Kazuka made the necessary arrangements for the plane to be serviced and stored, and got them transportation in the form of a battered but clean fifteen-year-old Chevrolet Impala with power everything, none of which worked very well.
Haboro was a good-sued city of more than thirty thousand. Carter had been concerned that their arrival would be noticed.
"There is a lot of traffic in and out of Haboro," Kazuka said. "Besides the fishing industry, they think oil may have been discovered. So right now there are a lot of Western geologists coming and going."
"Doesn't it make the Russians nervous?"
"I don't think so, Nicholas. No more so than the Alaskans are nervous that the Soviet Union is only twenty miles across the Bering Strait from the mainland. We can't change the facts of geography."
The narrow highway followed the jagged shoreline north. The region was heavily forested. Inland, hills rose up toward the snow-capped mountains. Along the coast were quaint little fishing villages, each incredibly neat and each nearly a carbon copy of its neighbors with thatched roofs and tiny courtyards.
Carter had been to Japan on many occasions. Always he was struck by the contrast between the cities and the rural areas. In Tokyo, Osaka, and Kyoto, life was very Western and went on at a furious pace just like any other big city around the world. But in the countryside, the Japan of old was still evident. Life was well ordered and moved at a very steady pace. The people here lived by the day and the night, and by the seasons, not by the day of the week or the month of the year. In Japan's countryside. Carter always felt a certain peace, yet just a few miles across the sea — no matter what the locals thought to the contrary — was a weapons system that could embroil the entire world in nuclear war.
AXE's contact in Hokkaido was Heidonara Ishino-mari, a tough old man, according to Kazuka, who lived with his five sturdy daughters who worked the fishing boat for him and worshipped the ground he walked on. His wife and only son had been killed ten years earlier in an accident at sea involving a Soviet fishing trawler. He wouldn't say exactly what had happened, but since then he and his daughters provided a listening post for AXE and reported on Soviet ship movements in the area.
His friends called him Heido, and in addition to Japanese he spoke passable Russian and horribly mispronounced English. His house was nestled in the hills outside of Wakkanai, overlooking the Sea of Japan to the west and to the north, the La Pérouse Strait that separated Hokkaido from Soviet-owned Sakhalin Island.
Two of his daughters came out of the main house when Carter and Kazuka drove up the steep road, and directed them to park the Chevrolet in the low shed around back.
Kazuka got out first and went up to the house to speak with Heido while Carter parked the car and got their bags out of the back seat.
The two girls took the suitcases from Carter and with little bows and shy smiles motioned that he should lead the way up to the house. They did not speak English.
"You have a very beautiful island here," Carter said in a fairly good imitation of Ainu, which was the local dialect of the peasants.
The girls giggled in surprise, but then they bowed deeply with great respect.
"Thank you, Carter-san," one of them said.
Carter smiled, and returned the gesture in the proper form, then turned on his heel and headed up to the house — as any proper Japanese gentleman would — leaving the girls standing open-mouthed in the courtyard.
The main house was large by Japanese standards, and was ruggedly constructed because of the weather. A sharp cold wind either blew off the sea or down from the mountains. Already this early in the fall there was a lot of snow, and Carter figured the temperature had to be well below freezing.
A broad veranda ran the entire front of the house. Just inside, Carter took off his shoes and stepped into a broad, airy central hallway in which hundreds of plants provided a summertime feeling.
Another of Heido's daughters, this one somewhat younger and prettier than the first two, greeted him and helped him off with his coat.
"This way, please," the girl said in singsong English.
Carter followed her to the rear of the house, and she led him down a corridor of rice-paper walls and tatami-mat floors to the bathhouse where a large, round, steaming tub was sunk into the brightly scrubbed cedar floor.
A fresh cotton kimono and thick white cotton socks were laid out, along with several large bath towels.
The girl put Carter's coat aside and helped him out of his sport jacket. She had absolutely no reaction to his shoulder holster and Luger. But when it came off, she handled the weapon with a great respect, laying it carefully on a high shelf well away from the tub.
"What is your name?" Carter asked in Japanese.
She looked up at him in surprise, then smiled. "My name is Mariko."
"Mariko," Carter repeated. "I'm…"
"Carter-san," Mariko said. "Your shirt, please?"
She finished undressing him, and only when she came to Pierre did she show any nervousness. But that left almost immediately.
While Carter took the traditional, prebath shower, Mariko got undressed. She joined him, lathering his back and legs and feet.
This was the Japan of Carter's fond memories. He relaxed and allowed himself to be ministered to.
When Mariko came to the bandage around his ribs, she was very gentle. Carter reached out and touched her cheek. She looked up at him and smiled.
She was a short girl, with tiny breasts, boyish hips, and sturdy legs. It was obvious she was used to hard work, and yet there was a softness about her that Carter found appealing.
The water in the large tub was scented and extremely hot. At first it was painful on his battered body, but then as he sank into it, the warmth was almost like a narcotic and he let himself go, completely relaxed for the first time in a very long time.
Mariko climbed into the tub with him, and slowly and methodically began massaging his muscles, beginning at the base of his skull and working slowly downward. She was very good; she knew all the proper pressure points, and she had the strength in her fingers for the job.
Another of Heido's daughters joined them in the bath a little later, though Carter did not get her name. He felt himself drifting, half in and half out of sleep. The second girl brought cool towels for his forehead, and then a sip of sake, which went immediately to his head.
Sometime later, though Carter never knew how much later, the girls helped him out of the tub, gently dried his body, and helped him on with the kimono. Then Mariko led him back down the corridor, where she slid back a rice-paper door into a dim, scented sleeping room.
"Please, Carter-san?" Mariko said, smiling.
Carter thought about Kazuka and he started to shake his head, but she gently nudged him into the room and closed the door after him.
For a moment or two Carter stood just within the dark room, until warm hands led him across to the soft futons on the floor, then took off his kimono.
"Nicholas," Kazuka said in his ear. She was nude, and she held him close for several long moments, her body heat wonderful in the chill air. Then she helped him down to the floor.
"You're hurt," Carter mumbled. It would be impossible for her to make love with the burns on her thighs.
"Now is not the time for talking, Nicholas-san. Now is the time for enjoying."
Carter's eyes had become accustomed to the diffused light coming through the thin rice-paper walls. Kazuka had pinned up her hair. Her lips were moist, the nipples of her breasts erect.
He reached up and caressed her breasts with his fingertips. "You don't have to do this…"