"Means, opportunity, and motive," said the prosecutor. "I find it hard to believe that the Namakas would turn on their kuromaku..."
"But," said Adachi, "There is the matter of the evidence."
"Quite so," said the prosecutor. "And the evidence is quite convincing."
"Bring them in?" said Adachi.
The prosecutor shook his head. "I think we should talk to the Namaka brothers fairly soon," he said, "but not quite yet. Let us see what we can turn up in the next couple of weeks. The indicators are clear, but a successful outcome will require more in the way of proof."
"We are working on it," said Adachi. Despite some unease, which he did his best to suppress, he could feel the case beginning to crack. The feeling was that of exhilaration, the lust of the hunter. It would give him the greatest pleasure to put the Namaka brothers behind bars.
"This is encouraging progress," said the prosecutor in dismissal. Adachi bowed respectfully. He felt tired but good.
* * * * *
Three days later, the Tokyo MPD forensic laboratory cracked the encryption code which had prevented Hodama's security video from being viewed.
The encryption technology was similar to that used to prevent unauthorized viewers from watching satellite TV without a decoder. The principle was easy to understand. Finding the key to the particular code used by Hodama was another matter. The permutations seemed to be endless. It was a problem for a supercomputer, it seemed, the kind of thing that the U.S.'s worldwide eavesdropping agency, the NSA, excelled at.
In the end, thinking laterally, old-fashioned police work rather than technology was brought into play. A detailed examination of Hodama's business connections revealed a shareholding in a company that manufactured decoders. From then on, it was just a matter of talking persuasively to the company president. At first he was unwilling to cooperate. A trip to police headquarters and a tour of some of the facilities for overnight guests worked wonders.
The lab sent over several unlocked copies of the tape which could be played on an ordinary video machine. Adachi had an initial viewing in the squad room, then took a copy back to his apartment to study at his leisure. Besides, he wanted Chifune's input; and he wanted Chifune.
Surprisingly, she was available. She tended to be elusive. She said that unpredictability stimulated ardor. Privately, Adachi thought his ardor for Chifune did not need any help. He only had to think of Tanabu-san for his desire to become well-nigh intolerable. Other women no longer interested him. He had tried a few times since he had started sleeping with Chifune, but the alternatives paled in comparison. It was a damn nuisance.
He was accustomed to a robust and uncomplicated sex life enjoyed in much the same physical way as a bout of kendo — and now his whole being was involved. It was a marvelous, awful, terrifying feeling; and a bloody nuisance. Running any murder investigation required absolute focus and concentration. And the Hodama business was not just any old slice of mayhem.
Hodama's security videos were linked to the cameras directly in front of the house and inside the main reception area. There were cameras elsewhere, but these were merely connected to monitors. The lab had intercut the tapes from the two cameras linked to recorders to give some chronological sense, but had edited out nothing.
The video had a grim documentary quality about it. There was no sound and the pictures were in black and white, but nonetheless they were compelling.
Unfortunately, they appeared to be of little help.
"Dark business suits and ski masks," said Adachi cheerfully, "and surgical gloves. These are not particularly helpful people. And note the license plates are covered with black cloth or something similar. Very professional and unfriendly."
His voice was relaxed. Chifune had no sooner entered his apartment than he had taken her on the tatami floor, or maybe she had taken him. It was hard to know with Chifune. She now sat naked beside him, the video controls in her hand. They were drinking chilled white wine and leaning back against beanbags.
It was a rather pleasant way, thought Adachi, to carry on an investigation. He was not naked. Almost everything had come off in the encounter, but he was still wearing his tie — his Tokyo MPD tie at that. He lifted the mangled thing off his head and threw it like a ring at the door handle. It hung perfectly on the first shot.
"We've got the make of the car, the number and build of the assailants, and the makes of several of the weapons for starters," said Chifune. "Don't be lazy. You can't expect them to wear name tags."
"Whiz it back," said Adachi. He was pleased with his VCR. Matsushita, he considered, had done him proud. It featured all the latest gadgetry, not the least of which was resolution enhancement, freeze frame, and variable-speed slow motion. If there was something to be seen, they would see it.
Chifune reran the video, and again, and again, and again. And then she noticed Adachi's revived tumescent condition and decided they both could do with some attention.
Afterward, they ran the video twice more. By now they were concentrating on the figure who seemed to be giving the orders. His face and neck were completely concealed; his suit gave off no clues, except to show that the wearer was a tall, powerful man.
The camera had caught his outstretched arms as he waved his people to surround the building. Here there was an interesting detail. Through the thin surgical glove on the left hand, the outline of a heavy ring could clearly be seen.
"Kei Namaka?" said Adachi. "The build is right, the body language is right, and he wears a ring something like that — I'll get the lab to do some photo enhancement. But hell, would he do a hit himself? He would be insane to. These people never do their own dirty work. They're insulated."
"Hodama didn't die any old way," said Chifune. "This was personal. And I think it may well be political — which is interesting."
"What do you mean?" said Adachi.
"A conventional killing gets harder to solve as time goes on," said Chifune. "A hit like Hodama brings the beneficiary out of the woodwork. I don't think we're looking closely enough at who benefits. Think about it. Power abhors a vacuum. Kill a kuromaku and who is likely to surface?"
"Another kuromaku," said Adachi slowly. "A puppetmaster — and his puppets."
"Killing Hodama may be about revenge," said Chifune, "but I think it was mostly about power. Look for a power shift."
Adachi stared at her. "What do you know?" he said.
"More than you," said Chifune, "but neither of us knows enough. I'm working on it."
"Politics!" said Adachi disgustedly.
"Not just politics," said Chifune. "There are linkages here." She stroked Adachi's cheek and then kissed him. "Powerful interests, corruption, a lot of history, and terrorism. This is a dangerous, bloody business, my love. So keep wearing your hardware."
"‘My love’?" said Adachi, looking very pleased and rather like a schoolboy.
Chifune ruffled his hair. "Figure of speech," she said. "Don't go getting ideas."
The rest of what Chifune had said slowly surfaced. "Terrorism?" he said. "What the hell is going on? What ever happened to old-fashioned murder?" He was quiet for a while. "You know," he added, "our killer may just have a sense of humor, and have made the most of the moment when he found Hodama about to have his bath, but I don't think so. I don't see this as a nice, clean political assassination. I think Hodama was meant to die in agony. The thing may be political — given who Hodama was, must be political — but I think the primary motive was revenge."
"Nonetheless," said Chifune, "look at the politics. Look at the realignments, the new alliances in the toy box. Look at where the strings lead."
Adachi whistled a few bars of an old Beatles song. The Beatles had been big in Japan and, when still only a kid, he had once gone to see them in the Nippon Budokan. A memorable evening. He was not sure that the present generation of much-hyped midadolescent pop stars could be defined as progress. Most Japanese singers had a short shelf life and seemed to be considered geriatric by the time
they were twenty. He had a feeling they were assembled by robots somewhere and were simply replaced when they wore out. Flexible production: cars one day; pop singers the next; computer-controlled, using fuzzy logic. Your every need provided by half a dozen vast corporations and the state — or were business and the state one and the same? It was a frightening thought and not entirely fanciful. Japanese homogeneity was all very well, but like food needed salt, there was a lot to be said for a useful dash of individuality.
Speaking of which: He rolled over onto Chifune and, the weight of his upper body taken by his arms so he could look down at her, entered her. She drew up her knees to bring him deeper and returned his gaze steadily, scarcely moving. Then she reached up and stroked his face before pulling him down to her.
* * * * *
The meeting took place in the twenty-story Tokyo building of the electronics keiretsu. The head office of the group was officially in Osaka, but the chairman and direct descendant of the founder worked out of Tokyo, so the facilities there were lavish.
The first floor was a showroom displaying the latest electronic products. They ranged from voice-activated rice cookers to HDTV — high definition television. A constant stream of visitors came to gaze at this Aladdin's cave of desirable technology. In its way, the whole of the building was a showpiece for the scale and scope of the group.
The twentieth floor housed the chairman's office and other facilities for the board of directors. It was also used to demonstrate the group's expertise in state-of-the-art security products and was, therefore, totally electronically secure.
Twenty-one men sat at a V-shaped conference table. At the open end of the V, a multimedia wall brought data onto the giant screens on demand. A three-person secretariat from the confidential office of the chairman manipulated the computer controls as instructed and performed such other functions as were necessary. Minutes were kept in encrypted form then and there. No other record of the meeting was kept and no member could take notes or remove any records from the room.
The twenty-one men were the ruling council of the secret Gamma Society, which, scattered throughout Japan though heavily concentrated in the capital, was over five thousand strong in all. Members were drawn only from those in senior positions in the Japanese government, business, and academic establishment — and then only after personal recommendations and lengthy vetting.
Each of the twenty-one men in the guarded and sealed conference room wore two lapel pins, that of his work affiliation and that of the Gamma Society itself. The gamma pin was in the form of the Greek letter, and, in the few cases where it had been inadvertently worn outside a meeting, had been associated with Gaia — the environmental movement. The Gamma pin was actually an indirect way of referring to giri, ‘obligation.’ In this case their giri related to their obligations toward the well-being and health of Japanese society and in particular toward the body politic.
The Gamma Society had been set up by a small but influential group who had been concerned with the increasing power of the alliance of organized crime and corrupt politics, in what was otherwise a most successful society in many ways. The founders had initially considered combating the opposition publicly — for instance, by forming a new, clean political party and lobbying for change in some of the structures. They'd soon realized that the forces they were up against were too strongly entrenched. Head-on attacks would be fruitless and could indeed be counterproductive. Instead, they'd decided to work completely behind the scenes and, in the main, through others. It had proved to be a fruitful strategy.
Some of their more notable successes to date had come by applying the principles of martial arts — in particular, the principle of using the strength and momentum of an opponent to defeat himself. The technique's secret lay in applying a small amount of leverage at the right place and the right time.
The photograph of just such a lever was flashed up on the giant central screen. It was of a foreigner, a gaijin, a good-looking man with steel-gray hair worn en brosse, and gentle eyes in a strong, well-proportioned face. He looked to be in his early forties, perhaps younger.
The photo was captioned ‘Hugo Fitzduane.’
One of the gathering, using a laser pointer, commenced the briefing. The dossier was extensive.
12
Fitzduane's Island, Ireland
May 28
After a couple of months at Duncleeve, eating well, resting, exercising, and enjoying the beauty of his island, Fitzduane was starting to feel human again and ready for the next phase. He was looking forward to the arrival of his friend.
Kilmara flew in and landed on the new airstrip that Fitzduane had arranged to have constructed down the center of the island.
The strip was short, but hard-surfaced and well-drained and entirely adequate for both the aircraft the Ranger general was using and the new machine that Fitzduane had purchased. Both were Pilatus Norman Britten Islanders, sturdy aerial workhorses capable of carrying up to nine passengers or over a ton of cargo.
Fitzduane ushered Kilmara into a black-painted Hughes helicopter and they took off immediately, as if leaving a hot landing zone.
"Sometimes it's useful having money," said Fitzduane over the intercom. "I got started on this on my second week in the hospital. Let me give you the rationale and the grand tour. As you'll see, I have made a few changes."
They flew over Fitzduane's castle. Fitzduane pointed. Kilmara could clearly see the saucer shape on top of the gatehouse.
"I like the isolation here," Fitzduane continued, "but this business has made me face up to the fact that being cut off from the world has its downside. You can do nothing today without communications, so I put in a satellite dish and a slew of extra lines. We can now talk to anyone anywhere in the world without fucking with the local exchange. And we can transfer computer data the same way, using high-speed modems.
"Next on the list was the requirement to get people and goods in and out fast. This machine and the Islander now mean we can link up with Dublin in less than two hours. In addition, both aircraft are fitted with FLIR modules and other observation equipment and can retransmit that information in real time to the ground."
The helicopter looped around Duncleeve. Kilmara looked at the FLIR screen as instructed. He could just make out a series of metal posts well spaced apart.
"Microwave fencing, TV cameras, and other similar goodies," said Fitzduane. "Surprisingly affordable technology these days. No system is foolproof, but the castle itself is now almost impossible to approach undetected, and we have radar to keep an eye on the sky."
The pilot banked and flew out to sea and followed the coastline to the sprawling Victorian Gothic castle that had been the school known as DrakerCollege. When Kilmara had last seen it, it had been boarded up. Now the windows glistened with fresh paint, the grounds had been tidied up, and there were cars parked in the courtyard. It, too, was surrounded with microwave fencing and other detection equipment.
"You've had your beady eye on the island for training the Rangers for some time," said Fitzduane. "Fair enough. You've got a deal. I need security and you need space. You can hang your hat in a wing of Draker and train to the seaward end of the island."
"What about rent?" asked Kilmara, ever conscious of budgets.
"Peppercorn — as long as you're running the Rangers. The whole deal is cancellable at a month's notice. I get to keep any improvements. You guys have to make good any damage. Oh, yes — and the whole island gets classified as a restricted military area. I want to do some building and I don't want to get delayed by filing planning applications."
He spoke into his intercom, and the helicopter banked and headed low and fast toward Duncleeve. "We'll talk later. Our visitors are due soon."
They landed in the courtyard of the castle. Shortly afterward, a Range Rover pulled up from the airstrip and out stepped three Japanese.
The first was Yoshokawa. The second, a short, distinguished-looking man, was a stranger to Fitzduane. The third v
isitor was an extremely attractive woman.
The second man was introduced as Saburo Enoke, the Deputy Superintendent-General of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police, better known to his men as the Spider.
The woman was a Miss Chifune Tanabu. She was just presenting her card when the heavens opened and sheeted rain poured down on the exposed group. They fled inside.
* * * * *
The Great Hall had been equipped for the briefing. Various audio-visual aids were in place. Pinboards on wheeled stands lined one wall.
Outside, the skies had darkened and rain lashed against the long glass wall. Fitzduane suggested sliding shut the shoji screens to keep out the beautiful but depressing picture, but his visitors smiled and shook their heads.
"We're used to the restricted landscape of an urban environment," said Yoshokawa. "The sight of the open sea is a rare pleasure — whatever the weather."
The assembled group took their seats, and Yoshokawa addressed the meeting.
"This is an exceptional gathering," he said, "because matters will be discussed here today which normally would never be communicated between parties of such differing backgrounds. National interests are involved, and no nation wishes to air its flaws and deficiencies in public. However, we are confident that we are dealing with people we can trust and that we have a mutual interest. I now defer to Enoke-san, the Deputy Superintendent-General."
The Spider stood up. He spoke excellent English with a strong American accent. He spoke slowly, and in such a manner that it was clear what he said was carefully considered.
"We have much to be proud of in Japan, but like every country, we have situations and elements which are an embarrassment. Naturally, we do not like to publicize those negative elements. Nonetheless, in this case it is clear that there are advantages in cooperation. It has taken us some time to reach this conclusion. I regret that it has taken so long, and I can assure you all there that there will be no delays in the future. We are committed to see this matter through to a successful conclusion.
Fitzduane 02 - Rules of The Hunt Page 21
