The apartment was empty, aside from a small love seat and a battered wing chair. There were a few paintings and tapestries, but these lay on the floor, still in their packing boxes. What few plants she owned had withered in her absence.
She opened the refrigerator and saw a bottle of wine, a tupperware container filled with God knew what, and a rotten head of lettuce. She grabbed the wine, poured herself a glass, and found a box of crackers in the cupboard.
She paced the floor, watered the plants, thumbed through the mail, stared into the refrigerator again.
Nothing felt right. This was her home, but it felt foreign. She took a gulp of wine. Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him? Probably for the same reason she hadn’t been able to use the word mistake in Uncle Hayem’s office. Why couldn’t she make sense of what was going on in her head?
“God help you if you are forced to choose between your heart and your duty.” Wasn’t that what Hayem said? Duty was something she understood. Of the two — heart and duty — only one could exist for her right now.
Camille raised her glass and toasted the bare walls. “To duty, then.”
12
Tanner took a taxi to the underground Umeda station in Osaka, where he bought a one-way ticket and boarded the Tokaido Line train. Thirty minutes later he arrived at Sannomiya Station
The terminal was a three-story structure with marble concourses, a central atrium, and domed skylights. The upper levels containing the lockers were reached by spiraling ramps at the north and south ends of the train platform.
Tanner found the platform almost deserted, with only a few late-night commuters milling about. Ian Cahil, sans Stetson and wearing a conservative blue suit, sat on a bench at the opposite end of the concourse, reading a newspaper. Without a glance in Tanner’s direction, he stood, folded the newspaper under his left arm, and started up the south ramp.
All clear, no surveillance, Tanner thought. Had Cahil folded the newspaper under his right arm, it would have been a wave-off: Go away, don’t look back.
No matter how many times Tanner went through the tradecraft, he had to remind himself it was all necessary. You never trusted luck alone unless you had no choice.
He waited exactly three minutes before starting up the north ramp. Above him, Cahil stood at the railing with a disposable coffee cup in his right hand.
Tanner kept going.
The third level was all but empty. Aside from Cahil, who now sat on a stool in the Sannomiya’s kissaten, or coffee shop, there were three other people visible: two standing at the shop’s counter and the attendant at the tourist kiosk. Footsteps echoing, Tanner strode past the kissaten. As he did so, Cahil opened his suitcase, removed a magazine, laid it facedown on the stool beside him.
Tanner walked to the bank of lockers, found 312, opened it, removed the leather valise he found inside, shoved it under his arm, closed the door, and walked down the south ramp.
Three minutes later, he boarded the Shinkansen Line back to Osaka.
He rode for twenty minutes and then disembarked at Shinkansen and walked across the concourse to the Tokaido platform. According to the schedule, the next train was due in five minutes.
It was nearly midnight. Except for a lone janitor sweeping the platform, the station was quiet. Briggs found a bench and sat down. Moments later, he heard the clomp of footsteps coming down the stairwell behind him. He turned.
First down the stairs came a hard-looking Japanese man wearing a loose-fitting gray suit. With a thick neck and heavy brows, he could have been a clone of Tange Noboru. He stopped at the bottom of the steps, clasped his hands in front of him, and stared at Tanner. A moment later, three younger men appeared behind him, each wearing a black leather jacket, jeans, and combat boots. The taller of the three whispered to the suited man and got a nod in return.
Tanner glanced around. The janitor had disappeared.
It was then that Tanner recognized the thugs. They’d been aboard his train at Umeda but had disembarked two stops before Sannomiya. Instead of setting the ambush at the more public Sannomiya, they’d gambled he would return on the same line. Stupid mistake, Briggs.
There were only two exits nearby, one of which was blocked by these four men, and a second one a hundred yards away. Too far, he decided.
The three thugs swaggered forward. The leader shoved his hand into his pocket. If the trio was armed with anything more than knives, this one had it. Clutching the valise to his chest, Tanner stood up, glanced around, then turned and began walking toward the far exit. The thugs followed, fanning out behind him. Tanner stumbled, regained his balance, and picked up his pace.
As Tanner drew even with one of the platform’s pillars, he stopped and turned. “What do you want?” he stuttered. “Leave me alone.”
The leader stepped forward. “Give wallet and case.”
“My wallet?” Tanner said. “Why?”
“Give!”
Tanner glanced around, eyes wide. “Please. Please, I don’t—”
One of the other thugs muttered something. The other laughed. The leader took another step forward. “Give case now!”
“Oh, God,” Tanner sputtered. “Please…”
The leader pulled his hand from his pocket. With an audible click, the knife’s blade shot open. He reversed it, blade backward, parallel to his forearm — the classic grip of an experienced knife fighter. “I said, give case!”
There would be no more talking, Tanner knew. Wait for it…. “Please, I—”
The leader lunged forward, knife slashing diagonally toward Tanner’s face.
Simultaneously ducking under the blade and stepping forward, Briggs dropped the valise, seized the leader’s arm at the wrist and elbow, then sidekicked, sweeping the man’s right leg from under him. As he fell, Tanner spun on his heel and slammed the man face first into the concrete pillar. From the corner of his eye, Tanner saw the other two closing in, but slowly, confused by their target’s sudden transformation. It was typical wolf pack mentality, Tanner knew, and the solution was simple: Pick the leader and wreck him.
Still gripping the leader’s wrist, Tanner heaved the man to his feet, then wrenched forward and down. With an audible pop, the man’s radius bone snapped. He screamed, and his knees buckled. Tanner shoved him into the other two. They stood frozen.
Down the concourse came several shouts. “Ya me te! Ya me te!” Stop!
Eyes locked on the thugs, Tanner bent down and picked up the valise. One of the thugs suddenly regained his courage. He flicked open his switchblade and charged. Tanner met the thrust with the valise. The blade plunged into the leather. Tanner took a step backward, drawing the man along, then toe-kicked him in the kneecap, shattering it. The man fell hard, groaning.
Footsteps pounded down the concourse. “Ya me te!”
The third man turned and ran. Tanner looked for the Noboru clone, but he was gone.
The two officers spoke little English, so Tanner was escorted to prefecture headquarters, where he was questioned through an interpreter.
A few minutes later, Inspector Tanaka arrived. He nodded at Tanner, scanned the report, then took a chair. As he had at the hotel, Tanner took an immediate dislike to Tanaka; it was partly gut reaction and partly trust in Ieyasu’s insinuation that Tanaka was dirty.