Mikami felt a sudden chill. An even worse possibility had just occurred to him. What if the Toyo knew for a fact that the guard had dozed off?
‘We will issue a statement committing ourselves to a severe tightening-up of discipline in the captain’s name,’ Akama announced. ‘The statement will be enough for the papers; it will make the headlines and prevent the Toyo from achieving its aim. Always assuming there are no other problems regarding the suicide, we still have to address the misconduct at Station F. I will inform the press that we are taking disciplinary action, and that the officer in question has been dismissed. Ishii, I assume this has already been done?’
‘Yes, earlier this morning.’
‘Good. I will then make a formal apology to the citizens of the prefecture. After this I will move on to my second statement – announcing that the captain has sent notices to all stations in the prefecture that they are to work to the standards laid out in the regulations governing the facilities. After this, I will move to questions. The Toyo will no doubt ask about Station T. I will emphasize that the suicide did not result from negligence and dispel any ideas of repeated misconduct.’
Wasn’t that just playing into the Toyo’s – no, Criminal Investigations’ – hands? They’d loaded their third arrow. They would wait for Akama to refute the claims of negligence, then shoot for his heart. They would bring up the talk of the guard having fallen asleep and request another investigation. Akama would hesitate. His panic would be broadcast all over the evening news. It would reach even the commissioner’s circles.
Or maybe . . .
A different scenario came to mind.
They wouldn’t say anything. As with the cover-up during Six Four, the negligence would never come to light and, because of that, it would become an indispensable tool. Criminal Investigations had no reason to make open threats, even less to bring the public into the fray. What they wanted was a table in the shadows at which to hold their negotiations – and a sharp blade, to press up against the throat of the administrative faction. That was it. They would force Akama into committing himself during the conference. Then they would move in and attack from behind the curtains. Once he’d gone on public record about the lack of any negligence, they would whisper into his ear that, in fact, the guard had fallen asleep. That they could leak that factual tidbit to the press whenever they wanted.
The third arrow was doused in flame.
Would they really release it? Maybe it would end up as a game of chicken. Criminal Investigations was afraid of Administrative Affairs’ own arrows – also doused in flame. They were already suspicious that Kazuki Koda was in their hands.
Go and see the director.
You’ll find out when you get there.
Urushibara’s words replayed themselves in his ear. How much of the truth would Arakida give him?
‘We’ve got fifteen minutes,’ Ishii said. Even now, he wanted to make something of the fact that he paid attention to detail.
Akama dismissed everyone, but ordered Mikami to stay. It hadn’t come as a surprise.
‘Well? Come on, then.’
No sooner had the door closed than Akama waved him closer. Mikami shifted to where Shirota had been sitting, so that he faced Akama directly. Immediately he saw the director’s blue veins and bloodshot eyes.
‘Did you find out who the source of the article was?’
Mikami nodded, feeling no resistance to telling him. All he needed to do was confirm Akama’s suspicions.
‘The leak came from Director Arakida. I believe he gave the story to Akikawa directly.’
‘That bastard! I knew it.’
Mikami felt himself tense. Akama resembled a wild animal, the way he’d bared his gums. After a while he spoke again, his voice back to normal as it filled the room.
‘I assume I have Arakida to thank for Nonomura’s speech, too?’
‘Most likely, yes.’
‘Just who the hell do they think they are? Do they have no shame?’
Akama’s voice became a bark for the second time. He fell silent, then brought his foot up and kicked the desk. His anger seemed to come in waves, swelling, then pulling away again. He drew himself into a stooped position. Stared at a single point on the floor. His hand tensed into a fist, slowly unfolded again. He was trying to keep his anger in check.
‘I have lots of things I need to do, you know, when I go back to Tokyo. I didn’t want to waste a single calorie of my energy, not in a backwater station like this. I have things to do for the sake of the nation. Otherwise, what’s the point in all this? Why doesn’t anyone understand?’
His anger peaked again. His face flashed bright red.
‘This is a fucking joke. They think they have me cornered, but this apology is a waste of time. Doesn’t mean a bloody thing.’
It didn’t seem that way to Mikami. This was the worst-possible scenario for Akama. Tokyo’s intention had been to conceal the true purpose behind the commissioner’s visit until the day itself, then launch a lightning strike on the Prefectural HQ to relay the ‘word from above’. That was why Akama had restricted access to the information. Instead of bringing Shirota or Futawatari into the fold, he had manipulated Mikami, savouring his success at having brought him into line. But the information had somehow got out. The first slip-up had been to let Criminal Investigations discover the NPA’s plan. The second had been to let the backlash escalate into an actual counter-attack. Akama had been forced into this predicament. A threatening article had been printed in the lead-up to the commissioner’s visit, incurring Tokyo’s wrath; Akama had failed in his attempt to fix the situation and now had to offer a public apology. His ability to function as one of the Tokyo elite would be cast into doubt. And his drop in estimation wouldn’t end there. The trap set by Criminal Investigations, waiting for him in the Press Room, would see to that.
Should I warn him?
Mikami had been pondering the question ever since the door had closed. It was only speculation. Yet the story of Criminal Investigations’ plot came together neatly in his mind, too plausible simply to dismiss. Was he going to do nothing, let his superior officer attend a press conference he was sure was a trap?
Akama’s phone started to ring on his desk. It was Ishii.
‘Fine,’ Akama said. He put the phone down and got to his feet. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
Still uncertain, Mikami got to his feet. He followed Akama out of the room and down the corridor. He had no reason to feel loyal to the man in front of him. Yet he felt the betrayal nonetheless. The dishonesty seemed to constrict his chest.