the crawl space, and walked the one block to a waiting van.
In the forest behind the house, buried in an azalea, stood a large, sensitive microphone aimed at the family- room window. Sound waves from inside that hit the window could be picked up by Groiter' s hidden paraphernalia and broadcast to the van. Any kitchen or family-room conversation that could not be detected by the spike mike under the couch could probably be heard through this giant ear. Also, Groiter's best surveillance man, a guy too expensive to be anything but an independent contractor, had done a phone tap at the pole, also using a transmitter with a feed to the van.
All they needed now was for Dan Young to come home and talk to someone.
In the van, Groiter pulled out a Clive Cussler novel and poured a pile of pumpkin seeds onto a paper towel. 'Now we wait,' he told the surveillance man.
In retirement Groiter imagined that he would sit on a South Seas beach with a mound of pumpkin seeds, a stack of thrillers, and some dark glasses that would make it easier to watch the girls go by. A bachelor, he had never felt the need to become attached to anyone or anything with the possible exception of his retirement account that he nursed with a mother's love and a father's devotion.
Over the years he had managed to develop a marvelous detachment where people were concerned. He did not laugh when they laughed, cry when they cried, nor did he ever mentally put himself in the place of another. For that reason he could, if required, strangle toddlers. But he maintained a scientific point of view. If there was no remorse, there was also no joy in wet work, and he employed as little violence as he deemed possible in order to ensure a satisfactory retirement.
He had served Kenji well, managing largely through creativity to avoid killing people even in the most difficult circumstances. His value lay in his availability to do whatever was needed, like a bizarre kind of insurance policy. And since he had absolutely no one to tell, his exploits went utterly unheralded.
Most of his killing had been done in liberated Iron Curtain countries where the Mafia got in the way of some business arrangements of the Petchenkoffs, an old-money European family. He had at least achieved a stalemate after knocking off four highly placed figures in organized crime. To get to the bosses, he had to kill at least a dozen underlings, two with a ten-inch awl, one with a knife, all up close and personal. The Petchenkoffs were allowed a graceful exit at a reasonable price, neither side wanting anything more to do with the other.
He met Kenji while working for the Petchenkoffs. Actually, the Asakas were more or less sideline participants, and Kenji had an inkling of Groiter's exploits. When Kenji hired him and imported him to the United States, things became much more refined. He hadn't killed a soul working for Kenji, although he'd helped Kenji clean up the mess with Catherine Swanson and the photographer.
Perhaps Hans's greatest asset was figuring people, their fear, their greed, their envy, and their lust. If somebody had a mind for mischief, Hans had a mind that could find a way between that miscreant and whatever thing of Kenji's they wanted.
At the moment he was having a bit of a struggle understanding exactly what Maria Fischer and Dan Young might want. The morons at the lab had handled the lawyers' intrusion in typically ridiculous fashion by bringing them inside the compound and locking them in a room without so much as a guard. Amazing that a brilliant scientist could be so mindless when it came to security and so fragile when it came to enforcing it.
Yoshinari Asaka III maintained a five-story, traditional Japanese castle on the outskirts of Kanazawa in the province of Hokuriku near the Sea of Japan. It was his preferred residence, though he had several. On this day he sat in his covered garden, by the koi pond, next to a burbling stream running beneath a small footbridge. Growing near the water at his feet was a calla lily bearing a deep purple, trumpet-shaped bloom. It was a gift from his daughter Micha in America, and he treasured it. He also treasured her: the texture of her voice, her scent, her smile, and her determined squint. These things gave him great pleasure.
But for the moment his thoughts included himself, his company, and all his family. When he was a young man, sixteen hours represented a normal day spent advancing the family wealth. Now he did a better job, and it consumed six hours on a busy day. There were days when he took only a single call. So astute was his handpicked management that the Asaka business conglomerate could be guided down the right path with tiny consistent taps from a small stick. If administered precisely, these taps moved the corporate giant to ever greater success. Yoshinari was a master, his tapping so subtle that it often went undetected to all but the most discerning ear.
As in all affairs in every culture, error was possible. In the Asaka businesses, departures from the path crept in most easily when the master tapper could not see where to apply the stick. And there was now a blurry fog over the business activities of the Amada subsidiary and Kenji Yamada, its chief executive, his son-in-law. It was a matter of possessing accurate information-a commodity in short supply at Amada. So he had sent a liaison, one Oki Satoru, whom he needed to call now.
A voice answered with a groggy-sounding greeting.
'I hope I did not awaken you.'
'I fell asleep watching the TV. Sign of getting older.'
'Ah, yes,' Yoshinari said. 'Are you making any progress?'
'I'm afraid Kenji is not happy to see me. I can learn only what Kenji wants me to learn, which is nothing. I am frankly worried that he tries too hard to keep secrets, especially about the forest compound. One wonders what he is worried about. He claims that if word of their Taxol research gets out, the woods will be full of hunters for the yew trees.'
''What does that have to do with you and your need to know?'
'It is an excuse without a reason. I believe he has some other project in progress.'
'And why do you think that?'
'He has hired chemical engineers at the research center.'
'Is there a reason he doesn't share this with us?'
'I don't know. I'm trying to figure it out. But there is a matter I should speak with you about.''
'Yes.' Yoshinari did not like Satoru's strained tone. He wondered what Kenji had done that even the ambitious Satoru didn't approve of.
'Your daughter has suspected Kenji of seeing other women. She actually told me this, sir. And I took action, sir. Over here the state senators have a knife at the throats of the timber producers. I thought a political connection could advance the interests of the Asaka family. So I promised a well-placed woman money to get next to Kenji. Like a geisha.'
Asaka forced himself to show restraint. Like a geisha, indeed. 'Go on.'
''It didn't work out well. The woman communicated with Micha on the phone, made small talk. Said how much she appreciated Kenji giving her a ride home. That part, of course, was good. But after the call the woman was found dead in a photographer's van, apparently sexually assaulted by the photographer. I had hired the photographer. And he has disappeared. The police think he's running from the law.'
'Tell me why you hired this woman?'
'It's a long story. As I said, her husband is a state senator with prospects. In the long run he could give us political favors. It's common in America like everywhere else. Especially California.'
'It is against the law.'
'The woman could pry information out of your son-in-law. That's not against the law. And Micha would have the answer to her question. If she knew he was tempted, she could confine his ways.'
'You thought all this up by yourself?'
'I did.'
'And why did you hire the photographer?'
'For evidence.'
'You neglected to mention this scheme to me.'
'I didn't want to burden you with it.'
'Who do you think killed the woman?'
'I don't know. Perhaps the photographer. Perhaps Kenji.'
''I want you to cease all this. I sent you to gather information, not to trap my son-in-law. He is capable enough of serious errors without you creating them for him.'
'I understand.'
''I want a full report of everything to do with this woman and this photographer. Put it in a computer file with
