Yoshokawa's home was in Kamakura, an hour by train south of Tokyo. In Tokyo itself, agents of the Namaka security chief scoured the city, trying to find where Fitzduane might be staying. At about the time that Fitzduane was being ushered into the tatami room to watch the ceremony, Kitano received his answer. The Irishman was due to check in to the Fairmont Hotel on Sunday afternoon.
Sunday, thought Kitano, is a good day for a killing. Police manpower is lighter. Traffic is less. The streets are less crowded. Escape is easier. On the day Fitzduane checked in, he would be permanently checked out. The security chief smiled at his little joke and made some calls and called in some favors. Unfortunately, the active members of Yaibo were all out of the country. However, a minor yakuza gang, the Insuji-gumi, were deeply in his debt. An oyaban — boss — and five kobuns would attend to the matter. They would use swords. There would be no question of their victim's being wounded. He would be chopped to pieces.
* * * * *
Kamakura and Tokyo, Japan
June 7
Fitzduane spent Saturday sight-seeing in Kamakura with Yoshokawa — trailed at all times by two armed policemen.
He found the attention restricting, but was modestly cheered that the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department wanted their bait — as Chifune had so charmingly put it — alive.
Kamakura was a seaside town — a city in Irish terms, since it boasted a population approaching two hundred thousand — bordered on three sides by mountains and on the fourth by the sea. Land access was only through a series of passes. Its defensibility had made it the capital of Japan some seven centuries earlier. The bakufu — military government headed by the shogun — had been based there before moving to Edo, now Tokyo, at the beginning of the seventeenth century.
Fitzduane found Kamakura a delightful place. It was heavily wooded, and boasted no fewer than sixty-five Buddhist temples and nineteen Shinto shrines. Strolling through the pine trees, looking at artifacts and architecture that had been there for centuries, he felt he was getting some small flavor of old Japan. The sense of the pursuit of excellence and the integration of the physical with the spiritual was everywhere evident in the temples and shrines. He greatly enjoyed the Buddhas. He could not see one without being reminded of Boots as a chubby baby.
Talk of the history of Kamakura as a seat of government prompted Fitzduane to ask Yoshokawa a question that had been on his mind for some time.
"Yoshokawa-san," he said, "I have not asked this directly before because I have been searching for the right moment, but do you have a direct interest in this Namaka matter? I know you feel compelled to help me because I was fortunate enough to be able to assist your son, but I sense there is something else. You seem more than just a helpful friend."
They were looking at the Great Buddha, a vast hollow bronze construction that towered over the temple and dwarfed human visitors. Erected the best part of a millennium earlier, it suggested considerable engineering talent. The current Japanese success in world markets had been many centuries in preparation, Fitzduane reflected.
Yoshokawa was silent for such a long time that Fitzduane was momentarily concerned that his question had caused offense. He knew that directness was not generally appreciated in Japan. However, he had gauged his moment carefully and the issues were serious. Time was running out. He needed answers quickly. He thought of the terrible moment when the back of Boots's head had appeared to open up in a crimson gash, and he thought of Christian de Guevain slaughtered like an animal. He felt a deep sadness and a cold anger. He had an obligation to destroy these people who threatened his life and the lives of those he cared about. It was a responsibility, a giri, as the Japanese might say, to do what had to be done.
It was then the Yoshokawa told him about the Gamma Society, about the group who were dedicated to reforming Japanese society ad driving out corruption, and some of the elements in the puzzle began to slip into place.
"Is Enoke-san, our friend the Deputy Superintendent-General, a member?" asked Fitzduane.
Yoshokawa nodded.
"And so who suggested I come to Japan?" said Fitzduane.
Yoshokawa looked embarrassed. Fitzduane smiled. "Yoshokawa-san," he said, "from where I stand now, you did the right thing. OF course, if I am killed, I'll change my mind."
Yoshokawa smiled. "I hope so," he said. "It was a decision not made lightly, but I know what you did before, and in some matters we need help. We cannot always do things the Japanese way. We must join the world."
"Internationalization," said Fitzduane.
Yoshokawa laughs. "Fitzduane-san," he said. "You are learning.
14
Tokyo, Japan
June 8
Fitzduane was glad that his first real contact with Japan had been at Kamakura.
As Yoshokawa's car drove into the vast sprawl of Tokyo itself, he became somewhat depressed at the seemingly endless vista of unlovely concrete-and-steel boxes, overhead cables snaking everywhere, and incessant neon. Most of the buildings gave the impression of having been roughed out on the back of an envelope and built in a hurry. Functionality alone seemed to have been the guideline, and frequently not even that. Many of the buildings were just plain shoddy.
Except for occasional touches — a roof upturned at its corners, the rich blue of a tile, a roadside shrine — there was almost no trace of the aesthetically satisfying blend of form and function which had been so evident in the temples of Kamakura. The visual sense of the Japanese seemed to have atrophied over the centuries, or perhaps had been one of the casualties of the war. However, it was not entirely dead, Fitzduane mused. The slick design of so much of Japanese electronic gadgetry was proof of that. Personally, Fitzduane thought it was a poor exchange.
Yoshokawa read his expression. "Fitzduane-san," he said, "don't read too much into what you see. The ugliness of so much of the buildings is superficial. Tokyo's character comes from its people and their energy. As to buildings, remember that the city was practically destroyed in the 1923 earthquake and no sooner rebuilt than it was virtually flattened by American bombers in the war. And we are due another earthquake! In this context, perhaps buildings are not so important." He smiled.
Fitzduane laughed out loud. "And for this kind of security, I hear you have the highest land and property prices in the world."
"This is true," said Yoshokawa. "Land is sacred to the Japanese because we are brought up to think we have so little of it. Also, property is used as security for so many financial transactions. Accordingly, our land prices have become insane. Based upon current paper value, merely by selling off Tokyo you could theoretically buy all of America. Just by selling the grounds of the ImperialPalace in the center of Tokyo, you could buy Canada!"
"The Namakas made much of their money through property, I gather," said Fitzduane.
"What was a worthless bomb site after the war was worth many millions or even billions of yen a generation later," replied Yoshokawa. "The Namakas specialized in persuading people to sell. An unwilling owner might find his child missing for a couple of days or have a car accident or simply vanish. It was all done with great subtlety. On several major projects, their opposition was conveniently attacked by right-wing terrorists — Yaibo — and there was no direct link at all. But conveniently, the Namakas benefitted."
"And Hodama?" said Fitzduane.
"Identified projects, made connections, and above all, provided political protection," said Yoshokawa, "but always secretly."
As they drove through what Yoshokawa assured him was metropolitan Tokyo, Fitzduane saw frequent patches of what looked like agricultural land. Some were in rice paddies. Others were planted with fruit or vegetables. "Given the scarcity of land for building," he said, "what are farms doing in the center of the city?"
Yoshokawa was amused. "More than five percent of Tokyo is still zoned for agriculture," said Yoshokawa. "The high price of land is not due merely to market forces. It is partially artificial. There are vested interests who want
land prices driven up, even if it means the average sarariman can no longer afford to buy a house in the city and has to commute for three hours every day. There is a substantial political element in the land equation."
Fitzduane was silent. Most Japanese probably worked their guts out to achieve some extraordinary economic results, but much of the wealth which should accrue to the individual as a result was being siphoned off. He closed his eyes. He could almost see the web of politicians and organized crime feeding off the nation. It was a situation far from unique to Japan, but the scale of it in that country was frightening. And those who had access to such wealth and power would not give it up lightly.
He realized that the Namakas were not acting just on their own. They were part of a corrupt but extremely powerful structure — and most of it was invisible. Tatemae and honne, the public image and the private reality.
Chifune had explained it to him on the plane. "Loosely expressed," said Chifune, "tatemae is the public façade, the official position or party line. Honne, which literally means ‘honest voice,’ is the private reality. Tatemae and honne work together. Too much honne would create friction and could destroy the harmony of the group. Tatemae is the polite friction which smoothes the way. In Japan, if the truth is likely to be hurtful or destructive, tatemae will always be preferred. It is often thought by Westerners that tatemae is hypocrisy or dishonesty. It really is not. It is a social convention understood by all Japanese. It is a problem only for gaijin.
So who and what was he really up against? Whom could he really trust?
"Yoshokawa-san," he said, "do you really think Gamma can make a difference, or are the forces against you just too entrenched?"
Yoshokawa looked across and smiled somewhat wearily. "I have to believe we can," he said, "with a little help."
* * * * *
They approached the very center of Tokyo.
Fitzduane expected a high-rise hotel abutting on a crowded city-center street, but the Fairmont was a surprise. The architecture was unspectacular — it had a postwar utilitarian feel about it and had obviously been extended upward — but the location was superb. It was set well back from the road, with a park in front, and it was just outside the grounds of the ImperialPalace. Trees and flowers were everywhere. He caught a glimpse of water. It was the palace moat.
"The Americans did such a good job of bombing Tokyo," said Yoshokawa, "that there was a serious shortage of accommodation. The Fairmont was built and equipped not long after the war, primarily to house American officers — so the beds are the right size for you oversized gaijin." He smiled. "I think you'll like it. It has what you asked for — character. Whatever that is."
"It is something you have, Yoshokawa-san," said Fitzduane, taking his time with his words.
Yoshokawa smiled slightly and gave a slight bow in acknowledgment. Through his police connections, he had read the account of Fitzduane's adventures in Switzerland and was beginning to see why the man had been successful. The man had a sensitivity, a warmth. Unlike so many gaijin who were overly aggressive in tone and style, he understood the fundamental importance of ninjo — human feelings. He had a quick sense of humor and he was a good listener. Though he was a big man, he did not appear to be physically dangerous in any way, though the evidence said otherwise. If anything, his manner was gentle.
Yoshokawa was recognized instantly. Though his company was not as large as Sony, it had a similar profile and Yoshokawa was widely considered to be responsible for a great deal of its postwar success. He was a public figure and he regularly appeared in the media. For him to drive a guest personally to the hotel was an honor. There was much bowing and smiling. Fitzduane basked in the reflected glory. It was quite fun. He was whisked up to his room. Some packages had arrived for him by courier from the Irish Embassy and had been placed at the end of his bed.
They ran through the arrangements again in the privacy of Fitzduane's hotel room before Yoshokawa departed. They had considered having Fitzduane permanently based in Yoshokawa's home, but had decided it would not be appropriate. It was too far out and it could well restrict the Namakas if they were going to make a move. The Fairmont was, so to speak, neutral ground. And bait should be visible.
The following day, Yoshokawa would contact the Namakas and try to arrange a meeting. Meanwhile, Fitzduane would settle in, and later that afternoon meet Superintendent Adachi. He would be discreetly guarded at all times by two detectives — he nodded at two men who had just joined them — who would be stationed in a room next to his. Chifune would appear on Monday to act as interpreter. Fortunately, Adachi spoke excellent English.
"Will the detectives guarding me normally speak English?" said Fitzduane. There was a staccato burst of Japanese from Yoshokawa. The two men looked embarrassed, and so did Yoshokawa. There was a momentary silence, which Fitzduane broke.
"Yoshokawa-san," he said. "Could you tell these gentlemen that they should follow me, but not restrict my movements? And could you add that I am deeply sorry that I speak no Japanese, but I feel quite confident that I am in good hands? The reputation of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department is legendary."
One of the detectives, a Sergeant Oga, looked visibly pleased at these comments, and Fitzduane realized that whatever the case about speaking English, the man understood it. That was progress. Meanwhile Yoshokawa translated, and as he finished speaking, Sergeant Oga spoke and both men bowed deeply. Yoshokawa looked visibly relieved. Wa — harmony — had been restored.
"Sergeant Oga and Detective Reido," said Yoshokawa, "much appreciate your thoughtful words and say that it is an honor to serve you, Colonel Fitzduane-san. Sergeant Oga-san says that he does speak English but he is out of practice."
Yoshokawa left a few minutes later and Fitzduane returned to his room, poured himself a glass of sake from the mini-bar, and unpacked. Through his window he could see the tops of trees and the curved roof of the Nippon Budokan. It was hard to believe he was in the center of Tokyo. The gray sky looked just like Ireland, though it was not actually raining. In the distance, he could see an airship.
He turned to the parcels delivered from the Irish Embassy. They had traveled over in the diplomatic bag. One of the smaller packages held a cuff designed to be strapped around the forearm with built-in Velcro binding. Sewn into the semirigid cloth of the cuff were two sheathed throwing knives made out of a dense plastic which would not be picked up by a metal detector. The blades were weighted with inset ceramic pieces to give perfect throwing balance. Fitzduane had learned to throw a knife two decades earlier when a soldier in the Congo. The most important thing was the ability to gauge distance, though a certain knack did not hurt. Fitzduane had the knack.
He unpacked the other parcels. One of them was a surprise. It was a golf umbrella from Kilmara. Fitzduane swore. The sod must have known it was the rainy season and had said nothing. The umbrella came with instructions, which Fitzduane read. He then experimented. The thing was really quite ingenious.
The deal with the Japanese was that he should not carry a gun. That did not mean he had to be stupid.
* * * * *
The Oyabun of the Insuji-gumi tasked by the Namaka security chief with terminating this gaijin, Fitzduane, was something of an expert in the human-removal business.
Nonetheless, he had never before killed a foreigner, and he had never killed anyone at all under this time pressure. Normally, he would be given a name and an address and could determine a time and place of his own choosing. Further, he tended to be dealing with someone whose habits he was familiar with and whose behavior he could predict. In this case, he was going to have to improvise, and he would probably have to leave the body where it fell.
This was a pity. A disappearance — the Insuji-gumi had a meat-packing plant among their other interests, which contained all kinds of useful machinery — did not engender the same reaction from the police as a murdered corpse. Still, the Insuji-gumi were indebted to Kitano-san and obligations must be met. They were ol
d-fashioned yakuza, with full-body tattoos for the initiated, and they prided themselves on their traditional values. Their code was rather like the bushido code of the samurai, and it was conceivable that it not be followed.
The oyabun had been supplied with a description and photograph of Fitzduane and the approximate time he would be checking in to the Fairmont Hotel. From then on, he would have to improvise.
Fortunately, the Fairmont was well set up for observation. A coffee shop with large windows to the left of the entrance was open all day, and the hotel itself was quite small. Any new arrival could easily be seen. From an appropriate table, it was also possible to overlook much of the lobby.
The oyabun, armed with an automatic for emergencies and with a short sword concealed in his raincoat, settled himself in the coffee shop to wait, with on kobun as company. The remaining four kobuns waited nearby in a Mazda van with tinted windows. Their swords were in a baseball bag. The overall boss of the Insuji-gumi was an avid baseball fan, so a display of enthusiasm for the sport and attendance at all major matches was virtually obligatory. There was not much place for the nonconformist in Japan, and none at all in the traditional yakuza.
The oyabun boss and his kobun were arguing about baseball scores and working their way through the fixed-price lunch menu and a beer or two, when Fitzduane arrived. The oyabun's first reaction was at the height of this foreigner. He was a good head taller than the Japanese around him and was built in proportion. It was going to be satisfying to cut him down to size. The oyabun was tempted to rush into the lobby and do the deed there and then, but he suddenly recognized Yoshokawa-san and blanched. To commit an assassination in front of one of Japan's leading industrialists, and possibly to harm him in the mêlée, would really be inviting an excessive police reaction. To kill the odd foreigner was one thing. To threaten Japan's industrial might would be an act of a different order of magnitude.
Fitzduane 02 - Rules of The Hunt Page 25
