The lunchtime Shinjuku crowd eyed the eight-car motorcade of black Lexus sedans as they turned off the busy main street of the bustling business distrid disappeared into a hole in the side of a futuristic-looking building. The black tinted shatter-proof glass windows and bullet-proof side panels suggested only ohing. Yakuza. The Japanese were used to seeing motorcades like this one all over town, but the presidential authority with which they cruised the streets never failed to inspire awe. Miakahashi was sitting in the back of the fifth car with his adviser Hirayama. In the front sat a heavily tattooed bodyguard in a black suit and the driver. Both Takahashi and Hirayama were on their cell phohe minister was talking politics with some gover bureaucrat while his saiko-komon was taking care of an altogether different kind of business.
“Are you sure?” the adviser Hirayama was asking someo the other end of the line.
“Well, she’s Ameri. Her passport say……（内容加载失败！）
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