The Last Assassin

The woman returned with a cup of barley tea. 'You're traveling alone, Watanabe-san?' she asked, no doubt hoping for an answer to her implicit question of 'Why?'

'Yes,' I told her. 'My wife passed away recently, and because we honeymooned in this area I wanted to return to it.'

'I'm saddened to hear of your loss,' she said, bowing her head. As I expected in the face of Watanabe's sad story, she asked no further questions, and I needed tell her no further lies. But I was confident that word would now circulate among the staff, and that consequently no one would find it at all remarkable that sad Watanabe-san might sit brooding for long hours alone on that second-floor balcony.

I dropped off my bag in my room on the third floor, a twelve-mat square with an alcove and a view of the sea that was impressive in spite of the tangle of high-tension wire in front of it. Then I went down to the lobby restaurant, sat so I had a view of the entrance, and ate a long, leisurely lunch of oysters from Anamizu Bay, sweet shrimp from the deep waters of the Sea of Japan, and locally caught winter yellowtail with sliced radish and red pepper. During my repast a few elderly couples checked in, but they obviously weren't the people Dox and I were waiting for.

Afterward, I repaired to the second-story balcony, where I waited as though absorbed in my memories. It was just getting dark outside when my cell phone buzzed. I glanced at the caller ID readout – Dox.

I pressed the receive button. 'Yeah.'

'Looks like our company has finally arrived,' Dox said.

'You sure?'

'Let's just say I've got a strong feeling. They're coming in now.'

'What do they look like?'

'Oh, don't worry, you're not going to miss them.'

'What do you mean?'

'Just watch, you'll see.'

I looked down into the lobby. I heard the front door open and close. The blue-kimonoed woman who had greeted me called out 'Irasshaimase' – welcome – and hurried out from behind the check-in counter. A moment later, two gigantic men, obviously sumo wrestlers, appeared below me. I sat well back to conceal myself and from the angle I couldn't be sure, but I estimated each of them at north of a hundred and fifty kilos. It was like looking down on the heads and shoulders of a pair of bison.

'Holy shit,' I whispered.

'Guess you've seen 'em,' Dox said.

'Christ, we've only got four darts.'

'Yeah, as I think Roy Scheider put it in Jaws, "We're gonna need a bigger boat."'

They said something to the woman, but I couldn't quite make out what. She escorted them inside.

It wasn't just their bulk that advertised their background. They had that slow sumo swagger, that air of royalty – almost of divinity – born of size and celebrity. They were used to being looked at, to being the objects of attention and awe, and they moved as though bearing the adoration as of right, with no obligation to repay it with anything more than impassive acceptance.

I moved farther back, out of their view. 'Did you see what they're driving?' I asked.

"Course I did. Big burgundy Cadillac, with the steering wheel on the left side.'

Sounded like a yakuza ride. It had to be them.

'You get the license plate?'

'Yeah.' He gave it to me, and I wrote it down.

'Hang on,' I said. 'I'll call you back.'

'Roger that.'

I called Tatsu. The phone rang a few times, then his weak voice said, 'Hai'

'How are you holding up?' I asked.

'I'm still here.'

I had the sudden sick knowledge that one day soon I would call him and he wouldn't answer, he wouldn't still be here at all.

I pushed that aside and said, 'I think our guys have arrived, but I need to be sure. Kito and Sanada… are they sumo wrestlers?'

'I don't know. But I can find out.'

'All right. Here's the license number of the car they're driving. Tokyo plate.'

I read it out to him. He told me he would call me back.

I stole another peek down at the lobby. The men had finished signing in, and the woman in blue was walking them to the elevator, presumably to show them their rooms.

Fifteen minutes later, Tatsu called back. 'It's them,' he said. 'Both former sumo wrestlers, their careers cut short by injuries. The car is registered to Kito.'

'Okay. Let me get back to business. I'll call you again soon.'

'Good.'

I hung up and called Dox.

'You were right,' I told him. 'They're the ones we've been waiting for. Former sumo wrestlers.'

'"Former?" They look pretty current to me.'

'I know what you mean.'

'Were they any good?'

'How the hell should I know?'

'Just wondering if we could handle 'em if we had to.'

'"Handle" them? There must be seven or eight hundred pounds between the two of them. We're going to handle them with long-range weapons, that's how we're going to handle them. And only because we can't call in an air strike.'

'All right, just trying to contingency plan, that's all.'

'If we have to tangle with these guys up close, I advise prayer.'

'You stick with the prayer. I prefer to rely on something sharp if it comes to that.'

'I hope it's a harpoon. I doubt anything else could reach a vital organ.'

'Well, how about if…'

'Look, it's not that I don't want to sit around figuring out how to kill a sumo,' I said, 'but if it's clear now, maybe you could duck out and put the transmitter in place on their car. I'll stay here and warn you if anyone's coming.'

'Roger that.'

Two minutes later he called me back. 'It's done. Anywhere they go, we can tail 'em from a distance and we'll know where they stop. And if they walk, we can just follow the sounds of the earth shaking beneath their feet.'

'Right,' I said. I pictured the four darts we had. Kanezaki had said they were good for anything up to a rhino. I hoped he meant it literally. Otherwise, we were going to be in trouble.

18

The next thirty hours were mostly watching and waiting. The inn's kaiseki - Japanese haute cuisine – was excellent, and its onsen hot spring baths were wonderful. I availed myself of both lest my reticence be remarked on, and felt a little bad amid the luxurious surroundings about having to leave Dox in the van. Twice on our second day at the inn I drove us out to more remote areas so he could stretch and get some air. He was never anything other than cheerful and I thought some distant Marine gods must be proud.

The clouds of the previous day coalesced into a storm that broke just after midnight. I sat in the alcove of my room, the lights off, my gaze alternating between the GPS monitor, which indicated the Cadillac hadn't moved, and the dark sea without. At a little after two, my cell phone buzzed. It was Dox.

'Our friends are getting in the car,' he said. 'Wonder who they could be going to meet at this hour and in this weather.'

'We're going to find out,' I said. I got up, pulled on the waterproof pants and jacket I had bought for this very occasion, and headed for the door.

The lobby of the inn was deserted. I was prepared with a story, of course, about wanting to walk in the rain, but that would have been thin and I was glad not to have to employ it.

We followed the Cadillac from a half-kilometer back. Dox, in a black nylon-lined fleece, monitored the transmitter from the passenger seat. The Cadillac showed up as a blinking red light on the mapping software and we had no trouble tracking it. So far, so good.

We passed no cars on the coastal road. After a few minutes, the red light started moving around erratically – figure eights and zigzags.

'They're looking for problems,' Dox observed.

I nodded. 'That's why we're hanging back.'

After another few minutes, the red light turned right, into the park I had reconnoitered earlier, then stopped.

'What did I tell you,' I said, smiling.

He chuckled. 'Like I said, devious minds think alike.'