to locate.” Goro sat at the bar, a few steps away from our table. He glared at me.
“Goro doesn’t seem very happy today,” I commented.
Ito’s eyes tightened in amusement. “Goro’s emotional state is of no concern of mine, Dr. Burke. He serves the Miyazaki family. To the extent that he does that well, he should be content.”
“And you?”
Ito sipped at his scotch carefully. “I serve my government. The Miyazaki family is an important one. The son has a significant position in the diplomatic corps …
“And you take care of your own?”
Ito cocked his head, considering an answer. “Let us just say in this instance, the concerns of Miyazaki-san regarding his daughter are shared by my superiors.”
I sat forward. “And why is that, I wonder.”
Ito took another careful sip of Johnny Walker Blue. Then he set the glass down, perfectly centered on the cocktail napkin. His face was totally empty of expression. “With all due respect, Dr. Burke, the details are no concern of yours.”
He was wrong, of course. The details are everything. Somewhere in that thicket, the devil lurks. But he was also in a business where even he probably never got the full story; someone simply winds him up and off he goes. The sense of honor that comes with unquestioning service is bred deep in Japanese of a certain type. The days of the samurai may seem long past, but the tradition endures.
I tried a different angle. “When we met in the hotel … the elder Miyazaki …” I let the sentence trail off unfinished, fishing for a response.
Ito smiled slightly and shook his head. “That old demon. He is vastly wealthy, Dr. Burke. And deeply connected. But I am not sure how much he shares his own son’s concerns for Chie.”
“She’s his granddaughter.”
“Familial relations with the Miyazaki are,” he paused, seeking the right word, “complex. I believe Chie’s father is truly worried about his daughter’s well-being. Among other things.” I tried to keep my expression blank when Ito said that. It was the tiniest end of a thread I might be able to pull on.
“But the old man?”
“The elder Miyazaki considers her an embarrassment and something of a lost cause.”
“So why not simply cut off the money and let her drift?”
Ito was scanning the room, his eyes moving across the crowd with practiced efficiency. His body language told me there was nothing really to worry about. It was probably force of habit on his part. Or a stalling tactic used while he decided what to say to me.
“The old man would like to see her … go away.” He was feeling his way along in the conversation, no longer as comfortable as he had been at the beginning. His cadence had changed and the words came out more slowly, as if he were screening each utterance.
I lifted my eyebrows. “That has a sinister ring to it.”
He looked at me. “Indeed? The old man comes from another time, when different methods were perhaps more acceptable.” He moved his head to indicate Goro. “He surrounds himself with people who yearn for a return to a more,” he paused yet again, and then smiled, “a more brutal simplicity.”
“Goro’s a headbreaker,” I said. “I know the type. He likes it.”
“He is useful. Nothing more. In this situation my government is concerned that Miyazaki Chie is recovered and reunited safely with her father. He is an important man and needs to regain focus on some critical issues. I will control the grandfather. And Goro.”
Ito slid a large manila envelope across the table. “Funds as agreed upon. I have provided you with copies of the material we have collected on Lim. Background and contacts for Chie.” He paused. “I have also included a USB drive with the electronic files of the correspondence and photos that have been sent to Miyazaki-san by his daughter.” He looked down at his drink. “The fewer hard copies the better.”
“What about the originals?”
“They were all sent electronically, Dr. Burke.”
“That may give us a way to trace them.”
“It may give you a way to trace them, Dr. Burke. I have been instructed to keep my distance from this operation.” There was something in the tone of his voice that suggested irritation. But it was a faint note, subtly pitched, and it faded and was gone, swallowed in the hum of cocktail hour. I wondered about that hint of annoyance.
“And Goro,” I smiled. “Will he keep a distance?”
Ito didn’t smile back. “It would be very dangerous for us all if he did not.”
I sat there, stone-faced. Two could play at this game. Finally Ito sighed. He took out a business card and a gold pen, and carefully inked out a phone number. “Your contact numbers are provided in the envelope, Dr. Burke. But in critical moments it might be best to go through different channels, agreed? My personal cell phone.”
I didn’t pick up the card. “Ito, what’s the deal here? I’m not a complete idiot, you know. This all seems so convoluted. You people could pull some strings, get her tracked down and picked up. But you won’t. Instead you want me to do it. At least some of you want me to. What the old man really wants is anybody’s guess. And you. What’s really your role here? What are you doing?”
He stood up. “I am doing what I can, Dr. Burke.” He gestured and Goro moved away from the bar and headed toward the door. Ito watched him go. “Kekki no yu wo imashimuru koto,” he said and looked at me. “Are you familiar with it?
“Guard against impetuous courage and refrain from violent behavior,” I translated. It was part of the pledge recited at the end of every training session in Shotokan Karate.
“Indeed. Goro says the words, but I am not sure he truly accepts them.”
“Like I said, he’s a headbreaker,” I added, shrugging.
Ito nodded. “Don’t judge him too harshly, Dr. Burke. And don’t underestimate him either.” He moved away from the table but turned for one last comment. “Besides, were we so different when we were young?” He flashed a quick smile.
“You again,” she said. She was as pale as ever, but sporting a new look: long, limp hair, dyed black with neon blue streaks. She still had the nose stud and I wondered whether it bubbled and leaked mucous when she had a cold. Fortunately, the question would remain a mystery. She seemed healthy enough at the moment, although undernourished. Librarians are often less than robust.
The university’s map collection was state of the art and the special section where she worked was state of the art as well: good light, clusters of computer work stations with flat screens, and a smattering of well-stuffed modular furniture. The room was empty except for a student sprawled in a loveseat in a far corner of the room, his eyes closed and mouth sagging open. The quest for knowledge is exhausting.
“Hello, Ann.” I used my winning smile, but she somehow resisted my charm. She had helped me out with a puzzle some time ago, working with me as
