"Was the weapon his?" said Fitzduane.
Adachi smiled. "Fitzduane-san, you already know how hard it is to own a legally registered gun in this country. No, although Kitano-san was head of security, he was not licensed to carry a firearm. However, there is a black market in such weapons, and all too many are in circulation as a result of the U.S. force's presence and smuggling. Regrettably, the yakuza are tending to use firearms more frequently than they used to and their ownership is something of a criminal status symbol."
"Leaving evidence aside, Adachi-san," said Fitzduane, "what do you think about the Namakas themselves? Were they behind the various assaults on me? Are they really responsible for the Hodama killing? Perhaps they are really the high-minded captains of industry they purport to be, and all of this is a smear caused by a renegade employee."
"I'm a policeman, Fitzduane-san," said Adachi, "and I have to go by the evidence. The fact is there is now no evidence at all linking the attacks on you with the Namakas. Instead we have a culprit, the late Kitano-san, with the means, motive, and opportunity — and a signed confession. As to Hodama, the evidence against the Namakas did appear strong, but on closer examination, I'm not so sure."
"You're still not saying what you think, Adachi-san," persevered Fitzduane, but gently. "Go-enryo-naku — please do not hold back."
Adachi smiled at Fitzduane's Japanese, but not at the thoughts he was expressing. The Irishman was touching on the amae element of a relationship — roughly translated as ‘childlike dependence’ — so important in Japan, which results in shinyo — absolute confidence in another person, confidence not only in his or her integrity but also that such a person will do whatever is expected, whatever the cost. Such a trust normally took years to develop in Japan, but curiously Adachi felt that he could have shinyo in Fitzduane.
"I think the Namakas are an evil pair who should be put out of business," said Adachi," and were certainly behind the attempts on your life and are involved with terrorism as a means to commercial gain. As to the Hodama business, here I do not feel they are guilty. Instead I believe that the Hodama killings are part of a power play, and that part of that scenario is the destruction of the Namakas. It's ironic. My investigation of the Hodama affair puts me, in a way, on the wrong side."
Fitzduane thought about what Adachi was saying. "The thought strikes me, Adachi-san," said Fitzduane, "that unless we are both careful, we could end up as the filling in this particular political sandwich. Perhaps a little pooling of resources might be an idea."
Adachi thought of the suspected leak in Keishicho — or was it the prosecutor's office? — and the blunt fact that he no longer knew whom to trust except, irony of ironies, for the Irishman. He nodded.
"Let's go for a stroll," he said. "There is a place we can talk in private and someone I would like you to meet again, a Sergeant Akamatsu."
"The veteran in the police box," said Fitzduane. "The man with the all-knowing eyes. He wasn't too happy I messed up his pavement, but lead on."
As Fitzduane was about to leave the hotel, he took a call from Yoshokawa. The Namakas regretted the delay, but one of the brothers had been away and both would like to meet Fitzduane-san. An appointment had been arranged for that afternoon. A car would arrive after lunch to take Fitzduane-san to the NamakaTower.
"So they are sniffing the bait, Yoshokawa-san," said Fitzduane.
"Be careful all they do is sniff," said Yoshokawa. "These are very dangerous people."
"I'll hang garlic around my neck," said Fitzduane, "and maybe take a few other precautions. But, what the hell, it should be interesting."
* * * * *
Fitzduane returned from his lengthy discussion with Adachi and Sergeant Akamatsu just before lunch and opted to eat in his room.
It made his Tokyo MPD minders happier when he was not sitting exposed in a public place, and he wanted to do some thinking. In a couple of hours' time, he was going to meet and exchange pleasantries with two people, the Namaka brothers, who he had every reason to believe had tried repeatedly to kill him.
The anticipation gave him a strange feeling. Fear and anger were components, but there were also elements of uncertainty. The initiative was still in his enemies' hands, and although he had many reasons to believe that the Namakas were behind the assassination attempts, he still had no legal proof. They would have to make the fist move or he could do nothing; or he could cross a line he preferred not to cross.
He could not kill on mere suspicion. There had to be some core values to live by, even in this confusing and dangerous world. Kilmara had chastised him for a lack of ruthlessness on occasions in the past, but the simple fact that he could not change. He had been brought up to believe in some standards, and there it was. Even to protect his own life and that of his child, he could not exercise lethal force unprovoked.
He ordered a sandwich and a glass of white wine and ran a bath. The food arrived within minutes, but was actually delivered by a smiling Sergeant Oga. He was becoming quite good friends with the sergeant, and the minders were not overly keen on an assassin disguised as room service. As they learned Fitzduane's ways, they were getting very good at their job. Surveillance was comprehensive but unobtrusive. Nonetheless, it was a bloody nuisance. Fitzduane liked wandering around strange cities on his own, and being part of an armed convoy definitely took some of the spontaneity out of the whole business.
You could not really act the relaxed tourist when surrounded by a bunch of submachine-gun-toting cops, even if they did keep their weapons in shoulder bags. The submachine guns had been added after the Yasukini-dori business. If the yakuza wanted to play hardball, the Tokyo cops were not going to fuck around, and they were quick students.
Insofar as any gaijin ever could, Fitzduane reflected, he was now beginning to get a handle on how the various players such as Hodama, the Namakas, Yoshokawa, and the others fitted in. A fresh element in the Namaka equations was their possible involvement in supplying embargoed equipment to North Korea. Kilmara had explained briefly in an encrypted phone call to Fitzduane in the relatively secure environs of the Irish Embassy, but he had been rushed and the communication had been short on detail.
All Fitzduane had understood was that intelligence reports indicated that the Namakas and some of their personnel from Namaka Special Steels were having secret negotiations with the North Korean nuclear people, and it might well behoove Fitzduane to watch his ass, because the stakes could be even higher than originally thought. On the other hand, it could prove helpful if he kept his eyes open. No one knew exactly what was going on. The intelligence reports were a mixture of scant fact and liberal extrapolation. Disturbingly, the final conclusion of the analysis was that all of this could involve the production by the North Koreans of nuclear weapons.
Kilmara had finished the conversation by pointing out that Fitzduane's Japanese hosts might not be too enthusiastic about the Namakas' possible arms-trading coming to light.
"My guess," Kilmara had said, "is that the local fuzz—"
"Adachi — the Tokyo MPD," Fitzduane had interrupted.