A Lonely Resurrection

The American looked up and saw me. The cigarette dangled from his lips. There was no recognition in his eyes.
    Two meters. I stepped in and flung the cup forward. Its contents of ninety-eight degrees centigrade Earl Gray tea exited and caught the American directly in the face and neck. His hands flew up and he shrieked.
    I turned to the Japanese. His eyes were popped all the way open, his head rotating back and forth in the universal gesture of negation. He started to raise his hands as though to ward me off.
    I grabbed his shoulders and shoved him into the wall. Using the same forward momentum, I stepped in and kneed him squarely in the balls. He grunted and doubled over.
    I turned back to the American. He was bent forward, staggering, his hands clutching at his face. I grabbed the collar of his jacket and the back of his trousers and accelerated him headfirst into the wall like a matador with a bull. His body shuddered from the impact and he dropped to the ground.
    The Japanese guy was lying on his side, clutching his crotch, gasping. I hauled him up by the lapels and shoved his back against the wall. I looked left, then right. It was just the three of us.
    “Tell me who you are,” I said in Japanese.
    He made retching noises. I could see he was going to need a minute.
    Keeping my left hand pressed against his throat, I patted him down to confirm he didn’t have a weapon, then checked his ears and jacket to ensure he wasn’t wired for sound. He was clean. I reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a wallet. I flipped it open. The ID was right in front, in a slip-in laminated protector.
    Tomohisa Kanezaki. Second Secretary, Consular Affairs, U.S. Embassy. The bald eagle logo of the U.S. Department of State showed blue and yellow in the background.
    So these characters were CIA. I slipped the wallet into one of my pants pockets so I could examine its contents later.
    “Pull yourself together, Kanezaki-san,” I said, switching to English. “Or this time I’ll hurt you for real.”
    “Chotto matte, chotto matte,”
he panted, holding up one of his hands for emphasis. Wait a minute, wait a minute.
“Setsumei suru to yakusoku shimasu kara. . .”
I promise I’ll explain everything, but. . .
    His Japanese was American-accented. “Use English,” I told him. “I don’t have time to give you a language lesson.”
    “Okay, all right,” he said. The panting had slowed a little. “My name is Tomohisa Kanezaki. I’m with the U.S. Embassy here in Tokyo.”
    “I know who you are. I just looked at your wallet. What were you doing following that man?”
    He took a deep breath and grimaced. His eyes were watering from the ball shot. “We were trying to find you. You’re John Rain.”
    “You were trying to find me, why?”
    “I don’t know. The parameters I was given. . .”
    I shoved hard against his throat and got in his face. “I’m not interested in your parameters. Ignorance is not going to be bliss for you. Not tonight. Understand?”
    He tried to push me away. “Just let me fucking talk for a minute, okay? If you keep choking me, I’m not going to be able to tell you anything!”
    I was taken aback by his gumption. He sounded more petulant than afraid. I realized this kid didn’t understand the kind of trouble he was in. If he didn’t tell me what I wanted to know I would have to adjust his attitude.
    I shot a quick glance at his prone friend, then back to him. “Talk,” I told him.
    “I was only supposed to locate you. I was explicitly told not to make contact.”
    “What was supposed to happen after you located me?”
    “My superiors would take it up from there.”
    “But you know who I am.”
    “I told you, yes.”
    I nodded. “Then you know what I’m going to do to you if I find any of your answers unsatisfactory.”
    He blanched. I seemed to be getting through to him.
    “Who’s he?” I asked, gesturing with my head to the prone American.
    “Diplomatic security. The parameters. . . I was told that under no circumstances was I to take a chance on encountering you alone.”
    A bodyguard. Sounded possible. The guy hadn’t recognized me, I’d seen that. He was probably here just for protection and surveillance tag team.
    Or he could have been the triggerman. The Agency relies on contractor cutouts for its wetwork, people like me. He might have been one of them.
    “You’re not supposed to encounter me alone because. . .”
    “Because you’re