Second Skin (53 page)

‘Who, exactly, has he been making contact with?’

‘I have made a list.’ Drawing a folded sheet of paper from the wide sleeve of her kimono, she handed it to him.

As he opened it, he said in his most offhand manner, ‘I’ve eaten my fill, Eiko-san.’

‘I apologize. I bought too much.’

The Colonel tried not to frown. ‘I’d consider it a favor if you would finish it.’

‘Oh, thank you, Colonel-san, but I am not hungry. Really.’

He got his pipe going, then read the list of names she had recorded in her neat vertical calligraphy. ‘He’s going after the cream of the crop,’ he observed. ‘What do you suppose he wants with them?’

‘Contacts,’ Eiko said promptly. ‘I think he’s going into business for himself.’

But what kind of business? the Colonel thought. He looked up. ‘You’ve done well, Eiko-san. I’d like you to keep a record of Leon Waxman’s comings and goings. When the time comes, I want to know when I can find him with you.’

She took the tray of sushi and was about to leave when he said, ‘Oh, and Eiko-san, there is this woman, Faith Sawhill. Supposedly, she’s a captain – a nurse – in the US Army. But Okami-san and I have reason to believe that she is also something else. He hasn’t even seen her for ten months, though she’s been in contact. Would you use your contacts to see what you can find out about her?’

‘It would be my pleasure, Colonel-san.’

Later, when he was at last ready to go home, the Colonel went silently down the corridor. Outside Eiko’s room, he paused for a moment. Aware of movement inside, he changed his position slightly so he had an angle of sight into the room. He saw Eiko at her table, bent over, eating the leftover sushi. Her look of sheer delight brought a smile to his face.

The next day, Maj. Jack Donnough asked to see him after working hours. They met at Tenki while the lights of Tokyo were being lit with the coming of night.

‘I’ve discovered who owns that odd town house in the warehouse district,’ Donnough said without preamble. He stood in front of the Colonel’s desk, fidgeting, so filled with excitement he could not sit down. ‘You won’t believe this, but it’s Sen. Jacklyn McCabe.’

‘McCabe? What the hell is he doing with property in Tokyo? Especially one that’s being used as a Mafia safe house?’

Donnough shrugged. ‘It was a shocker, I can tell you.’

The Colonel’s brows knit together. ‘You’re certain of this?’

‘Absolutely. My source is unimpeachable.’

‘Christ.’ The Colonel stood, looking out the window at nothing in particular. His brain was racing a mile a minute, trying to figure the angles. But nothing made sense. Unless... Donnough had said that the Leonfortes and the Mattaccinos were both hell-bent on making liaisons with the fascists in Washington. Was it possible that one of them was already in bed with Capitol Hill’s chief fascist?

An hour after Donnough departed, Okami came in. By the look of him he’d had no luck tracking down Faith Sawhill. The Colonel, who had been batting around an odd coincidence, said to Okami, ‘I’ve never seen Faith. What color eyes does she have?’

‘Blue,’ Okami said, and went out to get washed up.

Now that was interesting, the Colonel thought. It was a long shot, but these days, long shots were all that were available to him. He had been thinking of his interview with Dr Ingawa, the neural surgeon who had worked on Leon Waxman’s face. He’d said Waxman had been brought in by someone claiming to be a nun. Dr Ingawa remembered nothing else about her except for her extraordinary blue eyes. Okami had referred to Faith Sawhill as living like a nun after Johnny Leonforte ostensibly died. She had blue eyes. Coincidence, or had she been the one to bring her lover to the hospital? Did she really hate Leonforte, as Donnough believed, or did she love him and was now protecting his new identity?

Three nights later, the Colonel went looking for Eiko. She was not in her room so he concluded she must be working on a client. He went to her table to write her a note to come see him as soon as she had a moment. He sat down and went through the stacks of paper, looking for a clean sheet on which to write. As he lifted up a partial stack on the right-hand side of the table, he saw something metallic gleaming. He put the papers aside and stared at it. It was a silver crucifix on a slender chain. Was Eiko Catholic? He’d never known it, and she had given no indication that she was anything but Buddhist. She had spoken to him several times of the
misogi,
the Shinto rite of purification by water that she periodically attended. Also, she was so traditionally Japanese in her dress and demeanor that he could not imagine that she was a convert to a Western religion. But if, in fact, she was Catholic, why was she hiding the fact?

He was about to replace the stack of papers when he heard her voice from the doorway.

‘Colonel-san?’

He put the papers down. ‘Ah, Eiko-san, I was just about to write you a note.’

She came into the room. ‘You wish to see me?’

‘Indeed I do.’

She gave a quick glance toward the still-visible crucifix. ‘So now you know my secret.’

The Colonel stood up. ‘I’ve never considered religion a secret, Eiko-san.’

She looked at him shrewdly. From this angle, her narrow face with its dark eyes, framed by her black hair, made her seem like a clever crow. ‘You are half-Jewish, Colonel-san, yet you go to considerable lengths to keep that part of yourself hidden.’

The Colonel did not care to speculate on how she had discovered this bit of intelligence about his background. Even Okami did not know. ‘There are reasons, Eiko-san. Jews are considered different by many people. There is widespread discrimination, though many would deny its existence; no doubt there would be unpleasant repercussions were my Jewish heritage to become common knowledge.’

‘Well, you needn’t worry about me being indiscreet. We all have our secrets.’ Eiko went to a chair and sat down, crossing her legs in classic Western style. The Colonel could not have been more shocked had she opened her kimono and showed him a penis between her legs. She switched to her very fine English. ‘You see, Colonel, I, too, belong to an order that is persecuted as savagely and consistently as the Jews.’

He frowned. ‘Catholics? I don’t think –’

‘I am speaking of women.’

There was dead silence in the room. Now and again, he could hear through the walls the soft hiss of traffic from the street nearby, and then a soft and sexual groan wafted down the hallway like incense.

At last, the Colonel sat down. ‘Could you explain this, Eiko-san?’

With her forearms on the thigh crossed over her left leg, she bent slightly forward. ‘I have some information on your Faith Sawhill. The reason Okami-san has not seen her in close to ten months is that she is no longer in Japan.’

‘Where did she go, back to the States?’

‘Yes. Before leaving she’d been staying down in the warehouse district.’

The Colonel’s insides went cold as everything started to coalesce. ‘In a town house wedged between two warehouses?’

Eiko nodded. If she was surprised by his question, she did not show it.

‘I need to find out what’s going on,’ he said, almost to himself. ‘I’ve got to get into that town house.’

Eiko’s dark eyes flicked up at his. ‘Would now be a convenient time?’

It had a door of stainless steel, that was the first thing the Colonel noticed. It looked like a regular wooden door, but when Eiko used the knocker, the sound told the Colonel the truth.

The truth. This was why he was here now, at the town house Faith had taken Okami to but had told him was too dangerous to come back to. Who was waiting for him inside? Faith? Caesare Leonforte? Sen. Jacklyn McCabe? Even – most wildly – Leon Waxman – Johnny Leonforte?

The door swung open.

A young woman of no more than twenty, whom Eiko introduced as Anako, led them through a lovely oval vestibule dominated by a wide staircase up to the second floor, and down a corridor beautifully paneled in cherrywood and into a magnificent library. Everything about this interior was exquisite and spoke of barrels of money. As was true of the door, the homely exterior of the town house belied what was inside.

The library was made spacious by its eighteen-foot vaulted ceiling from which hung an Austrian crystal chandelier. Floor-to-ceiling mahogany shelves held thousands of volumes of books. An estate-sized Persian carpet of lush ruby, sapphire, and emerald tones was spread across the floor on which was scattered leather furniture: a brace of facing sofas, a pair of chairs with matching ottomans, several green-shaded lamps. In one corner an exceptional French secretary of gleaming pearwood stood like an exhibit in a museum. A small but ornate ormolu clock on a bronze-and-glass coffee table chimed the hour and then began to tick away the seconds toward another. Thick, dark green velvet curtains hung where he knew no windows could be.

He turned to Eiko. ‘What is this place?’

‘It’s a home away from home,’ a rich contralto voice said, ‘an oasis for strangers in a strange land.’

The Colonel turned around to see a tall, stately woman with rosy cheeks, chestnut hair, and the most extraordinary eyes he had ever seen. Dr Ingawa had been right: they were a shade that could only be described as electric blue. She stepped forward and the black skirts of her habit rustled. She extended a hand, and when the Colonel took it, he found it dry and hard and powerful. An odd kind of heat passed through him and he blinked.

The nun was smiling. ‘Welcome to our manor house, Colonel Linnear. My name is Bernice. I am in charge of the Convent of the Sacred Heart of Santa Maria.’

‘You,’ he stumbled, almost at a loss for words. ‘You saved Johnny Leonforte’s life.’

Bernice continued to grip his hand and smile like the sun in August. ‘All in good time, Colonel. All in good time.’ She turned to Eiko. ‘You were right about him, Sister.’

Eiko bowed her head. ‘Thank you, Bernice.’ She said this in wholly Western style, and the Colonel had cause to remember what she had said to him:
I
,
too, belong to an order that is persecuted as savagely and consistently as the Jews.

Turning back to him, Bernice said, ‘So, Colonel Lin-near, what is your opinion of me?’

Still connected to her by her strong grip, he said the first thing that came into his mind. ‘I think you are the most beautiful warrior I have ever met.’

Bernice laughed then and said, ‘By the sword of Donà di Piave, I think I am going to like you, Colonel Linnear!’

She indicated one of the high-backed leather chairs. ‘Please make yourself comfortable.’ She took a seat on the chair that accompanied the French secretary. She sat, perched on the edge like a wren poised to take flight, her back ramrod-straight, her white, long-fingered hands folded in her lap. She had the fingernails, the Colonel saw, of a field-worker. Whatever else this nun might be, he decided, she was not an administrator. In chess terms, she was more the knight or the bishop; the one who spearheaded the attacks.

‘Colonel, may I offer you anything? Tea? Coffee? Brandy?’

He opted for tea and she joined him. Eiko disappeared and short moments thereafter Anako arrived with a chased-silver tea service. Tea was done English style, down to the thin rounds of fresh lemon, whole milk, fresh-baked scones, and clotted cream, all presumably on his account. It was an astonishing, unexpected treat and he set about enjoying himself.

At last, sated and content, he sat back. ‘Sister, I am in need of explanations.’

Her eyes darted his way, quick as a bird’s, and she spread her hands. ‘How can I help?’

‘What are you doing here in a house being used as a Mafia safe house and which is owned by Sen. Jacklyn McCabe?’

‘An excellent question, Colonel,’ came a booming baritone voice. The Colonel shifted in his seat just enough to get a look at the figure standing in the doorway to the library. He was a good deal over six feet. A broad-shouldered man in a beautiful chalk-stripe suit that made the Colonel long momentarily for civilian life. He wore a crisp white shirt, a cravat at his throat. Gleaming black handmade brogues were on his feet.

‘And one I intend to answer.’

He had a dark olive complexion, curling, thick black hair, and a thin mustache. His eyes were alive and dancing, as if he found life the most delicious and intoxicating game imaginable. He was good-looking, in his early thirties with sharp cheeks, a strong jaw, and a wide forehead. He looked both intelligent and formidable.

He strode toward them with the carriage of a man who had seen the world and had rightly recognized it as his oyster. ‘The simple truth is that we are in bed with the devil.’

He gave a wide smile that encompassed Bernice as well as the Colonel. ‘I don’t mean the Devil with a capital D, though Bernice here might not agree.’ He stopped in front of the chased-silver tray, dipped his pinkie in the clotted cream, and putting it between his rather sensual lips, sucked it off. With unaffected nonchalance he transformed a rather rude act into a perfectly natural one. Natural for him. Here was a true force of nature, and this fact was not lost on the Colonel.

The man took out a linen handkerchief and wiped his hand. ‘I mean a devil as in an evil man.’ He sat abruptly on an ottoman, pulled it to a spot midway between them. ‘That’s what this man, Sen. Jacklyn McCabe is. He’s a righteous sonuvabitch – sorry, Bernice – sure what he’s doing is good work, and that makes him all the more dangerous.’

‘God puts blinders on fanatics,’ Bernice said, ‘and that’s a fact.’

The man shot out a hand, and when the Colonel took it, pumped it enthusiastically. ‘Name’s Paul Mattaccino. But everyone calls me Black Paul’ – he laughed delightedly, pulling on his cheek – ‘on account of this dark skin of mine. Moors, maybe, from Africa, coming through Agrigento, who knows that far back in history.’

‘You’re digressing, Paul,’ Bernice said softly. ‘The Colonel is a busy man.’

‘Sure he is!’ Black Paul boomed. ‘I know that.’ He gave the Colonel a wink. ‘Reason he’s here now is ’cause he’s such a high-muck-a-muck.’

‘Paul...,’ Bernice said in the tone a nanny uses to curtail the more egregious activities of an obstreperous charge.