by Barry Eisler
“Harry, you never cease to amaze. Tell me more.”
“Okay. Conviction was established in 1978 by a fellow named Yamaoto Toshi, who is still the head of the party. Yamaoto was born in 1949. He’s the only son of a prominent family that traces its lines back to the samurai clans. His father was an officer in the Imperial Army, military occupational specialty communications, who after the war started a company that made portable communications devices. The father got started in business by trading on his family’s connections with the remnants of the zaibatsu, and then got rich during the Korean War, when the American army bought his company’s equipment.”
Zaibatsu were the prewar industrial conglomerates, run by Japan’s most powerful families. After the war, MacArthur cut down the tree, but he couldn’t dig out the roots.
“Yamaoto started out in the arts—he spent some years as a teenager in Europe for classical piano training, I think at his mother’s insistence. Apparently he was a bit of a child prodigy. But his father yanked him out of all that when Yamaoto turned twenty, and sent him to the States to complete his education as a prelude to taking over the family business. Yamaoto got a master’s in business from Harvard, and was running the company’s U.S. operations when his old man died. At which point Yamaoto returned to Japan, sold the business, and used the money to establish Conviction and run for parliament.”
“The piano training. Is there a connection with the way the disk is encrypted?”
“There could be.”
“Sorry. Keep going.”
“Apparently the father’s former position in the Imperial Army and the long samurai lineage made an impression on the son’s politics. Conviction was a platform for Yamaoto’s right-wing ideas. He was elected in 1985 to a seat in Nagano-ken, which he promptly lost in the next election.”
“Yeah, you don’t get elected in Japan because of your ideas,” I said. “It’s pork that pays.”
“That’s exactly the lesson Yamaoto learned from his defeat. After he was elected, he spent all his time and political capital arguing for abolishing Article Nine of the Constitution so Japan could build up its military, kicking the U.S. out of Japan, teaching Shinto in the schools—the usual positions. But after his defeat, he ran again—this time, focusing on the roads and bridges he would build for his constituents, and the rice subsidies and tariffs he would impose. Very different politician. The nationalistic stuff was back-burnered. He got his seat back in eighty-seven, and has held onto it ever since.”
“But Conviction is a marginal player. I’ve never even read about the LDP using them to form a coalition. Outside Nagano-ken, I doubt anyone has heard of them.”
“True, but Yamaoto has a few things going for him. One, Conviction is very well funded. That’s his father’s legacy. Two, he knows how to dole out the pork. Nagano has a number of farming districts, and Yamaoto keeps the subsidies rolling in and is a vocal opponent of any relaxation of Japan’s refusal to allow foreign rice into the country. And three, he has a lot of support in the Shinto community.”
“Shinto,” I said, musing. Shinto is a nature-worshiping religion that Japan’s nationalists turned into an ideology of Japaneseness before the war. Unlike Christianity and Buddhism, Shinto is native to Japan and isn’t practiced anywhere else. There was something about the connection that was bothering me, something I should have known. Then I realized.
“That’s how they found out where I live,” I said. “No wonder I’ve been seeing priests begging for alms outside of stations on the Mita-sen. They blanketed me with static surveillance, traced me back to my neighborhood one step at a time. Goddamn it, how could I have missed it? I almost gave one of them some change the other day.”
His eyes were worried. “How would they know to focus on the Mita line?”
“They probably didn’t, for sure. But with a little luck, a little coincidence, a little Holtzer feeding them a dossier, maybe even military-era photographs, it could be done. If they placed me at the Kodokan, they would have assumed I wouldn’t live too far from it. And there are only three train lines with stops within a reasonable distance from the building, so all they had to do was commit enough manpower at enough places for enough time. Shit, they really nailed me.”
I had to give them credit; it was nicely done. Static surveillance is almost impossible to spot. Unlike the moving variety, you can’t get the person behind you to do something unnatural to give himself away. It’s more like a zone defense in basketball: no matter where the guy with the ball goes, there’s always someone new in the next zone to pick him up. If you can put enough people in place to make it work, it’s deadly.
“What’s the basis for the Shinto connection?” I asked.
“Shinto is a huge organization, with priests running shrines at the national, local, even neighborhood levels. As a result, the shrines take in a lot of donations and are well funded—so they’re in a position to dispense patronage to the politicians they favor. And Yamaoto wants a much bigger role for Shinto in Japan, which means more power for the priests.”
“So the shrines are part of his funding?”
“Yes, but it’s more than that. Shinto is part of Conviction’s program. The party wants it taught in schools, it wants to form an anticrime alliance between the police and the local shrines. Don’t forget, Shinto was at the center of prewar Japanese nationalism. It’s unique to Japan, and can easily be bent—has been bent—to foster the xenophobic cult of the Yamato Gokoro, the Japanese soul. And it’s on the rise in Japan today, though not many people realize it outside the country.”
“You said their headquarters is in Shibakoen,” I said.
“That’s right.”
“Okay, then. While you’re having a crack at the encryption, I’m going to need some surveillance equipment. Infrared and laser. And video. Also a transmitter in case I can get inside. I want to listen in on our friends at Conviction.”
“Why?”
“I need more information. Whose disk was this? Who’s trying to get it back? Why? Without that information, there’s not much I can do to protect myself. Or Midori.”
“You need to get pretty close to the building to use that kind of equipment, never mind placing a transmitter. It’ll be dangerous. Why don’t you just give me some time with the lattice? Maybe everything you need is already in it.”
“I don’t have time. It might take you a week to crack the code, or you might not be able to crack it at all. In the meantime, I’m up against the Agency, the yakuza, and an army of Shinto priests. They know where I live, and I’ve been flushed out into the open. Time is running against me. I need to end this soon.”
“Well, why don’t you just get out of the country? At least until I’m done with the lattice. What’s keeping you here?”
“For one thing, I’ve got to take care of Midori, and she can’t leave. I don’t like the idea of her traveling under her own passport, and I doubt she’s got false papers handy.”
He nodded as though he understood, then looked at me closely. “Is something going on between you two?”
I didn’t answer.
“I knew it,” he said, blushing.
“I should have known I couldn’t put one over on you.”
He shook his head. “Is this why you don’t want to let her help me with the lattice?”
“Am I that transparent?”
“Not usually.”
“All right, I’ll ask her,” I said, not seeing an alternative.
“I could use her help.”
“I know. Don’t worry. I didn’t really expect you to be able to decrypt something as complex as this without help.”
For a half second his mouth started to drop in indignation. Then he saw my smile.
“Had you there,” I told him.
CHAPTER 17
Harry rented me a van from a place in Roppongi, using alias ID just in case, while I waited at his apartment to keep my exposure down. His apartment was a strange place, crammed with arcane electronic
equipment, but nothing to make his life more comfortable. He’d told me a few years earlier he’d read how the police had caught some indoor marijuana farmers by monitoring their electric bills—seems that hydroponic equipment sucks a lot more electricity than average—which made Harry paranoid his electronic signature might lead the police to him. So he didn’t use any electrical appliances that weren’t absolutely necessary—a category that, in Harry’s world, didn’t include a refrigerator, heat, or air conditioning.
When he came back, we loaded the equipment into the back of the van. It was sophisticated stuff. The laser read the vibrations on windows caused by conversation inside, then fed the resulting data into a computer, which would break down the patterns into words. And the infrared could read minutely different temperatures on glass—the kind caused by body heat in an otherwise cool room.
When we were done, I parked the van and made my way back to Shibuya, of course conducting a solid SDR en route.
I got to the hotel at a little past one o’clock. I had picked up some sandwiches at a stand I found on one of the nameless streets snaking off Dogenzaka, and Midori and I ate them sitting on the floor while I filled her in on what was going on. I gave her Harry’s address and told her to put her things together and meet me there in two hours, and to wear the scarf and sunglasses I’d brought her when she left.
When I arrived at Harry’s, he was already running Kawamura’s disk. A half hour later, the buzzer rang; Harry walked over to the intercom, pressed a button, and said “Hai.”
“Watashi desu,” came the response. It’s me. I nodded, getting up to check the window, and Harry pressed the button to open the front entrance. Then he walked over to his door, opened it, and peered out. Better to see who’s coming before they get to your position, while you still have time to react.
A minute later he opened the door wide and motioned Midori to come inside.
I said to her in Japanese, “This is Harry, the friend I told you about. He’s a little shy around people because he spends all his time with computers. Just be nice to him and he’ll open up after a while.”
“Hajimemashite,” Midori said, turning to Harry and bowing. Nice to meet you.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Harry responded in Japanese. He was blinking rapidly, and I could see he was nervous. “Please don’t listen to my friend. The government used him to test experimental drugs during the war, and it’s led to premature senility.”
Harry? I thought, impressed with his sudden gumption.
Midori made a face of perfect innocence and said, “It was caused by drugs?”
She had a light touch with him, I was glad to see. Harry looked at me with a radiant smile, feeling he’d finally gotten the better of me, and maybe had found an ally, too.
“Okay, I can see you’re both going to get along,” I said, cutting them off before Harry used his newfound courage to escalate to who knows what. “We don’t have much time. This is the plan.” I explained to Midori what I was going to do.
“I don’t like it,” she said, when I was done. “They could see you. It could be dangerous.”
“No one’s going to see me.”
“You should give Harry and me some time with the musical code.”
“I’ve already been over this with Harry. You both do your jobs, I’ll do mine. It’s more efficient. I’ll be fine.”
I drove the van to the Conviction facility in Shibakoen, just south of the government district in Kasumigaseki. Conviction occupied part of the second floor of a building on Hibiya-dori, across from Shiba Park. I would use the laser to pick up the locus of conversation in their offices, and then, based on Harry’s analysis of what we picked up, I’d be able to guess which room or rooms would be the best candidates for a transmitter. The same equipment would tell me when the offices had emptied out, probably well after dark, and that’s when I’d go in to place the bug. The video might help us identify anyone else who was involved with the Agency and Conviction, and give us some clues about the nature of the connection between the two.
I parked across the street from the building. The spot was in a no-parking zone, but it was a good enough location to risk a ticket from a bored meter maid.
I had just finished setting up the equipment and targeting it at the appropriate windows when I heard a tap on the van’s passenger-side window. I looked up and saw a uniformed cop. He was rapping the glass with his nightstick.
Oh, shit. I made a conciliatory gesture, as though I was going to just drive away, but he shook his head and said, “Dette yo.” Get out.
The equipment was pointing out the back driver-side window, and wasn’t visible from the cop’s vantage point. I would have to take a chance. I slid across to the passenger side and opened the door, then stepped down onto the curb.
There were three men waiting on the blind side of the van, where I couldn’t see them until I was outside. They were armed with pistols and wore sunglasses and bulky coats—light disguise to change the shape of the face and the build. I took this to mean they would shoot me if I resisted, counting on the disguises to confuse potential witnesses. They all had the classic kendoka’s ears. I recognized the one standing closest to me from outside Midori’s apartment—the guy with the flat nose who had gone in after I had ambushed Midori’s would-be abductors. One of them gruffly thanked the cop, who turned and walked away.
They motioned me across the street, and there wasn’t much I could do except comply. At least this solved the problem of how I was going to get into the building. I had an earpiece in my pocket, as well as one of Harry’s custom adhesive-backed microtransmitters. If I saw the chance, I’d put the transmitter in place.
They brought me in the front entrance, their hands staying steady in their coat pockets. We took the stairs to the second floor, the three of them crowding me on the way up, taking away any room to maneuver. When we got to the landing at the top of the stairs, Flatnose shoved me back against the wall, pushing his gun against my neck. One of his partners patted me down. He was looking for a weapon and didn’t notice the small transmitter in my pocket.
When he was done, Flatnose took a step back and suddenly kneed me in the balls. I doubled over and he kicked me in the stomach, then kneed me in the ribs. I dropped to my knees, sucking wind, pain shooting through my torso. I was trying to get my arms up in anticipation of another blow when one of them stepped between Flatnose and me, telling him that was enough. I wondered distantly if I was in for a game of good cop, bad cop.
We stayed like that for a few minutes, Flatnose’s friend restraining him while I tried to catch my breath. When I was able, I stood, and they took me down a short hallway with closed doors on both sides. We stopped outside the last door on the right. Flatnose knocked. A voice answered, “Dozo.” Come in.
They brought me into a room that was spacious by Japanese standards, furnished in the traditional minimalist fashion. Lots of light-hued wood, expensive-looking ceramics. The walls were decorated with hanga—wood-block prints. Probably originals. A small leather couch and armchairs in one corner of the room, arranged around a spotless glass coffee table. The overall appearance was clean and prosperous, which I guessed was the impression these people wanted to project. Maybe they hid Flatnose and his pals when they had guests.
There was a wooden desk on the far side of the room. It took me a second to recognize the guy sitting behind it. I hadn’t seen him in a suit before.
It was the judoka from the Kodokan. The one I’d fought in randori.
“Hello, John Rain,” he said in English, with a small smile.
I returned his gaze. “Hello, Yamaoto.”
He stood and circled to the front of the desk with the strong, graceful movements I had first noticed at the Kodokan. “Thank you for coming today,” he said. “I was expecting you.”
That much was clear. “Sorry I didn’t call first,” I told him.
“No, no, not at all. That I would never expect. But I did anticipate that you would find a way
to take the initiative—after all, as a judoka you are more comfortable on the offensive, using defense merely as a feint.”
He nodded to his men, told them in Japanese to wait outside. I watched them file out quietly, Flatnose eyeing me as he closed the door behind them.
“Did I do something to offend the ugly one?” I asked, rubbing my ribs. “I get the feeling he doesn’t like me.”
“Was he rough with you? I told him not to be, but he has trouble controlling his temper. Ishikawa, the man you killed outside your apartment, was a friend of his.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
He shook his head as though it was all a misunderstanding. “Please, sit. Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you. I’m not thirsty. And I’m more comfortable standing.”
He nodded. “I know what you’re thinking, Rain-san. Don’t forget, I’ve seen how fast you are. That’s why there are three armed men outside the door—in case you manage to get past me.” He smiled, a supremely confident smile, and remembering how things went at the Kodokan, I knew his confidence was justified. “That would be an interesting contest, but perhaps one for another time. Please, why don’t you make yourself comfortable, and we can think of a way to solve our mutual problem.”
“Mutual problem?”
“Yes, the problem is mutual. You have something I want, or you know where it is. Once I have it, you will no longer be a liability, and we can ‘live and let live.’ But if I don’t have it, the situation becomes more difficult.”
I was silent, waiting to see if he would say more. After a moment he said, “I really would like to talk with you. Dozo, kakete kudasai.” Please, sit.
I bowed my head and walked over to one of the chairs facing the couch, putting my hands in my pockets as I did so, effecting an air of resignation. I switched on the transmitter. Regardless of how this turned out, Harry would at least hear everything. I sat and waited.
