"Roger Dhalgren was acting as her backup. He's the number-three man in the office there."
Carter vaguely knew him as a young but pretty good operative.
"Apparently she was trying to get things back to normal, so she attended a news conference at the Diet. Routine. As a wire service bureau chief."
"Was Dhalgren inside with her?"
"No. He was watching the approaches. He didn't see a thing until she came out with two Russians, got into a gray Mercedes, and left. He tried to follow them, of course, but he was working under the handicap that he couldn't afford to be spotted himself."
"So they got away."
"She's been missing since four o'clock yesterday afternoon your time."
"Why wasn't I called earlier, sir?"
"Dhalgren and the others wanted to see if they could come up with anything first."
"Nothing?"
"The Mercedes and her two abductors showed up early this morning back at the Russian embassy. Without Kazuka."
Carter sighed deeply. "That means they either stashed her someplace safe, or they killed her and disposed of her body." He paused. "Have we got a license number on the Mercedes?"
"Yes," Hawk said, and gave it to him. "But it'll be too dangerous for you to go ahead with the mission if she isn't found. You could all be walking into a big trap."
"I understand, sir. I'll find her. But we're probably going to have some trouble with the Japanese; with Major Rishiri, to be more specific. He's suspicious about the coffin Arnold shipped back to Washington."
"I know. We got a call from the State Department. His name was mentioned. He wanted confirmation of your death."
"What did they tell him?"
"Nothing, yet," Hawk said. "And it's going to have to stay that way, Which means you're going to have to keep out of his way."
"I may have to upset the apple cart here in Tokyo in the next few hours, sir. In fact I can almost guarantee it."
"Just find Kazuka, Nick. Let me worry about the major."
"Yes, sir," Carter said, and he hung up.
It was warmer in Tokyo than it had been in the country, but a pall of smog hung over the great city. People were everywhere; streets were choked with traffic, sidewalks were wall-to-wall pedestrians, cafeterias were filling with the morning crowd, and in another hour the department stores would be opening to the daily onslaught of housewives.
Carter drove out to the airport, parked Scott's car in a long-term parking lot, and rented a Ford Mustang that he took back into the city. Major Rishiri knew Scott's car, and it was a safe bet the Russians did too.
On the way back into the city, Carter's thoughts turned to Kazuka. The Russians had already grabbed her once and tortured her. Despite her pain, she had operated up on Hokkaido and back here in Tokyo as if nothing had happened. Carter found his respect and admiration for her growing, and he had the crazy urge to race to the Soviet embassy, rush inside, and begin shooting up the place.
The commuter rush was finished by the time Carter made his way into Kojimachi-ku, where he parked half a block from the Soviet embassy. Traffic was normal for this time of day.
He adjusted his sideview mirror and slouched down a little lower in his seat. In the mirror he could see the front gate of the embassy without being obvious to observers inside the building.
The Soviets employed no Japanese in their embassy, but many of their diplomats and lower-level bureaucrats lived off embassy grounds. There was a rush of these people coming into the embassy at around nine, with only an occasional night-shift employee coming out.
Shortly after ten, a convoy of a half-dozen cars, all big Mercedes limousines, little Soviet flags fluttering on their fenders, emerged from the compound, picked up a Tokyo city police honor guard, and screamed off toward the Imperial Palace.
Not much happened until around noon when several cars and at least a dozen people on foot left the embassy. Probably for lunch dates in the city, he thought. He was beginning to get concerned about the time. It would take at least an hour to make it back up to Mito, and they were due to rendezvous with the sub at eight o'clock. It meant they'd have to leave the compound by seven at the latest.
He was running out of time.
The limousines returned a few minutes before one, sirens screaming as before, and in the confusion Carter almost missed the gray Mercedes slipping out of the gate and heading in the opposite direction from where he was parked. He just caught a glimpse of the German car in his rearview mirror as it turned the corner at the end of the block.
Carter started his Mustang, waited for a break in traffic, and then made a U-turn and sped off after the Mercedes, causing a couple of the policemen who had escorted the Russian diplomats to look his way.
Around the corner there was no sign of the Mercedes. Carter sped up past the first intersection, and at the second he saw the car to the left. He ran a red light and nearly hit a bus. horns blaring and people shouting.
If he were picked up by a traffic cop now, the mission, Kazuka's life, everything would be finished. The Mercedes would get away, and his presence would be reported to Major Rishiri. If the Japanese did not bring him up on charges for murder, at the very least they would send him home.
No police came, however, and after a few more blocks he had settled down, driving well behind the Mercedes but close enough to see that the license number matched the one Hawk had given him.
They headed north through Kanda and then wound their way up into the Tokyo hills, which were not very high but provided some relief from the monotonously flat landscape downtown. In the distance to the southwest, Mt. Fuji was visible in the morning haze.
The number of houses began to thin out in this district. This was a wealthy section of Tokyo. Many well-to-do executives lived there, and the houses were much larger — some of them built in the Western style — than those closer to the city's center. The lots were fairly big, many with elaborate rock gardens behind high walls.
Traffic was much sparser as well, and Carter had to hang back even farther lest they spot him. He almost missed the Mercedes. The road had curved up and to the left. For thirty seconds the German car was out of sight, and when Carter came around the corner, the street ahead was empty. He sped up, and just happened to look toward the right as he passed a particularly large, Japanese-style home. An automatic garage door was just closing on the Mercedes. Had he been two seconds later he would never have seen them.
He drove the rest of the way up the block, turned to the right, and drove to the next avenue farther up the hill as it switched back and forth. There were a lot of trees and brush and rock here. Except for the individual home sites, the land had been left in a nearly pristine state. It could have been a touch of wilderness only minutes from downtown Tokyo. Only the very wealthy could afford such space.
A tall concrete wall, capped with red roofing tiles, enclosed the garden directly above what Carter was assuming was a Soviet safe house below. He parked his Mustang and got out.
It was very quiet here. There was absolutely no traffic, and the nearest house was half a block up the street, half hidden around a curve behind a grove of trees.
Carter hurried to the far corner of the wall and looked down the steeply sloping hill. The barrier ran all the way down to the street below, which meant it enclosed one piece of property. The Soviets owned the entire area between the two roads.
Looking back to make sure no one was coming, he stepped off the road and worked his way down through the woods along the wall until he was at a point where he could not be seen from above.
It would be much easier, he told himself, if he could wait until night to go inside. But that was impossible; he was running against the clock.