Tsuge was just as anxious and frustrated when September’s cabinet meeting was called into session. The question-and-answer session had, fortunately, been scheduled for the second day of the proceedings. That would be when Ukai would take to the podium.
For the last three days Tsuge had made a daily pilgrimage to the assemblyman’s home in City K. He’d learned nothing new, except the name and voice of Ukai’s housekeeper. He didn’t even know if Ukai had genuinely been out or had just been pretending to be.
‘Have you told the captain?’
‘Not yet.’
Not for the first time that day, Tsuge and Sakaniwa had gathered in the visitors’ room to discuss the matter in private. There was no longer any choice but to accept that Ukai could not be appeased. Their next step was clear: find out the nature of the question. If they did that, they could at least try to draft a response, however devastating the revelation turned out to be. It would be awkward, nothing more than a stop-gap measure, but it would at least give the impression that the captain had made a considered response. They could not allow him to be blindsided, leave him to panic with nothing to say.
The reputation of the headquarters would be in tatters.
In addition to his gnawing anxiety, Tsuge found himself inundated with desk work. The captain had returned the draft responses, together with plenty of red marker pen. He’d devoted what seemed a significant amount of time to purging them of any words or phrases that came across as overly bureaucratic. That was fine, but the upcoming session was not the usual guarded affair. In it lurked a terrorist who hoped to destabilise the very foundation on which the Prefectural HQ stood.
Tsuge and Sakaniwa reconvened that evening.
‘Here, perhaps you can use this.’ Sakaniwa slid a memo across the table. On it, written in pen, was an address and room number for an apartment in City D. Kinue Taiyo. The woman from the nightclub. Sakaniwa had, it seemed, been busy following up on Tsuge’s lead.
‘This is where she lives?’
‘The room’s in Ukai’s name, but it seems she stays here. This is the only chance we’re going to get. Use her to pressure him into talking.’
Sakaniwa’s tone was that of a man backed into a corner. But Tsuge wasn’t doing this as a favour – he was in exactly the same position. If Ukai saw this through, they would both end up taking the fall.
‘Take this with you.’
Sakaniwa pushed a paper bag into Tsuge’s arms. It contained what seemed to be an expensive bottle of spirits.
Nine o’clock. Tsuge stood outside the room on the seventh floor of the apartment complex, paper bag in hand. Knowing Ukai wouldn’t let him in if Kinue was there, he’d opted for a time that was busy in her trade. An empty bracket hung above the door, the kind that usually housed a security camera. His fingers were trembling slightly when he pushed the buzzer. After a short wait the door opened to reveal Ukai in a bathrobe.
‘You again.’
He looked as annoyed as ever but Tsuge thought he could see alarm in the man’s expression. He hadn’t committed a crime per se but Tsuge doubted there were many members of the assembly who could remain impassive when caught in a love nest they’d set up for a woman of the night. And yet it would still all be over if Ukai chose to slam the door in his face. Tsuge took a deep breath before he spoke.
‘Assemblyman, I just need a moment of your time. I’ll make sure I’m gone before she gets here.’
Ukai removed his glasses and glared straight into Tsuge’s eyes. ‘Are you trying to imply something?’
‘Just ten minutes. That’s all I need.’
‘. . .’
‘Assemblyman, please.’
‘Make it quick.’
Tsuge gave a deep bow of his head then followed the man into the living room.
‘You’ve got ten minutes, no more. Push it and I call the governor. Are we clear?’
The phone in his hands began to ring the moment he finished speaking, causing him to tut.
‘This is Ukai. Uh-huh. Wait, just what the hell do you mean by that?’ The assemblyman’s eyes darted briefly in Tsuge’s direction. He got up from the couch and said, ‘Hang on a second, I’m going into the other room.’
It seemed there was something he didn’t want overheard. Ukai turned towards Tsuge and told him he was free to leave whenever he wanted. He disappeared into the bedroom and shut the door.
Left alone, Tsuge realised how nervous he’d become. What was the matter with him? Just get it done. He glowered at the bedroom door, noticing something on the floor as he did so. Ukai’s briefcase. It was right there, beside the couch. His pulse quickened. He looked back at the door, then at the briefcase. He gave the door another wary glance.
He was moving before he even registered that he’d made the decision. Raising himself up a little from the couch, he began to shuffle sideways. He leaned forwards to listen in to the bedroom. Ukai was talking. Completely absorbed, it seemed, in whatever it was he was discussing. Tsuge sat back down. Once at the edge of the couch, he dropped one knee to the ground. Keeping his eyes on the door, he reached out for the briefcase. His fingers registered the cool touch of the surface. Quietly, he undid the clasp.
There were documents inside. His heart was pounding so hard it was a struggle even to breathe. He grabbed at the papers with sweaty fingers. He flicked through them one by one. A paper on environmental hormones. Statistics on small and medium businesses filing for bankruptcy. A pamphlet advertising life insurance. Another paper. A handwritten memo. A list of names from his committee. More statistics. Another list of names, this one for some kind of reunion. More papers. More papers. Still more papers. There was nothing inside to even hint at what the man’s question might be. Nothing that had anything to do with the police.
Damn it.
There was a noise from the bedroom. Tsuge fell back on to the couch. In the next moment, Ukai opened the door and came back in. He seemed to cotton on to the fact that something was wrong.
‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine . . .’ Tsuge realised his back was soaked with sweat.
‘That’s your ten minutes up. Time to leave.’
‘I can’t leave, not until I know what you intend to ask,’ Tsuge said, his guilty conscience lending new force to his words. Perhaps it was the desperation. He’d seen nothing of the ‘time bomb’ in Ukai’s briefcase, which probably meant the details of the question existed only in the head of the man standing before him. ‘I need to know. Just a few words will do.’
‘You’ll find out tomorrow.’
‘That’s too late. It’s vital that I know today.’
‘Your problem, not mine.’
Tsuge’s teeth cut into his lip. This would be what people called bloodlust. He felt a powerful urge to beat the man senseless, to drag him off the couch and give him a good kicking. But it was Tsuge who got to his feet. He crumpled on to his knees. His hands hit the ground. He told himself it was just an act, even as he shook with rage and humiliation.
‘I’ll be in your debt. I’m begging you, please.’
He brought his head even closer to the carpet. His cheeks were on fire. Blood coursed through his temples. The few centimetres left between his forehead and the floor were all that remained of his pride. He let go of that, too. He thought he would choke on the synthetic smell of the fibres. His heart was already elsewhere. He saw Morio and the boy with the snake-eyes. He ran from them, too. He wanted the clear blue sky. The sky he’d seen that day at the viewing pillar, back when he’d still burned with raw ambition.
‘If you’re this good at kowtowing, you might want to consider running for election.’
Tsuge’s head snapped up, only to see Ukai holding out the bag with the alcohol in it. The assemblyman flashed a grin.
‘I’ll see you in the hall tomorrow.’