Collector of Secrets (26 page)

She took the card and eyed it carefully before pocketing it. Her face remained defiant.

“I’m looking to speak to a Mr. Maxwell Travers.”

“Concerning?”

Lloyd hunched his shoulders and wrung his hands together. “Well, ma’am, I wish I could tell you, but it’s embassy business, and I’m only supposed to speak with Mr. Travers . . . unless you’re Mrs. Travers.”

Zoe pursed her lips and sneered. “No, I can assure you that I am not Mrs. Travers.”

Lloyd was sure he knew her next response before he even asked. “So do you know where I can find him?” Using his left hand, he reached into his sport-coat pocket and removed a single black glove.

“No, I don’t.”

“Will he be home later today?” He slid his left hand inside. “Maybe I could wait?”

“No, Lloyd,” Zoe said sharply, “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. When I see Max, I’ll tell him you came around.”

Reaching into his right pocket with his left hand, he removed a matching glove and slid his right hand inside. “Well, I’d like to thank you for your time. And I’m very sorry for the bother.”

Lloyd grasped Zoe’s unwilling hand and pulled it away from her side. He shook it vigorously and gave her a little wink before disappearing around the corner and down the path running along the side of the house.

V
incent stopped in the empty concrete courtyard at the path’s end, taking a seat on a bench next to the temple grounds. He carefully removed the gloves and placed them in a Ziploc bag.

His watch read 4:36 p.m.

The sky was gray with clouds, and rain looked imminent. An umbrella would have been a good idea, but he knew he wouldn’t have to wait long. The liquid sedative on the woman’s skin would absorb quickly into her bloodstream. She was probably already staring at her tingling hand, wondering what was happening. Normally the drug took effect in a couple of minutes, although with the history of needle tracks clearly evident on her arm, it might take three or four. She probably had the tolerance of a bull elephant.

He felt certain that once he entered the house, he could find some drug paraphernalia to leave beside her sleeping body. That way, she’d think she had knocked herself out. Nevertheless, it didn’t really matter. By the time she recovered, he would have found what he wanted and been long gone.

ACCORDING TO Toshi’s instructions, the hospital intern was meant to be waiting at the Tokyo Catholic diocese’s Tsukiji church. Max considered again how this latest plan was probably a bad idea, but Kenji’s disquieting email had described Mr. Murayama’s condition as grave.

He felt numb as he paid the driver, grabbed the daypack, and slipped from the taxicab. Standing before the two-story building with its six Parthenon-style pillars, he thought how it seemed so out of place. Greek architecture in Tokyo was odd enough, but the fact that this was a one-hundred-thirty-year-old Catholic church was even more bizarre. Max checked the address. It had to be correct. How many of these places could there possibly be?

Glancing up, he saw a head pop out from behind the second pillar on the left, followed by a waving arm, gesturing for him to approach. Max jogged the dozen paces to the church’s entrance. As he climbed the steps, he could see the man digging into a duffel bag.

“Hi—” A white cotton lab coat sailed through the air and hit him in the chest. Startled, he managed to catch it before it dropped to the ground.

“Put it on.” The twenty-something intern wasn’t wasting any time. “You’re late.”

“The taxi driver didn’t—”

“Hurry up, dude!” The agitated intern commanded as he puffed anxiously on a cigarette.

Dude? This guy looks Japanese, but he’s definitely not native.

Max slipped the calf-length coat overtop his hoodie.

The intern eyed him dubiously. “I wanna make something clear. I’m doing this favor for Toshi, but if anything goes wrong in there, you’re on your own. And don’t speak to me once we’re inside. Move with me, but not beside me. Understand?”

Max nodded. Evidently the journey would be uncomfortable as well as dangerous.

“There’s a cop sitting outside the hospital room twenty-four/seven. I’ll distract him while you get into the room. When we get close to the nurse’s station, I’ll signal by sneezing. That means I go straight and you go to the right, around the station. Make two lefts, then go into room 671. If it goes wrong, I never met you.”

“What about the other patients?”

“The room’s private. And another thing—I only get you in. Leaving is your problem.”

Max moved to avoid the drifting cigarette smoke. “What if someone asks who I am?”

“This hospital has over two-hundred-fifty doctors. Make up some bullshit. You can do that, can’t you?” The cigarette butt was crushed beneath his heel. “Now, let’s go.” He loped down the church steps and made two lefts after the gate.

Max raced to keep up. He could see the fifty-one stories of St. Luke’s Tower looming over the ten floors of the hospital. Toshi’s friend could be forgiven for being short-tempered―the guy was, after all, risking a highly sought-after internship at one of the finest facilities in the country.

Soon they descended an underground parking ramp. With the swipe of a card key, they were inside the hospital and moving fast. Pressing past orderlies and nurses, they made their way through a maze of hallways. Max tried to memorize the path, so he could follow the same way out, but he quickly lost track. Every stainless-steel corner looked the same as the last.

A petite nurse with a ponytail stood near a hallway’s end. “Hi Dan. How are you?”

“Really good. Talk later.” Dan pushed past her without looking back. Her eyes trailed them as they hurried through a set of swinging doors. They appeared to be heading for an elevator straight ahead, but instead Dan entered an adjoining stairwell. He took the stairs in pairs at great speed, and his lead increased to a full flight.

Racing to catch up, Max hurried into the sixth-floor hallway and narrowly missed colliding with an elderly woman clutching a rolling IV stand. Dan was already halfway down the hall. Max heard the sneeze signal before the nurse’s station came into sight. Dan was distracting the two RNs.

Max circled the station as instructed. Approaching the final left turn, his muscles tensed with expectation. A tall row of cabinets blinded him from seeing the activity in front of the room as he rounded the corner, but there was no time to stop.

The cop, gun holstered on his belt, was standing in the hallway with his back to the door, engaged in a conversation with Dan. Still, the two men seemed to be far too close. Surely the cop would hear the groan of the hinges.

Max hesitated as he approached room 671 on the right, but at the last second, he ducked inside and froze. Heart racing, he fought his heavy breathing, waiting for the officer to burst into the room.

The door pressed silently back into place. Seconds passed. Nothing happened.

It had worked.

Across the dim room, Mr. Murayama’s face appeared peaceful with sleep. He looked puny and shriveled, surrounded by the medical equipment’s blinking lights. Max edged toward the bed.

“I was wondering when you would come.”

Max almost leaped from his skin at the sound of the familiar voice.

The paper-thin eyelids slid upward. Behind them, the pupils seemed as clear as ever—the spirit was still there. Only this time Mr. M wasn’t smiling. “We need to talk.”

TOMOKO KEPT her jacket collar up and her face cast down as she stepped through the glass doors of the five-sided crystal building. It was Wednesday afternoon, and while her coworkers were busy dealing with the stress of the office, she was being chased by killers. It was a surreal nightmare, and her stomach felt twisted into a knot.

The Prada store’s main floor held shoes and handbags on waist-high displays. She feigned interest in a pair of boots as her eyes roamed over the open space. A dozen other women were perusing the shelves to the sound of a disco beat. No one paid her any attention as she traced a line around the room’s edge.

The building’s futuristic interior was a mix of display cases, tube-shaped hallways, and angled staircases. As Tomoko climbed up each successive level, she could feel nervous tension building at the base of her neck. Finally reaching the fourth floor, she let out a frustrated sigh. Yoko was nowhere in sight. Kenji must have lied to her.

Tomoko needed to clear her brain and figure out what to do next. The surrounding space was near the peak of the glass-and-metal building, and she walked along the nearest transparent wall. Convex and concave diamond-shaped bubble windows made the surrounding city appear to flex and bow. The wavy movement felt too much like the thoughts inside her head, and she stopped to rub her tired eyes. How would she ever explain to her mother that Mrs. Kanazawa had been murdered by
Yakuza
? The two women had spent their childhoods together, and for as long as Tomoko could remember, they had been best friends. Her mother would of course blame Max, the
Gaijin,
for the entanglement in this deadly affair.

Tomoko began descending the stairs before her muscles seized in place. Through a glass side wall, she could see to the third floor below. There was the familiar bobbed haircut. Yoko was easily recognizable, even from the back. She was running her fingers down the sleeve of a purple jacket, while Kenji stood attentively next to her, holding her purse.

Tomoko crept down the remaining stairs and ducked behind a dress rack. She waited a moment before allowing her eyes to drift over the display’s top. She felt sure she hadn’t been seen. A bowing attendant was leading Yoko toward the change rooms, while Kenji remained rooted to the floor.

Her plan would work only if properly timed. She edged toward the open floor, watching as the sales clerk unlocked the change-room door and held it open, motioning for Yoko to enter.

It was time to move.

Spinning around, Tomoko raced forward. The clerk had no time to react as the door was snatched from her grasp and slammed shut.

Inside, the two women collided in the closet-like space, and Yoko stumbled forward, catching herself on the padded bench. Her voice exploded. “What are you doing? Get out, you silly girl.” Then her enraged eyes flashed with recognition. “What do you want?”

Tomoko turned the lock with a shaking hand. “I should be asking you the same question.”

The salesgirl banged on the door from the outside. “Is everything okay?”

The air was thick with tension. Just feet apart, the two women eyed each other warily. Finally, Yoko’s syrupy-sweet voice responded. “Yes, dear, everything is fine. A friend is helping me change. Come back in a few minutes.”

The clerk’s heels clicked as she departed.

Inside the cubicle, Tomoko spoke first. “Why—” The words stuck in her throat. She knew what she wanted to say, but the thoughts felt jumbled. “Why do you have people chasing after Max?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“After your father’s office was burglarized, the
Yakuza
followed me from work, then they chased Max. You must have told them about me.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“Max warned me that you’re a good liar.”

Yoko sat back and straightened her hair. “Get your facts straight. Max is the one who broke into the office.”