A Lonely Resurrection

of vision, then waited to ascertain whether there might be more of them. I was unsurprised to discover no one of interest. If their numbers had been greater, they would have switched positions to avoid potential countersurveillance when they sensed they were being moved in a circle. That they hadn’t was a strong indication this was only a two-person team.
    I checked my watch. Fifteen minutes to go.
    I took the underground passage to the Westin, where I caught a cab to nearby Hiro. Harry and his two admirers were now walking to the same place; taking the cab ensured that I would be there early to greet them.
    I had the cab let me off on Meiji-dori, where I ducked into a Starbucks.
    “What can I get you?” the counter girl asked me in Japanese.
    “Just a coffee,” I said. “Grande. And can you make it extra hot?”
    “Sorry, the coffee drips at precisely ninety-eight degrees centigrade and is served at eighty-five degrees. I can’t change it.”
    Christ, they really train these people,
I marveled. “I see. I’ve got this cold, though, I could use something really hot for the vapors. What about tea?”
    “Oh, the tea is very hot. There’s no dripping, so it’s made and served at ninety-eight degrees.”
    “Wonderful. I’ll have a grande Earl Grey.”
    She made the tea and set it on the counter next to the register. I paid for it and picked it up.
    “Wait,” she said. She handed me an extra cup. “This will keep it hot.”
    I smiled at her thoughtfulness. “Thank you,” I said.
    The detour had taken about four minutes. I moved a few hundred meters farther up the right side of the street to a small playground, where I sat on a corner bench. I set down the tea and used the cloned mobile phone to confirm that the taxi I had ordered was waiting. It was indeed, and I told the dispatcher the passenger would be there in just a few minutes.
    Five minutes later, I saw Harry heading in my direction. He made a left on a nameless street that would take him into a rather dark and quiet residential area. Not the kind of place where you could catch a cab. Luckily, Harry knew there would be one waiting for him. His two friends, of course, were going to be shit out of luck.
    There they were, one on each side of the street. The American was now in the lead, on my side. He cut across and followed Harry into the neighborhood. Ten seconds later the Japanese followed. I picked up the tea and moved in behind them.
    Fifty meters left, fifty meters right, fifty meters left again. These streets were exceptionally narrow, flanked by white concrete walls. Almost a labyrinth. I walked slowly. I couldn’t see them from this far back, but I knew where they were going.
    Three minutes later, a cab pulled out in front of me and headed in my direction. I glanced at the back window and saw Harry. I was glad this part had gone smoothly. Had there been a problem, Harry would have turned around and just kept walking and I would have improvised. What I wanted, though, was that this sudden and somewhat theatrical loss of their quarry would cause his pursuers to come together for a consultation. I would have an easier time of it if I could surprise them simultaneously.
    Neither Harry nor I gave any sign of acknowledgment as the cab passed my position. I continued ahead, making a right onto the street from which the cab had just emerged.
    The street was about thirty meters long, turning ninety degrees to the right at the end. No sign of Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. No problem. The place Harry had led them to was a dead end.
    I reached the end of the street and turned right. There they were, about twelve meters away. The Japanese guy had his left side to me. He was talking to the American. The American was facing me, an unlit cigarette in his mouth. He was holding a lighter at waist level, flicking it, trying to get it going.
    I forced myself to keep my pace casual, just another pedestrian. My heart began to beat harder. I could feel it pounding in my chest, behind my ears.
    Ten meters. I popped the plastic lid off the paper cup with my thumb. I felt it tumble across the back of my hand.
    Seven meters. Adrenaline was slowing down my perception of the scene. The Japanese guy glanced in my direction. He looked at my face. His eyes began to widen.
    Five meters. The Japanese guy reached out for the American, the gesture urgent even through my adrenalized slow-motion vision. He grabbed the American’s arm and started pulling on it.
    Three meters.