Ratio(47)
“I’ll ask again,” Kanezaki said in Japanese. “Where’s the money?”
Arakaki sat tied to a chair, one hand splayed out on the table. Isa and Kimura held him down, one at the shoulders, one holding his wrist steady. Arakaki stared up, eyes wide, mouth trembling.
“What’s that?” Kanezaki cupped an ear.
“I d-don’t h-have it,” Arakaki said.
Kanezaki sighed. Made a show of it. Nodded at the other two. Lifted the hammer high and brought it down hard, aiming for the little finger. There was a dull thump as it connected, shockwaves running up through his arm. The table shook.
Arakaki screamed. Kanezaki brought the hammer down again, aiming for the ring finger. A wet crunch as the hammer hit bone. Another wail of pain. There was no blood, only tears.
“I’m going to finish this hand,” Kanezaki said. “Then you’ve got twenty-four hours to come up with the cash. If you don’t come through for me, I’ll start on your kneecaps.” He tapped the hammer on one of Arakaki’s knees. “Understand?”
Arakaki nodded feverishly, trying to jerk his leg away.
“Good.” He struck the man’s fingers again, and again, and again. More screams filled the tiny basement, choked and ragged by the end. After it was done, Isa and Kimura let go and untied him. Arakaki slumped to the floor, clutching at his ruined hand, wailing quietly.
“I’ll see you soon,” Kanezaki said.
The three men stalked out of the basement, let themselves out of the house. Kanezaki wiped down the hammer and tossed it in the trunk of the car. It was a Black SUV with tinted windows, clean but a little tired-looking. Nothing to draw attention. He climbed in and the others followed, buckling up in the back.
“Time to hit the hotel,” Kanezaki said, firing up the engine. “I’ll go inside, while you two find somewhere nearby and lay low.” He rolled the car off the driveway and set off down the road. He looked in the rear view mirror and caught Isa’s and Kimura’s attention. “If anything goes wrong and I don’t get to Yamada in time,” he said, “make sure that asshole gets what he deserves.”
The two men nodded as Kanezaki put his foot to the floor.
Chapter 29
A LITTLE OVER a mile from Washington State Convention Center, the sprawling park once host to the 1962 Seattle World’s Fair was still one of the most popular attractions in the city. Various exhibition centers and museums, the Opera House, places to eat, the Space Needle, and several open grassy areas made it ideal for picnickers, joggers, and sightseers. The area around the park was high-density housing, small businesses, and high-tech industry, including medical research and public health organizations. Broad boulevards ran directly into downtown, streaming with heavy traffic in both directions.
The news that the President would attend Washington State Convention Center that day traveled fast. Through the magic of modern social media, thousands of political protesters had already gathered at the shady park, a designated “free speech zone.” The irony was not lost on them.
While protestors organized themselves, Seong-min and Jun-yeong rode along quietly in their utility van, both dressed in tattered coveralls and bright yellow high visibility vests. The Saturday morning traffic was already busy and they hit every stoplight. Jun-yeong lit a cigarette and rolled the window down to let the smoke out.
“So much for planning ahead,” he said.
“There’s enough time,” said Seong-min. “The protest shouldn’t start for another hour yet. They’re still letting people through.”
“We hiding the packages? Or leaving in plain sight so they can be found?”
“Hide them, but not too much. The point is, they have to be found by bomb squads. One or two are set to detonate, but the rest need to be left alone. Keep everyone busy trying to defuse them.”
“How about in trash cans? That should slow them down.” Jun-yeong flicked his cigarette out the window. Seong-min parked the van at the curb. Dropping a few coins into the parking meter, they grabbed their rucksacks out of the back, one each, and headed off into the sprawling park. The demonstrators were gathering, making progress slow. Nobody paid them any attention.
They hiked over a low grassy knoll and found a kiosk with a map to the park. One of the exhibition halls stood close by, surrounded by trees. It was closed for the day. All around, people streamed in from surrounding streets, kids holding parents’ hands, women pushing strollers, adults carrying cups of coffee. From the map, it appeared the exhibition hall had only four entrances altogether, one on each side. A trashcan sat next to one of the doors. They made their way over, the crowds lessening as they drew nearer.