The Fifth Profession (52 page)

“They're professionals. They were doing their job. But an hour from now, they'll have
another
job, and their emotions shouldn't interfere. Their principal's wishes take precedence.”

“And what if
Shirai's
wishes are the same as theirs? To get us out of the way,” Savage asked.

“I'm convinced”—Akira paused—”that Shirai wants information.”

“You mean that
we
want information and we're prepared to
trust
the man we saw killed.”

“What is it Rachel likes to say? Her favorite quotation?” Akira asked.

“ ‘Abraham believed by virtue of the absurd.’ “

“In other words, faith is a mystery. Sometimes, if we're confused enough, we have to trust,” Akira said.

“Graham would have called me a fool. Trust? That goes against everything I was taught. And if Taro heard you talking this way, he'd be appalled.”

Akira hesitated. Shaking his head, he chuckled. “My
sensei
would insist on retraining me.”

“We don't need retraining. What we
need
to do is step back and be objective, to pretend we're protecting someone else.”

“Oh, in
that
case,” Akira said.

“Right. Let's pretend we've got someone else,
not ourselves,
for clients.”

“All of a sudden security, not answers, has priority,” Akira said.

“So let's do what we
know
how to do, what we do best.”

Akira's voice reminded Savage of the ominous polished hiss of a sword being drawn from a scabbard. “Inspect the danger zone.”

7

Shirai's corporate building, one of few multileveled structures in earthquake-prone Japan, was made of gleaming glass and steel but with resilient defensive innovations of design, Savage assumed, that made it impervious to assault. The equivalent of an executive protector's code. He studied the glinting edifice from an intersection two blocks away, slowly approaching from the south, nervously aware that no matter how many chameleon tactics he used, he'd still be conspicuous. A
gaijin.

At the same time, he knew that Akira approached and, with equal caution, assessed the potential trap from two blocks in the opposite direction. In case of a threat, they'd agreed to retreat to a fallback position. Indeed they had
several
fallback positions … to allow for contingencies. The care with which they'd planned their surveillance made Savage feel proud. For the first time since he'd arrived in Japan, he felt in charge, in control, like Graham's disciple, not like a victim.

A block from Shirai's towering building, Savage stopped. As traffic and pedestrians passed, he noticed that in addition to the large main entrance to the building, there was a slightly less large side-entrance. The streets were so congested that parking wasn't permitted, though vehicles with a legitimate purpose were allowed to stop briefly, for example a delivery van outside the front entrance. Below the ideograms on the van, a drawing of a floral arrangement made clear the purpose of the delivery. At the side entrance, a truck was parked, a bored looking man in a cap and coveralls leaning against a front fender, reading a newspaper, occasionally glancing at his watch, then toward the side entrance, sighing, shaking his head, as if waiting for his partner to come out. All seemingly natural.

Except that Savage's neck prickled when he noticed that instead of thick, heavy workman's boots, the driver wore shiny, stylish loafers.

Shit, he thought and turned to stroll tensely southward, in the direction from which he'd come. A prudent distance away, he crossed the busy street, proceeded east for several blocks, then swung around a corner and headed north toward Shirai's building to assess its rear and eventually the side he hadn't been able to see from his initial position.

This time, at the back, a dark limousine with opaque windows was parked near the entrance. And at the side, Savage saw a truck with a telephone symbol.

He clenched his fists. Determined to do this properly, he made a second circuitous inspection of the building, then retreated toward the rendezvous site.

8

A long line of ticket holders filed into the movie theater. On the clamorous sidewalk, Savage pretended to study a poster for a U.S. action film. It amazed him that a country with one of the lowest violent-crime rates in the world would be fascinated by a muscular, bare-chested American aiming a rocket launcher.

Akira appeared beside him, his voice low. “All the entrances are being watched.”

Savage kept studying the poster. “At least Shirai didn't insult our intelligence by keeping the same vehicles in place. The second time I circled the building, there were different trucks, vans, and limousines.”

“But we have to assume that several men are hidden inside each vehicle.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Savage said. He pivoted to face the street, to make sure he hadn't been seen and followed from Shirai's building. “The question is, are they merely a precaution or does Shirai want us picked up and eliminated?”

Akira spread his hands. “Are you prepared to risk stepping into the building to find out?”

“I've lost my faith,” Savage said.

“As have I.”

“ ‘Abraham believed by virtue of the absurd?’ No way,” Savage said.

“Then what should we do?”

“Phone Shirai's office,” Savage said. “Tell his secretary we're sorry but we've been detained. Ask to speak to him.”

“It won't do any good. Given the trap he seems to have arranged, he'll refuse and keep attempting to entice us into the building.”

“That's my assumption,” Savage said. “But it's worth the attempt. Assuming he does refuse, try to reschedule the meeting for later today. My guess is he'll agree.”

“No doubt. But that only postpones the problem. It doesn't solve it,” Akira said. “We still need to talk to him, and we don't dare go into that building.”

“So we arrange to meet him somewhere else, somewhere he doesn't expect,” Savage said. “While I circled the building, I had an idea. But it won't work unless we keep Shirai in his office until we're ready to make our move. So we keep calling him, postponing the meeting, and in the meantime we phone Taro.”

“Why?”

“To ask if a few more students can graduate early.”

9

Static crackled. In the rented Toyota, Savage straightened, muscles rigid. Frustrated by his unfamiliarity with the Japanese language, he hoped that the garbled male voice that squawked from the two-way radio wasn't so distorted by poor reception that Akira found it as intelligible as he did.

Steering with effort through rush-hour traffic, continuing to drive north, east, south, and west in a square two blocks adjacent to Shirai's building, Akira picked up the walkie-talkie. He spoke briefly in Japanese, nodded to the staticky answer, and said something further.

His face hardened when he heard the reply. “
Hai. Arigato.
“ Setting down the walkie-talkie, Akira gripped both karate-callused hands on the steering wheel and veered toward a sudden opening in the lane beside him. He veered yet again, this time around a corner, struggling through traffic, approaching Shirai's building.

Though Savage felt swollen with questions, he made a deliberate professional effort not to interrupt Akira's concentration.

Akira broke Savage's frustration. “They've seen him.”

“Ah.” Savage leaned back. But his tension wasn't relieved. He imagined Taro's students, expertly trained in camouflage, blending with pedestrians, keeping a wary surveillance on every side of Shirai's building. Akira had described Shirai's car and provided the information on the license plate that he'd memorized as the car sped away from this morning's demonstration. Taro in turn had supplied his students with magazine photographs of their quarry. The students had previously seen Shirai on television reports about his radically conservative politics, his belief in the Force of Amaterasu, and his insistence that Japan return to the cultural quarantine of the Tokugawa Shogunate. They'd known precisely whom to watch for. “So Shirai's limousine finally came out of the underground garage?”

Akira steered urgently, slipping into another break in traffic, too busy to answer.

“The trouble is,” Savage said, “Shirai's limousine … whether we like to admit it, this is still an act of faith … Shirai might not be in the car.”

“He is. There's no doubt,” Akira said. His eyes assessed traffic. His hands responded, veering the Toyota.

“No doubt?”

“He was seen,” Akira said.

“
What? How?
That's not possible. The rear windows are shielded, and we couldn't get any of Taro's students into the underground garage to see who stepped into the car.”

“But Shirai
was
seen stepping into the car. Not in the underground garage.”

“Then how … ?”

“Two minutes ago,” Akira said, “the limousine appeared at the northern exit from the building. Shortly after, guards emerged on the sidewalk and formed a cordon. Shirai came out, passed through the guards, and got into the limousine. They're driving west.”

The walkie-talkie crackled again. Akira picked it up, listened to another static-distorted Japanese voice, said, “
Hai,
“ and returned the walkie-talkie beside him. “They're still headed west. An escort car filled with guards is before and behind the limousine.”

“Standard procedure.” Savage imagined Taro's students using motorbikes to follow the limousine while taking care to keep an unobtrusive distance. They'd maintain surveillance and continue reporting by radio until Akira had a chance to catch up to the motorcade and cautiously follow. No matter which street Shirai's driver used, Akira would be informed.

“As we expected, Shirai finally became impatient,” Akira said. “He realized we had no intention of arriving for our constantly postponed meeting.”

“He's either confused or furious. The main thing is, we've got him responding to us, not the other way around,” Savage said. Subduing tension, he watched Akira steer around a corner, then attempt to proceed through another stream of dense traffic. “But if Shirai goes into a public place, we won't be able to get him alone to talk with him.”

“No matter,” Akira said. “We'll continue to follow. Eventually we'll find our opportunity. Where he's least expecting us. Where he doesn't have an army of guards.”

“So in other words, relax and enjoy the ride.”

“Relax?” Akira glanced at Savage and raised his eyebrows. “I'll never get used to American irony.” A voice spoke from the walkie-talkie. After responding, Akira glanced again at Savage. “At the next street, when I turn left, I should be two blocks behind the limousine.”

“In this traffic, we won't be able to see the car,” Savage said.

“Taro-
sensei
‘s students will continue their surveillance. They also have motorbikes keeping pace on each parallel street. If Shirai's driver turns, we'll be alerted.”

10

They continued struggling through traffic, heading west, though sometimes changing to a parallel street, guided by walkie-talkie reports from Taro's students. As dusk thickened, traffic dwindled. They reached a highway, increased speed, and suddenly saw the limousine ahead of them, two Nissan sedans providing protection, one in front and one in back. Akira radioed to the surveillance team, thanking them, telling most of them to return to Taro. Only a few would now be needed to help follow Shirai. Keeping several cars between the Toyota and the motorcade, Akira drove warily.

Savage rubbed his aching shoulder. “Wherever Shirai's going, it looks like he'll soon be out of the city.”

Akira shrugged. “There are many adjacent ones.”

“Even so, this is taking so long Shirai must have an important reason to drive this far.” Savage brooded and added, “Those people at the demonstration—I can't help being surprised that Shirai's been able to attract so much support.”

Akira kept his eyes on his quarry. “Don't be misled. He still has an upward battle. Most Japanese don't agree with him, although his influence is growing day by day. The economic miracle, the new prosperity, makes my countrymen delighted to do business with outsiders, as long as the bargain's in our favor. Cultural contamination, however much it incenses Shirai, is something that Japanese born after the war find intriguing.”

“Then why are the demonstrations so large?” Savage asked.

“Large compared to what? In nineteen sixty, hundreds of thousands protested the renewal of the defense treaty with America. A pro-American politician was killed publicly with a sword. The demonstrators wanted the U.S. military to leave Japan, principally because they didn't want nuclear weapons on Japanese soil. As Taro explained last night, we can never forget that we're the only nation
ever
to have suffered atomic attacks. In nineteen sixty-five, a U.S. aircraft carrier lost a hydrogen bomb off the coast of Japan. Your government didn't admit to the accident until nineteen eighty-one but claimed that the bomb had fallen five hundred miles offshore. A lie. In nineteen eighty-nine, we finally learned that the bomb was only
eighty
miles offshore. Such incidents and deceptions fuel right-wing anti-American resentment. … Have you ever heard of Mishima?”

“Of course,” Savage said.

Mishima had been one of Japan's most famous novelists. In terms of his personality and subject matter, the closest American equivalent Savage could think of was Hemingway. Mishima's code of discipline had attracted a devoted core of followers, what amounted to a private army. On special occasions, they'd worn an elaborate version of the Japanese military uniform, a costume that Mishima himself had designed. Because of the novelist's fame and influence, the officers at one of Japan's Ground Self-defense Forces bases had permitted Mishima and his men to practice martial exercises there.

In 1970, Mishima and a handful of his closest worshipers had arrived at the base, requested permission to speak with its commander, subdued the man, taken over his headquarters, and demanded that the soldiers on the base be assembled so that Mishima could make a speech to them. The authorities—unable to rescue the hostage—agreed to Mishima's demands. The speech turned out to be a disturbing, ranting, rambling harangue, the basis of which was the decline of Japan, the country's need to regain its purity, to assert its greatness, to pursue its god-ordained destiny: militarism combined with a pre-Shirai version of the Force of Amaterasu. The soldiers, compelled to gather for Mishima's tirade, jeered.