Alison recovered her rolling bag from the bed and stood the luggage upright on the floor. She examined the bag. Her computer case was still attached, but now the case was hooked on backward. And the lock had been removed.
Either housekeeping was doing a lousy job, or someone had been looking for something. In any event, she was getting out of there.
Alison walked over to the bedside phone, called the operator and asked for hotel security. A guard soon knocked on her door. Accompanying him was a member of the police. Alison recognized the cop’s uniform from her misguided visit to the police station. She let the men in and gestured inside.
“As you can see, my room has been vandalized. I was out for dinner, and—”
“May I see your passport, ma’am?” asked the policeman.
“Of course.” Alison pulled her passport from her purse.
The cop took down some information and handed Alison’s passport back to her. He then pulled out a cell phone and uttered a succession of quick grunts into the phone. After disconnecting the call, he turned to Alison.
“You were at the Western District police station earlier today. About a stolen computer disk. But you did not want to file a report.”
“Yes. I mean, no. I went to the station, but there was a mistake. At any rate, I doubt this damage to my room is related to that.” Or was it? Could the same goon who had mugged her on the way to Green Space have broken into her room? With a room key he pilfered from the jazz club? Alison closed her eyes and took a deep cleansing yoga breath to calm and center herself. It didn’t help.
“What is missing from your room?”
“I’m not sure. I looked at the mess and called security. Everything seems to be here, I’m not sure.” Alison caught the two men exchanging a look. “You can see somebody trashed my things,” she said. “And they definitely were monkeying around with my computer.”
The cop poised his pen over his pad of paper. “Do you want to file a report. This time?”
Alison didn’t appreciate his sarcastic tone. “Yes, I do. My handbag was stolen earlier tonight. Stolen from a jazz club near here. I don’t know the name of the club, but I can find out.”
“And what was in the bag? What was stolen?”
“They took my money — about one hundred dollars. U.S. dollars. But I got the bag back.”
The two men looked at each other again. The cop stopped writing on his pad.
Alison pressed on. “But that’s not all. They also took my room key. I had to get a replacement at the front desk. The front desk will have a record of that.” Why did she feel like she had to defend herself?
The cop rubbed the bridge of his nose. “So you are saying that someone stole a computer disk from you earlier today, but that was a mistake. Then your handbag was stolen, only nothing was taken and you got your handbag back.”
“I told you my room key was taken. And my money.”
“That is right. Your room key was taken. And cash.” The cop snorted. “And someone entered your room, disturbed your computer, but nothing is missing.”
“Well, yes. I suppose that’s technically correct. But look what they did to my clothes, my papers. They even urinated on the floor.” Alison pointed to the damp spot on the carpeting.
“Right. We will call you when we have more information about this — incident.” The cop snapped shut his notebook and departed.
The security guard said to Alison, “The hotel would invite you to please move to a different room, as our courtesy to you. Of course, we are sorry, and there will be no charge for the room.”
A free room? A nice gesture, but Charles’ firm was already footing the bill. And if she stayed at the Regent, whoever had trashed her room would know where to find her. And how to get to her. They’d proven quite adept at it.
“Thank you, but I’m going to check out. Would you have the front desk recommend another hotel for me? Something reasonably priced.” Alison hoped that they understood that “reasonably priced” meant a cheap little fleabag. Charles’ five-star expense account wouldn’t be underwriting her one-star room, but at least she’d be safely ensconced, whereabouts unknown to that freak and his friends.
But maybe she should let someone know that she was leaving. Just in case.
She called the operator and asked to be put through to Kiyoshi Hisaka’s room.
“Moshi moshi.”
“Hi, Kiyoshi, it’s Alison. Someone was in my room tonight, going through my things. I can’t imagine what they were looking for, but the place was ransacked.”
She wanted to tell Kiyoshi about how she’d gotten mugged on the way to the Hong Kong office of Green Space. But she knew how Kiyoshi felt about Yuko Yamada. And Alison didn’t want to go making waves unnecessarily and screw up her best chance of getting a good, full-time job in Tokyo. The mugger was probably some street kid, anyway. The cops didn’t seem too concerned.
Kiyoshi asked, “Did you call security?”
“Yes, but I’ve decided to go to another hotel. I wanted to let you know, since we were planning to meet tomorrow, and—”
“Come stay with me. It’s a big corporate suite, and there’s lots of room.”
Alison hesitated. Alone in a hotel room with Kiyoshi? Innocent enough. Sure, she’d met him online, but she knew him, trusted him. Was she being dumb? Maybe.
“Thanks, but it’s OK. The front desk is finding another hotel for me now. I’ll call you after I’ve moved. But I hope we can get together tomorrow. If you still want to, that is.”
“Of course I do. Call me. You know where I am.”
Alison was stuffing her belongings in her suitcase when the phone rang. “Miss Crane? This is the concierge, and I’m terribly sorry to say that I have called several other hotels, and they all have no space available. The nearest available room is about one hour away by train. So would you consider moving into another room here, compliments of the hotel?”
“Thank you,” Alison replied, “but I’d rather not.”
Alison dug out her Hong Kong travel guide and started phoning hotels herself. She called eight locations, all with no luck. How could an entire city be sold out of rooms? She knew from experience that San Francisco was notorious for running out of hotel space, but Hong Kong?
Alison picked up the phone. “It’s me, Kiyoshi. I don’t want to put you out, but I can’t find another hotel. If it’s OK, can I move to your room? I mean, to your suite? If it’s not a problem.”
“Not at all. You can have your own bedroom, bathroom. Like I said, there’s lots of space.”
Her own bedroom. She could lock the door. And she had her burglar alarm to hang on the doorknob. She’d be OK. And Kiyoshi seemed like a nice guy. What could be the harm? “Thanks, Kiyoshi. It’s just for tonight. I’ll find someplace to go.”
“I’ll call the bell captain to get your luggage.”
“Not necessary. I have one small bag. I’ll go check out of the hotel, then I’ll come by your room.”
She would check out of the hotel and disappear. No one would know where she was. Not those punks who’d trashed her room. And not Charles.
35
Kiyoshi held open the suite’s French doors and invited Alison in. Contemporary paintings hung on the walls of the foyer and cloisonné vases overflowing with cut flowers scented the air. The suite’s key selling point, however, was the vista from a long balcony that looked out on the harbor and Hong Kong.
“Make yourself at home,” Kiyoshi said. He led Alison on a quick tour of the corporate apartment and rolled Alison’s bag into an empty bedroom.
“Thanks so much, Kiyoshi. I don’t want to be in your hair, but—”
“Nonsense.”
Alison returned to the living room and crumpled into a chair. Finally, a quiet moment of peace in a secure place. No obscene faxes, no muggers, no stolen purse, no burglars. The events of the day caught up with her, and, face buried in her palms, she cried softly. Kiyoshi might think she was a nut, but she couldn’t stop t
he tears.
“What’s the matter?” Kiyoshi walked over to her chair.
Alison looked up, hugging her arms around her chest. Kiyoshi reached out and took her hand. “You’re safe here,” he said. “We’ll straighten everything out tomorrow.” He handed Alison a handkerchief from his back pocket. She took the handkerchief, crisp and ironed, dabbed at her eyes and handed it back.
Kiyoshi didn’t seem to mind that his handkerchief was now streaked with mascara. He said, “I have a great idea. It’ll help you relax. How about a midnight Jacuzzi?” He gestured with his head to the spa on the balcony.
Alison smiled. Why the hell not? A dip in a spa tub would be just the thing to soothe her nerves, which were strung tight as a violin’s bow. “Sounds perfect,” she said.
“Meet you outside, then.”
Meet her outside? The two of them? Alison had assumed she was taking a dip solo. She didn’t have a swimsuit. But then, again, Japanese people didn’t wear suits in outdoor baths. Did they? After the fucked-up day she’d had, she didn’t much care about social proprieties. “Okay,” she said. “Meet you outside.”
Alison showered, washed her hair and wrapped herself in one of the luscious hotel robes. She padded out to the balcony where Kiyoshi was already in the hot tub. A bottle of champagne and two flutes stood on a tray alongside a bud vase holding an orchid.
How had Kiyoshi put together such a sweet arrangement so fast? As if she hadn’t already exceeded her quota of champagne that night. Was that part of Kiyoshi’s plan? Alison didn’t care. She was exhausted trying to second-guess people, to worry about their motives. She reminded herself that she had set out to have fun that night, that she was on vacation.
Alison shrugged off her robe and slid into the water next to Kiyoshi. The cool night air on her face contrasted with the warmth of the water to create a delicious sensation of total and instant relaxation.
Kiyoshi opened the champagne bottle and poured the glasses. “Kampai!” They took deep swallows as they leaned back and watched the lights of the watery cityscape through the rising mists of the hot tub. The setting felt surreal, pleasant and dreamlike. The gurgling of the spa jets provided a soothing serenade, and all the pain and frustration of the day seeped out of Alison’s body.
After several trancelike minutes in the swirling hot water, Alison grew lightheaded and wanted to cool down. She climbed out of tub, and Kiyoshi turned to face away from her as she stood. “Kiyoshi, it’s OK. I’m not shy.” Alison sat on the ledge of the spa with her calves dangling in the water.
“It’s funny how you don’t feel chilly at all after you’ve been in a hot tub,” she said. “It’s like you get heated through and through. It’s great out here. Open air, night skies.”
Awkward and lounging naked in front of Kiyoshi, Alison jabbered away. She wasn’t shy. But here, now, she felt like an exhibitionist. And even more worrisome, she admitted to herself, was that she liked the idea that maybe Kiyoshi was checking her out.
Increasingly self-conscious, she decided to slip back in the water. Besides, her Lady Godiva act was starting to get cold.
Alison sank down to her chin in the tub, closed her eyes and enjoyed the water’s soft heat on her body. When she opened her eyes, she saw Kiyoshi staring at her. She returned his gaze, holding the contact a little too long. Shaking herself out of the dangerous mood, Alison reached for the champagne glass only to discover it was empty.
Kiyoshi refilled her flute, Alison drank.
“Heaven,” she said softly.
“Excuse me?” Kiyoshi turned to her.
Alison set down her glass and gave Kiyoshi a wet champagne kiss. His luscious lips enticed and exhilarated. Alison explored his mouth, unfamiliar yet inviting. It had only been Charles for so long. For too long.
Kiyoshi kissed her neck and shoulders while stroking up the side of her thighs to her ribs. He reached to pull her face toward his, and his hand brushed her nipple. The contact sent shock waves reverberating throughout Alison’s body down to her toes.
She took Kiyoshi’s hand and pressed it against her chest. “Can you feel my heart racing?”
Kiyoshi plunged his tongue between Alison’s lips while he rubbed her nipple with his thumb. Alison dropped her hand to her side, and Kiyoshi twirled and pinched her nipple between his fingers.
Alison’s pulse pounded in her temples and throbbed between her legs. She didn’t know if it was the heat of the Jacuzzi — or Kiyoshi’s hand, which tortured her with its tenderness as it ventured around her electrified body —but she was sure she was going to faint. And the letting-go would feel so good.
“You’re in hot water,” Kiyoshi said. “Let me help you out.”
36
The coffee’s smoky aroma tantalized Alison awake. Kiyoshi sat on the edge of the bed and offered her a cup.
“Good morning.” She sat up in bed and took a sip. “How did you know I drink coffee?”
“You’re an American, aren’t you?” he joked.
“Kiyoshi, last night was — was,” Alison hesitated, not wanting to sound trite or corny. “You’re pretty wonderful,” is how she decided to leave it.
He bent over and gave her a quick kiss. “Come out to the deck. See the city waking up.”
“I’ll be there in a second,” Alison said. She finished the coffee, put on her hotel robe and walked to her room. Her unopened suitcase sat next to the bed that was still made up. Alison smiled. Sometimes things don’t go according to plan. In a marble bathroom, even grander than the one she had vacated, she opened a complimentary hotel toothbrush, brushed her teeth and splashed cold water on her face.
Alison grinned at her reflection in the mirror. You’ve got afterglow, Crane. She hadn’t felt those first-date jitters — the shy curiosity, the excitement of meeting someone new and being immediately attracted to them — in a long, long time. Good thing Charles wasn’t around to see her telltale face.
She pushed to the back of her mind the bothersome inconvenience of living with Charles while being smitten with Kiyoshi. The matter was not ripe for deciding.
Just thinking about Charles made Alison realize how far removed from her he was, how separate their lives were. That phone phreak probably knew more about her everyday life than Charles did. But she was reminded that she had unfinished business. There still was a Charles in her life.
“I’m ordering room service,” Kiyoshi called from the living room. “Do you want anything?”
“Just some fresh fruit.” Alison tamed her bedhead hair with a damp hand towel and declared herself morning-after presentable.
She entered the living room and halted. “Oh my God, Kiyoshi. The message light—” Her trembling finger pointed to the phone. How had that damn techno geek known that she was staying at Kiyoshi’s corporate suite?
Kiyoshi looked up from the Nihon Keizai newspaper he was reading in the armchair. “What’s the matter?”
“Is there a message for me?” Alison’s grip on her coffee cup loosened, and Kiyoshi set it on the table before it slipped out of her hand.
“I’ll find out what it is.” He picked up the phone and spoke to the front desk. “Everything’s fine, Alison. It’s just a fax. The office gets worried when I’m out of the country.”
“I need some air.” Alison wandered onto the balcony and stared blankly out on the harbor. Even the port’s early-morning clamor and organized chaos couldn’t penetrate her anesthetizing sense of anxiety. She bit down on a hardened nail cuticle.
How had she let herself get so overwrought? When a hotel has a message for a guest, they turn a message light on. It didn’t mean that the guest was in imminent danger of bodily harm. Kiyoshi must think she was a nutjob.
Room service arrived, and the delivery guy handed Kiyoshi an envelope. “Your fax, sir.”
Alison returned to the living room and sank down at the dining table. From over the top of his paper, Kiyoshi watched her pick at melon slices on her fruit plate.
“What’s going on, A
lison? You look so frightened. I know it was upsetting that someone broke into your hotel room, but you’re OK now.”
“That’s not it. It’s—” Alison poked a piece of lychee. “I didn’t want to tell you last night.”
“Tell me what?”
“I didn’t want to ruin things. But that guy sent me a fax yesterday. A fax here at the hotel.”
“Who?”
“That weird freak who’s been bothering us online.”
Kiyoshi set his newspaper aside and opened the envelope that room service had brought. He read its contents. His eyes, usually dancing and animated, now flared. He folded up the fax, creased its edges with the nail of his thumb and sat across from Alison.
“How did the guy know you were here?” Kiyoshi’s eyes pierced her with a probing focus.
“Really stupid of me. I sent you an email saying where I was going to stay in Hong Kong.”
“But he couldn’t have read it. Our messages are encrypted.”
“It looks like he figured out the code. Or he somehow read the fax you sent me. Maybe he’s even picking up the messages from near my house.”
“Near your house? What do you mean?”
“I met someone who told me about a computer program for tracing anonymous email messages.”
“Yes, and —?”
“The guy who told me about it — Jed’s his name — he said that the creep online might be tapping into my computer line.”
“So what if he does have the line tapped. All he’d pick up is modem noise.”
“Not according to Jed. If the guy’s close to my house running this intercept software, he can see everything my computer is sending or receiving by modem. Kind of like eavesdropping, computer-style.”
“So you think this guy might be picking up your computer messages with a bugging device?”
“I don’t know how the hell he’s doing it, but he’s back in the game.”
“Looks like he is,” Kiyoshi said. “And he knew you were going to be at this hotel. I wonder if he’s the one who broke into your hotel room.”
Tokyo Firewall: a novel of international suspense Page 17
