by Diana Renn
She reads both letters silently. “Oh, Violet. Something is way off. These letters are signed by Fujikawa, and demand the painting. But they don’t say a thing about your dad.”
“They don’t? Then what do they say?”
She translates. In the first letter, dated last week, Fujikawa expresses anger about the sting operation in Seattle, and demands the van Gogh by July 18. “I understand your company is facing an audit from the Osaka Securities Commission, to investigate possible past dealings with yakuza. Rest assured, I will use all my media contacts to make it known that your brother once worked for me, and that your company has made numerous payoffs over the years. Your company will not survive. Your nephew’s promising career will be destroyed.”
The second letter sounds almost exactly like the one Inspector Mimura read to us last night, detailing how he will collect the painting in exchange for the drawings on the water. But again, no mention of the gaijin artist being erased if he’s deceived. Instead, these words: “Do not attempt to deceive me again, or your history will be made known.”
“These are blackmail notes!” I exclaim. “Not death threats. Hideki must have intercepted these letters and changed them, adding stuff about my dad, before passing them on to Kenji!”
“But why?”
I stop and think about it for a moment. “Reika, I think that Hideki wants to get his hands on the art. The drawings and the painting. He wanted to scare Kenji into thinking my dad might get hurt, to make him—to make all of us—work even harder to find the painting. Which we did.”
“I don’t get it,” says Reika. “Isn’t Fujikawa the villain here?”
“He’s a villain, all right. He might have murdered Tomonori Yamada, and he ordered those two yakuza in Seattle to steal the drawings. And he’s done awful things to the Yamada Corporation. But he’s not the only villain. Don’t you see? Hideki’s the real mastermind!”
Reika stares at me, almost tearfully. “No,” she whispers.
“He is taking advantage of Fujikawa’s greed. He wants to get the drawings and the painting in one place so he can take off with them!”
Reika starts pacing, staring helplessly at the letters. “I don’t know, Violet. If Fujikawa doesn’t get the art, then it belongs to Kenji and Mitsue, right? Tomonori left Kenji all his art in his will. The only way that Hideki could possibly get it is if—” She claps her hands to her mouth and stares at me.
“If both Kenji and Mitsue were dead,” I finish. I take a deep breath. “Reika, I think the bathing yahoo from room nine is working for Hideki. I think he might be . . . a hit man.”
“What would Hideki do with the van Goghs?” Reika asks.
“Sell them. If they were ‘discovered,’ and legally inherited, he could sell them at auction and get way more money than he could selling them on the black market. And Hideki could use the money,” I add. My mind is racing now, memories flashing. I think back to that drive with Kenji through Roppongi Hills. The Mori Tower complex. “Hideki’s dream project is to build something greater than the Mori Tower. Some huge business and entertainment complex. He’d need a lot of dough.”
“But how can Hideki sell the painting if it probably belongs to Fujikawa?”
“He has to get rid of Fujikawa, too. I bet it was Hideki’s idea for Fujikawa to come here and collect the painting in person. That way he could get all three people with claims to the painting in one place and eliminate them at the same time.” I lay out the letters, take photos of them with my dad’s cell phone, in case something happens to the originals I’m about to steal. I set down the cell phone on Hideki’s suitcase while I slide the letters under the lapel of my yukata. I put the empty courier envelopes back in the suitcase.
Meanwhile, Reika arranges Hideki’s shirts as neatly as she can, cursing herself for having moved them. “I’m not sure if these blue ones were on the left or the right of the suitcase,” she mumbles. “Are you really going to take those letters out of this room?”
“Yes. We have to tell the Yamadas not to get on that boat tonight, and we’ll need these as proof to convince them. And we have to get them to Inspector Mimura as well. But first, let’s go tell my dad what we found.”
3
6
We race back to the river and show the letters to my dad. Reika translates them for him.
“We have to tell Kenji and Mitsue not to go to the river tonight!” I exclaim when she’s done. “We only have fifteen minutes to make sure they don’t get on that boat!”
“But Kenji and Mitsue already left the inn,” says my dad.
I look around. “What? When?”
“They took the painting down to the boat launch right after you guys went inside. You must have just missed them.”
Reika and I exchange an anguished look. The Yamadas are drifting toward doom right this moment. “Were they with Hideki?” I ask.
“No. When I said good-bye to them, they told me Hideki was staying behind to take care of some business. Something about an international conference call. I did think that was odd, considering how invested he was in finding this art. You’d think he’d want to see the exchange. I guess now it makes sense. He’s got to stay out of the way so a hit man can do his job.”
“You have to call Agent Chang!” Reika says.
“I think she’s already on her way back to Seattle,” my dad says. “She said there wasn’t much that Inspector Mimura could authorize her to do here.”
“Then how are we going to reach the Yamadas and Inspector Mimura?” I moan.
“We could call Kenji on his cell,” Reika suggests. “Since Hideki’s not with him yet. And we could call the police and ask them to help us reach Inspector Mimura.”
“Good plan!” My dad looks around the grass at his belongings. “Now where’s my cell?”
“I have it. It’s right—wait.” I look down. My hand is clutching the stupid yellow pencil, not the phone. “I left your cell in your room. Oh my God. I left it right on Hideki’s suitcase after I took pictures of the letters! If he sees it, he’ll figure out we were looking through his stuff.”
We all look at each other and then start walking quickly toward the ryokan.
Suddenly, I hear thrashing in the hydrangea bushes on the path behind us. Before I can turn around, strong hands grab my arms and wrench them behind my back. Reika screams. The next thing I know, my wrists are bound together with twine. The twine cuts into my skin when I try to squirm free. I try to twist and kick my captor, but he holds my arms fast. The last thing I see, out of the corner of my eye, is two men grabbing my dad and Reika from behind. Then what seems to be a burlap sack is thrown over my head.
I feel like I’m drowning, choking, and I’m not even in water. I’m aware that we’re all being pushed downhill, down the path toward the river and the ryokan’s small dock.
I’m shoved onto some kind of moving platform. I fight to keep my balance, and lose. I fall, hard, on my side. A moment later, I hear Reika and my dad fall down next to me. Reika is trembling right by my side, my dad is breathing heavily next to her, and we all seem to be lying facedown. Then I realize we’re on a boat. I can hear the lapping of water. I can feel the tatami beneath my bare feet. I can smell grass on the riverbank. And a sweet, musky smell. Hideki’s cologne.
Wild hope seizes me. Reika once said she doesn’t read kanji as well as she speaks Japanese, and she didn’t use a dictionary when she translated the letters from Hideki’s suitcase. Maybe she misread the letters. Maybe Hideki’s not such a bad person. Yahoos have captured us, working off misinformation, and Hideki’s our only hope.
“Hideki! Help us!” I call out. My voice sounds so muffled from the sack over my head, I’m not sure he can hear me. I call out again.
“Help you?” says Hideki. “After you went through my personal belongings? Why should I help you?”
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Something sinks inside me. He knows we know. He’s the one behind our abduction. These thugs are working for him.
“We didn’t go through anything!” I hear Reika protest.
“Lying will not help you,” Hideki says. His voice is as smooth as ever. “I found Glenn’s phone on my suitcase. I saw the pictures you took. Pictures of my personal correspondence.”
“The girls were just playing around with my phone,” my dad protests. “If they found anything of yours, I’m sure they didn’t read it.”
I wince. Nice try, Dad.
Hideki speaks in Japanese. I feel the boat rock as some of the men get off. At least two men; I can hear their footsteps as they leap onto the dock. That leaves one of our abductors on the boat, which lurches as he moves toward the front. I hear something slap the water. The boat begins to move, turning slightly. I guess the man is poling the boat away from the dock.
“Where are we going?” I call out, in case Hideki’s still with us.
There’s a pause, then Hideki answers. He must be sitting just a couple feet away from us. “You are on a ukai show spectator boat.”
“Are we going to the show?” Reika asks in a wavery voice.
“In a sense,” Hideki says. “Though I doubt you will have the opportunity to see much of it. I’m afraid you don’t have the best seats for viewing.”
“Enough of this!” my dad snaps. I can feel him thrashing next to me, trying to loosen his bindings. “Untie us right now!”
“This will all go much more smoothly, and be more comfortable for everyone, if you remain silent and if you do not struggle,” says Hideki.
“Tell us what’s going on!” my dad barks. “We have the right to know.”
“I can understand your position,” Hideki says. “I can tell you this much. In a few minutes, this boat will stop a few yards behind my aunt and uncle’s boat. Fujikawa, in a snack boat, will tie up to my aunt and uncle’s boat. At the time of the art exchange, my associate here will take out Fujikawa, Kenji, and Mitsue, and then the three of you. Then I’ll collect the drawings and painting, and I’ll be on my way.”
“Take us out—we’re going to be killed, too?” my dad asks.
My limbs have gone completely numb. I don’t know if it’s from the ropes or from terror. Of course he’s going to kill us. We know too much. Even if the art exchange goes through, we have enough information, and the letters we found, to launch an investigation of Hideki Yamada. Hideki’s worked too hard on this plan to inherit the art. He won’t risk having us mess it all up.
“If you kill us, the FBI will be on you in an instant,” my dad says.
“You think because you are Americans you are going to get special treatment?” Hideki laughs softly. “Your FBI already could not prevent this moment from taking place. Agent Chang has given up and returned to Seattle. Your deaths will be considered casualties of yakuza warfare. You will be killed in the dark, far from the shore, with no witnesses. Gaijin travelers in the wrong place, at the wrong time.”
“It’ll make the news,” my dad says. “You can’t cover up something like this.”
“Yes, it will certainly make the news,” Hideki agrees. “The headlines will read that the Yamada Corporation CEO and his wife, and three gaijin, were caught in the crossfire of a gang turf war. These unfortunate incidents happen, and investigators do not bother looking closely into gang warfare incidents here in Japan.”
“Your mural isn’t done!” my dad protests. “Your dignitaries will be welcomed by an empty wall!”
“That is a pity, I agree,” says Hideki. “But it cannot be helped. And now, I must insist on silence. No more talking, please. Keep your heads down. I apologize for the scent of this canvas tarp. It may be a bit unpleasant. But at least your time beneath it will be brief.”
I hear a scraping sound, and then something that sounds like a flag snapping. In the next moment, I’m smothered by a heavy material that smells like mold and covers me head to toe. He must have thrown a big tarp over all of three of us, to conceal us from any passing boaters. I can feel Reika beside me, twisting her head to get air, and to the left of her, I can hear my dad sneeze.
The boat glides down the river. Should I yell? Are we near any other boats, anyone who can help us?
No. Too risky. All Hideki’s hit man has to do is show his gun. People will think he’s a yahoo and get right out of the way.
I have to get my wrists free. There’s no way to take action otherwise. I twist my hands around and feel the twine gradually loosen. A little. But not enough.
While I’m shifting and twisting, I feel something jab my waist on my right side. The leather pouch with my woodcarving tools. I tied it to my yukata belt earlier! It contains three knives that are small but have supersharp blades. If I could get just one knife from that pouch, we could cut the twine off each other’s wrists. Under the tarp, in darkness, our escape might not be detected. Can I do this? Can I do it blind?
I roll to shift my weight to my right side and move my hands, behind my back, toward my left side. My wrists are bound, but my fingers can just grasp the pouch. I twist my torso as far as I can, but I can’t get enough leverage to pull up the pouch flap and open it up.
“Reika,” I whisper. “My carving tools. They’re in a pouch on my yukata belt. Can you reach the pouch?”
Reika maneuvers slowly, writhing along the bottom of the boat until she’s positioned a few inches higher than me. She fumbles and grasps the pouch. “I got it!” she whispers, and tugs until it opens. After a little more fumbling, she extracts something from the pouch. “I’ll try to cut your bindings.”
“Quiet,” my dad cautions.
Reika saws at the twine around my wrists, but nothing seems to be happening. “I don’t think this is a knife,” she whispers. “It’s not cutting at all.”
“It’s probably a gouge,” I say. “It’s not sharp enough. Go back in the pouch and grab another tool. Hurry!”
Reika rummages again and extracts another tool. “Ow!” she mutters. “This one’s a knife, all right. I just cut myself.” She saws at the twine, timing her knife movements with the sounds of the bamboo pole hitting the water. She can’t see what she is doing, since the burlap is still over her head. I pray she doesn’t press too hard and hit my skin with the blade. But after about ten slices, I feel the twine slide off my wrists. I take the sack off my head, reach for the knife, and cut her free, then my dad.
Untied, we huddle under the tarp, which smells over-poweringly of mildew. “I wonder where we are?” Reika whispers. “Should we jump out and swim for shore? Or stand up and yell for help? Maybe the ukai show passengers would hear us.”
“I’m assuming these guys are armed,” my dad says. “Let’s lie low, at least until we figure out where we are.”
I raise myself onto my elbows and lift the edge of the canvas, just enough to see out. The sky has darkened to indigo. We’re on a long passenger boat for the ukai show, complete with cheerful glowing lanterns dangling from the roof, each one decorated with a black cormorant. Hideki is sitting at the front of the boat, looking intently ahead, while an older, gray-haired man poles the boat forward. When he turns to the side, I recognize him as the bathing yahoo. Shaking, I lower the canvas. “We know the hit man,” I whisper. “It’s our old friend from room nine.”
“Look again,” Reika urges. “Do you see other boats? Anyone we could ask for help?”
I gather all my courage and raise the canvas again. Now I can see we’ve passed under the Moon Crossing Bridge already, and the ukai show is about fifty yards up ahead.
Twelve spectator boats just like ours form a graceful arc, the passengers silhouetted in the dark. One boat lingers some distance behind the others. I figure it contains the Yamadas and the van Gogh, and some poor boatman who’s about to get caught in the middle of a mess.
A bit closer is the ukai fishing boat. Fire crackles inside the wire basket hanging off the boat, making the water glow orange. With that light, I can make out the three men standing on the fishing boat, and the bobbing heads and flapping wings of cormorants, still tied up, eager to dive. One man slowly beats a drum. “The fishing boat’s only about twenty yards away,” I whisper. “Maybe we could communicate with them somehow.”
I watch as one fisherman tosses the birds into the water, then leans way over the side of his boat, struggling to keep control of the leashes as the birds dive down. Then he pulls the birds back on the boat and extracts fish—the ayu—from their beaks. I wish I could set them all free. They’re working so hard and don’t get to keep their rewards. They strain at their leashes. They squawk in protest and flap their wings.
Is that how Tomonori felt, collecting art for a gang boss? Is that why his journal clues and his cover-up painting all related to ukai? Or was it just that the ukai show was located near the love of his life, who would keep the van Gogh painting safe as a symbol of their undying love?
Suddenly, I hear the whine of a motor. A wooden boat with an outboard motor slowly approaches the Yamadas’ boat. It’s the snack boat. Which Fujikawa is on.
The bathing yahoo—our boatman—poles us faster toward the snack boat. Reika is squeezing my hand so hard it’s going numb.
“What’s going on, Violet? What can you see?” my dad asks.
“The bathing yahoo—the hit man—is poling our boat, standing up on the end, and Hideki’s sitting right by him. And I can see the snack boat moving toward the Yamadas’ boat.”
A man on the snack boat cuts the motor as he pulls up by the Yamadas. This could be Fujikawa himself. He looks old enough to be the famed gang leader; he has a slight stoop, and his hair glows silver in the moonlight. Yet he doesn’t look as scary as I thought a gang boss would. He wears a black windbreaker and a baseball cap, like some old guy going to a sporting event. But since he’s old, and not so physically strong, I’m guessing this has to be Fujikawa and not one of his henchmen.
