The Name of the Game Is a Kidnapping

by Keigo Higashino

  In my humble opinion, crime wasn’t such a big deal. Mercenary crimes, in particular, were no different from work. Instead of trying to come up with ways to evade a net of legalities, you took precautions not to get caught in the police’s radar. Blackmail was the same as a deal. In fact, compared to negotiations with stubborn clients, it was almost simple fun.

  I told Juri we’d crossed a line, but I didn’t really think that was the case. If it started to look too risky, I could just hurry and retreat. Keeping Juri from talking wasn’t hard. She, herself, would want to hide her involvement in a staged kidnapping. I wasn’t scared even about getting caught. I’d just say that she’d talked me into going along with her prank. She’d assert that I was the one who suggested it, but she’d have no proof. And then this was the biggest thing: the victim, Katsutoshi Katsuragi, would probably be afraid of the public finding out the truth.

  Of course, right now, backtracking wasn’t on my mind. I’d never faced a challenge and failed. I would beat this game, too.

  Boring chores awaited me at work. A movie featuring a popular girl singer and its videogame tie-up, to be sold in tandem—it was too tedious a job to be handled by a grown man. During the meeting, I was thinking of a way to retrieve the ransom money. That was far more amusing.

  After getting back to my seat, I accessed the internet again on my computer. I checked the homepage, but there was no reply from Katsutoshi Katsuragi.

  So he was still consulting with the police? I somewhat regretted not having set a deadline. It was quite likely that they’d stall.

  “What are you looking at?” a voice came from my back.

  I closed the window on my desktop even before I could guess whose voice it was. When I turned around, Sugimoto was in a half-crouch. Had he been looking at my computer screen until now?

  “Did you find some fun site?” he layered it on me.

  “No, I was just killing time.” If this man had made out the website I’d been looking at, that spelled trouble. “I thought I’d collect some information on the idol movie.”

  “Ah, you mean the Yumi Kurihara vehicle where she becomes a game character?”

  “Right, that.”

  “That’s difficult.”

  Sugimoto had a look of pity and superiority on his face. He probably thought our positions were now completely reversed.

  Anyway, I couldn’t let him know what web page I’d been checking.

  “Didn’t you have another meeting with Nissei today?” I asked.

  “Uh, we were supposed to, but I suddenly got a message that it’s been canceled.”

  “Was it Nissei who canceled?”

  “Yes. Apparently, Mr. Katsuragi wasn’t going to be able to make it.”

  “Mr. Katsuragi?”

  “I don’t see why their EVP needs to be there, but as far as this project goes, we can’t continue without him.” Having said this, Sugimoto seemed to think he’d gone too far in my presence, and left with a See ya.

  I tapped my desk with my fingertips. Receiving a ransom letter from kidnappers had been enough to make even Katsutoshi Katsuragi fret. Right around now, he was probably looking pale at home.

  When it got to be lunch, I left the office and ate at a nearby café. Sipping coffee, I thought again about how I would get the ransom money.

  Three hundred million yen had quite a bit of volume. It would probably take more than one bag to hold. Even if it didn’t, carrying it would be no cakewalk.

  Kidnappers got caught because they weren’t smart about getting the ransom money. Conversely, for the police, that was the best time for nabbing the perp. I had to outwit the police, who’d be on guard against an array of methods.

  When I got back to my workplace after finishing my coffee, the mood had shifted in some way. In particular, some of the employees were rushing about. I grabbed a junior near me and asked him if something had happened.

  “Well, it’s really bad. It seems Nissei Automobile’s EVP is on his way.”

  “You mean Mr. Katsuragi? Here? Why?”

  The junior shook his head. “We don’t really know. Apparently there was a sudden call just now. Thanks to that, the staff on the new car campaign is panicking.”

  “Huh…”

  I was a little confused. What was going on? What kind of person headed to work when his daughter had been kidnapped, even if it was the child of a mistress?

  There seemed to be only one possibility. Katsutoshi Katsuragi still hadn’t seen the ransom letter. His understanding, no doubt, was that his ill-behaved daughter was out on an unpermitted sleepover.

  So the ransom letter hadn’t reached him? Or it had, and he just hadn’t read it? If it was the latter, it wasn’t a problem, but the former would be something of a headache. I’d have to look into why it hadn’t arrived.

  I took the phone from my desk and called my condo. If there was some problem with the Katsuragis’ fax machine, I wanted to check in with Juri. But after three rings, I remembered. I’d told her not to pick up.

  I helplessly started up my computer again and accessed the internet. I visited the CPT Owners Club. I checked the bulletin board.

  As soon as I did, I nearly cried out loud. It was because I found the following post:

  Wish To Purchase (Julie)

  Hello everyone. My name is Julie. I was invited to buy a CPT, so I tried riding one. But it was really expensive, so gathering the funds will take some time. I thought I should also inquire after the contract details.

  I didn’t think that a handle like Julie was a coincidence. And the text certainly seemed to be accepting the deal. In other words, this was a message from Katsutoshi Katsuragi.

  As I sat there dumbfounded, someone unexpectedly patted my shoulder. It was Kozuka.

  “President…”

  “Sorry, while you’re working, but…” He lowered his voice. “Could you come with me? I think you’ve heard, but Mr. Katsuragi is on his way. I want you to be present.”

  I grimaced. “Why me, after all that? I’m finished, no? A has-been.”

  Kozuka waved his hand in front of a weary face. “Now don’t get nasty. Actually, Mr. Katsuragi said something strange.”

  “Something strange? What is it this time?”

  “I don’t know, but it seems he wants to see some games.”

  “Games?”

  “Games that we handle. He’s picked out about ten products and wants to hear explanations about what they’re about and why they were developed. I don’t really know what his aim is, but it seems to be another foothold for planning the new car campaign.”

  “Such a strange thing to do.”

  “I agree. But he says he wants to see them, so we can’t not show him.”

  “Okay, and why am I being called too?”

  “One of the games he selected is something you worked on. When we’re prompted to explain it, I want you to respond.”

  “So that’s what this is.”

  I sighed with resignation and stood up from my chair.

  Even so, what I didn’t understand was Katsutoshi Katsuragi’s behavior. Responding on the bulletin board meant he’d read the ransom letter for certain. What kind of father calmly went to work when his daughter had been kidnapped? Or maybe he didn’t think the ransom letter was real? He’d followed the instructions and left a reply but thought of it as nothing more than a prank? Did he mean to say that panicking about this degree of a situation was laughable?

  No, that was hard to believe. It was a fact that Juri was missing, and if she still hadn’t contacted them, it was only natural to think she’d been kidnapped.

  Maybe it was a directive from the police. A police representative had told Katsutoshi Katsuragi, Mr. Katsuragi, let’s go about this calmly. The kidnappers wouldn’t so readily lay a hand on Juri. After all, she’s their important hostage. Things will only get worse if you panic and the press gets word of this. So, Mr. Katsuragi, please go about your day like usual. Please go to your company like usual and work like usu
al. If something happens, we will contact you. If your wife can stay home, that’s enough. Please leave the rest to us. These kidnappers won’t be making phone calls, anyway—something of that nature.

  But it worried me that he was coming to hear about games that we’d handled. What for? Could he have possibly guessed that the kidnapper worked at Cyberplan? There was no way.

  As I waited in the reception room turning over various thoughts, a knock sounded and the door opened. The person who opened the door was a female receptionist, but immediately behind her was Katsutoshi Katsuragi.

  —

  Katsutoshi Katsuragi sat in an armchair with his legs crossed while he listened to Cyberplan’s presentations. There was a computer with an LCD screen set up in front of him in order to describe each game and its development aims. Of course, these presentations hadn’t been put together on the spot but had been made during the proposal periods. Next to the computer was a game console connected to a small TV that displayed the actual consumer-ready versions. Although a controller was also in front of Katsutoshi Katsuragi, he didn’t reach for it.

  Waiting for my turn, I studied his facial expressions. Although he merely glanced at each game with little interest, his questions were pointed and precise. With what aim was this game created, why did you think it would be profitable, did you have any doubts about your sensibility—those kinds of questions were frequent. Some of the staff were unable to answer well and became flustered. Watching the scene, it was hard to believe that Katsutoshi Katsuragi knew that his daughter had been kidnapped.

  Eventually, it was my turn. The game I was to introduce was called The Mask of Youth.

  It was a game of life, so to speak. The player was involved from the birth of the character. The computer decided, however, the parents you were born to. First, you selected which genes to receive from the mother and father and whether you were a boy or girl. After being born, you proceeded through kindergarten, elementary school, middle school, and so on, and in that time you had to choose how much to study and how much to hang out with which friends. If you assumed that you just needed to think of the future and study, you were falling into a trap. The game’s biggest draw was that the character’s face changed subtly depending on your life experiences.

  “There’s something called physiognomy,” I explained to Katsutoshi Katsuragi. “It’s the idea that people’s faces reflect their environments and pasts. For instance, if you scan into a computer the faces of people in a particular occupation and average them, you end up with a face that’s the exact image of someone working in that field. The politician’s face, the banker’s face, and the sex worker’s face really do exist. But your destiny is not dependent on your face. Rather, your face is determined by the path you follow. One thing that makes this game enjoyable is stacking a variety of life experiences to see what face you finally get.”

  Katsutoshi Katsuragi opened his mouth. “The issue isn’t your face, is it? To go by your own theory, the face is merely a result. I don’t think people live just to come by this or that face.”

  “It’s exactly as you say. That’s why I said it’s ‘one thing’ that makes the game enjoyable. People don’t live in order to get a face—exactly. But in life, your face is important. At various crossroads, your face impacts your destiny. For instance, during job interviews. Or during matchmaking. Among girls trying to become celebrities, quite a few get plastic surgery in their teens. In this game, you’ll be taking on certain crossroads with the face that your life experiences so far have shaped. Those who immersed themselves in their studies and didn’t spend time with people will be emotionally warped, and it will show on their faces. They’ll give a bad first impression and suffer a disadvantage in interviews and dates. You’re responsible for your face—as the old saying goes.”

  “So a player who makes the wrong choice and doesn’t get the face he wants just has to give up at that point?”

  “In real life, it might be like that. But this is a game. In that situation, there’s a secret weapon. That’s the mask. At crucial moments, the hero can put on a prepared mask. It’s a copy of the player’s face at that point, but then you can modify it to some degree. If your face is anti-social, you can make it look somewhat more sociable. But you can use the mask only a limited number of times, and it can’t be worn continuously. In the end, the player needs to strive to alter the hero’s face. The ultimate goal of the game is to win happiness. In order to do so, the player has to keep exploring what kind of mask he needs.”

  I may have gone on for too long. I couldn’t tell how Katsutoshi Katsuragi was taking it and felt anxious. Perhaps he was in no condition to listen to anything too seriously.

  “I don’t know if that’s a seller or not,” remarked Katsutoshi Katsuragi, “but it’s an interesting idea. Your experience shapes your face, which determines your destiny. In a sense, that might be the truth.”

  “You’re too kind.”

  “But I wonder about being able to wear a mask during crucial moments. It might be a useful item for socially awkward youth, but there are times when suffering a setback serves you well. You could even say it’s necessary.”

  “But this is a game.”

  “Even if it’s a game, making them accept that they weren’t up to it is important,” Katsutoshi Katsuragi said, leaning back in his chair. He locked his fingers on his knees and looked up at my face. “There’s one thing I’d like to ask you.”

  “What might that be?”

  “Are you responsible for yours?”

  I drew a blank for a moment. It was because I didn’t understand his question. “I try to be,” I said.

  “So the mask you’d wear to win happiness is precisely the face you have now?”

  “Maybe. It’s hard to say.” I faked a smile.

  After scrutinizing my mask, Katsutoshi Katsuragi transferred his gaze to Kozuka. “Thank you. Next, please.”

  7

  When I got home, Juri was cooking something in the kitchen. I tried to guess what she was making based on the smell.

  “Did I have the ingredients to make cream stew?” I asked standing at the kitchen entrance.

  Juri was in a shirt and sweats with a t-shirt wrapped around her hips in place of an apron. She was stirring the pot in that getup. “I scrounged through your fridge. Your vegetables were going bad, but I got to them in time.”

  I remembered I had bought them intending to make gratin. “You didn’t meet anyone or talk on the phone?”

  “Nope. I thought about how I couldn’t let any of your neighbors know I was here, so I even kept the TV volume really low. I even paid attention to the sound of my footsteps. And the phone rang in the afternoon, but I didn’t pick up.”

  That must have been my call. For now, it seemed Juri hadn’t messed up.

  She was paying attention to the stove’s heat level. I had only used the big pot she was boiling the stew in twice.

  “I didn’t know you were a good cook.”

  “I’m not good. I was just bored. Are you hungry?”

  “I already ate. I got this for you though.” I lifted up a paper bag.

  “What’s inside?”

  “A boxed meal.”

  She looked into the bag and then at me. “A bento from Yasuman. Wow. The chef there sometimes goes on TV. Then I’ll have this instead.”

  “What about the stew?”

  “Who cares now?” Juri returned to the pot and turned off the burner.

  By the time I had gone into the bedroom, changed, and returned to the living room, she was starting to eat the bento. She admired each part, lecturing me. Working on a can of beer, I listened to her.

  “By the way, I met your dad today,” I said.

  Her chopsticks halted. “Where?”

  “He came to our company. I wonder what he’s thinking when his daughter’s been kidnapped. I think he’s taking the police’s advice, but if he wants to pretend to be calm, he could have done that at his own office.”

&nbs
p; “He doesn’t care what happens to me.” Juri resumed her meal.

  “Regardless of what he really thinks, he knows that something’s up. It seems he’s seen the ransom letter. There was a reply.”

  “Really? On the internet?”

  I turned on the computer. I connected to the internet and accessed the website. “Oh, there’s another post.”

  In addition to the one I’d read in the afternoon was the following:

  I’d like to see the quality (Julie)

  I’m Julie, the newbie. I’m planning on having someone turn over their CPT to me, but I really need to see it with my own eyes, don’t I? I want to check if it’s damaged and I’d like to hear the sound of the engine. I feel like I shouldn’t pay before I do. What do you think, everybody?

  Juri had stopped eating again and was staring at the screen. I said to her profile, “So, ‘what do you think,’ Juri?”

  “This means…”

  “They need to confirm that you’re safe, the deal will follow—that’s the only interpretation there can be.”

  “What do you plan on doing?”

  “Hmm, I wonder.” I sat down on the sofa and stretched out my legs. I gulped down some beer. Juri was looking at me.

  There were two reasons for our enemy to be saying this. One was indeed to confirm the hostage’s status. The other was to obtain some clues about the culprits. What the enemy, that is to say, the police, wanted most was surely a call from the perpetrators. They would have Juri come on the phone, trace the call, and moreover try to obtain information. Right around now, the Katsuragis’ phone probably had a glorified recording device attached to it, while detectives were waiting headsets in hand.

  It was a mandatory scene in any novel or movie dealing with a kidnapping. The victim’s family would insist on confirming the wellbeing of the hostage, and the kidnapper would exercise his wits to allow it without giving the investigators anything. You could say it was the opening skirmish between the investigators and the criminal. There was even a mystery novel where, daringly enough, the victim’s state is broadcast live on TV.