“In uniform?” Lee asked incredulously.
“No, Lee-san, the man is dressed in civilian clothes,” Hirota replied. “He took a taxi to the train station, where he purchased tickets on a local futsu train to Hachinobe, from there to Morioka on a limited express tokkyu and then the shinkansen bullet train to Tokyo.”
Lee considered this information for a moment. “Was he seen actually boarding the train?”
“Hai. I can have two men meet it at Morioka where they can intercept him before he gets the shinkansen.”
“Why did you come to me with this?”
“I must know if the man is to be arrested.”
A faint smile curled the corners of Lee’s narrow mouth. “Two men, you say?”
“Hai,” Hirota replied respectfully.
“Very bad odds.”
“I wanted to make sure there were no mistakes—”
“I meant for your men,” Lee said. He thought again. “Does the Hachinobe train make any stop before Morioka?”
Hirota consulted his notebook. “At Ichinobe. About halfway.”
“Have your men intercept Mr. McGarvey there. It is a smaller city, with fewer people and less opportunity for him to make an escape.”
“Hai.”
“Get him away from the train and then kill him no matter what it takes. That must be your only priority.”
Hirota bowed. “He will not reach Morioka alive.”
The futsu train was old and small, but spotlessly clean. There was only one class of seats, most of them occupied by families. Everyone was quiet and very polite, and although McGarvey was the only westerner aboard his car, no one so much as stole a glance his way, although his presence was unusual.
The local followed the coastline south fifteen miles to the slightly larger city of Hachinobe, stopping at every tiny hamlet, finally pulling in the small railroad station at 10:45 P.M., where almost everybody transferred to the larger, newer, faster tokkyu train which had just pulled in on an adjoining track.
This time McGarvey sat in a rear seat near the connecting door to another second-class car. The one forward was a green car, for first-class passengers. Although westerners might be expected to travel first class, McGarvey had decided against it for exactly that reason. If the authorities were looking for him, they might start there. It would give him a slight leeway.
As the train pulled smoothly out of the station precisely on time, McGarvey sat back. Lee’s people might suspect that he was coming, but they couldn’t know about his Allain identity, nor was it likely they knew he would be entering Japan at one of the air force bases. Most likely they were watching Tokyo’s Narita Airport with his name, passport number and photograph. Of course, if they were watching Dulles too, they might not even know that he’d already left the States. It wasn’t much to count on, but it was something.
The night was pitch black, but the lights in the car were turned low so that McGarvey could see the lights of distant farms and villages. Morioka, the capital of Iwate Prefecture, was surrounded by mountains, and he could feel that they were steadily climbing away from the coastal plain, sometimes slowing down for the steeper grades.
Just like aboard the train from Misawa, the passengers on this train were very polite, mostly families, many of them with small children who slept in their parents’ laps. A few people were eating snacks, and across the aisle from McGarvey two old men played a game with colored tiles, the board set up between them on their knees. Although they made their moves with lightning speed, they made no noise. Everyone looked happy.
The train pulled into the station at Ichinobe at 11:15 P.M. McGarvey looked out the window. A few passengers were waiting on the platform to board, but there seemed to be some sort of a delay. A minute later the lights in the car came on. A uniformed conductor wearing white gloves came to the door and made an announcement in Japanese and then in English that there was trouble with the engine and that everybody would have to leave the train until it was repaired.
It struck McGarvey all at once that although the Japanese were very efficient they would not make such an announcement in English for the sake of only one passenger. They could not possibly know that the foreigner spoke English. In fact at Misawa he’d used a French-Japanese phrase book to make himself understood with the ticket clerk.
The passengers got up, good-naturedly, and shuffled to the front of the car. McGarvey glanced over his shoulder. A conductor stood blocking the rear door. He considered taking out the man, who looked old and not very fit, and jumping off the wrong side. But there would be an immediate manhunt for him. And it was just possible that there really was trouble with the engine and his imagination was getting away from him.
But he had to figure on the worst-case scenario, that they were somehow on to him, and figure out how to deal with it.
He followed the passengers off the train and looked around. There were several dozen people on the platform, most of them milling around in confusion. He started toward the exit gate when two men in suits and ties who’d been speaking with a uniformed police officer broke away and came over to him. They looked like cops; their eyes missed nothing, and one of them held back a couple of paces, his hand in his jacket pocket.
There was no place to go now. Whatever happened in the next few minutes, McGarvey decided, would depend on how well he kept his composure and what their orders were.
The one cop bowed warily. “Mr. McGarvey, if you would please come with us, there is a gentleman waiting to speak to you.”
“What are you talking about?” McGarvey said, feigning fear to cover his surprise. They knew his name!
A second uniformed police officer joined the other at the ticket barrier and they were looking this way.
The plainclothes cop took McGarvey’s arm at the elbow, his grip strong enough to cause pain. “Sir, there is no trouble here, I assure you. In fact you will be able to get the next train, and you will be in Tokyo only a half-hour later than your schedule.”
There it was, their first error. It was unlikely that Lee had come up from Tanegashima to talk to him. These two had been sent to make sure that he never got near the space center. Their orders were to kill him, but someplace private.
McGarvey willed himself to relax, a look of resignation on his face, a defeated note in his voice. “May I see some identification?”
“Yes, sir. If you will just come with us, we will identify ourselves. There should be no trouble here, among innocent people.”
The other cop took McGarvey’s bag, and he let himself be led away from the platform and into the nearly empty arrivals hall where they headed directly for the front doors.
Somehow they’d found out that he was on that train. The only explanation was that Lee had sent word to every possible entry point into Japan to be on the lookout for him. But they still didn’t know about his Pierre Allain identity, which gave him an opening, no matter how slight.
His second break came when they emerged from the station. A black Toyota Land Cruiser was parked at the curb, but there were only a few taxis, a city bus and a few passengers: no other policemen. Lee had sent his own people to take care of McGarvey. It was a mistake.
They crossed to the car.
“Hands on roof, feet spread,” the cop said. The other cop stood at a respectful distance, his right hand still in his coat pocket.
McGarvey did as he was told. The cop efficiently frisked him, coming up with his Walther and one spare magazine of ammunition, but leaving his wallet and passport. The silencer and a second spare magazine were packed in his leather overnight bag.