"I am relieved to hear that," said Adachi with a faint smile. "So this whole business is part of a Katsuda power play — and the paying off of an old grudge. But who did the actual killing? Was it Katsuda himself?"
"Will it help you to know, Superintendent-san?" said Fujiwara. "Will it make any real difference?"
Adachi opened his hands in a shrug. "I'd like to know the end of the story before I die," he said. "Tell me, Fujiwara-san, for old times' sake. I would appreciate it."
"I was one of the assault group who killed Hodama," said Fujiwara. "The others were members of the Katsuda-gumi. As to who led the raid, well, he was masked. Was it Katsuda-san himself? Frankly, I think so, but I don't know."
"A rather uncertain note on which to die," said Adachi.
Fujiwara looked regretful. "Superintendent-san, I am sorry," he said, "But it's all I know." He leveled the weapon.
Glass splintered, and a concrete block crashed into the middle of the floor.
Fujiwara stepped back in surprise, and in reflex fired a burst from his weapon at the skylight, bringing down more shards of glass and ripping into the ceiling. The silenced weapon itself made so little noise that the mechanical sounds of the weapon could be heard.
Plaster dust, wood splinters, and other debris showered down, together with heavy rain from the now-open skylight.
Fujiwara moved his position and crouched down to try to see if anyone was at the skylight.
Adachi rolled, reached around to the small of his back for his revolver, and fired single-handed twice. His hand was still trembling, but the range was short and the second .38 round smashed into Fujiwara's cheekbone, cutting open the side of his face.
Fujiwara fell back from his crouched position at the shock of being hit, and the Sterling fell from his hand. Adachi looked at the wounded man, the revolver dipping in his hand. He knew he should fire again while he had the chance, but this was someone he was close to and had trusted, an intimate member of his own group, and he could not bring himself to do it.
Fujiwara, streaming blood, groped for his weapon and started to crawl back to the safety of the bedroom.
Three was the sound of a body hitting the floor hard, as Fitzduane jumped down from the skylight and did an immediate parachute-roll away from Adachi but facing the bedroom. He had the 10mm Calico in his hands, loaded with tracer multipurpose ammunition.
Fujiwara turned at the noise and started to bring his weapon around. Adachi also looked across, the revolver waving in his hand, anticipating a new threat. He was now completely exhausted and in a state of shock.
Fitzduane fired a five-round burst at Fujiwara. At such a short distance, there was scarcely time for the tracer to ignite, just pinprick flashes of red before they vanished into flesh and bone.
The tight group hit the sergeant as he was turning to his left to bring his weapon to bear on Fitzduane, tore open his rib cage on the left side, and smashed him back against the bedroom door. A split second later, a second burst aimed at Fujiwara's head, in case he was wearing body armor that the multipurpose could not penetrate, blew his throat and skull apart and he fell backwards into the bedroom.
Adachi brought his left hand up to steady his aim as he had been taught, and tried to point his weapon at Fitzduane. The image in front of his eyes was a blur, and he found it desperately difficult to align his sights.
"Superintendent-san!" The shout came from the ceiling, and the voice was familiar. "Superintendent-san, don't shoot. It's Fitzduane-san — the gaijin — a friend. He has come to help. You are safe now."
Oga — Sergeant Oga — that was the owner of the voice, said Adachi's mind. He lowered the revolver and he felt it removed from his hands. Finally, exhaustion and illness triumphed, and he slid gently to one side and into unconsciousness.
A rope dropped down from the skylight and Sergeant Oga, in his well-cut suit, slid down. The rain was so heavy through the aperture, it looked like the policeman was descending through a shower.
"Sergeant Oga," said Fitzduane. "It is certainly nice to see you, but how the hell did you get up on the roof after the drainpipe fell away?"
"Colonel-san," said Oga, "it took us some time to find, but there is a metal stairs behind the water tank at the back of the roof. The drainpipe was not necessary."
"Terrific," said Fitzduane sourly.
Sergeant Oga smiled. "But without that drainpipe, I do not think the superintendent-san would be alive."
18
Kamakura, Japan
June 27
Fitzduane and Yoshokawa were walking along the beach in Kamakura.
"I have news of Superintendent Adachi-san," said Yoshokawa. "His father called just before we left. The fever has broken and he has been released from the hospital and is resting at his parents' home. He hopes to be back at his desk again in a week or so. He is deeply appreciative of what you have done."
"Adachi is a good man," said Fitzduane, "but the Hodama affair is a cesspool of an investigation. It must have been grim for him to be so betrayed. Still, better to discover what is going on than to leave it fester."
"Fitzduane-san," said Yoshokawa, "you should know that Adachi-san feels under an obligation towards you. It is difficult for him, because you will be leaving soon and he does not know what to do, nor how to express what he feels."
Fitzduane laughed. "Between you and me, and the gatepost, Yoshokawa-san, it is a moot point as to who should be more obligated to whom. If he, dizzy with fever, had not put a round through Fujiwara as I was coming through the skylight, we wouldn't be enjoying this sea air together and I could advise you from direct experience of the afterlife which shrine to keep in your living room. Hell, tell him to forget it."
Yoshokawa smiled, but then turned serious. "Adachi-san is from an old and distinguished Japanese family," he said, "and takes his obligations very seriously. You must understand that he cannot and will not forget. It is not in his nature. It is not possible."
Fitzduane was imagining Kamakura in its medieval heyday when it was the capital of Japan. He and Yoshokawa were nobles — well, who would want to be a peasant in those days? — at the military court. They would be wearing full samurai regalia as they walked the beach enjoying the sea air. Guards and followers would be standing at a discreet distance, banners flying in the breeze. The two nobles would be discussing strategy and tactics, preparing for the power struggle ahead.
"Yoshokawa-san," he said. "Nothing ever changes. I was thinking of us as two daimyo from six centuries ago; and their concerns would have been similar. There were kuromaku then as there are kuromaku now. There was intrigue and betrayal then, and there is intrigue and betrayal now." He looked across at his bodyguards in their neat gray suits. "But their clothing would have been a lot more colorful."
"And the technology marginally less refined," said Yoshokawa, "and since you are a gaijin, we'd have chopped your head off."
Fitzduane laughed out loud. "You're giving it a good try as it is," he said, "and there is still time — I haven't left yet. I have the Namakas to see again. They are giving me that tour of their steel plant tomorrow, though I doubt anything will come of it. They don't seem to be rising to the bait. Being able to blame Kitano has given them room to maneuver. It’s a pity, but that looks like an account that will have to be settled some other time, because I have to get home. I don't like being away from Ireland too long these days. I miss Boots. He is growing up so fast. A month is a long time at that age."