Anna looked up his private number on her laptop. She sat on the end of the bed, picked up the phone, took a deep breath, and dialled the eight digits.
“Hai, Shacho-Shitso desu,” announced a high-pitched voice.
“Good afternoon, my name is Anna Petrescu. Mr. Nakamura may remember me from Sotheby’s.”
“Are you hoping to be interviewed?”
“Er, no, I simply want to speak to Mr. Nakamura.”
“One moment please, I will see if he is free to take your call.”
How could she possibly expect him to remember her after only one meeting?
“Dr. Petrescu, how nice to hear from you again. I hope you are well?”
“I am, thank you, Nakamura-san.”
“Are you in Tokyo? Because if I am not mistaken it is after midnight in New York.”
“Yes, I am, and I wondered if you would be kind enough to see me.”
“You weren’t on the interview list, but you are now. I have half an hour free at four o’clock this afternoon. Would that suit you?”
“Yes, that would be just fine,” said Anna.
“Do you know where my office is?”
“I have the address.”
“Where are you staying?”
“The Seiyo.”
“Not the usual haunt for Sotheby’s, who, if I remember correctly, prefer the Imperial.” Anna’s mouth went dry. “My office is about twenty minutes from the hotel. I look forward to seeing you at four o’clock. Good-bye, Dr. Petrescu.”
Anna replaced the receiver and for some time didn’t budge from the end of the bed. She tried to recall his exact words. What had his secretary meant when she asked, “Are you hoping to be interviewed,” and why did Mr. Nakamura say, “You weren’t on the interview list, but you are now?” Was he expecting her call?
Jack leant forward to take a closer look. Two bellboys were coming out of the hotel carrying the same wooden crate that Anna had exchanged with Anton Teodorescu on the steps of the academy in Bucharest. One of them spoke to the driver of the front taxi, who jumped out and carefully placed the wooden crate in the trunk. Jack rose slowly from his chair and walked across to the window, making sure he remained out of sight. He waited in anticipation, realizing it could well be another false alarm. He checked the taxi rank: four cars waiting in line. He glanced toward the entrance of the health club and calculated he could reach the second taxi in about twenty seconds.
He looked back at the hotel’s sliding doors, wondering if Petrescu was about to appear. But the next person who caused the doors to slide open was Crew Cut, who slipped past the doorman and out onto the main road. Jack knew she wouldn’t take one of the hotel taxis and risk being remembered — a chance Jack would have to take.
Jack switched his attention back to the hotel entrance, aware that Crew Cut would now be sitting in a taxi well out of sight, waiting for both of them.
Seconds later, Petrescu appeared, dressed as if she was about to attend a board meeting. The doorman escorted her to the front taxi and opened the back door for her. The driver eased out onto the road and joined the afternoon traffic.
Jack was seated in the back of the second taxi before the doorman had a chance to open the door for him.
“Follow that cab,” said Jack, pointing ahead of him, “and if you don’t lose it, you can double the fare.” The driver shot off. “But,” continued Jack, “don’t make it too obvious,” well aware that Crew Cut would be in one of the numerous green vehicles ahead of them.
Petrescu’s taxi turned left at Ginza and headed north, away from the fashionable shopping area, toward the city’s prestigious business district of Marunouchi. Jack wondered if this could be the appointment with a potential buyer, and found himself sitting on the edge of his seat in anticipation.
Petrescu’s green taxi turned left at the next set of lights and Jack repeated firmly, “Don’t lose her.” The driver switched lanes, moved to within three cars’ length of her car and stuck like a limpet. Both cabs came to a halt at the next red light. Petrescu’s taxi was indicating right and, when the lights turned green, several other cars followed in her wake. Jack knew Crew Cut would be in one of them. As they swung onto the three-lane highway, Jack could see a string of overhead lights awaiting them, all of them on green. He swore under his breath. He preferred red lights; stopping and starting was always better when you needed to remain in contact with a mark.
They all moved safely through the first green and then the second, but when the third light turned amber Jack’s taxi was the last to cross the intersection. As they passed in front of the Imperial Palace gardens, he tapped the driver on the shoulder in appreciation. He leaned forward, willing the next light to remain green. It turned amber just as Petrescu’s taxi crossed the intersection. “Go, go,” shouted Jack, as two of the taxis in front of them followed Anna across, but instead of the driver pressing hard down on his accelerator and running the lights, he came meekly to a halt. Jack was about to explode, when a police patrol car drew up beside them. Jack stared ahead. The green Toyota had come to a halt at the next light. He was still in with a chance. The lights were running in a sequence and all changed within seconds of each other. Jack willed the patrol car to turn right so they could make up any lost ground, but it remained resolutely by their side. He watched as her green taxi swung left onto Eitaidori Avenue. He held his breath, once again willing the green light not to change, but it turned amber and the car ahead of them came to a halt, having no doubt spotted the patrol car in its wake. When the light eventually returned to green, the longest minute Jack could remember, his driver quickly swung left, only to come face-to-face with a sea of green. It was bad enough that he’d lost Petrescu, but the thought that Crew Cut was probably still on her tail caused Jack to turn and curse the patrol car, just as it turned right and drifted away.
Krantz watched attentively as the green taxi edged across to the inside lane and drew up outside a modern, white marble building in Otemachi. The sign above the entrance, MARUHA STEEL COMPANY, was in Japanese and English, as is common with most international companies in Tokyo.
Krantz allowed her taxi to pass the front of the building before she asked the driver to draw into the curb. She turned and watched through the rearview window as Anna stepped out. Her driver walked to the back of the taxi and opened the trunk. Anna joined him as the doorman came running down the steps to assist. Krantz continued to watch as the two men carried the wooden box up the steps and into the building.
Once they were out of sight, Krantz paid her fare, stepped out of the car, and slipped into the shadows. She never kept a cab waiting unless absolutely necessary. That way, they were unlikely to remember her. She needed to think quickly, in case Petrescu suddenly reappeared. Krantz recalled her brief. Her first priority was to repossess the painting. Once she had done that, she was free to kill Petrescu, but as she had just got off a plane she didn’t have a weapon to hand. She was satisfied that the American no longer posed a threat and briefly wondered if he was still roaming around Hong Kong in search of Petrescu, or the picture, or both.
It was beginning to look as if the painting had reached its destination; there had been a full page on Nakamura in the file Fenston had given her. If Petrescu reappeared with the crate, she must have failed, which would make it that much easier for Krantz to carry out both of her assignments. If she walked out only carrying her briefcase, Krantz would need to make an instant decision. She checked to make sure that there was a regular flow of taxis. Several passed her in the next few minutes, half of them empty.