It was a few minutes before five, but Alison couldn’t wait. She got online, hoping, praying that Kiyoshi might be there early. She paged him, and her prayers were answered.
“How are you Alison? The email you sent to me was strange.”
“My whole day has been strange. That guy was online again. He’s probably reading our chat now. I’d really like to talk to you but not by computer. Can you call me?”
“Sure. Right now.”
They closed their computer chat room, and Kiyoshi called Alison on her cell phone.
“What’s going on, Alison? Are you all right?”
“Yes.” She was relieved to hear Kiyoshi’s rumbling voice. “Truth is, I don’t really know. The embassy was here today searching the house. It was like a police raid.”
“What were they looking for?”
“That software.” She didn’t want to get too specific over the phone. “They brought in some young techno-nerd who was going through the computer files. They said they found what they were looking for, and then they left. I feel uncomfortable talking about this on a cell phone.”
“You can tell me the details later. But you’re lucky they let you keep your computer.”
“Actually, they were searching Charles’ computer. You know. My friend.”
“Right.”
“Kiyoshi, I can’t get in touch with Charles. I think he’s gotten into trouble for what I did. I’ve got to go forward, tell the authorities about what I’ve done.”
Kiyoshi was silent for a moment. “Are you sure that’s what you want to do? Couldn’t they arrest you?”
“Maybe. Probably. But it’s not fair to Charles if I don’t turn myself in.”
“They wouldn’t be able to prove anything against your friend, would they? He didn’t know about the software you were running.”
“I know, but they have what we in the law call a prima facie case. In other words, it looks pretty bad for Charles.”
“You need to consult with a lawyer, someone who can straighten this out for you. Call my friend Sasaki. He’s a Japanese bengoshi, and he’s licensed in New York and California, too.”
“Great. A triple threat.”
“I’m serious, Alison.” Kiyoshi told her the lawyer’s phone number, which she scribbled on a Post-It note. “Sasaki. He’s good, he’s in Tokyo, and he has powerful friends in the diplomatic community.”
“Kiyoshi, this is a nightmare. I’m starting to lose it. I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. It’s hard to think straight.”
“I can come to Tokyo tomorrow. We can visit Sasaki’s office together.”
It’d be so wonderful if Kiyoshi were there with her. Someone to help her figure things out, someone who understood. But her misadventures had ensnared Charles in what promised to be a legal nightmare, and she didn’t want to drag Kiyoshi further into her quagmire. “Thanks, but I’ll muddle through this somehow. What’s the worst that can happen? Extradition? Disbarment? Prison? Really, no big deal.”
“Call Sasaki, Alison. Understand?” Kiyoshi ordered.
“Yessir!” Alison said, trying to make light of her predicament. “I’ll call.”
Alison hung up. The public address speakers quieted with the last tones of the 5 o’clock song. It took Alison a few delayed seconds to realize that she’d not only heard the song from outside but also through her cell phone. From Kiyoshi’s end of the conversation.
Alison called his cell phone but there was no answer. She logged back online, looking for him, but he was gone. What was going on? Kiyoshi had offered to come to Tokyo tomorrow, but was he already in town? If Kiyoshi was in Tokyo now, why hadn’t he said so?
She looked at the Post-It note with Mr. Sasaki’s number, picked up the phone and dialed his office. While the phone was ringing, she hung up. Who was she kidding? She was a co-conspirator in an international cyberterrorist group trading in illegal weapons. For starters. There was nothing Sasaki or anyone else could do to help her. She was doomed and her fate irreparable.
Alison slumped on the sofa, her gaze falling on the olive trees across the street. The darkening sky mirrored her gloomy thoughts.
After minutes of catatonic inertia, Alison roused herself. “Here goes nothing,” she said. She dialed the U.S. Embassy, half hoping everyone was already gone for the day. Unfortunately, someone answered the phone.
“Mr. Fairfax, please.” Alison wasn’t looking forward to talking to that sneering little misogynist who was running the investigation at the embassy. Her heartbeat fluttered, and her armpits itched. She waited. Maybe Fairfax had gone for the day.
“Fairfax,” barked a voice, military in its attack.
Alison took a deep breath and plunged right in. “This is Alison Crane. I met you this morning at my house—”
“Mizz Crane. What can I do you for?”
“Uh, it’s about—” she paused to try to produce some saliva. “It’s that there’s some information you should know. I mean, there are some things I’d like to explain, and—”
“Understood. Why don’t you swing on over to my office?”
Fairfax was probably merrily dissecting the computer hard drive, bit by byte. Happy as a dog with a bone. “I can be there in an hour.”
“Room 367. I’ll leave your name with the guards.”
“I’ll be there soon, Mr. Fairfax.”
“No hurry. At the rate we’re going, I’ll be here spending the night with your boyfriend. But don’t you be getting all jealous, now.”
Damn! They already had Charles! Why hadn’t his office told her that Charles was being detained by the embassy? Maybe she should call Kiyoshi’s lawyer.
Alison contemplated what she was going to do with her last hour of freedom. She knew she was doing the right thing by giving herself up, but she wondered why she didn’t feel better about being noble. Or at least being honorable. Or maybe just being chicken.
But before she turned over her new leaf, before she resumed a life on the side of truth and justice, she considered the one last thing she had to do. One last little nasty — maybe illegal — deed. After that, she’d change her ways, get back on the straight and narrow.
Considering the mountain of charges she was likely facing, her last little deed would hardly matter. Except to her. And it was like her aunt used to say: If you’re going to go crazy, you might as well lose your mind.
Following the instructions she’d gotten from Jed, Alison got back online, pulled up a few files and punched in some commands on her computer. In the end, she had composed the file. Her love letter to Daremo.
She would send Daremo this one little message, meant especially for him. Maybe it wasn’t nice, but she wasn’t feeling nice. Not today. Not with what he’d put her through. And now she was in a shitload of trouble — maybe even going to the Big House — only because of efforts she had taken to protect herself from Daremo. No, she’d send the message, which carried with it her impassioned feelings for him. And then she would come clean with Fairfax.
Alison was poised over the keyboard, about to enter the Send command to post her message to Daremo, when she hesitated. Hovering mid-air over the keys, she wavered. As much as she wanted to hurt him, hurt him really bad, she knew what she was about to do wasn’t right. And knowing it wasn’t right but doing it anyway would mean that she’d have the criminal mens rea, the guilty mind, that could land her butt in jail for a long, long time.
She logged off, packed up her computer and headed out to her inevitable Day of Reckoning at the embassy.
49
Shiny barbed wire fortified the perimeter of the U.S. Embassy grounds. The complex looked like it would be better situated in a war zone than one of the poshest districts of Tokyo. She knew that once she crossed the line and turned herself in, she’d be in custody. And then what? She didn’t want to speculate what her future might hold. But she had to go through with it. For Charles’ sake.
Like a prisoner walking to the execution chamber, she forced her reluctant feet to approa
ch the embassy. At the gate of the citadel, she presented herself and gave her name to the Marine guards stationed at the entrance.
A guard checked a clipboard hanging in the entry gate. Satisfied with Alison’s bona fides, he searched her computer case before escorting her down two long corridors and up an elevator. The Marine handed her over to a man dressed in a suit. A civilian, Alison guessed. The man took her to a small conference room where he left her.
The room’s fluorescent lights emitted an annoyingly loud hiss, and their harsh illumination stung Alison’s eyes. She parked her laptop on the table, wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans, and sat down. With hands folded in front of her, she waited like a guilt-ridden young girl at a church Sunday school.
She thought of the many days that lay ahead of her, days she would spend alone in a small room. Alone, that is, unless she had a cell mate to keep her company.
Alison’s nervous thumb found a hardened cuticle, which she gnawed on. She noticed another cuticle and bit it clean, as well. She was working on a third finger when the door opened and in walked Fairfax.
Alison rose to her feet as if called to attention.
“Sit down, Mizz Crane.” Fairfax tossed a folder on the table and sat. “You want some water? Tea?”
This must be the good cop/bad cop routine, Alison deduced. She wondered when Fairfax’s evil twin would burst through the door for hard-core grilling. “Yes, I’d like some tea, please. With milk, if you have it.” What a stupid thing to say. This ain’t no tea party, honey.
Fairfax reached over to a telephone on a side table and pressed the intercom. He told the person on the other end to bring in a cup of tea.
“Yessir, Mr. Fairfax, sir,” a man’s voice replied.
Jeez, even the coffee-getters must be Marines. She was surrounded by military men who were experts at interrogation. Her stomach knotted up with tense anticipation of the cross-examination she’d be subjected to. A cup of hot tea would definitely help her queasiness.
Fairfax rocked back on the hind legs of his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. Alison noticed dark circles under his eyes that she hadn’t seen that morning when he’d been combing through her house.
“What did you want to talk to me about, Mizz Crane?” Fairfax twisted his mouth into something like a pleasant smile. His effort produced an awkward contortion. Smiling didn’t sit well on Fairfax’s face.
If the good cop was trying to kill her with kindness, who knew what the bad cop had in store for her? Alison considered picking up her computer and leaving. Fleeing might buy her a few more days of freedom.
While she was a still a free woman, she’d have a chance to see Kiyoshi. She could use her one-way ticket back to the States. She could visit her brother, go hiking in Point Reyes, get a mud bath. Simple pleasures she had looked forward to now felt as distant and improbable as a death-row inmate’s fantasies.
Fairfax’s laser-focused gaze locked on Alison. “You said you had something you wanted to tell me. What is it?” he asked.
Alison’s shoulders drooped with the weight of resignation. What the hell. This was no time for wistful longing for friendly visits and nature walks. This was time for action. She had made the decision to spill her guts to Fairfax. Alison took a deep breath and began spilling.
“It’s about that software you found on Charles’—Mr. Gordon’s computer. It’s just that — you see — actually, that wasn’t his software,” she began, not knowing exactly where the beginning was.
Fairfax sat forward. “What are you saying?” The tea arrived, and Alison burnt her tongue taking a sip before proceeding.
“To tell you the truth, I’m the one who was online and downloaded that software. It wasn’t Charles. It was me. I have my own computer. Look.” She unzipped the case to her PowerBook.
Fairfax whistled. “Very pretty.”
“I have an account on World NetLink, and Charles doesn’t even know about it.”
“Let’s keep it our little secret then.” Fairfax’s wink felt as condescending as a pat on a puppy’s head.
Alison bit her lower lip. The jerk was insufferable. She was trying to come clean, but he just wasn’t getting it. She’d have to explain again.
“Mr. Fairfax, I used to use Charles’ computer, before I bought my PowerBook. Some of the software I downloaded when I was using Charles’ Mac was still on his machine when you took it. It was my personal software, things I downloaded for me.”
“I get it now.” Fairfax wiggled his eyebrows. “You were on Gordon’s computer and had a little rendezvous,” Fairfax scratched the air making that annoying little quotation mark gesture, “with an online friend,” he scratched again. “And you didn’t want Gordon to find the messages. No problem, he hasn’t seen the computer files since we took the machine. It can be our little secret.” Fairfax winked at Alison. Again. She valiantly controlled her impulse to punch him out. The last thing she needed would be an assault and battery charge added to the mix.
Alison tried to return Fairfax’s gaze, lock him in a stare-down, show him that she was a woman to be reckoned with. But her glance ricocheted off of his bulletproof face and landed in her lap. She’d been alpha-dogged. This was his show, not hers.
“Mr. Fairfax. I’m afraid — I’m afraid I’m not making myself clear. What I’m — I’m trying to say is that I’m the one who downloaded the files. The ones you found this morning. The encryp—encryp—”
“En-cryp-tion,” Fairfax offered slowly as if Alison were not a native English speaker.
“Yes. I’m the one you should be arresting. It was me, not Charles. Me. You’ve got to let Charles go. But I’m not going to say anything else until I can speak to my lawyer.”
Fairfax grinned and broke into song. “Stand by your man,” he crooned.
Alison listened, incredulous. The guy wasn’t taking her seriously. Was it so unthinkable for him to imagine that a woman could be behind the cybercrimes he was investigating? She reminded herself to never underestimate a man’s ability to underestimate a woman. Especially a Black woman.
“I want to call my lawyer,” she said.
“Much obliged for your offer to help, Mizz Crane, but I can’t let you go on with this cockamamie story. We’ve got everything we need against Gordon. An airtight case. You’re free to go.”
“Airtight case?”
“Yeah, with some help of our friends at MITI—”
“MITI?”
“The Japanese Ministry of International Trade and Industry. They helped us tie Gordon to the Yamada-gumi.”
“The Yamada what?”
“They’re a powerful yakuza group out of Kobe. You know the yakuza — kinda like the Mafia back stateside. MITI has been trying to nail the Yamada clan for years.”
“But what does Charles have to do with any of that?” Asking the question, Alison’s stomach turned leaden.
“The clan’s heiress apparent is Yuko Yamada. She and Gordon have been running some pretty slick deals. International bank fraud, to be exact.”
Charles? Bank fraud? With Yamada-san? Was that a mild earthquake making her feel unsteady on her feet or had her world turned upside down?
The embassy had misconstrued Alison’s digital misadventures and had built a trumped-up case against Charles. How could she tell them that they had arrested the wrong person? “You’re making a terrible mistake, Mr. Fairfax.”
“We’ve been tracking your boyfriend and Yamada for a while now. They were using some damn save-the-ozone front for laundering money out of Tokyo and a whole bunch of no-tell banks in the Pacific Rim. We’ve got evidence of trades, dummy corporations, holding companies. There’s no mistake.”
Fairfax opened the folder on the table and spread out the contents, a stack of glossy black-and-white prints. The images were blurred, but Alison recognized her face and her travel clothes in Hong Kong.
She snatched up a picture that showed her being tackled on the street when she was looking for Green Space’s branch office. �
��Who took these?” she asked. “Who was following me? I want to call my lawyer.”
“Like I said, we’ve been working on this for a while. Do you know what was on that disk, the one you were carrying into Hong Kong for Yamada?”
“Sure. It had information about donors for Green Space. Her environmental group.”
Fairfax chuckled. “It had information, all right. Encrypted passwords for offshore accounts Yamada and Gordon set up. They liked to have the crypto keys delivered by hand. No paper trail that way.”
Alison crossed her arms. “I don’t believe you,” she said.
“I’m sorry, Mizz Crane, but Gordon and Yamada used you. You were their mule.”
The embassy had jumped to conclusions. The wrong conclusions. “I don’t know what Yuko Yamada is up to, but I’m sure Charles had nothing to do with it. They barely knew each other.”
“Oh, they knew each other. Rather well, in fact.” Fairfax reached in his jacket pocket, took out a microcassette recorder and hit the play button. Two voices — Charles and Yuko Yamada — issued from the electronic device.
“Right there. Yeah, that feels really good.” No mistaking it. That was Charles all right. Alison could hear muffled noises, sounded like kissing.
“Are you sure it’ll be all right?”
“What?”
“Giving her the disk. Won’t she suspect something?”
“Alison’s so eager to get a job with you she’d do backflips. Nothing to worry about. Now bring that sweet pussy back here.”
Fairfax turned off the cassette.
Alison covered her face with her hands. Her cheeks burned with embarrassed rage. That asshole! That goddamn asshole! Here she was trying to save Charles’ butt, even turning herself in to protect him. And all the while he’d been selling her down the river while fucking Yamada. They had Alison jumping through hoops like a trained dog. Yamada might dress in Chanel, but she was just a skanky bitch.
Alison was all too aware of her own faults. She’d come to the embassy to turn herself in after breaking who knew how many laws by downloading software she knew was questionable. And after her steamy fling with Kiyoshi in Hong Kong, she couldn’t hold herself up as a standard of moral virtue. But she’d never used another person — especially a person she claimed to love — to carry out a scheme. An illegal, RICO-worthy scheme.
Tokyo Firewall: a novel of international suspense Page 27