But then the Japanese have always considered that some secrets are best kept in the family.
Whenever Jack was in a strange city, he rarely informed the embassy of his presence. They always asked too many questions he didn’t want to answer. Tokyo was no exception, but he did need some of his own questions answered, and he knew exactly who to ask.
A con man, whom Jack had put behind bars for several years, once told him that whenever you’re abroad and in need of information, book yourself into a good hotel. But don’t seek advice from the manager and don’t bother with the receptionist; only deal with the head concierge. Information is how he makes his living; his salary is incidental.
For fifty dollars, Jack learnt everything he needed to know about Mr. Nakamura, even his golf handicap — fourteen.
Krantz watched as Petrescu emerged from the building and climbed back into the chairman’s limousine. She quickly hailed a taxi and asked to be dropped a hundred yards from the Seiyo hotel. If Petrescu was about to depart, she would still have to retrieve her luggage and settle the bill.
Once the temporary chauffeur had dropped Anna back at the Seiyo, she couldn’t wait to check out — she picked up her key from reception and ran up the stairs to her room on the first floor. She sat on the end of the bed and called Arabella first. She sounded wide awake.
“A veritable Portia,” was Arabella’s final comment after she had learned the news. Which Portia, Anna wondered, Shylock’s nemesis, or Brutus’s wife? She unclasped her gold chain, unfastened the leather belt, kicked off her shoes, and finally slipped out of her dress. She exchanged her more formal attire for a T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. Although checkout was at noon, she still had enough time to make one more call. Anna needed to plant the clue.
The ringing tone continued for some time before a sleepy voice answered.
“Who’s this?”
“Vincent.”
“Christ, what time is it? I must have fallen asleep.”
“You can go back to sleep after you’ve heard my news.”
“You’ve sold the painting?”
“How did you guess?”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“Congratulations. So where are you going next?”
“To pick it up.”
“And where’s that?”
“Where it’s always been. Go back to sleep.”
The phone went dead.
Tina smiled as she drifted back to sleep. Fenston was going to be beaten at his own game for once.
“Oh, my God,” she said out loud, suddenly wide awake.
“I didn’t warn her that the stalker is a woman and knows she’s in Tokyo.”
36
Fenston stretched an arm across the bed and fumbled for the phone as he tried to keep his eyes shut.
“Who the fuck is this?”
“Vincent’s just made a call.”
“And where was she calling from this time?” asked Fenston, his eyes suddenly wide open.
“Tokyo.”
“So she must have seen Nakamura.”
“Sure has,” said Leapman, “and claims she’s sold the painting.”
“You can’t sell something that you don’t own,” said Fenston, as he switched on the bedside light. “Did she say where she was going next?”
“To pick it up.”
“Did she give any clue as to where that might be?”
“Where it’s always been,” replied Leapman.
“Then it has to be in London,” said Fenston.
“How can you be so sure?” asked Leapman.
“Because if she had taken the painting to Bucharest, why not take it on to Tokyo? No, she left the picture in London,” said Fenston adamantly, “where it’s always been.”
“I’m not so sure,” said Leapman.
“Then where do you think it is?”
“In Bucharest, where it’s always been, in the red box.”
“No, the box was just a decoy.”
“Then how can we ever hope to find the painting?” asked Leapman.
“That will be simple enough,” said Fenston. Now that Petrescu thinks she’s sold the painting to Nakamura, her next stop will be to pick it up. And this time Krantz will be waiting for her, and then she’ll end up having something in common with Van Gogh. But before then, there’s another call I have to make.’ He slammed the phone down before Leapman had a chance to ask to whom.
Anna checked out of the hotel just after twelve. She took a train to the airport, no longer able to afford the luxury of a cab. She assumed that once she boarded the shuttle, the same man would be following her, and she intended to make his task as easy as possible. After all, he would already have been informed of her next stop.
What she didn’t know was that her pursuer was sitting eight rows behind her.
Krantz opened a copy of the Shinbui Times, ready to raise it and cover her face should Petrescu look around. She didn’t.
Time to make her call. Krantz dialed the number and waited for ten rings. On the tenth, it was picked up. She didn’t speak.
“London,” was the only word Fenston uttered before the line went dead.
Krantz dropped the cell phone out of the window, and watched as it landed in front of an oncoming train.
When her train came to a halt at the airport terminal, Anna jumped out and went straight to the British Airways desk. She inquired about an economy fare to London, although she had no intention of purchasing the ticket. She had only thirty-five dollars to her name, after all. But Fenston had no way of knowing that. She checked the departure board. There were ninety minutes between the two flights. Anna walked slowly toward Gate 91B, making sure that whoever was following her couldn’t lose her. She window-shopped all the way to the departure gate and arrived just before they began boarding. She selected her seat in the lounge carefully, sitting next to a small child. “Would those passengers in rows...” The child screamed and ran away, a harassed parent chasing after him.
Jack had only been distracted for a moment, but she was gone. Had she boarded the plane or turned back? Perhaps she had worked out that two people were following her. Did she have any idea how much danger she was in? Jack’s eyes searched the concourse below him. They were now boarding business class, and she wasn’t anywhere to be seen. He checked all the remaining passengers who were seated in the lounge, and he wouldn’t have spotted the other woman in his life if she hadn’t touched her hair, no longer a blonde crew cut, now a black wig. She also looked puzzled.
Krantz hesitated when they invited all first-class passengers to board. She walked across to the ladies’ washroom, which was directly behind where Petrescu had been sitting. She emerged a few moments later and returned to her seat. When they called final boarding, she was among the last to hand over her ticket.
Jack watched as Crew Cut disappeared down the ramp. How could she be so confident that Anna was on the London flight? Had he lost both of them again?
Jack waited until the gate closed, now painfully aware that both women were obviously on the flight to London. But there had been something about Anna’s manner since she’d left the hotel — almost as if, this time, she wanted to be followed.