Lonsdale did not salute. In the Rangers, saluting was reserved for the parade ground. But he smiled, a little ruefully. "I'm scarcely likely to forget him, General," he said. "I saw him shot and I visited him afterwards in the hospital a few times. I wish I could have been quicker."
Kilmara had little patience for what might have been. "Colonel Fitzduane has asked for you, Al," he said. "How do you feel about shooting accurately from a slow, moving platform a thousand feet up?"
"How slow?" said Lonsdale.
"Thirty to fifty clicks an hour," said Kilmara. "Maybe slower. And one extra detail..."
He paused.
"It will be at night."
* * * * *
Tokyo, Japan
July 10
Adachi had recovered from the virus that had laid him low, but the sense of alienation and betrayal which had gripped him after the prosecutor's suicide and Fujiwara's attempt on his life was harder to shake off.
His ordered world was shattered, and since his return from leave he had found it next to impossible to integrate back into his role as leader of the team. If Fujiwara, his most trusted subordinate, could have been suborned, then so could anyone else in his operational group. All were suspect. None could be trusted absolutely. And if none could be relied upon absolutely, then he must work virtually alone.
Ironically, he knew he could trust Chifune and the gaijin, Fitzduane, but then he saw the two of them together, and though nothing was said he knew instantly what had happened. He did not blame either of them, because that was not his nature and such things were natural, but inwardly he wept.
He focused on the Hodama investigation. That whole miserable business had turned his life upside down, and he had now adopted the view that only with its resolution would sanity be restored in his life. He craved some peace of mind, and he had become convinced that only wrapping up the Hodama affair would bring it to him.
He was listening to tapes in his office when the summons from the Spider came That was another twist in this affair. If he had suspected anyone of corruption it would have been the enigmatic and ambitious Deputy Superintendent-General, but it turned out that the Spider was one of the reformers. His father had told him so. Both were involved in some organization called Gamma.
More intrigue, albeit in a worthy and decidedly uphill cause. Adachi, the policeman, craved duty and simplicity. It was why Adachi Senior, who was immensely proud of his son, had not asked him to join Gamma. Whatever the rationale, Superintendent Adachi was not made of the stuff of conspirators. He had simple direct values, and Gamma had to deal with complex issues, where sometimes difficult decisions had to be made for the greater good. The reform of Japan was a life-or-death struggle, and the stakes were immense.
The Spider waved Adachi to a chair and tea was brought. Adachi was taken aback by the wave. The slightest gesture of the right hand was more the Deputy Superintendent-General's style. Further, there was a definite nuance of friendliness in the Spider's demeanor. True, it was no more than a nuance, but that, for the Spider, was downright extroverted behavior.
"Superintendent-san," said the Spider. "It is good to have you back. How long has it been?"
"I have been back on duty one week, sensei," said Adachi.
Adachi had lost weight and was looking pale and gaunt. In the Spider's opinion, another few weeks' rest and relaxation would have been in order, but he made no comment. The aftereffects of the virus were not the problem. This man's very foundations had been shaken to the core. First, learning that the prosecutor was betraying him, and then the near-fatal assault by Sergeant Fujiwara. The man must be feeling quite paranoid. Perhaps the best solution lay in work, after all. He must learn that the failings of a couple of people were not representative of the majority.
"I am sorry that we have not had an opportunity to talk earlier," said the Spider. "Tidying up this regrettable business at Namaka Steel has been distracting and there have been many ramifications. However, you must know, Superintendent-san, that you have my full support. The full resources of this department and other friends of goodwill are right behind you. You must remember that."
Adachi inclined his head respectfully. "Other friends of goodwill": it was an interesting euphemism for Gamma. He felt sudden warmth for the Spider. That apparently distant, elusive, cold-blooded manipulator was reaching out, was genuinely trying to help. And, of course, he was right. One venal policeman did not mean the whole department was dirty. He should still be able to trust his team, he thought.
But then doubt clouded his mind. Of course corrupt cops in the Tokyo MPD were the exception, but that did not mean that Fujiwara was an isolated case. Who else might be playing a double game? He could talk freely to the Spider, he now knew, but who would back him up in the field? Who could he trust with his life at the sharp end? Who could he be absolutely sure of?
The Spider, his face impassive, his eyes hooded, contemplated his subordinate with concern. He could sense the raging conflict in the younger man's mind, and he realized that a satisfactory resolution was going to be a more difficult task than he had thought. The man was suffering. The first move would be to stop his brooding.
"I hear there has been progress on the Hodama matter," he said. "Perhaps, Superintendent-san, you would be good enough to brief me."
Adachi's eyes lit up with enthusiasm. His world had been badly shaken, but his faith in his ability as a policeman was undiminished. This was one case he would resolve no matter what — or die in the trying.
Nearly ninety minutes later, the Spider's opinion of his subordinate's ability and sheer perseverance, already high, had notched up further.
"I have one suggestion, Superintendent-san," he said. "It concerns the tapes."
Adachi was immensely encouraged as he left the Spider's office. The bloodline of his samurai ancestors was clear to see. His back was straight and there was a confident spring in his step, and a sense of purpose suffused his whole demeanor.
This man, the Spider reflected, would slay dragons with his bare hands, if that was what his duty dictated.
If only dragons were the problem.
* * * * *
Kamakura, Japan
July 10
They were sitting on either side of a low table in the tea room in Yoshokawa's house in Kamakura. They had dined earlier with Yoshokawa's family, but now the two were alone.
Both were cross-legged and seated directly on the tatami mats of the floor. Yoshokawa had offered Fitzduane a low chair with a supporting back to ease his untrained gaijin posture, but the Irishman had remarked that since he felt comfortable enough with Yoshokawa to rub his limbs or move about when pins and needles set in without upsetting protocol, he would try sitting the Japanese way. Yoshokawa had been pleased at the implied compliment. Subsequently, the intensity of the discussion caused Fitzduane to forget, temporarily, his physical discomfort. He was to be reminded when he tried to stand up.
"Your plan is brilliant and daring, Fitzduane-san," said Yoshokawa, after Fitzduane had run through it the first time, "but quite outrageous."