Rules of the Hunt (48 page)

"There are some forces you can't buck," said Bergin flatly.

Fitzduane thought about what Bergin had been saying.
 
Half of what his friend was communicating was
unspoken, yet the clues were there.
 
Suddenly, Fitzduane understood.

"You said the old alliances hadn't changed," said Fitzduane.

"Different names, that's
all," said
Bergin, "but the same team is still pulling the strings, even if there is
a problem with one of the team members.
 
Overenthusiasm, say some.
 
Something nastier, say others.
 
But the trouble is
,
it's hard to get a rotten
apple when it's at the top of this particular tree.
 
Hard to do it without
embarrassment."

"How rotten an apple?" said
Fitzduane.
 
"As a friend to a
friend, Mike."

Bergin pursed his lips.
 
"This
particular apple has been rotten since
Vietnam
," said Bergin.
 
"Terminal is the description I would
use."

"Terminal?" said Fitzduane.
 
"That's a rather strong word."

Bergin met his glance.
 
"Carefully chosen," he said.

The conversation turned to reminiscing, and later they ate together.
 
It was near midnight when Fitzduane
left.
 
As he was saying farewell, he
asked a question that had been in the back of his mind for some time.

"How long have you been with the Company, Mike?"

Bergin blinked, but said nothing at first.
 
Then he held out his hand.
 
"Loose lips sink ships," he
said.
 
"How did you know?"

Fitzduane pointed at the row of guest slippers.
 
"Too many size twelves," he said.

"You always were an intuitive bastard," said Bergin,
smiling.
 
"But someone has to watch
the watchers.
 
It's been good to see you,
Hugo."

Fitzduane had a lot to think about as he drove back to
Tokyo
, bracketed by his escorts.
 
In particular, he was thinking about a rotten
apple called Schwanberg.
 
As the
Company's head of station in
Tokyo
,
controlling the power brokers of Japanese society, he probably felt nearly
invulnerable.

In his scruffy but comfortable house in the
village
of
Asumae
,
Bergin finished the open bottle of Fitzduane's excellent wine, shook his head,
and made a call.

16

Tokyo
,
Japan

June 19

 
The big man in the expensive black
suit, handmade shirt, and club tie listened to the progress reports on the
Namaka affair with interest, pleasure, and some concern, but his face displayed
no emotion.

It could not.

Nearly four decades earlier, terrible burns had disfigured it.
 
The whole of his face had been savaged by the
flames, and the flesh on the left side had been almost completely seared
away.
 
His ear had been reduced to a
piece of blackened gristle.
 
The left
side of his body was horribly scarred.

Plastic surgery was not possible at the time.
 
The Korean gangs were being hunted, and a
hospital would have meant his death.
 
By
the time he was able to have surgery, the medical team could do only so
much.
 
Thanks to grafts from his thigh and
buttocks, he was made functional.
 
He
could eat again and make love to a woman if she could bear it.
 
He could open and close his eyes.
 
His nose was rebuilt, and he had what passed
for an ear.

But he was still hideous, repulsive, with his scarred, seamed face,
twisted features, and tight, artificial-looking skin.
 
People looked at him and were afraid.
 
He was a living reminder of the terrible
things that can be done to the human body.
 
And he looked exceedingly dangerous; a man who had already been embraced
by death; a man with nothing to lose.

His own group had all been burned to death in the fire or cut to pieces
as they tried to escape.
 
They thought he
was dead, too, that the small gang of Korean gangsters was completely
destroyed.
 
It was a deliberate object
lesson in brutality.
 
Japan
was going to emerge again stronger
than ever from the destruction of the war, and the power brokers did not want
rivals.
 
And they certainly did not want
Koreans.
 
The Koreans were a conquered
people who had come to
Japan
as virtual forced labor before and during the Second World War, and then had
used the
U.S.
occupation to try to break out of their servitude.

Japan
was defeated.
 
There was a power
vacuum.
 
The black market
flourished.
 
The
gurentai
, a new breed of more vicious gangster, emerged with little
of the spirit of the traditional
yakuza
.
 
The
gurentai
were ruthless and ran roughshod over the defeated Japanese.
 
Many of the
gurentai
were Korean.
 
It was
an opportunity to hit back at the arrogance of the Japanese, to prey on their
erstwhile masters.
 
Their conquerors were
now the defeated.
 
The newly released
Koreans were protected by the U.S Arm of occupation — at first.

For several exhilarating years in the immediate postwar period, Korean
gangsters enjoyed unprecedented success in
Japan
.
 
The occupation regime
concentrated on demilitarization and changing
Japan
into a liberal democracy.

Then
came
a change in emphasis.
 
The defeat of communism became the main
priority.
 
Anyone and everything that was
opposed to communism, or purported to be opposed to communism, began to get
active
U.S.
intelligence support.

Hodama was released from prison for just such a purpose.
 
He was an organizer and a fixer, with
unparalleled connections.
 
He knew how to
press the right buttons to win political support.
 
He knew how to recruit gangs of young thugs —
such as the Namakas — to enforce his will.
 
An alliance of
U.S.
intelligence, right-wing politicians, and organized crime was created.
 
This alliance set out to defeat communism and
the burgeoning left-wing movement in
Japan
and to seize political
power.
 
This demanded cultivating popular
support, and one of the quickest ways was to turn on the Korean criminal
gangs.
 
They were fiercely resented by
the average Japanese and were a convenient focus of hate.

The man in the black silk suit was seventeen when the attack by Hodama's
people came.
 
The warehouse where his
gang was based was surrounded by the Namakas and other members of Hodama's
group and saturated with gasoline.
 
Twenty-six Korean gang members had died in that
holocaust,
including the man in the black silk suit's mother, father, two brothers, and
sister.

The one survivor had sworn revenge.

He lived only for retribution.
 
But
revenge would only be possible if he became strong.
 
Hodama and the Namakas had the powerful
backing of
U.S.
intelligence, and soon became even more powerful in their own right.
 
The right time to exact appropriate
retribution seemed never to come.

The decades passed.
 
The man in the
black silk suit worked his way up to become boss of one of the most powerful
yakuza
gangs in
Japan
, but
still could not strike at Hodama and his supporters without excessive risk and
terminal consequences.
 
Hodama's base of
support was too strong.
 
He was needed.
 
He could deliver the votes.
 
He was a linchpin of the right wing, of the
anti-communist alliance.
 
He was the
leading
kuromaku
behind the Liberal
Democrat Party, and he was the CIA's man.
 
He was protected.

Though some knew the story, the fire had removed most traces of the
survivor's Korean background
.
He took the name Katsuda
and initially passed himself off as Japanese, though eventually, as the Korean
community in
Japan
prospered and searched for protection against the dominant Japanese, he
reestablished his Korean links and traded upon them.
 
Over time, as the Katsuda-
gumi
became ever stronger, he, too,
established links wit the right wing and the LPD and the Americans.
 
And he waited for the right opportunity.

Sooner or later Hodama would make a mistake.
 
He would lose his protection and Katsuda
could strike.
 
It was a carefully planned
operation refined again and again over the years, which would destroy not only
Hodama but his whole base of support, starting with the Namakas.
 
The Americans, referring to the spread of
communism in
Southeast Asia
, called it ‘the
Domino Theory.’
 
Katsuda thought the
simple applicable to what he had in mind.
 
Knock down the first tile and it falls on the second, which falls on the
third...

When it was over, there would be a new
kuromaku
, Katsuda-
sensei
.
 
Only very few people would know.
 
Hodama had enjoyed his public
reputation.
 
He felt it increased his
influence.
 
Katsuda had no time for such
vanities.
 
He wanted power, but cloaked
in secrecy.
 
It was the way of a true
kuromaku
.
 
Invisible but all-powerful.

While still a young man, Katsuda had been impatient for revenge.
 
The image of the destruction of his enemies
had influenced his every action.
 
It made
him faster, more ruthless, and more urgent in everything he did.

Yet as time went on, he learned to savor his motivation.
 
Anticipation in itself, he found, was greatly
pleasurable.
 
The fact that Hodama and
his followers were blithely unaware of their nemesis gave the enterprise and
added piquancy.

Katsuda wanted Hodama to die without ever knowing.
 
He wanted to deny him even this slight and
fleeting satisfaction.
 
Katsuda would be
the bringer of death, and the way of death would be terrible.
 
The thoughts of Hodama himself were of little
concern.
 
Only his fear and pain would be
important.
 
The man must die in fear and
he must suffer.
 
Katsuda had seen his
family die in agony, and he could not forget.
 
He did not wish to forget.

Patiently, Katsuda studied his intended victims and waited.
 
And waited.
 
Then, at last, the conjunction of several
events created the opportunity.

The cold war came to an end, and gradually it began to be perceived that
the strategic importance of
Japan
had changed.
 
For forty years and more,
Japan
had been offered unrivaled access to
U.S.
markets in exchange for being an unswerving
U.S.
ally.
 
This was no longer so important.

Japanese economic success had made the leading Japanese power brokers
cocky.
 
They no longer felt obligated to
America
.
 
Japan
was now the world's second-largest economic power, and, in the opinion of
Hodama and some others, the time had come for
Japan
's international behavior to
reflect its economic power.
 
The time for
automatically playing second fiddle to the U.S was over.

The third
development was a sense by the political analysts and intelligence services of
the world's lat remaining superpower that the time of the postwar politicians
was over.
 
They had become associated
with ‘money politics’ and their greed had surfaced once too often.
 
There had been too many public scandals.
 
The old regime had run its course.
 
It had served its purpose.