Rainfall

“We don’t even know if he has the resources to decrypt it.”

    I suppressed a smile at the slight hint of resentment I detected: someone was going to take away his toy, maybe solve the technopuzzle without him.

    “We can assume that
Forbes
can access the right resources. We know how much they want what’s on that disk.”

    “I’d still like a better chance at decrypting it first.”

    “So would I. But we don’t know how long that would take. In the meantime we’ve got forces arrayed against us and we’re not going to be able to go on eluding them for much longer. The sooner Bulfinch publishes the damn thing, the sooner we can breathe easy again.”

    Midori, not taking any chances, said, “I’ll call him.”

20

    I HAD TOLD Bulfinch to meet me in Akasaka Mitsuke, one of the city’s entertainment districts, second only to Ginza in its profusion of hostess bars. The area is intersected by a myriad of alleyways, some so narrow they can only be traversed sideways, all of which offer multiple means of access and escape.

    It was raining and cold as I finished an SDR and exited Akasaka Mitsuke subway station in front of the Belle Vie department store. Across the street, bizarrely pink amidst the gray rain and sky, was the battleship bulk of the Akasaka Tokyu Hotel. I paused to open the black umbrella I was carrying, then turned right onto Sotobori-dori. After a right turn into an alley by the local Citibank, I emerged onto the red crenellated brick of the Esplanade Akasaka-dori.

    I was over an hour early and decided to grab a quick lunch at the Tenkaichi ramen restaurant on the Esplanade. Tenkaichi, “First Under Heaven,” is a chain, but the one on the Esplanade has character. The proprietors accept foreign currency, and the notes and coins of dozens of countries are taped to the establishment’s brown wooden walls. They also play a continuous stream of jazz compilations, occasionally interspersed by some soft American pop. And the cushioned stools, some discreetly set off in corners, offer a good view of the street in front of the restaurant.

    I ordered the
chukadon
— Chinese vegetables over rice — and ate while I watched the street through the window. Two
sarariman
, taking a late lunch break, also supped alone and in silence.

    I had told Bulfinch that, at 2:00, he should start circling the block counterclockwise at 19-3 Akasaka Mitsuke san-chome. There were more than a dozen alleys accessing that particular block, each with multiple tributaries, so he wouldn’t know where I’d be waiting until I made my presence known. It didn’t matter if he came early. He’d just have to keep circling the block in the rain. He didn’t know where I’d be.

    I finished at 1:50, paid the check, and left. Keeping the canopy of the umbrella low over my head, I crossed the Esplanade to Misuji-dori, then cut into an alley opposite the Buon Appetito restaurant on the 19-3 block and waited under the overhang of some rusting corrugated roofing. Because of the hour and the weather, the area was quiet. I waited and watched sad drops of water falling in a slow rhythm from the rusted roof onto the tops of dilapidated plastic refuse containers beneath.

    After about ten minutes I heard footsteps on the wet brick behind me, and a moment later Bulfinch appeared. He was wearing an olive trench coat and hunkering down under a large black umbrella. From where I was standing he couldn’t see me, and I waited until he had passed before speaking.

    “Bulfinch. Over here,” I said quietly.

    “Shit!” he said, turning to face me. “Don’t do that. You scared me.”

    “You’re alone?”

    “Of course. You brought the disk?”

    I stepped out from under the roofing and observed the alley in both directions. All clear. “It’s nearby. Tell me what you plan to do with it.”

    “You know what I plan to do. I’m a reporter. I’m going to write a series of stories with whatever’s on there as corroboration.”

    “How long will that take?”

    “How long? Hell, the stories are already written. All I need is the proof.”

    I considered. “Let me tell you a few things about the disk,” I said, and explained about the encryption.

    “Not a problem,” he said when I was done. “
Forbes
has a relationship with Lawrence Livermore. They’ll help us. As soon as it’s cracked, we publish.”

    “You know that every day that goes by without that publication, Midori’s life is in danger.”

    “Is that why