Matsuoka.
A row of three four-door sedans pulled on to the road in front of the driving school. Mikami caught a glimpse of Matsuoka from the side. He was in the back of the first vehicle. The cars continued until they were in the shadow of the command vehicle; there was the screech of brakes.
Mikami was already out of his car, running towards them. Alerted by the sound, one of the detectives getting out of the third vehicle turned around. Aizawa. He brushed a hand towards the hem of his jacket, not recognizing who it was. For a split second, the holster carrying his gun came into view. Was he going to draw? Mikami held up his hands but refrained from coming to a full stop. Seeing it was Mikami, his old boss from Special Investigations, Aizawa called to the next detective emerging from the vehicle, his expression still tense. Looks like we’ve got a complication . . .
Still keeping his distance, Mikami circled around towards the front of the command vehicle. He could feel the glaring eyes before the others came into view. Seven, eight, nine . . . Nine detectives stood encircling Matsuoka, each with a concealed weapon around their hip or chest. Each was a big name. Among them were Ogata from Violent Crime Section One and Minegishi from Special Investigations. They were Matsuoka’s best, with a long service of leadership – men in line to take charge of Criminal Investigations for the next generation. They stood there, intimidating, as they tried to gauge Mikami’s purpose, but they were also the only ones to remember decorum and offer a silent nod of their heads.
Once again, Matsuoka showed no sign of surprise. Mikami felt a wave of nostalgia, as though they’d been reunited after a long trip, despite the fact that they had met only a day earlier, in the toilets of Station G. Matsuoka’s eyes were not those of a heretic. There was no need for further scrutiny: they were the eyes of a man working on a case. They seemed compressed, half closed in concentration. When the time came, Mikami knew they would snap open, lifting, together with his thick eyebrows, to form the mask of a Kongorikishi, the muscular guardians that manned temple gates.
‘What, you’re stalking me now, Mikami?’
No doubt a calculated move, Matsuoka’s casual remark immediately eased the tension among the detectives, bringing their guard down a notch. It had no effect on Mikami. He remained tightly wound.
‘Let me come with you. In my role as press director.’
The nine detectives reacted simultaneously, looking astonished. With the cream of Criminal Investigations present, Mikami hadn’t said anything that might sound as if he was bargaining for sympathy. There was the future to consider. He didn’t care what they thought of him as an individual, but he couldn’t undersell his office by kowtowing before these men, who were all detectives to their core. And he didn’t have the time. Neither would Matsuoka. The commander would need to get inside and mobilize. It was all or nothing.
Matsuoka opened his mouth and spoke.
‘I owe you my thanks. Nanao got in touch this morning to let me know.’
What?
‘You didn’t know? About Minako. She came in.’
‘Right . . .’
She’d decided to do it.
‘Yeah, sure. Get in.’
What?
‘If you lose control of the press, we lose control of the front line. I want you to feed them until they fall asleep.’
The other detectives looked aghast, but it was Mikami who was truly lost for words. His follow-up proposal had already been on the tip of his tongue. If not the command vehicle, at least a pursuit or an intercept car.
‘But, sir . . .’
Ogata had started to complain, but he held his tongue. Anyone who’d ever worked for Matsuoka would know why. It wasn’t his rank as an officer or his title – whether as Chief Adviser or as First Division Chief – that had given Ogata pause. It was, instead, his trust in and reverence for Matsuoka’s wishes that had prevented him from blurting out a poorly considered, emotive response. He would also know that the decision was no longer one he could reverse, not now Matsuoka had said it.
‘Here’s the condition. You wait at least twenty minutes before relaying anything you hear inside. We need to maintain a time lag between the investigation and the press,’ Matsuoka said.
He hadn’t given Mikami a condition. He’d given him permission to relay information directly, from the command vehicle to the conference room. Twenty minutes was well within the boundary of any administrative delay. During kidnappings in the past, there were many cases where the press had had to wait thirty minutes, even an hour, before they were brought up to speed.
‘Yes, sir. That won’t be a problem.’
‘You concentrate on your job; we’ll take care of ours.’
Make sure not to interfere with the investigation. He’d picked up on Mikami’s rising adrenalin. But while it was true that the anticipation was building, Mikami’s mind was not focused on the hunt. The detective was stirring. Matsuoka had doubtless interpreted it that way.
The steel bars rang out as the doors to the back of the vehicle’s container came unlocked; they swung open. The smell of his hands after pull-ups on the bar. His nose registered the memory. Dully glowing orange ceiling lights. The area was cramped compared to how it had appeared from the outside, reminding Mikami of a submarine walkway he’d once seen in a film. Desks covered with screens and apparatus lined both sides. Seven stools were bolted to the floor in a zigzag pattern. Two men were already sitting inside, both wearing headphones. One was sitting before a phone attached to the desk; he was hairy, round, burly. The other was thin, pencil-faced, with a centre parting, and looked nothing like a detective. He was sitting in front of two computers, suggesting his role was something like Koichiro Hiyoshi’s during the Six Four investigation.
The only people to get in were Matsuoka and the two team leaders, Ogata and Minegishi. Mikami, too, having secured his place. That made six but, despite there being seven stools, there was no room to move around. Elbows and knees knocked together as they took their seats.
‘Closing up.’
Ogata pulled the handles on both doors, which were designed to be closed from the inside. They came together with a metallic thud. Both the view and any remaining light were shut out, compressing the air inside. Mikami immediately tensed, feeling his chest constrict. They had air-conditioning but no windows. The view from each side of the vehicle – front, back, left and right – was projected on to four different monitors sunk into the walls.
Minegishi picked up a radio microphone.
‘Special Investigations, this is Mobile Command.’
‘This is Special Investigations. Go ahead.’
‘Confirm reception. Over.’
‘Good: five bars. All tests okay. Over.’
‘Copy. Commander and five more on board. Over.’
‘Copy.’