The Moving Blade

by Michael Pronko

  Trey saw her eyes flitter to the door. “Expecting someone?”

  Akiko stared at him without a word.

  He set the bag down beside the chair and carefully pulled on his long leather coat. The bottom of the coat stretched to his ankles and he flexed his shoulders to get the coat set in place. “Let me ask again. Did you read a lot or a little?”

  “Enough to know who you work for,” Eto Sensei said, his hands trembling and voice deepening.

  “In the end, it doesn’t matter too much what you know. Without Mattson’s testimony, his proof and authority, this won’t have legs. It won’t matter what a couple detectives and a retired professor have to say. Much less a secretary.”

  “You think you can break the law with impunity.” Eto Sensei took his cane and stood up. “But you can’t. No one can.”

  “Laws in Asia? They’re made to be broken. That’s why I like it here.” Trey picked up the backpack. “Are there other copies of this?” Trey looked at Akiko with a sneaky face. “In the homicide office? You can tell me.”

  Akiko’s features were as fixed as marble. The sun had started to set, the room filling with evening air and shadows.

  “You can steal these computers and materials, but the information won’t disappear,” Eto Sensei said.

  “As long as it stays disappeared long enough, my job’s done.”

  “You can’t hide this forever. Someone else will find all this. And soon.”

  “Japan is a covert culture. Hiding things is an art form. Another reason I like it here. As a professor of politics, you should know that as well as anyone. And you,” Trey turned to Akiko, “Working in homicide, you should know that covert dealing is how the game is played.”

  Akiko glared at him silently.

  Eto Sensei took a step towards Trey. “The rule of law rests on openness and transparency. You can’t get around that for long.”

  “If the secrets were all exposed, where would your democracy, your justice, your liberty be then? Well-kept secrets are the oil that keeps the machine running.”

  “If you’re working for one of the American companies bidding for contracts, you’re going about it in a dangerous fashion.”

  “American companies? Because I’m American? You Japanese with your loyalty, your patriotism always amaze me. The only thing you Japanese really care about is which direction the money’s flowing. Protecting the environment and helping fishermen catch safe fish? That’s all on the surface. What this one boils down to is contracts and budgets. Japan is efficient that way.”

  “You might speak Japanese, but you understand nothing of Japan’s values. You’re all surface, no core.”

  Trey smiled at Eto Sensei and plucked at the flap of his long black coat.

  Akiko hoped Eto Sensei could keep delaying Trey until Hiroshi arrived. She was getting sick of Trey’s dimpled smile and blue eyes, but there was nothing to do but try to keep him there, braced for whatever he did next.

  Eto Sensei leaned forward on his cane. “Every country produces people like you, impetuous, adolescent, pretending the rules don’t apply, but actually subservient to authority. Whose orders are you following, little boy?”

  Trey strained forward for a moment. He eased back, a smile spreading across his face as he slung the heavy backpack over his shoulder and looked in their faces one by one. “Well, this isn’t the time for this discussion. Another time maybe. I appreciate your not needing more persuasion.” He turned towards the door.

  Akiko said, “You’re not going to get far with those.”

  “I don’t need to get too far,” Trey said. He walked to the entryway, put his shoes on and walked out, the door slamming shut behind him.

  Akiko grabbed her phone and rushed to the door. “I’ve got to follow him.”

  Eto Sensei shouted, “You’ll do no such thing. Get back here! The police will catch him—”

  “He’ll move quickly. It’s getting dark. I wish I knew where Hiroshi was.” She tried to turn her phone on as she grabbed her coat, slipped on her shoes, looked out a crack in the door, and went after him.

  Eto Sensei stumbled as he struggled towards the door after her. “Get back in here!”

  Yoko steadied him.

  “I’m fine, but don’t let her go!” he pleaded.

  Bowing in apology, Yoko ran out the front door after Akiko.

  Chapter 36

  Jamie got out of the taxi in front of the Diet offices and walked straight in, pulling her suitcase up the stairs step by step. From her shoulders dangled the small travel bag and backpack she’d so carefully packed. Setsuko said the only time she felt unsafe was when no one else was around. The emptiness of the area, save for a few lingering protestors by the side of the building, seemed to confirm what she meant. Maybe it was better to get back in the taxi. She turned, but it was gone.

  Inside the atrium of the Diet office building, Jamie stopped in front of the metal detector, still wondering if she should go in or not. Perhaps it was wiser just to catch the train and go. As she walked up to the metal detector, the guard made an X with his fingers and pointed at her suitcase, shook his head no, and pointed at the coat and baggage check counter beside the door.

  Jamie tapped her heel on the marble floor of the deserted atrium. Leaving the bag in a coat check wasn’t something she’d considered. The USB was safely inside her bra, but her father’s scroll and all that money was in her suitcase.

  She would only be upstairs for a short while, just long enough to bluff her way through this last task before getting on a train out of Tokyo.

  The old guard at the baggage check counter welcomed Jamie with a sluggish, night-shift nod. The storage shelves behind the counter were entirely empty, but Jamie handed her suitcase to the attendant and slid the claim chip into her pocket. She kept her small travel bag and backpack with her, walked over to the scanner and sent them through on the belt. She breezed through the art nouveau hall and up the shiny brass elevator to Shinobu Katsumura’s office.

  The secretary showed Jamie into the inner office. Shinobu was sitting by the coffee table talking to an older, rather tall man who stood up, leaning over to grind out his cigarette before facing her. His black suit was like funeral wear and his face a shallow moon with deep-set eyes.

  “Jamie, I’m so glad you could come. This is my uncle who runs the publishing house. His name is also Katsumura,” Shinobu said.

  The older Katsumura removed a name card from his jacket pocket and held it out for her with waxy hands.

  “I’m sorry I don’t have a name card,” Jamie said.

  Shinobu translated for her uncle and he nodded his understanding.

  “Let’s get right to it, since I know you’re in a hurry. What time is your train?” Shinobu asked, pointing for everyone to sit down.

  “The last train to Kyoto.”

  “Why such a hurry?”

  “I just needed to get away, I guess.”

  “Kyoto is a wonderful place. You can recover there.” Shinobu smiled, easing back into her leather chair like it was a second skin. “You brought your father’s notebooks and files?”

  “Right here,” Jamie said and slung the backpack onto the coffee table. It looked oddly out of place in the office, the only thing practical, youthful or alive. The rest of the office was wood, glass, leather and law books.

  “Everything’s in here?” Shinobu leaned forward.

  “Just like we agreed. I give you the notebooks, Trey edits them, you publish them, everyone reads it, and we all live happily ever after.” Jamie said.

  Shinobu turned towards her uncle to translate for him. He sat in the chair at the head of the coffee table, keeping his eyes on Jamie as he listened.

  “Can we take a look?” Shinobu said, reaching for the backpack.

  “The notebooks are all carefully wrapped and taped. Better open them later, at the publishers. You don’t want to get them out of order.”

  Shinobu turned and translated. His eyes didn’t move from Jami
e and when he nodded, the loose flesh on his mottled face made it seem he existed several layers deeper inside. Shinobu’s uncle spoke in a quiet, gravel-crunch voice, impossible for Jamie to pick up anything of what he said. Shinobu turned to Jamie. “My uncle says he trusts you because you’re a woman.”

  “Is that supposed to be flattering?”

  “Let’s sign the contract.” Shinobu glanced at her uncle. He nodded once.

  “I thought I signed one the first day I came here.”

  “This one is more thorough.”

  A young man came over from the side of the room, startling Jamie. She hadn’t noticed him standing back by the bookshelves. He carried over a leather folder and set a document in Japanese in front of Shinobu.

  Jamie looked at it and leaned back, feigning surprise. “I thought there would be an English contract?”

  “Since you were in such a hurry, we’ll have to go with the Japanese for now and send you an English version later. I know in America you would go over the contract, but in Japan we still run on trust,” Shinobu smiled, her eyebrows arching.

  “I’m not sure,” Jamie said. “I’d feel better if it were in both languages.”

  “We’ll have the English contract ready for you by the time you get back from Kyoto. Would that be soon enough?” Shinobu’s eyebrows arched to a ‘V.’

  “I just wanted to be sure about my father’s legacy,” Jamie said, looking down.

  “We’re going to do just that,” Shinobu said. Her uncle cleared his throat.

  Jamie took the pen the assistant handed her and signed the last line. She slid it back across the black lacquer table to Shinobu’s uncle who took out his hanko seal. The assistant held open a snap-case of red ink with a discrete bow. After stamping his hanko above Jamie’s signature, the assistant made sure the red ink dried without smudging.

  “What you’re doing is a great thing for Japanese-American relations and for Asian peace and stability. Your father always knew the right thing to do.”

  “He definitely did.”

  “The advance will be sent by automatic bank transfer. Do you have an account?”

  “I opened one just for this.” Jamie dug in her bag for the brand new account book she set up the day before.

  The assistant came over and wrote down the numbers in a small leather notebook he kept in his jacket pocket. He walked back to a laptop on a desk in the shadows and worked at the keyboard for a few minutes. He checked everything again and stood up to give Shinobu a restrained nod.

  “That’s all settled then,” Shinobu said.

  “You sent it all?” Jamie asked.

  “Most of it. The rest later. After we check what’s here. Trust but verify, as one of your presidents used to say.”

  Jamie stood up.

  “And this is just a small token of appreciation,” Shinobu said, nodding at a cash-swollen envelope the assistant set on the table. “Kyoto can be expensive, and Tokyo always is.”

  “Thank you. That’s very Japanese. Always so thoughtful. It’s appreciated.” Jamie picked it up and put it in the pocket of her father’s jacket. Back in New York, she would have felt guilty about taking the money. But after hearing how the Katsumuras did business, and having been tricked by Trey, her anger at her former gullibility made any guilt fade away.

  “What about a drink to celebrate?” Shinobu said, without making a move to the liquor cabinet.

  “I don’t want to miss my train. I get lost easily.”

  “It’s easy to get lost in Tokyo.” Shinobu rose from her chair in one smooth motion.

  “We can celebrate when the book comes out.” Which would be never, Jamie knew, especially after they opened the backpack. “But now I have a train to catch.” And a couple planes.

  In the elevator, Jamie regretted that she wouldn’t get to see Shinobu open the bag, but she could picture the surprise on her face. Downstairs, Jamie hurried to the baggage check by the front door. Her suitcase was still there. She thanked the guard and rolled her bag out the door and clunked it down the steps.

  Only a few protestors remained to guard the signs stacked against a wall, waiting to restart in the morning. As she tugged her bag over the flat stone toward the street, one demonstrator walked towards her. In her hurry, she hardly noted the oddity of his traditional hakama pants and a finely woven haori jacket—so unlike the floppy outdoor clothing of most anti-nuke people—and hurried to the street for a taxi. As she waited, she got a call from Shinobu.

  “Is this a joke or a mistake?”

  “I gave you the book he planned.” Jamie waved to a taxi, but it turned down another street.

  “Explain this to me.”

  Jamie looked up at the building with all the Diet members’ offices but couldn’t remember which direction Shinobu’s window faced. “After he died, he said obedience to authority, defending the status quo and insularity were not the parts of Japan he loved. They were the parts he wanted to change.”

  In a low, angry voice, Shinobu said, “You can’t begin to understand what a big mistake you just made. If that’s all your father has, the contract is void.”

  “That’s what I figured.” Jamie hung up, satisfied to get that off the list before she left Tokyo.

  A taxi switched lanes and pulled over. Jamie got in and pulled off towards Tokyo Station. The thought of Shinobu’s sharp-angled eyebrows and the pasty face of her uncle when they opened the erotic woodblock shunga prints amused her. She had deliberately put in copies of the most explicit of her father’s prints. The explanatory notes and descriptive sketches surrounded the graphic sexual combinations, making the details and artistry sharper and richer, and more shocking for being put in words.

  ***

  In Shinobu’s office, Shinobu’s uncle nodded to the assistant to take what would have been an insightful treatise on erotic art out of his sight. He lit a cigarette and pulled deeply on it, his gaunt face placid and unfeeling at Jamie’s deception. He looked for an ashtray. Shinobu snapped her fingers at the assistant, who handed Shinobu her cellphone and her uncle an ashtray.

  Shinobu called the number for Trey Gladius’ phone. “You said there’d be no complications.”

  “There aren’t any,” Trey answered, a bit out of breath.

  “You need to get this taken care of.” After a long pause, Shinobu spoke again. “Did you hear me?”

  Trey finally said, “I’m a bit busy at the moment. I’ll be back in Tokyo later. I have a plane to catch.”

  “A plane? With everything here?”

  “I told you, it’s under control. I’m going to Guam. With Jamie tomorrow afternoon.”

  “She told me she’s taking a train to Kyoto. Tonight.”

  After a long pause, Trey blew out a big breath. “She did? Well, that does change things.”

  Chapter 37

  Akiko followed Trey through the quiet residential lanes towards the station, running at times to keep up, waiting at times to hide, making sure she did not lose sight of Trey. Her cellphone had finally come back on, though the screen was shattered.

  After repeated attempts, Akiko finally connected to Hiroshi, whispering, “He’s heading to Yokosuka station on foot.”

  “Almost there. Hang back,” Hiroshi whisper-shouted.

  “No, Shioiri Station. I’ll have to hurry.”

  “Don’t do that!” Hiroshi shouted, too late.

  Ueno pulled the car close to Yokosuka Station, but Hiroshi told him to pull around to Shioiri Station, a few minutes’ drive. If Trey hopped a train back to Tokyo, he could disappear at any station along the way.

  Ueno pulled past Yokosuka station towards Honcho, the main nightlife area. There was no place to leave the car except halfway on the sidewalk, halfway in a lane of traffic. Ueno tried to rouse Sakaguchi, snoring in the back seat after two nights not sleeping, but gave up, left the keys under the visor and hopped out.

  Akiko called Hiroshi. “He turned towards that strip of bars. The Honch, I think they call it.”


  “No closer, OK?” Hiroshi told her as he hurried through the jumble of sports bars, massage studios, DJ clubs, hamburger and pizza joints teeming with off-duty servicemen from Yokosuka Naval Base. Happy hour was still on and the smell of “Navy Curry” filled the air.

  Akiko called Hiroshi again. “He should be close to you. He’s got the computers.”

  “Stop there. I don’t want you any closer,” Hiroshi got out of the car just before she hung up on him.

  Hiroshi let Ueno take the main street, and he took the first small lane of one-rail bars with handwritten signs in English. It was the old Honch, the real Honch. Karaoke and sports games spilled out in a steady hum. Bar girls with ponytails brought drinks to close-shaved men and everyone waited to cheer the next great play on big-screen TVs. Hiroshi peered down each branching alley.

  He emerged from the maze of alleyways and found himself on the highway that separated the bars from the base. Ueno was standing at the next exit down. Trey had snuck through somewhere. They had lost him.

  Hiroshi waved at Ueno to go back inside. Hiroshi turned into the next alley, twisting sideways to keep from hitting old wires, signs, and poles holding up low roofs of corrugated scrap. The alley sputtered out to a row of rundown shacks with torn awnings and termite-eaten walls.

  A stinging thump on the back of his head sent Hiroshi reeling into the sliding door of an empty, old bar whose wood frame splintered under his weight, its wall raining down bits of plaster, wood and plastic.

  Hiroshi rolled onto his back and spin-kicked the air. Adrenaline and high school kendo training got him back on his feet, but before he could recenter himself, he heard a whir beside his ear and felt the roof collapse, covering him in wood and tin and blinding him with dust. The next whir sunk into the soft wood post beside his head. He scurried backwards and clawed at a pole he backed into, trying to pull himself up. He could see nothing, choking on the dust, listening intently.

  Before he could see again, a hard kick caught him in his stomach. He doubled over, nauseous, sucking for air, red splotches clogging his vision. Another hard kick caught him on the hip and sent him sideways. Hiroshi flailed at the wood and wiped his face, scrambling to his feet. Blinking hard, he saw Trey ready and balanced, sword in hand, within striking distance.