Secrets Beneath Tokyo by Matthew Legare

Author:Matthew Legare [Legare, Matthew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Mist Books
Published: 2024-06-29T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The dojo was dark, foreboding, and completely wrecked. Shindo lit a candle, allowing Iwakuro to survey the damage. Those policemen had trampled through every room, but it didn’t matter. This entire incident had only strengthened Professor Iwakuro and the Yamato Alliance. Not only had Admiral Suetsugu’s money paid his fine, humiliating the Metropolitan Police, he’d secured a steady stream of funding, courtesy of Mitsubishi. Of course, Iwakuro had promised to direct his ire only at Mitsui. Eventually, though, all zaibatsu, along with the elites, the establishment, the ruling class, would face a grim reckoning, and Admiral Suetsugu would learn he couldn’t simply buy the Yamato Alliance.

“Sensei,” Shindo croaked, limping beside him. That bastard Aizawa had not only outmatched him but wounded his pride. “What about our brothers?”

Iwakuro frowned. While Suetsugu had convinced Superintendent Abe to release him and Shindo, the rest of the Yamato Alliance would languish in their cells for at least another week. It was the only way the Metropolitan Police could save face, the Admiral argued.

“Superintendent Abe promised to release them by the end of the week,” Iwakuro said. “Then, our real work can begin. First, we’ll convince any Dietmen opposing the new Navy budget to reconsider.” Iwakuro rubbed his temple. “I’m tired, Shindo-kun. Fetch some tea.”

He nodded then plodded upstairs. A good patriot, but simple-minded, unable to understand the machinations of politics. Neither he, nor the others, had been informed of Mitsubishi’s involvement, Suetsugu’s plan, or the impending Police raid. After all, the resistance had to appear real. If they’d surrendered without a fight, then the Yamato Alliance might be smeared as weak, or even as Police agents. Besides, Mitsubishi, and their contributions, needed to remain secret.

Iwakuro made his way into his inner chamber, austere and unfurnished, save for a futon and Kamidana, a small god shelf that adorned most Japanese households. Complete with a wooden altar, white zigzag shige streamers hanging from a sacred shimenawa rope, it was a miniature Shinto shrine, a portal to the spirit realm. After lighting a candle, Iwakuro rinsed his hands and mouth of impurities, then bowed before the Kamidana, summoning the attention of the Shinto pantheons.

It’d take time and money, but with their divine help, he could reform the entire nation. Through shame, hopefully; through blood, if necessary. Long shadows stretched forward, falling over Iwakuro. He turned and faced two dark figures, stalking closer. One wore glasses, glinting in the flickering candlelight, the other scoured him with narrow lizard eyes. Their black Metropolitan Police uniforms and peaked caps were a familiar sight, but gauze masks obscured their faces while their gloved hands leveled automatic pistols.

“Who are you?”

“The Jitte Squad,” one answered. “Come with us, Professor.”

“Ridiculous. Didn’t Superintendent Abe tell you?”

“We don’t work for Abe.”

Back pressed against the Kamidana, Iwakuro searched the dark room for some escape. A low growl split the silence. Shindo smashed a porcelain cup against one officer, tea streaming over his glasses, then lashed a heavy fist against the other. The policeman tumbled backward, crashing hard against the Kamidana, splintering it asunder.

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