Remote Control

by Kotaro Isaka

  Haruko got up and grabbed her jacket from the back of the sofa.

  Masaharu Aoyagi

  The storm drain was less than two meters in diameter, so he had to move along exactly in the middle of it. He could walk easily enough, but to run he had to bend over to avoid hitting his head. So he ran now, back bent, splashing in the shallow pools at his feet.

  The flashlight in his right hand illuminated the pipe in front of him. His backpack had been left in Inai's apartment, and he had traded the [)added jacket from the boy in the parking lot for a black sweater that would he easier to move in. He was too tense to feel the cold anyway.

  "Once you go down at Kakyo-in, just follow the large drain to the west. Several other pipes connect to the main one, but if you keep heading downstream you can't go wrong. The water left over in the drain Hows toward the Hirose River; on the way you'll find the passage that leads to the park." Hodogaya's instructions had been explicit. "I'll keep my lingers crossed there's enough air down there—and that it doesn't rain."

  It hadn't rained. And there was air. T hings to be grateful tor. He ran on through the darkness. The water splashed noisily under his leet; the air Wtis cool on his face.

  T he maj) 1 iodogaya had left lor him showed the route to the |)la/a in (*n-tral Park with rough distances penciled in. He hurried along, now counting his steps, and then stojijied when he felt he had tome to the right spot.

  REMOTE CONTROL

  He looked up and ran the beam to either side. A ladder. He reached for the bottom rung and began climbing. Hand over hand through the dark. His hand touched the manhole cover. He pushed, stretching up, and the cover rose above him.

  Hodogaya had kept his promise. Ever so cautiously, he pushed the cover off and peered over the rim. The image of a circle of policemen was registered in his brain, their shoes right before his eyes. And countless guns pointed at his head. At least that was what he might have seen if Hodogaya had sold him out.

  Stretching further above the rim, he took a deep breath but choked on a waft of dust scudding across the ground. There were no policemen in sight, no one at all. He replaced the lid above him and climbed down the ladder. Then he took the cell phone from his pocket, attached a miniature microphone to his lapel, and climbed back up. He popped the cover off the hole, slipped out, and replaced it all in one motion. Hodogaya's fakes were impressive—almost indistinguishable from the real thing.

  Central Park was on the north side of a wide street where it crossed Higashi Nibancho Avenue, the site of the bombing. It was a flat, open area, some forty by seventy meters in size, with no fountains or other features except some trees at the border, selected because it should give the TV cameras a clear view ... of him. A view that might prevent the police from shooting him, or so he was hoping. The manhole from which he had just emerged was on the south side, sandwiched between a large public restroom decorated with geometric tiles and a long, narrow commercial building.

  He could see the trunks of the Himalayan cedars at the edge of the park, so thick around that two people could barely circle them with outstretched arms. The branches draped almost to the ground like dark cascades.

  Aoyagi leaned against the wall of the restroom and looked at some smaller trees planted among the cedars, another evergreen known as tnbiiuoki. They stood in the half-light like silent guards. To one side, he could make out a small pavilion housing an elevator and escalator leading down to the subway. Having been alerted that he would be meeting them in the park, the police would presumably keep a watch there as well.

  T here was a clear path from here to the spot where he would make his appearance, his final stage. T he area was deep in shadow, except for one patch off to

  THE INCIDENT

  the right that was flooded with light. "You're on! That's your cue!" He could hear Morita laughing and whispering in his ear. "Presenting Masaharu Aoyagi!"

  Fishing the phone out of his pocket, he hit "redial." Would one of the concealed TV cameras pick him up standing here beside the restroom? Fine. Let them film everything.

  After several rings a voice said "Yajima speaking."

  "As in Yaji Yaji Yajima?" he said, realizing it felt good still to be able to make a joke.

  "Mr. Aoyagi? Where are you now?"

  "Are your cameras in place?" he asked.

  "We've got a clear shot of the whole park from the roof of the Prefec-tural Building. The place is wide open thanks to your last-minute change of venue." The Prefectural Building was still some way from the park, but they should be able to get a decent close-up with the right lens.

  "Sounds good," said Aoyagi. "I'm on then. But 1 want you to broadcast my voice as we agreed." He fingered the mike. "I won't have the phone to my ear from now on, so 1 won't be able to hear you."

  "Well, good luck then," said Yajima, like a section chief sending a new recruit off to a meeting.

  Aoyagi was about to put the phone away when he suddenly realized that the line had gone dead. He tried hitting "redial," but there was no service, not even a busy signal. What was happening? His mind went blank for a moment. Then he tried the phone again, with the same result. He tried removing the battery and reinstalling it. Nothing. His connection to Yajima had been cut. Were they onto him?

  The branches of the cedars swayed ominously. T here was no reason to think the police knew this number. Still, they were probably capable of checking all the calls made from the vicinity of the park, and something may have alerted them t(j a call to a T V station. Perha|)s they had listened in atui figured out what he was up to and had somehow jammetl his phone.

  He tried jiunching in the number tor the third time to see it it Wiis working, but there was still no signal. Fhe thing was useless. (!ould they really do something like that at a moment's notice? He realized he had no choice but t(j believe they could.

  He jiulled the mike trom his lajxT and threw it .iw.iy. ('losing the* phone.

  REMOTE CONTROL

  lie slipped it back in his pocket. He knew he was completely outmatched, but somehow the knowledge made him feel more exhausted than frightened. Who could expect to defeat a giant? The lord of the giants at that? Miura's advice came hack to him. Run.

  He spread his arms and took a deep breath. Okay, then. He stood still until the trembling in his legs stopped. His father's voice on TV the night before echoed in his head. Tm going, he murmured.

  h

  Haruko Higuchi

  Haruko found her husband's bike in the rack behind the building, but she fumbled for a long time with the complicated lock. The more she hurried, the longer it took and the more she felt the need for speed.

  When she finally got it unlocked, she raised the kickstand and swung her leg over the bar. It was a mountain bike and, counting the time she'd tried it just after Nobuyuki bought it, this was her second time riding it. Bending over to grip the handlebars, she stepped on the pedals and shot forward. The speed frightened her, especially in the dark, but this was no time to be timid. As she sped along, she felt the cold night air even through her jacket.

  Her head cleared and she was suddenly wide awake, despite the ridiculously early hour. Images from the television came back to her as she rode— the line of police cars, Masakado's van—and with them a nagging dread.

  The lights from the TV trucks surrounding the park were bright enough to steer by. Go west, right at the intersection. She sketched out the map in her head as her legs pumped the pedals.

  At 4:00 the streets were empty of people and cars. Everything around her, the sky and sidewalks and buildings, was a deep indigo blur. Shades of blue, some darker, some a bit lighter. The streetlights streamed by on each side. It felt strange to be riding alone, since she almost always had Nanami on the back when she went out on her own bike. Yet it wasn't freedom she felt but anxiety. Her breath came hard and her legs were getting weary. Taking advantage of the lack of traffic, she cut diagonally across the wide avenue

  THE INCIDENT

  and stopped pedaling, lettin
g the thing coast. As the front tire hit the curb on the other side, the bike bucked softly under her.

  Masaharu Aoyagi

  He walked on stage, out into the open where he knew countless eyes would be looking at him. As he raised his hands above his head and stepped forward, he could almost feel the TV cameras panning across the plaza, coming rapidly into focus. They could all see him, yet these reporters and policemen, aiming their lights and guns, were invisible in the darkness beyond the edge of the bright circle.

  One step. Then another. The park felt vast to him at that moment. He knew they were out there—cameras, lights, and guns—but he had no idea which was which. Walk straight ahead into the brilliant circle—that was the only thing left now.

  When he had called Ichitaro Sasaki a little earlier to change the place for his surrender, he said he would have a hostage with him, so they were to stay out of the park and the surrounding streets. He had told the I'V station the same thing. He had tried to make it sound convincing, saying that the hostage would die on live T V if he saw anyone making a move in their direction. He had no idea whether the police had bought any of this, but at least the plaza was empty. And the media must have taken up positions on the surrounding rooftops and across the street.

  won't make trouble if you come alone to meet me in the |)ark," he had told Sasaki, and the latter had agreed.

  "C.an 1 wait f(;r you (ui the j)laza?" Sasaki asked, but he had insisted that Sasaki stay back until he appeared in the |)ark. He wanted to avoid a struggle during the surrender. But he thought he woultl be talking to the T V stthion and that his words would be broadcast live while all this was happening.

  "I'll come out int(^ the pla/a with the hostage. When we get to the center. I'll wave a handkerchiel and you can move in by yoursell. I'll rcTease the hostage and surrender."

  REMOTE CONTROL

  "I don't understand what you're trying to prove with all this," Sasaki said.

  "I want to be on camera for as long as possible," he had told him. He needed a long moment of live action.

  "Why do you need a hostage?" Sasaki asked.

  "If I'm alone, what's to stop you from shooting me the minute 1 show mvself?"

  j

  Right about now the police were realizing there was no hostage. They were probably surprised, maybe even a little disappointed. He may have succeeded in convincing them he had some hidden agenda, that they should hold their fire, at least for the moment. But only for the moment. He had thought all along that the odds were in his favor, that they wouldn't shoot him in such a public place, with the nation watching on TV. But odds could be tricky. Maybe he would realize he'd been wrong a few seconds from now as the bullets ripped into his body. At each step he told himself, half incredulously, that he still hadn't been shot. A wave of dizziness came over him but he fought it off.

  Somewhere beyond this ring of light—everywhere, perhaps—people were staring at TV screens, trying to get a glimpse of the man who had killed the prime minister. How many of them had any doubt he was guilty? How many of them had even considered the possibility he wasn't? The question itself was beside the point—they were watching a spectacle, a drama as compelling as any soccer match, live on TV.

  He could hear a motorcycle somewhere in the distance. Someone was delivering the morning papers. But of course they were, he thought to himself. 1 may be here, caught up in this disaster, but they still have to deliver the papers. The paper would arrive on the doorstep, dawn would come, a new day would begin. The citizens of Sendai would head off to work or school. T hey would complain about the sleep they'd lost watching the drama in the middle of the night, and then they would go on with their lives.

  Would the events unfolding around him now be the sole proof he could offer of his own existence? There was a double out there somewhere, but this was the real Masaharu Aoyagi, here in this park. Masaharu Aoyagi, who was innocent. He hoped that someone watching would understand at least that much.

  The motorcycle was still buzzing along a few streets away. Where was it

  THE INCIDENT

  headed? He would have liked to wish the rider well. Where were his mother and father? He had been unable to produce the proof of his innocence, but he could still wave to them.

  Haruko Higuchi

  The signal at the crosswalk was red. She would have ignored it, but then caught sight of a police car parked on the far side and pulled on the brakes. A short screech echoed through the empty streets. She suddenly felt as though the windows in the walls above were staring down at her. The night was dark and cold; wisps of cloud were smudges in the black sky. A red light flashed silently on the roof of the police car.

  A bank building towered on one corner. It was closed and shuttered, but a man stood in front. It was Masakado, but his hands were against the shutter and two policemen were bent over behind him, frisking his arms and legs.

  Haruko hesitated for a moment, then jammed her feet on the pedals and raced across the street against the signal. As her tire hit the curb, she put on the brakes and came screeching to a stop on the sidewalk. She jumped off the bike and ran forward, calling Masakado's name.

  .Masakado craned around, his hands still against the shutter. He shouted her name. T he policemen straightened up and turned toward her.

  "Stop right there!" one of them warned.

  Haruko tried to slip between them, but before she knew what was happening, she was lying on her back. She wondered wliich one of them had tripper! her. It had been too easy. She rolled to her knees and struggled to stand. "I know him," she managed to say. "What has he done?"

  She sensed someone looming behind her, then lelt a sliarp pain in her slKJulder and found lierselt down on the sidewalk again. I lei jeans sciiiped (jii the concrete and her tennis shoes came half off. When she could look Lij), sfie was staring into tlie lace of a large man with a new nit and w(.*aring earj)hones—the man wlio had been with Kondo when he'd lollowed her to tlie coffee shoj) wiiere slie'd met Akira and Masakado. His broiid lace looked

  REMOTE CONTROL

  down at her now, the nose so straight and prominent it might have been stuck on. It took Haruko a moment to realize that the thing in his left hand was a gun. Her first thought was that it was some sort of tool, or perhaps a toy. But she had seen something like it before—in foreign gangster movies. She knew he could hurt her badly even without firing it, just by clubbing her over the head.

  "We were patrolling the area and spotted that van. We ran a check on the license," said one of the policemen as he held out. his hand to help her up. She ignored him and got to her feet, grimacing from the pain in her shoulder.

  "We confirmed that it's a Security Pod maintenance vehicle driven by Masakado Kikuchi. But while we were checking, a man jumped out of the passenger side and ran away. Naturally, we were suspicious," said the other officer.

  They spoke mechanically, their faces almost indistinguishable. Haruko knew who had been in the van with Masakado, but she had no intention of telling them. If they found out, the whole game was over. She only hoped that Masakado had also refused to talk.

  "I'm sorrv about this," Masakado said. He had turned to face her now. "I'd stopped and was watching that screen over there, when they came and pulled me out of the van." He was pointing back the way Haruko had come, at a large video screen high up on one of the buildings, which showed a picture of a park flooded with spotlights.

  Haruko stared up at the screen, and the policemen's gaze followed hers. In the very center of the picture, she could make out a lone figure wandering into a pool of light, while off to the west she heard a cheer, as though a star had just made his entrance on the stage.

  She tensed up. It had been a long time since she had seen Aoyagi, but she knew him immediately. When the camera pulled in for a close-up, she could see the dirt and exhaustion on his face—but no sign of despair or defeat. If anything, he looked defiant.

  Her heart beat faster. The talking heads on TV were probably scandalized by his
attitude.

  "Seems to me they might need you there." Masakado had turned to face the policemen.

  "Shut up," said one of them, before shouting: "Hey, what are you doing?!"

  THE INCIDENT

  In a flash, Masakado was knocked to the ground and his arms pinned behind his back. A cell phone lay next to him. "Who were you calling?" the cop shouted.

  "My girlfriend," Masakado gasped, grimacing from the pain of the grip on his arm. Abruptly, the big man with the gun walked over to him. Haruko wasn't sure what he was going to do, but she had a bad feeling about it.

  "Wait," she said, hurrying after him. She was almost on him when he stopped and swung his palm around, catching her in the side of the head. She didn't actually feel the blow land, but for an instant everything went white, along with the sensation of being lifted off the ground, before her body collapsed in a heap and her face banged on the sidewalk. It took her a moment to realize what had happened. She thought he might have hit her with his gun, but she didn't feel much pain, just a hot sensation near her right temple.

  Then confusion, as though she'd been covered in a sort of glaze that made it difficult to react to what was going on around her. She wasn't sure how, but she had apparently managed to get to her feet. And her head had started to hurt; when she reached up to touch it, she could tell she'd been cut, with some skin scraped off.

  "Mrs. Higuchi?" Masakado murmured. The policemen had dragged him upright. She looked over at him, then craned around, following his eyes up to the screen on the building.

  Aoyagi was standing in the middle of the plaza—an utterly defenseless target for all the marksmen in the world. Haruko was sure that a tranquilizer dart would sink into him at any moment. He sj)read his arms, waving them as though in surrender, or perhaps as a signal to someone looking down from somewhere.

  "We're too late," said Masakado. In one movement, he lurched forward, broke free from the policeman, and scooped up his cell phone. Kunning back toward the shuttered building, he |)ut it to his ear. A second later, the big man with the earj)hones had dumped his lirearm on the piivement aiul reached toward the hij) ot the ollicer next to him—aiul there was a gunshot, as Haruko realized that he'd taken the ollicer's service revolver horn his holster and fired it. Masakado looked haik at them, his eyes hlank. He clutched his hip and his leg crumpled, as if in slow motion.