Hard Rain

"It's gone."
    "There were fifty thousand yen in it."
    I nodded. "Just enough for a gustation menu and an '85
    Rousseau Chambertin at a restaurant I like. I had to go out of pocket
    on the '70 Vega Sicilia Unico I had with dessert, though, so next time
    you get it in your head to surveil me, bring along a few more yen,
    okay?"
    He glowered. "You robbed me."
    "You're lucky you didn't pay a much higher price than that for trying
    to follow me, son. Now let's see if the guy I'm going to see is
    willing to give you the assistance you want."
    I took him to Christie Tea & Cake, the kiss aten that Tatsu had
    proposed earlier. We walked the short distance from JR Harajuku
    station. The proprietor, perhaps remembering me and my seating
    preferences from my Tokyo days, led us to one of the tables at the back
    of the long, L-shaped room, where we could sit hidden from the window
    in front.
    Kanezaki ordered an Assam tea set. I asked for jasmine, both for
    myself and for our yet-to-arrive third party. After the day we'd just
    had, I figured Tatsu and I could use something low-caffeine.
    We made small talk while we waited for Tatsu. Kanezaki was
    surprisingly garrulous, perhaps out of nervousness at his
    circumstances. "How did you get into this business?" I asked him.
    "I'm third-generation American Japanese," he told me. "Sansei. My
    parents speak Japanese, but they used English at home with me so I only
    learned what I picked up from my grandparents. In college I did a
    home-stay program in Japan, in Nagano-ken, and I loved it. Kind of put
    me in touch with my heritage, you know? After that, I took all the
    Japanese courses I could and did another home stay. During my senior
    year, I met a CIA recruiter on campus. He told me the Agency was
    looking for people with hard language skills Japanese, Chinese, Korean,
    Arabic. I figured what the hell. I took the tests, passed a
    background check, and here I am."
    "Has the job met your expectations?" I asked, with a small smile.
    "Not exactly. But I can roll with the punches. I might be tougher
    than you think, you know."
    I thought of his surprising lack of fear during our initial encounter,
    the way he'd collected himself after watching me take out his partner,
    and wasn't inclined to disagree.
    "Anyway," he went on, 'the main thing is that the job puts me in a
    position to serve the interests of both countries. That's what really
    attracted me to it in the first place."
    "How do you mean?"
    "The U.S. wants Japan to reform. And Japan needs to reform, but lacks
    the internal resources to do it. So gaiatsu from the U.S. is in both
    countries' interests."
    Gaiatsu means 'foreign pressure." I wondered briefly whether there was
    a country outside Japan that had a dedicated word for the concept.
    "Sounds idealistic," I said, probably failing to hide my dubiousness.
    He shrugged. "Maybe. But we're one world now. If Japan's economy
    sinks, it'll drag the U.S. down with it. So U.S. ideals and U.S.
    pragmatism on the one hand, and Japanese needs on the other, are all
    aligned. I feel lucky to be in a position to work for the countries'
    mutual welfare."
    I had a brief image of this kid ten years from now, running for office.
    "You given any thought to what you'll do if you ever have to choose?" I
    asked him.
    He looked at me. "I'm American."
    I nodded. "Then as long as America lives up to her ideals, you ought
    to be fine."
    The waiter brought our tea. A moment later Tatsu appeared. If he was
    surprised to see me with Kanezaki, he didn't show it. Tatsu has a
    great poker face.
    Kanezaki looked at me, then at Tatsu. "Ishikura-san," he said,
    half-rising out of his seat.
    Tatsu bowed his head in greeting.
    "You told us he was dead," Kanezaki said, inclining his head toward
    me.
    Tatsu shrugged. "At the time, I believed he was."
    "Why didn't you get in touch when you learned he wasn't?"
    I saw a trace of amusement in Tatsu's eyes at this kid's
    straightforwardness, and he said, "Something tells me it was fortunate
    that I did not."
    Kanezaki furrowed his brow, then nodded. "That may be true."
    I looked at Kanezaki. "Tell him what you told me," I said.
    He did. When he was done, Tatsu said, "It seems the most likely
    explanation for this unusual chain of events is that Station Chief
    Biddle or someone else in the CIA is preparing to turn you into a
    twenty-first century Oliver North."
    "Oliver North?" Kanezaki asked.
    "Yes," Tatsu went on, 'from the Iran Contra scandal. The Reagan
    administration