He heard the bathroom door rattle.

His blood turned to ice. A malfunction. Or a manufactured malfunction. They had sealed the trap.

"I sent efficiency," the old man corrected. "But you've made a mess. And I dislike mess."

"Occupied," he whispered.

"Why?" Kenji whispered.

The briefcase handcuffed to his wrist felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Inside wasn't money. It was a data drive. And on that drive was a kill list for a syndicate known as the Kami no Kage .

He scrambled for it. A polished leather shoe stepped on it.

Kenji’s plan was simple: stay mobile, get off at Nagoya, vanish. The plan died when he heard the announcement.

BLARE. BLARE. BLARE.

In the dark, Kenji heard three things: the click of a revolver hammer, a wet gasp, and a thud.