Fitzduane 02 - Rules of The Hunt

by O'Reilly-Victor

  The Spider nodded. "It took Adachi-san longer to identify Mr. Schwanberg. A great deal of work, in fact. But eventually he came to the same conclusion. And then, at last, the significance of the timing of the Hodama killings became clear. Katsuda had been let off the leash by his CIA masters. The killing was Katsuda's revenge, but really that was secondary. The prime motive was a bigger game. And that game was political. Adachi-san did not know the precise reasons, but he suspected that it was merely that Hodama-san and the Namakas had outlived their usefulness. They were well-contaminated by their money-politics reputations. It was time to reshuffle the deck and put some more-acceptable faces on the top."

  The Spider looked at Fitzduane, almost as if accusing him. "Superintendent Adachi now knew who had killed Hodama and his people and why, but this very discovery made the whole business vastly more dangerous. It now appeared that he was no longer just up against one of the most powerful yakuza leaders in Japan, but also against a covert arm of an agency of the United States. This was very difficult. The relationship of this country with America is” — he paused, searching for the appropriate words — "friendly but not entirely harmonious at all times. There are certain areas of friction."

  Fitzduane sipped at his brandy. Dawn was breaking outside. It was still raining. "Deputy Superintendent-General-san," he said. "A couple of points. Firstly, I am the wrong man to blame for the policies of the United States regarding Japan. Frankly, I think the U.S. has a few good reasons to be sore, but that is neither here nor there. The bottom line is — I'm Irish.

  "The second point is that Schwanberg is not advancing the policies of the U.S. these days. He has his hand in the cookie jar, and Uncle Sam has found out and is moving to do something about it. Which means he is vulnerable."

  There was an intake of breath from Yoshokawa, and then a burst of Japanese directed at the Spider. The conversation hurtled back and forth.

  Fitzduane felt very weary. He stood up and beckoned to Chifune, and side by side they looked out through the picture window at the end of the conference room at the emerging Tokyo day.

  The sky was gray and the street below was black with rain. Across the street was HibayaPark, and that was green and verdant from the rainy season. He was reminded for a moment of Dublin and Stephen's Green. And then he thought of his island and the unspoiled land in which he lived, and he felt homesick. He missed his castle and he missed Boots and he was mixed up about women. He missed Kathleen, and Etan was God knows where, and right now Chifune needed him. But soon she would not. She was very strong.

  And then he thought about Adachi.

  "It's a commodity in short supply," he said.

  Chifune turned to him, and at that moment, though there was no physical contact, they were as close as they had ever been. As close as either had ever been to any other person.

  "Adachi-san?" she said.

  Fitzduane nodded. "Decency," he said. "Basic human decency. That's what Adachi had more of than many of us. He was a decent human being. He tried to do the right thing, he cared about people, he reached out and he cared."

  "And I deceived him," said Chifune.

  "No," said Fitzduane, "I don't think we deceived him. That is useless guilt he would not want you to feel. But I think we made him unhappy. And that is a sad thing."

  "I feel he's still here," said Chifune. "I feel I could reach out and touch him." She started to cry, and Fitzduane put his arm around her, and they stood silent together as Tokyo woke up below them and the rain never ceased. Chifune, his arm around her, gripped his hand.

  "Adachi-san had a strong spirit," said Fitzduane. "That's not going to go away." Then he thought of Christian de Guevain and other friends he had lost and he grew angry with people who played with human life.

  He thought about what had to be done.

  The conversation ceased behind him. The Spider cleared his throat. "Fitzduane-san, Tanabu-san, I think you should know that the people who killed the superintendent did not find what they were looking for."

  Fitzduane thought of Adachi's wrecked apartment. It was, without doubt, the most thorough search he had seen. He doubted very much that the intruders had missed anything. And he said as much.

  "Adachi-san found eight tapes that Sergeant Fujiwara had concealed," said the Spider. "He believed that they might prove to be conclusive evidence against Hodama-san's murderers, but he had not listened to most of them when he left me. They were certainly found by the attackers."

  Fitzduane looked at the Spider. "That's what I feared," he said.

  "No, Fitzduane-san, you don't understand," said the Spider. "The superintendent was a professional. He followed procedure. He made copies and left them with me."

  "Have you listened to them?" said Fitzduane.

  "Not yet," said the Spider. "There has been no time.

  Fitzduane smiled grimly. "Well, let's get to it, Deputy Superintendent-General-san. If there is one place that should not be short of tape recorders, it is Japan."

  There were eight tapes. The fifth tape they played recorded Schwanberg's abortive attempt to extract more money from Hodama and the Namakas. Matters were now very clear.

  Yoshokawa caught the Spider's eye, and the Spider nodded. "Fitzduane-san," said the Spider. "You outlined a plan of action to resolve this matter to Yoshokawa-san and requested Gamma's backing to implement it."

  Fitzduane nodded. "There are quite a few players in this game," he said. "We use one another's strength against the other and then cheat a little as well. We want a predictable outcome. Following the rules really doesn't come into it."

  "This is an exceptional situation," said the Spider. "We have discussed it. Fitzduane-san, you now have the backing of Gamma."

  "It's going to be bloody," said Fitzduane bluntly. He wanted no hesitation once the plan was under way. "Are you sure you can handle that?"

  "Both the Spider and Yoshokawa nodded.

  Fitzduane looked over at Chifune. "Let's go to work," he said. "We'll start with the airship."

  23

  Tokyo, Japan

  July 11

  "Who?" shouted Fumio Namaka into the phone.

  He was completely taken aback and then felt sudden anger at this incompetent private-switchboard operator who had undoubtedly misunderstood her caller. "You must be mistaken, woman. That gaijin would never call direct. It's impossible. Quite impossible."

  There was a silence at the end of the line, as the operator tried to figure out what to do. She knew she had not misunderstood, yet Namaka-san, normally a quiet-spoken man, sounded ready to strangle her.

  She was tempted to cut the connection to the incoming caller, but then decided to have one more try. "I am very, very sorry, Namaka-san," she said quietly, the respect evident in her voice, "but the gaijin insists that he is Fitzduane-san and that he must speak to you as a matter of urgency."

  Fumio saw his hands were shaking from shock and a rush of near-uncontrollable hate. This was the man who had killed his brother, the only person in the world that he had ever really loved. This was the man that, at the very moment the call had come in, he was plotting to destroy. And he had the nerve to call Fumio directly.

  It was outrageous. What did this assassin want? Yet again, could this call be turned to advantage? The gaijin had proved to be a hard man to kill, but perhaps he could be maneuvered into a situation where he could be taken.

  Since the death of Kei, nothing was more important to Fumio than seeing his brother revenged. Nothing.

  Fumio regained his self-control. "Put the gaijin through," he said abruptly.

  The conversation lasted less than three minutes. After he replaced the receiver, Fumio could feel his heart pounding. He could see Fitzduane's face as he was being killed, smell his fear, hear his cries. He could taste vengeance, and the gaijin was going to deliver himself to his executioners.

  This time there would be no mistakes. He would use the most lethal killers he had under his control. This was definitely a task tailor-made for
Oshima-san and Yaibo. Reiko Oshima was definitely one of the deadlier of her species.

  Fumio thought of the job she had done on the Frenchman, Christian de Guevain, and for the first time since Kei's death, he smiled.

  * * * * *

  The room was in near-darkness.

  Schwanberg was used to Katsuda's eccentricities, and, frankly, the yakuza chief was not a pretty sight in normal lighting, but on this occasion the CIA man required some illumination.

  He had brought with him a plan of the building and, more important, its surrounding garden. He wanted to talk it through, but that was impossible if no one could see the fucking thing.

  Katsuda took the point and gave a clipped instruction, and a directional light shone on a table. Katsuda himself, as always, remained in the darkness.

  Schwanberg had known Katsuda too long to spend any time on the social niceties. In his opinion, the yakuza leader, however powerful in his own milieu, was bought and paid for way back and could be treated accordingly. There was always another hotshot in a hurry. If push came to shove, Katsuda was replaceable.

  For his part, Katsuda despised his backer for his crudeness and lack of manners and hated him for his arrogance. But he endured him because it had been, in the past, a mutually beneficial relationship.

  Recently, he was beginning to have doubts. The Hodama killings were supposed to have had a domino effect which would have swept away the Namakas and instituted Katsuda as the new kuromaku. But it had not happened, and despite losing their chairman, Kei Namaka, the Namaka empire, though perhaps somewhat bloodied, looked set to endure. Which was profoundly disturbing and did not reflect well on Schwanberg's judgment and influence. Schwanberg had initiated the Hodama business with the promise that he had enough political muscle to carry it through, but manifestly he had not delivered.

  Katsuda wondered if this was just this thoroughly unpleasant man himself or symptomatic of an overall decline in U.S. influence in the Pacific rim. On balance, he rather thought the former. He had substantial investments in the U.S., and over the last few quarters they had been showing healthy signs of life. But a reviving U.S. economy did not solve the Schwanberg problem.

  Schwanberg spread the plan on the table and weighed it down with several jade ornaments and a small bronze Buddha. Katsuda shuddered. The value of the ornaments came to several times more than Schwanberg's official salary for a year. The man was an uncouth barbarian.

  Schwanberg tapped the plan. "Just as I figured," he said, "that fucking Irishman has played right into our hands."

  The plan looked disconcertingly familiar to Katsuda. Typically, given Schwanberg's consistent thoughtlessness, it was upside down when viewed from the yakuza's direction, but it still looked very much like the drawing of the Hodama house they had used to plan the hit.

  Katsuda was normally courteous, but years of dealing with Schwanberg had taught him that here was a man on whom politeness was wasted. The man had the sensitivity of a bucket of night soil.

  "Schwanberg-san," said Katsuda with some asperity, "I have not the faintest idea what you are talking about."

  The CIA man was practically chortling. "Fitzduane, the naïve prick, has set up Fumio Namaka for us. And with that gimpy fuck out of the way, we're home and dry as planned."

  "A little detail would not go amiss," Schwanberg-san," said Katsuda dryly.

  "Fitzduane came to see me," said Schwanberg. "He doesn't like me, but he thinks we're allies on this one. He wants Fumio out of the way and he knows we do too, so he has set it up that we — or, to be more precise, you — can finish the job. And the punch line is that the Irishman thinks Fumio was responsible for Adachi's death. Putting the bodies in the aquarium was a neat move. It was near enough the NamakaTower to be too much of a coincidence, in Fitzduane's opinion. It's beautiful."

  Katsuda was feeling profoundly irritated with this uncouth idiot. He was beginning to have a glimmering of understanding, but he really could not see where the plan of Hodama's house came into the equation.

  "Schwanberg-san," he said, "Since we moved on Hodama-san, I have had a team of people trying to get near the Namakas with absolutely no success. Fortunately, Kei Namaka is now dead, but since that happened, the security surrounding Fumio has tripled. He cannot be got at, and I fail to see how Fitzduane-san's involvement changes the situation."

  Schwanberg leaned over the table toward the yakuza leader to emphasize his words. Katsuda stood in the shadows perhaps four feet away, but he still imagined he could feel Schwanberg's breath, and certainly the man's spittle as he spoke excitedly was no illusion. Katsuda stepped back in disgust.

  "Let me make it simple, Katsuda," said Schwanberg. "What do you think Fumio wants most in the world right now? What does he have wet dreams about?"

  Katsuda thought for a moment. It was not a difficult question to answer. He had studied Hodama and the Namakas in detail before making his move. "The Irishman has killed his brother," he said. "He wants Fitzduane-san's head on a plate." Katsuda smiled slightly. "After that, he probably wants mine."

  Schwanberg beamed. "You're business, Katsuda. Fitzduane is personal. You're not even close."

  "So Fitzduane is the bait," said Katsuda slowly. "He is the one reason Fumio will show himself."

  Schwanberg nodded. "Very smart," he said. "What has actually happened is that Fitzduane approached Fumio directly and suggested a meet. His spiel is that there must be an end to the feud between them, now that Fitzduane has nearly been killed and lost his best friend and Fumio has lost his brother. And Fumio agreed to the meet, not with any peaceful intent but because he wants Fitzduane carved up so badly he can taste it."

  "And where is this meeting?" said Katsuda.

  "That's the elegant part of it," said Schwanberg. "Fitzduane came up with the great idea of using Hodama's place. He wanted some location that was private, convenient, and secure, and Hodama's walled garden was his suggestion. The premises are sealed off right now, but Fitzduane has been working with the cops and can gain access. It is just locked up these days. It's no longer guarded."

  Katsuda pondered this for a few seconds. The idea of using Hodama's place was a clever idea. It met all the criteria for a meeting and it also was where the whole business had started. It would be fitting to end it there.

  "I would assume that Fumio will take precautions," said Katsuda, "so how do you propose we do this, Schwanberg-san?" He will probably involve Yaibo, and they are no idle threat."

  Schwanberg's hand came down flat on the table with a resounding crack, and the two sixth-century jade ornaments fell to the ground and shattered.

  Katsuda felt ill. He valued his jade ornaments considerably more than he did most people. He wondered if Schwanberg had any idea how near death he was. If he was not so dependent on the man's backing, he would have Schwanberg killed painfully here and now. Well, even if Katsuda could not implement the thought for the time being, it was a soothing prospect to anticipate.

  Schwanberg was so pleased with his cleverness that he had forgotten he had not followed up his triumphant table-pounding with words. He was just staring at Katsuda with a self-satisfied grin on his face.

  "Well, Schwanberg-san?" said Katsuda.

  "You'll have the edge, Katsuda-san," said Schwanberg. "It will be arranged that you and your people will be at the meet instead of Fitzduane, and we will run interference over the whole operation from on high. We'll have the whole thing covered. Night-vision equipment, sniper rifles, heavy firepower. That fuck Fumio won't have a chance."

  Katsuda tried to imagine having a discreet meeting with Namaka while a swarm of armed helicopters clattered overhead, and came to the conclusion that Schwanberg must have been out in the sun in Vietnam too long.

  "Helicopters are not entirely discreet," he said politely.

  This time Schwanberg actually jumped up and down with excitement. "Not helicopters, Katsuda-san, we're going to use the airship. That giant, motherfucking inflated condom is part of the scenery in this city
. If floats around and no one pays it the slightest bit of attention. We'll fuck Fumio from a height. It's brilliant."

  Katsuda contemplated Schwanberg with surprise. Clearly there was more to this unpleasant man that he had thought. It really was a clever idea. Inspired, even. Then it dawned on him where the idea had probably come from.

  "And the gaijin Fitzduane? Where will he be while I am disposing of Fumio Namaka?"

  "Oh, he'll be in the airship," said Schwanberg. "As I'll explain, we need him to bait the trap. But when Fumio is terminated, Fitzduane-san will have an accident. Frankly, it will be a pleasure."

  "So no witnesses?" said Katsuda.

  Schwanberg had every intention of getting the killing of Fumio by Katsuda on video in close-up. The more strings he had to control his new kuromaku, the better. "No witnesses," he replied.

  Katsuda smiled to himself in the darkness. Schwanberg's devious mind was not hard to read. He was already thinking of appropriate action. Perhaps the time had come for the renegade to have an accident. Have a crash, indeed, or fall from a height. The man's plan had interesting implications.

  "Your proposal has great merit, Schwanberg-san," he said. "Let us now talk about the details."

  "Fucking A," said Schwanberg, and as he leaned forward over the blueprint of Hodama's premises, his feet crunched on the shattered pieces of the ornaments.

  Katsuda hissed.

  Schwanberg, as normal for him where human sensitivities were involved, noticed nothing.

  * * * * *

  Bergin had gone to some lengths to arrive at Fitzduane's room in the Fairmont undetected.

  The blond wig and moustache made him look ten years younger, and he was wearing an expensive double-breasted business suit and Guccis, but his principal coup de théâtre was the platinum-and-gold Rolex inset with diamonds and the matching identity bracelet on the other wrist.