Shadows of Ash (The Nameless Book 2) Read online

  Shadows of Ash

  Copyright © 2021 All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Thank you for purchasing this Great Wave Ink Publishing eBook.

  Contents

  Also by Adrian J Smith

  Acknowledgements

  About Shadows of Ash

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Epilogue

  Author’s note

  Depart from me, you cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels.

  Matthew 25:41 KJV

  For Wu-zy. The cat that changed my heart.

  Also by Adrian J Smith

  EXTINCTION NZ SERIES:

  THE RULE OF THREE

  THE FOURTH PHASE

  THE FIVE PILLARS

  NAMELESS SERIES:

  WHISPERS OF ASH

  SHADOWS OF ASH

  MASKS OF ASH

  SILENCE OF ASH (COMING SOON)

  Acknowledgements

  This series wouldn’t be possible without the following wonderful people:

  Lisa Omstead, Nathan Yokoyama, Nicholas Sansbury Smith, Karin De Vries, Daniel Arenson, Frances Liontakis, Sam Sisavath, Jacob Toye, Lee Murray, Brandon Swanson, Mark Campbell, Bill Holder.

  I’m sure there are some people I’m missing. Those who I pestered about life in the Armed Forces. I thank you all.

  The friendly people of Japan.

  The team at Deranged Doctor Design.

  My family for encouraging me along the way.

  Edited by: Laurel C Kriegler, Alison Robertson, Nikki Crutchley.

  About Shadows of Ash

  The enemy of my enemy is my friend…

  All retired operative Ryan Connors wanted was to live a life of solitude in Japan. He wanted to leave LK3, the extraction and espionage agency and hoped to find peace in the thriving city of Tokyo. But nothing is ever easy. His old team – The Nameless – seek him out to use his skills to find the missing daughter of one of his dearest friends – Sofia. The yakuza attack and kidnap Sofia, thrusting Ryan back into the life he’d tried to leave behind.

  While following a lead near Osaka, a worldwide catastrophic event occurs. Humans, cats, and dogs self-combust, and turn to ash. Even though he is desperate to get home to his daughter, Zanzi, Ryan tracks down his missing friends only to face the yakuza and a new foe – OPIS, a sinister organization whose motives are unclear. Two sides battling it out with Ryan and his team in the middle.

  To survive, and desperate for answers, Ryan makes a deal with the head of the Yamada clan – Touma Yamada.

  Ryan and The Nameless thought they were finished. They had held up their end of the bargain and stopped Yamada’s enemy from taking control of Japan. They were heading home to America. But Ryan will learn that making deals with the devil is never simple. His life and his friends’ lives are about to get even more complicated with new enemies swarming from every direction.

  Ryan is tired of playing games. He’s not only defending his adopted country, but all of humanity.

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  Prologue

  Shinjuku, Tokyo

  December 31st, 1999

  The heavy bass of the dance music blasted from the speakers, so loud it vibrated the wooden floor.

  It reverberated through the legs of two hundred sweaty people as they moved to the rhythmic music. Arms waved, twirling, glo-sticks clenched in fists. Feet stomped and shuffled with the rising beat, and the dancers’ faces were locked in expressions of joy and contentment.

  Most of the dancers were dressed in fluorescent yellow, blue, or pink. Plastic beads covered their wrists and arms. A few had beads and chokers clasped around their necks. One had flying goggles pushed back over his spiked hair, another had a gas mask on, while others sucked on baby dummies. Men and women ground their bodies against each other, lost in a moment of time when nothing else mattered. Nothing but the music. The feeling. The people you were with. It was the eve of a new millennium and they were alive to usher it in.

  In the seating area next to the dance floor, Ebony looked on, envious of the dancers’ freedom. She cringed inwardly as the Japanese man ran his hand from her knee up her inner thigh. She had become adept at hiding her true feelings. Keeping a poker face. Not that he was ugly or being too rough. Or that he was drunk. He, like nearly everyone else in here, was probably on cocaine or ecstasy, or some other form of narcotic. It was part of the dance culture. Expected and encouraged.

  Above the DJ was a large digital clock, red and glowing bright. It flashed 11:55 PM.

  Five minutes until the new millennium. One more client and Ebony would be free. Her debt paid. A new millennium meant a new life for her. Something she had yearned for these last three years.

  Ebony smiled at her client before taking his hand and kissing it. She had teased him all night, saying she wanted to wait until the new millennium before sleeping with him.

  “I want you to be the first. My first of the new era, Ando. We’re all virgins again, didn’t you know?”

  “All right, my red-haired beauty,” he’d said.

  Ando tugged on her top, groping her.

  Ebony gently pushed his hand away. “I have to use the Ladies.”

  “Hurry back. I want to kiss you at midnight.”

  “Of course, darling.”

  Ebony ignored the other men staring at her. Standing at six foot with an athletic body, pale skin, red hair, and large breasts, she was used to the stares, the whistles, the vulgar gestures. Drugs lowered people’s inhibitions. Though slightly more respectful than drunks, the drugs gave them courage they otherwise didn’t have.

  She fended off two Westerners wearing Australian flags and screaming “Oi! Oi! Oi!” and ducked into the VIP section. The bouncer acknowledged her and lifted the velvet rope aside. The VIP section was luxurious. Thick carpet and leather chairs. Waitstaff, to serve the guests their every desire, buzzed around. Guards stood ready, weapons tucked away but easy to spot if you looked. Like most clubs in Shinjuku, this one was operated by a yakuza clan.

  Ebony closed the toilet stall door behind her and quickly removed the lid from the cistern. She reached in and extracted the watertight bag. She smiled at her passport and the bundle of cash. A friend at the bar had agreed to hide it there, a move that co
uld get them both beaten. Even though she was supposedly free tomorrow morning, Ebony knew that the yakuza didn’t let prized property leave so easily. They would invent a new debt. Not for the last time, Ebony cursed her naivety. She should never have let her friend Angela talk her into being a hostess in Tokyo. Great money? Yes. Like a fool, she had believed it and become entrenched in the lifestyle, using cocaine to dull the self-disgust as man after man moved on top of her.

  “You have only yourself to blame, girl,” she said into the mirror.

  There was banging on the door.

  “Ebony! Get back out there.”

  She was always being watched. Monitored. Her time was their money.

  “Ebony!”

  “All right!”

  She secured the cash and passport under her dress and opened the door. Her yakuza handler growled and shoved her back into the club.

  The DJ was now playing a dreamy trance song as the clock ticked down. Thirty seconds to go. Ebony pushed her way through the crowd. She blew Ando a kiss and sank down into the curved loveseat.

  “Miss me?” she said, winking.

  “Always.” Ando pecked her cheek and fondled her again. He had snowy white hair, meticulously combed with a side part, and was dressed in an old-style suit. Maybe from the ’50s or ’60s. Nothing like the garish clothes people wore today. Bright colors and wide ties. Ando wore a finely tailored three-piece, complete with pocket watch.

  She was perplexed by Ando. They had spent a few nights together and she still couldn’t read him. He was a master at controlling his emotions. He had the white hair of an elderly person, but his skin was smooth as marble. His mannerisms and speech were old fashioned like his suit. He used phrases and words Ebony had never heard before. Ando was an enigma. He disappeared for months, only to reappear again and pay her for days at a time. He gave the impression that he was perhaps in his mid-fifties, but the way his eyes observed everything told a different story. Like he had been there and done that and now he was bored.

  The crowd erupted into cheers as the clock counted down.

  10…

  9…

  8…

  7…

  Gunfire exploded across the room from the direction of the bar.

  6…

  5…

  4…

  More gunshots followed by a woman’s high-pitched scream. Yakuza guards scrambled and swarmed, tackling someone to the ground. Ebony’s attention was caught by the out-of-place noise and the movement, but her mind struggled to grasp what was happening. She had been around enough of the yakuza to see violence. Probably just a scuffle.

  3…

  2…

  1…

  “Happy New Year!”

  Ebony was assaulted by a cacophony of sounds. Glitter cannons exploded. Dry ice flooded the dance floor. The partygoers shrieked, hugged, and kissed. The music thundered in a pulsating drumbeat. The laser and strobe lights flicked on and off in a seizure-inducing cadence. Ebony was flooded by emotion at the same time. Hadn’t anyone heard the shots?

  Pop! Pop! Pop!

  That was definitely gunfire. Ando yanked her down underneath the table and shielded her with his body.

  “Stay down!” he shouted, his eyes scanning the club. Dozens of suited men rushed toward the entry foyer, hands on their holstered weapons as the crowd dispersed. Some screamed and some stood frozen, unsure what to do, while others barged people out of the way in their desperation to get clear of the danger.

  “Ebony. Doctor Ando. Come with me.” The same guard who had knocked on the toilet door leaned into the booth with his hand out. He had a machine gun of some sort hanging across his front.

  “Hurry,” he urged as he pushed Ebony and Ando before him, his eyes on the dance floor. He guided them past the private booths and toilets and opened a back door.

  “What’s going on?” Ando said.

  “A rival clan,” the guard answered, swinging his weapon up and pointing it down the brightly lit hallway. He raised a radio to his lips. “Property and client ready.”

  “Get them…” The voice was replaced by gunshots and grunts. “…next door.”

  The yakuza guard hesitated, shifting from one foot to the other.

  Ebony could guess what he was concerned about. This hallway led to either the front entrance or to a side alley as a fire escape. He would be weighing up the risks. The club they were in – Shinjuku Palace – was operated by the Akoshi Clan. Fights for territory were common amongst the yakuza.

  “This way.” He tugged on Ebony’s hand, guiding her and Ando toward the alley.

  The door groaned as the guard nudged it open with his gun before poking his head out. Crisp air filtered through, sending shivers up Ebony’s spine.

  The trio exited the club and hugged the shadows. The gunfire was sporadic now. Police sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder. A black limo, its engine running, waited at the exit.

  “Where to, Dr. Ando?”

  “Hotel Gracery.”

  The guard tapped the driver’s side window of the limo. He turned and held open the door for Ebony and Ando.

  Crack! Crack!

  Ebony flinched. The guard gasped and looked at his chest. Two blood flowers bloomed as he slumped to the ground. Ebony went to scream but Ando’s surprisingly strong hand clamped over her mouth.

  “Don’t struggle. This will all be over soon.” He shoved her into the limo and slammed the door behind him.

  Ebony kicked and screamed, lashing out with every bit of fight she had, smashing her fists and feet against the doctor. Her worst fears of being kidnapped and killed by some creep had become reality.

  “I said, don’t struggle!”

  Ebony gasped as something jabbed in her neck. Ice-cold liquid flowed into her bloodstream. She laughed, her anger instantly replaced by euphoria.

  “Why are you doing this?” she said, giggling.

  “You are very special.” Ando smiled.

  “Aw, you think I’m special. How?”

  “No more questions.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Sleep. We have a long journey ahead.”

  “I want to go home.”

  “You are. Now sleep.”

  Ebony couldn’t help but grin. Whatever drug he had given her, it was fantastic. She had never felt so warm. So content. Like she had nothing to worry about, that she was perfectly in tune with the world and she would be okay. But still, a coal-sized lump of doubt gnawed in the back of her mind, and it was only the overpowering happiness that kept it back there. Wherever Ando was taking her, it would be all right. Everything was fine. She closed her eyes and let sleep’s warm embrace envelope her.

  One

  Tokyo, Japan

  Present day

  “That’s absurd. That song is not about sex.” Ryan shook his head at his oldest friend.

  “Sure, it is. Every song is about sex,” Booth said.

  “Like what?”

  “‘Baby Got Back.’”

  “Nope. It’s about his love of female derrieres.”

  “Okay. ‘Alive.’”

  “‘Alive’ by Pearl Jam?”

  “Yeah. It’s totally about Eddie Veder wanting to bang some chick.”

  Ryan, Booth, Cal, and Allie sat in a grouping of four seats, eating and drinking as the train cruised through the night. Sofia sat across the aisle, tapping away on her tablet, while Keiko and Hogai slept in the other group of four seats.

  “How is ‘Alive’ about sex?” Allie said, raising her eyebrows.

  “It’s all there in the lyrics. You just have to listen,” Booth said.

  “No way.”

  “Sure it is.”

  “No way. That song is about a teenager who finds out the man he thought was his father is in fact not. His real dad was dying of cancer or drug abuse or something,” Allie said.

  “Okay. But ‘Born To Run’ is definitely about Bruce Springsteen cruising around New Jersey hooking up with girls,” Booth sa
id.

  Ryan glanced at Cal. She sipped her water, watching them.

  “What do you think?” he said.

  “I think Booth is as deluded as always. ‘Born To Run’ is about the hot-rod cruising culture of the sixties. Yes, there are elements of sex in the song, but if you listen, it’s about cars. Dumbass.”

  “Can’t be. He says they’re tramps, because… Now hear me out.” Booth shifted forward and put his elbows on the table.

  After the crazy events of the last few days, the enormity of what had happened had hit them all hard. The Nameless needed this. To feel normal. Forget for a while.

  “So the main guy in the song is a bit of a nerd. A Poindexter,” Booth said. “He gets himself a sweet ride so he can hook up with chicks. As the months go by, he gets a bit of a reputation because of it. Poindexter gets an ego. Starts preying on girls. But then he falls in love with this goody-two-shoes, like Sandy in Grease. And the dad forbids her from seeing him. The dad calls him a tramp and he speaks the famous line at her from his car. So the song is about sex.”

  Ryan shook his head and chortled. Allie and Cal joined him, their laughter high-pitched.

  “You guys are idiots,” Sofia said as she closed her tablet and leaned over. “Music and songs mean different things to each listener. The artist is trying to get you to tap into the desire or the sadness. Or, in the case of ‘Born To Run,’ the nostalgia of a more innocent time before the reality of adulthood takes over. It’s what they were feeling at the time. That’s why you can get so much out of music. The performer puts raw emotion into the piece. You take what you want, what it means to you. Idiots.”

  Cal reached out and high-fived Sofia. “That, ladies and gents, is why we love Sofia Ortiz. Insightful and brilliant.” She looked at Booth. “You have to admit it. She’s right.”

  Booth sighed. “Maybe. But ‘Killing in the Name’ is for sure about sex.”

  Everyone groaned. Ryan looked out the window. Streetlights blinked in the darkness. With every station they sped through, he witnessed the same scene. Groups of survivors, shouting and waving as the train rushed past. At one station, the train had stopped so Yamada’s men could clear the tracks of bodies, both human and Siphon—people enraged by the nanites, strangely drawn to spinal fluid.