Rules of the Hunt (11 page)
"This is
not a TV quiz show," said Adachi.
Fujiwara
laughed.
"You'll like this,
boss," he said.
"It's
registered to the Namaka brothers.
It is
one of their personal vehicles."
Adachi just
stared at him.
"Well, I'm
buggered," he said.
"First a lapel pin, and now this."
The phone on
Adachi's desk rang.
He picked it
up.
"
Moshi, moshi
," he said — the Japanese equivalent of
‘Hello’.
The caller was brief.
Adachi put the phone down and stood up.
He checked his appearance.
Fujiwara
spoke.
He knew the signs, and it was not
unexpected.
"The top floor?"
he said.
Adachi
nodded.
He had a thought floating around
he could not seem to be able to grab a hold of.
He headed out the door.
*
*
*
*
*
The Tokyo
Metropolitan Police Department was headed up by the
Superintendent-General.
Like Adachi, he
was a graduate of
highflyer.
This high flying kept him
busy mixing with the movers and shaker of the
his social obligations to spend a great deal of time on actual police work.
The man who
really ran MPD was the Deputy Superintendent-General, the DSG.
And everyone knew it.
Adachi headed
for the elevator.
A group of policemen
heading up to a training session were also waiting, and it was clear there
would not be room for all of them and Adachi.
He was bowed into the elevator and no one followed.
The group would travel as a group.
The Deputy
Superintendent-General, Saburo Enoke, was not a graduate of Todai.
He had gone to a quite respectable provincial
university, but owed his advancement to considerable ability and enormous
political cunning.
The apparently
mild-mannered Enoke-
san
was a force
to be feared.
Adachi bowed
with deep respect.
The Deputy
Superintendent-General had always treated him politely, but he could not warm
to the man.
He had a gray personality
that revealed nothing.
The eyes behind
the designer glasses were intelligent but enigmatic.
Enoke-
san
was an extremely hard man to read.
The chain of
command, as far as Adachi was concerned, was clear-cut enough but potentially
politically fraught.
He was a policeman
and a member of the Tokyo MPD and reported ultimately to the Deputy
Superintendent-General.
However, the
direction of specific investigations came from the prosecutor's office.
Additionally, both the prosecutor's office
and the Tokyo MPD were, in the final analysis, responsible to the Ministry of
Justice.
And the ministry was headed up by
the Minister of Justice, who was a politician and a member of the Diet; and
Adachi's little department specialized in investigating corruption of Diet
members.
Effectively,
Adachi was reporting to some of the very people he was investigating.
It was, he thought, an interesting
relationship.
The DSG, in
addition to the offices of his secretariat, had a conference room of some size
at his disposal, and an even larger private office with windows on two sides
and an excellent view of central
It was generally considered a good sign if he
used his private office for an interview.
Such was the case on this occasion.
Black coffee
was brought after the initial pleasantries.
If you spent all day meeting people of a certain social class in
drinking something or other.
Even the
yakuza
bosses followed the social
customs.
One of the first things Adachi
had learned in his anti-corruption job was to pee as and when opportunity
presented itself.
Sitting cross-legged
with a full bladder on a
tatami
mat
or on one of those damn low-slung sofas was agony.
"Superintendent-
san
," said the DSG for his
consideration.
People were always asking
after his father.
That tended to happen
when your father was a senior advisor to the Emperor.
The Emperor was not longer considered
divine.
He exercised no direct
power.
But his symbolic influence was
considerable.
A senior advisor to the
Emperor was someone with friends in the highest places.
It was a key reason why Adachi had been
selected for his job.
He had enough
connections at the highest level to be considered reasonably invulnerable to
political influence.
And he had a
temperament to match.
"The
death of Hodama-
san
is extremely
unfortunate," said the DSG.
Adachi nodded
his agreement.
He imagined Hodama,
himself, had not been overly enthusiastic either.
He noted that Hodama's staff,
who
had also died rather abruptly, did not get a
mention.
The DSG, who was an exceedingly
small man, sat in a very large and well-padded black leather swivel chair.
He swiveled his chair around so he could look
out of the window after he spoke, and was silent.
Adachi fought an impulse to peer over the
DSG's desk.
It was rumored that his legs
dangled.
"Unfortunate,"
repeated the DSG quietly, almost as if talking to himself.
He did not seem to expect a reply.
It was a
characteristic of Japanese discussions that what was said was significantly
less important than what was communicated in other ways.
The ranking of participants, the context of
the discussions, body language, shades of tone — all these elements were as
important as the spoken word, and together added up to the dominant aspect of a
meeting.
Adachi understood all this as
well as the next man, but considered that the DSG carried the whole process to excess.
The man never seemed to say anything
specific.
He never committed
himself.
There was no feedback on recent
developments.
He just sat like a spider
spinning some invisible web; and around him, senior street-hardened career
policemen jumped if he called.
He was
not a popular man, nor even respected as a leader, and yet the consensus in the
force was that the Tokyo MPD had never been in better shape.
Whatever it was, the Spider had
something.
And, so it was rumored, part
of that something was political clout.
"Hodama-
sensei
."
The DSG's use of the term
sensei
was interesting and possibly
disturbing.
Sensei
literally meant ‘teacher’ and was used as a term of
respect.
That Deputy
Superintendent-General Enoke should talk about Hodama, a man who had been under
active investigation by Adachi's own department, in such a way had
implications.
It implied connections
which implied potential embarrassment for these connections; embarrassment
which must be avoided.
The DSG was
warning Adachi to proceed carefully, to be cognizant of the political
ramifications.
Where the DSG stood on
the matter was far from clear.
He might
be supportive.
He might be warning
Adachi off.
The superintendent had not
the faintest idea where the DSG stood, and he had not the slightest intention
of asking.
It would be pointless and it
would offend protocol.
The DSG was his
superior, and Adachi was well-schooled in what was appropriate in such situations.
This was
Respect for one's seniors was fundamental.
The small man
in the big chair turned to face Adachi.
"Superintendent," he said, "do you have all the resources
you need?"
"Yes, I
do, Deputy Superintendent-General-
san
,"
said Adachi.
"I have my own
department, additional manpower seconded to me as it may be required, and the
work of the technical support services has been exemplary."
Internally, he was taken aback.
It seemed he was being both warned off and
offered help.
It was typical of the
Spider, extremely confusing.
The DSG made
an approving gesture.
"It is
important that this matter be resolved satisfactorily."
Adachi agreed
respectfully.
He had the feeling that
the operative word was ‘satisfactorily.’
The Spider
changed the subject, or appeared to do so.
"I was examining the latest crime statistics," he said.
"I am concerned about the foreign
element.
Our own Japanese criminals
behave predictably and they know how far they can go.
Foreigners have no respect for
authority.
Their motives are often
obscure.
Their behavior is frequently
impermissible."
Adachi agreed
again.
"Foreigners can indeed be
difficult, and yet some are required for the economy."
"Korean
criminals are a particular problem, I have noticed," said the Spider.
"They have a tendency towards
violence."
He looked at Adachi.
"Sometimes random
violence.
They can be a cruel
people.
They lack adequate respect for
office and position."
He rose to
indicate that the interview was over.
Adachi bowed
deeply and left.
The DSG might be
suggesting he clean up the whole Hodama business by framing some obliging
Koreans; he might have remembered Hodama's early years in
suggesting a line of inquiry; he might merely have been making polite
conversation.
Adachi was not about to
ask exactly what he meant.
If the DSG
had wanted to be specific he would have been.
And more to the point, it was not appropriate to question a
superior.
hierarchical organization.
Where would
anyone be if sufficient respect for one's superiors was not shown?
Still, thought
Adachi, there are times...
He felt
vaguely frustrated.
He went down to the
dojo
, found a
kendo
partner, and worked out energetically for an hour.
Bashing somebody over the head with a split
bamboo cane meant loosely to simulate a
katana
,
the long sword, while being hit as little as possible yourself was an excellent
way to restore equanimity.
After the
session, he bathed and went back to work refreshed.
The Spider's observations he stored in the
back of his mind.
The pile on his desk
had become even higher.
There was work
to be done.
5
Intensive Care Unit
January 4
A terrible
feeling suffused him.
He could not
identify the feeling, nor did he understand where he was or what had
happened.
Tears coursed down his
cheeks.
He opened his eyes.
He had no sense of place or time or reason.
Brightness.
Noises.
Electronic noises.
Strange breathing sounds.
He was
not breathing!
Terror;
absolute terror.
Darkness.
Sadness.
Blackness.
Nothing.
A little peace.
A time for nightmares.
He awoke again, choking, and knew only despair.
He fainted.
*
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