minutes away. Plenty of time, she had said, for an undisturbed discussion.
He had his own suspicions about why she didn’t want to be interrupted. And had taken precautions.
In the meantime, his thoughts returned to what Nina had said to him after their landing. His relief and delight at seeing her again had been followed by dismay at her reaction on learning why he was there. She had been appalled to learn that his goal had been to kill Stikes … and, he now accepted, rightfully so. He had set out from Peru with the intention of proving his innocence, but somehow over time that had fallen away, replaced by a simpler, cruder, easier motivation. Vengeance, nothing more, taking his revenge on Stikes for everything he had done. He had always thought of such payback as unprofessional, but over the last three months he had fallen into the emotional trap. Uncovering whatever plot connected Kit, Stikes, and Sophia had proved harder and so far fruitless, and he had allowed another goal chosen by some reptilian, bloodthirsty part of his psyche to drive him instead.
Now, though, his objective was investigation once more. He was going to find out who had set him up, and why.
But when he did, he might well indulge the reptile within.
There was something else to kill first, however: the last few minutes before his meeting. He flipped through the English-language edition of the Asahi Shimbun newspaper he had bought before boarding. “Interpol Widens Search for Fugitive Billionaire” was a minor headline that caught his eye; the name Harald Glas stirred his memory as being connected to the IHA in some role. The Dane had apparently fled his native country when faced with charges of fraud, money laundering, and drug smuggling. Eddie imagined that Glas’s life on the lam was considerably more luxurious than his own.
Midnight. He put the paper aside and headed for the middle of the train, the “green”—first-class—section. Another reason to be wary: The more expensive carriages would be less busy, especially at this hour. More privacy—or fewer witnesses.
There was another reason why the former spook had chosen her particular seat, as Eddie found when he entered car number ten to be greeted by the acrid smell of tobacco. Smoking was still permitted in certain parts of the shinkansen, and this was one of them. He had retrieved his belongings from a subway station locker and, after some rough-and-ready first aid to his injuries in a restroom cubicle, changed out of his torn and filthy suit into something more comfortable. Taking a pack of Marlboros and his lighter from the breast pocket of his leather jacket now, he moved down the aisle, looking for his contact.
He found her quickly; there were only a handful of other people in the carriage, suited and bored-looking Japanese men. “There you are,” rasped Scarber from a window seat in the center of the coach, blowing out a line of blue smoke. “Come on, sit down.”
Eddie dropped into the seat facing her and lit his own cigarette, then returned the lighter and pack to his pocket. “So, you’re here in Japan, eh?”
“Keeping an eye on my employer’s interests.”
“I don’t need to tell you what happened, then.”
“No, I got a pretty good idea. Jesus, what a cluster fuck.” She took a long drag, the cigarette’s glowing tip crackling. “The main thing I want to know is: Did you destroy the statues?”
“Not yet.”
She frowned. “The deal was that you destroy them, kiddo.”
“The deal was that I kill Stikes.”
“We told you he was there, he was there. Not my problem if you fuck up the hit. Where are they?”
“Safe.”
“They’re not supposed to be safe. You had a bag when you boarded—are they in it?”
Eddie shrugged. “I’ve got some questions myself first.”
“I don’t give a crap. Where are the statues, Chase?”
He fixed her with a cold stare. “Why’d you try to have me killed, Scarber?”
She was silent for a moment, smoke wafting from the cigarette. Finally, she gave him a smile of patronizing admiration. “Figured it out, huh?”
“The bit where some twat fired rockets at me was sort of a giveaway.”
“Yeah, that wasn’t subtle, was it?” The smile chilled—then her right hand whipped into her handbag.
Eddie was faster, snatching out the Makarov and aiming it at her chest. “Ah-ah.”
“Would you believe me if I said I was just getting a tampon?” Scarber asked, slowly withdrawing her hand.
“Not really. Now take out the gun. Slowly, thumb and little finger.”
Glaring, she reached into the bag and extracted