Rules of the Hunt (43 page)
Fitzduane expected a high-rise hotel abutting on a crowded city-center
street, but the
The architecture was
unspectacular — it had a postwar utilitarian feel about it and had obviously
been extended upward — but the location was superb.
It was set well back from the road, with a
park in front, and it was just outside the grounds of the
Trees and flowers were everywhere.
He caught a glimpse of water.
It was the palace moat.
"The Americans did such a good job of bombing
was a serious shortage of accommodation.
The
officers — so the beds are the right size for you oversized
gaijin
."
He smiled.
"I think you'll like it.
It
has what you asked for — character.
Whatever that is."
"It is something you have, Yoshokawa-
san
," said Fitzduane, taking his time with his words.
Yoshokawa smiled slightly and gave a slight bow in acknowledgment.
Through his police connections, he had read
the account of Fitzduane's adventures in
see why the man had been successful.
The
man had
a sensitivity
, a warmth.
Unlike so many
gaijin
who were overly aggressive in tone and style, he understood
the fundamental importance of
ninjo
—
human feelings.
He had a quick sense of
humor and he was a good listener.
Though
he was a big man, he did not appear to be physically dangerous in any way,
though the evidence said otherwise.
If
anything, his manner was gentle.
Yoshokawa was recognized instantly.
Though his company was not as large as Sony, it had a similar profile
and Yoshokawa was widely considered to be responsible for a great deal of its
postwar success.
He was a public figure
and he regularly appeared in the media.
For him to drive a guest personally to the hotel was an honor.
There was much bowing and smiling.
Fitzduane basked in the reflected glory.
It was quite fun.
He was whisked up to his room.
Some packages had arrived for him by courier
from the Irish Embassy and had been placed at the end of his bed.
They ran through the arrangements again in the privacy of Fitzduane's
hotel room before Yoshokawa departed.
They had considered having Fitzduane permanently based in Yoshokawa's
home, but had decided it would not be appropriate.
It was too far out and it could well restrict
the Namakas if they were going to make a move.
The
And
bait should be visible.
The following day, Yoshokawa would contact the Namakas and try to arrange
a meeting.
Meanwhile, Fitzduane would
settle in, and later
that afternoon meet
Superintendent Adachi.
He would be
discreetly guarded at all times by two detectives — he nodded at two men who
had just joined them — who would be stationed in a room next to his.
Chifune would appear on Monday to act as
interpreter.
Fortunately, Adachi spoke
excellent English.
"Will the detectives guarding me normally speak English?" said
Fitzduane.
There was a staccato burst of
Japanese from Yoshokawa.
The two men
looked embarrassed, and so did Yoshokawa.
There was a momentary silence, which Fitzduane broke.
"Yoshokawa-
san
," he
said.
"Could you tell these
gentlemen that they should follow me, but not restrict my movements?
And could you add that I am deeply sorry that
I speak no Japanese, but I feel quite confident that I am in good hands?
The reputation of the Tokyo Metropolitan
Police Department is legendary."
One of the detectives, a Sergeant Oga, looked visibly pleased at these
comments, and Fitzduane realized that whatever the case about speaking English,
the man understood it.
That was
progress.
Meanwhile Yoshokawa
translated, and as he finished speaking, Sergeant Oga spoke and both men bowed
deeply.
Yoshokawa looked visibly
relieved.
Wa
— harmony — had been restored.
"Sergeant Oga and Detective Reido," said Yoshokawa, "much
appreciate your thoughtful words and say that it is an honor to serve you,
Colonel Fitzduane-
san
.
Sergeant Oga-
san
says that he does speak English but he is out of
practice."
Yoshokawa left a few minutes later and Fitzduane returned to his room,
poured himself a glass of sake from the mini-bar, and unpacked.
Through his window he could see the tops of
trees and the curved roof of the Nippon Budokan.
It was hard to believe he was in the center
of
The gray sky looked just like
it was not actually raining.
In the
distance, he could see an airship.
He turned to the parcels delivered from the Irish Embassy.
They had traveled over in the diplomatic
bag.
One of the smaller packages held a
cuff designed to be strapped around the forearm with built-in Velcro binding.
Sewn into the semirigid cloth of the cuff
were two sheathed throwing knives made out of a dense plastic which would not
be picked up by a metal detector.
The
blades were weighted with inset ceramic pieces to give perfect throwing
balance.
Fitzduane had learned to throw
a knife two decades earlier when a soldier in the
The most important thing was the ability to
gauge distance, though a certain knack did not hurt.
Fitzduane had the knack.
He unpacked the other parcels.
One
of them was a surprise.
It was a golf
umbrella from Kilmara.
Fitzduane swore.
The sod must have known it was the rainy
season and had said nothing.
The
umbrella came with instructions, which Fitzduane read.
He then experimented.
The thing was really quite ingenious.
The deal with the Japanese was that he should not carry a gun.
That did not mean he had to be stupid.
*
*
*
*
*
The
Oyabun
of the
Insuji-gumi
tasked by the
Namaka security chief with terminating this
gaijin
,
Fitzduane, was something of an expert in the human-removal business.
Nonetheless, he had never before killed a foreigner, and he had never killed
anyone at all under this time pressure.
Normally, he would be given a name and an address and could determine a
time and place of his own choosing.
Further, he tended to be dealing with someone whose habits he was
familiar with and whose behavior he could predict.
In this case, he was going to have to
improvise, and he would probably have to leave the body where it fell.
This was a pity.
A disappearance —
the
Insuji-gumi
had a meat-packing
plant among their other interests, which contained all kinds of useful
machinery — did not engender the same reaction from the police as a murdered
corpse.
Still, the
Insuji-gumi
were
indebted to Kitano-
san
and obligations must be met.
They were old-fashioned
yakuza
, with full-body tattoos for the initiated, and they prided
themselves on their traditional values.
Their code was rather like the
bushido
code of the
samurai
, and it was
conceivable that it not be followed.
The
oyabun
had been supplied
with a description and photograph of Fitzduane and the approximate time he
would be checking in to the Fairmont Hotel.
From then on, he would have to improvise.
Fortunately, the
A
coffee shop with large windows to the left of the entrance was open all day,
and the hotel itself was quite small.
Any new arrival could easily be seen.
From an appropriate table, it was also possible to overlook much of the
lobby.
The
oyabun
, armed with an
automatic for emergencies and with a short sword concealed in his raincoat,
settled himself in the coffee shop to wait, with on
kobun
as company.
The
remaining four
kobuns
waited nearby
in a Mazda van with tinted windows.
Their swords were in a baseball bag.
The overall boss of the
Insuji-gumi
was an avid baseball fan, so a display of enthusiasm for the sport and
attendance at all major matches was virtually obligatory.
There was not much place for the
nonconformist in
and none at all in the traditional
yakuza
.
The
oyabun
boss and his
kobun
were arguing about baseball scores
and working their way through the fixed-price lunch menu and a beer or two,
when Fitzduane arrived.
The
oyabun
's first reaction was at the
height of this foreigner.
He was a good
head taller than the Japanese around him and was built in proportion.
It was going to be satisfying to cut him down
to size.
The
oyabun
was tempted to rush into the lobby and do the deed there and
then, but he suddenly recognized Yoshokawa-
san
and blanched.
To commit an assassination
in front of one of
leading industrialists, and possibly to harm him in the mêlée, would really be
inviting an excessive police reaction.
To kill the odd foreigner was one thing.
To threaten
industrial might would be an act of a different order of magnitude.
He looked out the window at the weather.
Well, it was not actually raining and it was still early enough in the
day.
With a bit of luck, the
gaijin
would not hole up in his room but
would do a little sight-seeing.
The
Yasukini Shrine was nearby.
The Nippon
Budokan, the concert hall where the Beatles and Bob Dylan had once played, was
worth a look.
The grounds of the
He pressed the transmitter button on the radio clipped to his belt and
held up his arm so that the microphone in his cuff would pick up his
voice.
"The
gaijin
has arrived," he said, "so stop playing with
yourselves
and stay alert.
He has gone up to his room.
When
he comes down and leaves the hotel, we'll do the job."
Across the table, his companion looked relieved that he could finish his
lunch, and went on slurping his bean curd soup.
This kind of work made him hungry.
In the van with the tinted windows, the four
yakuza
on standby opened more beer and played with their portable
pachinko
board for reasonably serious
money.
Pinball was a marvelously
mindless way of killing time when you were on a stakeout.
Yoshokawa departed and the
oyabun
looked up at the heavens and thanked whoever was up there.
The skies darkened and it started to pour,
and he felt betrayed.
After a further
twenty minutes, the rain ceased and an uncertain sun peeked through the
clouds.
The
oyabun
felt his spirits lifting again.
The
gaijin
,
he presumed, had not come all those miles to sit in his room and watch CNN on
the TV.
He must have some spirit of adventure
if Kitano-
san
wanted to have him
killed.
His heart leaped.
The American —
well, all
gaijins
in his experience
were American — had entered the lobby from the direction of the elevators.
He was checking a map and, better yet,
carrying an umbrella.