Chapter Thirteen The Warehouse
Chapter Thirteen
The Warehouse
Haruki had not told them. That was the first problem. The second was that Kael called before Ken finished assembling the team.
"Do not approach the site."
Haruki stood at the window of his office, one hand holding the phone, the other braced against the desk. Morning had not yet fully reached the city. Takamori remained silver beneath low cloud, streets wet from the rain that had continued through the night.
"I haven't told you which site," Haruki said.
"You received coordinates eleven minutes ago."
Haruki looked towards Ken. He stood across the room with a laptop open, one hand frozen above the keyboard. Reina stopped fastening the holster beneath her jacket. No one spoke.
Kael continued.
"The location is under Accord review."
"Since when?"
"Stay where you are."
"That wasn't the question."
"Haruki."
It was the first time Kael had used his name without irritation or formality. That made it worse.
"You knew before I did," Haruki said.
Silence. Haruki watched the city. A delivery van turned into the courtyard below. Two men stepped out carrying boxes of flowers intended for the memorial that afternoon.
"Who sent the address?" he asked.
"We do not know."
"But you know where it points."
"Yes."
"And you don't want me there."
"Yes."
"That makes me curious."
"It should make you cautious."
"I can be both."
"No. You tend to mistake one for the other."
Haruki almost smiled. Under different circumstances, he might have appreciated the accuracy.
"Is it connected to the Unveiled?"
Kael did not answer. Haruki's grip tightened around the phone.
"That is enough."
"It is not confirmation."
"It didn't need to be."
"Do not go."
Haruki ended the call. Ken stared at him.
"That seemed unwise."
"He told us everything we needed."
"He told us to stay here."
"Exactly."
Reina closed her jacket over the holster.
"How many people?"
"Four," Haruki said.
Ken frowned.
"Four?"
"Us, plus Daisuke."
"That's not enough if the warehouse is occupied."
"If we arrive with twenty armed men, everyone in the district will know before we cross the bridge."
"They may already know."
Haruki looked at him. Ken held his gaze. The room remained quiet around them.
He was right. The anonymous sender had known where to reach Haruki. Kael had known about the message almost immediately. That meant at least two groups were already watching the exchange. Possibly more.
Haruki looked towards Reina.
"Call Daisuke. Unmarked vehicle. No Family convoy."
"And the Accord?"
"They can follow if they like."
"They will."
"Yes."
Reina took out her phone. Ken closed the laptop.
"You're still recovering."
"I'm recovered."
"You said your side hurt yesterday."
"It ached."
"You also said that was normal."
"Renji said it was normal."
Ken's eyebrow lifted. Haruki regretted the answer immediately.
"Renji," Ken repeated.
"Dr Takahara."
"Of course."
"This isn't relevant."
"No."
Ken collected his coat.
"It never is."
Haruki ignored him. At 6:43, they left through the service entrance.
The eastern freight district had been dying for twenty years.
Once, cargo trains crossed it day and night, carrying machine parts, timber and imported grain towards the industrial centre.
Now most of the tracks had rusted beneath weeds.
Warehouses stood in rows of corrugated steel and cracked concrete, their company names bleached by weather.
Developers had purchased sections of the riverfront — luxury apartments would come eventually, restaurants, glass towers, promises that the district had been reborn rather than replaced.
For now, it belonged to stray cats, scrap dealers and men who preferred buildings without cameras.
Daisuke drove. He had been with the Ishida Family for sixteen years and spoke only when silence became impractical. His shoulders filled the front seat of the van. A pistol rested beneath his coat.
Ken sat beside him with the route open on a tablet. Haruki and Reina occupied the rear. No one had asked Haruki why he was wearing body armour beneath his shirt. That was progress.
"The warehouse is two streets ahead," Ken said.
"Movement?"
"Nothing on traffic cameras."
"Private security?"
"The entire district lost service forty minutes ago."
Reina looked up.
"All of it?"
"Six blocks."
Haruki watched the shuttered buildings pass beyond the window.
"Convenient."
"Power company lists emergency maintenance."
"At this hour?"
Ken glanced back.
"The notice was filed twelve minutes after we received the address."
Haruki felt something cold settle beneath his ribs. Not fear yet. Recognition of design.
"They know we're coming," Reina said.
"Yes."
Daisuke slowed before the next turn.
"Continue?" he asked.
Haruki looked towards the side mirror. A dark sedan had followed them from the river crossing, never close enough to appear obvious. Accord. They were not hiding particularly well.
"Continue," Haruki said.
The sedan remained behind them.
Warehouse Nine stood at the end of a narrow access road between two larger storage buildings.
The photograph had been recent — the same peeling blue number marked the door, the same rust stained the frame.
But something had changed. Haruki saw it before the van stopped.
The padlock hung open. Not broken. Open.
Daisuke parked twenty metres away.
"No vehicles," Ken said.
Reina checked the windows. Most had been painted over from inside. One pane near the roof had been broken.
"No sound," she said.
Haruki looked towards the Accord sedan. It had stopped at the end of the access road. No one exited.
"They're waiting," Ken said.
"For us to make the mistake first," Reina replied.
Haruki opened the van door. Cold air entered.
"So let's disappoint them."
Ken caught his sleeve.
"Boss."
Haruki looked down at the hand. Ken released him.
"If this is a trap—"
"It is."
"That wasn't reassuring."
"It wasn't meant to be."
Reina stepped out on the other side. Daisuke followed. They approached in a staggered line — Daisuke took the front, Reina covered the windows, Ken watched the roofs and alleys. Haruki remained behind them, which everyone had agreed upon before leaving and no one trusted him to maintain.
The warehouse door moved slightly in the wind. The open padlock struck the metal frame with a small, irregular sound.
Clink. Pause. Clink.
Haruki became aware of how empty the district was. No machinery. No distant engines. No birds. Even the river seemed too far away to hear.
Daisuke reached the door. He examined the lock without touching it.
"Recently opened."
"How recently?" Haruki asked.
"Hard to say."
Ken crouched near the ground.
"Tyre marks."
Haruki moved closer. Several parallel tracks crossed the dirt outside the entrance. Heavy vehicles. At least two. The impressions remained dark with moisture.
"Before the rain stopped," Ken said.
"That was around four," Reina replied.
Haruki looked at his watch. 6:58. Less than three hours. Possibly much less.
Daisuke drew his pistol. Reina did the same. Ken opened the door.
Darkness waited inside. Not natural darkness — the power had been cut, but morning light should have entered through gaps in the roof and painted windows. Instead, black sheeting covered every opening.
Daisuke switched on a torch. The beam crossed an empty concrete floor. No crates. No equipment. No people. Nothing. The warehouse smelled of bleach.
Haruki stopped at the threshold. Not old bleach. Fresh. Sharp enough to sting the back of his throat.
"They cleared it," Reina said.
Her voice echoed. Daisuke entered first. Ken followed. Haruki stepped inside. The space was larger than it appeared from outside. Steel supports divided it into long aisles. A mezzanine ran along the far wall. Plastic sheeting had been taped over every window and ventilation opening.
The floor gleamed. Someone had washed it. Not casually. Professionally. Water remained in the shallow cracks between concrete sections.
Reina crouched and touched one gloved finger to the surface.
"Still wet."
Haruki looked across the empty building.
"They were here this morning."
"Likely," Ken said.
"After we received the address?"
He did not answer. No one needed to.
They moved deeper inside. Every step sounded too loud.
The warehouse had not merely been abandoned.
It had been erased. Bolt holes remained where machinery had been removed.
Clean rectangles marked the walls where shelving or boards had hung.
Electrical cables ended in precise cuts.
Even rubbish had been collected — no discarded bottle caps, no cigarette ends, no paper, no fingerprints left accidentally on forgotten surfaces.
Daisuke swept his light across the nearest wall.
"Something was mounted here."
Haruki approached. A large pale rectangle interrupted the grime. Near each corner, fresh screw marks remained in the concrete.
"A map?" Reina asked.
"Board," Ken said. "Maybe surveillance screens."
Haruki looked towards the centre of the warehouse. Dark lines marked where tables had stood. Six rows. The arrangement reminded him of an operations room. Not storage.
"Photograph everything," he said.
Ken raised his phone.
"No signal."
Haruki checked his own. Nothing.
"Jammer?" Reina asked.
"Possibly."
Daisuke pointed towards the roof.
"Could be inside."
They continued. At the rear of the building, a narrow office had been built beneath the mezzanine. Its door stood open. Unlike everything else, neither the desk nor the chair had been removed.
Haruki entered last.
The room contained one metal desk and a chair. A white fluorescent light flickered overhead.
Haruki looked up.
"The power is off."
Ken followed his gaze. A battery pack had been fixed beside the light. It pulsed quietly.
"They left this on purpose," he said.
The desk had been cleaned. The chair faced it. Nothing rested on the surface except a single black folder.
Reina raised her weapon. Daisuke moved in front of Haruki. No one touched the folder.
Haruki stared at it. Too obvious. Too carefully centred.