‘I am not an assassin,’ he said.
‘You will understand when you met him.’
‘When will that be?’
She leaned closer. ‘Chameleon is there.’
Now he felt almost elevated. His blood surged through his veins, and fuses of fire streaked down his arms and legs. He could almost reach out and touch the danger in the air but, oddly, he felt no immediate threat.
‘You mean here in Japan?’
‘In Kyoto.’
‘Where in Kyoto?’
‘I have written the address — a house in the Shiga prefecture
— on this piece of paper. He will return tonight at nine. And he will be alone.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘I know. The why of it is not important. He will be there.’ The bus lights swept over them.
‘Why are you doing this?’
There was a pause. ‘Because I am a prisoner and I want to be free,’
‘A prisoner?’
‘Yes. Here, take the paper, put it in your pocket. Quickly, he has spies everywhere.’
Without turning, O’Hara said, ‘I must know. . . how did you know I was looking for Chameleon?’
The bus pulled up at the curb and stepped.
‘Please, do not betray me,’ she said. ‘Go now. Nine o’clock. Do not be late.’
There was no time left.
O’Hara jumped aboard the bus and heard the doors swish shut behind him.
8
A hundred feet away, among the trees in the park, Tony Falmouth watched O’Hara board the bus. He twisted, from his ear, the small speaker attached to his long-range parabolic mike. He had heard every word perfectly. He made an instant decision to follow the woman and drop O’Hara for the moment. It would be no problem to pick up O‘Hara’s trail. But this woman held the key, he felt it. His pulse began to trip. He was close. The small listening device telescoped into a thin accordion-like rod. He put it in his pocket, and jogging from tree to tree, started to follow her.
He followed her away from the market, along the edge of sprawling Maruyama Park. She skirted the heart of the city and shuffled into a small suburban section down through myriad quiet, high-fenced walkways that sheltered homes from which sequestered sounds segued as he passed from house to house: a baby crying, a radio playing elevator music, another soft rock, two women laughing softly, a man singing opera in pigeon Italian, a Coke TV commercial in Japanese. Lanterns swung idly overhead, moved by the gentle breeze, and cast Halloween shadows on the fences.
She was easy to follow; there were few people on the streets, and except for the muffled sounds from the houses, it was so quiet it was almost funereal. He could hear her sandals clopping on the cobblestones a block or so ahead of him.
Then she did the unexpected. She cut back to the main street and entered a small restaurant on Nijo-dori Street near the Hotel Fujita. Might she be a waitress? Or perhaps the manager? He did not want to lose her. She had given O’Hara an address, and Falmouth wanted that address.
He waited a few minutes and followed her in. It was not a fancy place, but it was serene and cool and very dark. It was so dark that it took him a moment to spot her, although the restaurant was almost empty. She was sitting alone near the back. The wall panels were open and there was a moss garden in the rear with a goldfish pond near the window. She was watching the enormous gold and black carp appraising the bottom for food. Falmouth walked to her table.
Excuse me,’ he said. ‘Do you speak English?’
She shook her head.
Falmouth quickly switched to Japanese. ‘Tam a visitor here,’ he said. ‘I have always heard Kyoto is the most beautiful city in the world. Then I saw you and I forgot Kyoto. I realize this is quite improper, to approach you this way, but there is a Zen phrase which says, “Take time to enjoy the garden, you may pass it only once.” I. . . uh, I knew I probably would never see you again, so I followed you from the market. Please forgive my—’
She put her hand to his lips and silenced him. ‘I am not offended,’ she said in a low voice he could hardly hear. ‘I have lived in America. I understand Western ways.’
She turned away and looked back at the fish.
So far, so good, Falmouth thought. Now for the big move.
He played the flustered swain, sophisticated but with a touch of anxiety. ‘My name is John Willoughby. I’m from London. I really am taken with you. I could lie, of course, and tell you I am lonely and want some company. But the fact is, I would like to be with you. May I buy you dinner’?’
She chuckled softly and looked back over her shoulder at him. The jade handle of her hairpin glowed green against the jet-black bun of hair, and he could see her eyes glittering in the dim light as she whispered, ‘Yes, John Willoughby from London, you may.’
Kimura was away from the house when O’Hara returned, but Sammi was in the garden meditating. O’Hara waited for him to finish.
‘I need to talk to Tokenrui-san,’ he said. ‘When will he be back?’
Sammi shrugged. ‘You know him, he moves with the spirit.’
‘An apt observation,’ Kimura said. They turned and saw the old man standing in the doorway. ‘And what is it that is so urgent, Kazuo?’
‘I’ll take a powder,’ Sammi said.
‘It’s okay, this concerns us all,’ said O’Hara.
‘You seem sad,’ Kimura said.
‘I need your help, Tokenrui-san. But in asking, I do not wish to offend you. You are as my father.’
‘I know that, Kazuo. And I can see from the trouble on your face that it concerns you deeply, asking me this, I understand it is something you must do. So...?’
‘So . you knew Chameleon, didn’t you, Tokenrui-san?’
Kimura pondered the question for a few moments. ‘The world is full of Chameleons,’ he said finally.
‘Not the Chameleon I’m talking about. I know you trained the war chiefs of the Imperial Army ii the Way of the Secret Warrior, before and during the war. Chameleon was head of a special branch of the secret service accountable only to Tojo himself. He had to be higaru-dashi.’
‘That is a logical deduction. I am astounded no one has made it before this,’
‘Nobody cared before now.’
‘And what is different about now?’
‘I care now. And a lot of innocent people have died because of this man. A lot more will die.’
‘You are sure it is the same Chameleon?’
‘I’m not sure at all But I think you know the answer. Tokenrui-san, is Chameleon still alive?’
Kimura looked straight into O’Hara’s eyes. He shook his head. ‘No. The man you speak of as Chameleon is dead.’
‘But you did train him. He knew’ the Way of the Secret Warrior.’
Kimura hesitated a moment and then nodded. ‘He is dead now, I can see no violation of confidence by telling you that.’
‘How long has he been dead?’
‘The record says Yamuchi Asieda died in the holocaust at Hiroshima.’
‘I’m not interested in the records. Forget the damn records.’
‘I cannot do that, Kazuo. Nothing will be gained by changing things as they exist.’
‘I’m not interested in exposing some second-rate war criminal, I—’
‘Wait. Before you go on: Yamuchi, the man you know as Chameleon, was loved by many people. He was not a war criminal to us, he was a man who sacrificed much for his country. To my knowledge, he committed no acts of atrocity. He trained the kancho and he directed them. There was none better. One reason he was so good is that people trusted him. He had a great empathy for people, that is why they were attracted to him. It is why he was number one. He was also very clever, a fly too fast for the spider’s web.’