The Key to Midnight

they hope to get more out of Wayne than you told him to give, Alex-san. Even in a sickbed, with one leg in traction, he'll be more than a match for them.'
        As she'd told them about Wayne, Mariko had been content to sip tea. Now she was ravenous. She devoured her share of the sandwiches while Joanna and Alex told her about the Chelgrin file, the two calls to London, and the thumbprints.
        Although their stunning revelations made Mariko forget her weariness, she was as intrigued by their demeanor as by what they told her. They were relaxed with each other. Joanna regarded Alex with obvious affection, trust - and a certain proprietary concern. For once, he was without his omnipresent jacket and tie, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. He had even kicked off his shoes, although Joanna didn't maintain the traditional shoeless Japanese house. Mariko didn't think they'd been to bed together. Not yet. But soon. In their eyes and voices, she could see and hear that special, sweet anticipation.
        She wondered how much longer Alex would argue that love did not actually exist.
        She smiled, sipped her tea. 'Now that you've matched the thumbprints, what will you do? Call the senator and tell him?'
        'No. Not yet,' Alex said.
        'Why not?'
        'I have a hunch… he's somehow part of this whole thing.'
        This was evidently a thought that he had not previously shared with Joanna, because she seemed surprised.
        Alex said, 'I think the senator knows you're here in Kyoto, Joanna. I think he's always known who kidnapped his daughter - and maybe even arranged the whole thing himself.'
        'But for God's sake, why?'
        He took hold of Joanna's hand, and Mariko smiled again.
        'It's just a hunch,' he said, 'but it explains a few things. Like where you got all that money to start a new life. We know now it didn't come from the Rand estate or Robert Rand's life insurance.'
        Mariko put down her teacup and patted her lips with a napkin. 'Let me get this straight. The senator had his own daughter kidnapped from the vacation house in Jamaica, brainwashed her, then arranged for her to be set up in a new life with an entirely new identity?'
        Alex nodded. 'I don't pretend to know why. But where else would all the money come from - if not from Tom Chelgrin?'
        Perplexed, Mariko said, 'How could any father send his daughter away? How could he ever be happy if he could riot see her any more?'
        'Here in Japan,' Alex said, 'you're aware of the continuity of generations, you have a strong sense of family. It isn't always like that where I come from. My own parents were alcoholics. They nearly destroyed me - emotionally and physically.'
        'We have a few like that. Human animals.'
        'Fewer than we do.'
        'Even one is too many. But this thing you say Joanna's father did… it's still beyond my comprehension.'
        Alex smiled so beautifully that for an instant Mariko wished that she had found him first, before Joanna had ever seen him and before he had seen Joanna.
        He said, 'It's beyond your comprehension because you're so exquisitely civilized, Mariko.'
        She blushed and acknowledged the compliment with a slow bow of her head.
        'There's something you haven't accounted for,' Joanna told Alex. 'The senator hired you to find his daughter, spent a small fortune on the search. Why would he do that if he knew where she was?'
        Pouring more tea for himself, Alex said, 'Misdirection. He was playing the stricken father who'd stop at nothing, spend anything, to get his child back. Who could suspect him of involvement? And he could afford to play expensive games.'
        Joanna was grim. 'What he did to me - if he did it to me - was not a game. Since you first mentioned Tom Chelgrin on Wednesday, in the taxi, you've made it clear you don't like him or trust him. But why not?'
        'He manipulates people.'
        'Don't all politicians?'
        'I don't have to like them for it. And Chelgrin is smoother than most politicians. He's oily.' Alex picked up another sandwich, hesitated, and put it down again without taking a bite. He seemed to have lost his appetite. 'I was around Chelgrin a lot, and I finally figured he had only four facial expressions he put on for the public: a somber, attentive look when he pretended to be listening to the views of a constituent; a fatherly smile that crinkled his