Rainfall

a long time ago. This is another time, another place.”

    “But the people are the same.”

    He waved his hand as though trying to dispel an offensive odor. “It doesn’t matter what you think of me, Rain. Because this isn’t about us. The situation is what matters, and the situation is this: The police want you. The LDP wants you. The
yakuza
wants you. And they’re going to find you because your cover is fucking blown. Now let us help you.”

    What to do. Take him out right here? They knew where I lived, which made me newly vulnerable, and taking out the station chief could lead to retribution.

    The car behind us made a right. I glanced back and saw the car that was following it, a black sedan with three or four Japanese in it, slow down instead of taking up the space that had developed. Not an effective strategy for driving in Tokyo traffic.

    I waited until we were almost at the next light, then told the driver to make a left. He just had time to brake and make the turn. The sedan changed lanes with us.

    I told the driver I was mistaken, that he should get back on Meiji-dori. He looked back at me, clearly annoyed, wondering what the hell this was all about.

    The sedan stayed with us as we made the turns.

    Oh, shit.

    “You bring some people with you, Holtzer? I thought I told you to come alone.”

    “They’re here to bring you inside. For your protection.”

    “Fine, they can follow us back to the embassy,” I said, suddenly scared and trying to think of a way out.

    “I’m not going to have a cab drive the two of us into the embassy compound together. It’s enough of a breach of security that I’ve met with you at all. They’ll bring you in. It’s safer.”

    How could they have followed him? Even if he were wearing a transmitter in a body cavity, they couldn’t have pinpointed the location in this traffic.

    Then I realized. They had played me beautifully. They knew when “Lincoln” called that I was going to demand an immediate meeting. They didn’t know where, but they had people mobile and ready to move the second they found out the place. They had twenty minutes to get to Shinjuku, and they could stay close enough to react to what they heard through the wire without my seeing them. Holtzer must have given them the name of the cab company, the car’s description, the license-plate number, and updated them about its progress until I got in. By then they were already in position. All while I was congratulating myself for thinking so well on my feet and taking control of the situation, while I was relaxing after getting rid of the wire.

    I hoped I would live to enjoy the lesson. “Who are they?” I asked.

    “People we can trust. Working with the embassy.”

    The light at the Kanda River overpass turned red. The cab started to slow down.

    I snapped my head right, then left, searching for an avenue of escape.

    The sedan crept closer, stopping a car length away.

    Holtzer looked at me, trying to gauge what I was going to do. For a split instant our eyes locked. Then he lunged at me.

    “It’s for your own good!” he yelled, trying to get his arms around my waist. I saw the back doors of the sedan open, a pair of burly Japanese in sunglasses stepping out on either side.

    I tried to push Holtzer away, but his hands were locked behind my back. The driver turned around and started yelling something. I didn’t really hear what.

    The two Japanese had closed their doors and were carefully approaching the taxi. Shit.

    I wrapped my right arm around Holtzer’s neck, holding his head in place against my chest, and slipped my left between my body and his neck, the ridge of my hand searching for his carotid. “
Aum da! Aum Shinrikyo da
!” I yelled at the driver. “
Sarin
!” Aum was the cult that gassed the Tokyo subway in 1995, and memories of the sarin attack can still cause panic.

    Holtzer yelled something against my chest. I leaned forward, using my torso and legs like a walnut cracker. I felt him go limp.

    “Ei? Nan da tte?”
the driver asked, his eyes wide. What do you mean?

    One of the Japanese tapped on the passenger-side window. “
Aitsu! Aum da! Sarin da! Boku no tomodachi — ishiki ga nai! Ike! Kuruma o dase
!” Those men! They’re Aum — they have sarin! My friend is unconscious! Drive! Drive! Getting the right note of terror in my voice wasn’t a reach.

    He might have thought it was bullshit or that I was crazy, but sarin wasn’t worth the chance. He