Rainfall

shoot from his nose. If I hadn’t seen that, I think I would have left while you were gone.”

“Makes me glad I caught him in the head.”

She laughed softly and pressed the towel against my face again. “Tell me what happened.”

“You don’t have anything to eat here, do you?” I asked. “I’m starving.”

She reached for a bag next to the couch and opened it for me. “I brought back some bento. Just in case.”

“Give me a few minutes,” I said, and started wolfing down rice balls, eggs, and vegetables. I washed it all down with a can of mixed fruit juice. It tasted great.

When I was finished, I shifted on the couch so I could see her better. “There were two of them at my apartment,” I said. “I knew one — an LDP flunky I know only as Benny. Turns out he’s connected to the CIA. Would that mean anything to you? Any connection to your father?”

She shook her head. “No. My father never said anything about a Benny or about the CIA.”

“Okay. The other guy was a kendoka — he had a cane that he used like a sword. I don’t know what the connection is. I managed to get both their cell phones. Maybe it’ll give me a clue about who he is.”

I took the ice from her with one hand and leaned across the couch to reach my coat, feeling angry bites of pain in my back as I did so. I pulled the coat over, reached into the inside breast pocket, and pulled out the phones. Both standard DoCoMo issue, small and sleek. “Benny told me the Agency is after the disk. I don’t know why they’re coming after me, though. Maybe they think . . . maybe they think I’m going to tell you something, put something together for you? That I can make use of what you’ve got? Figure out what it is? Prevent them from getting what they want?”

I flipped open the kendoka’s phone and pressed the recall button. A number lit up on the screen. “This is a start. We can do a reverse telephone number search. There might be some numbers preprogrammed, also. I’ve got a friend, someone I trust, who can help us with this.”

I stood up, wincing at the pain in my back. “We’re going to need to change hotels. Can’t behave any differently than the other satisfied patrons.”

She smiled. “I suppose that’s true.”

We changed to a nearby place called the Morocco, which seemed to be organized around some sort of Arabian Nights theme — Oriental rugs, hookahs, belly bracelets, and other harem gear for the woman to wear if she were so inclined. It was the picture of Bedouin luxury, but there was only one bed, and sleeping on the couch was going to be like a night on the rack.

“Why don’t you take the bed tonight?” she said, as though reading my mind. “With your back like that, you can’t very well sleep on this couch.”

“No, that’s okay,” I told her, feeling strangely embarrassed. “The couch is fine.”

“I’ll take the couch,” she said, with a smile that lingered.

I wound up accepting her offer, but my sleep was restless. I dreamed I was moving though dense jungle near Tchepone in southern Laos, hunted by an NVA counter-recon battalion. I had become separated from my team and was disoriented. I would sideslip and double back, but couldn’t shake the NVA. They had me surrounded, and I knew I was going to be captured and tortured. Then Midori was there, trying to get me to take a side arm. “I don’t want to be captured,” she was saying. “Please, help me. Take the gun. Don’t worry about me. Save my Yards.”

I snapped upright, my body coiled like a spring. Easy, John. Just a dream. I tightened my abdomen and forced a long hiss of air out through my nostrils, feeling like Crazy Jake was right there in the room with me.

My face was wet and I thought it was bleeding again, but when I put my hand to my cheek and looked at my fingers I realized that it was tears. What the hell is this? I thought.

The moon was low in the sky, its light flowing in through the window. Midori was sitting up on the couch, her knees drawn to her chest. “Bad dream?” she asked.

I flicked my thumb across the sides of my face. “How long have you been up?”

She shrugged. “Awhile. You were tossing and turning.”

“I say anything?”

“No. Are you afraid of what you might say in your sleep?”

I looked at her, one side of her face illuminated by moonlight, the other hidden in shadow. “Yes,” I said.

“What was the dream?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, lying. “Mostly just images.”

I could feel her looking at me. “You tell me to trust you,” she said, “but you won’t even tell me about a bad dream.”

I started to answer, then all at once felt irritated with her. I slid off the bed and walked over to the bathroom.

I don’t need her questions, I thought. I don’t need to take care of her. Fucking CIA, Holtzer, knows I’m in Tokyo, knows where I live. I’ve got enough problems.

She was the key, I knew. Her father must have told her something. Or she had what whoever had broken into his apartment on the day of his funeral had been looking for. Why couldn’t she just realize what the hell it was?

I walked back into the bedroom and stood facing her. “Midori, you’ve got to try harder. You’ve got to remember. Your father must have told you something, or given you something.”