"Gen Taki, the current oyabun, the boss, of the Taki-gumi has built up a reputation for being a genius in his defensive tactics. It is these well-known-and feared-tactics that keep him as the dominant force in this uneasy triad of Yakuza.

"Now, according to your information, Gen Taki is not the initiator of these strategies as is commonly thought. It is his adviser, Kenji Harigami, who secretly runs the Taki-gumi. Kenji Harigami is Gen Taki's most prized possession. Without him, Gen Taki will turn white with fear, and we will get what we want from him. Therefore, we must find Harigami-san's weak spot."

"I don't think he has one," Philip said. "He is the perfect family man. He is married, has two children. From what we have gathered, his wife is devoted to him."

Wataro Taki grunted. He nodded, and Michiko refilled his cup. "Doss-san," he continued, "you will soon come to realize that family men in j.a.pan-all family men-have another life. Sometimes it is secret, sometimes not. But always it isthere. We must learn what Kenji Harigami's secret life is."

Philip had come to suspect that they all might have made a terrible mistake.

It began with a nightmare that woke him out of a troubled sleep. He was a boy back in Latrobe, Pennsylvania. He carried his father's .22 rifle. It was night, and he was running down his prey. Through fields rimed with frost, into a forest stirring with nocturnal sounds, down into a riverbed turned silver by the light of the full moon. The water burbled, the leaves on the trees rustled. An owl hooted.

He knew that he was gaining on his prey, and he picked up the pace, the rifle at the ready. He forded the shallow stream, feeling the chill biting into his ankles through his boots. He was panting, his breath coming in quick bursts of steam.

Then he had sighted his prey and was stunned to find that it was human, not animal, as he had thought.

Down on one knee, he brought the rifle up to his shoulder and aimed it. Before he had a chance to fire, his prey clawed at his own face. That face came off, and Philip could see another face beneath it. Hauntingly familiar.

Just when he thought he knew whose face it was, it was ripped away and another face appeared. Frightened, Philip squeezed the trigger. The bullet smashed into his prey's face. But, acting unlike a .22 bullet, it shattered the face.

Only to reveal another one underneath.

Philip awoke in a sweat. For a moment, he did not know where he was. Then he turned, saw Lillian lying asleep beside him. It was then that Philip understood the nature of his dream.

The next morning, he got hold of Ed Porter, the CIG aide who Silvers had a.s.signed to him and Jonas when they had first arrived in j.a.pan.

"I want you to do something for me, Ed," he said.

"Sure." Porter was carrying a sheaf of files from one office to another.

Philip led him into a storage closet, turned on the light. He looked at the sheaf of files Porter was holding. "Got a lot of work?"

"It's c.r.a.p," Porter said dismissively. "Turner's got me shuttling back and forth as his errand boy. I've got to make sure that all the new ministers that the Jiban's intelligence has accused are put up in our safe house. I've got to make sure that the reports of their 'deaths' are believable and are disseminated to the press. I've got to take care of the grieving families. All so that we can go on gulling the Jiban into believing that we're not onto them."

"Not like the old days, huh?"

"s.h.i.t, no," Porter said. "Colonel Silvers had me out in the field. I know how to collect intelligence, but since he's gone, n.o.body here wants to give me a shot."

"That's because of Silvers," Philip said. "n.o.body wants to be reminded of the rotten apple."

"And that's another thing," Porter said. "Colonel Silvers was no double."

"He wasn't?" Philip c.o.c.ked his head. "What makes you say that? The evidence-"

"The evidence was a c.o.c.k-and-bull story." Porter put down his load, lit a cigarette. "Believe me, Lieutenant, if you gave me half a day, I could make it seem as if you had murdered your mother. I know for a fact that the colonel was legit, because of all the intelligence I pa.s.sed on to him. I would have known if he was pa.s.sing my stuff on to the Jiban or anybody else. He wasn't.

The proper action was always taken on the intelligence I gave him, of that I'm sure."

A shiver of premonition pa.s.sed through Philip's body, and the fear of his dream of the night before rose up in his mind. "Did you tell this to anybody?"

he asked.

"Sure. Turner. He wrote it all down. Said he'd pa.s.s it on through channels."

"I see." Why hadn't Porter come to him with this? he wondered. Then he realized that he should have gone to Porter himself. But he had been too ready to accept the evidence. Sure. Why not? It had been spread out for him to find, like a picnic on a table. Angry at himself for being such a fool, he tappedhis forefinger against his lips. "Tell me, Porter, how'd you like to get back into the field?"

Porter's eyes lit up. "You wouldn't have to ask twice, Lieutenant. Being Turner's mule is no fun. Besides, I miss it."

"Good," Philip said. "How are you on tails?"

"I could follow Orpheus into h.e.l.l without him knowing it." Porter grinned.

"Besides, I know Tokyo like it was hometown. Every nook and cranny of it." He stubbed out his cigarette. "Just give me the target's name and description, and I'll do the rest."

"All you need is the name," Philip said.

Something in his voice made Porter turn serious. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Philip said, "that I want you to follow my wife wherever she goes."

It was Philip who found the way into the Taki-gumi. Reading one of the weekly CIG field reports that concerned a U.S. Army raid on a Yakuza gambling syndicate in the northern suburbs of Tokyo, he came across a familiar name: Kenji Harigarni, the Taki-gumi's chief counselor.

The CIG's interest in the gambling syndicate extended to one of the owners, who was suspected of illegal importation of small arms. Kenji Harigami was one of the gamblers caught in the raid. However, according to the report, he had bought his way out of the mess and had never been arraigned.

Philip pondered this for a time. The information could mean nothing. Many Yakuza were inveterate gamblers. But he did some digging on Kenji Harigami and found that the man frequented a number of independent gambling-syndicate parlors not under Yakuza control. This seemed more significant, and he reported the information to Wataro Taki.

Taki spent two weeks charting Kenji Harigami's movements. Interestingly, Harigami's favorite gambling spot was an out-of-the-way place so small it was bound to elude the growing presence of the Yakuza for some time, perhaps forever.

"He is gambling a great deal of money," Wataro Taki told Philip and Michiko at one of their regular meetings. "And he's losing all of it."

"How much?" Michiko asked.

And when her father told them, Philip said, "Where is he getting that much cash?"

Wataro Taki smiled. "When we discover that, Doss-san," he said, "we will have found the lever that will get us into the Taki-gumi."

Several days later, Ed Porter found Philip in the hallway of CIG headquarters.

"Had lunch yet, Lieutenant?"

Philip looked at him. "How about the park?"

The first blush of cherry blossoms filled the air with a kind of aural radiance that was possible only in j.a.pan. Children ran, laughing, below the white-pink clouds.

"What do you have for me, Porter?"

"Nothing you'll want to hear, Lieutenant."

Philip watched a small boy clutching the string of a kite, a blue-white and red carp. "Tell me anyway."

"Well, okay." Porter seemed inordinately nervous. "David Turner's got a thing going with your wife, Lieutenant. Sorry."

So it wasn't Jonas after all, Philip thought. There was a sense of relief in that, but also a good deal of anger. He had discovered, much to his surprise, that Lillian was still a part of his life. He did not want to give her up.

"What kind of thing?" he said.

The carp dipped and shivered in the breeze as the boy moved it expertly along, keeping it away from the cherry trees.

"Well, that's the odd part," Porter said. "The part I can't figure out.

They're not shacking up or anything."

Philip looked at him for the first time since they had entered the park. "Are you sure?"

"Sure I'm sure. They always meet in a public place. A restaurant, a nightclub.The Officers' Club is one of their favorite places."

"What about afterward?"

"That's the odd part, Lieutenant. Afterward, Turner takes your wife home.

Period."

"She never goes to his apartment?" Philip asked.

"No. Or to a hotel, if that's what you're thinking."

"What about my apartment?"

"Jesus, Lieutenant," Porter said, "he never stays. He just escorts her upstairs, then leaves. He's a perfect gentleman."

The breeze was picking up, and the boy was reeling in the kite to keep better control of it through the swirling gusts.

"Is that it?" Philip asked after a time.

"Just about," Porter said. "Oh yeah, I almost forgot. There's one place that Turner goes twice a week like clockwork after he has lunch with your wife.

A.furo, a public hot bath." He shrugged. "But so what? He's not meeting your wife there."

"Where is the furor Porter told him. "But it won't do you any good, Lieutenant. You can't go in there, just like I couldn't. Not without Turner sporting you right away. It's mostly a j.a.panese place, but there are some foreigners who frequent it, too."

"Foreigners?"

"Yeah," Porter said. "You know. Diplomatic types. You'd know better than me.

The kind your father-in-law, General Hadley, sometimes entertains."

"When I am with you," Michiko said, "I am whole."

Philip held her tightly.

"When you look at me," she said, "you do not look through me."

Oddly, with his eyes closed, there was a quality she shared with Lillian. The new Lillian. Many years later, he was able to identify it as strength. Which was odd. Lillian was weak in so many ways; she struggled with herself in so many others. Whereas Michiko did not struggle at all. Outwardly.

Then he knew. Buried deep inside Michiko there was a fundamental insecurity about being a woman. Buried deep inside Lillian was the strength of a samurai, "I know," she said, "that when you enter me you are searching for something.

Something I want to give you. Something I never knew I possessed-or could possess."

She took his rampant member in her hand, drew him toward her. They were sitting facing one another on the tatami. Michiko was wearing a salmon-colored kimono that was open down the front. Tender shadows outlined the delicious curves of her flawless body. The fire-red line of her underkimono covered her nipples, her knees, her feet. Her inner thighs, bared and curved, were painted in darkness. He could smell her special scent. Forever after in his mind it would be inextricably linked with the fresh, haylike odor of the reed mats.

"If I talk like this while we make love," she said, "I can come as many times as I wish. Until all I see is you. Until all I feel is you." She began to rub the head of him over her moist lips until his mouth parted and he was panting.

The sight made her want to faint. She was delirious with the desire she was causing in him.

He reached out, slid the fire-red underkimono away from her nipples. He bent his head toward them. When his lips encompa.s.sed one, she hunched her hips forward, taking half of him inside her.

She felt the explosion of his breath against her sensitive nipple, and she caressed his shaft. He moved forward and her thighs parted fully, until the two of them were against one another.

"This is what you're looking for," she sighed. "This is my anchor." She shuddered and came. She could feel him swelling, pulsing at the very core of her. If it ended now, she knew that she could not bear it.

"As I explore you," she whispered, "I discover myself. I have found a secret continent to travel, and in so doing, I come upon the hidden cities inside myself." Moving, moving, swaying as if they were dancing to a slow, sensual beat. "You watch me and beneath your gaze I become real. Now that I am real, Iam different. I am no longer content to play the roles of my life. The j.a.panese wife, the j.a.panese mother, the j.a.panese lover." She gasped, spasmed again, moaning, "Oh, oh, oh," in his ear.

Clinging wetly to him, accelerating the beat of her loins as she felt the irrevocable tension grip him.

"You have shown me that my strength is in my heart. And you have changed that forever. Ah, ah, ah," as she heard his deep-felt groan, felt his heavy spurting deep inside her. "You love it too. Oh yes!" Joining him in ecstatic release.

"I have negotiated to buy the gambling syndicate that Kenji Harigami frequents," Wataro Taki told Philip and Michiko a week later. He laughed to see the look on their faces. "It was quite easy, actually." His eyes gleamed.

"The fact is that Kenji Harigami has already acc.u.mulated a great deal of debt with the syndicate. He refuses to pay off what he owes. Instead, he continues to gamble with cash. The syndicate, of course, is terrified to cross him in any way, since his wrath would surely bring them into the sphere of the Taki-gumi, who would take them over in a minute." He laughed again. "They were really quite pleased to accept my generous buyout offer. Now we have our chance. We must make the most of it."

Three days later, when Kenji Harigami walked into the gambling den, he found the same smoke-filled room, the same squinty-eyed, sour-smelling lot he was used to. A beautiful woman was setting out the tiles, and a Caucasian man by her side was a.s.sisting. He had never seen either of these two before, but he hardly cared. He was here to a.s.suage his unending pa.s.sion. He was interested in the tiles and nothing else.

Evening pa.s.sed into night, night into early morning, with the usual results.

The heavy wad of cash Kenji Harigami had brought with him was just about used up. Many of the gamblers had already left. Only the die-hards were still at it.

It was impossible for Kenji Harigami to see the tiles being played and not to take part. He placed the last of his money on the table. The tiles came down, he lost.

It was the last pa.s.s. The remaining gamblers rose and, one by one, left the room. Kenji Harigami did not want to leave, but it was late and the tiles were being packed up.

Kenji rose, stretched and turned to leave. All at once the Caucasian man was at his side. "The owner would like to see you," the man said in idiomatic j.a.panese.

Kenji hid his surprise as best he could. A look of disdain filled his face.

These small fish are all alike, he thought. They think they own the world. "If it's about my debts, I've already told the owners," he said brusquely. "My credit is good."

"This is a new owner," the Caucasian man said. "You'll have to tell him yourself."

"Do you know who-" Kenji broke off, feeling the pain. "What are you doing?" he cried, trying to struggle free of the hold the Caucasian man had on him.