Hard Rain

overconfident. A common error. In some
    conditions, and a narrow alley can be one of them, a blade will beat a
    bullet.
    Tatsu stood up and looked at me. His tone was calm but I could see
    quiet rage in his eyes.
    "Murakami?" he asked.
    I nodded.
    "Those men inside, they're his?"
    I nodded again.
    "There is a large Mercedes parked in front of the building. I am
    guessing he arrived in it, and was planning to leave in it. Now he
    will be forced to rely on taxis or public transportation. He could not
    have done that' he gestured to the downed man 'without getting a
    substantial amount of blood on him. We will have men here shortly to
    search the area. We may be able to track him."
    "I don't think so," I said.
    His nostrils flared. "One of the two men I saw inside looked well
    enough to interrogate," he said. "That will also be useful."
    "Was there anyone out front when you arrived?" I asked. "Murakami
    cleared the place out just before you got here."
    "There were several men outside," he said. "They scattered when they
    saw us. They won't be of immediate use."
    "I'm sorry about your man," I told him, not knowing what else to say.
    He nodded slowly, and for a moment his features seemed to sag. "His
    name was Fujimori. He was a good man, capable and idealistic. Later
    today I will have to tell these things to his widow."
    He straightened, as though collecting himself. "Brief me now on what
    happened, then go, before the other officers arrive."
    I told him. He listened without a word. When I was done, he looked at
    me and said, "Meet me at Christie tea shop in Harajuku tonight at seven
    o'clock. Don't disappear. Don't make me have to find you."
    I knew Christie, having been there many times while living in Tokyo.
    "I'll be there," I said.
    "Where is the gun?"
    "Inside. In a gym bag, by the front entrance. I'd like to keep it."
    He shook his head. "I was asked about it today. I need to account for
    it or there will be trouble. I may be able to get you another."
    "Do that," I said, thinking of the confident way Murakami had
    unsheathed his Kershaw.
    He nodded, then looked at his fallen comrade. His jaw clenched, then
    released. "When I catch him," he said, 'that's what I am going to do
    to him."
    Seventeen.
    I walked out to Kototoi-dori and found a cab. Although their
    functioning was temporarily disrupted by what had just gone down at the
    dojo, I knew now that Murakami's people were aware I was in Asakusa,
    and the subway station would have been too likely a spot for an
    ambush.
    The meeting Tatsu had demanded was over six hours away, and the
    bizarre, floating feeling of having nowhere to go and nothing to do was
    getting to me. I felt a rush of what someone ought to name
    post-traumatic-extreme-horniness disorder, and thought about calling
    Naomi. She'd be home right now, maybe just waking up. But with
    Murakami on to me, I didn't want to go anywhere where there was even a
    small chance that I might be anticipated.
    My pager buzzed. I checked it, saw a number I didn't recognize.
    I dialed the number from a pay phone. The other party picked up on the
    first ring.
    "Can you tell who this is?" a male voice asked in English.
    I recognized the voice. Kanezaki, my latest friend from the CIA.
    "Please, just listen to what I have to say," he went on. "Don't hang
    up."
    "How did you get this number?" I asked.
    "Phone records calls made from pay phones near your friend's apartment.
    But I had nothing to do with what happened to him. I just found out
    about it. That's why I'm calling you."
    I thought about that. If Kanezaki had a way of accessing a record of
    calls made from those pay phones, he might have managed to zero in on
    my pager number. Harry's practice had been to use various local pay
    phones to page me, after which he would return to his apartment and
    wait for my call. With access to the records, you might spot a pattern
    the same number being called from various pay phones in the
    neighborhood. If there were several hits, and I imagined there would
    be, you just call them all and eliminate the false positives by trial
    and error. I supposed this was a possibility Harry and I should have
    considered, but it didn't really matter. Even if someone managed to
    intercept my number, as Kanezaki seemed to have done, they'd learn
    nothing more than a pager address.
    "I'm listening," I said.
    "I want to meet with you," he said. "I think we can help each
    other."
    "Yeah?"
    "Yes. Look, I'm taking a big chance doing this. I know