock to Gun before replying, “Ah, you seem to know something of our establishment? Perhaps you’ve paid us a visit? We’re honored if you did. But, the answer to your question is, no. The scene you describe is strictly for the tourists. For you and your friends Sato has paid the Syndicate handsomely, and that investment must be recouped. Your role here, accordingly, will be to satisfy the needs and desires of a specially-screened clientele … a select group of men and women with the wherewithal to pay for the privilege of visiting the private ‘underground’ version of the Red Dragon Dungeon Place.”
Gun screamed shrilly as her twelfth shocking was administered.
“And exactly how is that different?”
“Ah, for starters, our privileged clients are given the pleasure of seeing you perform in torture themed tableaux or scripted performances, much like those seen on the main floor above. But with one very significant difference; the tortures are real rather than faked. And then, for an extra, outrageously exorbitant fee, the clients may be allowed to participate themselves or, for an even larger sum, gain the privilege of a private session with the slave girl of their choice. A session in which they may choose, should it be their wont, and it usually is, to inflict pain as well as possess her sexually.”
“That’s prostitution,” observed Annika, matter of factly. “Strictly against the law in Japan! Even in a place like Kabukichō. Or, even worse, it’s rape!”
There was a pause before he replied
while he turned the dial on the console in his hands to deliver a jolt far stronger than any previous one delivered to poor Gun, who responded by swinging and jerking about wildly, in addition to wailing even louder and more pitifully than before.
“Call it what you wish. But it’s highly lucrative. And the police, for your information, can be counted on to look the other way. In fact some high-ranking law enforcement officials are among our regular elite customers. And, like it or not, you three will perform for them as directed … or … well …,” his voice trailed off as he administered to Gun her fourteenth corrective shocking while waving his free hand in her direction.
“Finished yet?” inquired Sato, who had just entered the room. “I came down to see how the prescribed corrective was working on our good friend, Detective Sergeant Gun Thorell of the Uppsala PD.”
“0h, tI think it’s going to have a profoundly corrective effect on her attitude. You’re just in time for the final administration.”
“That would be fifteen, Kaneko?”
“Yessir. Fifteen, as ordered.”
“Excellent. And do you believe that Moore and Sjöberg have found witnessing the same … ahhh … shall we say … highly instructive?”
“I suspect they have.”
“Good. Then please proceed to administer number fifteen to Ms Thorell, and don’t hold back on that last one. Then you may release the other two. And, to show that they get what’s expected of them, require that they each service a few of our men. After what happened in my office this afternoon, I’m sure they’ll be eager to have their fill of these western cunts.
“Yessir. I’m sure they will.
“Oh. And one other thing, Kaneko.”
“Sir?”
“Good news! Atushi will recover. He’s only suffered a mild concussion and should be joining you down here shortly. I’ve promised him that you’ll save Thorell for him to fuck. He’d like that.”
“Yessir.
“Carry on then.”
Thursday, 28 June, 19:29 (20:29 Tokyo time) Syndicateheadquarters, undisclosed location somewhere in China.
“Reporting in?”
“Yes.”
Operation completed as planned?”
“Yes, Moore, Thorell and Sjöberg discretely removed from the Park Hyatt Tokyo and delivered to Sumiyoshi-ka family HQ at the Red Dragon Torture Dungeon Place.”
“And you made certain that wily old fox, Sato Yukio, paid up in full?”
“Yes, I personally saw him wire $750,000 U.S. to the correct Syndicate account. I have to say though, I can’t imagine how he’s going to make back the quarter of a million each he’s paid for those three women.”
“He probably won’t. Most likely they won’t last very long. Not many girls working for Sato in that environment do. His clients will probably kill them all soon enough. Things are said to get rather rough at his elite club. But Sato had no choice, did he? No one in his position says no when the Syndicate comes calling for a favor.”
“So revenge has been exacted then?”
“Yes, with this operation concluded, along with the murders staged earlier in the week in Stockholm and in Geneva, our recent embarrassment near Sollefteå, Sweden can be said to be fully avenged.”
“And what about Pyongyang?”
“Kim had wanted Moore, Thorell and Sjöberg for himself, of course, but he’ll likely have to be disappointed as they are unlikely to ever come out of Tokyo alive.”
“He’ll be sore at us.”
“Let him be. What’s he going to do? Nuke us?”
“Right.”
TBC
Gun’s shrill shrieks of anguish reverberated again and again within the confines of the concrete-walled subterranean space of the Red Dragon’s ‘punishment room’
Barb, who was backed up to and shackled nude with arms overhead against the nearest wall turned away and closed her eyes. She simply found herself unable to continue watching the terrible pain being meted out to her Swedish friend and lover.
Similarly restrained alongside Barb, Annika continued to watch, but with mounting shock and horror.
In the center of the room Sato’s henchmen had suspended poor Gun upside down. She hung by her shackled ankles from a bar suspended by a chain cleated to the ceiling. Naked and sheened with sweat, she writhed, twitched and cried out with each successive electric shock delivered through wires leading to a pair of alligator clips affixed to her nipples, and to the hilt of a dildo jammed into her vagina. Between each successive shocking she was given a brief respite … barely sufficient time to regroup and steel herself for the fresh surge of electrical current she knew was coming.
“That’s ten!” announced the muscular henchman standing before her, and clearly the one in command.
As he spoke he turned his attention to Barb and Annika. His English, like his boss Sato’s, was remarkably good, but sounded more to Barb’s Midwestern ear like something one might hear on the streets of San Francisco.
“See how your friend suffers? Let this be a lesson to both of you.” he lectured them. “What you’re witnessing is just one of the many methods we employ here at the Red Dragon to discipline those of our slave girls foolish enough to defy us. Your friend here behaved foolishly and is now being forced to endure a prescribed ‘corrective’ of fifteen electric jolts. She has another five to go before we’re finished with her. And I should add that if my colleague, Atushi, does not recover from the blow he took to his head earlier this evening when she bashed it into Sato’s onyx desktop, there may be far worse in store for her.”
“You bastards!” shouted an enraged Annika, fists clenched and tugging futilely at the shackles that held her in place.
“Watch your mouth bitch! There’s another chain and bar on that ceiling waiting for you if you choose to step out of line. You’re here to watch and learn!”
Gun gasped and screamed again as yet another shock coursed through her body. By this time she was a pitiful sight … her facial expression more or less constantly contorted with pain, forehead and hair spattered with spittle and drool, muscles twitching uncontrollably.
“Alright. So you’ve shown us that we’re completely under your thumb. We get it. Now why don’t you tell us exactly what is expected of us here?” declared Barb, hoping to learn more of their predicament as well as possibly distracting Gun’s tormentor enough to give her a much needed break. “Are we to wander around the floor up above, wearing next to nothing and conning your customers into paying for expensive drinks or the privilege of having us sit on their laps? Or, are we to take part in one of those ridiculous rotating pretend-dungeon torture tableaus?”
He grinned at that. But delivered another shock to Gun before replying, “Ah, you seem to know something of our establishment? Perhaps you’ve paid us a visit? We’re honored if you did. But, the answer to your question is, no. The scene you describe is strictly for the tourists. For you and your friends Sato has paid the Syndicate handsomely, and that investment must be recouped. Your role here, accordingly, will be to satisfy the needs and desires of a specially-screened clientele … a select group of men and women with the wherewithal to pay for the privilege of visiting the private ‘underground’ version of the Red Dragon Dungeon Place.”
Gun screamed shrilly as her twelfth shocking was administered.
“And exactly how is that different?”
“Ah, for starters, our privileged clients are given the pleasure of seeing you perform in torture themed tableaux or scripted performances, much like those seen on the main floor above. But with one very significant difference; the tortures are real rather than faked. And then, for an extra, outrageously exorbitant fee, the clients may be allowed to participate themselves or, for an even larger sum, gain the privilege of a private session with the slave girl of their choice. A session in which they may choose, should it be their wont, and it usually is, to inflict pain as well as possess her sexually.”
“That’s prostitution,” observed Annika, matter of factly. “Strictly against the law in Japan! Even in a place like Kabukichō. Or, even worse, it’s rape!”
There was a pause before he replied
while he turned the dial on the console in his hands to deliver a jolt far stronger than any previous one delivered to poor Gun, who responded by swinging and jerking about wildly, in addition to wailing even louder and more pitifully than before.
“Call it what you wish. But it’s highly lucrative. And the police, for your information, can be counted on to look the other way. In fact some high-ranking law enforcement officials are among our regular elite customers. And, like it or not, you three will perform for them as directed … or … well …,” his voice trailed off as he administered to Gun her fourteenth corrective shocking while waving his free hand in her direction.
“Finished yet?” inquired Sato, who had just entered the room. “I came down to see how the prescribed corrective was working on our good friend, Detective Sergeant Gun Thorell of the Uppsala PD.”
“0h, tI think it’s going to have a profoundly corrective effect on her attitude. You’re just in time for the final administration.”
“That would be fifteen, Kaneko?”
“Yessir. Fifteen, as ordered.”
“Excellent. And do you believe that Moore and Sjöberg have found witnessing the same … ahhh … shall we say … highly instructive?”
“I suspect they have.”
“Good. Then please proceed to administer number fifteen to Ms Thorell, and don’t hold back on that last one. Then you may release the other two. And, to show that they get what’s expected of them, require that they each service a few of our men. After what happened in my office this afternoon, I’m sure they’ll be eager to have their fill of these western cunts.
“Yessir. I’m sure they will.
“Oh. And one other thing, Kaneko.”
“Sir?”
“Good news! Atushi will recover. He’s only suffered a mild concussion and should be joining you down here shortly. I’ve promised him that you’ll save Thorell for him to fuck. He’d like that.”
“Yessir.
“Carry on then.”
Thursday, 28 June, 19:29 (20:29 Tokyo time) Syndicateheadquarters, undisclosed location somewhere in China.
“Reporting in?”
“Yes.”
Operation completed as planned?”
“Yes, Moore, Thorell and Sjöberg discretely removed from the Park Hyatt Tokyo and delivered to Sumiyoshi-ka family HQ at the Red Dragon Torture Dungeon Place.”
“And you made certain that wily old fox, Sato Yukio, paid up in full?”
“Yes, I personally saw him wire $750,000 U.S. to the correct Syndicate account. I have to say though, I can’t imagine how he’s going to make back the quarter of a million each he’s paid for those three women.”
“He probably won’t. Most likely they won’t last very long. Not many girls working for Sato in that environment do. His clients will probably kill them all soon enough. Things are said to get rather rough at his elite club. But Sato had no choice, did he? No one in his position says no when the Syndicate comes calling for a favor.”
“So revenge has been exacted then?”
“Yes, with this operation concluded, along with the murders staged earlier in the week in Stockholm and in Geneva, our recent embarrassment near Sollefteå, Sweden can be said to be fully avenged.”
“And what about Pyongyang?”
“Kim had wanted Moore, Thorell and Sjöberg for himself, of course, but he’ll likely have to be disappointed as they are unlikely to ever come out of Tokyo alive.”
“He’ll be sore at us.”
“Let him be. What’s he going to do? Nuke us?”
“Right.”
TBC
windar
Teller of Tales
I can't speak for Sjöberg, but Moore has
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Against the law? Really? Does Mr. Sato know? Shouldn't we inform him about that? Perhaps he has not considered that yet?
I would not be so sure to ignore that risk!
Sharkman
Governor
Good news? Everything went wrong? Just Tamiko is missing at these fiendish dungeon parties. It stands 10:0 for Syndicate.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Fortunately for Gun, the onyx desktop was not damaged, or Mr. Sato would have really been pissed off!
windar
Teller of Tales
Chapter 20. Thursday, June 28. 16:40. Check-In Lobby, Park Hyatt Tokyo, Shinjuku District, Tokyo.
“We had better speak with Åke Persson,” Bill Johnson had said, taking his phone out of his pocket. They were sitting in a quiet corner of the check-in lobby watching a well-dressed Japanese businessman settling his account with Tamiko.
“Of course,” Stan replied.
Bill showed Stan the text he had written before he sent it-“Urgent that I speak with you. Am in hotel lobby to the right as you leave the elevator.”
The response came quickly. “Will be down in 5 min.”
True to his word, Åke soon exited the elevator, dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. He glanced quickly to his right, saw Bill and quickly made his way over.
Bill and Stan stood to greet him. “Åke Persson, this is Stan Goldman, a former NYPD detective. He was hired by Chief Björklund back in Uppsala to keep an eye on Professor Moore and her two companions,” Bill said. The two men shook hands.
“What’s the urgent matter?” Åke asked.
“I’m afraid it’s very bad,” Bill said. “Barbara, Gun and Annika-they’ve been taken.”
“Taken?” Åke said. “What do you mean?”
Stan held the note inside the plastic bag so that Åke could read it. He looked visibly pale as he absorbed the news. “How could this happen?”
“They had inside help from someone or maybe more than one among the hotel staff, we believe, doubtless bribed very generously. They took them from their room on the 49th floor down to the loading dock in a service cart,” Stan told him.
“You were supposed to be watching them,” Åke told Stan.
“They didn’t want watching,” Stan replied. “Detective Thorell made that crystal clear.”
Persson thought for a moment. “Yes, that sounds like her,” he admitted. “And you haven’t told the authorities?”
“You saw the note,” Bill said. “I don’t know if they’re bluffing about that, but I don’t want to find out. It’s possible they have ears inside the Tokyo Police.”
“Yes, I see,” Åke said. “You know that tonight is the conference banquet? They’re getting awards. If they don’t show up, there will be a ruckus.”
“You need to make excuses for them. They ate some bad sushi, and are praying to the porcelain god all night long. Whatever you can think of,” Stan said. “Just keep this quiet.”
“And how do you propose to find them?” Åke asked.
“We were hoping you could help us,” Bill said.
“They paid a visit to the Kabukichō district the night before last,” Stan said. “I followed them there into a club called “The Red Dragon Torture Dungeon Place”. Do you know anything about that?”
“Yes, I know about that little expedition,” Åke replied. “It was stupid! Not just because Barbara was so hungover that she embarrassed herself with her talk the next morning, but because she was supposed to wait for me.” He looked peeved.
“Wait for you for what?” Stan asked.
Persson sighed. “We have been discussing a collaborative study of human sex slave trafficking in Japan and the links between the Syndicate and the yakuza who run things here. I assume, being an ex-cop, you know who the yakuza are?” he said looking at Stan.
“I know they’re the Japanese version of the Mafia. I never had much to do with them. I don’t think they are that active in the US, at least not on the East Coast.”
“Yes, perhaps not,” Åke said, looking annoyed. “The thing is, Barb was supposed to wait for the end of the conference so we could work on this project together. But she was too impatient to wait.”
Stan thought about his own Barbara Moore. That was certainly true of her. Perhaps, it came with the name.
“Everything I saw there was pretty tame,” Stan said. “The ‘BDSM’ stuff was fake. It seemed mostly a way to separate tourists from their money. Still the name is an odd co-incidence.” He pointed to the logo on the kidnappers’ note.
“I don’t believe in co-incidences,” Bill said.
“I don’t either,” Stan said.
“Nor do I,” Åke replied. “But what do you two brilliant police types propose to do?”
“Give us some time,” Bill said. “Eventually you will have to go to the authorities despite the threat. I understand that. And, to be honest, they may kill them anyway at some point. But for now, let’s keep this quiet. Make some excuses for them at the banquet. Accept the awards for them and thank the organizers. And stay in touch.”
Persson looked dubious, but nodded.
Thursday, June 28. 18:10. US Embassy to Japan, Akasaka District, Tokyo
Stan was impressed at how quickly they had been admitted to the Embassy, a modern building of several stories in the Akasaka District, inside a small garden surrounded by a high concrete wall. They presented themselves at the guardhouse next to the high wrought iron gates decorated with the Great Seal of the United States.
The Marine on duty in full dress uniform quickly scanned their passports, had them empty their pockets and pass through a metal detector and placed a call. “Mr. Johnson and Mr. Goldman are here, ma’am,” he said. He nodded and told them, “Ms. Sheehan will be down shortly.”
Ms. Sheehan, Carolyn Sheehan, was a thin woman somewhere in her mid 40s, of medium height, with her somewhat greying brown hair pulled back in a bun. She wore a summer weight off-white blouse, a knee-length dark blue skirt and flats. One would have made her for a high-level executive of one of the big international banks or perhaps a partner at a white shoe law firm, much more readily than a spy.
However, a spy, or at least the CIA attaché at the Embassy, was what she was, and it was from his CIA days that Bill knew her. He introduced Stan. “I don’t know if you remember that case of the crucified girls in NYC a few years back.”
“I vaguely remember reading about it at the time,” she said. “There was a Chinese connection, if I recall correctly, that had some of the folks in the agency concerned.”
“That turned out to be a red herring,” Stan replied.
“I won’t spoil the ending for you, Carolyn. You can read all about it,” Bill said. “He has a book out. It’s a pretty good read. ‘The Bronx Crux Murders’.”
“Oh,” Carolyn replied. “Maybe I’ll check it out. I’m heading back to the States for some meetings and some vacation in a few weeks.”
“It’s available from that South American rainforest place,” Stan said.
“What isn’t?” Carolyn replied, laughing.
Stan decided he liked her. She and Bill chatted about mutual acquaintances who meant nothing to Stan as she led them through the garden and into the building, which was mostly deserted after hours. They rode up to the fifth floor, where she guided them into a small, non-descript conference room.
“Would you like some coffee?” she asked. Bill and Stan indicated that they would and she returned with a pitcher and three plain white mugs, along with some cream and sugar. She also had a yellow legal pad.
“I want to thank you for taking the time to see us at this late hour,” Stan began.
“It’s not a problem. There’s a boring reception at the Saudi Embassy and I don’t mind having an excuse to arrive late. Now, let’s hear about this situation.”
Bill ran through the backstory-the original kidnapping of Barbara Moore by the Syndicate in Sweden and the attempted hit on the North Korean defector, Min-Ji. Carolyn took notes.
Stan brought things up to the present with what they knew about the kidnapping here in Tokyo. He showed her the note left by the kidnappers. “Do you mind if I make a photocopy?” she asked.
“Sure, as long as you leave it in the plastic,” he replied.
“Of course,” she said, disappearing for a moment and returning with the original and a copy, which she placed in front of her.
Stan handed her the phone that he had found in the room. “I don’t know which one of them it belongs to,” he told her. “It’s locked and we don’t have the password. Bill tells me you guys might be able to break it.”
Carolyn looked at Bill. “Giving away agency secrets?” she asked. Stan looked a bit surprised.
Then she smiled. “I suppose the saga of breaking into phones is public info these days. I’ll have to have it sent back to Langley. It will take some time.” Bill and Stan nodded.
Carolyn leaned back slightly in her chair, obviously thinking about the situation. “This is a very dicey situation. We need to be very careful about offending the Japanese authorities. We’ll have to bring the Swedes in also, of course, because two of the three victims are their citizens. And Moore’s father will have to be briefed. So this will have to go through channels back in DC, channels way above my pay grade.”
“I don’t know how long we have, Ms. Sheehan,” Stan said. “Every minute these girls-I mean women-are in the hands of these thugs, they are likely to be suffering unspeakably. They could be killed at any moment. And I don’t know how long Persson or someone else from the conference can be kept from going public with this.”
“I understand, Mr. Goldman, but we can’t just send the Marines or Seal Team Six into a club operating legally in downtown Tokyo, especially when we don’t even know for sure that they are there.”
“Would it help if we provided some evidence that they were in The Red Dragon Torture Dungeon Place?” Bill asked.
“Certainly, that would be helpful,” Carolyn replied.
“Then, we’ll see what we can do,” Bill said.
“And so will I,” Carolyn responded. She stood to escort them to the gate.
“We’ll be in touch,” she said as the Marine guard let them out into the street. The few passers-by glanced at them, but paid them no attention.
“We had better speak with Åke Persson,” Bill Johnson had said, taking his phone out of his pocket. They were sitting in a quiet corner of the check-in lobby watching a well-dressed Japanese businessman settling his account with Tamiko.
“Of course,” Stan replied.
Bill showed Stan the text he had written before he sent it-“Urgent that I speak with you. Am in hotel lobby to the right as you leave the elevator.”
The response came quickly. “Will be down in 5 min.”
True to his word, Åke soon exited the elevator, dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. He glanced quickly to his right, saw Bill and quickly made his way over.
Bill and Stan stood to greet him. “Åke Persson, this is Stan Goldman, a former NYPD detective. He was hired by Chief Björklund back in Uppsala to keep an eye on Professor Moore and her two companions,” Bill said. The two men shook hands.
“What’s the urgent matter?” Åke asked.
“I’m afraid it’s very bad,” Bill said. “Barbara, Gun and Annika-they’ve been taken.”
“Taken?” Åke said. “What do you mean?”
Stan held the note inside the plastic bag so that Åke could read it. He looked visibly pale as he absorbed the news. “How could this happen?”
“They had inside help from someone or maybe more than one among the hotel staff, we believe, doubtless bribed very generously. They took them from their room on the 49th floor down to the loading dock in a service cart,” Stan told him.
“You were supposed to be watching them,” Åke told Stan.
“They didn’t want watching,” Stan replied. “Detective Thorell made that crystal clear.”
Persson thought for a moment. “Yes, that sounds like her,” he admitted. “And you haven’t told the authorities?”
“You saw the note,” Bill said. “I don’t know if they’re bluffing about that, but I don’t want to find out. It’s possible they have ears inside the Tokyo Police.”
“Yes, I see,” Åke said. “You know that tonight is the conference banquet? They’re getting awards. If they don’t show up, there will be a ruckus.”
“You need to make excuses for them. They ate some bad sushi, and are praying to the porcelain god all night long. Whatever you can think of,” Stan said. “Just keep this quiet.”
“And how do you propose to find them?” Åke asked.
“We were hoping you could help us,” Bill said.
“They paid a visit to the Kabukichō district the night before last,” Stan said. “I followed them there into a club called “The Red Dragon Torture Dungeon Place”. Do you know anything about that?”
“Yes, I know about that little expedition,” Åke replied. “It was stupid! Not just because Barbara was so hungover that she embarrassed herself with her talk the next morning, but because she was supposed to wait for me.” He looked peeved.
“Wait for you for what?” Stan asked.
Persson sighed. “We have been discussing a collaborative study of human sex slave trafficking in Japan and the links between the Syndicate and the yakuza who run things here. I assume, being an ex-cop, you know who the yakuza are?” he said looking at Stan.
“I know they’re the Japanese version of the Mafia. I never had much to do with them. I don’t think they are that active in the US, at least not on the East Coast.”
“Yes, perhaps not,” Åke said, looking annoyed. “The thing is, Barb was supposed to wait for the end of the conference so we could work on this project together. But she was too impatient to wait.”
Stan thought about his own Barbara Moore. That was certainly true of her. Perhaps, it came with the name.
“Everything I saw there was pretty tame,” Stan said. “The ‘BDSM’ stuff was fake. It seemed mostly a way to separate tourists from their money. Still the name is an odd co-incidence.” He pointed to the logo on the kidnappers’ note.
“I don’t believe in co-incidences,” Bill said.
“I don’t either,” Stan said.
“Nor do I,” Åke replied. “But what do you two brilliant police types propose to do?”
“Give us some time,” Bill said. “Eventually you will have to go to the authorities despite the threat. I understand that. And, to be honest, they may kill them anyway at some point. But for now, let’s keep this quiet. Make some excuses for them at the banquet. Accept the awards for them and thank the organizers. And stay in touch.”
Persson looked dubious, but nodded.
Thursday, June 28. 18:10. US Embassy to Japan, Akasaka District, Tokyo
Stan was impressed at how quickly they had been admitted to the Embassy, a modern building of several stories in the Akasaka District, inside a small garden surrounded by a high concrete wall. They presented themselves at the guardhouse next to the high wrought iron gates decorated with the Great Seal of the United States.
The Marine on duty in full dress uniform quickly scanned their passports, had them empty their pockets and pass through a metal detector and placed a call. “Mr. Johnson and Mr. Goldman are here, ma’am,” he said. He nodded and told them, “Ms. Sheehan will be down shortly.”
Ms. Sheehan, Carolyn Sheehan, was a thin woman somewhere in her mid 40s, of medium height, with her somewhat greying brown hair pulled back in a bun. She wore a summer weight off-white blouse, a knee-length dark blue skirt and flats. One would have made her for a high-level executive of one of the big international banks or perhaps a partner at a white shoe law firm, much more readily than a spy.
However, a spy, or at least the CIA attaché at the Embassy, was what she was, and it was from his CIA days that Bill knew her. He introduced Stan. “I don’t know if you remember that case of the crucified girls in NYC a few years back.”
“I vaguely remember reading about it at the time,” she said. “There was a Chinese connection, if I recall correctly, that had some of the folks in the agency concerned.”
“That turned out to be a red herring,” Stan replied.
“I won’t spoil the ending for you, Carolyn. You can read all about it,” Bill said. “He has a book out. It’s a pretty good read. ‘The Bronx Crux Murders’.”
“Oh,” Carolyn replied. “Maybe I’ll check it out. I’m heading back to the States for some meetings and some vacation in a few weeks.”
“It’s available from that South American rainforest place,” Stan said.
“What isn’t?” Carolyn replied, laughing.
Stan decided he liked her. She and Bill chatted about mutual acquaintances who meant nothing to Stan as she led them through the garden and into the building, which was mostly deserted after hours. They rode up to the fifth floor, where she guided them into a small, non-descript conference room.
“Would you like some coffee?” she asked. Bill and Stan indicated that they would and she returned with a pitcher and three plain white mugs, along with some cream and sugar. She also had a yellow legal pad.
“I want to thank you for taking the time to see us at this late hour,” Stan began.
“It’s not a problem. There’s a boring reception at the Saudi Embassy and I don’t mind having an excuse to arrive late. Now, let’s hear about this situation.”
Bill ran through the backstory-the original kidnapping of Barbara Moore by the Syndicate in Sweden and the attempted hit on the North Korean defector, Min-Ji. Carolyn took notes.
Stan brought things up to the present with what they knew about the kidnapping here in Tokyo. He showed her the note left by the kidnappers. “Do you mind if I make a photocopy?” she asked.
“Sure, as long as you leave it in the plastic,” he replied.
“Of course,” she said, disappearing for a moment and returning with the original and a copy, which she placed in front of her.
Stan handed her the phone that he had found in the room. “I don’t know which one of them it belongs to,” he told her. “It’s locked and we don’t have the password. Bill tells me you guys might be able to break it.”
Carolyn looked at Bill. “Giving away agency secrets?” she asked. Stan looked a bit surprised.
Then she smiled. “I suppose the saga of breaking into phones is public info these days. I’ll have to have it sent back to Langley. It will take some time.” Bill and Stan nodded.
Carolyn leaned back slightly in her chair, obviously thinking about the situation. “This is a very dicey situation. We need to be very careful about offending the Japanese authorities. We’ll have to bring the Swedes in also, of course, because two of the three victims are their citizens. And Moore’s father will have to be briefed. So this will have to go through channels back in DC, channels way above my pay grade.”
“I don’t know how long we have, Ms. Sheehan,” Stan said. “Every minute these girls-I mean women-are in the hands of these thugs, they are likely to be suffering unspeakably. They could be killed at any moment. And I don’t know how long Persson or someone else from the conference can be kept from going public with this.”
“I understand, Mr. Goldman, but we can’t just send the Marines or Seal Team Six into a club operating legally in downtown Tokyo, especially when we don’t even know for sure that they are there.”
“Would it help if we provided some evidence that they were in The Red Dragon Torture Dungeon Place?” Bill asked.
“Certainly, that would be helpful,” Carolyn replied.
“Then, we’ll see what we can do,” Bill said.
“And so will I,” Carolyn responded. She stood to escort them to the gate.
“We’ll be in touch,” she said as the Marine guard let them out into the street. The few passers-by glanced at them, but paid them no attention.
We Barb Moores are just wired that way. “Trouble” is our middle name.
Uh oh ….
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Reaction of the conference : "What!? Again!?"
windar
Teller of Tales
We'll expect a deluge of limericks upon your return!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Since it is Japan : rather a tsunami of limericks.We'll expect a deluge of limericks upon your return!
settantuno
MUTUS PICTOR
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