"—won't know about the nuclear thing, but that their security people will want to keep it very quiet. The Japanese depend on international trade and the U.S. is their largest single customer, so the last thing they will want is for them to be found peddling nuclear-weapons manufacturing plants to Uncle Sam's enemies. We're talking serious vested interests here, so watch it."
"While watching my ass, what am I supposed to be looking for?" said Fitzduane. "They could show me a complete hydrogen-bomb plant and tell me it made chocolate bars and I would be none the wiser. A nuclear expert I am not."
"Look, I'm just passing on the ruminations of the spooks," said Kilmara. "Just keep your eyes open and remember Japan is not that big a place — and happy hunting."
The land mass of Japan, Fitzduane recalled, was actually just under a hundred and forty-six thousand square miles, or just over half the size of Texas. Sometimes Kilmara's comments could be unhelpful.
He ate his sandwich, then soaked in his bath and sipped his wine. The thought occurred to him that although Adachi, and indeed the DSG, might not be in the need-to-know loop, Koancho, the security service, almost certainly was. Which explained Chifune's presence and raised strong questions about her own personal agenda. The gaijin had been brought over to help break the impasse in the Hodama investigation, but supposing Fitzduane-san found out something which could embarrass Japanese interests?
He hopped out of the bath and toweled vigorously while singing an old Irish Army marching song, then dressed for the occasion. Lightweight dark-blue suit, pale-blue shirt, regimental tie, silk socks, highly polished loafers. He examined himself in the mirror and decided he looked the very model of a sarariman. All he was missing was the corporate pin.
He checked his throwing knives and the compact Calico automatic, and was just holstering the latter when his phone rang.
The limousine of the Namaka Corporation had arrived. He picked up the gift he had brought for the Namaka brothers and left. His interpreter, Chifune, was waiting for him in the lobby. She bowed, as any well-mannered interpreter would do, but when she rose he saw once again that enigmatic smile.
He was about to wave her through the door ahead of him, then remembered how the Japanese did such things. He grinned at Chifune, then walked out ahead and was ushered first into the waiting black limousine. The uniformed chauffeur wore white gloves and the seats had white head protectors like those in an airline. The Namaka corporate crest was discreetly painted on the limousine doors.
As they drove north toward Ikeburo and SunshineCity, Fitzduane reflected on the rise of the Namakas and tried to imagine what bombed-out postwar Tokyo must have been like for a pair of near-starving teenagers whose father had just been executed.
He almost felt sympathy for the Namakas, until he remembered the slicing of the bullet as it drew blood from his little son's head.
He as acutely conscious of Chifune's physical presence beside him on the rear seat, quiet and demure as befitted her interpreter role.
* * * * *
The NamakaTower
Sunshine City, Tokyo, Japan
Fumio Namaka leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands in thought.
The gaijin Fitzduane was due shortly, and he wanted to satisfy himself that he had considered and provided for all the issues involved.
The news from North Korea had been extremely encouraging. What had seemed like a wild card now looked like it was turning into a financial windfall, and just at the right time. It would tip the balance. Namaka Industries would survive. Fumio had been very much against the idea of supplying the North Koreans with nuclear plants, but Kei had argued strongly in favor and he had turned out to be right. Frankly, Kei's investment enthusiasms rarely worked out, but the North Korea nuclear project was proving to be a notable exception.
It was at last becoming clear who was behind the Hodama killings and the financial onslaught on the Namaka's empire. A vast counterintelligence exercise and the calling-in of favors at the highest government, civil service, and corporate levels had uncovered a trial that had led in the end to the Katsuda-gumi. It was a much-feared and respected organization, the second-largest yakuza gang in Japan, but as to why the Katsuda people were mounting such a vicious and deadly campaign against the Namakas was a complete mystery. Perhaps they were merely fronting for some other faction. It was hard to be certain. Attempts to make direct contact through a highly respected and neutral intermediary had been rebuffed.
Still, whether they were the principals or not, the Katsuda-gumi were certainly heavily involved and there was now a specific opponent to fight. This was hugely encouraging. The Namakas had been in such wars before and had always emerged triumphant. And recently, there were signs that the tide was beginning to turn in the Namaka's favor.
The Namaka share prices were starting to perform in line with the market again. Contacts who had been mysteriously unavailable were starting to return calls and pay their respects. Damage control to compensate for the loss of the Hodama patronage was working.
It had been a matter of rearranging certain key elements in the extensive Namaka network of influence, and that had taken time, but now the new arrangements were in place and the Namakas were on the offensive.
The Katsuda-gumi would soon learn the reality of true power. Shortly, a Yaibo killing team would commence a campaign of selective assassination against the Katsuda-gumi, and other initiatives would be implemented. Even their hideous leader, rarely seen by any outsider, would find himself vulnerable.
The Namaka brothers were old hands at fighting this kind of gang warfare. And they would have the tacit support of the police, once this Hodama business was put aside.
The police were rarely much concerned about the yakuza being cut down to size, providing ordinary citizens were not harmed. The yakuza were tolerated because some organization was needed — even in crime — but the police were still their enemies. In contrast, the Namakas headed a powerful industrial group and had friends in the highest places.
Kitano's abuse of authority had been extremely convenient. It was outrageous that he should have mounted an assassination attempt on this gaijin Fitzduane without getting permission, but fortunately all avenues led to and stopped at him. He was a perfect scapegoat, not just for the Fitzduane attacks, but also for whatever else the Namakas were suspected of — even Hodama. He had been found out to be a rogue element. A single corrupt employee had scant significance in the scheme of things.
The Namakas were, of course, above such behavior. Their bun — the rights pertaining to their station in life — made this clear by implication. A rank-and-file yakuza or a junior employee might be made subject to special police interrogation, but those at the level of the Namakas were, for all practical purposes, immune. Even the much-feared Tokyo Prosecutor's Office treated those at the highest level with respect. This was Japan, the supreme hierarchical society. Rank was everything.
Ironically, it did not matter whether anyone believed Kitano had acted independently or not. The important thing was that it was a story which could save face all round. The tatemae was what was important. Fumio was reminded of the American phrase ‘plausible deniability.’