A Clean Kill in Tokyo

journalist. I’m going to write a series of stories with whatever’s on there as corroboration.”
    “How long will that take?”
    “How long? Hell, the stories are already written. All I need is the proof.”
    I considered. “Let me tell you a few things about the disk,” I said, and explained about the encryption.
    “Not a problem,” he said when I was done. “
Forbes
has a relationship with Lawrence Livermore. They’ll help us. As soon as it’s cracked, we publish.”
    “Every day that goes by without that publication, Midori’s life is in danger.”
    “Is that why you’re giving it to me? The people who want it would have paid you for it. Quite a lot, you know.”
    “I want you to understand something,” I said. “If you fail to publish what’s on that disk, your failure might cost Midori her life. If that happens, I will find you, and I will kill you.”
    “What’s your involvement with her?”
    “I respect her. She’s already sacrificed a lot for what’s on that disk. Make sure you don’t add to her burdens.”
    He nodded. “I understand.”
    I looked at him a moment longer, then reached into my breast pocket and took out the disk. I handed it to him and walked back to the station.
    I ran an SDR to Shinbashi, thinking about Tatsu on the way. Until the contents of the disk were published, it wasn’t just Midori who was in danger, I knew, it was also Tatsu. And while Tatsu was no soft target, he wasn’t bulletproof, either. It had been a lot of years since I had seen him, but we had covered each other’s backs once. I owed him a heads-up at least.
    I called the
Keisatsucho
from a payphone at Shinbashi Station. “Do you know who this is?” I asked in English after they’d put me through to him.
    There was a long pause. “A ghost, if I didn’t know better,” he said in English—a good sign, because it meant he didn’t want the people around him to understand. “Do you know the
Keisatsucho
found two bodies in Sengoku? One of them had been carrying a cane. Your fingerprints were on it. I’ve wondered from time to time whether you were still in Tokyo.”
    Damn,
I thought,
must have grabbed the cane at some point without even realizing it.
My fingerprints were on file from the time I returned to Japan after the war—I was technically a foreigner, and all foreigners in Japan get fingerprinted.
    “We tried to locate you,” he went on, “but you seem to have vanished. So I think I understand why you’re calling, but there is nothing I can do for you. The best thing you can do now is to come to the
Keisatsucho.
If you do, you know I will do everything I can do to help you. You make yourself look guilty by running.”
    “That’s why I’m calling, Tatsu. I’ve got information about this matter I want to give to you.”
    “In exchange for what?”
    “For you doing something about it. Listen to what I’m saying. This isn’t about me. If you act on my information, I’ll turn myself in afterward. I’ll have nothing to be afraid of.”
    “Where and when?” he asked.
    “Are we alone on this line?” I asked.
    “Are you suggesting this line could be tapped?” he asked, and I recognized the old subversive sarcasm in his voice. He was telling me to assume it was.
    “Okay, good,” I said. “Lobby of the Hotel Okura, next Saturday, noon sharp.” The Okura was a ridiculously public place to meet and Tatsu would know I would never seriously suggest it.
    “Ah, that’s a good place,” he answered, telling me he understood. “I’ll see you then.”
    “You know, Tatsu, it sounds crazy, but sometimes I miss the times we had in Vietnam. I miss those useless weekly briefings we used to have to go to—do you remember?”
    The CIA head of the task force that ran the briefings invariably scheduled them for 16:30, leaving him plenty of time afterward to chase prostitutes through Saigon. Tatsu rightly thought the guy was a joke, and wasn’t shy about pointing it out publicly.
    “Yes, I remember,” he said.
    “For some reason I was especially missing them just now,” I said, getting ready to give him the day to add to the time. “Wished I had one to attend tomorrow, in fact. Isn’t that strange? I’m getting nostalgic in my old age.”
    “That happens.”
    “Yeah, well. It’s been a long time. I’m sorry we lost touch the way we did. Tokyo’s changed so much since I first got here. We had some pretty good times back then, didn’t we? I used to love that one place we