The response of the young woman standing behind the counter was not normal, though. Her eyes flickered back and forth, then lowered.
“You must go to the Morikawa Restaurant,” she said in a low voice. “Down the stairs directly across from the door you came in. Turn left. Two hundred meters. On the right. They will expect you.”
Nishin turned and departed, glancing over his shoulder as he pushed open the door. The woman was on the phone, but she still was avoiding looking at him.
He followed the instructions. The Morikawa was darker than the bookstore and there was a queue of people outside.
Nishin bypassed the line. A thin, Japanese man in a very expensive suit stood next to the maitre d’, his eyes watching Nishin’s approach. He took Nishin’s right elbow in his hand. “This way,” he said in Japanese.
Nishin felt the man’s thumb press into the nerve junction on the inside of his elbow, effectively paralyzing his right hand. They wove their way through the darkly lit bar, then through a swinging door. Another man sat on a stool in the small corridor, a raincoat folded over his lap. The two men nodded. Nishin heard a distinct click, a door unlocking. They passed the second man, going through another door. It swung shut behind them with another click. Two men stepped forward and Nishin’s guide let go of his arm. They were in a short corridor with walls of some dark material that Nishin couldn’t quite make out. The lighting was also strange.
“Hands out.”
One of the men ran a metal detector carefully around Nishin’s body. The other then patted him down, double checking. Then one on either side, they escorted him to a set of metal stairs. Their shoes clattered on the steel as they went up. A door opened and Nishin blinked. They were on the top of the Center in a glass-enclosed room about sixty feet long by thirty wide. The room was dimly lit by the reflected light from the surrounding city and the sky overhead. A dozen tables were spread out on the roof and the two men led him to one separate from the rest where several men dined.
Nishin was brought to a halt facing an older Japanese man who sat at the head of the table. Nishin could see that the man’s skin was covered in various tattoos, the signs of his Yakuza clan. Serpents disappeared into the collar of his gray silk shirt and dragons peeked out from his shirtsleeves. His fingers were covered with gaudy gold rings, jewels sparkling in the street lights. Nishin shifted his gaze about, checking out the roof.
The old man laughed. “The glass is specially made. It can take up to a fifty-caliber bullet. If my enemies wish to use something larger than that, then nothing much will stop them. It is also one-way. We can see out. Those on the outside see only black, making it also rather difficult for a sniper.”
Nishin returned his eyes forward and waited.
“I am Makio Okomo. Oyabun of all that you see. I received a message from your Sensei Nakanga,” the old man said. “I do not need such messages. You and your friends are out of date.” He waved a hand, taking in the Japanese Center. “My way is the new way. You fools waste much time and energy living in the past.”
Nishin remained silent.
Okomo leaned back in his seat. “What do you need?”
“Weapons. Information.”
Okomo’s hand slapped the table top. “This is my city. You are not in Japan now. You show me respect.”
Nishin stood still.
“I could have you killed and no one would ever hear from you again.” The old man gestured and the guards pulled Nishin’s jacket down around his shoulders. One of them flicked open a knife and with a single slash cut through Nishin’s shirt, the blade grazing the skin without leaving a mark. They pulled the cut shirt apart, exposing Nishin’s chest.
“You do not have the Black Ocean tattoo,” Okomo said, turning back to his meal. “Kill him.”
“Operatives of the Black Ocean do not have the tattoo Oyabun,” Nishin said as one of the guards pulled out a pistol and placed it next to his temple. The last word rolled off his tongue with difficulty. Showing any sign of respect for such a man distressed Nishin. “Only those who have been accepted into the inner circle have that honor. I am only a ronin of the Society.”
“And that is why you are cowards,” the Oyabun snapped. “Afraid to show who you are.” He held his arms out from his sides and the tattoos on them rippled in the reflected light. “My lowest man has no fear of showing who he is or that he belongs to me. He is proud of his marks!”
“The Sun Goddess knows who we are and what we do,” Nishin replied, holding his head up high.
Okomo’s mood changed and he laughed. “Ah, yes, you are Black Ocean. Only one of their fools would believe that. The Sun Goddess? The Emperor? Sheer stupidity.” He gestured and the two guards let go of him, the pistol disappearing.
Nishin shrugged his jacket back up over his shoulders. One of the guards put a metal briefcase at Nishin’s feet.
“Your weapons are in there.” Okomo raised a white eyebrow. “As Nakanga asked.” He gestured for Nishin to leave and picked up his chopsticks.
“There are North Korean agents in this city,” Nishin said. “I need to find them.”
The sticks poised. “Why are they here?”
“I do not know. That is why I need to find them.”
Okomo chuckled. “The dog is chasing its own tail. Political games don’t interest me.” He stuffed food in his mouth and chewed. “I will inform you when I have something to inform you of. My men will find you. Do not come back here.”
Nishin picked up the briefcase and followed the two guards back to the stairs.
Behind Nishin, Okomo waited until the Black Ocean agent was gone, then the old man stood. He quickly walked to an elevator, a pair of guards surrounding him as he moved. He stepped in, leaving the guards behind. It whisked him down over a hundred and fifty feet, through the Japan Center to a level four floors below ground. When the door opened again, Okomo stepped forward into a large room, then bowed toward a figure behind a desk twenty feet in front of him, hidden in the shadows cast by large halogen lamps on the far wall. Okomo spoke from the bow, his words echoing off the heavily carpeted floor. “The Black Ocean agent is here. I gave him the weapons. He has asked for information about North Koreans in the city. It goes as you said it would, Oyabun.”
When there was no reply, Okomo turned and reboarded the elevator to go back to his public role.
Two blocks away a man on a dark rooftop fiddled with the controls on the small laptop computer and continued to listen to the voices from the top of the Japan Center through the headphones he wore. In front of him a black aluminum tripod held what looked like a camera. Actually it was a laser resonator. It shot out a laser beam that hit the black glass on the top of the Japan Center. The beam was so delicate that it picked up the slightest vibration in the glass. Reflecting back to a receiver just below the transmitter, a computer inside interpreted the vibrations into the sounds dial caused them.
It had not taken the man long to tune out the background noise and get the computer to pick up the voices inside. He’d heard the entire exchange between Nishin and the old man. Satisfied that Nishin had left the room, he quickly broke down the laser and placed it into a backpack along with the computer. Within thirty seconds he was gone from his perch.
In the small room he’d rented, Nishin opened the aluminum case. The packing held specially cut slots for the weapons stored inside. Nishin pulled out a specialized Steyr AUG. The Yakuza had done well, Nishin reflected as he checked out the weapon. He’d used one before, as he’d used almost every weapon on the world’s arms market.