off an old grudge. It's more about rescheduling the pecking order.'
Bergin nodded and chuckled. 'That's my interpretation,' he said, 'but policemen have to go on the evidence. Frankly, it has been a neat operation so far and it does not look good for the Namakas. And the truth is not really very relevant. They've run their course. Now it's just a matter of time.'
'You sound very sure,' said Fitzduane. 'I've read the Namaka file. They are redoubtable people.'
'There are some forces you can't buck,' said Bergin flatly.
Fitzduane thought about what Bergin had been saying. Half of what his friend was communicating was unspoken, yet the clues were there. Suddenly, Fitzduane understood.
'You said the old alliances hadn't changed,' said Fitzduane.
'Different names, that's all,' said Bergin, 'but the same team is still pulling the strings, even if there is a problem with one of the team members. Overenthusiasm, say some. Something nastier, say others. But the trouble is, it's hard to get a rotten apple when it's at the top of this particular tree. Hard to do it without embarrassment.'
'How rotten an apple?' said Fitzduane. 'As a friend to a friend, Mike.'
Bergin pursed his lips. 'This particular apple has been rotten since Vietnam,' said Bergin. 'Terminal is the description I would use.'
'Terminal?' said Fitzduane. 'That's a rather strong word.'
Bergin met his glance. 'Carefully chosen,' he said.
The conversation turned to reminiscing, and later they ate together. It was near midnight when Fitzduane left. As he was saying farewell, he asked a question that had been in the back of his mind for some time.
'How long have you been with the Company, Mike?'
Bergin blinked, but said nothing at first. Then he held out his hand. 'Loose lips sink ships,' he said. 'How did you know?'
Fitzduane pointed at the row of guest slippers. 'Too many size twelves,' he said.
'You always were an intuitive bastard,' said Bergin, smiling. 'But someone has to watch the watchers. It's been good to see you, Hugo.'
Fitzduane had a lot to think about as he drove back to Tokyo, bracketed by his escorts. In particular, he was thinking about a rotten apple called Schwanberg. As the Company's head of station in Tokyo, controlling the power brokers of Japanese society, he probably felt nearly invulnerable.
In his scruffy but comfortable house in the village of Asumae, Bergin finished the open bottle of Fitzduane's excellent wine, shook his head, and made a call.
16
Tokyo, Japan
June 19
The big man in the expensive black suit, handmade shirt, and club tie listened to the progress reports on the Namaka affair with interest, pleasure, and some concern, but his face displayed no emotion.
It could not.
Nearly four decades earlier, terrible burns had disfigured it. The whole of his face had been savaged by the flames, and the flesh on the left side had been almost completely seared away. His ear had been reduced to a piece of blackened gristle. The left side of his body was horribly scarred.
Plastic surgery was not possible at the time. The Korean gangs were being hunted, and a hospital would have meant his death. By the time he was able to have surgery, the medical team could do only so much. Thanks to grafts from his thigh and buttocks, he was made functional. He could eat again and make love to a woman if she could bear it. He could open and close his eyes. His nose was rebuilt, and he had what passed for an ear.
But he was still hideous, repulsive, with his scarred, seamed face, twisted features, and tight, artificial- looking skin. People looked at him and were afraid. He was a living reminder of the terrible things that can be done to the human body. And he looked exceedingly dangerous; a man who had already been embraced by death; a man with nothing to lose.
His own group had all been burned to death in the fire or cut to pieces as they tried to escape. They thought he was dead, too, that the small gang of Korean gangsters was completely destroyed. It was a deliberate object lesson in brutality. Japan was going to emerge again stronger than ever from the destruction of the war, and the power brokers did not want rivals. And they certainly did not want Koreans. The Koreans were a conquered people who had come to Japan as virtual forced labor before and during the Second World War, and then had used the U.S. occupation to try to break out of their servitude.
Japan was defeated. There was a power vacuum. The black market flourished. The gurentai, a new breed of more vicious gangster, emerged with little of the spirit of the traditional yakuza. The gurentai were ruthless and ran roughshod over the defeated Japanese. Many of the gurentai were Korean. It was an opportunity to hit back at the arrogance of the Japanese, to prey on their erstwhile masters. Their conquerors were now the defeated. The newly released Koreans were protected by the U. S Arm of occupation – at first.
For several exhilarating years in the immediate postwar period, Korean gangsters enjoyed unprecedented success in Japan. The occupation regime concentrated on demilitarization and changing Japan into a liberal democracy.
Then came a change in emphasis. The defeat of communism became the main priority. Anyone and everything that was opposed to communism, or purported to be opposed to communism, began to get active U.S. intelligence support.
Hodama was released from prison for just such a purpose. He was an organizer and a fixer, with unparalleled connections. He knew how to press the right buttons to win political support. He knew how to recruit gangs of young thugs – such as the Namakas – to enforce his will. An alliance of U.S. intelligence, right-wing politicians, and organized crime was created. This alliance set out to defeat communism and the burgeoning left-wing movement in Japan and to seize political power. This demanded cultivating popular support, and one of the quickest ways was to turn on the Korean criminal gangs. They were fiercely resented by the average Japanese and were a convenient focus of hate.
The man in the black silk suit was seventeen when the attack by Hodama's people came. The warehouse where his gang was based was surrounded by the Namakas and other members of Hodama's group and saturated with gasoline. Twenty-six Korean gang members had died in that holocaust, including the man in the black silk suit's mother, father, two brothers, and sister.
The one survivor had sworn revenge.
He lived only for retribution. But revenge would only be possible if he became strong. Hodama and the Namakas had the powerful backing of U.S. intelligence, and soon became even more powerful in their own right. The right time to exact appropriate retribution seemed never to come.
The decades passed. The man in the black silk suit worked his way up to become boss of one of the most powerful yakuza gangs in Japan, but still could not strike at Hodama and his supporters without excessive risk and terminal consequences. Hodama's base of support was too strong. He was needed. He could deliver the votes. He was a linchpin of the right wing, of the anti-communist alliance. He was the leading kuromaku behind the Liberal Democrat Party, and he was the CIA's man. He was protected.
Though some knew the story, the fire had removed most traces of the survivor's Korean background. He took the name Katsuda and initially passed himself off as Japanese, though eventually, as the Korean community in Japan prospered and searched for protection against the dominant Japanese, he reestablished his Korean links and traded upon them. Over time, as the Katsuda- gumi became ever stronger, he, too, established links wit the right wing and the LPD and the Americans. And he waited for the right opportunity.
Sooner or later Hodama would make a mistake. He would lose his protection and Katsuda could strike. It was a carefully planned operation refined again and again over the years, which would destroy not only Hodama but his whole base of support, starting with the Namakas. The Americans, referring to the spread of communism in Southeast Asia, called it ‘the Domino Theory.’ Katsuda thought the simple applicable to what he had in mind. Knock down the first tile and it falls on the second, which falls on the third…
