by Barry Eisler
A long pause. “We had our differences.”
“That must have been hard.”
“It was, sometimes. For a long time we were pretty alienated.”
I nodded. “Were you ever able to mend fences?”
She laughed softly, but without mirth. “My father found out he had lung cancer just a few months before he died. The diagnosis made him reassess his life, but that didn’t give us long to work things out.”
The information caught me by surprise. “He had lung cancer? But… Mama mentioned a heart attack.”
“He had a heart condition, but always smoked anyway. All his government cronies did, and he felt he needed to do it to fit in. He was so much a part of the system, in a way, he gave his life for it.”
I took a sip of the smoky liquid and swallowed. “Lung cancer is a terrible way to go,” I said. “At least, the way he died, he didn’t suffer.” The sentiment was weirdly heartfelt.
“That’s true, and I’m grateful for it.”
“Forgive me if I’m prying, but what do you mean when you say the diagnosis made him reassess his life?”
She was looking past me, her eyes unfocused. “In the end, he realized that he had spent his life being part of the problem, as Ken would say. He decided he wanted to be part of the solution.”
“Did he have time to do that?”
“I don’t think so. But he told me he wanted to do something, wanted to do something right, before he died. The main thing was that he felt that way.”
“How do you know he didn’t have time?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, her eyes coming back to me.
“Your father—he’s diagnosed, suddenly face-to-face with his own mortality. He wants to do something to atone for the past. Could he have? In such a short time?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said, and instantly I knew I had bumped up against that defensive wall again.
“I’m thinking about what we talked about the other day. About regret. If there’s something you regret, but you’ve only got a short time to do something about it, what do you do?”
“I imagine that would be different for everyone, depending on the nature of your regrets.”
Come on, Midori, work with me. “What would your father have done? Was there anything that could have reversed the things he came to regret?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
But you do know, I thought. A reporter he was meeting with contacted you. You know, but you’re not telling me.
“What I mean is, maybe he was trying to do something to be part of the solution, even if you couldn’t see it. Maybe he talked to his colleagues, told them about his change of heart, tried to get them to change theirs… who knows?”
She was quiet, and I thought, That’s it, that’s as far as you can possibly push it, she’s going to get suspicious and clam up on you now for sure.
But after a moment she said, “Are you asking because of a regret of your own?”
I looked at her, simultaneously disturbed by the truth of her question and relieved at the cover it afforded me. “I’m not sure,” I said.
“Why don’t you just tell me?”
I felt like I’d been hit with an aikido throw. “No,” I said, my voice low.
“Am I that hard to talk to?” she asked, her voice gentle.
“No,” I said, smiling into her dark eyes. “You’re easy. That’s the problem.”
She sighed. “You’re a strange man, John. You’re so obviously uncomfortable talking about yourself.”
“I’m more interested in you.”
“In my father.”
“I thought there’d be a lesson there for me. That’s all.”
“Some lessons you have to learn for yourself.”
“I try to learn them from others when I can. I’m sorry for pressing.”
She gave me a small smile. “This is all still a little recent.”
“Of course it is,” I said, recognizing the dead end. I looked at my watch. “I should get you home.”
This was apt to be tricky. On the one hand, we had undeniable chemistry, and it wasn’t inconceivable that she would invite me up for a drink or something. If she did, I’d get a chance to make sure her apartment was secure, although I would have to be careful once we were inside. I couldn’t let anything stupid happen—more stupid than the time I had already spent with her and the things I had already said.
On the other hand, if she wanted to go home alone, it would be hard for me to escort her without seeming like I was angling for a way to get into her bed. It would be awkward. But I couldn’t just turn her loose alone. They knew where she lived.
We thanked Satoh-san for his hospitality and for the delicious introduction to the rare Ardbeg. I paid the bill, and we took the stairs down into the now slightly chilly Omotesando night air. The streets were quiet.
“Which way are you heading?” Midori asked me. “From around here I usually walk.”
“I’ll go with you. I’d like to see you all the way home.”
“You don’t have to.”
I looked down for a moment, then back at her. “I’d like to,” I said again, thinking of Benny’s write-up on the secure site.
She smiled. “Okay.”
It was a fifteen-minute walk to her building. I didn’t observe anyone behind us. Not a surprise, given Mr. Bland’s departure from the scene.
When we reached the entranceway of her building, she took her keys out and turned to me. “Jaa…”. Well, then…
It was a polite good night. But I had to see her inside. “You’ll be okay from here?”
She looked at me knowingly, though she didn’t really know. “I live here. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“Okay. Have you got a phone number?” I already knew it, of course, but I had to keep up appearances.
“No, I don’t have a phone.”
Wow. That bad. “Yeah, I’m a bit of a luddite myself. If something comes up, send me a smoke signal, okay?”
She giggled. “Five, two, seven, five, six, four, five, six. I was only teasing.”
“Right. Can I call you sometime?” In about five minutes, for example, to make sure no one’s waiting for you in your apartment.
“I hope you will.”
I took out a pen and wrote the number down on my hand.
She was looking at me, half smiling. The kiss was there, if I wanted it.
I turned and walked back up the path toward the street.
She called out after me. “John?”
I turned.
“I think there’s a radical in you trying to get out.”
Several ripostes came quickly to mind. Instead: “Good night, Midori.”
I turned and walked away, pausing at the sidewalk to look back. But she had already gone inside, and the glass doors were closing behind her.
CHAPTER 11
I slipped into a parking area that faced the entrance. Hanging back beyond the perimeter of light cast from inside, I saw her waiting for an elevator to her right. From where I was standing, I could see the doors open when it arrived, but couldn’t see inside it. I watched her step in. Then the doors closed.
No one seemed to be lurking outside. Unless they were waiting in her apartment or nearby, she would be safe for the night.
I took out Harry’s unit and activated her phone, then listened in on my mobile phone. Silence.
A minute later, I heard her door being unlocked, opened, then closed. Muffled footsteps. Then the sound of more footsteps, from more than one person. A loud gasp.
Then a male voice, in Japanese. “Listen. Listen carefully. Don’t be afraid. We’re sorry to alarm you. We’re investigating a matter of national security. We have to move with great circumspection. Please understand.”
Midori’s voice, not much more than a whisper: “Show me… show me identification.”
“We don’t have time for that. We have some questions we need to ask, and then we’ll leave.”
My heart leaped. She had instinct and she had guts.
“No noise, please,” came the reply. Then the reverberation of a hard slap.
They were roughing her up. I was going to have to move.
I heard her breathing, ragged. “What the hell do you want?”
“Your father had something on his person around the time he died. It is now in your possession. We need it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Another slap. Shit.
I couldn’t get into the building without a key. Even if someone entered or exited right then so I could slip inside, I would never be able to make it into her apartment to help her. Maybe I could kick the door down. And maybe there would be four guys with guns standing ten feet away who would drop me before I was halfway inside.
I broke the connection with the unit and input her number on the mobile phone. Her phone rang three times, then an answering machine cut in.
I hung up and repeated the procedure using the redial key, then again. And again.
I wanted to make them nervous, to give them pause. If someone tried to get through enough times, maybe they would let her answer it to allay potential suspicions.
On the fifth try, she picked up. “Moshi moshi,” she said, her voice uncertain.
“Midori, this is John. I know you can’t speak. I know there are men in your apartment. Say to me ‘There isn’t a man in my apartment, Grandma.’”
“What?”
“Say ‘There isn’t a man in my apartment, Grandma.’ Just say it!”
“There isn’t… There isn’t a man in my apartment, Grandma.”
“Good girl. Now say, ‘No, I don’t want you coming over now. There’s no one here.”
“No, I don’t want you coming over now. There’s no one here.”
They’d be itching to get out of her apartment now. “Very good. Now, just keep arguing with your grandmother, okay? Those men are not the police. You know that. I can help you, but only if you get them out of your apartment. Tell them your father had some papers with him when he died, but they’re hidden in his apartment. Tell them you’ll take them there and show them. Tell them you can’t describe the hiding place, it’s a place in the wall and you’ll have to show them. Do you understand?”
“Grandma, you worry too much.”
“I’ll be waiting outside,” I said, and broke the connection.
Which way are they likely to go? I thought, trying to decide where I could set up an ambush. But just then, an old woman, bent double at the waist from a childhood of poor nutrition and toil in the rice paddies, emerged from the elevator, carrying out her trash. The electronic doors parted for her as she shuffled outside, and I slipped into the building.
I knew Midori lived on the third floor. I bolted up the stairwell and paused outside a metal fire door, listening. After about half a minute of silence, I heard the sound of a door opening from somewhere down the corridor.
I opened the fire door part way, then took out my key chain and extended the dental mirror through the opening until I had a view of a long, narrow hallway. A Japanese man was emerging from an apartment. He swept his head left and right, then nodded. A moment later Midori stepped out, followed closely by a second Japanese. The second one had his hand on her shoulder, not in a gentle way.
The one in the lead checked the corridor in both directions, then they started to move toward my position. I withdrew the mirror and eased the door shut. There was a CO2-type fire extinguisher on the wall, and I grabbed it and stepped to the right of the door, toward the side where it opened. I pulled the pin and aimed the nozzle face high.
Two seconds went by, then five. I heard their footsteps approaching, heard them right outside the door.
I breathed shallowly through my mouth, my fingers tense around the trigger of the unit.
For a split second, in my imagination, I saw the door start to open, but it didn’t. They had continued past it, heading for the elevators.
Damn. I had expected them to take the stairs. I eased the door open again and extended the mirror, adjusting its angle until I could see. They had her sandwiched in tightly, the guy in the rear holding something against her back. I assumed a gun, but maybe a knife.
I couldn’t follow them from there with any hope of surprising them. I wouldn’t be able to close the distance before they saw or heard me coming, and if they were armed, my chances would range from poor to nonexistent.
I turned and bolted down the stairs. When I got to the first floor, I cut across the lobby, stopping behind a weight-bearing pillar they’d have to walk past as they stepped off the elevator. I braced the extinguisher against my waist and eased the mirror past the corner of the pillar.
They emerged half a minute later, bunched up in the kind of tight formation you learn to avoid on day one in Special Forces because it makes your whole team vulnerable to an ambush or a mine. They were obviously afraid Midori was going to try to run.
I slipped the mirror and key chain back in my pocket, listening to their footsteps. When they sounded only a few centimeters away, I bellowed a warrior’s kiyai and leaped out, pulling the extinguisher’s trigger and aiming face high.
Nothing happened. The extinguisher hiccupped, then made a disappointing hissing sound. That was all.
The lead guy’s mouth dropped open, and he started fumbling inside his coat. Feeling like I was moving in slow motion, sure I was going to be a second late, I brought the butt end of the extinguisher up. Saw his hand coming free, holding a short-barreled revolver. I stepped in hard and jammed the extinguisher into his face like a battering ram, getting my weight behind the blow. There was a satisfying thud and he spilled into Midori and the guy in the rear, his gun clattering to the floor.
The second guy stumbled backward, slipping clear of Midori, pinwheeling his left arm. He was holding a gun in his other hand and trying keep it in front of him.
I launched the extinguisher like a missile, catching him center mass. He went down and I was on him in an instant, catching hold of the gun and jerking it away. Before he could get his hands up to protect himself I smashed the butt into his mastoid process, behind the ear. There was a loud crack and he went limp.
I spun and brought the gun up, but his friend wasn’t moving. His face looked like he’d run into a flagpole.
I turned back to Midori just in time to see a third goon emerge from the elevator, where he must have been positioned from the beginning. He grabbed Midori around the neck from behind with his left hand, trying to use her as a shield, while his right hand went to his jacket pocket, groping for a weapon. But before he could pull it free, Midori spun counterclockwise inside his grip, catching his left wrist in her hands and twisting his arm outward and back in a classic aikido sankyo joint lock. His reaction showed training: he threw his body in the direction of the lock to save his arm from being broken, and landed with a smooth ukemi breakfall. But before he could recover I had closed the distance, launching a field-goal-style kick at his head with enough force to lift his whole body from the ground.
Midori was looking at me, her eyes wide, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
“Daijoubu?” I asked, taking her by the arm. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”
She shook her head. “They told me they were the police, but I knew they weren’t, they wouldn’t show me any identification and why were they waiting in my apartment anyway? Who are they? How did you know they were in there?”
Keeping my hand on her arm, I started moving us through the lobby toward the glass doors, my eyes sweeping back and forth for signs of danger outside.
“I saw them at the Blue Note,” I said, urging her with pressure on her arm to increase the pace. “When I realized they hadn’t followed us back, I thought they might be waiti
ng for you at your apartment. That’s when I called.”
“You saw them at the Blue Note? Who are they? Who the hell are you?”
“I’m someone who’s stumbled onto something very bad and wants to protect you from it. I’ll explain later. Right now, we’ve got to get you someplace safe.”
“Safe? With you?” She stopped in front of the glass doors and looked back at the three men, their faces bloody masks, then at me.
“I’ll explain everything to you, but not now. For now, the only thing that matters is that you’re in danger, and I can’t help you if you don’t believe me. Let me just get you somewhere safe and tell you what all this is about, okay?” The doors slid open, a hidden infrared eye having sensed our proximity.
“Where?”
“Someplace where no one would know to look for you, or wait for you. A hotel, something like that.”
The goon I had kicked groaned and started to pull himself up onto all fours. I strode over and kicked him in the face again. He went down. “Midori, we don’t have time to discuss this here. You’re going to have to believe me. Please.”
The doors slid shut.
I wanted to search the men on the floor for ID or some other way of identifying them, but I couldn’t do that and get Midori moving at the same time.
“How do I know I can believe you?” she said, but she was moving again. The doors opened.
“Trust your instincts. They seem to have been pretty sound so far.”
We moved through the doors, and with the wider range of vision our new position afforded me, I was able to see a squat and ugly Japanese man standing about five meters back and to the left. He had a nose that looked like a U-turn—must have been broken so many times he gave up having it set. He was watching the scene in the foyer and seemed uncertain of what to do. Something about his posture, his appearance, told me he wasn’t a civilian. Probably he was with the three on the floor.
I steered Midori to the right, keeping clear of the flat-nosed guy’s position. “How could you know… How could you know there were men in my apartment?” she asked. “How did you know what was happening?”
“I just knew, okay?” I said, turning my head, searching for danger, as we walked. “Midori, if I were with these people, what would I gain from this charade? They had you exactly where they wanted you. Please, let me help you. I don’t want to see you get hurt. That’s the only reason I’m here.”
