by Barry Eisler
I raised my eyebrows in surprise.
“Yes,” he went on, “I had been developing Kawamura for quite some time. I had strongly encouraged him to provide me with the information that is now on that disk. It seems that, in the end, everyone trusts a reporter more than a cop. Kawamura decided to give the disk to Bulfinch instead.”
“How do you know?”
“Kawamura called me the morning he died.”
“What did he say?”
He looked at me, deadpan. “‘Fuck off, I’m giving the disk to the Western media.’ It’s my fault, really. In my eagerness, I’d been putting too much pressure on him. I’m sure he found it unpleasant.”
“How did you know it was Bulfinch?”
“If you wanted to give this kind of information to someone in the ‘Western media,’ who would you go to? Bulfinch is well known for his reporting on corruption. But I couldn’t be sure until this morning, when I learned of his murder. And I wasn’t completely certain until just now.”
“So this is why you’ve been following Midori.”
“Of course.” Tatsu had a dry way of saying ‘of course’ that always seemed to emphasize some lack of mental acuity on the part of the listener. “Kawamura died almost immediately after he called me, meaning it was likely he was unable to deliver the disk to the ‘Western media’ as planned. His daughter had his things. She was a logical target.”
“That’s why you were investigating the break-in at her father’s apartment.”
He looked at me disapprovingly. “My men performed that break-in. We were looking for the disk.”
“Two chances to look for it—the break-in, and the investigation,” I said, admiring his efficiency. “Convenient.”
“Not convenient enough. We couldn’t find it. This is why we turned our attention to the daughter.”
“You and everyone else.”
“You know, Rain-san,” he said, “I had a man following her in Omotesando. He had a most unlikely accident in the bathroom of a local bar. His neck was broken.”
Shit, that was Tatsu’s man. So maybe Benny had been serious about giving me forty-eight hours to accept the Midori assignment. Not that it mattered anymore.
“Really,” I said.
“On the same night I had men waiting at the daughter’s apartment. Despite being armed, they were ambushed and overcome by a single man.”
“Embarrassing,” I said, waiting for more.
He took out a cigarette, studied it for a moment, then placed it in his mouth and lit it. “Academic,” he said, exhaling a cloud of gray smoke. “It’s over. The CIA has the disk now.”
“Why do you say that? What about Yamaoto?”
“I have means of knowing that Yamaoto is still searching for the disk. There is only one other player in this drama, besides me. That player must have taken the disk from Bulfinch.”
“If you’re talking about Holtzer, he’s working with Yamaoto.”
He smiled the sad smile. “Holtzer isn’t working with Yamaoto; he’s Yamaoto’s slave. And, like most slaves, he’s looking for a way to escape.”
“I don’t follow you.”
“Yamaoto controls Holtzer through blackmail, as he controls all his puppets. But Holtzer is playing a double game. He plans to use that disk to bring Yamaoto down, to cut the puppet master’s strings.”
“So Holtzer hasn’t told Yamaoto the Agency has the disk.”
He shrugged. “As I said, Yamaoto is still looking for it.”
“Tatsu,” I said quietly, “what’s on that disk?”
He took a tired pull on his cigarette, then blew the smoke skyward. “Videos of extramarital sexual acts, audio of bribes and payoffs, numbers of secret accounts, records of illegal real estate transactions and money laundering.”
“Implicating Yamaoto?”
He looked at me as though wondering how I could be so slow. “Rain-san, you were a great soldier, but you would make a very shitty cop. Implicating everyone but Yamaoto.”
I was silent for a moment while I tried to connect the dots. “Yamaoto uses this information as blackmail?”
“Of course,” he replied in his dry way. “Why do you think we’ve had nothing but failed administration after failed administration? Eleven prime ministers in as many years? Every one of them has either been an LDP flunky or a reformer who is immediately co-opted and defused. This is Yamaoto, governing from the shadows.”
“But he’s not even part of the LDP.”
“He doesn’t want to be. He’s much more effective governing as he does. When a politician displeases him, incriminating information is released, the media is instructed to magnify it, and the offending politician is disgraced. The scandal reflects only on the LDP, not on Conviction.”
“How does he get his information?”
“An extensive system of wiretaps, video surveillance, and accomplices. Every time he traps someone new, the victim becomes complicit and assists him in furthering his network of blackmail.”
“Why would they help him?”
“Carrot and stick. Yamaoto of course has on his payroll a number of young women sufficiently beautiful to make even the most faithfully married politician temporarily forget himself. Say he has one of his people videotape a member of Parliament engaging in an embarrassing sexual act with one of these women. The politician is then shown the videotape and told it will be kept in confidence in exchange for his vote on certain measures, typically affecting public-works spending, and for his cooperation in entrapping his colleagues. If the politician has a conscience, he won’t want to vote in favor of these ridiculous public projects, but his fear of exposure is now a much more significant motivator than his conscience would ever have been. As for entrapping his colleagues, there is some psychology at work: by making others dirty he feels less dirty by comparison. And because elections are decided in Japan not by a politician’s voting record but by his access to money, Yamaoto offers an enormous slush fund the politician can use to fund his next election campaign. Yamaoto gives generously: once a politician is part of his network, it’s in his interest to see that person reelected, to advance the politician’s career. Yamaoto’s influence runs so deep that, if you’re not part of his network, you can’t get anything done, and anyway you’ll be defeated in the next election by being outspent by one of his puppets.”
“With all that power, why have I never heard of him?”
“Yamaoto doesn’t reveal the source of the pressure being applied. His victims know only that they’re being blackmailed, not by whom. Most of them believe it’s the work of one or another LDP faction. And why not? Every time Yamaoto determines a scandal is in his interest, the LDP becomes the focus of the country’s attention. Ironic, isn’t it? Yamaoto manages things so that even the LDP believes the LDP is the power. But there is a power behind the power.”
I thought of the reports I’d been tracking, of Tatsu’s conspiracy theories. “But you’ve been focusing on corruption in the LDP yourself, Tatsu.”
His eyes narrowed. “How would you know that?”
I smiled. “Just because we’ve fallen out of touch doesn’t mean I’ve lost interest.”
He took another drag on the cigarette. “Yes, I focus on corruption in the LDP,” he said, the smoke jetting down from his nostrils. “Yamaoto is amused by this. He believes it serves his ends. And it would, if any of my reports were taken seriously. But only Yamaoto decides when corruption is to be prosecuted.” There was a bitter set to his mouth as he said it.
I couldn’t help but smile at him—the same wily bastard I knew in Vietnam. “But you’ve been playing possum. Your real goal is Yamaoto.”
He shrugged.
“Now I understand why you wanted that disk,” I said.
“You knew of my involvement, Rain-san. Why didn’t you contact me?”
“I had reason not to.”
“Yes?”
“Midori,” I said. “If I’d given it to you, Yamaoto would still think it was missing,
and he would keep coming after Midori. Publication was the only way to make her safe.”
“Is this the only reason you were reluctant to contact me?”
I looked at him, wary. “I can’t think of anything else. Can you?”
His only response was the sad smile.
We walked for a moment in silence, then I asked, “How did Yamaoto get to Holtzer?”
“By offering him what every man wants.”
“Which is?”
“Power, of course. How do you think Holtzer rose so quickly through the ranks to become Chief of Tokyo Station?”
“Yamaoto’s been feeding him information?”
“Of course. It’s my understanding that Mr. Holtzer has been notably successful at developing assets in Japan. And as Chief of Station in Tokyo, he has been responsible for producing certain critical intelligence reports—particularly regarding corruption in the Japanese government, on which Yamaoto is of course an expert.”
“Christ, Tatsu, the quality of your information is almost scary.”
“What’s scary is how useless the information has always been to me.”
“Holtzer knows he’s being played?”
He shrugged. “At first, he thought he was developing Yamaoto. Once he realized the opposite was true, what were his options? Tell the CIA the assets he had developed were plants, the reports all fabricated? That would have meant the end of his career. The alternative was much more pleasant: work for Yamaoto, who continues to feed him the ‘intelligence’ that makes Holtzer a star. And Yamaoto has his mole inside the CIA.”
Holtzer, a mole, I thought, disgusted. I should have known.
“Holtzer told me the CIA had been developing Kawamura, that Kawamura was on his way to deliver the disk to the Agency when he died.”
He shrugged. “Kawamura screwed me. He might have screwed the Agency, as well. Impossible to say, and irrelevant.”
“What about Bulfinch,” I asked. “How did Holtzer get to him?”
“By having him followed until you handed over the disk, of course. Bulfinch was a soft target, Rain-san.” I heard the soft note of criticism in his voice—telling me it was stupid to give the disk to a civilian.
We walked silently again for a few minutes. Then he said, “Rain-san. What have you been doing in Japan all this time? Since the last time we met.”
With Tatsu, it was a mistake to assume anything was small talk. A small warning bell went off somewhere in my consciousness.
“Nothing terribly new,” I said. “The same consulting work as before.”
“What was that, again?”
“You know. Helping a few U.S. companies find ways to import their products into Japan. Get around the red tape, find the right partners, that sort of thing.”
“It sounds interesting. What sort of products?”
Tatsu ought to have known better than to think a few simple questions would crack my cover story. The consulting business, the clients, they’re all real, albeit not exactly Fortune 500 stuff.
“Why don’t you check out my website?” I asked him. “There’s a section full of client references on it.”
He waved his hand in a don’t-be-silly gesture. “What I mean is, What are you still doing in Japan? Why are you still here?”
“What difference does it make, Tatsu?”
“I don’t understand. I would like to.”
What could I tell him? I needed to stay at war. A shark can’t stop swimming, or it dies.
But it was more than that, I had to admit to myself. Sometimes I hated living there. Even after twenty-five years, I was an outsider, and I resented it. And it wasn’t just my profession that necessitated a life in shadows. It was also that, despite my native features, my native linguistic level, what mattered in the end is that inside I am half gaijin. A cruel teacher once said to me when I was a kid, “What do you get when you mix clean water with dirty water? Dirty water.” It took several additional years of slights and rejection before I figured out what she meant: that I’m marked by an indelible stain the shadows can conceal but never wash away.
“You’ve been here for over two decades,” Tatsu said, gently. “Maybe it’s time for you to go home.”
He knows, I thought. Or he’s on the verge. “I wonder where that is,” I said.
He spoke slowly. “There is a risk that, if you stay, we could learn we have opposing interests.”
“Let’s not learn that, then.”
I saw the sad smile. “We can try.”
We walked again, the sky brooding above us.
Something occurred to me. I stopped walking and looked at him. “It might not be over,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“The disk. Maybe we can still get it back.”
“How?”
“It can’t be copied or transmitted electronically. And it’s encrypted. Holtzer is going to need expertise to decrypt it. Either he has to take the disk to the experts, or the experts will have to come to him.”
He paused for only a second before taking out his mobile phone. He input a number, raised the unit to his ear, and waited.
“I need a schedule for visiting American government personnel,” he said in curt Japanese into the phone. “Particularly anyone declared from the NSA or CIA. For the next week, particularly the next few days. Right away. Yes, I’ll wait.”
The U.S. and Japanese governments declare their high-level spooks to each other as part of their security treaty and general intelligence cooperation. It was a long shot, but it was something.
And I knew Holtzer. He was a grandstander. He’d be billing the disk as the intelligence coup of the century. He’d be sure to hand it over himself to ensure he received full credit.
We waited silently for a few minutes, then Tatsu said, “Yes. Yes. Yes. Understood. Wait a minute.”
He held the phone against his chest and said, “NSA software cryptography specialist, declared to the Japanese government. And the CIA Director of East Asian Affairs. Both arriving from Washington tonight at Narita. I don’t believe this is a coincidence. Holtzer must have had them moving as soon as he got the disk.”
“Where are they going? The embassy?”
He put the phone back to his ear. “Find out whether they’ve requested a diplomatic escort, and if so where they’re going. I’ll wait.”
He put the phone back to his chest. “The Keisatsucho receives many requests for escorts of U.S. government personnel. The government people don’t have the budget to pay for sedan service, so they use us on the pretext of diplomatic security. This may be the first time I won’t find this habit annoying.”
He put the phone back to his ear and we waited. After a few minutes he said, “Good. Good. Wait.” The phone went back to his chest. “Yokosuka U.S. Naval Base. Thursday morning, straight from the Narita Airport Hilton.”
“We’ve got him, then.”
His expression was grim. “How, exactly?”
“Hell, stop Holtzer’s car, take the disk, declare him persona non grata for all I care.”
“On what evidence, exactly? The prosecutors would want to know.”
“I don’t know, tell them it was an anonymous source.”
“You’re missing the point. What you’ve told me is not evidence. It’s hearsay.”
“Christ, Tatsu,” I said, exasperated, “when did you turn into such a damn bureaucrat?”
“It isn’t a matter of bureaucracy,” he said sharply, and I wished I hadn’t let my temper flare. “It’s a question of using the proper tools to get the job done. What you are suggesting would be useless.”
I reddened. Somehow, Tatsu could always make me feel like a lumbering, thick-headed gaijin. “Well, if we can’t go through channels, what do you propose instead?”
“I can get the disk and protect Midori. But you’ll need to be involved.”
“What do you propose?”
“I will arrange to have Holtzer’s car stopped outside the naval facility, perhaps on the pr
etext of needing to examine its undercarriage for explosive devices.” He looked at me dryly. “Perhaps an anonymous call could warn us of such an attempt.”
“Really,” I said.
He shrugged and intoned a phone number, which I wrote down on my hand, reversing the last four numbers and subtracting two from each of them. When I was done, he said, “An officer will of course have to ask the driver to lower his window to explain.”
I nodded, seeing where he was going. “Here’s my pager number,” I said, and gave it to him. “Use it to contact me when you’ve acquired the information on Holtzer’s movements. Input a phone number, then five-five-five, so I’ll know it’s you. I’m going to need some equipment, too—a flashbang.” Flashbang grenades are just what they sound like—no shrapnel, just a big noise and a flash of light, so they temporarily disorient, rather than kill and maim. Antiterrorist units use them to stun the occupants of a room before breaching it.
I didn’t have to tell him what the flashbang was for. “How can I get it to you?” he asked.
“The fountain at Hibiya Park,” I answered, improvising. “Drop it in on the side facing Hibiya-dori. Right up at the edge, like this.” I drew a diagram on my hand to ensure he understood. “Page me when you emplace it so it doesn’t stay unsecure for too long.”
“All right.”
“One more thing,” I said.
“Yes?”
“Warn your people. I don’t want anyone shooting at me by mistake.”
“I will do my best.”
“Do better than your best. It’s my ass that’s going to get shot at.”
“It’s both our asses,” he said, his voice level. “If you are unsuccessful, I can assure you there will be an inquiry into who ordered the car stopped, and under what pretext. If I’m lucky, under such circumstances, I’ll merely have to take early retirement. If I’m less than lucky, I’ll go to prison.”
He had a point, though I didn’t think he would have accepted an offer to trade my risk for his. Not that it was worth arguing over.
“You just stop the car,” I told him. “I’ll take care of the rest.”
He nodded, then bowed with unsettling formality.