The Ninth Virtue: Alex McCade Thriller Series, #2

By Steve Kroska

Alex McCade was eleven-years-old when he was told his parents died in a tragic automobile accident in Japan. Twenty-seven years later, he learns the truth. It wasn't an accident—his parents were murdered!

An ancient order of Japanese assassins were responsible and they are now hunting his aunt. He doesn't understand why, yet he is determined to find out. Alex and his best friend, Mike Garrison, must go to Japan to save his aunt. He has another reason for going-- Revenge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steve Kroska
• Release date: Sep 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201026776

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Steve Kroska

Copyright © 2018 Steve Kroska.

All rights reserved.

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my sister Ann Turbeville and her husband Brian Turbeville for welcoming our ageing parents into their home and for taking such good care of them. Their non-stop efforts are much appreciated and I will never be able to thank them enough.

1

Kyoto, Japan

Japanese High School teacher, Remi Kato, stared at the clock mounted on her classroom wall. Her palms were sweaty and she felt a cold fear on the back of her neck. What was she thinking? Why did she agree to do it? She flinched as the bell rang to mark the end of the school day. This is it. There is no turning back now.

The students rose from their desks. A girl in her school uniform passed by her desk and said, Good luck with your date tonight.

Remi’s cheeks reddened. What? Who said I have a date?

The girl slipped her backpack over her shoulders. I heard people talking.

It’s just dinner with a friend, Remi replied a little too quickly.

A boy giggled, That’s not what we heard. The rest of the class laughed and walked out.

It wasn’t a real date, at least she didn’t think it was. She had never met the man. It was only at the behest of her friends that she agreed to meet him. It’s only dinner, they said. Her late husband David, an American, died two years ago from a stroke, and since then she didn’t socialize much. Plus, she was 58 years old. Do women her age really ‘date’?

She stuffed papers into her handbag and slipped it over her shoulder. She went down the school stairs to the front door where a number of students had gathered. They gave her sly glances. Go home now, she said. They laughed.

She slipped on her shoes and looked out the glass front doors. There he was, standing on the steps of the school. She was surprised to see he was so handsome. He had a full head of black hair, a cute face, and was physically fit. They said he was all that, but she didn’t really believe them. Was she really ready for this?

She patted the front of her skirt; ran her fingers through her shoulder-length black hair. Then, she took in a deep breath and opened the door. It was mid-July, and it felt as if she just walked into the sun, but then again, this wasn’t unusual for summers in Kyoto.

The students pushed their faces against the glass and watched Remi approach the man. Ōtani-san? she asked sheepishly.

"Hai, call me Hiroshi."

Nice to meet you Hiroshi-san.

He grinned. I see your students take an interest in you.

She looked back and found her students smiling and waving through the windows. I guess they do.

As they walked down the sidewalk, she smiled. Things were looking brighter. She took fleeting glances over her shoulder to see if any of her students were following. She definitely wouldn’t put it past them. A block later she looked back and her expression changed.

Is something wrong? he asked.

I think we’re being followed.

By your students?

No, by two men.

She looked back again. It was the same two men who had followed her to school that morning. One man looked like an ordinary businessman. It was the other one who gave her the creeps. He had a narrow face, a buzzed haircut and black moustache. He was short and dressed all in black. Black? In this heat? The only thing of color was a shiny gold chain around his neck. He had an evil look and was staring directly at her.

Hiroshi laughed. Maybe they’re going to the same restaurant we are.

She grabbed his hand and increased their pace.

Whoa...what’s the hurry?

I have a bad feeling about this, she said. She looked back; the men had increased their pace. She was now walking so fast the ‘clack-clack’ of her heels sounded like firecrackers popping off. She abruptly changed directions and crossed the street at the intersection. The men crossed, too. See, they are following us.

Hiroshi forced her to stop. I’ll talk to them.

No, we have to go, she said, pulling away. Hiroshi-san, don’t!

Hiroshi stood his ground. Remi backed away out of fear, but she kept her eyes on Hiroshi. The three men came face-to-face. The short man with the evil look pressed himself close to Hiroshi and stabbed him three times. Blood spilled onto the sidewalk and the evil man grinned savagely.

Hiroshi-san! she screamed.

Remi took a half-step forward to help Hiroshi, but realized—there was nothing she could do. The evil man met her eyes and came for her. She turned and ran. She spotted a Ramen restaurant to her left. She burst through the door, ran past the tables and ran through the kitchen. She hurried out the back door and pulled the cell phone from her purse. Before she could call the police a black sedan with black tinted windows screeched to a halt in front of her and three angry men jumped out. She pivoted and ran.

She turned the next corner, dodged pedestrians on the sidewalk. As she passed a convenience store, an old man with a cane grabbed her arm. Let me go! she screamed.

She kneed him in the groin, twisted out of his grasp, and ran into the busy street. Cars hit the brakes, horns honked, and a truck swerved to avoid her. She weaved through vehicles and made it to the other side unharmed.

She arrived at the front entrance of Nijō Castle. The castle was built in 1603 for Japanese Shōgun Tokugawa Ieyasu. When she was younger, she had taken the tour of the castle on a school field trip with her classmates. There was a long line in front waiting to get in to the castle. Remi squeezed between people to lose herself among the crowd.

However, the man with the evil face spotted her. She read the expression on his face. He was deciding whether to reach in and drag her out. She worked her way to the other side of the crowd only to find that the men from the car were waiting for her. She was penned in. 

The only way she could go was straight ahead into the castle grounds. She worked her way forward, nudging, pushing and angering many people in the process. The men after her realized what she was doing and tried to intervene, but it was too late. She squirted forward and dashed through the front gate.

Chotto matte! a worker yelled.

Gomennasai, Remi replied and kept running.

Now that she was inside, she wanted to stop and ask someone for help, but who could she turn to? The men after her were murderers. The security guards here were unarmed and no match for these killers. She needed to hide, but where?

2

Seattle, 9:34 a.m.

Nearly 5,000 miles away from Japan, the old houseboat with gray clapboard siding and gun-metal blue painted trim floated calmly on Lake Union. It was ideally positioned at the end of a long dock and had spectacular views. To the left, was the iconic Space Needle and the downtown Seattle skyline. Directly across the lake was Queen Anne Hill and to the right, at the end of the lake, was Gas Works Park.

It was a beautiful morning. Alex McCade and his best friend, Mike Garrison, lounged on the wooden deck of the houseboat. They drank coffee and stared across the open water. It had been over a month since their adventures in the Guatemalan rainforest and Mike was becoming restless. He leaned back in his deck chair and said, What should we do today?

You can always go home, Alex teased.

No, I mean it. We should fly down to the Caribbean and do some diving.

Alex grumbled.

Mike snapped his fingers. It’s that time of year, isn’t it? You always get grumpy when the anniversary is coming up.

You know me well, Alex replied. He pulled up a photo of his parents on his phone. It’s been 27 years since they died in the car accident.

Man, I can’t imagine losing my parents at 11 years old. And I don’t even like my parents.

Alex sipped his coffee and stared at the photo. He was a combination of his two parents. He had the chiseled features of his Caucasian father, and the exotic dark eyes, high cheekbones, and black hair of his Japanese mother. He was an exact mixture of both.

Mike thought it best to change the subject. How’s Sophie doing? Heard from her lately?

A few days ago.

Alex’s girlfriend, Dr. Sophie Marcus, was a Mayan Archeologist. She was the director of a project and was working the site of a lost Mayan city located deep in the Guatemalan jungle. Alex and Mike were quite familiar with the jungle city and were lucky to escape with their lives.

I can’t believe she went back, Mike said. I never want to see that place again.

It’s different with her, Alex said. She sees it as the opportunity of a lifetime. You know, it’d be different if we went back now. No crazy billionaire and his huge goon trying to kill us.

Or those natives trying to hunt us down, Mike added. But imagine if they did come back?

They have no reason to. They took their treasure with them when they left.

But what if they did?

Sophie has armed guards to protect her.

You know that wouldn’t stop them.

Alex punched Mike’s shoulder. What the hell, dude? Are you trying to freak me out?

Mike laughed. Yeah, I am. 

Alex’s cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID. The beginning digits started with ‘+81.’ The call was coming from Japan. His deceased mother was Japanese, and he still had relatives in Japan.

He answered, speaking Japanese, Moshi-Moshi?; the standard greeting when answering the phone in Japan. His grandmother’s voice was animated, and she spoke Japanese rapidly. He listened for a few moments and then hung up.

What did she say? Mike asked. You look paler than me.

My Aunt Remi is in trouble and she needs help. Some men are chasing her and will kill her if they catch her.

Why doesn’t she call the police?

She said she can’t.

Why not? What did she do?

I don’t know, but my Obāchan, my grandma, said that these are the same men who murdered my parents.

Wait a second! Your parents died in a car accident.

I know! That’s what she told me. But she said she lied, because at the time I was only 11 years old. But I’m 38 years old now for gods-sake! Why the hell didn’t she tell me this sooner?

Mike rose to his feet. If your aunt needs help, let’s go.

Alex got his feet. Go home and pack; and don’t forget your passport. I’ll pick you up in twenty-minutes.

TWENTY-MINUTES LATER, Alex pulled in front of Mike’s building; an elegant high-rise condo over-looking Elliott Bay. The truck rumbled noisily outside his building, which caused several heads to turn and look. His truck was a 1991 Chevy Silverado. It had over 300,000 miles on it.

The exterior was a mosaic of rust and chipped paint and the interior dashboard was held together by black duct tape. He had the truck since high school, and while he could afford any vehicle he desired, he liked his old truck.

As he waited for Mike, he got to thinking. The knowledge that his parents didn’t die in a car accident was shocking at first. Then he found the thought soothing. Dying in a car accident gave him no outlet for his anger and hurt. But having a target to aim for gave him a chance to seek vengeance against those responsible for their murders. He liked that idea. But first order of business was to save his aunt.

Mike hurried out the door of the building. He threw his duffle bag in the back bed and got in. Let’s go.

In a hurry? Afraid someone might see you in this?

Of course. Mike scowled. Why don’t you get rid of this piece of junk?

Never, Alex replied and revved the engine loudly for effect. People walking by turned and looked. Mike used his hand to cover his face and slid lower in his seat. Alex grinned as he pulled away from the curb. He got onto the freeway and drove to the Seattle/Tacoma International Airport.

He found a parking space at the terminal parking. They grabbed their duffle bags from the back bed of the truck and went inside. After going through security, they continued to the boarding lounge and waited for the flight to depart. The flight to Japan departed on time.

TEN HOURS LATER, THE passenger jet made its final approach to the airport in Japan. Alex woke from the sound of the wheels being lowered for landing. He looked out the window at the rice fields and wooded hills. He was happy. He never expected to feel happy. He had been bogged down so long over the grief of his parents’ deaths that he’d forgotten how much he enjoyed being in Japan. The aircraft touched down at the Narita International Airport at 3:05 p.m.

As the plane taxied into the terminal, Mike pointed out the window. What the hell is a farm doing in the middle of the airport?

All this land once belonged to farmers, Alex replied. When the airport was in the planning stage, the government purchased the property from the farmers; that is, all except one. One farmer steadfastly refused to sell. So, the airport was built around it. The farmer and his house are still there, and he continues to grow vegetables right next to the runway.

Mike smiled. Got to admire a guy like that.

The aircraft parked at the gate. As the passengers deplaned, they walked onto the jet bridge and the oven-type heat engulfed them. Alex had forgotten how stifling the summers in Japan can be. Inside the terminal wasn’t much better. The air conditioning was nearly nonexistent.

The men went through customs and immigration and, like everyone else, they had their photos and fingerprints taken before being allowed entry into the country. Once outside the customs hall, Alex said, We’ve got two hours to kill before our next flight. What do you want to do?

Mike pointed to a small bookstand, I’ll be right back. Minutes later, he came back carrying a small bag.

What did you buy? Alex asked.

A pocket-sized Japanese phrasebook, Mike replied. I figure if you can speak Japanese, it can’t be that hard.

Two hours later they boarded their connection flight on JAL, Japan Airlines, to Osaka. During the flight, Mike paged through his Japanese conversation book while Alex got busy on his laptop.

After a bit, Mike set the book down. Hey, what are you looking at?

A map of Kyoto. I’m trying to get a feel for the layout of the city. It’s been a long time since I was there.

Where do you think your aunt is hiding?

At Nijō Castle. It’s a historic castle, built-in 1603 as a residence for the Shōgun, Tokugawa Ieyasu.

That’s a lot of ground to cover. How are we going to find her?

The entire grounds cover 77 acres, but if it were me, I’d hide in Ninomaru Palace. It was the Shōgun’s principal residence. From what I remember, there are a lot of rooms to hide. 

After the hour and thirty-minute flight, the aircraft landed at the Itami International Airport. It was 7:30 pm, and the sun had set. Alex and Mike retrieved their duffle bags from baggage claim. After walking out of the airport terminal, they found the taxi stand and waited their turn in line. When it was their turn, Mike reached for the taxi door, but Alex stopped him. The back door of the taxi opened automatically.

That is so cool, Mike chirped. The two men got into the taxi and Mike opened his phrasebook. Konbanwa, good evening, he said to the driver.

Konbanwa, the driver replied.

Alex waited for Mike to speak more, but that was all he had in his arsenal, so Alex said, Tawaraya Ryokan, onegiashimasu.

The driver replied, Doko, no? Which location?

Gion, near Minami-za, Kyoto.

The driver nodded and pulled away from the curb. Mike pointed. Hey, he’s driving on the wrong side of the road.

Well, genius, Japanese drive on the left side, Alex said, and do you know why?

Mike rolled his eyes. I suppose you’re going to give me a history lesson.

"Someone has to educate you. The reason the Japanese drive on the left side of the road is because in the early days people had to be ready to defend themselves when coming upon someone. Most people were right-handed. So, whether on foot or horseback, when they approached a stranger, they did so from the left side, so their right,