Rules of the Hunt (37 page)

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Authors: Victor O'Reilly

Tags: #Fiction, #Thrillers, #Espionage

BOOK: Rules of the Hunt
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The Spider indicated that he wanted to contribute, so Kilmara gestured
that he should proceed.
 
The Japanese was
fiercely proud, and he knew how difficult it was for them to discuss any of the
internal workings of their system.
 
Nevertheless, he could sense a growing climate of mutual trust in the
room and he was delighted that the DSG was abandoning his formal posture.

The Spider explained the background of the Namakas and something about
the Japanese political system and their influence within it.
 
"For some time," he said, "we
have suspected a link between the Namakas and Yaibo based upon an examination
of who has benefitted from Yaibo killings.
 
Nonetheless, all Yaibo activities did not directly benefit the Namakas
and we never had any hard proof.
 
Further, the Namakas had considerable political influence up to — and
including — ministerial level.
 
It was
not, and still is not, possible to just pick them up and sweat the truth out of
them.
 
Though we have
been tempted."

The DSG made no mention of the manner in which the Rangers' prisoner had
been interrogated, which now made him unusable as a witness.
 
He had been extremely angry when he had first
heard, but he was a pragmatist.
 
The
interrogation had taken place within the context of an extreme situation.
 
Sasada would undoubtedly have kept silent
otherwise.
 
As it was, though they had
not evidence against the Namakas they could use in court, the Namaka link with
Yaibo had moved beyond speculation.

Fitzduane was picking up a nuance.
 
"The situation with Namaka has changed?" he said.

The DSG nodded.
 
"Has changed
and is changing," he said with a slight smile.
 
"Specifically, Hodama, a
kuromaku
— and for decades the core of
their political backing — has been murdered.
 
Secondly, a change in public opinion is beginning.
 
We have a sophisticated economy and we would
like a political system to match.
 
More
and more ordinary Japanese are getting fed up with money politics and
corruption.
 
Groups are organizing and
lobbying for change.
 
It is becoming less
easy for corrupt politicians and their allies to suppress investigations and
operate with impunity."

"Who killed Hodama?" asked Fitzduane.

The DSG pursed his lips.
 
"This is a confusing matter," he said.
 
"The position of the Namakas has been
weakened as a result of his death, but the evidence points to the Namakas
themselves as having ordered his death.
 
The theory is that Hodama was going to publicly abandon the Namakas
because they may be in financial trouble — and he was killed as the lesser of
two evils."

"You have conclusive evidence against the Namakas?" said
Fitzduane.

"Unfortunately, we do not," said the DSG.
 
"For some months, the case against them
increased steadily, and then the investigation ground to a halt.
 
Everything points toward the Namakas, but we
can prove nothing.
 
Our inquiries
continue under an excellent man, but for all practical purposes we
are..."
 
He searched for the word:

"Stuck," offered Fitzduane.

"Quite so," said the DSG.

There was a long silence.
 
Kilmara
was tempted to speak, but he wanted to encourage the Japanese to continue if he
would.
 
It had been the devil of a job to
win him over in the first place.
 
Now he
was anxious to get the Spider off the sidelines and operationally involved.

The next action would best be suggested by the Japanese.
 
It must appear to be the Spider's idea.
 
He would be committed to it better if he
actually spoke the words.
 
Of course,
Fitzduane was going to go to
Japan
anyway, but politically things would go so much better if it appeared as a
Japanese initiative.
 
This was the
strategy that Kilmara had sold to Fitzduane, and he and Yoshokawa had been
working on from their respective ends for some time while Fitzduane got himself
fully fit.

But would the Spider bite?
 
Kilmara
thought it likely, given that they had come this far, but there was the matter
of human chemistry.
 
If the Spider did
not like the look of Fitzduane, all bets were off.

"Fitzduane-
san
," said
the Spider cautiously, "when do you think you will be fully fit?"

Fitzduane laughed.
 
"Pretty
soon," he said.
 
"I appreciate
the concern, but why do you ask?"

The Spider looked at Kilmara and then at Yoshokawa.
 
Kilmara smiled and Yoshokawa nodded.

The Spider drew himself up in his chair.
 
"Fitzduane-
san
," he
said, "we would like you to come to join our investigation in
Japan
.
 
We would be deeply honored."

Bull's-eye
! thought
Kilmara.
 
Then he nearly strangled Fitzduane.
 
There was such a thing as playing too hard to
get.

"I am equally honored by you invitation, Deputy
Superintendent-General-
san
,"
said Fitzduane, "but I do not speak your language and I am not a trained
investigator.
 
I'm not sure I would be
that much use to you."
 
Internally,
he had felt a rush of exhilaration as the Spider had spoken, because at last he
would be taking the fight to the enemy, but Yoshokawa had advised that a
certain modest reluctance would be in order.

Yoshokawa spoke.
 
"The Deputy
Superintendent-General knows your reputation," he said.
 
"He knows what you did in
Bern
.
 
He is familiar with the story of the
Hangman.
 
He knows how you saved the life
of my son.
 
He does not make this request
lightly."

"The simple fact is," said Kilmara, "that despite all the
precautions, we can't keep you safe here indefinitely.
 
That being so, there is a
lot to be said for seizing the initiative and taking the fight to the enemy.
 
The DSG thinks your presence in
Japan
would force them to take some action which could open this whole thing
up."

"Fitzduane-
san
,"
came
a voice from the end of the table that had not been
heard till now.
 
"I hesitate to put
this directly, but you have a choice.
 
You can either remain a target or act as bait."
 
Fitzduane looked at the speaker, Chifune
Tanabu, with surprise and some amusement.

"Tanabu-
san
is, perhaps, a
little blunt, but in essence she is quite correct," said the Spider.
 
"You will be well-guarded, of course, by
our best people.
 
However, I should add
that it will not be possible for you to carry a firearm.
 
Even in the circumstances, that would be
quite impermissible."

Fitzduane laughed so much, his leg started to hurt.
 
He stood up to exercise and still could not
stop laughing.
 
Tears streamed down his
cheeks.
 
He had not felt this good in
months.
 
The Spider looked uncomfortable
at first, but soon everyone was laughing.

When he had calmed down, Fitzduane produced some drinks and the meeting
took a break.
 
He thanked God — or
whoever ran things — for having a decided sense of humor.
 
It looked like he would be going manhunting
with little more for protection than his ability to talk his way out of
trouble.
 
And he had the feeling that
verbal diplomacy, in this context, was not going to be enough.

Still, he and Kilmara had anticipated this problem.

Fitzduane would not be permitted to carry a gun, but he would to be
entirely without weapons.

 

*
         
*
         
*
         
*
         
*

 

Paris
,
France

 

May 28

 

Since Yaibo had not been completely successful at eliminating the
organ-grinder, Reiko Oshima had decided to even the score with a monkey — a
monkey which would surely draw Fitzduane out of his little fortress of an
island, she thought with satisfaction.

Reiko Oshima's reputation rivaled that of Carlos the Jackal.

It was based not only on the savagery of Yaibo's actions, but also on her
appearance.
 
Her gentle beauty was a
startling contrast to the mayhem she caused.
 
She was a natural for the media.
 
The sobriquet ‘Lethal Angel’ had soon followed.

Oshima's file was high in the pile of every counterterrorist organization
and her photo was prominent on every passport control of significance, but she
still managed to crisscross the globe with apparent ease.
 
She was not just a leader and a planner.
 
She was an activist who thrived on risk.
 
She liked to get blood on her hands.
 
And she knew that the media impact of an
incident in which she was seen to have participated would be much enhanced.

The secret of Oshima's ability to travel unhindered by the security
services lay in her distinctive appearance.

The authorities were looking for a beautiful Japanese woman in her late
thirties.
 
They were quite uninterested
in a plump, bucktoothed matron with graying hair in her early fifties who was
touring
Europe
with a party of other
schoolteachers.
 
They were quite used to
Japanese tourists.
 
The hard currency was
welcome, and they gave little trouble.
 
The tourists had a fondness, which they could afford to indulge given
the strength of the yen, for European luxury goods like those of Gucci and
Cardin.
 
Further, despite the steady
publicity given to the Japanese Red Army, Yaibo, and various right-wing
organizations, the Japanese were not readily associated with terrorism.
 
The typical terrorist in Europe was profiled
as being from the
Middle East
or possibly
Irish.
 
Japanese were generally perceived
— quite reasonably, given the law-abiding nature of most — as not a threat.

Oshima,
plumped out around the middle, in sensible,
flat, lace-up leather shoes, gray suitably applied to her hair, bespectacled
and with her cheeks padded and her dental plate in place over her real teeth,
entered
France
with her
fellow teachers in a rented minibus and headed toward
Paris
.

No one gave them a second glance.
 
In her opinion, mainland
Europe
, with a
dense population in which to hide and internal borders coming
down,
was child's play to move around.
 
Certain other countries, like island
Britain
, were
not so easy.
 
Israel
, no matter what the
disguise, was a problem.
 
The Israelis
did not pay lip service to counterterrorism.
 
They were permanently at the sharp end.
 
They took the tracking down of terrorists very seriously indeed.

The greatest difficulties Oshima and there team encountered as they
entered
Paris
were driving and parking.
 
They stayed on
the
periphique
, the multilane
ring-road that circled Paris, for one full circumference before managing to
find the right exit, and emerged shaken, convinced that French drivers were a
special group of maniacs.
 
This judgment
was vindicated as they sped through narrow side streets, and were hooted at by
impatient Parisians every time they attempted to slow down.
 
It was confirmed when they tired to find a
place to park.

As a safe haven,
Libya
had its merits, thought the Lethal Angel, but with its limited traffic and vast
open spaces, it was poor training for the cut and thrust of congested mainland
Europe
.

The group consoled themselves with the prospect of a good French
meal.
 
Unfortunately, they arrived at
that hour in the evening when every Parisian simultaneously decides to eat and
will brook no interference from amateurs like foreigners.
 
All the restaurants they tried were full.
 
After the eighth indifferent shrug of
rejection, they dined on Big Macs, fries, and chocolate milk shakes at
McDonald's.

The food reminded them of
Tokyo
.

 

*
         
*
         
*
         
*
         
*

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