"Now how about the debentures that are Sumitomo's security? And mine.

Who's holding them?"

"We Japanese still act like gentlemen, Michael. At least up to a point.

They've agreed to let me hold them until we close our books at the end of the month. I did them a similar favor last year." He sipped at his brandy with satisfaction. "So you can still call them anytime if, God help us, it comes to that. You'll have your leverage, and Tanzan Mino will know it. If you should have to call them and he defaults, he'll then have to answer to Sumitomo. And he wouldn't dare. I happen to know they hold a forty-million- dollar mortgage on his new office building down in the Docklands. They'd eat him and not even blink. There's some bad blood between them, though I don't know exactly what it is."

"Okay, so far, so good." Vance looked around the room. "You're absolutely positive nobody knows about this place?"

"It's been my little secret for four years now. I paid cash and I don't even report the expenses on my tax forms, which gives you some idea how I value my privacy. So there's absolutely no way anybody could know about it."

"You never came here in your limo?"

"Only if I came without a driver, the way we did today."

"Then it sounds clean."

"This place is the least of your worries, Michael." He settled into a chair. "After my meeting this afternoon, I have an idea that the London _oyabun_, Jiro Sato, has every intention of taking things into his own hands . . . to try and break me. He's going to push the pace--in swords- manship it's called _mukatsu kasuru to iu koto_. He's lost too much face. He can't let you get away with this and still control the organization. After the debacle in Greece, he's near to becoming a laughing stock among his own _kobun_."

"Can't Tokyo manage him?"

"Theoretically. But the organization is getting a little far-flung these days. I don't know. My instincts tell me he's going to undertake some face-saving on his own. Just temporarily overlook any agreement you may have with the front office." He rose and splashed some more brandy into his glass. "It's going to get rough, that's all I know for sure. So the sooner you proceed with the rest of your plan, the better."

"Everything's ready."

"Then I suppose it's time we wished each other well and got going."

Nogami finished off his brandy and dug the keys from his pocket. He jangled them a moment in his hand, then tossed them over. "Take them now. You might as well secure the place as we leave and start getting used to that tricky front door lock. There won't be any time to practice."

"Here's to you, Ken." Vance saluted him with the snifter,

then drained it. "And many thanks. If you ever owed me any _giri_, consider it paid."

"That works both ways. I'm doing myself a favor too. I had to make a break, if this financing double cross of his backfires, it could turn into a worldwide scandal. I'd be ruined. Not to mention Westminster Union, which the regulators here would probably padlock. With scarcely concealed glee. It would merely confirm what everybody here wants to think about those 'win-at-any-cost' Japanese these days."

"Well, I appreciate it. I mean that. I'm sorry we didn't get to know each other better over the years." Vance tried locking the front door.

It was difficult, as Nogami had warned, but finally it clicked securely. Outside the evening air was brisk, with a few of Nogami's neighbors stoically walking large dogs and pretending to enjoy the ambience of London's chilly dusk.

"If we both live long enough, maybe we can try. You're one of the few Westerners I've known who ever really understood Japan."

"I had a crash course several years back."

"So I understand." He smiled as he opened the limo door. Vance would drive. "Which is one of the reasons I wonder if this arrangement is going to be as simple as we'd hoped. Tanzan Mino has a long memory, Michael. He doesn't forgive or forget. I'm sure he still remembers you were responsible for shutting down his cozy CIA arrangement."

"I thought it was time the Company cleaned up its act. But hell, that was almost eight years ago."

"That's a mere snap of the fingers in Japanese time, as you well know."

"Well, fuck him if he can't take a joke."

"A joke is the one thing he can't take, my friend. He never smiles unless there's a camera around."

"Look, you say he's agreed to deal. Let's assume for now he means it, but in the meantime we proceed as planned. You trust your mother, but you cut the cards."

Nogami settled into the seat and shut the door. Then he looked down quizzically. "What's this? I didn't notice it before." He reached down and picked up a black leather sachel off the floor, testing its weight.

"Somehow I've got a feeling it's not a new tie from Harrods."

"As it happens, that's a little housewarming gift from the Soviet embassy. Part of my deal, along with the car. It's registered and legal, or so they tell me."

"My God." He settled it back on the floor. "I must be getting old.

Hardware terrifies me these days. I'm not used to working this close to the street anymore."

"It's only till we take care of business. You handle your end tomorrow and we're both clear. At least for now."

"If it was really that simple, you wouldn't need this."

"The point is not to need this."

"My friend, if Jiro Sato breaks rank and moves on us, we're going to need twenty of these. And more."

Tuesday 9:28 P.M.

"A KGB security squad was posted at the hotel, around ten o'clock this morning, Sato-sama. They are armed."

"_Saaa_," he hissed an exhale of displeasure and leaned forward, an unlit cigarette in his mouth. One of the black-suited _kobun _immediately stepped up and flicked a lighter. He inhaled, then leaned back. "I'd hoped this could be handled without any fuss. But we still must proceed."

"Your decisions are always correct, Sato-sama." The second _kobun _bowed. "But perhaps it might be wise to discuss the possibility of waiting for the backup team from Tokyo, if only to convince ourselves they are not needed."

"This office lost much face because of our problems in Greece. There's only one way to regain it. We have to act now."

Worst of all, I've lost face too, Jiro Sato reminded himself, among my own _kobun_. An _oyabun _has to lead. The minute he shows weakness, he's through. Buddha only knows what would happen if I lost control here. There's no turning back. An example has to be made of the American meddlers, if only to make Nogami-san understand the organi- zation still means business.

The Tokyo _oyabun's _daring project is going to succeed. In the long run it's inevitable. The problems now are short-term. But if anything else goes wrong with this office's responsibilities . . .

The _kobun_, five in all, bowed respectfully. They understood his thoughts as clearly as if they had been projected in neon across the back wall. The office had already lost three men. Face was at stake.

This problem could not be solved from Tokyo. It was time to draw together.

The operation was scheduled to begin at 11:00 P.M. sharp. The five _kobun_ had already synchronized their digital watches and stashed their H&K automatics in the two gray Fords now waiting in the building's underground garage. No flashy limousines tonight; the operation would be lowest of low profiles.

Three more of their team were already at the hotel, with walkie- talkies, monitoring the entrances. The KGB security in the lobby would be quietly diverted and then neutralized. The guard upstairs would simply be overpowered, or taken out with a silencer if the situation got out of hand. Since they were professionals, however, matters rarely went that far.

The time had come to move. All five lined up in front of Jiro Sato's massive oak desk and bowed to the waist; then one by one they filed out.

Tuesday 10:27 P.M.