Six Four (56 page)

‘That’s far enough, I’m afraid.’

The words were courteous enough but the threat was implicit in his tone and in the look on his face. Mikami continued
walking until his chest pressed up against the man’s hands. Ashida was half a head taller. He’d always had to hunker forwards, each time he’d come to Mikami for his opinion on gang-related fraud. The man had a peculiar talent for forgetting obligations and grudges, switching from one day to the next. Right now, Mikami resented him for it.

‘Not even going to ask my business?’

‘That won’t be necessary.’

‘Out of the way.’

‘No unauthorized personnel, sorry. Nothing I can do.’

‘You’re saying I’m
unauthorized . . .
?’

‘Perhaps I should clarify?’

‘Please do.’

‘I’m under orders to send any NPA spies packing. It’s a fucking disgrace. I don’t know what the hell they gave you. For a detective who devoted so many years to bringing in the dirt, to betray us like this . . .’

Mikami heard the words, but his mind was already beyond the doors.
What was happening in there?
There were no sounds escaping through the door. He was six steps from the threshold. Maybe seven. Crew-cut was fully alert, marking the midpoint between the doors.

‘I don’t have time for games. Let me talk to whoever’s in charge.’

‘Not going to happen.’

‘They’re inside, yes? Arakida. Matsuoka, too.’

‘Who knows?’

He shrugged, giving Mikami an opening. His eyes fell to his still-bandaged right hand, which shot straight up towards Ashida’s exposed neck. He widened his stance as it connected with the man’s throat, sending Ashida’s large frame reeling backwards. He clamped his other hand over Ashida’s as it came snapping up to grab at his wrist. Crew-cut shifted menacingly forwards. It was the moment Mikami had been waiting for. He wrenched his
hand from Ashida’s throat and shoved the stumbling man into his partner, dodging to one side as he did. He ducked as a log-sized arm exploded through the air next to him then he broke into a run, directing all his momentum into a kick that landed in the middle of the doors.

The spectacle burst open before him.
Incredible.
The single word travelled directly from his eyes into his brain, devoid of any emotional content.

Shocked at the sudden noise, all the faces inside turned around. There were fifty . . . a hundred. Maybe more. All packed together. Long desks stretched from one side of the large space to the other, proportionate to the vast number of personnel. As though time had ground to a halt, they all stopped what they were doing – carrying boxes, moving whiteboards, setting up communications, spreading outline maps on the floor – and stared. Not all of the faces belonged to detectives. The chief of Forensics was there. Next to him, the assistant chief of Community Safety. Towards the back of the room, the vice-captain of Mobile Investigations. Also the chief of Local Community, the assistant chief of Transport Regulation and the captain of the Vehicular Patrol Unit.

It wasn’t just Criminal Investigations. Apart from Administrative Affairs, every function of the Prefectural HQ was taking part in the preparation to stand siege.

Mikami was horrified. What were they doing about the rest of the prefecture? Were the police still functioning? Would they be able to respond if a new case came in? What about the car patrols? Foot patrols? The officers in the
koban
? Accident-response teams? Was it possible? Was this to be the Prefectural HQ’s endgame under Arakida’s direction? This went beyond mere sabotage. In order to force the commissioner into calling off his trip, the director had decided to take the safety of the entire prefecture hostage, send the tremors all the way to Tokyo.

It was an act of insanity. If Mikami was right, it was nothing less than a
coup d’état
.

He couldn’t take a step further. Ashida had him in a full nelson from behind.
Just you try it.
The man whispered angrily into his ears.

‘I’ve seen you all!’ Mikami bellowed into the hall.

Seconds later, Crew-cut had the doors shut and was glaring into Mikami’s eyes, his own dripping with enmity.

‘You’re riot squad, right?’

The man looked back with an expression that said:
what else?

‘Then report to your unit
right now
. You’re not paid to protect us.’ Mikami shook his head violently. Ashida’s hold didn’t budge. ‘Let me go, now.’

‘I don’t think so, Mikami. Not after a dirty trick like that.’

‘Dirty trick? Weren’t they
your
speciality?’

‘Mikami, not in front of our friend here.’

‘Okay, just let me go.’

‘No more trouble?’

‘Trouble, right . . .’

‘No more chances, Mikami. I’m going to have to ask that you leave quietly.’

Mikami hadn’t seen any key faces.
Director Arakida
.
Chief Adviser and First Division Chief Matsuoka
. Had they been in there? Or were they . . .

He heard footsteps. It was Suwa, running up the stairs. Crew-cut overreacted, dropping immediately into a low fighting stance. As Suwa recoiled in fright, Ashida gave him a casual greeting. Mikami suddenly regained his freedom of motion. A pair of hands shoved him on the back, propelling him forwards.

‘Suwa, do me a favour and show your boss out.’

It was clear by Ashida’s tone that he and Suwa knew each other, either from school or from having joined the force together. Suwa seemed to be at a loss for words. Just as in First Division, he seemed to be intimidated. That was why Mikami had called him. The star player of Media Relations was useless if he lived in fear of Criminal Investigations. Mikami beckoned him over, flexing
his neck and shoulders. Now he could move again, he realized just how strong Ashida’s grip had been. The atmosphere hadn’t relaxed. Crew-cut stood like a rock, utterly silent, even more determined to let nothing pass. Ashida was massaging his neck, but none of the tension had left his frame. He was an ox, someone who’d fought in national-level judo tournaments when he’d been younger.
Even so . . .

Mikami couldn’t just turn tail and run. He couldn’t picture himself worrying at his desk. He drew Suwa closer and held up a hand, whispering in his ear.

‘Go to the toilets, on the first floor.’

‘Sorry?’

‘I need a pole. Get a mop, take off the end.’

Suwa seemed to convulse. As he walked away, Mikami gave him a sharp nudge. Ashida snorted as he watched Suwa stumble his way down the stairs.

‘Make all the reports you want. Or was that a call for back-up?’

Mikami turned back towards Ashida.

‘You think we’re the enemy?’

Ashida issued another snort. ‘You? You’re just small fry. It’s the sharks in Tokyo – they’re the ones trying to devour everything in their way. I can’t excuse them.’

‘You get eaten if you’re weak. What right do you have to complain?’

The light in Ashida’s eyes shifted.

‘You mean that?’

‘Arrest every murderer we’ve failed to bring in. String up every corrupt mayor out there. Wipe out organized crime. No one will come looking to take your jobs then.’

‘You’ve let greed get the better of you. Becoming a damned mouthpiece for Tokyo . . .’

‘You’re all deluded. Getting all teary-eyed over a single posting. Are you really willing to abandon the 1,820,000 citizens of Prefecture D just to protect a single, useless job?’

‘What the hell are you talking about? When have we ever given up on the people?’

‘Go back to school, start at square one. If we turn our back on keeping the peace, we might as well be inciting violence. If we do that, as representatives of the state, we’re worse than the gangs you deal with.’

Mikami looked behind him. Suwa had just got back. He was pale. His unnatural gait told Mikami he had the pole hidden behind him.

‘Now!’

Suwa instinctively complied. A moment later, the pole was in Mikami’s hands. It felt too long. But it would do. And Mikami knew he could trust his right hand, having already used it on Ashida’s throat.

‘You shit,’ Ashida growled.

He was already retreating. As a former practitioner of judo, he would know to be afraid of the sword. The same wasn’t true of Crew-cut. He looked completely unperturbed. His riot-squad training had probably kicked in. His shoulders had come up and he looked about to charge. It wouldn’t be a problem to take him down. But could Mikami do it without hurting him?

Mikami faced him, tensing his grip on the pole. In that instant he saw an image of Futawatari. Where was he during all this? Failing to keep Criminal Investigations in check, he’d actually spurred them to rampage. Had he seen no choice but to surrender?

‘Crush the bastard,’ Ashida ordered.

Crew-cut drew back his chin and crossed his arms to shield his face. He was going to throw himself in, let his body do the work; taking a hit or a jab was irrelevant. His eyes were wide and alert. The solid muscles over his shoulders suddenly tensed.
Come on then.
It happened the moment Mikami sank into deep concentration. A click came from the door behind Crew-cut.

It opened.

The tension took on another form. A man stepped out – Assistant Chief Mikura.
An ant’s balls . . .
He stood there with authority, not looking that way at all. It didn’t look like he was there to control the noise outside the door. He looked straight past Ashida and Crew-Cut, focusing his gaze on Mikami.

‘We need to talk.’

‘About what?’

The pole was still raised. Mikura stepped forwards but kept himself just out of range.

‘There’s a message from the director.’

‘Don’t make me say it again – about what?’

‘You need to get the press to sign a coverage agreement.’

He couldn’t make sense of the man’s words.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘We’ve had a kidnapping.’

‘A . . . kidnapping?’

‘That’s right. We have a name, Sato. He’s issued a demand for 20 million in cash.’

Mikami’s eyes blinked in disbelief.
Sato
.
20 million yen.
All the colour around him seemed to drain to sepia. In his mind, he saw an image of Shoko Amamiya’s death mask.
The spectre of Six Four.
He turned to look at Ashida. Crew-cut. Then Mikura. Each of their expressions attested to the truth. It wasn’t a siege. The communications equipment. The maps. The sheer number of investigators present. They were getting everything in place. The assembly hall had been established as the base of operations – the Investigative HQ.

The pole rolled on to the floor with an audible
clunk
. With the sound, everything Mikami had believed in until that moment began to fall apart.

Six Four.
They would drag the kidnapper back into the sixty-fourth year of Showa, put him in cuffs. A pledge, unfulfilled even though they were fourteen years into Heisei – now a voice from Showa had emerged to call them back.
Sato. 20 million yen
. Was it a copycat? Someone out for a kick? Or was it . . .

Mikami pulled Mikura into a small room located to one side of the hall. Suwa was having difficulty unfolding their chairs; his hands were shaking, refusing to obey him.

‘Give me the details,’ Mikami said, taking a seat.

Mikura remained standing, having turned down the offer. ‘The victim is a girl from a high school in Genbu City.’

A girl. High-school student.
The resemblance to Six Four began to degrade. The victim wasn’t in primary school – she was someone in high school, Ayumi’s age. Genbu’s population was 140,000. It was located in the middle of the prefecture, fifteen kilometres east of City D. Station G had jurisdiction.

‘Here.’

Mikura held out a couple of sheets from inside his jacket pocket. The standardized header jumped from the page in printed font:

Mikami grabbed the sheets.

Mikami skimmed the page, then turned it over. His interest lay in the details that followed.

Here, the contents were recorded in an untidy scrawl.