The Man With The Red Tattoo

by Benson, Raymond

  How would all this affect him upon his return to Japan? The ghosts of those he had loved or hated might be around to haunt him: Kissy and the son Bond had never had a chance to know, Blofeld, Henderson, even the phantom of Taro Todoroki …

  What the hell is wrong with you? Bond scolded himself. The assignment was a breeze. Compared to that first mission to Japan many years ago, a task that had been considered “impossible,” this one would be a holiday.

  Enjoy yourself! he commanded. Drink a lot of sake with Tiger and play that silly children’s game, Scissors Paper Stone. Eat a lot of fish. Meet a Japanese girl or two. Have a traditional Japanese bath, a pleasure made in heaven. Here was a chance to delight in an assignment for a change.

  “May I take that away, sir?” the pretty flight attendant asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  She took the tray that had contained a fine Japanese meal consisting of a prawn sushi and an egg roll with crab meat appetisers, sweet-simmered whitebait in soy sauce, boiled shrimp with fish roe, a piece of fried chicken in ginger starch sauce, miso soup, Japanese pickles and steamed rice. She left another bottle of Ginjo sake, his third but not his last, and cleared away the empty. It was a slightly sweet sake that came from the Kyoto Prefecture and Bond thought it did nicely as an after dinner drink. He had to admit that the service aboard Japan Airlines was in keeping with the first-class attention to detail that all things seemed to receive in Japan. The twelve-hour flight would be a pleasant one.

  Bond settled back and gradually felt less melancholic and more optimistic about his stay in Japan. Perhaps it was the nice smile the Japanese flight attendant gave him every time she walked by, but eventually Bond stopped worrying. There was now no doubt that he should throw himself into the assignment and have a good time in Japan.

  Bond wondered if Tiger had changed. It had been a long time since they had communicated and it was Bond who had broken off the contact, embarrassed by what had happened to him in Japan. Tiger had always said that Bond had saved great face and would be regarded as a hero if it weren’t for the classified nature of his deeds, but Bond had never bought into that rubbish.

  It was time to re-establish the connection with his old friend.

  Bond’s contact met him at Immigration. After Bond presented his passport, the officer made a quick call and she came to greet him.

  “Mister Bond?” she asked. “I’m Reiko Tamura. I’m with the Public Security Investigation Agency.” She bowed.

  At first Bond didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t expected a woman.

  “Konnichi-wa,” Bond said, bowing slightly.

  “Oh, you speak Japanese?” she asked with a look of disbelief.

  “Iie, iie. Mada heta desu.” Bond adapted the very Japanese way of being self-effacing when presented with a compliment.

  “Well I don’t think so. Your pronunciation is very good.”

  He shrugged. “Arigato.”

  She smiled warmly. Bond thought she was stunning. She seemed to be in her mid-twenties, but with Japanese women it was always difficult to tell because they appeared to stay young forever. She was dressed in a sharp, dark grey pinstriped Armani trouser suit. It was very modern and flattering, with a tapered waist that accentuated her curves splendidly. She had a classic, pretty Japanese face with a warm smile and terrific brown eyes. Her shoulder-length black hair was shaped around her head and tucked behind her ears. One couldn’t help but notice the black pearl at her neck. It had a unique pigment, like a peacock’s feather, and this suited her colouring. But what made her sexy, Bond thought, were her glasses. He didn’t know why. She looked very corporate, trying hard to look right in a man’s world, but at the same time Reiko Tamura exhibited an intelligence that put Bond at ease. This woman was a class act. Tiger would not have sent someone incompetent. The fact that he had sent a woman simply had to do with Tiger knowing Bond all too well.

  She presented him with a business card. Bestowing meishi had become a very sacred and necessary ritual in Japanese society. A person without a business card was no one. It was customary for the receiver to take the card with both hands and make a point of actually reading it before putting it carefully in a pocket. Reiko’s was a company-issued card with her name, the name and address of her organisation and phone and fax numbers. The front was written in kanji and the back was in English.

  Bond had come prepared. The service had given him cards that read, very simply, “James Bond—Ministry of Defence” and the public mailing address and phone numbers. His were written in katakana on one side and in English on the other.

  “Hajime mashite,” Bond said. She laughed and repeated the phrase. They were pleased to meet each other, and shook hands.

  “You have your luggage? Let’s collect your handgun over here,” she said. “You do understand that you cannot use it except in a case of extreme emergency.”

  She led him to the Customs officer and spoke some rapid Japanese that made Bond realise how out of practice he was. He hadn’t understood a word she had said. The officer bowed to Bond and said something equally fast, then went and fetched a canvas bag with the airline logo on it. Bond had to sign some official papers to be able to carry his gun in the country and then they were ready.

  Reiko had brought a small Honda Life that she had left in the car park. Looking at the way the Japanese utilised space, Bond was amazed that they could design a world to live in that was like the way they made electronics—compact and neat. The cars were created specifically for a society that lived in a very small, crowded space. The Honda Life was one of those tall, cube-like cars, but it appeared highly efficient. The Japanese concept of car parks was just as unique. Their philosophy of trying to put as many things as possible into the tiniest conceivable space certainly applied in these locations.

  They left Narita Airport and embarked on the one-hour journey to the sprawling city of Tokyo. At mid-day, traffic was heavy as it flowed along the major arteries. Once again, the city’s immense proportions bombarded Bond. There were sounds and sights and smells that attacked the senses from every direction. Even more so than in other major cities of the world—London, New York, Paris—Tokyo was bursting with energy. Bond could feel it in the air here much more intensely than he could elsewhere. The people of Tokyo worked, and they worked long hours. The city was a constant hustle and bustle, it never slept and the lights were always bright. It all came back to Bond: how Tokyo was a megalopolis, in reality several smaller cities connected by Japan Rail’s Yamanote commuter train loop. Each of these smaller cities had its own distinct character: the Ginza was the elite shopping area, the equivalent of New York’s Fifth Avenue; Shinjuku was ultramodern, with towering skyscrapers and endless department stores; Akihabara was known for electronics, and Ueno as a hip older section of the city.

  “Tanaka-san is waiting for you,” Reiko said. “I will take you to meet him first.”

  “Thank you.”

  “He has invited you to his home where you can relax and talk for the rest of the day. He knows that you are probably tired after the long flight.”

  “I’m all right, but that’s very kind of him. Thank you.”

  “I will take your luggage and check you in at your hotel, is that all right?”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “It is my pleasure, Mister Bond.”

  “Tiger calls me Bondo-san. Please, call me James.”

  “James?” She smiled, saying it a few times to herself as if to see if she liked the sound of it. “All right, I will call you James. James-san. I like it.”

  “Your English is very good,” Bond said.

  “Thank you, but no it isn’t. I mix it up a lot. Especially when I write it.”

  “Your pronunciation sounds American.”

  “Could be. I studied the language in America. Although we have ten years of English in our public school system, it is impossible to learn to speak it well within Japanese education. You really have to go to America or England. My pare
nts sent me to San Francisco to a private high school.” She looked at him and smiled.

  “Reiko is a nice name.”

  “It’s very common in Japan. The way of writing ‘Reiko’ means ‘a polite or well-mannered girl,’ which my parents wished me to become when I was born. Well, I am not sure if my parents are so proud of me lately …” She giggled.

  “How long have you been with the service? Are you in Tiger’s outfit? The Koan-Chosa-Cho?”

  “Yes, I am special agent. I mostly work abroad, but I am to remain in Japan for the G8 summit conference. I understand you will be attending?”

  “Yes.”

  “That pleases me. We shall see a lot of each other in the next several days,” she said brightly. She gave him a sideways glance through her glasses that possibly held more meaning. Was she flirting with him?

  She drove fast and with skill, skirting off the expressway and into Shibuya. She navigated corners and intersections with the fervour of a race-car driver until she finally pulled over near a JR rail station.

  “Do you see that statue of the dog?” Reiko asked, pointing. Bond looked and indeed saw a brown statue of an alert, sitting Akita. It was erected on the little square outside the station. Masses of people were going in and out of the building.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s Hachiko. Everyone meets in front of Hachiko.”

  “Do they?”

  “Tanaka-san will meet you there in a few minutes. I will see you later, James-san.”

  “I look forward to it,” Bond said. He got out of the car and stood amongst the swarm of people. He had once heard a friend refer to the Japanese as “designer humans.” They were all so attractive: the women, the young girls, the men, the teenagers, the children. Everyone seemed young. School-age children were just being let out for the day. Young “salarymen” and “office ladies” were going to and fro. A group of tourists all wore T-shirts that proclaimed, “Yes, Tokyo!” This was Shibuya, the young person’s celebration of capitalism. It was not the superchic Ginza, nor was it the techno-pop Shinjuku. It was simply a fashionable place where a lot of young people came to shop, work and have a good time.

  Bond approached the statue and stood beside it. “Hachiko” was sitting on a large stone cube.

  “He was a very loyal dog.” It was a voice that Bond would know anywhere. He turned and there he was, appearing out of the throngs of people. One second earlier and he hadn’t been there, the next he was.

  “Tiger,” Bond said warmly.

  “Bondo-san.”

  The two men embraced like brothers. When they parted, Tiger said, “Welcome to Japan, Mister Bond.”

  Bond smiled. “It’s good to see you again, Tiger.”

  “And you as well.”

  He looked thinner. That was the first thing that struck Bond. And he looked tired. But he was still the same man with the glowing almond eyes and smiling brown face. He was dressed casually, as if he lived in the neighbourhood and had just gone out to the shops.

  “How are you, Tiger?”

  “I am fine. Come, let us walk, and I shall tell you,” he gestured. “But first let me tell you about this faithful dog, Hachiko.”

  “By all means.”

  “In the nineteen-twenties, a university professor living in this area kept an Akita dog. Every morning and evening this dog would come to the station to see off or meet his master. Even after the master’s death in 1925, Hachiko continued to come to Shibuya Station for eleven years to wait for a master who would never return. Isn’t that admirable? The Japanese treasure loyalty. Come, we shall walk. Are you not too tired?”

  “I feel fine,” Bond said. “I slept a little on the plane.”

  “Good. We will go to one of my private residences. It’s in Yoyogi Park. We shall spend the rest of the day there. We can brief each other and eat an early dinner. Then you will be taken to your hotel for a good sleep. Tomorrow we begin. All right?”

  “You’re the boss, Tiger,” Bond said.

  They crossed the busy intersection when the light indicated that they could do so. Bond heard the sound of a bird chirping.

  “That’s the audio signal to alert blind people that they can cross the street,” Tiger explained.

  The two men walked up a street and then turned towards the block of Parco department stores.

  “I walk everywhere now, it’s for my health,” Tiger said. “I am about to tell you something that many people do not know. I am no longer head of the Koan-Chosa-Cho. I have given up the position to my successor, Nakayama. He is looking forward to meeting you. You see, Bondo-san, I had a heart attack not long ago.”

  It was not easy for Bond to see weakness in men he respected but he looked with sympathy at his old friend.

  “What happened?”

  “They cut me open, they operated. Triple bypass. So, you see, I had to step back a little. I still work for the service, and I retain authority. But I suppose you could say that I enjoy the ‘street beat’ now because my doctor told me I should walk a lot. I still have complete access to the service’s facilities and work as a special advisor on just about everything.”

  “It sounds to me as if you’re really still in charge.”

  “Only in the background. I pull strings. Much like the ancient feudal lords, the daimyo, who when they retired would shave their heads and join the priesthood, but in fact they gave orders from the background and still had much power.”

  “I had no idea, Tiger.”

  “No one does. That’s still classified information. We don’t want our enemies to know that I’ve retired yet, for security reasons.”

  “I understand.”

  They walked along the quiet and peaceful path. The sun was bright and the day was warm. Bond enjoyed the stroll past the gnarled cherry trees, the blossoms of which had disappeared for the year. They would return the following spring, but for now, only the twisted trees remained.

  A swarm of schoolgirls walked past them. Bond observed that the plaid skirts of their school uniforms were daringly high. The girls were also wearing their bulky white knee socks bunched down around their ankles. Tiger noticed Bond looking at them and said “Those are our ko-gyaru, or ‘ko-gals.’ At school they wear the skirts properly, just above the knees, and their socks all the way up their legs. As soon as they leave the school, they roll up the skirts and wear them short, and they pull down their socks. All to show off their pretty legs. You like?”

  “Too young for me,” Bond said, shaking his head.

  Tiger laughed. “You look good, Bondo-san. Are you happy?”

  “As happy as a civil servant can be, Tiger.”

  They approached the Meiji Jinju, the famous Shinto shrine that attracted over two million people on one New Year’s Day in the 1980s. It was originally built in 1920 but it had to be reconstructed after the bombing of Tokyo during the war.

  “Do you mind if we go into the shrine for a moment?” Tiger asked.

  “Not at all,” Bond said.

  They went through the huge wooden Torii, the archway that is the symbol of a Shinto shrine. The gate represents the division between the everyday world and the divine world.

  Bond followed Tiger to the small pavilion where visitors purified their hands before entering the main courtyard of the shrine. Tiger took the wooden ladle and poured water over one hand and then the other. He took a drink, swished it around in his mouth and spat it out. Then he allowed water from the ladle to pour down the handle, cleansing where he had touched it. Bond took a ladle and followed suit.

  They went inside the courtyard. The main sanctuary was built in the Nagaré-zukuri style of architecture. The corners of its green roof sloped out and upward. Several miko, the young female assistants to the priests, ran stalls along the sides of the courtyard that sold souvenirs and good luck charms. Bond inspected them and saw that there were talismans for good health, for scholarship, for love and even one for traffic safety.

  Bond turned and saw Tiger tossing a coin in
to a collection box. Tiger bowed his head twice, clapped his hands twice, and bowed once again. After a moment he returned to Bond and said, “I am finished. Do you care to pray before we leave, Bondo-san?”

  “That’s all right, Tiger,” Bond said. “The gods don’t have much use for me.”

  Tiger shook his head as they left the grounds. “I know that you have a spiritual side, Bondo-san. We all do. A man finds it when he is ready. You just haven’t found yours yet.”

  “Some don’t find it until the day they die, Tiger,” Bond said.

  They walked north through the park toward Shinjuku until Tiger went off the main path and stepped over a chain and a sign with the words “Private—Keep Out” in English and Japanese. Bond followed him down a smaller path through the tall trees until they came to what appeared to be an ordinary garden shed. Tiger pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. He held it open and Bond went inside.

  It was a tool shed. The place was stocked with park maintenance equipment. One corner of the room was empty and had a metal floor.

  Tiger shut the door and locked it from the inside. He led Bond to the metal floor and pressed a button. The floor began to descend to another level.

  Bond couldn’t help but laugh. “Tiger, what are you doing with a residence in Yoyogi Park?”

  “I have several residences around the country, Bondo-san. You knew that. This is one that the government owns. It was built inside a natural cave. There is even a stream that flows nearby. I will have to move out eventually. It is completely underground, so I do not spend too much time here. It is only, how do you say, an ‘oasis?’ ”

  They walked down a stone corridor to a metal door. Tiger pushed another button and it slid open, revealing a beautifully furnished Japanese home. Bond removed his shoes as he stepped up onto the tatami, admiring the tokonoma and the welcome sight of the short table, the legless chairs and what would probably be green tea.

  Four lovely women in kimonos were waiting for them.