Remote Control

by Kotaro Isaka

  "That's strange," said Aoyagi, his voice ragged now. "1 didn't have tonkatsii today." He tried to remember the name of the place where he'd eaten with Morita. "And it wasn't me who bought the helicopter." It was true he owned one, but Koume Inohara had gone alone to the store to buy it for him; he had merely paid the bill.

  "The camera doesn't lie," Sasaki said. His tone was even, almost pleasant. The car made a left turn and Aoyagi felt his weight shift, but Sasaki's back remained straight. "It's definitely you on the tape; no one's going to question that."

  "It can't be me. It's a look-alike," he said, though he could hear how silly this sounded as soon as he said it.

  "I'm going to give you a chance," Sasaki said. "Or to be more exact, I was told to give you a chance."

  "A chance?"

  "The chance to confess. I haven't cuffed you yet—you're not officially in custody. We can drop you off at the nearest police box. Things will go much easier for you if you turn yourself in and admit what you've done before we process you and formally charge you."

  "Easier? Even though 1 haven't done anything?"

  "When we go public with all this, everyone you know will he [bulled in— your family and friends, even your coworkers. The j)ress will hound them. You know something about that. But you can prevent things from getting out of hand by confessing now."

  "How would confessing change anything? The re|)orters will come just the same." Sasaki said nothing. "I'm not going to confess," he continued, "because 1 didn't do anything." He woukl re|)eat this until they believed him.

  "Then we'll take you in now." The tone was still tlat, but he spoke a little louder. "But if you confess, we'll try to see that things go a little Ciisier for you. T his is a terrible thing you've done, hut even so there might he extenuating circumstances, something in your bac kground we can emphasize to get a little sympathy out of the media."

  REMOTE CONTROL

  "There's notliing in my background and nothing in the foreground—I had nothing to do with this!" Aoyagi's frustration was mounting.

  "1 mean, we could create the impression that something in your child-hood led you to do it."

  "Create the impression. . . ." The conversation was getting so weird that Aoyagi was unsure what he was trying to say.

  "We can still stir up a little sympathy for you—it's a matter of creating the right image."

  "You mean you'll manipulate the facts," said Aoyagi.

  "The image," Sasaki corrected. "That's the nature of these things. Images may not be based on much of anything, but they stick to you like nothing else."

  As Sasaki talked on, Aoyagi realized that there was something very odd in all this. Why were they driving around talking? Why hadn't they simply taken him to the police station? Why all this effort to get him to confess beforehand? If they were really in a "state of emergency," why didn't they just lock him up and worry about proving their case later? Why did they sound as though they wanted to make a deal?

  Slowly it began to dawn on him: Sasaki, or whoever he represented, was anxious to get this whole thing settled as smoothly and quickly as possible. They didn't care one way or the other about the truth. Who did it, or why, or how—none of that interested them. Their only concern was explaining the assassination in a way the man in the street would find believable—maybe even a little entertaining.

  If they simply arrested him and dragged him off to jail, they must know he would plead innocent. And even if they had a tape of him at the model shop and a witness who could testify that he ate tonkatsii, he knew he hadn't committed the crime. He would deny his guilt in court, and even if they convicted him, there would be some people out there with lingering doubts. I'hey knew they wouldn't be able to convince everybody, especially with trumped-up evidence.

  So they would keep pushing until they could say they had a confession to add to all their evidence. They needed to keep distractions and digressions to a minimum, to find a neat plotline to sell—or get the media to sell for them.

  As he began to see the larger picture, he felt less indignant than simply overwhelmed and exhausted. If they weren't interested in the truth, was

  THE INCIDENT

  there any way for him to prove his innocence? Even if he could someliow find the real culprit and bring him in, would that change anything? He felt dizzy, and more powerless than ever before in his life.

  "Not buying it?" Sasaki asked, apparently realizing Aoyagi had stopped listening.

  "Just not sure what you're selling."

  ".A lifeline for Japan's most notorious criminal."

  "If 1 meet him. I'll pass along the message."

  "You, my friend, have wandered into a swamp. The more you struggle, the faster you'll sink, and the more likely you'll be to drag others down with you. But if you stay nice and calm and do exactly what we say, then you just might keep your head above water." There was still no expression whatsoever in his voice.

  "Sorry," he told him. "From down here in the swamp, it still feels like drowning to me."

  Sasaki was quiet for a moment, but he held Aoyagi's gaze. He was studying him, like a zookeeper observing an animal to better understand its habits and characteristics.

  The car came to a stop, and Aoyagi thought they might have arrived at the police station, but when he looked out he realized it was just a red light.

  "Shouldn't you have the sirens blaring since you've got Japan's most notorious criminal in the car?" he asked.

  "We would if we were in a hurry to get him somewhere."

  "You're not?"

  "We've got our man," murmured Sasaki. "Now we just have to get him to Tokyo."

  "Tokyo?"

  "Funny thing about this country—everything im|)ortant seems to happen in Tokyo."

  "T hen 1 guess I'm getting the VIF treatment."

  Eights Hashed in his head, his vision went cloudy, and his neck snapped back. It took him a moment to realize he'd been |)unched, but when he C(juld sit up again, Sasaki looked almost as calm as ever. Fhere was no doubt he had hit him, but no evidence he had moved iil all. Outside the window, everything else looked normal as well. 1 U* lorted himsell to pul up a brax'e

  REMOTE CONTROL

  front—let them see any weakness, he thought, and that was it. Trembling inside, he said something about the lousy traffic.

  "Just temporary. It'll all be over soon. CTnce we announce we have the culprit in custody, things will get back to normal."

  "Maybe," said Aoyagi. "But that's exactly your problem. The culprit's still on the run, and you're giving him a chance to escape."

  "You planning to escape?"

  "Not me," he said. "The real killer." Sasaki punched him again. This time he saw it coming and knew what was happening when the pain spread through his cheek and his head spun around. He turned to look out the window, determined to hide his pain and fear, but as he did so, he realized several things at once. They were stopped at a red light. A truck was parked on the shoulder on the opposite side of the road. They were on a side street near Route 4, running east-west through Sendai. The truck, with its cloth canopy, was familiar.

  So Maezono's truck had survived their last meeting. He could still feel the jolt in his bones as he had dropped onto the stiff material from the bridge, and the sensation of the boxes crumpling as they broke his fall. He felt a pang of guilt, realizing the driver would be held responsible for the damage. He remembered that Maezono had said he had evening deliveries when they'd talked earlier in the day, and that he had to hurry home for a TV program. It must be starting soon, Aoyagi reflected. Hope he makes it in time.

  But maybe Maezono could help him. The thought flashed through his mind as his eyes dropped to the handle on the door next to him. His hands were still free and it was within reach—stranger still, it didn't seem to be locked.

  He began frantically working out a plan. Open the door, jump out, dodge traffic, make a dash for the other side, hop in Maezono's truck. He'd be surprised, of course, but Aoyagi was sure he'd
help him. Or nearly sure.

  But he had to do it now, while they were still stopped at the light. He could see Maezono just climbing back into the driver's seat—there would never be another chance. Voices inside—his own, Morita's, and now Kazu's— were urging him to run again. Keeping his eyes straight ahead, he reached slowly toward the handle with his left hand, then suddenly yanked at it as he pushed the door with his right. At that point he should have been leaping out; instead, the handle just scissored back and forth.

  THE INCIDENT

  "A shame/' Sasaki murmured. Aoyagi could feel his face flush, and then go pale. "It's a dummy—standard issue on police cars. The door on your side opens only from the outside."

  Masaharu Aoyagi

  "I knew that," Aoyagi muttered, staring out the window and struggling for composure. Maezono's truck pulled into traffic and passed them going the other way.

  "Sorry to spoil your fun," said Sasaki.

  "Does he always wear those earphones?" Aoyagi said, jerking his chin toward the man in the driver's seat. He needed to change the subject, to keep Sasaki from seeing how frightened he was.

  "Kobatozawa?" Sasaki said with a shrug.

  What could he say or do to keep himself from breaking down? He took a deep breath and held it for a moment. As he breathed out, he felt the strength draining from his body and he began to shake. His mind went blank.

  The car was moving again. Kobatozawa gripped the wheel and maneuvered through the traffic. He turned right and headed south on a street that was nearly empty. T he car finally picked uj) speed.

  "What's going ... to happen to me?" he said at last, his voice cracking.

  Sasaki looked at him. Kobatozawa muttered something he couldn't catch —or he might just have started humming.

  "You're going to Tokyo with us. You'll be charged with the murder of the j)rime minister, fortunately for you, this is a democracy and we don't condone tcjrture or ca|)ital punishment, not often anyway. Your picture will be in every newsj)aper and (ui every television station, and I'm afraid to say there may be ccjnsequences lor your family."

  A(jyagi knew troni exj)erience that attention horn the metliii could be a t(jrm oi torture. "What should I do?" he whis|)ered.

  "There's only one thing you can do," Sasaki told him. "(toilless immediately. Acknowledge guilt lor everything you've done."

  "l.verything?"

  REMOTE CONTROL

  "We already know tlie whole story. If you confess to everything, there'll be less pain for yourself and your family."

  "The whole story?" But it wasn't his story. The words came through a haze. Whether from exhaustion or a need to escape his situation, he suddenly felt like going to sleep.

  "You have nothing to worry about," Sasaki was saying. "Just leave everything to us."

  Leave what to you? Aoyagi wondered, but he couldn't bring himself to respond. Maybe it was better to stop struggling and do as he was told. He had done everything he could, tried his best. Gazing at the streetlights flashing by outside, he comforted himself with the thought that he hadn't given up without a fight. Well done, Aoyagi, he told himself.

  So this Sasaki said he had "nothing to worry about." He thought it over. Nothing to worry about. He felt better. To a man in the desert dying of thirst, this "nothing to worry about" was the sight of fresh water. He would follow orders now and drink his fill.

  The car jerked to a stop. We're there, he thought, before seeing that it was just another red light. Now that he'd entrusted himself to Sasaki and resigned himself to being taken to Tokyo, every delay was an added irritation. But when he looked outside again to see if the light had changed, out of the corner of his eye he saw a car coming fast and straight toward them. His brain registered an older white sedan to their right rear—and then the impact.

  At first it felt like another punch. The world lurched before his eyes and his head swam. But this time the whole car started to spin. Aoyagi managed to grab hold of the seat in front of him while Sasaki clawed at the air. They fell against the door on the far side as the car skidded, finally coming to rest against the guardrail pinned by the white sedan.

  Aoyagi sat dazed for a moment. The only clear sensation was the pain in his neck where it had banged against the seat behind him. But Sasaki sat up almost immediately, and as soon as the car had settled, he leapt out. Kobato-zawa had thrown open his door as if trying to rip it off its hinges.

  Aoyagi watched in amazement as a man in a black parka climbed from the driver's seat of the other car. He was beginning to realize it had deliberately

  THE INCIDENT

  run them off the road. A head of disheveled hair was pressed up against the window on the passenger's side.

  "Friends of yours?" Sasaki said, sticking his head back in the open door. "A rescue attempt?" By the time Aoyagi understood the question, it was too late. He could only feel amazed at his own stupidity for having missed the chance to slip away in the excitement.

  There was another jolt. He clutched his knees and rolled himself into a ball, wondering how much more of this to expect. The car rocked again, and someone's back slammed against the door next to him. It was the man from the other car, thrown by Kobatozawa. Things weren't going well. He was short and slim, more like one of the students who hung out in this neighborhood than a grown man, and Kobatozawa shoved him into the side of the car again and again.

  Sasaki was still standing outside the other door. Finally he told his driver, "Okay, enough!" I'hen he made a call on his cell phone.

  A moment later, he slipped back into the car. "Put your hands together," he said, grabbing Aoyagi's wrists. "We're changing cars." Before he knew what was happening, he had handcuffs on and was being dragged out onto the street.

  The night sky was clear and dotted with stars beyond the bright lights of the city. He could see now how efficiently the white car had trapped them against the guardrail. A number of cars passed, but none slowed or stopped, the drivers probably unwilling to get involved in the aftermath of an accident. A small knot of pedestrians had gathered, but Sasaki waved some 11) at them and told them to keep back. Fhey retreated several stej)s but most stayed to watch.

  Kobatozawa gave one last shove with both arms and sent the smaller man flying against the car. 1 here was a yell from the crowd on the sidewalk as he staggered ujx "Stjmeone call the police!"

  "We are the j)olice," Sasaki shouted almost instantly. "And we've got everything under control here." Aoyagi felt helpless with his wrists bouiul t(jgether. '1 he man was in serious trouble.

  Kobatozawa dived into the car, reached over to the |)assengei's side, iind reapjreared with a gun. 'I here were horrified looks on the laces in the crowd as he turned on the man in the j)arka and pinn|)(.Hl a round into the chamber.

  Aoyagi could leel himsell drilling away Irom the peculiar scimk* playing

  REMOTE CONTROL

  out in front of him. But he willed himself back. Kobatozawa thought the man had come to rescue him, so it was his fault if he was injured or killed.

  "That's enough," Sasaki said again, more sharply this time, and his driver lowered his weapon. The man in the parka seemed to go limp. "We're done here," Sasaki barked, yanking at Aoyagi's arms. As he was pulled around, he caught a glimpse of the woman in the passenger seat. Under the streetlight, he could see that she still hadn't moved, and on the front of her white shirt he thought he saw a dark stain. They heard a grunt from behind.

  He craned around. Sasaki, too, had turned to look. The man in the parka moved with surprising speed. His arm lunged forward, and Kobatozawa barely managed to dodge a knife thrust.

  Close up, the little man looked less threatening thaii ever. His hair was receding and there was a shocked expression in his eyes, like a prairie dog that has just popped out of its hole. Aoyagi thought he might be one of those people who shut themselves away in their rooms, living on junk food and never coming out into the sunlight. But looks can be deceiving, for the man clearly knew what he was doing with the knife.r />
  He spun around, tossed the blade to his other hand, and lunged again. There was nothirig fraiitic about his movements; they seemed smooth and practiced. For several passes, Kobatozawa only just avoided the blade; but eventually he put some distance between them, dropped to a shooting stance, and fired.

  The blast ripped the air, missing the black parka but shattering the windshield of their car. Someone screamed. Aoyagi's hands jerked to cover his ears, but the cuffs stopped him. He shut his eyes.

  When he opened them again, Kobatozawa was clutching his arm, which still held the gun, and the knife was planted in his shoulder. Fully a head taller, he stood facing the other man. How had the parka managed to get close enough to do such damage? Kobatozawa tried to level the gun again, but in one swift move, his opponent retrieved his knife and caught him through the sleeve of his jacket. He frowned with pain.

  "Don't move!" Sasaki yelled. He was still standing next to Aoyagi, but he had his own gun out now. He'd been holding Aoyagi's backpack, but put it down to grip the pistol with both hands. His stance looked professional and his aim steady—an easy shot at ten meters. The man's knife hand froze.

  THE INCIDENT

  Aoyagi glanced at Sasaki and then down at his own handcuffed wrists. Confess everything, he'd said, and if he did, they would help.

  Then Morita's voice again in the back of his mind: "Like Oswald."

  Aoyagi had once seen a photo of Oswald at the moment jack Ruby shot him. Ruby must have just stepped out of the crowd; the camera caught Oswald's face as the bullet hit him in the chest.

  Was that it? Did they want him to give up and come quietly so they could send someone to finish him off? Dead men don't talk, and when he was gone they could make up any story they wanted to, turn him into any sort of monster that suited their purposes.

  His body had begun to move. His handcuffed hands swung like a hammer, catching Sasaki in the back of the head. As he crumpled, Aoyagi grabbed his backpack, and then ran. Awkwardly, pack dangling from his cuffed hands, he ran. "Stop!" Sasaki yelled from behind, and there was the sound of a shot, but no shock, no pain. Somewhere far off someone screamed, horns honked.