by Gene P. Abel
He led them down a corridor lined with an assortment of Japanese portraits—landscapes mostly, with a few pictures of some men dressed in samurai armor. Their guide was saying something about them being famous leaders in Japanese history, to which Claire responded with appropriate comments and questions. All the while, Professor Stein was still marveling at every aspect of what he saw, like an eager boy in a toy store. When the hall widened into another room, however, was when the historian could truly marvel.
A full suit of Japanese armor was on display, along with a set of curved swords pinned up against one wall, some more vases, and other ancient bric-a-brac. And there to lend a smile and a helpful assist with the guided tour was a young lady in a kimono, her face painted in white makeup and her long black hair done up in a decorative pile atop her head.
“I just can’t believe it,” Ben said, almost to himself. “Those portraits are painted on actual rice paper. Do you know how hard it is to find preserved specimens of that sort of thing? And a genuine suit of samurai armor! Classic in every detail. And just look at these vases.” He scurried over to the nearest one, thinking to pick it up, then stopped short of touching it. “I might break it. But oh, the opportunity!”
Claire kept their guide busy with questions and comments, leaving the others to their work. Agent Hessman, though, was less interested in the artifacts around them than of what else he might see. He wanted to hurry them through but had learned long ago how much of a virtue patience could be. So he let their guide take it at his own pace, though he finally had to step over to retrieve Ben.
“May I remind you what we’re actually here for, Ben?”
“What? Oh, I’m so sorry. It’s just that this is a priceless opportunity to see history in such detail.”
“It’ll still be in a museum a hundred years from now. Your job is to tell me when something doesn’t belong around here.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.”
They rejoined the others as they were entering another hall. Rice-paper walls lined either side; a few backlit, creating suggestive shadows of the people beyond them.
“The tea ceremony is a key part of Japanese culture,” their guide was saying, indicating one of the backlit walls. “Here, visitors from my country may enjoy a small piece of our culture in a foreign land.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of the Japanese tea ceremony,” Claire said with honest excitement. “When my cameraman comes with me next time, do you mind if I get a few pictures of a tea ceremony? I just know my readers will really enjoy it.”
“I shall see what I can arrange, Miss Hill. Now, if you follow me this way, perhaps we can find one of our geishas for you to interview.”
They turned left down another narrow paper-lined hall in time to see a much younger Japanese gentleman emerge from behind a sliding rice-paper door, behind him the silhouette of two more people in the room. The man, in his twenties, wore a suspicious look on his face for the unexpected tourists. He gave a brief start before schooling his features, but Agent Harris hadn’t missed the expression. She discreetly elbowed Agent Hessman, who in turn reached slyly into his coat for something quite similar to Ben’s futuristic reference device. Agent Harris casually positioned herself to block any direct view of his activity as he consulted his miniature screen.
The young man walked quickly down the corridor, turning right at the end. The team’s guide, meanwhile, was completely absorbed with pleasing Claire and feeding her as much information about Japanese society as he could. When he came to the end of the hall, though, he started to take them to the left.
“And over here we have some museum pieces on loan from our homeland. If I may be permitted to—”
“Miss Hill.” Agent Hessman pushed his way to the front, making a straight line for the right-hand hallway. “I’m thinking we might find something more interesting in this direction.”
“Only the geisha chambers and the bathhouse are over there,” their guide stated. “I am quite sure you will find something far more interesting over here.”
But Agent Hessman was already midway down the other hall, Agent Harris hot on his heels. Professor Stein had paused to look uncertainly down both directions. Lieutenant Phelps grabbed him by the collar and shoved him to the right. Captain Beck and Dr. Weiss were quick to follow along, while Claire was quick to adapt.
“You’ll have to excuse me,” she said quickly to her guide, “but that’s my editor, you see. Gotta go where he goes, I’m afraid.” She ran off to join the rest, leaving a confused guide behind to puzzle over this change in plans for a moment or two before he decided to go after them.
“Wait! You really can’t go there. Like I said, the bathhouse is in that direction.”
Ahead of them, Agent Hessman could see the younger Japanese man ducking through another sliding rice-paper door on the left and quickened his pace. He was trying to keep it to a fast walk so as not to attract any attention, but he couldn’t risk losing their quarry.
“What’s going on?” Ben said in a sharp whisper as he caught up to them.
“Just ID’d one of the Japanese team members,” Agent Hessman replied tersely. “We need to catch him.” He then quickened his pace and headed for the same door as the suspect.
Behind them, Claire had broken into a near jog to catch up, all the while calling out observations to cover up the reason behind their detour.
“Oh yes, Mister Anda,” she called out to Agent Hessman in a tone meant to be heard by their guide, “I see what you mean. We must certainly get some contrast to the story. A look at the behind-the-scenes life.”
Once she reached Captain Beck and Dr. Weiss, she switched immediately from pleasant journalist to matter-of-fact investigator. “Okay, guys, what’s going on?”
“You’ll have to ask farther up the line, I’m afraid,” Dr. Weiss replied.
“I think Lou spotted one of our suspects,” Captain Beck supplied.
“Which means my story just ducked through that partition. Thanks.”
A second later, she caught up to Professor Stein and Lieutenant Phelps just as they were following Agents Hessman and Harris through the partition. “Leaving without your favorite reporter?”
“N-not at all,” Ben stammered. “It’s just that Lou—I mean, there wasn’t any time to—”
“Don’t stammer!” she snapped. “My story and your suspect are getting away.”
“Right.”
They entered what appeared to be the outer chamber for the bathhouse, where a couple of Japanese men, wearing only towels around their waists, were just folding up their clothes before entering through the next partition to the chamber beyond. A smiling young Japanese lady in a slender kimono came over from a side chamber and spoke a few words in Japanese.
“No thanks,” Agent Hessman said as he brushed past her. “I’m not staying.”
She then aimed her smile at the next person in line, who happened to be Agent Harris. The young Japanese woman’s smile fell into an uncertain, wavering line, to which Agent Harris replied with a hard scowl as she stormed past.
The others were not much better, though Claire paused briefly for a kinder word. “Newspaper reporter Clyde Hill. You know what it’s like once you have the scent of a good story, right? Sorry about the intrusion.” Before the young Japanese lady could ponder what was going on, the American reporter had left with all the other strangers.
The bathhouse was a large and spacious room with a single big tub of hot water in the floor at the center. Two men were already soaking in it, washcloths draped over their privates, while a pair of young women tended them with soap and hot towels for their shoulders and upper backs. Seeing the group of fully clothed people walk in earned a few gasps from the ladies and angry looks from the men. Agent Hessman ignored them, though, eyes darting quickly around as the others filed in behind him.
Across the room, on the othe
r side of the pool, another bare-chested man in a towel was casually making his way to a sliding door at the far end. He was just sliding the partition aside, revealing what looked like an area to shower and rinse off, when Agent Hessman’s eyes narrowed sharply on the one part of his body not bare. “Street shoes in a bathhouse? I don’t think so. Get him!”
Agent Hessman broke into a jog, going around the outer circle of the pool, being careful not to slip, while Agent Harris used a more direct approach. Taking a couple of steps back, she ran and jumped, clearing the pool and the screaming people beneath, to land in a tuck and roll back up to her feet. Meanwhile their quarry heard the words “Get him” and ripped off his towel to toss in Agent Harris’s way while bolting through the shower room.
Beneath his towel, his pant legs had been rolled up nearly to his knees, while his shirt was wrapped around his waist. The towel landed at Agent Harris’s feet just as she stood up, and did little more than cause her to misstep once. The chase, however, was on.
10
Chase
Their target ran through the rinse room, turning on a shower in his wake, ripping his shirt off from around his waist to don along the way. The other side ended at another rice-paper wall but with no exit this time.
So he made one.
Agent Harris ran for the exit, leaped across the small rinse room, ignoring the wet floor, while Agent Hessman came in behind her, much more careful of the slippery floor. Behind him, Lieutenant Phelps was the first to catch up, Professor Stein and the others a couple of paces behind. The rest of the bathhouse, meanwhile, was in an uproar, with women screaming and men angrily scowling. Somewhere in the corridor they had traversed, their guide was still calling out for them and wondering what the fresh commotion was all about.
“Get him,” Agent Hessman said to Lieutenant Phelps. “He’s our first lead.”
A quick nod and the younger man was off, pounding his way through the shower room, not caring what got wet. Agent Hessman reached in to turn off the shower, giving the others time to reach him.
“If I may ask?” inquired Dr. Weiss.
“A member of the Japanese team,” Agent Hessman shot back. “He’s a match for one of their mug shots. Plus, he spotted us. I’m guessing he came here to meet with or find someone. Robert, make sure these two brains don’t trip and break their heads open or something.”
“Right,” the captain replied.
Agent Harris broke out into an adjoining hall, her side of it paneled in more rice-paper, while the other side of the corridor sported mahogany paneling. To her left, the room opened up into what appeared to be a small shrine centered on a smiling Buddha statue being tended to by a robed priest with his container of burning incense. To her right, a pair of running feet disappeared up a set of stairs.
She took off right. Up the stairs she ran, the heavier tread of Lieutenant Phelps fast behind her, until she came to a landing on the second floor. This level appeared to be some sort of ballroom, with long curtains over the windows. A couple of workers swept the floor in preparation for some pending event. The man she was chasing now had his shirt fully on and was headed across the room toward one of the windows.
She let out a primal cry and took off like a bullet. She had nearly caught up to him when he saw her and spun around, dropping into a martial arts stance. He emitted a sharp cry, accompanied by a couple of quick jabs into the air, his face fixed in a glare of deadly menace. Agent Harris paused to survey his form, an arm out to pause the lieutenant as he caught up to her.
Following another cry, the Japanese man kicked, then lunged forward with a fist, jabbing for her face. Agent Harris merely leaned her head back to dodge.
“Standard karate,” she remarked blandly. “Cute.” She dropped down, left foot out in a cat stance, hands pointed up like knives to the sky, one in front of the other. “Black belts in hapkido and Tiger Crane. And you?” The slender black lady with a short haircut posed next to the mountain of muscle in front of the suspect, trapping him with only ten feet to a curtained window and little else. Except the door to his left, through which a man now came rolling out a wheeled cart full of silver serving trays, small porcelain cups, and a full tea service. The suspect wasted no time and ran to his left, grabbing one of the silver trays to fling out on his way to the door.
Agent Hessman ran up the stairs, leading the others in time to see Lieutenant Phelps bat the flying tray out of the way as Agent Harris went running after the man. The tray flew to one side, close enough for Agent Harris to catch as she passed the cart and drop it back onto the stack of other tea trays before the mystified server. “Gotta leave everything the way we found it,” she muttered under her breath.
“We need to go help them,” Professor Stein said.
“Are you sure?” Dr. Weiss asked. “They look like they’re doing pretty well.”
“We only have two combative personnel on this team,” Agent Hessman reminded them. “The rest are too essential to risk in a firefight. We follow but keep our distance.”
“Okay, where do we stand?”
A breathless Claire came running up the stairs behind the rest, pushing her way past Captain Beck to confront Professor Stein.
“We appear to have found our target,” Ben replied. “Or at least one of them.”
“One of them? How many people are you guys after?”
“Just don’t get involved in the fight,” Agent Hessman stated, then added after seeing the reporter in particular, “especially her.”
Before she could ask exactly what the man implied, Agent Hessman was running for the exit through which Lieutenant Phelps was now following Agent Harris. Ben was the first in pursuit behind him, followed by the reporter.
“I still wish I knew what you guys were after,” she called out.
“So do I,” Professor Stein quipped.
Agent Harris burst through the door to see before her a large kitchen and their target weaving through cooks and servers to the other side. She also saw something else: walls of cooking utensils, including several styles of knives, one of which the man they were after was grabbing off its hook as he dodged another surprised cook.
“Oh, this just looks lovely,” she remarked. “A room full of designer cutlery. We know how this is going to end.”
She charged into the room, dodging, ducking, and spinning, and then saw the one she was after raise the knife he’d grabbed as he readied to toss it. “A bread knife? You couldn’t have grabbed anything more challenging?”
She reached for the nearest object beside her as he hurled the long bread knife. She had picked up a large ladle, and she used it to parry the tumbling knife. Behind her, Lieutenant Phelps was running around to the right of the line of culinary worktables down the center of the room, thinking to cut the man off.
After she deflected the knife, she charged, her cry warning innocents out of the way. Ahead of her the man started running again, until he came to the end of the room with nothing near him but a counter and some drawers. Agent Harris wasted no time on a speech to warn him or talk him down, but simply steamrollered her way through the few cooks who hadn’t gotten the hint and already ducked out of her way. On the other side of the kitchen paralleling her was Lieutenant Phelps, who didn’t seem to care much for intervening obstacles, ambulatory or otherwise. He simply batted them aside.
In a last desperate chance, the man flung open one of the drawers and reached in. There he found more knives. With a grin he threw the first one at Agent Harris, followed by another and a third. Agent Harris responded with a wave of her ladle, deftly batting each aside. The rain of knives, however, did slow her charge.
Lieutenant Phelps was still coming at the guy from the right; Agent Harris from straight ahead. To the left was nothing but a window, currently open to help vent the kitchen. The guy threw a last knife and dashed for the window. He practically leaped through it, landing with a cr
ash against a metal railing outside. When the two caught up to him, they could see what had caught the man on the other side.
“Fire escape,” she stated. “His friends might be below. Stay up here and cover me until I get down.”
“With what? We didn’t bring guns,” the lieutenant pointed out.
Agent Harris glanced once at the drawer full of knives and leaped through the window after the other.
He was already nearly to the ground when she emerged on the second level of the fire escape, and as she had predicted, others were down below waiting for him. Lieutenant Phelps had a fist full of knives ready to hurl when Agent Hessman came running up to his side, behind him in line Professor Stein, Claire, then Captain Beck urging Dr. Weiss along in front of him.
“Situation,” Agent Hessman stated.
“The rest of his team is out there below,” Lieutenant Phelps reported. “Looks like six of them, including the one we’ve been chasing. He’s running down a fire escape. Sue told me to cover her.”
Then came the sharp sound of gunfire. A single shot deflected off the edge of the fire escape railing just to one side of Agent Harris’s head.
“They brought guns?” Agent Hessman stated. “Ben, tell me something.”
Professor Stein peered carefully through the window as another shot rang out. She ducked that one, then slid her way down the last metal ladder, while her quarry ran over to join his team in what looked like a rear courtyard adjoining an alley leading out into the streets. The Japanese team was huddled behind a large dumpster, keeping Agent Harris pinned with another shot from one of their pistols.
“Looks like World War—I mean military service pistols,” he said, correcting himself for the benefit of Miss Hill’s presence. “Very good repro—uh, very good shape. Browning or a Colt, I would say.”
“Then they got us pinned unless Sue can distract them well enough,” Agent Hessman remarked.
