Oga and the day shift bowed. "Sergeant Oga," said Fitzduane, "I'm going to miss you. I'm getting used to spending every day with four of Tokyo MPD's finest, and I just want you to know I appreciate what you're doing. But for you, I might well not be alive. Of course, I would not know if I wasn't, but I'm grateful to you that I am."
Sergeant Oga blushed. He did not understand exactly what the gaijin was saying — especially the last part — but the sentiments were clear. He explained briefly the gist of what Fitzduane-san had said to the other three detectives, and they all bowed in unison.
Fitzduane bowed back, then go on with the briefing. He had discovered that bowing could go on almost indefinitely unless you had a breakaway technique — an elevator arriving, or a cab you had to get into — anything to break the cycle.
"A Namaka limousine is coming at nine-thirty to take me to the NamakaTower," said Fitzduane. "From there, I'm driving with the brothers to their steel plant. I'll be there most of the day."
"The Namakas do not make me feel comfortable, Fitzduane-san," said Oga. "They are dangerous and devious people."
"They are why I am here," said Fitzduane.
Sergeant Oga nodded. "I don't like it, Fitzduane-san," he said.
"I'm trying to rattle their cage without being eaten," said Fitzduane with a smile. "Think of yourself as a keeper."
Oga was not amused. He knew perfectly well the limitations of police protection under such circumstances. "Are you armed, Fitzduane-san?" he said. "And wearing your bullet-proof vest?"
"You're like my mother when I was small, Sergeant-san," said Fitzduane, "but yes to both."
"I would like to put two of my men in the Namaka limousine with you, Fitzduane-san," said Oga. "Following behind is not adequate, nor is one escort car. Strictly speaking, we should have at least two."
Fitzduane laughed. "Sergeant-san, I am neither the President of the United States nor an anti-mafia judge in Italy. One car behind me with the four of you inside as normal will be fine — unless, of course, you have fresh information?"
Oga shook his head.
"Look, Sergeant-san," said Fitzduane. "We're trying to strike a balance here between reasonable precautions and moving the Namakas into play. If I'm too crowded, there will be no freedom to maneuver and then we will have accomplished nothing. There has to be an element of calculated risk. It's a high-risk world out there."
"Hai, Colonel-san," said Oga, his face impassive. Orders were orders. Nonetheless, he had a bad feeling, and his concern for the gaijin was not purely professional. But he would be relieved when Fitzduane left Oga's jurisdiction alive and in one piece.
* * * * *
Chifune, sitting in the back of what looked like a standard Mitsubishi delivery truck, but which was actually a Koancho high-tech surveillance vehicle, watched the Namaka limousine pull up in front of the Fairmont and a white-gloved, uniformed driver jump out and open the door.
Something about the action struck her, then she realized that the man had left the front passenger seat on the left and not the driver's seat on the right. She turned up the video camera's magnification. The limo had tinted windows, but the camera had been developed specifically to cope with this kind of problem, and using the thermal mode, she could make out the shape of the driver inside. A driver and a codriver, and there had been only one driver last time. Interesting.
The limousine pulled away, drove down the narrow access road, and paused by Yasukini-dori Avenue before pulling into the traffic. Close behind was Sergeant Oga's unmarked escort car. Farther behind was the Koancho vehicle. Chifune did not need to maintain such a close tail. There was a small transmitter concealed on Fitzduane that showed up his position at all times on an electronic map. Japanese technology was not just about Hondas and VCRs.
Sergeant Oga felt easier when they left the dense city-center traffic and moved onto the expressway. Traffic lights and intersections and two-way traffic offered too many opportunities for a hit. Cruising along the two-lane expressway on the inside lane, with traffic going the same way and no sidewalks, was considerably safer.
"There's a job for the traffic boys coming up," said the detective, who was driving, glancing in his mirror. Sergeant Oga, sitting in the passenger seat, also had a mirror, but when he looked, the vehicle behind was so close he could not make out any details except that it was a large truck and it was tailgating them.
He began to turn for a closer look. There was a roar, and the car shook in the wash, as an unmarked high-sided Hino container truck painted a deep brown shot past, pulled in front of the police car, and then proceeded to slow down.
"Stupid bastard," said the detective, braking to match the vehicle's speed. "Why don't you take the prick's number and radio it to traffic? That would be careless driving in a car. It's positively lethal in a truck."
"Forget the truck," said Oga. "Overtake it — we're losing the gaijin."
The driver began to pull out, just as a second Hino pounded up and started to pass. There was a shriek of metal as the two vehicles touched briefly, and sparks flew, and then the driver wrenched the wheel and pulled back into his lane. The second Hino pulled ahead until it was running parallel with the first truck. The escort car was now completely blocked off from the limousine.
"Fuck!" said Sergeant Oga, who rarely swore. He hit the concealed siren. If the Hino blocking the overtaking lane did not move, it was a hit for sure. He made a precautionary radio call to central control, read out the two Hino plate numbers for a vehicle check, and kept the channel open, his thumb poised to transmit further.
As soon as the siren sounded, the blocking Hino started to accelerate to clear the lane. At this speed, the huge vehicle's acceleration was not good, but still not much more than a minute had passed before it pulled in ahead of the other truck and left the way clear for Oga's vehicle to pass.
Siren still screaming, the detective driver dropped a gear and put his foot on the floor and shot out into the passing lane.
Several hundred yards ahead was what looked like the gaijin's limousine, but it was too far away to read the plate. The police car closed the distance rapidly until the plate could be identified. It was the Namaka limo.
Oga realized that his heart was pounding and his body was flushed with adrenaline. He switched the siren off and tried to calm himself down.
"I thought we were going to see some action," said the driver. "Looks like we were flapping for nothing, Sergeant-san. There is our target in absolutely pristine condition.
There was a searing yellow silent flash and the gaijin's limousine and its contents exploded into jagged metal, splinters of glass, burning upholstery, and severed limbs.
A split second later came the thunderous roar and blast of the explosion, and the police car, already decelerating as the driver instinctively braked, was hurled against the parapet. It spun several times laterally but did not overturn, and finally the much-dented vehicle came to a halt of its own volition in the middle of the debris.
Sergeant Oga tried to get out, but the door pillar on his side had been smashed in and neither door on his side would open. The driver was unconscious, slumped in his safety belt, blood dripping from a gash in his forehead where flying glass had struck. The two detectives in the back were badly shaken but otherwise uninjured. They got out of the one backseat door that would open, and Oga squeezed between the front seats to the back and followed them.