“We Yakuza have to come together!” Hiroshi chimed like a politician on a soapbox, going back to his original issue of encouraging some sort of partnership between their two organizations. Hisayuki let him continue, even encouraging him a degree by nodding and smiling at appropriate times to give the impression that he was even considering the idea.
As Hiroshi droned on, Hisayuki thanked the gods that he’d paused at the beginning of the meeting and hadn’t started as he had initially planned — namely, to relate to Hiroshi what he had learned early that morning from Hideki Shimoda, his New York City saiko-komon. At nine-thirty he’d had a call from Hideki, who reported that as ordered, the threat to Kyoto University’s iPS patents had been significantly reduced because, as requested, Satoshi and his family had been eliminated. He’d been told that the hit on Satoshi had gone flawlessly and was certain to be interpreted as the natural death of an unidentified individual. The only problem, he’d been informed, was that the lab books had not been located.
Hisayuki breathed out with relief, thinking how close he’d come to disaster if he’d started the meeting with such a revelation. It surely would have had the opposite result of what he’d intended, as he never thought for a moment that Hiroshi was involved personally.
Suddenly Hiroshi stopped his soliloquy in mid-sentence. He’d seen Hisayuki’s sigh and took it as a reminder of his responsibilities as a host. “I’m sorry for carrying on so,” he said, rising to his feet and bowing slightly. “You must be hungry. I see that you have all finished your whiskey. It is time for our dinner and entertainment.” He gestured toward the table and the chef in his blindingly white outfit. “Please, let us have some food and more alcohol to celebrate our friendship.”
Hisayuki got to his feet with even more relief. He knew that once the sake, beer, and wine appeared and the dinner started, and whatever else Hiroshi had planned, there would be no more talk of business.
More than an hour later, as soon as it seemed socially appropriate, Hisayuki and Tadamasa excused themselves from what had become quite a party, citing that they were facing an hour-and-a-half drive back to Kyoto. Hiroshi had tried to talk them into staying the night at the hotel, but they had graciously declined, claiming that they needed to be in Kyoto for early-morning meetings.
Despite some concern, the departure was as smooth as the arrival, with no untoward incidents, and soon the three-car cavalcade was on the road north to Kyoto. Hisayuki had not said a word for a number of miles, going over everything Hiroshi has said. Tadamasa, knowing his place, remained equally silent.
“Well?” Hisayuki questioned suddenly. “What was your feeling about the meeting?”
“It went smoothly but does not bode well for the future.”
“My feelings exactly,” Hisayuki said, holding on to the strap above the rear window. He was gazing out at the dark countryside as it flashed by. All he could see were dim lights in the windows of farmers’ cottages; all he could hear was the muffled hum of his powerful sedan’s engine. “Did you get the sense that the Yamaguchi-gumi is invested in iPS USA?” He asked the question casually so as not to influence his adviser’s opinion.
“Most definitely! I was trying to think of a way to let you know, but then I was quite certain you already did. I think they are significantly involved by the way Fukazawa-san carried on about the placement agent his saiko-komon has found.”
“Tomorrow, have some of our analysts at the RRTW office try to learn what they can about the Yamaguchi-gumi involvement with iPS USA.”
“The problem is that the market value of iPS USA and iPS Patent Japan are inversely tied together.”
“Don’t I know,” Hisayuki murmured regretfully.
“There is going to be trouble over this.”
“I know that as well. We need time to prepare for the worst. The key thing in the short run is to keep Hiroshi in the dark as long as we can while we bolster the legitimacy iPS Patent Japan’s patents of iPS cells. Getting rid of Satoshi is good, but we need to get the missing lab books and destroy them.”
“The question is, of course, where are the lab books? As Satoshi didn’t have them on his person or at home, they must be in physical possession of iPS USA.”
“Call Hideki and tell him he needs to get ahold of Satoshi’s lab books if at all possible, but warn him that the Aizukotetsu-kai cannot appear to be involved.”
Tadamasa got out his cell phone and started to dial Hideki Shimoda.
Hisayuki looked back out at the darkened landscape and wondered if there was anything else he should communicate to his New York saiko-komon while Tadamasa had him on the line. He thought back to the conversation he’d had with the man that morning, remembering he’d said that Satoshi’s death had gone flawlessly and would be interpreted as a natural death of an unidentified individual. Hisayuki hoped that was going to be true, particularly the natural-death part, because if it were to be considered a murder and the Yamaguchi-gumi found out that the Aizukotetsu-kai were involved, there was a good chance a full-blown war would flare up almost immediately.
3
March 25, 2010
Thursday, 7:44 a.m.
New York City
Laurie was the first out of the taxi at the corner of First Avenue and 30th Street. The building was as unattractive as ever: a 1960s relic with its blue tile and aluminum windows. It was ugly then and ugly now. But it looked familiar to her, as though she was coming home after a long trip away. As for her earlier nervousness about her professional competence, seeing the building made it worse. The workday was about to begin.
Turning back to the taxi, she watched Jack climb out after having paid the fare. He’d graciously offered to ride with her instead of using his beloved bike, which had recently changed to a Cannondale after his Trek had been mortally injured by a city bus that had run over it. Luckily, Jack was not on the bike at the time, but he had had to watch the tragedy from a few feet away.
“Well, we’re here,” Jack said, glancing at this watch. It was later than he liked. Actually, later than they were supposed to arrive, which was early enough to start the first autopsies of the day at seven-thirty. But no one started their cases at seven-thirty except Jack on normal days. The seven-thirty rule had been made by the chief, Dr. Harold Bingham, but as he’d aged, his insistence of the hated early start had faltered. As a result, most of the senior staff began when they wanted to, sometime after eight. Jack stuck with the early rule because it gave him the chance to choose his cases rather than wait for what was assigned to him, by the on-call medical examiner, one of whose tasks was to arrive before the others to go over the cases that had came in during the night, to decide which needed to have postmortems and who would do them. The main part of the on-call medical examiner’s job was to be available if one of the evening or night medical legal investigators, or MLIs, needed the backup of a forensic pathologist for a difficult case. It was a job Jack himself did for a week three or four times a year when his turn rolled around.
“I’m sorry we are late,” Laurie said, noticing Jack checking his watch. “I’ll do better in the future.” They were behind schedule because the handoff of JJ to Leticia had not gone as smoothly as Laurie had hoped. Every time she’d descended the stairs to where Jack was waiting at the front door, she’d think of something else and dash back up to the kitchen, where JJ and Leticia were dealing with oatmeal and pears, most of which, but not all, was being swallowed.