A minute later he opened the door wide and motioned Midori to come inside.
I said to her in Japanese, “This is Harry, the friend I told you about. He’s a little shy around people because he spends all his time with computers. Just be nice to him and he’ll open up after a while.”
“Hajimemashite,” Midori said, turning to Harry and bowing. Nice to meet you.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Harry responded in Japanese. He was blinking rapidly, and I could see that he was nervous. “Please don’t listen to my friend. The government used him to test experimental drugs during the war, and it’s led to premature senility.”
Harry? I thought, impressed with his sudden gumption.
Midori made a face of perfect innocence and said, “It was caused by drugs?”
She had a light touch with him, I was glad to see. Harry looked at me with a radiant smile, feeling he’d finally gotten the better of me, and maybe had found an ally, too.
“Okay, I can see you’re both going to get along,” I said, cutting them off before Harry used his newfound courage to escalate to who knows what. “We don’t have much time. This is the plan.” I explained to Midori what I was going to do.
“I don’t like it,” she said, when I was done. “They could see you. It could be dangerous.”
“No one’s going to see me.”
“You should give Harry and me some time with the musical code.”
“I’ve already been over this with Harry. You both do your jobs; I’ll do mine. It’s more efficient. I’ll be fine.”
I DROVE THE van to the Conviction facility in Shibakoen, just south of the government district in Kasumigaseki. Conviction occupied part of the second floor of a building on Hibiya-dori, across from Shiba Park. I would use the laser to pick up the locus of conversation in their offices, and then, based on Harry’s analysis of what we picked up, I’d be able to guess which room or rooms would be the best candidates for a transmitter. The same equipment would tell me when the offices had emptied out, probably well after dark, and that’s when I’d go in to place the bug. The video might help us identify anyone else who was involved with the Agency and Conviction, and give us some clues about the nature of the connection between the two.
I parked across the street from the building. The spot was in a no-parking zone, but it was a good enough location to risk a ticket from a bored meter maid.
I had just finished setting up the equipment and targeting it at the appropriate windows when I heard a tap on the van’s passenger-side window. I looked up and saw a uniformed cop. He was rapping the glass with his nightstick.
Oh, shit. I made a conciliatory gesture, as though I was going to just drive away, but he shook his head and said, “Dete yo.” Get out.
The equipment was pointing out the back driver-side window, and wasn’t visible from the cop’s vantage point. I would have to take a chance. I slid across to the passenger side and opened the door, then stepped down onto the curb.
There were three men waiting on the blind side of the van, where I couldn’t see them until I was outside. They were armed with matching Beretta 92 Compacts and wore sunglasses and bulky coats — light disguise to change the shape of the face and the build. I took this to mean that they would shoot me if I resisted, counting on the disguises to confuse potential witnesses. They all had the classic kendoka’s ears. I recognized the one standing closest to me from outside Midori’s apartment — the guy with the flat nose who had gone in after I had ambushed Midori’s would-be abductors. One of them thanked the cop, who turned and walked away.
They motioned me across the street, and there wasn’t much I could do except comply. At least this solved the problem of how I was going to get into the building. I had an earpiece in my pocket, as well as one of Harry’s custom adhesive-backed microtransmitters. If I saw the chance, I’d put the transmitter in place.
They brought me in the front entrance, their hands staying steady in their coat pockets. We took the stairs to the second floor, the three of them crowding me on the way up, taking away any room to maneuver. When we got to the landing at the top of the stairs, Flatnose shoved me up against the wall, pushing his gun against my neck. One of his partners patted me down. He was looking for a weapon and didn’t notice the small transmitter in my pocket.
When he was done, Flatnose took a step back and suddenly kneed me in the balls. I doubled over and he kicked me in the stomach, then twice again in the ribs. I dropped down to my knees, sucking wind, pain shooting through my torso. I was trying to get my arms up in anticipation of another blow when one of them stepped between Flatnose and me, saying “Iya, sono kurai ni shite oke.” That’s enough. I wondered distantly if I was in for a game of good cop, bad cop.
We stayed like that for a few minutes, Flatnose’s friend restraining him while I tried to catch my breath. When I was able I stood up, and they took me down a short hallway with closed doors on both sides. We stopped outside the last door on the right. Flatnose knocked, and a voice answered, “Dozo.” Come in.
They brought me into a room that was spacious by Japanese standards, furnished in the traditional minimalist fashion. Lots of light-hued wood, expensive-looking ceramics on the shelves. The walls were decorated with hanga, wood-block prints. Probably originals. A small leather couch and armchairs in one corner of the room, arranged around a spotless glass coffee table. The overall appearance was clean and prosperous, which I guessed was the impression these people wanted to project. Maybe they hid Flatnose and his pals when they had guests.
There was a wooden desk on the far side of the room. It took me a second to recognize the guy sitting behind it. I hadn’t seen him in a suit before.
It was the judoka from the Kodokan. The one I’d fought in randori.
“Hello, John Rain,” he said, with a small smile. “Hisashiburi desu ne.” It’s been awhile.
I returned his gaze. “Hello, Yamaoto.”
He stood up and circled to the front of the desk with the strong, graceful movements that I had first noticed at the Kodokan. “Thank you for coming today,” he said. “I was expecting you.”
That much was clear. “Sorry I didn’t call first,” I told him.
“No, no, not at all. That I would never expect. But I did anticipate that you would find a way to take the initiative — after all, as a judoka you are more comfortable on the offensive, using defense merely as a feint.”
He nodded to his men, told them in Japanese to wait outside. I watched them file out quietly, Flatnose eyeing me as he closed the door behind them.
“Did I do something to offend the ugly one?” I asked, rubbing my ribs. “I get the feeling he doesn’t like me.”
“Was he rough with you? I told him not to be, but he has trouble controlling his temper. Ishikawa, the man you killed outside your apartment, was a friend of his.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
He shook his head as though it was all a misunderstanding. “Dozo, suwatte kudasai,” he said. “Please, sit. Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you. I’m not thirsty. And I’m more comfortable standing.”
He nodded. “I know what you are thinking, Rain-san. Don’t forget, I’ve seen how fast you are. That is why there are three armed men outside the door — in case you manage to get past me.” He smiled, a supremely confident smile, and remembering how things went at the Kodokan, I knew his confidence was justified. “That would be an interesting contest, but now is not the time. Please, why don’t you make yourself comfortable, and we can think of a way to solve our mutual problem.”