Victor O'Reilly - Rules of The Hunt

"Yoshokawa- san," he said. "Nothing ever changes. I was thinking of us as two daimyo from six centuries ago; and their concerns would have been similar. There were kuromaku then as there are kuromaku now. There was intrigue and betrayal then, and there is intrigue and betrayal now." He looked across at his bodyguards in their neat gray suits. "But their clothing would have been a lot more colorful."

"And the technology marginally less refined," said Yoshokawa, "and since you are a gaijin, we'd have chopped your head off."

Fitzduane laughed out loud. "You're giving it a good try as it is," he said, "and there is still time – I haven't left yet. I have the Namakas to see again. They are giving me that tour of their steel plant tomorrow, though I doubt anything will come of it. They don't seem to be rising to the bait. Being able to blame Kitano has given them room to maneuver. It’s a pity, but that looks like an account that will have to be settled some other time, because I have to get home. I don't like being away from Ireland too long these days. I miss Boots. He is growing up so fast. A month is a long time at that age."

Yoshokawa nodded. "My group is grateful for what you have done. The Namakas are still there, but some corruption has been exposed and we do, at least, know who was behind the Hodama killings. Modest progress, but progress all the same. That is what is important. We have always known that reforming our structures will not be easy."

"Not easy is putting it mildly," said Fitzduane. "The Namakas sail on and there is not a scrap of evidence against Katsuda. We have displaced a few pawns, but the main players remain untouched."

"We shall see," said Yoshokawa. "Personally, I am optimistic. But I fear you, Fitzduane- san, will return to Ireland with a jaundiced view of my country."

Fitzduane grinned. "Relax, Yoshokawa- san. A handful of rotten apples haven't turned me off the whole barrel. No, if someone were to ask me tomorrow about the Japanese, I'd say you are a hard people to get to know, but well worth the effort. People of caliber, guardians of some special qualities we can use on my side of the world. Sure, there are changes you must make, but mostly you have reason to be proud."

Yoshokawa was deeply touched by Fitzduane's words. Then Fitzduane spoke again. "One of the best things about coming here, Yoshokawasan, is that I will never think of ‘the Japanese’ again. I'll think of individuals – you, your family, Adachi- san, the DSG, Sergeant Oga, the people of our plant I met yesterday, so many others with all your special individual qualities. That's the way I think it should be."

"And those like the Namakas and Yaibo who have tried to kill you?" said Yoshokawa.

"It is neither here nor there that they are Japanese," said Fitzduane. "They are just people that, in all our mutual interests, I hope we can consign on a one-way trip to hell. So far, I haven't been too successful, but the game is not over."

"And what is this game called?" said Yoshokawa. "This matter of obligation?"

"Vengeance," said Fitzduane, with a grim smile.

Tokyo, Japan

June 27

Chifune sat at her desk at Koancho headquarters and again went through the arrangements she had made.

The Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department had the primary job of both running and protecting Fitzduane, but Koancho had its own interest and made its own preparations. When she had first joined the security force, she had been taken aback at the service's reluctance to share information, but as time had gone on she had seen the merits of this approach.

Security issues tended to be very sensitive, and organizations such as the police, whatever their merits, were far from leakproof. Also, there were often advantages in having parallel operations, the overt and the covert. If the overt operation failed, the other was already in place, but set up in such a way that it was complementary and unlikely to have the same weaknesses. And, of course, if the secret operation ran into trouble, by definition nobody knew. Sometimes, both operations were unsuccessful. Well, she had been taught to accept a casualty rate. That was the reality of the dangerous world in which she operated.

Still, she found it hard to view the developments in the Hodama affair with equanimity. The assault on Adachi had left her deeply shocked, all the more so because it was unexpected. Senior police in Japan were virtually never attacked.

Then there was the gaijin Fitzduane. Despite her strong feelings for Adachi, this was a man who, against all common sense and other loyalties, her body, and maybe her heart, wanted.

One of these days she was going to have to make some decisions. She was a modern woman, she hoped, but she had some traditional needs. She shook her head, annoyed at this undermining of her will by biological instinct. It was maddening. Men were not so encumbered in this way, or, at least, not so physically restricted. Meanwhile, there was an operation to be run. She worked her way through the file and checked that they had covered every foreseeable contingency.

Her conclusion was depressing. The gaijin had good basic security cover, it was true, but if anything untoward happened, he was on his own. Full cover made the operation impossible. The whole enterprise was predicated on a degree of risk.

What might the Namakas do? She dug into the files and looked at their resources. What did they like to do? What could they do?

Koancho's records were not restricted by police regulations and were buoyed by extensive covert surveillance. In addition to facts, they contained extensive analysis and speculation – some low-key and some provocative. She listened to tapes, watched surveillance videos, and read on into the night. Brawn and brains – every avenue led to the natures of the two brothers. The specifics could not be forecast, but there were patterns of behavior.

In the early hours of the morning, she began to develop a feeling about the Namaka's next move. She had also worked out how the problem of Fitzduane's police surveillance might be overcome. Unfortunately, an appropriate countermove was harder to define. The bottom line was a constant. Fitzduane- san was vulnerable. Whatever the pretense of security, he had to be left vulnerable if the Namakas were to be enticed to make a move.

Fitzduane had dinner in his room at the Fairmont and then worked late into the night on his notes.

As he closed his eyes, he thought of his father and how much he had loved him and how terribly he missed him. John Fitzduane had been killed in a skydiving accident when Fitzduane was fifteen. It still hurt Fitzduane when he remembered.

Few Fitzduanes died in there beds. Violent death was something of a Fitzduane tradition.

I don't want Boots to be alone, he thought. I'm taking enough risks as it is.

He slept.

Tokyo, Japan

June 28

"Good morning, Sergeant- san," said Fitzduane cheerfully to Sergeant Oga.

After his late-night work, he had slept briefly but well. He was going back to Ireland in a couple of days and would see Boots and Kathleen very soon. He missed them. but he must go shopping first. Boots had been conditioned by a fond father to expect a present every time he returned, and Kathleen deserved something special.

Fitzduane was feeling very domestic that morning. The visit to Namaka Steel was not in the forefront of his mind. The sun was shining for a change and the humidity was bearable, and he felt good. And, the peculiarities of his visit aside, he was enjoying the limited amount he was seeing of Japan and, more to the point, he was interested in the Japanese. True, you needed a pickax and a miner's lamp to break through the wall they put up, but inside there were rewards. Sergeant Oga was a case in point.