I’ll be floating like a butterfly and stinging like a bee.
— MUHAMMAD ALI
WHAT DO I DO NOW?
Panic set in as Newcomer kept trying to Skype Kojima and Kojima refused to answer. Okay, the third time is a charm, Newcomer told himself, and tried once again. The line rang and was suddenly picked up. “Yoshi, are you there?” Newcomer asked frantically, but there was no response.
“Hello?” Newcomer ventured.
The next sound was that of a bubble softly popping underwater as Kojima hung up.
Let’s try once more, Newcomer resolved. He called and the line clicked on again. “Are you there?” he asked.
Kojima immediately hung up.
“What an ass,” Newcomer muttered under his breath. Why did I ever challenge him in the first place? I’ve totally screwed up the case again. Now he’s not going to come to L.A. He’s mad because I busted him on his bullshit.
Newcomer knew perfectly well that Kojima liked to be in control and always played games. This would be the third time the case had been blown to smithereens. There would be no more chances.
His Skype line suddenly rang, and Newcomer lunged for it. With any luck, Kojima might be ready to forgive him. “Hello?” he answered, a hopeful note clinging to the edge of his voice.
“You can hear me?” Kojima asked, sounding like a ghost in the distance.
“Yeah, I hear you fine now. Is everything okay?” Please say yes, Newcomer prayed.
“I think so. If I have time I’m calling you, okay? That’s it,” Kojima simply replied.
“You’ll call when you come to L.A.?” Newcomer asked, knowing he had to do whatever it took to repair the relationship.
“Yeah.”
“Well, I hope so, because I owe you a lot of money.” There was no way Kojima was going to pass that up, was he?
“Uh-huh. Okay. Anyway, thank you now,” Kojima said noncommittally.
Newcomer was at a loss as to what else to say. “Anyway, everything’s all right?”
The response was that sound of a bubble popping, as though someone was drowning, as Kojima hung up.
“Weird,” Newcomer mumbled. He knew that he had to take action.
There were only two possible ways to lure Kojima to L.A., and so far money hadn’t proved a strong enough incentive. He was running out of tricks. That left just one thing to try. He quickly composed an e-mail.
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything bad. I just hope you’re really coming. I’m not ignoring you. I’m really stuck in San Diego and am using a friend’s computer. I really miss you and want you to come to LA. Besides, I owe you lots of money. Come soon so we can see each other in person! Your special friend, Ted.
It was Ken Kojima who responded.
Hi Ted. Yoshi left this morning and will arrive in LA on Monday afternoon. He thinks he can see you and get money because he’s not bringing so much.
That was the answer he’d hoped for. All that mattered was that Kojima was on his way.
Newcomer promptly took the next step. He contacted U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) officials. Would they please make sure an alert had been placed on Kojima? He also wanted to know the moment that Kojima landed in L.A. Then he wrote Ken an e-mail.
Thanks for your message. I’m leaving San Diego now and will be home in two hours. I’ll keep my cell phone on and will have cash ready for when Yoshi contacts me. I also have his antiques.
That was it. He’d promised him money, antiques, and sex. What else could Kojima possibly want?
Monday came and went without word from Kojima. Newcomer picked up the phone and gave ICE agent Jamie Holt a call.
“Hey, I’ve got an alert on this guy Kojima. He was scheduled to arrive from Japan yesterday, but I haven’t heard a thing.”
Holt checked it out. “We got nothing. Sorry, but there’s no Yoshi Kojima showing up on any Customs entry records for LAX yesterday.”
Newcomer began to freak. How in the hell had Kojima snuck into the country? Then it hit him.
Son of a bitch! Yoshi must be traveling on his American passport!
There was no way to verify a damn thing. All he could do was sit and wait for Kojima to call and say, I’m here in L.A. Meet me.
In the meantime, previously ordered butterflies kept arriving for Ted Nelson. The packages, sent by his son, slipped past FWS and Customs as easily as Kojima seemingly had. Ken always followed up with an e-mail to confirm that Ted had received them. He quickly became Newcomer’s lifeline to Kojima, and Newcomer was determined to keep the connection open.
Hi Ken. I received the package of beautiful Ornithoptera Victoria. Thank you. Please tell Yoshi to call me when he can. I really want to see him. I am waiting to hear from him and want to spend lots of time with him. I will change my schedule so I can be with him.
He’d done everything he could to hear from the man, but Kojima remained elusive. At this point Newcomer started to lose it. He had the indictment and the warrant, only Kojima was nowhere to be found.
He kept his cell phone on 24/7, afraid that he might miss a call. Stress headaches set in as the pressure continued to build and little things in his personal life began to go awry. He’d always been a stickler for orderliness, down to folding his underwear and socks with military precision. Now his laundry was a jumbled mess, he couldn’t find his watch, and his head felt thick and muddy.
He’d expect to feel this way about losing his wife, his cat, his best friend, but not about Kojima. What in the hell was happening to him? He sent a desperate e-mail addressed to both father and son.
Hi Yoshi and Ken. I hope Yoshi’s trip is going well. Yoshi please call me. I miss you and really want to talk. The O. Victoriae are beautiful. Already sold for good profit. O. goliath should be delivered tomorrow. Please call. I want to talk and see you soon.
Your special friend
Newcomer had never felt like more of an outcast.
At the end of five days he finally received a glimmer of hope.
Hi Ted. Yoshi is in Utah near Nevada border. He’s staying at his friend’s house. His phone is working. You don’t know his number? Call him. I leave for US soon and he’ll pick me up. Meanwhile, I must take care of his job.
Ken
Why hadn’t he thought of that before? Newcomer quickly punched in the number. He might as well have tried to reach the Queen of England for all the good that it did. There was no answer as a game of cat and mouse ensued.
Well, that was a great suggestion. Now Yoshi can reject both my e-mails and my phone calls. This is really beginning to suck big time.
Newcomer was on the road when his cell phone rang unexpectedly. It had to be Kojima. Instead, it was his confidential informant.
“Hey, you’re not going to believe this, but I just got a call from Kojima. He’s in Arizona with a friend collecting butterflies.”
That confirmed it. Kojima really had slipped into the country. Even worse, he was contacting everyone but Ted Nelson.
“Okay, let me know if you hear from him again,” Newcomer said with a resigned sigh. He pulled into a McDonald’s parking lot. He might as well drown his sorrow in a Super Size Me Coke. He was on his way in when his cell phone rang again.
“Hi, Ted. This is Yoshi.”
“Yoshi! How are you? Is everything all right?” The words tumbled out, attempting to keep pace with his heart. Newcomer had never been happier to hear from anyone in his life.
“Yeah, yeah. Everything fine. I’m driving to the north rim of Grand Canyon with my friend. We collecting kaibabensis larvae here every day.”
“That’s terrific!” Newcomer replied, his hopes revived.
“Yeah, it’s very nice.” Kojima described his location down to the road that they were traveling on. “We’re going to Las Vegas tonight. I wish you were here.”
“I can’t wait until you come to L.A. We’re going to spend lots of time together, and I have all your cash for you,” Newcomer eagerly said.
“Okay. I see you soon,” Kojima replied. “I fly to San Francisco in a few days to meet my son. Then we’ll come to L.A.”
“Great, Yoshi. I promise we’ll have fun,” Newcomer vowed.
He hung up and immediately called the Grand Canyon park rangers’ office. “Listen, I don’t know how Kojima got there, but I have an arrest warrant for him. Do you think you can track him down?”
Newcomer would have sent a SWAT team if possible. He no longer cared who snagged Kojima, as long as he was caught. Otherwise, Kojima could just as easily disappear into thin air again.
Newcomer didn’t stop there but called the FWS agents in Las Vegas, not wanting to take any more chances. “Be on the lookout for Kojima,” he warned.
They all set off on a wild-goose chase, without any luck.
I can’t believe it. First he duped Mendoza, and now it’s happening to me, Newcomer fretted. I’m about to be outfoxed.
There were no more calls from either his confidential informant or Kojima. All communication abruptly dried up.
My entire life is falling apart, Newcomer brooded. Then he received one last e-mail from Ken.
Hi Ted.
Did you talk to Yoshi yet? I leave tonight for San Francisco. He’s still in Utah for a few days and will contact you. I’ve also attached a photo of a rare butterfly that no one has caught for 30 years and people can no longer get. A lot of collectors want it. The price is $8,000 for the pair. Please advise.
Like father like son. They’d stay in touch as long as Newcomer was willing to shell out money. Still, it was a good sign. Newcomer was even more surprised to receive an e-mail from Kojima that same day.
Hi Ted. This is Yoshi. I am going to pick up my son tomorrow and transfer to LAX but I have no hotel yet so after check in I advise you. If not busy I will see you. My son wants to see you. Yoshi
Newcomer couldn’t have received better news.
Okay, today is Friday July 28. I’ll give them the weekend. The countdown had officially begun.
Three days later, Newcomer was nearly jumping out of his skin. He had yet to hear a word from them. They should have arrived in L.A. by now, he thought, as his worry level began to shoot off the Richter scale. Could this be an elaborate hoax being played by Kojima and his son? Where could they possibly be?
Newcomer received his answer that afternoon when ICE agent Jamie Holt called. “Hey, your guy Yoshi just popped up on a manifest out of Japan. He’s inbound and due to land at LAX in thirty minutes,” he told him.
Newcomer’s world came to a standstill.
“That isn’t possible. Kojima’s already in the country,” Newcomer replied, momentarily confused. There had to be a mistake. Perhaps Ken Kojima hadn’t flown to San Francisco after all but was arriving at LAX.
“Nope. The manifest says Hisayoshi Kojima. That’s your guy, right?” Holt double-checked.
“Damn! Don’t let him go, whatever happens. I’ll be right there!” Newcomer flew into emergency mode as he jumped into his vehicle, flicked on the lights and siren, and raced as fast as he possibly could to the airport.
A million thoughts sped through his mind during that time. Son of a bitch! If it was true, if he really was just flying in from Japan, then Kojima was one paranoid genius. He’d been smart enough to create a fake itinerary and tell everyone, figuring that word would get around. That way if Fish and Wildlife agents were looking for him, they’d also be fooled.
Newcomer ditched his car and dashed into the Customs area, where Agent Holt was already waiting for him.
“Is he here yet?” Newcomer asked anxiously.
“His plane just landed, but there’s nothing to worry about,” Holt assured him.
The felony warrant for Kojima was already in the FBI’s National Crime Information Center, a computerized index of criminal-justice information. An alert for his arrest would pop up the moment that Kojima tried to clear Immigration.
“Great. Listen, I don’t want him to see me. I’m going to let another agent make the arrest and initially question him. Kojima can’t learn my identity yet,” Newcomer explained.
“No problem. Just plant yourself somewhere in the area and watch the action,” Holt instructed.
“I’ll be right here,” Newcomer said, and excitedly took cover behind a large pillar. Everything that he’d worked so long for was about to come to fruition.
Maybe it was his nerves, but the wait seemed to take forever as a crowd of people streamed by. I wonder if this is what Times Square is like in the middle of rush hour, he mused when Holt suddenly appeared by his side.
“Hey, what does your guy look like again?”
Newcomer’s body went numb, as though he’d been dunked in ice water. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears.
“Well, there are only about five people left, and no one in Immigration has seen Kojima,” Holt reluctantly admitted.
This couldn’t be happening. It simply wasn’t possible. Newcomer scanned all the faces flying past as a layer of flop sweat now clung to him like a second skin. “He was on the flight, right?”
“Yeah, yeah. He was definitely on it. Just hold on a moment. I’ll be right back.”
Newcomer’s pulse raced so fast that he wouldn’t have been surprised if the room had started to spin. He took a deep breath as Holt hurried toward Immigration. Kojima could still be somewhere in the area.
Where the hell are you, Yoshi? Kojima’s a master at deception, and I’m still his damn apprentice.
Holt appeared once more by his side, her face now white as a ghost. “He was here all right, but he somehow got through.”
“What do you mean, he somehow freaking got through?” Newcomer demanded in disbelief.
Holt didn’t have to say a word. Newcomer already knew there’d been a screwup that would be immediately buried.
Newcomer’s blood pressure shot through the roof as he quickly began to scan a sea of Asian faces. Four hundred people had disembarked from the Japan Airlines flight, and in the panic of the moment, every face looked exactly alike to him. Kojima had done it again. He’d made fools of them all. Then Newcomer caught sight of an oddly familiar figure scurrying down the hallway.
He was dressed in shorts, a corduroy blazer, white socks, tennis shoes, a baseball cap, and his ever-present fanny pack while rolling a large suitcase. He’d obviously been cleared by Immigration and retrieved his luggage. Kojima now handed his declaration form to a Customs inspector, who blithely waved him through. For chrissakes, Kojima was heading for the exit!
Newcomer sprang into action and rushed up to the nearest uniformed Customs inspector. “I’m working undercover and have a warrant for that guy in the brown blazer with the black bag over there. Can you pull him aside?” he asked, flashing his FWS credentials.
The Customs inspector raced over and stopped Kojima just as he was about to walk out the door. “Sir, you need to step over here,” she instructed.
“Why? Is there a problem?” Kojima questioned.
“We just need to check something,” she said as Newcomer caught Holt’s attention and silently pointed to Kojima. The ICE agent promptly took over.
“You’re under arrest,” she informed Kojima, and slapped a pair of handcuffs on him.
Newcomer watched as Kojima was led to an interrogation room, not taking his eyes off him until he disappeared from sight. He’d deal with him tomorrow. There were other things still to be done tonight.
He turned to leave as a Customs and Border Protection supervisor pushed his way through the crowd and planted himself in front of Newcomer. “Who the hell are you, and what do you think you’re doing in my Customs area?” he demanded.
This was the last thing he needed to deal with, a supervisor who felt threatened and wanted to mark his territory. He’d gotten his knickers all in a twist because Newcomer commandeered one of his inspectors. The man didn’t appear to be the least bit interested in the arrest of a felon. It took all of Newcomer’s self-control not to turn and bite his head off. He had no intention of apologizing or asking for permission. Newcomer left the supervisor standing where he was and moved on to the next task of the night.
If I know Yoshi, the first person he’ll call is his father-in-law, Charles Hanson. Newcomer needed to gather what information he could before that channel was closed down. It was a toss-up as to where Hanson would be found, either Southern California or the mountains.
It’s the end of July. My money is that he’s not baking in the desert but cooling his heels in the mountains. Newcomer headed there now. It was a full hour drive from the airport on a good day, and it’s never a good day in L.A. Newcomer was immediately swallowed up in traffic. Damn, I’ve got to get to the man. Time was of the essence, traffic was crawling, and he had to act fast.
He had only one option. Newcomer called the local state Fish and Game agent and explained the situation. “Will you do me a favor and go talk to this guy? I have a list of questions that I’d like him to answer.”
“Can do,” the agent agreed, and headed over with his partner. It was 7:40 PM when they arrived at Hanson’s door. They introduced themselves and asked if Mr. Hanson would mind talking to them.
“Not at all. What’s the problem?” Hanson pleasantly inquired.
“We have a few questions regarding Yoshi,” the agent said.
The conversation rapidly deteriorated at that point. Hanson professed to be shocked to learn that Kojima was under investigation and insisted he knew nothing about butterflies. In fact, he was outraged to even be asked such a question. He’d met Kojima thirty years ago in Japan. They’d become good friends and shared a common interest in antiques.
“I see. So your relationship is—” the agent began, only to be sharply cut off.
“None other than the fact that he lived in L.A. for a couple of years and then went back to Japan. We e-mail each other once in a while to say hello, and he comes here every so often.” Hanson quickly corrected himself. “Not here but to the United States. That’s all I know. Now I’m going inside.”
“Just a second,” the agent intervened. “Have you ever associated with anyone dealing with butterflies in this state?”
Hanson visibly stiffened at the question. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied angrily. Each word flew from his mouth with the power of a bullet. He couldn’t believe the nerve of these agents. How dare they come to his house and question him? “We have so much crap going on in the world, and you’re worrying about butterflies? Go on, get out of here. Go, go, go, go, go, and leave me alone.”
“Just one more question.” The agent stopped him from closing the door.
“What more can you possibly want?” Hanson nearly howled.
“Do you have a daughter, and if so, are you Yoshi’s father-in-law?”
Hanson stared at the agent as though the man had totally lost his mind. “What? I can’t believe this! No, I don’t have a daughter, and no, I am not Yoshi’s father-in-law. Don’t come back here again!” he raged, and this time managed to slam the door.
Newcomer listened in stunned silence to the agent’s report. If Yoshi wasn’t married, then who in the hell was Ken, and why would he claim that Charles Hanson was his father-in-law? Son of a bitch! Had Kojima been lying to me about everything all along? And if Ken wasn’t his son, then whom had he been corresponding with? Exactly what was going on?
Newcomer’s brain was on overload as Kojima’s labyrinth of lies now began to unravel. It felt as though he was on the receiving end of a sucker punch. Even so, he fought traffic back to his office to finish the remaining business of the night. There were still Kojima’s belongings to be gone through.
He felt a tinge of excitement as he picked up Kojima’s cell phone. Who knew what secrets it held? Newcomer turned it on and scoured the menu for information. Charles Hanson was on his contact list, along with a host of Japanese and overseas numbers. Then he caught sight of one particular listing that sent chills down his spine. It was for National Geographic.
Could it be? Was there a possible connection? Perhaps not everything had been a lie, after all. Kojima was a conundrum wrapped inside a puzzle. The only way Newcomer would ever find out was to press the Call button.
He couldn’t help but chuckle as he listened to the voice on the other end. The number turned out to be a recording for National Geographic’s subscription line. Kojima was a gutsy chess player who had outsmarted his opponents’ every move.
His next chore was to thoroughly search Kojima’s luggage. Recalling Kojima’s tales of bugs stashed in his suitcase, he instantly got the heebie-jeebies and cautiously removed each rumpled item of clothing, afraid of what he might find. However, rather than bugs, bottles of insulin had been carefully rolled up in his shirts and shorts. He’d forgotten that Kojima was diabetic and promptly arranged for his medication to be sent to the Bureau of Prisons.
Yet another surprise awaited him, at the very bottom of the bag. It was the last thing Newcomer had expected to find: a box of unprotected butterflies. They were marked as a gift for Ted Nelson. The butterflies were perfectly legal, yet Kojima had chosen not to declare them. Instead, he’d snuck them into the country, preferring to be a smuggler to the very end.
Newcomer sat down at his computer to perform one last task for the night. He sent an e-mail to Kojima’s “son,” Ken.
Something happened to your dad in LA. Call or e-mail me right away. I will help if I can.
He pressed the Send button as the truth came crashing down on him. The handwriting on the packages sent by Ken had matched Kojima’s handwriting, and all of Newcomer’s communication with Yoshi’s “son” had taken place via Kojima’s e-mail address.
Newcomer’s head began to spin as the realization continued to sink in.
Ken Kojima wasn’t part of any conspiracy to smuggle butterflies, and he couldn’t have been engaged with his father in illicit sexual activity. Rather, it had been a brilliant ruse concocted by Kojima for one single purpose: to draw attention away from himself.
Kojima’s son didn’t exist at all.
“Ken Kojima” was never heard from again.