The first two pages contained the lyrics to some Korean pop song — likely by the young boy band from the poster in her apartment. They were written phonetically and decorated with hearts and flower doodles. Over the next several pages, Ayako had noted various appointments using a sort of code to describe her clients with names like Mr. Octopus, The Jelly Fish, and Sir Badger Dog. Grocery lists, more doodle drawings of kittens, and an incredibly realistic pencil study of a young geisha took up the first third of the little book.
Then, in bold ink was the entry—“Pick up Emiko’s’s friend at Hakata Port.” Followed by “He would do nicely” on a rain-spattered page.
Quinn turned the page and found a letter, written in her artistic, girlish hand. It was addressed to him.
Quinn-san,
If you are reading this, something has happened to me, for I would never let you see it if I were alive. I am sorry that I have not written on a more beautiful piece of paper befitting a good man like you. But, in our present circumstance, if I wait, I might not complete the letter at all. I hope to make this brief, but short letters take a long time to write, and I fear that I do not have so much of that. So, please forgive my clumsy attempt.
You sleep as I write this. I watch you softly breathe and my heart aches because I have lied to you. The thought brings so much pain that confessing to you is an impossible task, even in this letter. So, I must beg your forgiveness and pray that what I have done moves you toward your moment, whatever that may be.
We say in Japan that those who travel for love find a thousand miles not longer than one. Though our journey together has been erratic and full of peril, it has to me, been all too short.
That is all for now.
Ayako
Quinn sniffed back a tear in spite of himself, wondering what lies she’d told to cause her such a heavy burden. She must have written the letter while they were in the temple cottage. It was the only time she would have been able to watch him sleep.
Quinn turned the page, hoping to find another entry — not quite ready to say good-bye to this sweet little woman. His breath caught in his throat when he saw the map.
There was a short note, hastily scrawled in pencil as she’d stood there beside him in the alley watching Yanagi Pharmaceutical, a cold wind whipping her hair across her face.
Please forgive me. All woman have secrets.
I do not wish mine to cause your death.
Remember, when you kill a snake, do it once and for all.
Below the note was a map, captioned with a single word: Oda.
CHAPTER 68
Governor Lee McKeon stood in front of the bathroom mirror of the Hay Adams Hotel and slipped a pair of beige latex gloves over slender fingers.
He had already showered and shaved. The French cuffs on his starched white shirt were folded but open. Gold cuff links sat in a small leather case on the white marble sink next to his wife’s makeup. He wore a conservative burgundy silk tie that his wife said would suit his Asian complexion. This was, after all, an extremely big night for him and he needed to look his best.
The wooden box Qasim Ranjhani had given him lay open beside the cuff links, dark and polished in stark contrast to the white marble. Inside, resting on a small velvet pillow, was a Rolex Sea Dweller, its second hand sweeping around the face in a smooth, fluid movement.
McKeon retrieved a roll of beige athletic tape from his shaving kit and took a half dozen wraps around his wrist, making a sort of gauntlet. Ripping the tape with his teeth, he smoothed the edge on the end nearer his hand so it wouldn’t be seen past the cuff of his dress shirt. Next, he tore open a large four-by-four plastic bandage and applied it to the underside of his left wrist over the tape, pressing it tight to make certain the edges didn’t roll up. He added one more for safety’s sake, placing it halfway up his wrist, overlapping the other so he had a protected piece of skin roughly four by six inches as well as the gauntlet of tape.
McKeon held his wrist up and examined it in the mirror. Satisfied that he was well protected, but inconspicuous, he lifted the Rolex from the wooden case. Careful not to touch the sapphire crystal, even with his gloves, he slipped the watch over his hand so the face was on the inside of his wrist, toward his body, and snapped the clasp. It fit snugly; Ranjhani had made certain of that. The consequences would be dire if it was allowed to slide around and possibly come in contact with his skin.
He removed the latex gloves and had just finished putting on the cuff links when his wife’s voice buzzed through the bathroom door.
“Are you ready?” She was a fanatic about many things; early arrival to meetings was at the top of the list.
“Just putting on the finishing touches, my dear.” McKeon took his dark blue suit jacket out of the plastic bag hanging on the back of the door and slipped it over narrow shoulders. He tugged the cuff down so it covered the watch. It wouldn’t do to accidentally brush the thing against his wife’s skin.
“We must not be late,” she said again, prodding.
“It’s okay. They have assigned seating.” Looking in the mirror one last time, he gave the burgundy tie a final adjustment. “Do not worry.” He put a hand on the door, heart pounding in his chest at the thought of what lay before him. “I’m a friend of the President of the United States. I get a seat on the House floor.”
CHAPTER 69
Quinn sat on the bike with the engine off, perched on the crest of a hill half a mile away from Oda’s compound. The rain had stopped and a weak winter sun showed between the low clouds and the rolling mist-choked mountains to the west. Dark forests ran along the snaking valleys, populated by deer and wild boar. Large houses with tile roofs ran in meandering lines on another foothill to the south. Step-terraced tea plantations, groves of orange trees, and thick stands of bamboo created a glistening wet patchwork of green in the low sunlight. It was singularly beautiful and uniquely Japanese.
He’d briefly considered riding back through town to find August Bowen and ask for help, but in the end decided against it. Not because he didn’t want the help, but because he couldn’t trust that the deputy would believe him, much less follow him into the mountains to fight some mysterious assassin.
Ayako’s map was excellent, and Quinn was able to work his way deep into the mountains to Oda’s sanctuary in less than two hours. She’d gone so far as to warn him of sentries and direct him in the best avenue of approach. For a woman who made her living in the floating quarter, she was a brilliant tactician.
Oda’s secluded garden compound was itself located on a hill, but by coming in on a forest trail on an adjacent hill Quinn was able to get a good look at the front gate and the three sentries that guarded it, if not the compound itself.
He could make out the dark shapes of several buildings through the thick woods on the other side of the fence. One, presumably the main house, rose like a smaller version of a feudal lord’s castle, high parapets and curling green tile roof visible over the treetops. It was the way he’d imagined it from Miyagi’s stories.
Quinn could tell from the insulators that the fence was electrified. He recognized two of the guards from Tanaka’s warehouse. Still dressed in business suits, the men paced outside a tall wrought-iron gate. One of the men smoked an entire cigarette while Quinn watched. The other, less nervous, periodically aimed his submachine gun at some bird in a nearby tree pretending to shoot. Inside the fence, a third man, dressed as a groundskeeper in baggy canvas pants and a denim shirt, stood post next to a small security booth — presumably with the controls for the gate. All carried short-barrel Uzi machine pistols on single-point slings around their necks.