“Irrashaimase!” they greeted the men in unison, then they bowed.
SIX
BRIEFING BELOW GROUND
“WOULD YOU PREFER COLD SAKE OR WARM SAKE?” TIGER ASKED.
“I’ll leave that decision to you,” Bond said, diplomatically.
Tiger barked some quick Japanese to one of the women, who bowed and left the room.
“Please sit,” he said to Bond, and they took places on either side of the low table. “It is so good to see you again, Bondo-san. It has been too long.”
The woman entered the room on her knees, bowed, then stood and brought two tokkuri—small flasks of warm sake—to the table. She placed a small flat cup, a choko, in front of each man. Two other women knelt beside the men; their sole purpose was to pour sake into the choko when the cups were empty.
“Kampai,” Tiger said, lifting the drink.
“Cheers,” Bond said, doing the same, and then they drank. The sake was warm and not too dry.
There was a small package on the table in front of Bond. Tiger gestured to it and said, “That is something you may find useful during your stay in Japan. Please open it.”
“Gifts, Tiger?” Bond raised an eyebrow in surprise.
“Please.”
Bond opened it and found a DoCoMo mobile phone.
“My personal number is programmed into it. Whenever you need to reach me, punch ‘memory’ and the number seven. There is also a homing device inside. We’ll always know where you are as long as you carry it.”
“Thank you, Tiger,” Bond said, admiring the compact apparatus. “They make them so small in this country.”
“It’s a small country, Bondo-san.”
Bond put it in his pocket. “So what’s the score, Tiger? What can you tell me about the summit conference? You’ve had some threats?”
“Nothing we can corroborate. Some of the Japanese nationalists are using their usual rhetoric about us co-operating with the West. Some violence was threatened. We thought it best that each nation brought their best people. That means you, Bondo-san.”
“I’m flattered. Now what about this McMahon business?”
Tiger sucked in air through his teeth. Bond noted that the Japanese had a way of doing that before delivering bad news or replying in a negative manner. It was a way of softening what they had to say. Other times they might inhale through their teeth and then say, “Saaaa… .”
Tiger reflected a moment, then said, “I am afraid that this McMahon business, as you call it, is mixed up with the business of the sono-suji. ”
“The what?”
“The ‘people in that world,’ or the ‘people in that business.’ The Boryoku-dan. ”
“The yakuza?”
“Yes, although in law enforcement agencies today, we do not call them that. It’s too nice a name for them. We call them Boryoku-dan, which literally means ‘crime organisation’ or ‘violent mob.’ However, old habits die hard. I still refer to them as yakuza. Ironically, they call themselves gokudoh, which means a man who has mastered the way of life.”
“You must tell me more.”
“I will. But please, let us first enjoy the delicious kaiseki meal that my chef has prepared for us.”
They didn’t talk about business during dinner. Instead, they each talked about their lives, as old friends, catching up after a long time.
The women began to bring in the first of several courses of a traditional kaiseki meal, the pinnacle of Japanese cuisine. Bond knew that it was a great honour to be provided such a feast. Kaiseki is served in several small courses, giving one the opportunity to admire the plates and bowls which are carefully chosen to complement the food, the region and the relevant season. The ingredients, preparation, setting and presentation are the most important aspects of kaiseki, not the food itself.
The first course was a small bowl of clear soup. Inside was a starshaped cake of green tofu. Next was a bowl of warm soup containing a baby bamboo shoot and some kind of green jelly in the shape of a cube that Bond couldn’t identify. A small square tray was placed in front of him for the third course. It held an arrangement of dainty titbits that had been arranged like a work of art. Bond didn’t like eating raw food, and found some of the items in kaiseki difficult to cope with. He did his best, though. Sashimi was next, followed by a serving of finely minced Daikon radish and fish that was grilled on a tiny charcoal cooker sitting on the table. A dish of boiled fish, vegetables and other ingredients, cooked in soy sauce and sweet rice wine with sugar, came next. Another course contained steamed egg, vegetables, fish and meat. After three more courses of varying delights, rice, miso soup and pickles were served to round off the meal. The entire dinner took nearly two hours.
“How do you feel now, Bondo-san? Tired?” Tiger asked.
“No, just excruciatingly relaxed.”
Tiger laughed and said, “It is impolite to fall asleep when someone is talking to you, Bondo-san.”
“So, Tiger, you’ve fed me and you’ve got me drunk, now will you tell me what the hell this case is about?”
“Certainly. How much do you know about yakuza, Bondo-san?”
Bond shrugged. “What all of us know. They’re a highly organised mafia-like group of criminals. A lot like the Chinese Triads. They have powerful right wing support and they operate vast syndicates with interests in everything from guns to property. Many of their businesses are completely legitimate. They are a widely tolerated component of Japanese society. Am I right?”
Tiger sighed. “You are very right, Bondo-san. And you are wondering why they are tolerated so. You see, many yakuza see themselves as custodians of honour and chivalry, traditional values that have all but vanished in modern day Japan. The country’s ultranationalist right—which also looks for a return to ‘traditional values’—enjoys yakuza support. In the ancient days, the yakuza began as street traders and gamblers. They eventually organised into gangs and while they developed their criminal activities, they insinuated themselves into business society. Many companies, many successful companies, have ties to the yakuza. It is a fact of life in Japan and there is not much that can be done to change it.”
“I wasn’t aware that murder and extortion had been added to the list of essential qualities for honour and chivalry,” Bond said.
“I know, I am fully aware of the irony, too,” Tiger said. “I have no respect for these people, the sono-suji. The law enforcement agencies try to arrest them when they can and when they can charge them with something that will stick. But they are very clever, some of these yakuza, Bondo-san. They are so accustomed to being an accepted part of society that the big ones now all have offices. Right in the open. The one we are concerned about in this case is the Ryujin-kai. They are based in Sapporo, up north on the island of Hokkaido. They used to be based in Tokyo, but they moved a little less than ten years ago. Sapporo is a busy yakuza centre. The town attracts Russian tourists, and it’s a fairly large black market trading post. The leader of the Ryujin-kai is a man named Yasutake Tsukamoto. They call their leader the kaicho or oyabun. The members are his ‘children,’ or wakashu. Higher-ranking children are called shatei, or ‘younger brother.’ Each yakuza is broken down into smaller gangs, each with their own kaicho, but they all report up the chain to the main boss.”
“Go on.”
“Tsukamoto is in his late fifties. Wealthy. In the chemical engineering business. He is also on the board of directors of a company called Yonai Enterprises, do you know it?”
Bond nearly choked on a sip of sake. “My God, Tiger, that was Goro Yoshida’s company, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it was. He sold it before he disappeared. Now it is run by others.”
“What do they do?”
“It’s a conglomerate, mostly in the chemical engineering field. They have wanted to acquire CureLab Inc. for a long time.
“CureLab, as you know, is known as a successful pharmaceutical firm. It was once called Fujimoto Lab Inc., and was owned by Hideo Fujimoto.
When he died ownership went to his daughter Junko, who was married to Peter McMahon. McMahon was not well liked in Japan, Bondo-san. I realise that he is a fellow countryman of yours, but he did not play the business game fairly, at least by Japanese standards. We are only just beginning to learn things about him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Only that some of his employees said that he was very ruthless in his business dealings.”
“Interesting.”
“At any rate, it is no secret that Yonai Enterprises made a very good offer to McMahon to buy CureLab. McMahon refused to sell, of course. This was a few months ago.”
“What makes CureLab so attractive to them?” Bond asked.
“CureLab’s main business is drug manufacturing, but recently they have made strides in the medical community with the study of diseases and the discovery of cures. They are especially interested in what you might call ‘exotic’ Asian diseases; malaria, yellow fever and the like.”
“And you think Yonai Enterprises had the yakuza assassinate McMahon and his family? Wipe out the entire clan at once so that they could take over the company?”
“It’s what I think, but I am having difficulty convincing anyone at my firm that that is what happened. If it was an assassination, I still am not sure how it was accomplished. The police do have on record a report of alleged threats made to McMahon by the Ryujin-kai. The police even advised that he should have extra protection for a while, but McMahon refused their help.”
“Is it possible that Goro Yoshida is involved? Does anyone know where he is?”
Tiger looked to the ceiling as if hoping for divine intervention. “No one knows, but we suspect he’s hiding in Russia, possibly the Northern Territories. It is quite possible that Yoshida keeps contact with the Ryujin-kai. He was a member for a very long time.”
“Are there any other McMahon family members around? On the Fujimoto side?”
“Yes. Hideo Fujimoto had a younger brother, Shinji Fujimoto. He is currently vice president of CureLab.”
“Next in line for ownership of the company?”
“Perhaps.”
“What do you know about him?”
“Shinji Fujimoto has monsters in his wardrobe.”
“Excuse me?” Bond asked.
“How do you say it? ‘Monsters in the wardrobe?’ ”
“Oh, you mean ‘skeletons in his closet.’ He has secrets.”
“Yes, that is what I meant. I apologise. I have not spoken English in some time.”
“We can switch to Japanese if you like, but I’m finding that my Japanese isn’t as good as I thought it would be.”
“No, I would like the practice, Bondo-san,” Tiger said. “Shinji Fujimoto is a puzzle. He is in his sixties now, not in very good health. He has always had income tax problems, a financial scandal or two. So far, though, he seems clean as far as the yakuza are concerned.”
“Is he the sort of man who would kill his niece and her family?”
“I don’t think so, no. However, as you imply, he has much to gain by their deaths. I will be interested in your opinion of him. You will meet him tomorrow. We have arranged for a car to take us to Saitama, where the McMahon family lived. He is to meet us there.”
“Have you located the youngest daughter? Mayumi?”
Tiger took another sharp intake of breath. “Saaaaa … no, Bondo-san. That is difficult, but we have a lead. You see, Mayumi apparently ran away from home at the age of sixteen. She is twenty now. She has not seen her parents or her sisters for four years.”
“Do we know why she ran away?” Bond asked. He picked up the girl’s photo from a spread that Tiger had displayed on the table.
“She is very beautiful, is she not?” Tiger asked.
“Yes indeed.”
“Mayumi McMahon was a very rebellious child. She got in with the wrong crowd, got into trouble. When she was fourteen, she got a boyfriend in the bosozoku. ”
“What’s that?”
“Teenager motorcycle gangs. Juvenile delinquents who ride around on motorbikes looking for trouble. They are a prime recruiting ground for the yakuza.”
“What’s the boy’s name?”
“Kenji Umeki. He is, as they say, a ‘piece of work.’ He has been arrested for a number of petty offences, once for assault, but he never served much time. He’s at the age where the yakuza had better take him soon or he will end up riding a motorcycle forever or end up dead. It is surprising that he has lasted this long, with those gangs always trying to kill each other.”
“I take it that her parents didn’t exactly welcome him into the home with open arms.”
“No, and in fact they had huge, terrible fights with the girl. Her great uncle told us that this went on for two years, and finally, at the age of sixteen, she just left with her boyfriend. She lived with him here in Tokyo. At any rate, we happen to know Kenji Umeki’s older cousin, a fellow by the name of Takuya Abo. He used to be in the bosozoku until he was badly injured in a gun battle with police. He served three years in prison, got out and now he’s straight. Today he works at the Tsukiji Fish Market. Very few people can walk away from the gangs but Abo did it. So, after the deaths of the McMahons, the authorities went to Takuya Abo in an effort to find Umeki with the hope that he knew where the girl was. Abo has told us that he would try and get a message to his cousin but it has been four days.”
“Did Abo know anything about the girl?”
“He said that according to Umeki, she had left him two years ago and went north, most probably to Sapporo. He told police that she accompanied some high-ranking yakuza and that she is now probably the girlfriend of one of them.”
“I’d like to meet Abo,” Bond said.
“It will be arranged.”
“So it’s possible that Mayumi McMahon doesn’t know that her parents are dead.”
“If she has not read the newspapers or seen the television, then yes, it is quite possible.”
“What have your pathologists learned about the disease that killed the McMahons?”
“I will show you the post-mortem reports. It was an unknown virus, something similar to West Nile disease, only many times more powerful and fast acting.”
“That’s what they said about the daughter who died on the flight to England. I hope the bodies haven’t been cremated yet?”
Again, Tiger inhaled through his teeth. “I am sorry, Bondo-san, but last night something happened. Very curious. And suspicious. There was a fire at the morgue where the McMahons’ bodies were being kept. Everything was destroyed. Not only their bodies but many others.”
“Arson?”
“That’s what it looks like. Not only that, but the tissue and fluid samples that were taken from the bodies during the postmortem—they have mysteriously disappeared as well.”
“Well, I have a story for you too. The night before my flight I went to see Kyoko McMahon’s body at a mortuary near Heathrow. While I was there, three yakuza hoodlums were caught trying to steal her body. One was killed, one got away, and one was arrested. That one’s not talking, either. All the police know was that they had ties to the London-based branches of the yakuza. There are several in England. Now why would anyone want to take her body?”
“Maybe they wanted to do the same thing as they did here? They wanted to destroy the body. Perhaps they thought it would be easier to take the body and destroy it rather than burn up your morgue. I have no idea.”
“All right, so we have some corpses of people who died of a mysterious, unknown virus that they could have been deliberately infected with. Then after they are dead, the bodies are obliterated. Why?”
“To get rid of evidence, perhaps?”
“Or …” Bond thought for a moment. “What if whoever did this didn’t want us studying that virus. They don’t want us to find a cure.”
“That is good thinking, Bondo-san.”
“Luckily for us, we still have Kyoko McMahon’s tissue and fluid samples in England, as
far as I know.”
Tiger gestured for Bond to join him on reclining chairs at one end of the room. There, two young women were waiting to wash and massage their feet.
Bond lay back and allowed the girl to work his pressure points. After a moment of bliss, he asked, “Tiger, do you have a mosquito problem in Japan?”
Tiger stared at Bond and then slowly smiled. “You are reading my mind, Bondo-san. How did you know about the mosquitoes?”
“Kyoko had bites all over her, but the pathologist didn’t think she got the virus from them.”
“Our bodies had mosquito bites, too. The police report mentions that a few dead mosquitoes were seen in the McMahon home the day that the bodies were found. The crime scene squad probably didn’t think anything of it. We sometimes have mosquitoes pretty bad in the summer months. It’s all the water in our gardens, you see. Unfortunately, the investigators didn’t think to bring any of the dead mosquitoes back to the lab, and now … we cannot find any more.”
“The yakuza couldn’t be sophisticated enough to create designer viruses and find a way to distribute them, could they?” Bond asked.
“It is not impossible,” Tiger said. “And CureLab has the means to do it. They do virus research. There is an interesting side story to that which may have some bearing. A young molecular biologist by the name of Fujio Aida used to work for CureLab until a few months ago. He was touted as being a genius, a man who could manipulate the structure of viruses. CureLab had employed him to create cures for certain diseases.”
“He used to work for CureLab?”
“Right. Six months ago, Aida was accused of industrial espionage, or rather, stealing trade secrets from CureLab. He was dismissed from the company in a messy case that actually made the newspapers. After it was announced that he had been fired, he simply disappeared. Vanished. No one knows what happened to him.”
“Do you think he was killed?”
Tiger shrugged. “Possibly, but why? I have left the details and a photo of him in the packet of material I have for you. You can study it at your leisure. It also contains files on Tsukamoto and other characters who may have a bearing on this case, as well the relevant McMahon crime scene documents.”
The Man With The Red Tattoo Page 6
