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Read Online [Thomas Caine #1] Tokyo Black by Andrew Warren - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Andrew Warren
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watching the parking lot or his cab. But he saw nothing that aroused suspicion. Cars came and went, people finished their drinks and left. Only his taxi remained in the parking lot, its engine quietly humming.
He dropped the magazine back into the rack, returned to the car, and the driver pulled back into traffic. Caine requested two more random stops, but there were no issues. The confused, inquisitive glances from the driver made Caine smile. He was sure the man was beginning to wonder just who was in his cab.
It was a little after eight when they pulled into the circular driveway of the Park Hyatt Tokyo. A valet stood next to the cab, even though the rear door opened automatically. Caine handed the driver the credit card Rebecca had given him, knowing it would electronically place him at the hotel. The driver handed it back, along with his bill. As he signed the small piece of paper, he started to add in a sizable tip for the driver. Then he remembered that tipping was not the norm in Japan. He shrugged and signed for the larger amount anyway. The driver looked at the total, then looked back up, confused. Caine smiled. “ Gokuru samadeshita .” Thank you for your trouble .
He slipped out of the cab and went around back to grab his bags from the porter. The driver sped off. Caine looked up at the hotel.
Three gleaming towers pierced the night sky, each taller than the next, like a series of steps. Each tower was capped by a sparkling glass pyramid, traced by glowing neon light. They were brilliant spears of metal and glass, piercing the dark purple sky. It was beautiful, but Caine had no intention of sleeping anywhere the agency could trace him.
He checked in at the front desk and let the porter bring his bags up for him. The room was spacious, modern, and luxurious. He barely even looked at it as he threw his belongings on the bed.
He pulled out a roll of black electrical tape, which he used to block the security hole in the door. He wasn’t planning to stay there, but no sense in giving that away. Next he threw some of his new clothes and a few essentials into one of the larger shopping bags.
He left the room, slipping a toothpick into the doorjamb as he closed the door behind him. When the door clicked shut, he broke off the stub of wood he held in his hand, leaving the other half of the stick wedged invisibly in the door frame. If anyone opened the door to search the room, the tiny fragment would fall, and alert him if he returned.
He had to laugh. The people he was protecting himself from, the people who had tried to kill him in the past, were part of the largest, most well-funded intelligence agency on the planet. They had spy satellites, remote surveillance drones, and an unlimited army of operatives at their disposal. And he was relaying on toothpicks and hotel switches for protection.
He took a combination of elevators and stairs down to the lobby, slipping out through a side entrance. He avoided the main driveway and taxi line. Instead, he walked a few blocks north, and managed to flag down a cab on Minami-dori.
He had the cab drop him off just outside Kabukicho, a common destination for lone male tourists. He walked around the neighborhood for a bit, re-acclimating himself with the city’s frenetic heartbeat. He made sure he looked like just another tourist, window shopping, taking in the lights and sounds. He walked past the twin red arches that led into the infamous red light district, but he didn’t pass through.
When he was certain no one was following him, he caught another cab to the Shinjuku Prince Hotel.
In his emergency stash he’d kept a spare wallet, complete with ID and credit cards under the name John Wilson. The cover wouldn’t hold up under intense scrutiny, but for three to four days, it would serve his purpose.
It was 10:30 pm when he finally rode the elevator to the fourteenth floor of the Prince. The hotel towered in the Tokyo sky. The building was a thin slab of black
He dropped the magazine back into the rack, returned to the car, and the driver pulled back into traffic. Caine requested two more random stops, but there were no issues. The confused, inquisitive glances from the driver made Caine smile. He was sure the man was beginning to wonder just who was in his cab.
It was a little after eight when they pulled into the circular driveway of the Park Hyatt Tokyo. A valet stood next to the cab, even though the rear door opened automatically. Caine handed the driver the credit card Rebecca had given him, knowing it would electronically place him at the hotel. The driver handed it back, along with his bill. As he signed the small piece of paper, he started to add in a sizable tip for the driver. Then he remembered that tipping was not the norm in Japan. He shrugged and signed for the larger amount anyway. The driver looked at the total, then looked back up, confused. Caine smiled. “ Gokuru samadeshita .” Thank you for your trouble .
He slipped out of the cab and went around back to grab his bags from the porter. The driver sped off. Caine looked up at the hotel.
Three gleaming towers pierced the night sky, each taller than the next, like a series of steps. Each tower was capped by a sparkling glass pyramid, traced by glowing neon light. They were brilliant spears of metal and glass, piercing the dark purple sky. It was beautiful, but Caine had no intention of sleeping anywhere the agency could trace him.
He checked in at the front desk and let the porter bring his bags up for him. The room was spacious, modern, and luxurious. He barely even looked at it as he threw his belongings on the bed.
He pulled out a roll of black electrical tape, which he used to block the security hole in the door. He wasn’t planning to stay there, but no sense in giving that away. Next he threw some of his new clothes and a few essentials into one of the larger shopping bags.
He left the room, slipping a toothpick into the doorjamb as he closed the door behind him. When the door clicked shut, he broke off the stub of wood he held in his hand, leaving the other half of the stick wedged invisibly in the door frame. If anyone opened the door to search the room, the tiny fragment would fall, and alert him if he returned.
He had to laugh. The people he was protecting himself from, the people who had tried to kill him in the past, were part of the largest, most well-funded intelligence agency on the planet. They had spy satellites, remote surveillance drones, and an unlimited army of operatives at their disposal. And he was relaying on toothpicks and hotel switches for protection.
He took a combination of elevators and stairs down to the lobby, slipping out through a side entrance. He avoided the main driveway and taxi line. Instead, he walked a few blocks north, and managed to flag down a cab on Minami-dori.
He had the cab drop him off just outside Kabukicho, a common destination for lone male tourists. He walked around the neighborhood for a bit, re-acclimating himself with the city’s frenetic heartbeat. He made sure he looked like just another tourist, window shopping, taking in the lights and sounds. He walked past the twin red arches that led into the infamous red light district, but he didn’t pass through.
When he was certain no one was following him, he caught another cab to the Shinjuku Prince Hotel.
In his emergency stash he’d kept a spare wallet, complete with ID and credit cards under the name John Wilson. The cover wouldn’t hold up under intense scrutiny, but for three to four days, it would serve his purpose.
It was 10:30 pm when he finally rode the elevator to the fourteenth floor of the Prince. The hotel towered in the Tokyo sky. The building was a thin slab of black
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