"The Namakas?" said Adachi.
The Eel, his face shiny, shoveled a portion of umaki — grilled eel wrapped in cooked egg — into his mouth and masticated. He positively glowed as the food descended into his stomach. "Well, there is the thing," he said. "The market is going up. Virtually all shares are being hyped up, and there is Namaka Industries languishing."
"Falling?" said Adachi.
The Eel shook his head. "Going up more slowly," he said. "Way out of step with the market."
"Maybe they've shown bad results," said Adachi.
"On paper — which means nothing — they look fine," said the Eel. "Anyway, profits are not that important. Dividends are lousy. The action is in the share price. That is how the Japanese shareholder makes his money. Shares here sell for sixty to eighty times earning, sometimes more. In America, it is more like ten to twenty."
"So what is going on with the Namakas?" said Adachi.
"They are being eased ever so gently outside the club," said the Eel.
"Who's behind it?" said Adachi.
The Eel smiled. "This was not easy to find out."
Adachi picked up one chopstick and held it in both hands in a simulation of a sword, then brought it down in a fast, cutting motion.
The Eel gulped. "Uzaemon," he said. "A holding company. Now are we even?"
Adachi grinned. "Is the life that I saved worth so little?"
The Eel gave a weak smile.
"Tell me about Uzaemon," Adachi said. "And who is behind them."
The Eel went a little pale. He leaned across the table. "Yakuza," he whispered. "Korean yakuza."
"Who exactly?" insisted Adachi.
"Katsuda-san," whispered the Eel. "The man no one ever sees. He of the hideous face."
Suddenly, Adachi realized the significance of the Korean connection among the witnesses, and that the primary motive for Hodama's death could well lie, not in current events, but in something that had happened decades ago in the chaos and confusion of postwar Japan.
He had heard something secondhand about the gang wars of the American occupation from one of the old-timers who had been his mentor. The details were hazy, but at least he knew whom to ask.
But one important question was left. If Hodama's killing was, as he now suspected, a crime of vengeance for something that had happened during the occupation, why had the attackers waited until now? Why had Hodama, with all his power and influence, lost his protection?
Indeed, who had been the true source of that protection? Japan, Korea, and the postwar period. There was only one serious contender, but many factions within it.
It was beginning to make sense.
* * * * *
Fitzduane had given much thought to the best tactic to employ with the Namaka brothers and had discussed the matter at length with Yoshokawa, the Spider, and Chifune. He also had his own, more lethal, agenda, which he did not discuss, except with Kilmara.
The objective, as agreed upon with his Japanese colleagues, was to force a reaction from the Namakas that would break the impasse of the investigation, link them to Yaibo, and lead to their arrest. The best method was not so obvious. The tactic was the tried-and-true police technique of ‘rattling the suspect's cage,’ but it was in how to do it that the problems lay. In the end it was decided that the first move should be a meeting with the Namakas, and the Yoshokawa would make the introductions.
The overt reason would be social. Fitzduane was in Japan and just wanted to pay his respects. Research had shown that companies in which Fitzduane had investments had done some business with the Namaka group — scarcely surprising given the pervasiveness of Japanese goods — so it could be considered that they had common business interests. Arguably of greater significance, he and Kei Namaka had a shared hobby: the Medieval Warrior's Society. To further arouse Kei Namaka's interest, he had brought him a gift, a handmade reproduction of a traditional Irish weapon.
Along with the approach to the Namakas, it was agreed that Fitzduane would work with Detective Superintendent Adachi's unit, with Chifune acting as his interpreter. To give him official status with the police, Fitzduane, who had held a reserve commission with the Rangers — unpaid — for some years, would use his rank, and carry a special identity card in English and Japanese to go with it. In Japan, where appropriate, he would be Colonel Hugo Fitzduane.
* * * * *
Fitzduane had arrived in Tokyo on a Friday, so it had been arranged that he would stay with Yoshokawa for the weekend.
Mrs. Yoshokawa had been dying to meet this Irishman who had saved her son from a terrorist kidnapping, and Yoshokawa himself was anxious to pay Fitzduane for his hospitality in Ireland. Also, the two men had come to like each other. Long discussions in Ireland had dented Yoshokawa's formal façade. In the privacy of his home, he relaxed completely and revealed a warm nature. Fitzduane, who had approached the visit with some concern that he might drown in protocol, was enjoying himself immensely. The only drawback was that the delightful Chifune had disappeared. Two plainclothes detectives outside the house provided security.
Given Yoshokawa's wealth, Fitzduane had expected a large house. Instead it was a relatively new modern dwelling of about two and a half thousand square feet; comfortable but not ostentatious. Two of the rooms were tatami rooms, decorated in Japanese style. The rest were Western. The family dinner, held in Fitzduane's honor, was served at a full-height table and featured smoked salmon, coq au vin, and an excellent sorbet, all accompanied with French wine. Japanese elements were the serving of rice as an option with the main course and plentiful supplies of sake. Fitzduane stuck to the wine. Sake had a habit, he had discovered, of creeping up on him.
Mrs. Yoshokawa was an attractive woman in her early fifties, with beautiful eyes and a face full of character. During dinner, she wore a white silk blouse and a long black velvet skirt. After the meal, both she and Yoshokawa excused themselves for a few minutes and then reappeared in traditional kimonos to demonstrate the tea ceremony.
Fitzduane had not been overly enthusiastic about watching someone spend half an hour to make tea, but he had never seen the full formal tea ceremony. When it was over, he was both impressed and deeply touched.
He slept well that night on a futon in the same tatami room where the tea ceremony had taken place. The ceremony was an exercise in doing one thing just about as well as it could be done. It had scant practical purpose, but every movement was carried out with an elegance and precision that made it compelling to watch. It was a tribute to the pursuit of excellence. And it was a welcome by the Yoshokawa family of Fitzduane to Japan. He felt very much at peace.
Yoshokawa's home was in Kamakura, an hour by train south of Tokyo. In Tokyo itself, agents of the Namaka security chief scoured the city, trying to find where Fitzduane might be staying. At about the time that Fitzduane was being ushered into the tatami room to watch the ceremony, Kitano received his answer. The Irishman was due to check in to the Fairmont Hotel on Sunday afternoon.
Sunday, thought Kitano, is a good day for a killing. Police manpower is lighter. Traffic is less. The streets are less crowded. Escape is easier. On the day Fitzduane checked in, he would be permanently checked out. The security chief smiled at his little joke and made some calls and called in some favors. Unfortunately, the active members of Yaibo were all out of the country. However, a minor yakuza gang, the Insuji-gumi, were deeply in his debt. An oyaban — boss — and five kobuns would attend to the matter. They would use swords. There would be no question of their victim's being wounded. He would be chopped to pieces.