Nishin had walked to the Japan Center without even being conscious of it while he had struggled with his new orders. He walked into the restaurant and encountered the same man standing in the small hallway.
“What do you want?” the man said when he saw Nishin.
“I must see the Oyabun,” Nishin said. “There is a matter of utmost urgency.”
The guard spoke into a cellular phone, then jerked his head. “Follow me.”
After going through the next door, Nishin was searched and relieved of his 9mm pistol. The man patting him down missed the ice scraper again. They went up the metal stairs to the roof.
Nishin could tell something was up. There was quite a bit of activity with numerous men moving about. Okomo was talking to the captain of the tugboat, Ohashi, when Nishin was brought before him. He found that curious. Perhaps Nakanga had already called here asking for help in stopping the trawler. “What are you doing here again?” Okomo asked. “My man gave you the information you needed.”
“There is another North Korean trawler headed this way,” Nishin said. “I assume Nakanga has called you and—” “You assume incorrectly,” Okomo said. “However, we need you and it is most courteous of you to present yourself to us, rather than make us track you down.” He made a gesture and the guards on either side grabbed Nishin’s arms, immobilizing the nerve centers in his elbows. A third guard crossed his wrists over each other behind his back and slid two plastic cinches over his hands.
Nishin was confused by Okomo’s words and actions, but his training took hold. Nishin flexed the tendons in his wrists just as the man, pulled the cinches tight, thus keeping the blood flow from being cut off and allowing him a little bit of mobility. What did the Oyabun mean by saying that he had fulfilled his role and that they needed him? Nishin wondered. He knew better than to ask though.
“Release me,” Nishin said. “You cannot cross the Black Ocean and not—”
“Shut up!” Okomo snapped. “I have no further desire to listen to your Black Ocean prattle. You are a very stupid man who has been brainwashed by those who are smarter than you. You are nothing but a tool and no longer a useful one at that. Do not give us any trouble because we only need your body, whether it is living or dead, it doesn’t matter to me, but it is easier to move alive.”
He waved a hand. “Take him to the boat. We will dispose of this Black Ocean trash appropriately — in the ocean, once he has completed his final task.” Okomo found that amusing and gave a quick bark of laughter.
“But where are you taking me?” Nishin struggled helplessly in the guards’ hands.
“To Genzai Bakudan, of course,” Okomo said.
“You know of the bomb!” Nishin was stunned. “We not only know about it, we know exactly where it is,” Okomo said with satisfaction in his voice. “Move!” he snapped at the guards. “Get him to the boat!”
The two guards lifted Nishin off his feet and hustled him off the rooftop.
“Are you sure it is from your organization?” Harmon asked, looking at the portable phone from Jonas’s apartment in Lake’s hands.
Lake took out his own and put them side by side on the console between the two of them. They were identical. “These are made to government specifications. They aren’t available on the civilian market because of their scrambler ability. It also has no serial number, which is a requirement of equipment that my organization uses.”
“And your organization is?” Harmon asked.
“It’s called the Ranch. I don’t really have time to get into that right now.”
“What does it mean that Jonas has a Ranch phone?” Harmon asked.
That was the question Lake had been asking himself and he didn’t like the potential answers. “I don’t know for sure,” he said, checking the number on Jonas’s portable. He looked at his watch. “We need to get to the meet. I want you to drop me off a couple of blocks away.”
“You don’t think it will be dangerous, do you?” she asked as she started the truck up.
“I don’t know what I think anymore,” Lake said. He was running the area of the meet through his mind. “Park at the South Beach Yacht Club,” he said. “I’ll walk the rest of the way.”
They made the drive in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Lake was starting to put pieces together, various events that he had participated in since joining the Ranch and he wasn’t enjoying the picture his new perspective was showing him.
“How long do I wait?” Harmon asked as she pulled into the parking lot for the yacht club.
“Until I get back, or I call you on the portable, or two hours go by.”
“And if two hours go by and you haven’t come back and you haven’t called?” she asked.
“Go home and forget you ever met me,” Lake said.
“I can’t do that,” she said, stopping the truck.
“Then, remember me and remember me well,” Lake said.
Harmon grabbed his arm. “This isn’t the time for humor.”
“I’m sorry,” Lake said. He turned to her and kissed her lightly on the lips. “I don’t know what’s going to happen and I don’t want you to get caught up any further in this. No matter what, I’ll get back in contact with you. All right?”
“I suppose that will have to do. Be safe,” she added, giving him one last kiss.
Lake wasn’t certain what to say in turn, so he returned the kiss, then jumped out of the truck and began walking swiftly to the north. As his feet hit pavement, he pushed thoughts of Peggy waiting for him out of his mind and began to focus on what was coming up.
As he got closer, he had the distinct feeling that he was being watched, something that had not happened last time when he had met Randkin here. Of course, Feliks would not have come here alone. Security personnel were standard whenever the number one man at the Ranch went traveling, but it didn’t make Lake feel any more comfortable. The up ramp for the Bay Bridge loomed directly overhead. Several piers beckoned off to the right and Lake could hear the gentle lap of water on rotting wood and concrete. Where there wasn’t pier, there was a concrete retaining wall built at the water’s edge.
“You’re late.” The familiar voice echoed in the dark.
Lake turned to the shadows across the street and Feliks appeared out of them, a darker shape, his white hair standing out. He wasn’t alone. Two men wearing long black raincoats flanked him. They walked up to Lake as if to sniff him, then took up flank position, about ten feet off on either side. Feliks took Lake’s right arm in his hand and nudged him toward a deserted pier. “This way.”
Lake allowed himself to be guided. They walked along until they were out of sight of the Embarcadero. The sound of traffic overhead on the Bay Bridge sounded loud above their heads.
“I’m very disappointed in your recent performance,” Fe liks said. He pulled out his cigarette case and lit up. Lake noted that he ignored offering him one and remained quiet.
“You have broken quite a few rules and shown poor judgment,” Feliks continued. “Is there a point to this?” Lake said.
“I want whatever information you have about this Genzai Bakudan situation that you haven’t given me,” Feliks said.
“I briefed you fully on the phone,” Lake said. The two guards had shifted position, both making sure they would have clear shots of Lake without Feliks being in the way. Each had his right arm under his coat, no doubt resting on the handle of a weapon as Lake had been taught at the Ranch school.
“Oh, come, come,” Feliks said. “You know I am not stupid so do not treat me that way. Your story was full of holes. I want those holes filled. For example, who got you the information about the Japanese fleet during World War II? How did you figure out where Cyclone and Forest were?”