“And when will this report be ready?”
Kubota stood. “I will have the report completed in twenty-four hours, Commander Scott. In the meantime I hope you enjoy your stay in Tokyo.”
28
“He’s lying.”
Fumiko lifted her eyes, from her drink to Scott. “Why would Kubota lie?”
The owner of the ryotei — a traditional Japanese restaurant — whom Fumiko knew, arrived with steaming dishes of food.
Fumiko, eyes still on Scott, pretended not to notice as he fumbled chopsticks with his bandaged hand.
“You tell me why he’d lie,” Scott said.
After a long moment Fumiko said, “They’re protecting someone.”
Scott said nothing.
“The JDIH is protecting the man who met with Jin,” she added.
“Okay, but why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sure you do. He’s someone important; very important.”
“Someone close to the government, to the prime minister,” Fumiko said thoughtfully.
“Maybe he’s involved in something illegal, something the government would rather not have the outside world know about.”
“Terrorism,” she said. “You think this man’s a terrorist?”
“No, but maybe he’s financing terrorism. After all, that’s what Jin is, a terrorist. A nuclear terrorist. Maybe this man is an advocate of Bushido.”
Fumiko drank saki while she mulled that over.
“If he is, it might make your job easier,” Scott said.
“What job is that?”
More food arrived. More saki, too. After the owner departed, Fumiko said, “Would you please explain what you just said?”
Scott sat back on his cushions and said, “Did I tell you, Fumiko-san, that taihen utsukushii desu — you are very beautiful.”
She looked down and blushed. “You have suddenly regained your command of Japanese,” she said with mock sternness.
“It took me a while to memorize and was meant as a compliment, not a pass.”
“In that case, arigato. Taihen shinsetsu desu.”
“What?…”
“I said, ‘Thank you. You are very kind.’ But you didn’t answer me. Make what job easier to do?”
“If this man is so important he warrants the protection of the JDIH, it should be fairly easy to figure out who he is. How many men in Japan other than the PM would have access to Jin? Only a handful, right? So who are they? You said you’d started looking into the membership of the Japan Pacific War Veterans Association. You also said they were advocates of Bushido. Sounds to me like you might be on to something.”
“You heard what the director said. He could be any nationality, not just Japanese.”
“And you believe that?”
Fumiko pushed her meal aside. “Even if I don’t, I don’t see what else I can do. Kubota runs the division, and I can’t go through him to get more information. He controls everything. And as you saw, he’s not happy with me and with you, an American, looking over his shoulder.”
“Me, I can understand, but what did you do to make him unhappy?”
“First of all, Kubota lives in the past, when Japanese women were useful mostly for serving tea and for being fucked.”
Her words, Scott realized, were not meant to shock but to demonstrate the depth of her smoldering frustration over the treatment that she and other female employees experienced at JDIH. And throughout Japan itself.
“Second, I brought him the original Jin decrypts I had analyzed and which he dismissed until my evaluation of them forced him to admit I was right, that there was a meeting about to be held on Matsu Shan. He didn’t want me to liase with the SRO, but Director General Kabe gave the okay over Kubota’s objections. But somewhere along the line something changed. I think maybe when Kubota viewed the DVD.”
“Then Kubota’s lying about not being able to identify that man from the DVD images.”
“Possibly. I don’t know enough about their capabilities. They’re kept under tight wraps.”
“If he’s lying, it goes all the way to the top, maybe even to the DG himself.”
“Jake, that’s a serious charge.”
“It’s a serious thing we’re dealing with, nuclear blackmail, terrorism. Maybe a war on the peninsula.”
“Look, if the DG believed they had information about something that could potentially affect not only the U.S. but also Japan and all of East Asia, he wouldn’t protect the identity of one of the men involved. After all, the DG and Kubota are friends with General Radford. They wouldn’t hide something this important from him, not when North Korea could explode at any minute.”
“Okay, maybe I’m way off base, maybe the DG doesn’t know what Kubota knows, in which case you should tell him what you suspect.”
“No way. The JDIH is layered with protocol. You don’t see the DG without a year’s advance notice and approval from Kubota. Kubota’s the gatekeeper.”
Scott considered. “We need to find out what Kubota knows about this mystery man.”
Fumiko gave Scott an exasperated look. “Jake, this isn’t one of those seat-of-the-pants operations you’re famous for. This is the JDIH, and this is Japan.”
Scott frowned. “Who told you that? McCoy Jefferson?”
“Let’s just say I know some things about you, Dubrovnik, the Yellow Sea. I also know that what happened wasn’t your fault.”
“Thank you. You seem to be one of the few people who believe that.”
“Jake, listen to me. You don’t go off freelancing here. It isn’t done.”
“Even if Kubota’s hiding something?”
“He’s my boss.”
“Do you know what’s at stake?”
“Where do you think I’ve been? On Mars? Of course I know. War’s brewing between”—she lowered her voice—“the U.S. and North Korea. I’m the one who cracked the messages, brought them to Kubota’s attention, I’m the one—”
“All the more reason to find out what Kubota’s covering up.”
“I’m sorry, but you’re jumping to conclusions.”
Scott said no more, and they finished their meal, cold though it was. After dinner, which Fumiko insisted on paying for, they returned to her car. It had started to rain, and the streets were shiny and seemingly running with liquid color from the Ginza’s riotous electric signage.
“Think about what I said,” Scott said, as they rose in a tiny elevator to the upper level of a narrow parking garage crammed between two high-rises.
“I don’t want to think about it,” Fumiko said.
They stood in their own envelope of space, taking each other’s pulse. He heard her breathing, smelled the musky aroma of her tailored wool suit and perfume. She kept her eyes down, as if to ward off any further discussion that would force her to Scott’s position.
The juddering elevator stopped; its doors ground open.
Scott waited for her to unlock the car. She hesitated, then looked up at him, so close he could feel her warmth. “You understand my position?…”
“Of course,” Scott said. “You’ll do what’s right, I know you will.”
She gave him a questioning look, but he cut it off by putting a fingertip to her chin. “Enough for one night,” he said.
“Thank you.” Her lips brushed his cheek, and he smelled a hint of alcohol on her breath. “I wanted to say that I was very happy you were not…” She touched his bandaged hand. “Injured.” She compressed her lips and searched for the right words. “More severely, I mean… there was Ramos and…”