desk with my hands behind my back and a gormless grin. ‘Where do I look?’
She turns a scanner towards me. ‘Into this eyepiece.’
‘Kazuyo.’ I check we are alone. ‘Ran told me, about, y’know – is it true?’
‘Is what true?’
‘Your eleventh toe?’
‘My eleventh what ?’ The moment she looks at her feet I pepper her neck with enough instant-action tranquillizer micro-pellets to knock out the entire Chinese Army. She slumps on her blotter. I make a witty pun in the manner of James Bond for my own amusement.
I knock three times. ‘Goldfish Pal, Ms Kato!’
A mysterious pause. ‘Enter.’
I check that the corridor is empty of witnesses, and slip in. The actual lair of Akiko Kato matches closely the version in my imagination. A chequered carpet. A curved window of troubled cloud. A wall of old-fashioned filing cabinets. A wall of paintings too tasteful to trap the eye. Between two half-moon sofas sits a huge spherical tank where a fleet of Okinawan silverspines haunt a coral palace and a sunken battleship. Nine years have passed since I last saw Akiko Kato, but she has not aged a single day. Her beauty is as cold and callous as ever. She glances up from behind her desk. ‘You are not the ordinary fish man.’
I lock the door, and drop the key in my pocket with my gun.
She looks me up and down.
‘I am no fish man at all.’
She puts down her pen. ‘What the hell do you—’
‘It is a simple matter. I know your name, and you knew mine, once upon a time: Eiji Miyake. Yes, that Eiji Miyake. True. It has been many years. Look. We are both busy people, so why not cut the small talk? I am in Tokyo to find my father. You know his name and you know his address. And you are going to give me both. Right now.’
Akiko Kato blinks, to verify the facts. Then she laughs. ‘Eiji Miyake?’
‘I fail to see the funny side.’
‘Not Luke Skywalker? Not Zax Omega? Do you seriously expect to reduce me to a state of awed obedience by your pathetic spiel? “One island boy embarks on a perilous mission to discover the father he has never met.” Do you know what happens to island boys once they leave their fantasies?’ She shakes her head in mock pity. ‘Even my friends call me the most poisonous lawyer in Tokyo. And you burst in here, expecting to intimidate me into passing on classified client information? Please!’
‘Ms Kato.’ I produce my Walther PK 7.65mm, spin it nattily and aim it at her. ‘You have a file on my father in this room. Give it to me. Please.’
She fakes outrage. ‘Are you threatening me?’
I release the safety catch. ‘I hope so. Hands up where I can see them.’
‘You got hold of the wrong script, child.’ She picks up her telephone, which explodes in a plastic supernova. The bullet pings off the bulletproof glass and slashes into a picture of lurid sunflowers. Akiko Kato bulges her eyes at the rip. ‘You heathen! You damaged my Van Gogh! You are going to pay for that!’
‘Which is more than you ever did. The file. Now.’
Akiko Kato snarls. ‘Security will be here within thirty seconds.’
‘I know the electronic blueprint of your office. Spyproofed and soundproofed. No messages in, none out. Stop blustering and give me the file.’
‘Such a nice life you could have had, picking oranges on Yakushima with your uncles and grandmother.’
‘I don’t want to ask you again.’
‘If only matters were so simple. But you see, your father has too much to lose. Were news of his whored bastard offspring brat – you, that is – to leak out, it would cause red faces in high places. This is why we have a modest secrecy retainer arrangement.’
‘So?’
‘So, this is a cosy little boat you are attempting to rock.’
‘Ah. I see. If I meet my father you won’t be able to blackmail him.’
‘“Blackmail” is a litigable word for someone still in search of the perfect acne lotion. Being your father’s lawyer calls for discretion. Ever heard of discretion? It sets decent citizens apart from criminals with handguns.’
‘I am not leaving this office without the file.’
‘You have a long wait ahead. I would order some sandwiches, but you shot my telephone.’
I don’t have time for this. ‘Okay, okay, maybe we can discuss this in a more adult way.’ I lower my gun, and Akiko Kato allows herself a pert smile of victory. The tranquillizers embed themselves in her neck. She