The ambassador pumped his cheeks and swallowed the last of his cake. He called for cigars.
"Yes. I am glad you telephoned. But I have a suggestion. I spoke to our Minister of Foreign Affairs today and he will speak to your ultimate chief, the Minister of Justice. I also had a brief conversation with the Japanese ambassador, and I called the American embassy. So far everybody likes my idea and has promised all support. The CIA is particularly enthusiastic, and Mr. Johnson said he expected to see you tomorrow morning. Mr. Johnson and his colleagues in Japan are good people to know. But it all depends on you in the end."
"Me?" the commissaris asked. "What else can I do but do my job? I assure you I will; I happen to like my job."
"I know, I know," the ambassador said soothingly, and gave the commissaris the cigar he had just selected for himself. "You have an excellent reputation, not only because of your intelligence but also because of your habit of never giving up. But my suggestion goes beyond the call of duty. What I had in mind is that you would go to Japan yourself and we would set you up as a buyer of art. The yakusa have established their channel but there is no reason that there couldn't be competition. The Dutch might try to do their own buying and selling, so, you see, you go there and try to organize a buying department of your own. We can help you, especially now that we know that the CIA will join the game.
"The CIA work closely with the Japanese Secret Service and they will probably give you some good assistants to work with. You should be perfectly safe. You can work with their people and pretend to be a buyer of stolen art, valuable pieces only, the pick of what the priests keep in their temples. Most temple art is officially declared to be national treasures, and to steal and buy and sell them is treason. The yakusa can be trapped and taken straight to the Supreme Court. I don't think the Japanese police will be involved. Maybe they will be allowed to play some minor role; they can stand around, so to speak. And you can do something about the traffic in heroin at the same time. The heroin doesn't come from Japan of course; the opium poppy isn't grown in Japan, not in quantity anyway. The yakusa buy it through their Chinese friends in Hong Kong who get it from mainland China. It is shipped directly to Amsterdam from Hong Kong. The Chinese probably have a man in Japan whom you should seek out. Once you know who directs the yakusa and who his lieutenants are, you can arrange a meeting and the Secret Service can grab the lot."
"I see," the commissaris said. "You make it sound very simple. But perhaps my trip isn't necessary. The yakusa chief lives in a castle close to Kobe. Miss Andrews can give me the exact address. She can also describe him. Your acquaintances can go there and arrest him, can't they?"
The ambassador burped carefully behind his napkin. "Excuse me! No, the matter is not so simple. The yakusa chief, or the daimyo, as he is called, is a powerful man. So far nobody has been able to touch him. No evidence, you see. The daimyo knows all the top brass in his country, he plays golf with them. He is well protected. But he has forgotten to make friends with the Secret Service and the Supreme Court. He probably couldn't, even if he tried. I don't believe much in honesty but some people are dedicated to this or that and their dedication is greater than their dishonesty. My acquaintances, as you call them, are really out to get the daimyo. And I want to annoy him so much that he steps out of his lair and then…" The ambassador rolled his napkin into a tight wad and banged it on the table.
The old waiter came running up to the table. "An insect, sir?"
"No, Johan, I was stressing a point." The old waiter cackled. "Very well, sir."
"I see," the commissaris said.
"Don't worry about your safety," the ambassador said. "Even the yakusa will not easily kill a foreigner on Japanese soil. They may try to hurt or intimidate him a little, but they won't kill him. The only foreigners who were killed by criminals in Japan this year died in Kobe. Kobe has many foreign residents. But you can try to avoid the city, although it may be difficult."
The commissaris wanted to say something, but sneezed instead.
"Your very good health," the ambassador said, and rubbed out his cigar. "Tokyo is a dangerous place too, but you won't have anything to do there. Your plane lands in Tokyo and you can stay a few days before you go farther. The yakusa in Tokyo are not the same as the Kobe lot and they have a different daimyo. His specialty is gambling and prostitution, with a chain of supermarkets as a side line. He doesn't figure in my plan at all. It's the Kobe daimyo I am after. He is the temple thief. Perhaps you could stay in Kyoto, the temple city close to Kobe. That's where some of the stolen art may come from. It's a holy city in a way, there is much to see. Temples, gardens and so forth. I wish I could do your job but I am too well known in Japan, unfortunately."
The commissaris' lips had formed a small o and he was exhaling with force. He was about to say something when one of the graybeards bent down reverently and whispered into his ear.
"I have a telephone call," the commissaris said. "Please excuse me."
He was back in five minutes and the graybeard helped him back into his chair. "It seems we have arrested the killers," the commissaris said, "the two men who, according to Miss Andrews, were sent to do away with her fiance\ They are being questioned, but so far they have denied everything. But we've got them anyway."
"Splendid," the ambassador said. "Let's drink some of this brandy in celebration of your department's speed and efficiency. It might make your work in Japan easier, if you are willing to go there. Are you willing?"
The commissaris didn't answer.
"It won't be a too dangerous assignment, but I think you can take one of your men with you. Perhaps you have somebody who speaks good English and who is a bit of a fighter."
"I have, my sergeant. He is a crack shot and is said to be proficient in judo. His English is fairly fluent."
"The very man. Well, what do you say, commissaris? I assure you of my complete cooperation. I'll be back in Tokyo in a few days' time, but you can always reach me by phone. I have friends in Japan and I can smooth some of your path but, in all fairness, I must warn you: the yakusa aren't a bunch of white rabbits." He shook his head. "Still, it's incredible to me that they would kill here. Maybe Mr. Nagai was a lot more important than he seemed. Perhaps he was about to give the game away and Miss Andrews has understated her point. But in a way it's a good thing our friends overplayed their hand; now we have something to go on. You will be doing very valuable work in Japan. I wasn't joking when I said that we should repay Deshima. Deshima is important to Japanese thinking and Japan is an important trading partner to us now. We really need their friendship, more than they need ours. Any other country would welcome their presence. There is no reason why they shouldn't go to Brussels or Paris or London. So it's all up to you and to those who are backing you. I am backing you, and I'll have two of our ministers here supporting me. And then there is the CIA and ultimately the Japanese themselves. You will find their Secret Service an interesting institution."
"What's my cover?" the commissaris asked.
The ambassador sighed. "Yes, an important point. Do you have relatives in the Far East?"
The commissaris thought. "A distant cousin in Hong Kong. He works for a shipping company."
"Same name?"
"Yes."
"Same age?"
"Five years younger. The man isn't married, as far as I know. He is a chief clerk, rather a dry man."
The ambassador smiled. "Good. Does he look like you?"
The commissaris thought again. "A little perhaps, but he is taller and he doesn't limp. I suffer from severe rheumatism in my legs. Perhaps you should take a healthier man. I might be too ill over there to be of much help. Sometimes I collapse and have to spend a few days in bed."