9

The Japanese Society

Their guide was a short Japanese man who appeared to be in his fifties. He wore traditional robes and a pleasant smile for the reporter and her crew as he led them through the velvet-lined anteroom. From the outside the building appeared small, with only three floors, but once inside, the dimensions were deceptive. Between small hallways and walls lined in either velvet drapes or rice-paper murals and partitions, it seemed to weave about for a much longer distance than expected.

The front room had a display of colorful vases and a couple of smaller traditional murals. Their guide seemed only too eager to show them around. “Our purpose here is to spread knowledge of Japanese culture,” the man was saying. “A chance to appear in your local newspapers would be most welcome indeed. Will you be taking some pictures?”

“Not today,” Claire replied. “We’ll bring in the camera equipment on our next visit. This is more in the way of a scouting trip to see what we may want to focus on.” She then lowered her voice for her guide alone as they stepped out into an adjoining hallway. “One of my crew is actually my editor. He gets to decide how much coverage this story gets in the paper, so I really need to impress him.”

The man replied with a smile and a slight bow of his head. “I shall do what I can to please your people. Walk this way.”

He led them down a corridor lined with an assortment of Japanese portraits‍—landscapes mostly, with a few pictures of some men dressed in samurai armor. Their guide was saying something about them being famous leaders in Japanese history, to which Claire responded with appropriate comments and questions. All the while, Professor Stein was still marveling at every aspect of what he saw, like an eager boy in a toy store. When the hall widened into another room, however, was when the historian could truly marvel.

A full suit of Japanese armor was on display, along with a set of curved swords pinned up against one wall, some more vases, and other ancient bric-a-brac. And there to lend a smile and a helpful assist with the guided tour was a young lady in a kimono, her face painted in white makeup and her long black hair done up in a decorative pile atop her head.

“I just can’t believe it,” Ben said, almost to himself. “Those portraits are painted on actual rice paper. Do you know how hard it is to find preserved specimens of that sort of thing? And a genuine suit of samurai armor! Classic in every detail. And just look at these vases.” He scurried over to the nearest one, thinking to pick it up, then stopped short of touching it. “I might break it. But oh, the opportunity!”

Claire kept their guide busy with questions and comments, leaving the others to their work. Agent Hessman, though, was less interested in the artifacts around them than of what else he might see. He wanted to hurry them through but had learned long ago how much of a virtue patience could be. So he let their guide take it at his own pace, though he finally had to step over to retrieve Ben.

“May I remind you what we’re actually here for, Ben?”

“What? Oh, I’m so sorry. It’s just that this is a priceless opportunity to see history in such detail.”

“It’ll still be in a museum a hundred years from now. Your job is to tell me when something doesn’t belong around here.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

They rejoined the others as they were entering another hall. Rice-paper walls lined either side; a few backlit, creating suggestive shadows of the people beyond them.

“The tea ceremony is a key part of Japanese culture,” their guide was saying, indicating one of the backlit walls. “Here, visitors from my country may enjoy a small piece of our culture in a foreign land.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of the Japanese tea ceremony,” Claire said with honest excitement. “When my cameraman comes with me next time, do you mind if I get a few pictures of a tea ceremony? I just know my readers will really enjoy it.”

“I shall see what I can arrange, Miss Hill. Now, if you follow me this way, perhaps we can find one of our geishas for you to interview.”

They turned left down another narrow paper-lined hall in time to see a much younger Japanese gentleman emerge from behind a sliding rice-paper door, behind him the silhouette of two more people in the room. The man, in his twenties, wore a suspicious look on his face for the unexpected tourists. He gave a brief start before schooling his features, but Agent Harris hadn’t missed the expression. She discreetly elbowed Agent Hessman, who in turn reached slyly into his coat for something quite similar to Ben’s futuristic reference device. Agent Harris casually positioned herself to block any direct view of his activity as he consulted his miniature screen.

The young man walked quickly down the corridor, turning right at the end. The team’s guide, meanwhile, was completely absorbed with pleasing Claire and feeding her as much information about Japanese society as he could. When he came to the end of the hall, though, he started to take them to the left.

“And over here we have some museum pieces on loan from our homeland. If I may be permitted to‍—‍”

“Miss Hill.” Agent Hessman pushed his way to the front, making a straight line for the right-hand hallway. “I’m thinking we might find something more interesting in this direction.”

“Only the geisha chambers and the bathhouse are over there,” their guide stated. “I am quite sure you will find something far more interesting over here.”

But Agent Hessman was already midway down the other hall, Agent Harris hot on his heels. Professor Stein had paused to look uncertainly down both directions. Lieutenant Phelps grabbed him by the collar and shoved him to the right. Captain Beck and Dr. Weiss were quick to follow along, while Claire was quick to adapt.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” she said quickly to her guide, “but that’s my editor, you see. Gotta go where he goes, I’m afraid.” She ran off to join the rest, leaving a confused guide behind to puzzle over this change in plans for a moment or two before he decided to go after them.

“Wait! You really can’t go there. Like I said, the bathhouse is in that direction.”

Ahead of them, Agent Hessman could see the younger Japanese man ducking through another sliding rice-paper door on the left and quickened his pace. He was trying to keep it to a fast walk so as not to attract any attention, but he couldn’t risk losing their quarry.

“What’s going on?” Ben said in a sharp whisper as he caught up to them.

“Just ID’d one of the Japanese team members,” Agent Hessman replied tersely. “We need to catch him.” He then quickened his pace and headed for the same door as the suspect.

Behind them, Claire had broken into a near jog to catch up, all the while calling out observations to cover up the reason behind their detour.

“Oh yes, Mister Anda,” she called out to Agent Hessman in a tone meant to be heard by their guide, “I see what you mean. We must certainly get some contrast to the story. A look at the behind-the-scenes life.”

Once she reached Captain Beck and Dr. Weiss, she switched immediately from pleasant journalist to matter-of-fact investigator. “Okay, guys, what’s going on?”

“You’ll have to ask farther up the line, I’m afraid,” Dr. Weiss replied.

“I think Lou spotted one of our suspects,” Captain Beck supplied.

“Which means my story just ducked through that partition. Thanks.”

A second later, she caught up to Professor Stein and Lieutenant Phelps just as they were following Agents Hessman and Harris through the partition. “Leaving without your favorite reporter?”

“N-not at all,” Ben stammered. “It’s just that Lou—I mean, there wasn’t any time to‍—‍”

“Don’t stammer!” she snapped. “My story and your suspect are getting away.”

“Right.”

They entered what appeared to be the outer chamber for the bathhouse, where a couple of Japanese men, wearing only towels around their waists, were just folding up their clothes before entering through the next partition to the chamber beyond. A smiling young Japanese lady in a slender kimono came over from a side chamber and spoke a few words in Japanese.

“No thanks,” Agent Hessman said as he brushed past her. “I’m not staying.”

She then aimed her smile at the next person in line, who happened to be Agent Harris. The young Japanese woman’s smile fell into an uncertain, wavering line, to which Agent Harris replied with a hard scowl as she stormed past.

The others were not much better, though Claire paused briefly for a kinder word. “Newspaper reporter Clyde Hill. You know what it’s like once you have the scent of a good story, right? Sorry about the intrusion.” Before the young Japanese lady could ponder what was going on, the American reporter had left with all the other strangers.

The bathhouse was a large and spacious room with a single big tub of hot water in the floor at the center. Two men were already soaking in it, washcloths draped over their privates, while a pair of young women tended them with soap and hot towels for their shoulders and upper backs. Seeing the group of fully clothed people walk in earned a few gasps from the ladies and angry looks from the men. Agent Hessman ignored them, though, eyes darting quickly around as the others filed in behind him.

Across the room, on the other side of the pool, another bare-chested man in a towel was casually making his way to a sliding door at the far end. He was just sliding the partition aside, revealing what looked like an area to shower and rinse off, when Agent Hessman’s eyes narrowed sharply on the one part of his body not bare. “Street shoes in a bathhouse? I don’t think so. Get him!”

Agent Hessman broke into a jog, going around the outer circle of the pool, being careful not to slip, while Agent Harris used a more direct approach. Taking a couple of steps back, she ran and jumped, clearing the pool and the screaming people beneath, to land in a tuck and roll back up to her feet. Meanwhile their quarry heard the words “Get him” and ripped off his towel to toss in Agent Harris’s way while bolting through the shower room.

Beneath his towel, his pant legs had been rolled up nearly to his knees, while his shirt was wrapped around his waist. The towel landed at Agent Harris’s feet just as she stood up, and did little more than cause her to misstep once. The chase, however, was on.