Cajun Justice(73)

“I’m telling them that these are suspicious circumstances. Have them listen to my voicemail. Or have ’em take a closer look at this.” Cain raised the empty syringe into the air.

Tanaka pulled Cain aside. “Drugs are very taboo in Japan. If they think she is a drug user, they will not look for her.”

Cain felt his blood boiling when one of the officers pointed to an Angel Cloud brochure on the table. The officer said in broken English, “Westerners come and go there. It is normal. Very safe here. Maybe vacation with customer. We will talk with the neighbors.”

Cain stormed toward the door. “I’m not dealing with these Keystone Cops any longer.”

Tanaka followed Cain to the door. “Where are you going?”

“To get some answers.”

“Take Aito-san. He can translate for you.”

“Where I’m going, I don’t need a translator!”





Part Three





“In der Nott frisst der Teufel Fliegen”





Chapter 56



The black Toyota Crown rolled to a stop. With his white-gloved hand, the driver pointed toward the massive ten-story concrete building that took up an entire city block in Tokyo. The taxi driver understood my poor Japanese after all, Cain thought.

Cain handed the driver two one-thousand-yen bills, which more than covered the fare, and opened the rear passenger door. He folded out of the sedan and looked upon the embassy’s black wrought-iron gates. Yep, it’s undeniably the American embassy. It’s the most fortified building in the entire neighborhood. Half a dozen uniformed police officers were patrolling on foot behind waist-high concrete barriers. Beyond the gate’s walls, a lone American flag blew lightly in the wind.

“Sumimasen,” the driver said as he ran around the front of the car to hand Cain his change. Tipping was not customary in Japan, and it often made Japanese people feel uncomfortable. “Sumimasen,” he repeated as he handed Cain his change on a small plate. The driver seemed relieved when Cain took it.

Cain tossed the yennies, as he called the Japanese coins, into his pocket and marched through the crosswalk to approach the heavily guarded compound. The Department of State crest was bolted to the bars of the gate. The American eagle, with its wings outstretched, was clutching arrows in one talon and an olive branch in the other. Cain read the sign: E PLURIBUS UNUM. “Out of many, one,” he said softly to himself. It’s time to call in the backup. He felt confident that the embassy would be able to light a fire under the Tokyo police.

Cain approached the security hut and punched the push-button intercom. “I’m an American citizen. I’d like to speak to the regional security officer,” Cain said to one of the guards behind bulletproof glass that was at least two inches thick.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but it’s very important. Tell the duty agent that it’s an emergency and that I’m a Secret Service agent. I need to discuss a kidnapping with him.”

“Do you have any identification?”

Cain pushed his passport through a narrow opening in the partition.

The guard thumbed through a folder of names and numbers. He picked up a landline and punched a series of keys. The call lasted less than a minute, and Cain couldn’t hear the conversation. The guard pushed the intercom button and instructed Cain to empty his pockets and walk through the metal detector. It was like going through airport security, although Cain didn’t have to remove his boots. A different security guard escorted him up the hill to the main entrance of the embassy.

“Please sit here,” he said. “Mr. Rose will meet you here as soon as he arrives.”

“Mr. Rose?” Cain asked.

“The deputy regional security officer. He’s the duty officer.”

Cain glanced at his watch. “When will he be here?”

“I don’t know the exact time, but he has been notified.”

“Please tell him to hurry. This is a level-one priority.”

The guard nodded, but Cain understood that the duty agent would arrive whenever he felt like it.

The guard directed Cain to sit in a chair in the lobby while he waited for Mr. Rose to arrive. But Cain couldn’t sit still. He paced back and forth across the marble floor. “Mountains exist for you to climb, not for you to carry,” he repeated to himself. He tried breathing exercises he had learned at the retreat. He continued inhaling air as many times as possible to stretch his lungs, and then he exhaled as slowly as he could without passing out. The monks had said that lungs are like rubber bands: they need to be stretched.

Cain quit pacing when the man he took to be Mr. Rose approached him about an hour later.

“Oh.” Mr. Rose sighed and paused at the sight of Cain. “I recognize you from the Japan Times. You’re a former Secret Service agent.”

“I need your help.”

“You sound just like a Secret Service agent.” Mr. Rose chuckled. “They are always needing the RSO’s help. What happened? You and your partner stiff a prostitute again, but this time in Japan?” Mr. Rose smirked.

“I’m gonna let that go, thanks to some recent Zen training I’ve been undergoing.”

“Well, I appreciate your restraint,” Mr. Rose replied with dry humor. He led Cain into his office and they sat down at the desk. “What’s so important that made you tell the guard that it’s a level-one priority?”