"Adachi-san had a strong spirit," said Fitzduane. "That's not going to go away." Then he thought of Christian de Guevain and other friends he had lost and he grew angry with people who played with human life.
He thought about what had to be done.
The conversation ceased behind him. The Spider cleared his throat. "Fitzduane-san, Tanabu-san, I think you should know that the people who killed the superintendent did not find what they were looking for."
Fitzduane thought of Adachi's wrecked apartment. It was, without doubt, the most thorough search he had seen. He doubted very much that the intruders had missed anything. And he said as much.
"Adachi-san found eight tapes that Sergeant Fujiwara had concealed," said the Spider. "He believed that they might prove to be conclusive evidence against Hodama-san's murderers, but he had not listened to most of them when he left me. They were certainly found by the attackers."
Fitzduane looked at the Spider. "That's what I feared," he said.
"No, Fitzduane-san, you don't understand," said the Spider. "The superintendent was a professional. He followed procedure. He made copies and left them with me."
"Have you listened to them?" said Fitzduane.
"Not yet," said the Spider. "There has been no time.
Fitzduane smiled grimly. "Well, let's get to it, Deputy Superintendent-General-san. If there is one place that should not be short of tape recorders, it is Japan."
There were eight tapes. The fifth tape they played recorded Schwanberg's abortive attempt to extract more money from Hodama and the Namakas. Matters were now very clear.
Yoshokawa caught the Spider's eye, and the Spider nodded. "Fitzduane-san," said the Spider. "You outlined a plan of action to resolve this matter to Yoshokawa-san and requested Gamma's backing to implement it."
Fitzduane nodded. "There are quite a few players in this game," he said. "We use one another's strength against the other and then cheat a little as well. We want a predictable outcome. Following the rules really doesn't come into it."
"This is an exceptional situation," said the Spider. "We have discussed it. Fitzduane-san, you now have the backing of Gamma."
"It's going to be bloody," said Fitzduane bluntly. He wanted no hesitation once the plan was under way. "Are you sure you can handle that?"
"Both the Spider and Yoshokawa nodded.
Fitzduane looked over at Chifune. "Let's go to work," he said. "We'll start with the airship."
23
Tokyo, Japan
July 11
"Who?" shouted Fumio Namaka into the phone.
He was completely taken aback and then felt sudden anger at this incompetent private-switchboard operator who had undoubtedly misunderstood her caller. "You must be mistaken, woman. That gaijin would never call direct. It's impossible. Quite impossible."
There was a silence at the end of the line, as the operator tried to figure out what to do. She knew she had not misunderstood, yet Namaka-san, normally a quiet-spoken man, sounded ready to strangle her.
She was tempted to cut the connection to the incoming caller, but then decided to have one more try. "I am very, very sorry, Namaka-san," she said quietly, the respect evident in her voice, "but the gaijin insists that he is Fitzduane-san and that he must speak to you as a matter of urgency."
Fumio saw his hands were shaking from shock and a rush of near-uncontrollable hate. This was the man who had killed his brother, the only person in the world that he had ever really loved. This was the man that, at the very moment the call had come in, he was plotting to destroy. And he had the nerve to call Fumio directly.
It was outrageous. What did this assassin want? Yet again, could this call be turned to advantage? The gaijin had proved to be a hard man to kill, but perhaps he could be maneuvered into a situation where he could be taken.
Since the death of Kei, nothing was more important to Fumio than seeing his brother revenged. Nothing.
Fumio regained his self-control. "Put the gaijin through," he said abruptly.
The conversation lasted less than three minutes. After he replaced the receiver, Fumio could feel his heart pounding. He could see Fitzduane's face as he was being killed, smell his fear, hear his cries. He could taste vengeance, and the gaijin was going to deliver himself to his executioners.
This time there would be no mistakes. He would use the most lethal killers he had under his control. This was definitely a task tailor-made for Oshima-san and Yaibo. Reiko Oshima was definitely one of the deadlier of her species.
Fumio thought of the job she had done on the Frenchman, Christian de Guevain, and for the first time since Kei's death, he smiled.
* * * * *
The room was in near-darkness.
Schwanberg was used to Katsuda's eccentricities, and, frankly, the yakuza chief was not a pretty sight in normal lighting, but on this occasion the CIA man required some illumination.
He had brought with him a plan of the building and, more important, its surrounding garden. He wanted to talk it through, but that was impossible if no one could see the fucking thing.
Katsuda took the point and gave a clipped instruction, and a directional light shone on a table. Katsuda himself, as always, remained in the darkness.
Schwanberg had known Katsuda too long to spend any time on the social niceties. In his opinion, the yakuza leader, however powerful in his own milieu, was bought and paid for way back and could be treated accordingly. There was always another hotshot in a hurry. If push came to shove, Katsuda was replaceable.
For his part, Katsuda despised his backer for his crudeness and lack of manners and hated him for his arrogance. But he endured him because it had been, in the past, a mutually beneficial relationship.
Recently, he was beginning to have doubts. The Hodama killings were supposed to have had a domino effect which would have swept away the Namakas and instituted Katsuda as the new kuromaku. But it had not happened, and despite losing their chairman, Kei Namaka, the Namaka empire, though perhaps somewhat bloodied, looked set to endure. Which was profoundly disturbing and did not reflect well on Schwanberg's judgment and influence. Schwanberg had initiated the Hodama business with the promise that he had enough political muscle to carry it through, but manifestly he had not delivered.
Katsuda wondered if this was just this thoroughly unpleasant man himself or symptomatic of an overall decline in U.S. influence in the Pacific rim. On balance, he rather thought the former. He had substantial investments in the U.S., and over the last few quarters they had been showing healthy signs of life. But a reviving U.S. economy did not solve the Schwanberg problem.
Schwanberg spread the plan on the table and weighed it down with several jade ornaments and a small bronze Buddha. Katsuda shuddered. The value of the ornaments came to several times more than Schwanberg's official salary for a year. The man was an uncouth barbarian.
Schwanberg tapped the plan. "Just as I figured," he said, "that fucking Irishman has played right into our hands."