Fifty meters left, fifty meters right, fifty meters left again. These streets were exceptionally narrow, flanked by white concrete walls. Almost a labyrinth. I walked slowly. I couldn’t see them from this far back, but I knew where they were going.
Three minutes later a cab pulled out from in front of me and headed in my direction. I glanced at the back window and saw Harry. I was glad to see that this part had gone smoothly. Had there been a problem, Harry would have turned around and just kept walking and I would have improvised. What I wanted, though, was that this sudden and somewhat theatrical loss of their quarry would cause his pursuers to come together for a consultation. I would have an easier time of it if I could surprise them simultaneously.
Neither Harry nor I gave any sign of acknowledgment as the cab passed my position. I continued ahead, making a right onto the street from which the cab had just emerged.
The street was about thirty meters long, turning ninety degrees to the right at the end. No sign of Tweedledee and Tweedledum. No problem. The place Harry had led them to was a dead end.
I reached the end of the street and turned right. There they were, about twelve meters away. The Japanese guy had his left side to me. He was talking to the American. The American was facing me, an unlit cigarette in his mouth. He was holding a lighter at waist level, flicking it, trying to get it going.
I forced myself to keep my pace casual, just another pedestrian. My heart began to beat harder. I could feel it pounding in my chest, behind my ears.
Ten meters. I popped the plastic lid off the paper cup with my thumb. I felt it tumble past the back of my hand.
Seven meters. Adrenaline was slowing down my perception of the scene. The Japanese guy glanced in my direction. He looked at my face. His eyes began to widen.
Five meters. The Japanese guy reached out for the American, the gesture urgent even through my adrenalized slow-motion vision. He grabbed the American’s arm and started pulling on it.
Three meters. The American looked up and saw me. The cigarette dangled from his lips. There was no recognition in his eyes.
Two meters. I stepped in and flung the cup forward. Its contents of ninety-eight degrees centigrade Earl Grey tea exited and caught the American directly in the face and neck. His hands flew up and he shrieked.
I turned to the Japanese. His eyes were popped all the way open, his head rotating back and forth in the universal gestures of negation. He started to raise his hands as though to ward me off.
I grabbed his shoulders and shoved him into the wall. Using the same forward momentum, I stepped in and kneed him squarely in the balls. He grunted and doubled over.
I turned back to the American. He was bent forward, staggering, his hands clutching at his face. I grabbed the collar of his jacket and the back of his trousers and accelerated him headfirst into the wall like a matador with a bull. His body shuddered from the impact and he dropped to the ground.
The Japanese guy was lying on his side, clutching his crotch, gasping. I hauled him up by the lapels and shoved his back against the wall. I looked left, then right. It was just the three of us.
“Tell me who you are,” I said in Japanese.
He made retching noises. I could see he was going to need a minute.
Keeping my left hand pressed against his throat, I patted him down to confirm that he didn’t have a weapon, then checked his ears and jacket to ensure that he wasn’t wired for sound. He was clean. I reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a wallet. I flipped it open. The ID was right in front, in a slip-in laminated protector.
Tomohisa Kanezaki. Second Secretary, Consular Affairs, U.S. Embassy. The bald eagle logo of the U.S. Department of State showed blue and yellow in the background.
So these characters were with the CIA. I slipped the wallet into one of my pants pockets so I could examine its contents later at my leisure.
“Pull yourself together, Kanezaki-san,” I said, switching to English. “Or this time I’ll hurt you for real.”
“Chotto matte, chotto matte,” he panted, holding up one of his hands for emphasis. Wait a minute, wait a minute. “Setsumei suru to yakusoku shimasu kara.. .” I promise I’ll explain everything, but…
His Japanese was American-accented. “Use English,” I told him. “I don’t have time to give you a language lesson.”
“Okay, all right,” he said. The panting had slowed a little. “My name is Tomohisa Kanezaki. I’m with the U.S. Embassy here in Tokyo.”
“I know who you are. I just looked at your wallet. What were you doing following that man?”
He took a deep breath and grimaced. His eyes were watering from the ball shot. “We were trying to find you. You’re John Rain.”
“You were trying to find me, why?”
“I don’t know. The parameters I was given…”
I shoved hard against his throat and got in his face. “I’m not interested in your parameters. Ignorance is not going to be bliss for you. Not tonight. Understand?”
He tried to push me away. “Just let me fucking talk for a minute, okay? If you keep choking me, I’m not going to be able to tell you anything!”
I was taken aback by his gumption. He sounded more petulant than afraid. I realized this kid didn’t understand the kind of trouble he was in. If he didn’t tell me what I wanted to know I would have to adjust his attitude.
I shot a quick glance at his prone friend, then back at him. “Talk fast,” I told him.
“I was only supposed to locate you. I was explicitly told not to make contact.”
“What was supposed to happen after you located me?”
“My superiors would take it up from there.”
“But you know who I am.”
“I told you, yes.”
I nodded. “Then you know what I’m going to do to you if I find any of your answers unsatisfactory.”
He blanched. I seemed to be getting through to him.
“Who’s he?” I asked, gesturing with my head to the prone American.
“Diplomatic security. The parameters… I was told that under no circumstances was I to take a chance on encountering you alone.”
A bodyguard. Sounded possible. The guy hadn’t recognized me, I’d seen that. He was probably here just for protection and surveillance tag team.
Or he could have been the triggerman. The Agency relies on contractor cutouts for its wetwork, people like me. He might have been one of them.
“You’re not supposed to encounter me alone because…,” I said.
“Because you’re dangerous. We have a dossier on you.”
The one Holtzer would have put together. Right.
“The man you were following,” I said. “Tell me about that.”
He nodded. “His name is Haruyoshi Fukasawa. He’s your only known associate. We were following him to get to you.”
“That’s not enough.”
He gave me a cold stare, looking like he was prepared to tough things out. “That’s all I know.”
His partner groaned and started to pull himself up onto his knees. Kanezaki glanced at him, and I knew what he was thinking: If his partner recovered, I would have a hard time controlling the two of them.
“You’re not telling me what you know, Kanezaki,” I said. “Let me show you something.”
I took a step over to his partner, who was now facing us on all fours, grunting something unintelligible. I bent down, took hold of his chin with one hand and the side of his head with the other, and gave a sudden, decisive twist. His neck snapped with a loud crack and he flopped to the ground.
I let go of his head and stepped back to Kanezaki. His eyes were bulging, shifting from me to the corpse and back again. “Oh my fucking God!” he spluttered. “Oh my God!”
“First time you’ve seen something like that?” I asked, my tone deliberately casual. “It gets easier as you go along. Of course, in your case, the next time you see it, it’s going to be happening to you.”