Rules of the Hunt (68 page)

The Spider, his face impassive, his eyes hooded, contemplated his
subordinate with concern.
 
He could sense
the raging conflict in the younger man's mind, and he realized that a
satisfactory resolution was going to be a more difficult task than he had
thought.
 
The man was suffering.
 
The first move would be to stop his brooding.

"I hear there has been progress on the Hodama matter," he
said.
 
"Perhaps, Superintendent-
san
, you would be good enough to brief
me."

Adachi's eyes lit up with enthusiasm.
 
His world had been badly shaken, but his faith in his ability as a
policeman was undiminished.
 
This was one case he would resolve no matter what — or die
in the trying.

Nearly ninety minutes later, the Spider's opinion of his subordinate's
ability and sheer perseverance, already high, had notched up further.

"I have one suggestion, Superintendent-
san
," he said.
 
"It
concerns the tapes."

Adachi was immensely encouraged as he left the Spider's office.
 
The bloodline of his
samurai
ancestors was clear to see.
 
His back was straight and there was a confident spring in his step, and
a sense of purpose suffused his whole demeanor.

This man, the Spider reflected, would slay dragons with his bare hands,
if that was what his duty dictated.

If only dragons were the problem.

*
         
*
         
*
         
*
         
*

Kamakura
,
Japan

July 10

They were sitting on either side of a low table in the tea room in
Yoshokawa's house in
Kamakura
.
 
They had dined earlier with Yoshokawa's
family, but now the two were alone.

Both were cross-legged and seated directly on the
tatami
mats of the floor.
 
Yoshokawa had offered Fitzduane a low chair with a supporting back to
ease his untrained
gaijin
posture,
but the Irishman had remarked that since he felt comfortable enough with
Yoshokawa to rub his limbs or move about when pins and needles set in without
upsetting protocol, he would try sitting the Japanese way.
 
Yoshokawa had been pleased at the implied
compliment.
 
Subsequently, the intensity
of the discussion caused Fitzduane to forget, temporarily, his physical
discomfort.
 
He was to be reminded when
he tried to stand up.

"Your plan is brilliant and daring, Fitzduane-
san
," said Yoshokawa, after Fitzduane had run through it the
first time, "but quite outrageous."

The Japanese industrialist looked a little shaken.
 
As one of the leaders of Gamma, he was aware
of the very real dangers inherent in the struggle to reform the Japanese
system, but Fitzduane's easy familiarity with the world of violence was
unsettling.
 
Yoshokawa's wars stopped at
trade and politics.
 
Fitzduane's wars had
not such limitations.
 
The
 
Irishman
might not like the necessity
of killing, but he didn't to shirk it.
 
Faced with no alternatives, he thought pragmatically in terms of what
had to be done.
 
His cause might be just,
but such an approach was chilling to encounter for the uninitiated.

"We are dealing with multiple forces here," said
Fitzduane.
 
"And each element is
strong enough and well enough entrenched to reconstitute itself when
damaged.
 
Yaibo lose a handful of
terrorists.
 
No problem, they can always
recruit more.
 
The Namakas lose a few
contract
yakuza
and then their head
of security and, for all practical
purposes,
they are
absolutely unaffected and even turn Kitano's death to advantage.
 
Then Kei Namaka is killed and Namaka Special
Steels is exposed as making illegal nuclear plants for the North Koreans — and
not only does Fumio claim innocence, but he gets the plant back within a couple
of weeks, because he had massive political support and all the blame can be
shoved on the dead brother.
 
And in the
shadows we have Katsuda,
kuromaku
in
waiting,
who
bumps off Hodama and gets away with it,
and behind him, Schwanberg, doubtless with some other candidate lined up in
case Katsuda comes down with a cold.

"Hell, this is like
Vietnam
.
 
Slogging through the boonies won't work.
 
We need a little
chutzpah
here, Yoshokawa-
san
.
 
Think in terms of fencing, if you will.
 
The clash of blades is all very exciting, but
there comes a time when you have got to end it with a single aimed
thrust."

Yoshokawa made a gesture of helplessness and then filled Fitzduane's
wineglass.
 
"But what you are proposing,
Fitzduane-
san
,
can only be done with the cooperation of the police, and they will not accept
it.
 
It involves setting up a situation
where the loss of life is certain, and that will not be tolerated."

"The Tokyo Metropolitan Police won't officially back this, I'll
grant you," said Fitzduane, "but Gamma has enough political muscle to
set it up and do damage limitation afterwards.
 
For all practical purposes, the Spider runs the department.
 
If he backs it, it can happen.
 
And Koancho will cooperate.
 
That I already know."

"What about the Americans?" said
Yoshokawa.
 
"Schwanberg is senior CIA."

"Leave the CIA to me," said Fitzduane.

Yoshokawa sipped some wine and was lost in silence.
 
Then he looked at Fitzduane and shook his
head regretfully.
 
"The ruling
council of Gamma
are
moderates," he said.
 
"They want reform, but they will not
support something as drastic as what you have proposed.
 
Things are not that desperate."

"They are," said Fitzduane grimly, "and if we do nothing,
they are going to get worse.
 
Believe
me."

Yoshokawa felt dread as he heard and agreed with his friend's words, but
he knew his colleagues on Gamma.
 
The key
man to persuade in this situation was the Spider, and Yoshokawa just knew he
would not support Fitzduane's scheme unless pushed to the edge.

*
         
*
         
*
         
*
         
*

Tokyo
,
Japan

July 10

Adachi let himself into his apartment.
 
It had been cleaned up and redecorated while he was ill and staying at
his parents', and now there was no trace of the gunfight and of Sergeant
Fujiwara's violent death.

He had thought of moving, but he liked the place, and the unpleasant
memories of that particular incident were more than compensated for by other
happier recollections.
 
Most of all, he
was reminded of Chifune.
 
When he closed
his eyes, he could see her and smell her and touch her, and when he slept at
night she slept beside him.

He opened his eyes.
 
Reality was an
empty apartment and he was hungry and he had work to do.

He had bought some take-out food at the restaurant on the corner and now
he laid it out on the low table and went to the fridge and got a beer.

The cold liquid and the food gave him a lift.
 
He smiled to himself as he thought about
finding the tapes.
 
Now, that was an
example of good police work and stamina if ever anything was.
 
He, Adachi-
san
, might be a flawed human being and incapable of pinning down a
beautiful butterfly like Chifune, but, whatever his limitations, he was a good
policeman and that made him very proud.
 
And he knew now that his achievements made his parents proud also, and
that was very satisfying.
 
They had not
been so keen on his choice of a career in the early days.

When Adachi had been at home convalescing he had thought about the late
Inspector Fujiwara.
 
The man had been an
excellent administrator, well-organized and thorough.
 
Indeed, it was his organizational skills
which had made it possible for him to lead his double life without detection
for so long.

The investigation that had followed Fujiwara's death had been
extraordinarily thorough and controlled directly by the Spider.
 
Secret bank accounts had been found, together
with other evidence of the policeman's duplicity, yet, in Adachi's opinion, as
he read the reports, there was still something missing.
 
Fujiwara, the investigation showed, was a
greedy man who kept a flashlight by the bed in case of power failure and had
spare batteries for the flashlight and candles in reserve.
 
The spare tire in his car was nearly new and
correctly inflated.
 
He had regular
health checks more often than was absolutely necessary.
 
His substantial life insurance was paid up.

Something told Adachi that such a man would take some precautions against
his criminal employers.
 
Supplementing
his police salary by taking bribes from the Katsuda
-gumi
was a hazardous business.
 
He was not a full-fledged member of the gang.
 
That meant he was deniable and disposable,
and he would have known this.
 
So he
would have made sure to have something on his extracurricular employers, a
little blackmail to create a balance of power.

And yet the Spider's team, despite their success in further confirming
that Fujiwara was dirty and in turning up considerable sums of money he had
hidden away, still did not find the blackmail material that Adachi was
convinced was there.
 
Better yet,
Fujiwara had personally participated in the Hodama hit.
 
He had been in Hodama's house.
 
And Hodama was a man who kept records.

Possibly, Fujiwara had even participated in sanitizing the process.
 
Surely he would not have missed such an
opportunity.
 
Surely, he would have pocketed
something to help secure his position if matters turned against him.
 
If he could deceive the Tokyo MPD day after
day, he could certainly pull a fast one on the Katsuda
-gumi
.

When Adachi returned to duty, he went to his office off the squad room and
tried to imagine where Fujiwara might have concealed something.
 
The reports were meticulous in documenting
every detail of the searches.
 
Checklists
had been compiled and each item methodically ticked off.
 
Rooms had been photographed and each search area
marked.
 
The houses of friends and
associates had been searched.
 
Fujiwara's
desk and locker had been searched and the squad room as a whole turned over.

Nothing.

Adachi had lain back on the too-small sofa and closed his eyes.
 
It had taken him several days, but he had
read every document in the now-vast Fujiwara case file and he could not think
of a single thing the search team had missed.
 
The Spider's close supervision was apparent.
 
Where a report was not clear enough or some
shortcut had taken place the first time around, there was a margin note by the
Spider in his distinctive hand, and a page or two later in the file, a memo
would turn up ordering a fresh search or a further check.

Adachi realized that he and his colleagues had approached, and were
continuing to look at the problem, in a Western way.
 
They were being logical and methodical and
punctilious to a point where a Prussian bureaucrat would have been proud of
them, but they were not using their famed Japanese empathy.
 
They were not feeling their way through the
dead policeman's thought processes, sensing the answer intuitively.

Of course, not many of the investigating team would have known Inspector
Fujiwara personally.
 
It was the nature
of such an investigation that fresh, unsullied faces would be brought in from
outside.
 
Those who were close to the
dead man were potentially contaminated.
 
Only Adachi had escaped being a suspect and, who knows, perhaps he, too,
was under surveillance.

Adachi brushed aside such negative thoughts and focused on Fujiwara.
 
There was something about his personality
that the numerous reports and interviews had missed and which, indeed, had been
demonstrated more by his actions than by his demeanor.

The missing elements were arrogance and nerve.
 
In Adachi's opinion, Inspector Fujiwara had
been an arrogant man, and in leading his double life he had been brave to the
point of foolishness.
 
Sooner or later,
given the company he was keeping, it was inevitable that he would have come to
a bad end.
 
And yet, in his arrogance, he
did not seem to have realized this.