Free The Gate by Bob Mayer

your friends are out of date.” He waved a hand, taking in the Japanese Center. “My way is the new way. You fools waste much time and energy living in the past.”
    Nishin remained silent.
    Okomo leaned back in his seat. “What do you need?”
    “Weapons. Information.”
    Okomo’s hand slapped the table top. “This is my city. You are not in Japan now. You show me respect.”
    Nishin stood still.
    “I could have you killed and no one would ever hear from you again.” The old man gestured and the guards pulled Nishin’s jacket down around his shoulders. One of them flicked open a knife and with a single slash cut through Nishin’s shirt, the blade grazing the skin without leaving a mark. They pulled the cut shirt apart, exposing Nishin’s chest.
    “You do not have the Black Ocean tattoo,” Okomo said, turning back to his meal. “Kill him.”
    “Operatives of the Black Ocean do not have the tattoo ... Oyabun,” Nishin said as one of the guards pulled out a pistol and placed it next to his temple. The last word rolled off his tongue with difficulty. Showing any sign of respect for such a man distressed Nishin. “Only those who have been accepted into the inner circle have that honor. I am only a ronin of the Society.”
    “And that is why you are cowards,” the Oyabun snapped. “Afraid to show who you are.” He held his arms out from his sides and the tattoos on them rippled in the reflected light. “My lowest man has no fear of showing who he is or that he belongs to me. He is proud of his marks!”
    “The Sun Goddess knows who we are and what we do,” Nishin replied, holding his head up high.
    Okomo’s mood changed and he laughed. “Ah, yes, you are Black Ocean. Only one of their fools would believe that. The Sun Goddess? The Emperor? Sheer stupidity.” He gestured and the two guards let go of him, the pistol disappearing.
    Nishin shrugged his jacket back up over his shoulders. One of the guards put a metal briefcase at Nishin’s feet.
    “Your weapons are in there.” Okomo raised a white eyebrow. “As Nakanga asked.” He gestured for Nishin to leave and picked up his chopsticks.
    “There are North Korean agents in this city,” Nishin said. “I need to find them.”
    The sticks poised. “Why are they here?”
    “I do not know. That is why I need to find them.”
    Okomo chuckled. “The dog is chasing its own tail. Political games don’t interest me.” He stuffed food in his mouth and chewed. “I will inform you when I have something to inform you of. My men will find you. Do not come back here.”
    Nishin picked up the briefcase and followed the two guards back to the stairs.
    Behind Nishin, Okomo waited until the Black Ocean agent was gone, then the old man stood. He quickly walked to an elevator, a pair of guards surrounding him as he moved. He stepped in, leaving the guards behind. It whisked him down over a hundred and fifty feet, through the Japan Center to a level four floors below ground. When the door opened again, Okomo stepped forward into a large room, then bowed toward a figure behind a desk twenty feet in front of him, hidden in the shadows cast by large halogen lamps on the far wall. Okomo spoke from the bow, his words echoing off the heavily carpeted floor. “The Black Ocean agent is here. I gave him the weapons. He has asked for information about North Koreans in the city. It goes as you said it would, Oyabun.”
    When there was no reply, Okomo turned and reboarded the elevator to go back to his public role.
     
    *****
     
    Two blocks away a man on a dark rooftop fiddled with the controls on the small laptop computer and continued to listen to the voices from the top of the Japan Center through the headphones he wore. In front of him a black aluminum tripod held what looked like a camera. Actually it was a laser resonator. It shot out a laser beam that hit the black glass on the top of the Japan Center. The beam was so delicate that it picked up the slightest vibration in