Robin Cook - Terminal

“It would be regretful if there was trouble,” the same man said. “Please, Mr. Yamaguchi is waiting in a car parked on the street.”

“Sean,” Janet called over the top of the car in a wavering voice, “who are these people?”

“I don’t know,” Sean answered her. Then, to the man in front of him, he said: “Can you give me an idea who Mr. Yamaguchi is, and why he particularly wants to talk with us?”

“Please,” the man repeated. “Mr. Yamaguchi will tell you himself. Please, the car is just a few steps away.”

“Well, since you are being so nice about it,” Sean said. “Sure, let’s say hello to Mr. Yamaguchi.”

Sean turned and started around the car. The man who was standing behind him stepped aside. Sean put an arm around Janet’s shoulder and together they started toward the street. The taller Japanese man, the one who had been in front of Sean, led the way. The other two silently followed.

The limousine was parked beneath a line of trees and was so dark it was difficult to see it until they were only a few feet away. The taller man opened the rear door and motioned for Sean and Janet to climb inside.

“Can’t Mr. Yamaguchi come out?” Sean asked. He wondered if this was the same limo that he thought had been following them on their way to the Betencourts’. He guessed it was.

“Please,” the taller Japanese man said. “It will be far more comfortable inside.”

Sean motioned for Janet to get in, and he climbed in after her. Almost immediately the other rear door opened, and one of the silent Japanese men crowded in next to Janet. Another man followed immediately behind Sean. The taller man got in the front behind the wheel and started the car.

“What’s going on here, Sean?” Janet asked. Her initial shock was changing to alarm.

“Mr. Yamaguchi?” Sean asked. In front of him he could just make out the figure of a man sitting in one of the seats to the side of a console with a small built-in TV set.

“Thank you very much for joining me,” Tanaka said with a slight bow. His accent was barely perceptible. “I apologize for the inconvenient seating, but we shall have only a short ride.”

The car lurched forward. Janet grabbed Sean’s hand.

“You people are very polite,” Sean said. “And we appreciate that. But we would also appreciate some idea what this is all about and where we’re going.”

“You have been invited on a vacation,” Tanaka said. His white teeth flashed in the dark. When they passed a street lamp, Sean got his first glimpse of the man’s face. It was calm but determined. There was no sign of emotion.

“Your trip is compliments of Sushita Industries,” Tanaka continued. “I can assure you that you will be treated extremely well. Sushita would not go through this effort unless they had great respect for you. I am sorry it has to be done in this furtive, barbaric fashion, but I have my orders. I’m also sorry that your companion has been caught up in this affair, but your hosts will treat her with equal respect. Her presence at this point is helpful since I’m certain you would not want to see any harm befall her. So please, Mr. Murphy, do not attempt any heroics. My colleagues are professionals.”

Janet began to complain, but Sean squeezed her hand to silence her.

“And where are we going?” Sean asked.

“To Tokyo,” Tanaka said as if there had been no question.

They drove in strained silence as they worked their way in a northeasterly direction. Sean considered his options. There weren’t many. The threat of violence toward Janet was sobering, and the pistol in his pocket was not reassuring.

Tanaka had been correct about the ride. In less than twenty minutes they pulled into the general aviation area of the Naples airport. As late as it was on a Saturday night, there were minimal signs of life, only a few lights in the main building. Sean tried to think of ways of alerting whomever he could, but the specter of harm to Janet kept him in check. Although he certainly did not want to be taken forcibly to Japan, he couldn’t think of a plausible way to forestall it.

The limo drove through a gate in a chain link fence and out onto the tarmac. Skirting the rear of the general aviation building, they headed for a large private jet that was clearly prepared to take off at any moment. Its engines were running, its anti-collision and navigational lights were flashing, its door was open, and its retractable steps were extended.

The limousine stopped about fifty feet from the plane. Sean and Janet were politely asked to climb out of the car and walk the short distance to the steps. Cupping their hands over their ears to shield them from the whine of the jet engine, Sean and Janet reluctantly headed for the plane as commanded. Once again, Sean considered his options. Nothing seemed promising. He caught Janet’s eye. She looked distraught. They paused at the base of the plane’s steps.

“Please,” Tanaka yelled over the sound of the engines as he motioned for Sean and Janet to move up the stairs.

Sean and Janet again exchanged glances. Sean nodded for her to board, then followed her up. They had to duck to enter, but once inside they could stand up. To their left was the cockpit with its door closed.

The interior of the plane was simple yet elegant, featuring darkly stained mahogany and tan leather. The carpeting was dark green. The seating included a banquette and a series of reclinable club chairs that could rotate to face any direction. Toward the rear of the plane was a galley and a door to a lavatory. On a counter in the galley was an open bottle of vodka and a sliced lime.

Sean and Janet paused near the door, unsure of where they were to go. One of the near club chairs was occupied by a Caucasian man dressed in a business suit. Like the Japanese, he exuded an aura of calm confidence. His features were angular and handsome; his hair was mildly curly. In his right hand he held a drink. Sean and Janet could hear the ice tinkle against the glass as he brought it to his lips.

Tanaka, who had boarded directly behind Sean and Janet, saw the Caucasian man seconds after Sean and Janet had. He seemed startled.

The taller of the Japanese men bumped into Tanaka since Tanaka had stopped so abruptly. The collision prompted a rapid outpouring of angry-sounding Japanese from Tanaka.

The taller Japanese began to respond, but he was interrupted by the Caucasian.

“I should warn you,” he said in English. “I speak fluent Japanese. My name is Sterling Rombauer.” He put his drink down in a depression in the arm of his chair made for that purpose, stood up, pulled out a business card, and handed it to Tanaka with a deferential bow.

Tanaka bowed in unison with Sterling as he accepted the card, and despite the surprise he obviously felt concerning Sterling’s presence, he examined the card with care and bowed again. Then he spoke in rapid Japanese to his companion behind him.

“I believe I can best answer that,” Sterling said casually as he reclaimed his seat and lifted his drink. “The pilot, copilot, and cabin crew are not in the cockpit. They are resting in the lavatory.” Sterling gestured over his shoulder.

Tanaka spoke more angry Japanese to his cohort.

“Please excuse me for interrupting again,” Sterling said. “But what you are asking your associate to do is unreasonable. I’m certain that if you carefully consider the situation, you’ll agree that it would not serve my purposes to be here alone. And indeed, if you look out the starboard side you will see a vehicle occupied by an accomplice who is currently holding a portable phone programmed to speed dial the police. In this country, abduction is a crime, a felony to be more specific.”

Tanaka looked again at Sterling’s business card as if there was something he could have missed on his first examination. “What is it you want?” he asked in English.