‘How quickly could you move?’ asked the American.
‘Woa!’ said Charlie, avoiding the question. ‘I haven’t met either of them yet; heard what they have to say …’ He drank more sake and said: ‘Being so far ahead, as you are, you must be ready?’
Now it was Fredericks who sidestepped. He said: ‘Kozlov won’t move until he’s seen you; is satisfied about his wife. So we haven’t made any plans.’
The man spoke looking directly at Charlie, who decided the American was as good a liar as he knew himself to be. He wondered if Fredericks had any source at Haneda airport from which he could learn of the arrival of the commando unit: the man would see immediately through the Australian manoeuvres cover story. He said ‘What time?’
‘Nine: the first place, that is.’
The waitress cleaned the water for the last time and poured the stock into bowls for them.
Charlie said: ‘Same meeting arrangements as before?’
‘This is really very good,’ praised Fredericks, sipping the soup. ‘He’s set out six different places: all near enough to tourist hotels so we won’t attract any unnecessary attention, hanging around.’
From the number of meeting places Charlie decided he’d been right in his estimate of extra CIA men. ‘Very cautious,’ he said.
‘I told you before, everything’s professional.’
If only you knew, thought Charlie. He said: ‘Have we far to go?’
‘I chose this place because it was close,’ said the American.
Charlie raised his cup: ‘Here’s to success.’
‘We’re working together on this, OK? No tricks?’
‘No tricks,’ agreed Charlie. At least not until I’ve decided what they’re going to be, he thought. He wondered what Fredericks was planning.
Fredericks drank, belatedly, and said: ‘Here’s to success.’
At the exit Charlie said: ‘No one took my shoes.’
‘Let’s hope it’s our lucky night,’ said the American.
In another taxi, Charlie acknowledged the importance of the first cab: if Kozlov did intend a vehicle pick up, their own car would have been a burden. The drop-off was at the Diamond Hotel, but after paying the fare Fredericks led away from the entrance, towards the park. Charlie orientated himself, realizing how close they were to the British embassy. Would the diplomatic bag have arrived by now?
‘We hadn’t better stay together,’ warned Fredericks.
‘Surely he knows the point of the meeting?’
‘I don’t want to spook him, straight off. I’ll make the contact, then bring him to you.’
Charlie gazed alertly around him. Was that Fredericks’ only concern, unsettling the Russian? Or was there something he hadn’t anticipated. ‘I’ll be close,’ said Charlie, with no alternative.
Fredericks went ahead, stopping about ten yards away at the intersection with the main road. Charlie remained where he was, tensed for anything. He made out the entrance to the Hanzomon subway station and remembered the trail clearing of the first day: how close, he wondered, was the man in the shiny shoes tonight? Ten past, Charlie noted, checking his watch; he hadn’t asked Fredericks what the waiting period was to be, which was an oversight. The American’s movement, at quarter past, answered the unasked question.
‘Marunouchi. The Post Office,’ said Fredericks, coming back to him.
‘You put watchers in place?’
Fredericks’ hesitation was just a few seconds too long. ‘No,’ said the American. ‘I didn’t want to screw anything up.’
Let’s hope you haven’t, thought Charlie. As the cab picked up the Shinjukudori highway Charlie said, testing: ‘What’s after Marunouchi?’
‘Why?’ demanded the American, at once suspicious.
‘Just curious,’ said Charlie. ‘Checking the expertise.’
‘A second-hand book store, near the Surugadai Hotel,’ said Fredericks. ‘District’s called Jimbocho.’
Charlie smiled and said: ‘He knows the business.’
The American frowned across the cab. ‘How come?’
Charlie indicated the darkened Chiyoda-Ku to their left and said: ‘That’s the pivot. We’re going around it to get to Marunouchi and then virtually continuing in the same circle to the hotel. Easy travelling. But more for him than for us. Means he can monitor and keep ahead of us all the time. The circle goes on, after Jimbocho, right?’
‘The Yasukini shrine,’ confirmed Fredericks.
He’d got two further meeting places, Charlie recognized. He said, goading: ‘Be easy to isolate any surveillance.’
Fredericks grunted, not bothering to respond. The separated wait by the Post Office was as fruitless as the first and there was difficulty this time in getting another taxi, so Fredericks was shifting impatiently by the time they set out for the third designated spot.
‘It’s pretty easy to get pissed off,’ complained the American.
‘Prefer this to being trapped, through carelessness,’ said Charlie. ‘I was once, remember?’
The bookshop provided the best cover of all. It was crowded, like Japanese bookshops always are, and Charlie went in, to use the people for concealment, while Fredericks remained outside, slightly to the right of the shop front and its lights. Charlie wondered if Fredericks’ protector were inside or outside the shop. Charlie was lucky with an English language rack which gave him perfect observation of the waiting American. He pretended to browse, aware of the developing discomfort in his feet. If the run-around went its full course he’d be standing for practically three hours: it was going to be bloody agony.
No it wasn’t!
Fredericks started moving before the anonymous, silver-coloured Toyota came completely to a halt at the pavement edge. Charlie moved, too, as soon as he felt it was safe to do so without attracting any sort of attention. The very brightness which enabled him perfectly to see Fredericks became an immediate disadvantage because it blurred his vision into the darkened Toyota, reducing the driver to a grey, indistinguishable mass. At the doorway he paused, holding to the arrangement he’d made with Fredericks, letting the American prepare Kozlov. Charlie was alert not just to the car but everything around, nerves tuned for the first indication of anything wrong. The bookshop customers swirled around him and there were a lot of people on the pavements and everything appeared perfectly normal. Charlie didn’t relax: in his bruised experience things always looked perfectly normal seconds before the steel-shod boot came up to catch him right in the balls. Come on! come on! thought Charlie, impatient now: things had actually moved remarkably quickly, but he had the impression of having hung around, too long. The passenger door of the silver car opened and Fredericks started to enter and Charlie shifted again. They were in Kozlov’s hands but there was no planning for his being left behind: was he expected to wait here or move on, to the Yasukuni shrine? And what, after that, if Kozlov went on playing follow-my-leader?
Charlie decided he’d spent too much time in word games with Fredericks and not enough on the elementary who-does-what-and-where-and-how planning for this encounter. So he had the advantage of the London identification: apart from which, Charlie decided, in sudden frustration, he was still being held very much on the outside of this sodding affair. Tonight was when it stopped. Which meant not being left standing on the pavement like a runny-nosed kid who hadn’t been invited to the party. Charlie’s uncertain movement became positive, and he was actually making towards the vehicle — prepared to run to it if Fredericks’ door started to close in positive abandonment — when instead the American turned, looking for him.
‘What the …!’ began the man.
‘If I’m in, I’m in,’ announced Charlie. And he was.
Winslow Elliott, who had been the bookshop observer, was at the pavement edge before the Russian’s car properly entered the traffic stream. He stood momentarily uncertain and then hurried to his own car, congratulating himself on having parked it so conveniently close. He pulled out in pursuit, with the Toyota comfortably in view.