Nigel Findley

by Out Of Nippon

  Yamato smiled — or tried to. His tight cheeks and tensed jaw turned the expression into a grimace. “Come, Miss Carlson,” he said lightly, “don’t waste our time. We know of your connection with the wreckers. We just want to hear the confirmation from your own lips.”

  And there it was, what Nikki had been both dreading and expecting. Anger mixed with fear in her chest, fire and ice. “There’s no connection,” she said sharply. “I don’t know who they were. They’ve got nothing to do with me.”

  Yamato shrugged. “So you say.” He paused for a moment. When he continued, his voice was even softer, silky-smooth. “You listen to the Voice of America radio station, don’t you, Miss Carlson?”

  Nikki was taken aback. How the hell do they know that? She listened to the radio only at home, never at work. Are they bugging my apartment? “Yes,” she snapped, “if it’s any of your business what I listen to at home.”

  The security chief nodded slowly. “Yes, I see,” he mused. “It’s interesting, Miss Carlson. We have found that there are frequently broadcasts on the Voice of America that seem to be in error. The business reports sometimes discuss companies that simply don’t exist. Have you ever noticed that?” He hurried on before Nikki had a chance to answer. “This fascinated us, so we had various experts analyze these ‘errors’ for any content they may have other than the obvious. Do you know what we found?” Again, he gave Nikki no time to respond. “We found that those ‘errors’ are actually coded messages, directed to covert groups operating within Japan. And who else could these covert groups be but the wreckers who threaten our society?” He turned to Nikki again, his rictus-like smile back on his face. “And you listen to the Voice of America, do you, Miss Carlson? How interesting.” Yamato glanced at Eichiro, maybe checking to see if his point had made any impact on the senior manager. But Eichiro-san gave no sign of even having heard, although his hard eyes were still fixed on Nikki.

  Pure anger flared in Nikki’s chest. “So I listen to the Voice of America,” she snapped. “So what? Maybe there are messages, I don’t know. But they’re not directed to me.”

  The two Japanese men were watching her coldly. Emotion won’t help me, she realized. With an effort, she forced herself into a semblance of calm. She settled back in her chair, crossed her legs. “Whether or not I listen to the radio is totally irrelevant,” she stated flatly.

  Yamato shrugged. “Perhaps.” He paused for a moment, then started on a new tack. “When you applied for employment here at Nagara Corporation, you applied to no other corporation, before or after. Isn’t that true?”

  Nikki nodded. “That’s true,” she confirmed.

  “Interesting,” Yamato mused. “Of all the advertisements in the newspapers and elsewhere describing positions similar to yours, you chose to apply for only the one with Nagara.”

  “I didn’t read any of the other advertisements,” Nikki shot back. “Yours was the only one in English and Japanese.”

  But Yamato went on as though he hadn’t heard her. “Interesting,” he repeated. “One might conclude that it might somehow serve you in the future to be part of the corporate structure at Nagara. Perhaps that’s why you came to Japan in the first place, neh? To infiltrate our corporation?”

  Nikki’s control slipped. “That’s paranoidV she snapped.

  Yamato’s eyebrows rose in an expression of feigned surprise. “Paranoid, Miss Carlson? Not so. Paranoids falsely believe that enemies surround them. The events of two nights ago prove that our enemies exist, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I’ve worked here for years,” she shot back. “Am I going to invest years of my life just to be involved in one incident?”

  Yamato shrugged again. “Why not?” he asked rhetorically. “When one is firmly dedicated to a goal, how much of a sacrifice is a few years?”

  “This is ridiculousV She started to rise. “I don’t have to sit here and listen to these insinuations …”

  Eichiro’s calm voice froze her in her seat. “I submit that you do, Miss Carlson,” he said quietly. “We are trying to get to the bottom of a disturbing situation, and we ask your cooperation. Perhaps Yamato-san is somewhat” — he hesitated, seeking the right word — “somewhat zealous in making his points, but they are points that must be made. And when he is finished, we would like to hear your answers to them. If you are unwilling to cooperate, one must wonder exactly why. Do you understand me, Miss Carlson?”

  Nikki ground her teeth. I understand you, alright, she thought Stay around and listen to this crap, or you‘11 decide I’m guilty here and now. “I understand,” she grated, her voice harsh through tight lips.

  Eichiro nodded his thanks to Nikki — an insulting and condescending gesture, she thought—and glanced at Yamato to continue.

  Yamato bowed slightly, and indicated the multiline phone on Eichiro’s desk. “With your permission, Eichiro-saw …?” At Eichiro’s nod, the Security chief pressed a button on the phone that sat next to the manager’s compact computer terminal. “Send in Bannen,” he ordered.

  “Hai, Yamato-san,” the drone’s voice sounded from the speaker.

  A few moments later the office door opened, and a strongly-built young man strode in. He wore a grey jumpsuit, with the Nagara logo in blue and white embroidered on the shoulders. The outfit looked familiar to Nikki,-although she couldn’t place it immediately.

  The young man’s left arm was in a cast, supported by a sling, and a white dressing covered his left eye. The skin around the dressing was puffy and inflamed, probably very painful. But if he felt the pain, he showed no sign. He stopped just inside the door, and bowed deeply to Eichiro and then Yamato. “Ujiaki Bannen reporting as ordered, sirs,” he said formally.

  “Stand at ease, my friend,” Yamato told him. The line of the young man’s body softened marginally, as if he were holding himself slightly less rigidly. “Now,” the security chief went on, “you were on duty the night before last, is that correct?”

  “Yes, Yamato-san,” Bannen agreed. It was then that

  Nikki recognized the grey jumpsuit: it was the “off-duty” uniform of Nagara security. Bannen was a security guard, obviously one of those wounded by the raiders.

  Yamato was speaking again. “You saw Miss Carlson on that night?” he asked. His tone was light, friendly.

  Bannen turned his one good eye on Nikki. Even though his face remained immobile, she could feel his hostility. “Yes, Yamato-sa«,” the guard repeated. “She was in the Special Projects secured lab. I don’t know how she got past the security door.”

  “The door was unlocked,” Nikki blurted. “It unlocks in an emergency.”

  “Yes, perhaps it does,” Yamato said slowly, but his expression was one of outright disbelief. With an effort, Nikki held her tongue. Eichiro was looking at her coldly, and the guard called Bannen glared from his uninjured eye with undisguised hatred. Alienating everybody isn’t going to help, she told herself.

  “What was Miss Carlson doing when you saw her?” Yamato asked.

  “She was facing one of the wreckers,” Bannen answered at once. “He had his gun on her. I assumed he was about to shoot her.”

  Yamato was smiling now, the smile of a shark. “But he didn’t shoot her, did he?”

  “No,” the guard replied with a brisk shake of his head. “He let her live. He turned aside and spared her life.”

  “Oh?” Once more, Yamato feigned surprise. “And why did he do that, I wonder? After killing anyone else who crossed his path, he spared Miss Carlson’s life.” He paused. With a horrible chill, Nikki realized what was coming next. “Did it appear that he spared the life of a comrade?” the security chief asked casually.

  “Yes, Yamato-san,” Bannen said firmly. “That is just how it appeared.”

  Nikki couldn’t hold her tongue any longer. “That’s not how it was!” she shouted. “I never saw them before.”

  “Then why did they spare your life?” Yamato’s cold eyes seemed to bore into hers.

  “I
don’t know,” she answered after a moment. “I… I was a noncombatant.”

  “So were the scientists in the Special Projects lab,” Yamato pointed out. “Yet they were killed.”

  Nikki couldn’t resist. “So the e-mail message yesterday was a lie?”

  Yamato waved that off. “Immaterial,” he told her, then went back to his original point. “The wreckers had already killed noncombatants. Why leave you alive?”

  “I wasn’t their target.”

  “Oh?” Yamato’s eyebrows shot up. “Interesting that you know with such surety what the wreckers’ target was, Miss Carlson.” Before she could answer, the security chief had turned to the wounded guard. “Thank you, Bannen, you may go.”

  The young man bowed formally. “The honor was mine, Yamato-san. Eichiro-san.” He turned to leave.

  As he opened the door, Yamato added, “And send in Tada, please.”

  “Hai, Yamato-san.”

  A moment later, another security guard strode into the office — this one unwounded, wearing his armored uniform, and carrying his helmet under his left arm. Although his features were different, he seemed to have come from the same mold as Bannen.

  Nikki wasn’t paying him much attention, however. She rounded on Yamato. “This is ridiculous!” she spat. The security chief merely shrugged.

  It was Eichiro who spoke. “It may seem ridiculous, Miss Carlson,” he said quietly. “But you will understand we have to find the truth in this matter.”

  (SSf5 84 ^

  “There’s no truth here,” she shot back. “This is a setup kangaroo court.”

  “I am unfamiliar with that idiom,” Eichiro told her drily, “but I can guess at its meaning from context.” His heavy finger tapped the desk as he thought for a moment. “I could choose to be insulted by that, but that would serve no purpose. You are unfamiliar with our ways, Miss Carlson. This is how things are handled in Japan, and specifically within Nagara. When Yamato-san has had his say, you will have yours. Then I’ll judge where the truth lies. Your choices are to stay, and speak your piece once Yamato-san has finished. Or you can leave, and then there will be no-one to rebut Yamato-sa«‘s assertions.”

  Eichiro leaned forward. His eyes were calm, fixed on hers, and his manner was the epitome of sincerity. “You think our practices unfair, nehl They are not, and they are not meant to be. They are just different from what you are used to. Our customs have served us well for millennia, Miss Carlson. I ask that you trust to them.” He smiled, a chilly expression obviously intended to be reassuring. “To quote an English aphorism, ‘Truth will out.’”

  Nikki hesitated. It still felt like a kangaroo court, a frame-up, no matter what Eichiro said. But she had to admit that his point about different customs was valid. The only intelligent choice was to see this matter through.

  As if reading her mind, Eichiro asked, “Then you’ll cooperate?”

  She nodded brusquely.

  “Thank you.” Eichiro turned to the security chief. “You may proceed.”

  Yamato bowed his thanks. He faced the new security guard, standing at attention near the door. “And you are …?”

  “Natsui Tada, reporting as ordered, sirs,” the young man snapped.

  “You may stand at ease,” Yamato told him. The armored guard relaxed a little physically, but didn’t lose his air of intense mental alertness. “What was your duty the night before last, Tada?”

  “I was assigned to the ground floor, Yamato-san.”

  The security chief nodded. “I understand that you saw something of significance some time before one in the morning?”

  “Hai, Yamato-san,” Tada nodded. “I had stepped outside into the alleyway behind our building. I felt the need for some fresh air.” (You wan ted a smoke, you mean, Nikki thought.) “I recall looking at my watch. It was exactly 12:44.”

  “What did you see, Tada?” Yamato prompted.

  “I saw two people speaking in the shadows some distance down the alleyway from me,” the guard responded. “I was curious. It seemed like an unusual time and place for a meeting, so I walked toward them. I don’t know if they saw me or not, but they both vanished into the shadows, one heading away from the building, one heading back toward it.”

  “Ah,” Yamato said. “What were these two people wearing?”

  “One was wearing a black jumpsuit, with a black stocking cap on his head.” The guard spoke precisely and clearly. He’s rehearsed this, Nikki thought. “It was the black-clothed man who aroused my curiosity in the first place. His outfit was not what you normally see on the streets of Marunouchi. It was he who moved away from the building.”

  “And the other?” asked Yamato. “What did the other wear?”

  “She wore a white coat,” Tada replied. “At first I didn’t recognize it, but then I realized it was a lab coat, like the ones our scientists wear.”

  “You’ve seen the security camera records of the wreckers?” Tada nodded at Yamato’s question. “Was

  the man’s clothing like the suits they wore?”

  “Exactly, Yamato-san.”

  Yamato nodded. “Did you recognize either of the figures?” he asked quietly.

  “I had never seen the man before,” the guard answered carefully.

  “And the woman?”

  “Yes, Yamato-Sfln,” answered Tada. “I knew her. It was Miss Carrson.” His eyes fixed on Nikki’s face, burning with hatred.

  Nikki bolted to her feet. “That’s a lie" she shouted. “When was this supposed to be? At 12:44? I was in the cafeteria on ten; I didn’t meet with anyone outside.” She whirled on the security guard. “Who told you to lie?” Then a thought struck her. “What did the man look like?” she asked, her voice calmer. “His face, what color was his hair, his eyes …?”

  Yamato cut her off. “I’m asking the questions,” he snapped.

  “I demand the right to question any witness you bring against me,” Nikki said flatly.

  “This isn’t a trial.”

  “It’s you that’s turning it into one.” She turned to the division manager. “Eichiro-saii, you said I had the right to speak.”

  Eichiro remained silent, motionless for a few moments. Then he nodded slowly and leaned back in his leather chair. “You may speak,” he said quietly.

  Nikki shot a victorious glare at Yamato, then turned to the security guard. “Answer my question,” she growled, “what did the man look like? What color was his hair?”

  The guard hesitated. “I couldn’t see,” he said slowly.

  “And his eyes?”

  “I couldn’t see.”

  “Was he oriental, or was he Western? Was he a gaijin like me?”

  Tada remained silent. His eyes shifted uncomfortably.

  “You couldn’t see,” Nikki answered for him. “How far away were you from the people?” Again, Tada didn’t speak, looking even more edgy. “How far?” Nikki grated.

  “About forty meters,” the guard said, unwillingly, as though he were admitting to a heinous crime.

  “And was there fog in the alley?” Nikki asked. Tada nodded slowly. “Then how the hell did you recognize me?” she exploded. “I wasn’t there, I never went outside last night. This is a set-up.” She turned to glare at Yamato. The security chief looked ready to explode himself — red-faced and tight-lipped. He drew breath to yell back …

  But Eichiro cut him off. “Interesting,” the division manager said quietly. “It would seem that the young man’s testimony leaves some doubt. Wouldn’t you agree, Yamato-san?” The security chief wilted under Eichiro’s cold and level stare.

  “Hai, Eichiro-san,” he said unwillingly, “so it might seem, but…”

  Again he was cut off, this time by a soft beep from the telephone on Eichiro’s desk. Eichiro face showed an instant of surprise, then he hit the intercom button on the phone. “Yes?” he snapped.

  There was no answer from the phone, but instead the door swung open to admit three men. Hiroyo Suganama, the MIS director, was in the
lead, with Toshikazu close behind. To Nikki’s eyes, Toshikazu looked tense — determined to see something through, even though he’d rather be just about anywhere else. Suganama, on the other hand, looked cool and calm, totally unperturbed.

  “My apologies for my impolite intrusion,” the aged MIS director said, bowing to Eichiro. To Nikki’s amusement — carefully hidden — he didn’t even acknowledge Yamato’s existence. “I understand that there is something of an inquest underway. Is that so?”

  For a brief moment, Eichiro looked put out. Then his face assumed its familiar politely expressionless mask once more. “That is so, Suganama-san,” he replied with a slight bow. “We were exploring the possible involvement of Miss Carlson here with the events of the other evening.”

  Suganama raised an eyebrow quizzically. “So? Is there evidence of such involvement?”

  Eichiro shrugged slightly. “Yamato-san believes there may be,” he said noncommittally. “I am unconvinced as yet, but it warrants scrutiny, wouldn’t you agree?”

  That earned Eichiro a look of hastily-covered anger from the security chief. Interesting, Nikki thought, what does that mean?

  “Perhaps,” Suganama said quietly. “But this loyal employee” — he indicated Toshikazu — “has raised the possibility that some of that evidence has been manufactured by Security Chief Yamato. I believe that warrants scrutiny as well.”

  That was too much for Yamato. His face went pale, highlighted by red spots on both cheeks. “That’s a lie!” he yelled, forcefully enough to spray spittle onto the lapels of Suganama’s well-tailored suit. “I manufactured nothing …” Then he saw the expression on Suganama’s face — a look of aloof disgust that might normally be reserved for a particularly grotesque-looking worm found in his sunomono salad. With a Herculean effort, Yamato enforced a semblance of control. He bowed deeply from the hips. “Please pardon my inexcusable outburst, Suganama-san,” he said through tight lips.

  Suganama simply ignored him, focusing his attention solely on Eichiro. “Please, tell me what evidence the Security Chief has presented?” he asked politely.

  Eichiro shrugged again casually. “Mainly circumstantial matters, Suganama-saw,” he said lightly. “Except for the last issue, which revolves around Miss Carlson’s movements on the night of the raid. Just preceding the raid, in fact,” he amended.