Rising Sun

“What is it?”

“He is taking a last look. A look back at the room. See? The head is turning. There is his nose, and now, the nose is gone again, because he has turned completely. Now he is looking back at us.”

The silhouette was dense black.

“Lot of good it does us.”

“Watch.”

More controls.

“The detail is there,” she said. “It is like dark exposure on film. The detail has been recorded, but we ca

And in a sudden, shocking moment, the dark silhouette blossomed, the wall behind flaring white, making a kind of halo around the head. The dark face became lighter, and we could see the face for the first time, distinctly and clearly.

“Huh, white man.” She sounded disappointed.

“My God,” I said.

“You know who he is?”

“Yes,” I said.

The features were twisted with tension, the lip turned up in a kind of snarl. But the identity was unmistakable.

I was looking at the face of Senator John Morton.

22

I sat back, staring at the frozen image. I heard the hum of the machinery. I heard water dripping into buckets, somewhere in the darkness of the laboratory. I heard Theresa breathing alongside me, panting like a ru

I sat there and just stared at the screen. Everything fell into place, like a jigsaw puzzle that assembled itself before my eyes.

Julia Young: She has a boyfriend who travels a lot. She’s always traveling. New York, Washington, Seattle… she meets him. She’s madly in love with him.

Je

Eddie: She likes to cause trouble, this girl. She likes to make turmoil.

Je

Eddie: She was a sick girl. She liked pain.

Je

Cole, the security guard, in the bar: They have the big guys in their pocket. They own ‘em. We can’t beat ‘em now.

And Co

And Morton: So your investigation is formally concluded?

“Hell,” I said.

She said, “Who is he?”

“He’s a senator.”

“Oh.” She looked at the screen. “And why do they care about him?”

“He has a powerful position in Washington. And I think he has something to do with the sale of a company. Maybe other reasons, too.”

She nodded.

I said, “Can we print a picture of this?”

“No. We don’t have equipment for hard copies. The lab can’t afford it.”

“Then what can we do? I need something to take with me.”

“I can take a Polaroid for you,” she said. “Not great, but okay for now.” She started poking around the lab, stumbling in the dark. Finally she came back with a camera. She moved close to the screen and shot several copies.

We waited for them to come out, standing in the blue light from the monitors.

“Thanks,” I said. “For all your help.”

“You are welcome. And I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“I know you expected it would be a Japanese man.”

I realized she was speaking for herself. I didn’t answer her. The pictures darkened. They were good quality, the image clear. As I slipped them in my pocket, I felt something hard there. I brought it out.

“You have a Japanese passport?” she said.

“No. It’s not mine. It’s Eddie’s.” I put it back in my pocket. “I have to go,” I said. “I have to find Captain Co

“All right.” She turned back to the monitors.

“What are you going to do?” I said.

“I will stay, and work more.”

I left her, went out the back door, and made my way down the dark passageway to the outside.

Blinking in the harsh daylight, I went to a pay phone and called Co

“Where are you?” I said.

“Back at the hotel.”

“What hotel?”

“The Four Seasons,” Co

“What are you doing there?” I said. “Do you know that—”

“Kōhai,” he said. “Open line, remember? Call yourself a taxi and meet me at 1430 Westwood Boulevard. We will meet there in twenty minutes.”

“But how—“

“No more questions.” And he hung up.

I looked at the building at 1430 Westwood Boulevard. It had a plain brown facade, just a door with a painted number. On one side was a French bookstore. On the other side was a watch repair place.

I went up and knocked on the door. I noticed a small sign in Japanese characters beneath the numbers.

Nothing happened, so I opened the door. I found myself in an elegant, tiny sushi bar. It had only four seats for customers. Co

The chef nodded and smiled. He put something on the shelf before my seat. “Kore o dōzo, Sumisu-san.”

I sat down. “Dōmo, Imae-san.”

“Hai.”

I looked at the sushi. It was some kind of pink fish eggs, with a raw yellow egg yolk sitting on top. I thought it looked revolting.

I turned to Co

He said “Kore o tabetakoto arukai?”

I shook my head. “Sorry. You lost me.”

“You’ll have to work on your Japanese, for your new girlfriend.”

“What new girlfriend?”

Co

“You mean Theresa?”

He smiled. “You can do much worse, kōhai. And I gather you have, in the past. Anyway, I asked you if you knew what that was.” He pointed to the sushi.

“No, I don’t.”

“Quail egg and salmon roe,” he said. “Good protein. Energy. You need it.”

I said, “Do I have to?”

Imae said, “Make you strong for girlfriend.” And he laughed. He said something quickly in Japanese to Co

Co

“What’s fu

Imae said, “Good?”

“Very good,” I said. I ate the second one, and turned to Co

Co

“Hai, Co

The sushi chef produced the bill, and Co

“We’re leaving now?”

“Yes,” Co

“For what?”

“For your ex-wife, remember? We’d better go to your apartment now, and meet her.”

I was driving again. Co

“I didn’t,” Co

I thought of all the effort that Theresa and I had gone to, all the zooming and inspection and image manipulation. “You’re telling me you just looked at the tape, and you could tell?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“There was one glaring error. Remember when you met Eddie at the party? He had a scar on his hand.”

“Yes. It looked like an old burn scar.”

“Which hand was it on?”

“Which hand?” I frowned. I thought back to the meeting. Eddie in the cactus garden at night, smoking cigarettes, flicking them away. Eddie turning, moving nervously. Holding the cigarettes. The scar had been on… “His left hand,” I said.