Hard Rain

I wondered what I would do when I got there. Yamada, my alter ego, was nearly ready to move. But I no longer knew where to send him.

I needed to contact Naomi. I wanted to contact her. I just didn’t know what I was going to say.

Yamaoto was still out there. Tatsu had dealt him a few solid blows, but he was still standing. Probably still looking for me. And maybe the Agency with him.

As I walked, the sky grew darker. A wind shook the branches of the city’s pollution-inured trees.

Tatsu had been upbeat. I wondered what deep wellspring fed his optimism. I wished I could share it. But I was too aware of Harry in the ground, of Midori gone for good, of Naomi waiting for an uncertain answer.

Fat droplets of rain started splattering against the city’s concrete skin, against the glass windows of its eyes. A few people with umbrellas opened them. The rest ran for cover.

I walked on, through it all. I tried to think of it as a baptism, a new begi

Maybe it was. But what a lonely resurrection.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Readers familiar with Roppongi and Akasaka-Mitsuke in Tokyo will note that while several hostess bars and “gentlemen’s clubs” resemble Damask Rose, none is an exact match. Otherwise, the Tokyo and Osaka locales that appear in this book are described as I have found them.

DEEPEST THANKS

To a remarkable transpacific team of agents and editors: my agents, Nat Sobel and Judith Weber of Sobel Weber Associates in New York and Ken Mori of Tuttle Mori in Tokyo; and my editors, David Highfill of Putnam in New York and Masaru Suzuki of Sony’s Village Books in Tokyo, for all their continued enthusiasm, insight, and support.

To my dear friend and sensei Koichiro Fukasawa of Wasabi-Communications, for continuing to shine a clear light on so much of Japan and the Japanese-and for a great website, too.

To Evan Rosen, M.D., Ph.D., and Peter Zimetbaum, M.D., both of the Harvard medical system, for consistently overcoming their queasiness at my questions about the medical implications of killing techniques, for accepting that the Hippocratic oath might not apply to fiction, and for assisting John Rain in all his endeavors with their considerable knowledge and imaginative faculties.

To Lori Andreini, for her insights into what sophisticated, sexy women like Midori and Naomi wear and how they think, and for helpful comments on the manuscript.

To Ernie Tibaldi, a thirty-one-year veteran agent of the FBI, for generously sharing his extensive surveillance and investigative experiences, for recommending many good books and other sources of information, and for helpful comments on the manuscript.

To Carla Mendes, for furthering my understanding of Brazil and Brazilians and for refining Rain’s attempts at Portuguese.

To Marc “Animal” MacYoung and Peyton Qui

To Masao Miyamoto, for his horrifyingly humorous book Straitjacket Society, some of whose ideas on the nature of Big Brother in Japan Tatsu has borrowed.

To Lieutenant Colonel Dave Grossman, for his disturbing, original book, On Killing: The Psychological Cost of Learning to Kill in War and Society, which provided so many insights into the origins and psychology of John Rain.

To Alex Kerr, for his book Dogs and Demons, a meticulously researched and argued account of Japanese corruption and an insensate bureaucracy gone mad, which provided some of the back story for the novel.

To Alan Eisler, Judy Eisler, Dan and Naomi Levin, Matthew Powers, Owen Re

To Rick Ke

To the proprietors of the following establishments, all wonderful places to call one’s office: Bar Satoh in Miyakojima-ku, Osaka; Café Borrone in Menlo Park, California; Las Chicas in Aoyama, Tokyo; the public library in Mountain View, California; These Library Lounge in Nishi Azabu, Tokyo.

Most of all, to a great editor, my fiercest supporter, and my best friend, my wife, Laura.