“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.”
“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. Goddamnit, how could I have missed it? I almost gave one of them a hundred yen 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 that 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 basketbalclass="underline" 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, although 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 lattice, 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’ve got 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.
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 is a strange place, crammed with arcane electronic equipment, but nothing to make his life more comfortable. He’d told me a few years earlier that he’d read how the police had caught some indoor marijuana farmers by monitoring their electric bills — seems that hydroponic equipment sucks down a lot more electricity than average — and now Harry thinks his electronic signature might lead the police to him. So he doesn’t use any electrical appliances that aren’t absolutely necessary: a category that, in Harry’s world, doesn’t include a refrigerator, heat, or air-conditioning.
When he came back, we loaded the equipment into the back of the van. It’s sophisticated stuff. The laser reads the vibrations on windows that are caused by conversation inside, then feeds the resulting data into a computer, which breaks down the patterns into words. And the infrared can 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 that snake 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 the package I had brought, told her that she should wear the scarf and sunglasses when she went out. I gave her Harry’s address, told her to put her things together and meet me there in two hours.
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.