Diamond erupted. He didn’t care what the sodding time was in New York. A child’s life was at stake and he needed to speak to Eastland right now.
She took the number and promised that she would insure mat the lieutenant called right back within the next few minutes.
The promise was kept.
The familiar voice, husky with sleep, protested angrily, “Diamond? For Chrissake-”
“Listen. That conference at the Sheraton. Are you with me?”
“Yeah,” said Eastland, already capitulating. He must have been tired.
“Do you still have the literature?”
“Literature?”
“The press pack. The stuff about PDM3.”
“I don’t know. I could have thrown it out. It may be downstairs. Do you want me to look?”
“Oh, come on. Would I be phoning you?”
“Hold the line. I’ll be right back.”
Through the door he could just see Yamagata doing an exercise that involved propping his left leg on a bookshelf. It looked liable to cause a disaster.
“Peter, you there?”
“Of course. Have you got it?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Now, turn to the first page of that blue leaflet, the one that introduces PDM3. Somewhere, there’s a chemical formula. Know what I mean?”
“Hold on Okay. You want me to read it out?”
“No, let me try. Listen carefully. Check every figure, would you?”
C 18
“Correct.”
“H 13 “
“Check.”
Diamond’s pulse beat more strongly. He was reading out the formula for Jantac. “NOC.”
“Yeah.”
It had to be the same now. His voice breaking up with tension, he completed the formula. It was precisely the same. Jantac, the drug dumped by Manny Flexner in 1985, had been resurrected as Prodermolate-the miraculous PDM3.
“Is that all you wanted?” said Eastland in a less than cordial tone.
“That’s all I wanted-unless you can give me the form on a couple of hatchet men called Lanzi and Frizzoni.”
“Never heard of them. Can I go back to bed now?”
Diamond thanked him and put down the phone. He gestured to Yamagata to come into the office and the big fellow thoughtfully grasped Miss Yamamoto’s wrist and brought her in as well. Blushing as only a Japanese girl can, but not displeased-for his grip was gentle-she remained standing beside him when he released her.
It was vital that Yamagata understood the significance of this discovery. Others, including Dr. Hitomi and a couple of librarians, had followed him in, but Diamond couched his explanation in terms meant for the wrestler. “Do you see what I’m driving at?” he said when he’d given the gist of the phone call. “Jantac was discredited here. It’s dangerous, and shouldn’t have been used again. We now know that another team of researchers, headed by Professor Churchward, worked independently with the same compound and came up with sensational results in the treatment of Alzheimer’s disease. I’m not going to speculate whether Churchward knew that he was working with a dangerous drug, but someone at Manflex headquarters certainly knew, which is why all mention of Jantac was erased from Yuko Masuda’s computer record.” He waited for mis to be translated, and he had to repeat it more slowly. In his eagerness he’d strung too many sentences together. Also he suspected that Miss Yamamoto was distracted by Yamagata.
Yamagata said recognizably, “Leapman.”
“Yes, it had to be Leapman. All his actions confirm that he’s responsible. And something else was altered on the computer. Dr. Masuda’s project was stopped in 1985, but the computer record was falsified to make it appear that her research continues. Some other group of drugs is mentioned, but that’s just a smoke screen. On second thought,” he said quickly, “don’t try translating that last bit.”
After Miss Yamamoto had filled in, Diamond resumed, “It isn’t just a matter of falsifying the records. Leapman is in deep with organized criminals, who are set to make big profits out of PDM3. Manflex was on the slide at the beginning of this year.” He mimed the downward slope of a sales graph. “Before Manny Hexner committed suicide, there was a big fire at one of their plants in Europe. Milan. Manflex dropped even lower on the stock markets. There’s a police investigation still going on into a possible arson attack. To me, that suggests this plot was being hatched many months ago.”
He paused for the translation. Yamagata nodded gravely. He seemed to be following what was said.
“If they’re capable of doing that, they’re capable of murdering Yuko Masuda, who could have exposed them. I can’t say for certain yet, but I very much fear that she is dead. I believe her little daughter-the child I know as Naomi-was given to Mrs. Tanaka, a woman desperate to adopt. Maybe they drew the line at killing a child. Mrs. Tanaka was ordered to get the child out of Japan, to Europe. She was horrified to discover that Naomi was autistic. She couldn’t cope and she abandoned her. I’m sorry, I’m not giving you a chance,” he admitted to Miss Yamamoto.
“It’s all right,” she said, launching into a translation directly, looking up earnestly at the wrestler.
“As you know,” Diamond picked up his thread again, “in England we did all we could to publicize Naomi’s plight. After I went on television, Mrs. Tanaka panicked and snatched Naomi back. She was in trouble now. She couldn’t possibly stay in Britain, so she phoned her contact for orders. They told her to fly to New York, and she obeyed, a fatal move, if only she’d realized. Obviously the people behind this scam had decided Mrs. Tanaka was unreliable and dispensable, and they hired a man to meet her and murder her.”
He stopped. He’d told most of it now. It all hung together so well. And yet���
Yamagata listened to the Japanese version and then spoke a few words that, translated into English, pinpointed the problem. “If Dr. Masuda is dead, why has Leapman come to Japan with Naomi and two American strongmen?”
Diamond was about to admit he was stumped for an explanation when someone interrupted in Japanese. It was Dr. Hitomi, speaking in the modulated tone he had used before.
Modulated it may have been, yet it brought a swift, excited response from Yamagata.
The translation followed for Diamond’s benefit. “Dr. Hitomi says he thinks you are mistaken in saying Dr. Masuda is dead. He saw her here on the campus only last week.”
He made an effort to stay calm. “Is he certain? When the police checked her last address, she was missing.”
Now one of the librarians chimed in, using imperfect, but perfectly comprehensible English. “Is true. She alive. She sometimes use library. If you like I show you her name on computer.”
“No need,” said Diamond. “I believe you, both of you.”
He loosened his lips and blew out, making them vibrate. It eased his tension, somehow. “And now we know the answer to Mr. Yamagata’s question. Leapman and his friends are in Japan to do the job properly this time and silence Dr. Masuda for good.”
“With the child?” Miss Yamamoto said spontaneously.
“They’ll use the child as bait. The point is, have they found her mother already?”
When this had been turned into Japanese, Yamagata spoke.
“He says the real point is, where to look for Dr. Masuda.”
He was right. They did the obvious thing first, and checked the library records for an address. It proved to be the same place that Diamond had been informed by the Yokohama police was now let to someone else. A phone called confirmed this.
“So where in the whole of Japan do we turn now?” he said aloud, but speaking more to himself than anyone present, so that he was caught by surprise when Miss Yamamoto translated.
This time, no one had an answer.
And this was the nadir, the most depressing moment of the entire quest. To have come this far and be thwarted was hard enough, but to know for sure that every minute of inaction made it more likely that Naomi and her mother would die-that was intolerable.
He asked them to call the police. He was told that they had been notified hours before, apparently by the zealous young man in Immigration.
“Then we’ll call and ask if they have any information yet.”
A call was made and the police had nothing to impart. Not even a sighting of the Americans.
Someone suggested coffee. Diamond wasn’t interested.
“What else do they have on the library computer?” he asked Miss Yamamoto.
Only the titles of the books borrowed.
“What are they?” he asked, more to give an illusion of activity than anything else.
Yuko Masuda had one book out. On comas.
He wondered.
“Is there a hospital in this city, or in Tokyo, that specializes in treating alcoholics?”
Three.
“Would you phone each of them and ask whether Dr. Masuda carries out research there?”
The second hospital they called said Dr. Masuda was a regular visitor.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Diamond had been told that the hospital was south of the city, in the foreigners’ quarter, Yamate-Machi, known as the Bluff. For about a mile the taxi driver took a route along the north bank of the Nakamura River. He drove fast, with the horn blaring most of the time, on orders from Yamagata, who kept urging him to overtake more vehicles; you didn’t need Japanese to understand. And there was no complaining from the driver. He was obviously a sumo worshipper having the trip of a lifetime. If he lived to tell the tale, he’d be the envy of every taxi driver in Yokohama.
In the front passenger seat, Diamond ground his teeth and braced himself for a collision. This kind of traveling, he reflected grimly, shouldn’t be inflicted on the middle-aged. It was a bit much when the quickest you normally experienced was a bus up Kensington High Street. But he still hoped to God that he would get to Yuko Masuda before Leapman and his two gorillas.
They screeched right, the mudflaps rasping on the road, forced lower by the weight on the rear seat. They crossed a bridge, zigzagged along a busy stretch beside Ishikawacho Railway Station, and then onto the access road for a stretch of expressway. God help us, Diamond said to himself, he can really put his foot down now. But the taxi was close to its optimum speed anyway. They fast-laned under a tunnel and all the way to the next exit which took them into the Yamate-Machi area. Not a moment too soon, the hospital came up on the left, dominated by four high-rise blocks, a huge, modern site with its own system of roadways.
Yamagata had his door open well before they braked outside the main reception hall. Gesturing to Diamond to remain in the cab, he moved inside at impressive speed for a big man. It would have been interesting to see the reactions inside. When aswnotori charged in and demanded to know the way to the coma unit, you’d assume that he’d been rough with someone.
Yamagata emerged, running, shouting directions, and clambered in, causing the whole vehicle to rock, and they powered off again. The speed was even more reckless in hospital grounds with limit signs at every turn, but the driver wasn’t slowing for ambulances, food trolleys or zimmer-frames; he could steer, couldn’t he?
They rounded the outpatient block, swerving to avoid an unconscious patient being wheeled between two buildings, and raced through a narrow space between parked cars. Ahead was the building they wanted, if Yamagata’s frenetic instructions meant anything. It was a one-story, flat-roofed wooden structure that looked like an afterthought The taxi screeched to a halt and the passengers leapt out and shoved open the door.
They were in a short corridor with doors along one side. A woman was walking towards them.
At this critical stage of the operation, with timing that can only be described as inopportune, Diamond had a deeply disturbing thought. He hadn’t the faintest idea what Yuko Masuda looked like. If this woman were she, he wouldn’t know. Nor, come to that, had he ever laid eyes on Michael Leapman.
He was looking for total strangers.
He told Yamagata, “We need help,” and the big man seemed to understand because he spoke to the woman. When the name Masuda was mentioned, she didn’t react as if it were her own. She came back with a question of her own that Yamagata answered. Then she pointed to a door just behind them.
Diamond opened it and walked into a ward about forty meters long, with five bays separated by glass-walled partitions. In the nearest they could see a patient surrounded by the apparatus necessary to monitor and sustain life in the unconscious state. Most of one wall was covered with photos and cards and there was a mobile of cardboard goldfish suspended above the bed. A nurse wearing a face mask was attending to the drip-feed. She turned, her eyes widening in amazement
Yamagata spoke.
The nurse pointed to the bay at the far end, nearest the window, and Diamond’s heartbeat stepped up.
A small Japanese woman in a white coat was in conversation with two Caucasian men. They didn’t have the look of hospital staff. One was tall and blond, wearing a dark, expensive-looking suit, white shirt and club tie and the other had reddish-brown hair with a flat-topped cut that might have been made with one sweep of a scythe. This second man was marginally shorter, but very large in the chest and shoulders, and was dressed more casually, in a suede jacket and black denims. Presumably he was one of the heavies seen arriving at the airport. If so, it was a fair bet that the blond man was Michael Leapman. Intent in their discussion, they hadn’t yet noticed that anyone had come in.
Diamond approached to within a few yards without catching their attention.
“Mr. Leapman?”
Both men wheeled around.
“Hold it! Who are you?” the blond man asked in an American accent.
“Someone you people thought you’d disposed of,” Diamond answered.
“You’re that English cop.”
Confirmation, if it was required, that this had to be Michael Leapman. “Drop it”
The heavy had just whipped out a knife.
“You’re joking.”
Diamond wanted no violence. But if necessary, he backed Yamagata-even against a hit man armed with a dagger. He beckoned to the woman with his right hand, inviting her to step away from the two Americans. “Dr. Masuda.”
Her face crinkled as if in pain and she pinched her lips together, but she made no move other than to shake her head and draw her arms across her chest.
Leapman said with confidence, “We’re walking right out of here with Dr. Masuda and you can do shit-all about it. Let’s move, Dino.”
Dr. Masuda seemed petrified. She could have stepped away from them. It wasn’t as if the knife was at her throat. She turned her head and glanced behind her.
There was a slight movement to Diamond’s left and he saw that Yamagata had hunched into the position the sumotori adopt immediately before the charge. Then Dr. Masuda cried something in Japanese.
Leapman said, “Hey, tell blubbergut to take it easy, will you? This little lady has made up her mind.”
Whatever it was that Dr. Masuda had just said, it appeared to confirm Leapman’s last statement, because Yamagata suddenly straightened and gripped Diamond’s arm to restrain him.
A sumo champion backing down? It was difficult to credit.
Leapman gave the grin of a man who had won without so much as a scuffle. “I won’t say it’s been good to meet you, gentlemen. Have a nice day, just the same.” He gestured to Dr. Masuda to walk ahead and she obeyed. “See what I mean?” He started to follow. The minder went, too, walking backwards to cover their exit, the knife held threateningly.
Yamagata’s grip on Diamond’s arm tightened. He would not allow Diamond to go in pursuit.
When they were out of arm’s range, the reason why Masuda had gone so compliantly was made clear. Yamagata steered Diamond to the windows and pointed to where a figure was standing beside a red saloon car. Two figures, in fact. On first sight they had merged as one, for a man was holding a small Japanese child directly in front of him. She looked pale and passive, her h
ands limp at her sides, in spite of the cord around her throat.
It was Naomi.
Having anguished over her fate for so many days, having put so much into the search, this was a nightmare. To do nothing now-while she was there in view, under threat of murder-would be unforgivable.
Leapman had reached the door. He told Diamond, “She’s coming with us because she wants her kid back. She hasn’t seen her in months.”
“You’ll kill them both.”
“Maybe, but she doesn’t know that. She can’t understand one word we say. And just in case you were thinking of following, I’m asking Dino to guard the door while we get clear.”
Dr. Masuda had already gone through and Leapman followed. The henchman waited just inside, guarding the only exit with the knife held ready.
Although his heart was sick, Diamond knew in his head that Yamagata was right To have made a move now would certainly have put Naomi at risk. It wouldn’t require much for the thug out there to strangle her. Very likely he’d been hired to kill mother and child anyway. One unexpected move might precipitate the deed. But it must have required astonishing self-restraint on Yamagata’s part to hold back when all his training, all his pride, was based on the concept of the fight
Even at this stage, he continued to hold Diamond’s right arm in the iron grip.
“They’re getting away, for God’s sake!” The scene unfolding on the other side of the glass appeared as remote as television. In fact, the windows were about the size of portable TVs, much too narrow to have climbed through.
“Will you let go of me?” Diamond demanded.
Now he could see Yuko Masuda running towards her child, her hands outstretched.
The henchman released Naomi, probably on orders from Leapman, who was following closely. The child stood still, unaffected, and then was gathered into her mother’s embrace.
“It’s too bloody late now!”
Leapman had the car door open and bundled mother and child into the backseat and got in beside them. The other man got into the driver’s seat.
Only at this point did Yamagata release Diamond, by now rigid with anger and frustration. “Too bloody late!” he shouted.
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