“You are having an eventful stay in Japan, Mr. Tanner.”
“Not by choice, Inspector. How is it you got this case?”
“Homicide and Violent Crimes are part of the same division. I was on duty, and I recognized your name. I thought I might help.”
“Thanks, but no harm done.”
“Except to the two men you put in the hospital.”
“Are you more concerned for them, Inspector, or for tourists who get mugged in your subways?”
“For our tourists, of course. These men were severely injured, however. I am wondering where you learned to—”
“Call it dumb luck.”
“But these were experienced street hoodlums. I just find it curious that—”
“Inspector, am I being charged with something?”
“No. The circumstances are quite clear here.”
“Then let’s finish. It’s been a long night.”
“Very well. We just need a statement, and then we’ll return you to your hotel.”
Tanner stated he left his hotel and took the train into Kobe, where he boarded the Portliner monorail for Port Island, a thirty-minute round trip.
“And the reason for this trip?” asked Tanaka
“Sightseeing.”
“At this hour?”
“I don’t sleep well.”
“May I see the ticket?”
“I threw it away.”
“Please continue.”
From the Portliner he returned to Sannomiya and boarded the Tokaido to Shinkassen, where he was attacked. He described both the confrontation and his attackers but mentioned nothing of the Noboru clone.
“What did they ask for?”
“My wallet.”
“Not the valise?” Tanaka asked, pointing to the case in Tanner’s lap.
“No. In fact, I offered it to them, but they didn’t want it.”
“May I?”
Tanner didn’t bat an eye. “Go ahead.”
Tanaka dug through the case for a few moments, then handed it back. “Well, Mr. Tanner, we will file a report and continue the search for the third attacker. I’ll have an officer return you to your hotel.”
Tanner stood. “Thank you.”
“One piece of advice, however,” Tanaka said. “This is your second incident in our country. You might be wise to be more cautious in the future.”
“You’re afraid my string of bad luck might continue?”
Tanaka smiled greasily. “I certainly hope not, but who can say?”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Inspector.”
An hour later, back in Cahil’s hotel room, Bear held up the valise and wiggled his finger through the knife hole. “Made some friends, I see.”
Tanner poured them a pair of scotch rocks, handed one to Cahil, then dropped into a chair. “Three of them.”
“You okay?”
Tanner nodded. Good ol’ Mama Bear. It was good to have him along. “One got away,” he said. “A Noboru look-alike was there, too, but he disappeared.”
“Slowing in your old age, Briggs.”
“Tell me about it. Let’s see what they wanted so badly.”
Cahil opened the valise. There were only two items: a nautical chart and a day-planner organizer. Cahil unfolded the former on the bed. It was a coastal chart of southern Honshu Island, the Inland Sea, and Shikoku Island. Written in along the border were the words “Toshogu” and “Tsumago” and “Anan, Secure Dock 12—???”
“Takagi’s shipyard?” Cahil asked.
Tanner nodded. “It’s just south of Anan, over on Shikoku. One of Ohira’s contacts worked there. Here, what do you make of these?”
A series of asterisks and fractional numbers — all with three-digit numerators and four-digit denominators — had been scribbled on the chart. Four of the asterisks lay within miles of the Royal Palms. A pair of red dots — one just inside the mouth of the Inland Sea and the other a few miles off Shiono Misaki — were linked by a dotted line.
“Interesting,” said Cahil. “Wonder what it means.”
“Let’s see the day planner.”
The contents appeared unremarkable, except for several pages on which they found handwritten geometric symbols: squares, triangles and diamonds, each in different sequences and each followed by four numbers.
“Military time,” said Tanner. “It’s symbol code — probably listings of Ohira’s contact locations and wave-off meets.” He retrieved the laptop computer, powered it up, typed in his password, and opened a file. “Here we go…. Check the night he was killed.”
Cahil flipped pages. “Busy boy. Three meets: eight, ten, then eleven.”
“He was killed at about nine-thirty, so he was probably on his way to the second meet. Anything written down?”
“No, just the time.”
“Could be his false flag. So, let’s assume he made the first meet….” Tanner said, checking the laptop’s screen. “Here: A bar outside Tokoshima. It was his shipyard contact, the engineer. Why all the interest in the shipyard, I wonder? The fire-control chips were supposedly made by Takagi’s electronics division.”
“Most of Takagi’s contract work for the JDF is handled by the Maritime Division.”
“True, but still…”
Cahil squinted at him. “Let me guess: You see a late-night visit to the shipyard in our future.”
“It might be a good idea. Okay, how about Ohira’s last meet?”
Bear checked the day planner and found Ohira’s eleven o’clock appointment had been set at the Nintoku Mausoleum in Osaka. “Wow,” he said. “The contact’s a lawyer in Takagi’s Office of Counsel. Big fish.”
“No kidding. Okay, that was the primary meet. How about the secondary?”
“Ten o’clock at Sorakuen Garden in Kobe. Day after tomorrow.”
“Good,” said Tanner. “Now let’s just hope his contact hasn’t gone to ground.”
South of Nagoya, in his hilltop mansion overlooking Atsumi Bay, Hiromasa Takagi steepled his fingers and stared at the black-and-white photograph lying in the center of his desk blotter. “This is the man who helped Ohira?” he asked.
Tange Noboru nodded. “Hai.”
“The same man you followed to the village?”
“Hai.”
“Is he working alone?”
“We think so. After leaving the hotel he boarded the train at Umeda, but he was lost when he switched to the Shin-kansen. He returned by the same route, this time carrying a briefcase. An attempt was made to intercept him.” Noboru cast a reproachful glance at the gray-suited man standing behind him. “It failed.”
“Explain.”
Noboru barked at the gray-suited man, who stepped forward and recounted the confrontation with Tanner. “Gomen nasai,” he murmured. Please forgive me.
For a full minute, Takagi stared at the man, who stood bowed at the waist. In feudal Japan this was a posture of submission, the symbolic offering of one’s head as atonement for wrongdoing. Today, according to the code of conduct of the Black Ocean Society and its subculture, the yakuzza, atonement was not as final, but it was harsh nonetheless. A sign of renewed fealty was required.
Takagi spoke. The phrase was idiomatic and roughly translated as, “By the blade, you are cleansed.”
The man nodded. “Hai.”
He walked to the low coffee table against the wall and knelt beside it. On the table lay a small oak cutting board. In deliberate, almost ritualistic fashion, the man wound a silk handkerchief around the base of his pinky finger and then drew the handkerchief into a knot. Immediately the finger began to swell purple. From his jacket pocket he withdrew a kento knife and laid it beside his splayed finger.