The Typhoon Lover (29 page)

Of course Michael knew that I’d done it; he was just teasing me. “How about the next seriously wounded Iraqi child? Maybe they could parlay it into a visa to a safer country.”

I’d expected Michael to protest my partisan political statement, but instead, he looked at me and said, “What about you?”

Vehemently, I shook my head.

“You lost everything, didn’t you? Both the men, your place to live in Washington, and the support of your relatives in Yokohama.”

“Oh, nothing’s irreplaceable.” I amended my hard words. “Well, maybe I don’t mean my relatives. But I think they’ve all decided it was just a matter of crazy Rei being a little crazier than usual. They’ve forgiven, if not forgotten.”

I’d given my cousins a sketchy but honest report of the situation: that Takeo had been racked with anxiety over Emi’s death, and I’d comforted him. The fact that I’d left Japan proved I had no real interest in resurrecting our relationship, and by now, the media’s attention was long gone from me. The truth had gotten out about the drugs that Emi had taken before her death, and the press furthered the idea that the shame and horror her father had faced because of his daughter’s drug overdose had led to his attempted suicide.

On the bright side, Tom had told me, there was a sudden increase in serious media coverage of the dangers of Japan’s most popular drug, and the warning signs parents could observe. And it seemed that Takeo was no longer a social pariah; he was seen as a sad, flawed hero who had tried in vain to prevent his fiancée’s death.

“But what about Hugh?” Michael was like a dog who wouldn’t drop a bone.

“It’s over, though I haven’t retrieved all my things from his apartment because I’m not sure what I’m doing next.”

“In terms of work, you mean?”

“Exactly.” I watched him closely, because he’d hinted about having more work for me, and I wondered if the offer still stood.

Michael folded his arms and regarded me. “You know that I’m pleased with the way your first job for us went. My bosses are pleased, too. They hope you’ll work for us again.”

I felt myself flush. “You mean, join the C-I-”

“No names,” Michael said in a low voice. “But you’re in the right arena. I’ll show you my credentials later on, when we’re outside.”

“I can’t believe you could possibly think the job went smoothly,” I said. “My mistake with Takeo led to a chain of events that were nearly disastrous.”

“What you did the day and night of the storm—getting to the beach town, and finding a way to stay in the house and discover the fake—verged on the heroic.” Michael’s gaze was warm. “Hugh understandably has a different reading of it, but rest assured that in our line of work, you aren’t the first agent to have done that sort of thing.”

“But I wasn’t an agent—”

“You could be,” Michael said, studying me. “If you were willing to sign a secrecy agreement, we could formalize our relationship.”

I laughed shakily. “No, thanks. I’m too liberal, and I’d never pass the physical.”

“I disagree with both.” Michael grinned. “And I promise you that because you’re still remaining something of an independent contractor, the training is minimal. For instance, there would be no paramilitary training, although you probably should take some more
kanji
classes, since your difficulty reading Japanese is really the only weakness I see.”

Michael was still watching me, so I was relieved to be interrupted by the waitress. I ordered the corn and mussel soup and the vegetable stack.

“Anything to drink?” she asked.

I hesitated, thinking that this was a business lunch, and also thinking about Hugh’s problem, but Michael interjected, “Did you know that they serve wines by the glass? I’m having a glass of Pinot Grigio.”

Wines by the glass! A brilliant idea. A tiny bit of golden joy in a glass, not too much, just enough to make the flavors of the food rounder, and my back rest a little more comfortably against the banquette.

“Is this a typical workday lunch for you?” I asked after the exquisite food had arrived and I’d taken a few bites.

“This meal is not on the government’s tab,” Michael said. “Although my time talking to you will be. Getting back to our conversation, I want you to consider taking on some jobs that I might hear about, dealing with cultural treasures and delicate human situations: situations that could be peacefully solved, to use one of your infamous expressions.”

“It sounds like the right idea, philosophically,” I said, “But I still don’t feel I could do things like that. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Consider how things worked out in your debut operation. The ibex ewer is back in Iraq and relations between Japan and the United States are intact, despite our apprehending one of their citizens.”

“But has justice been served? Mr. Harada’s probably going to retire without going to jail, and the Birands are free to keep running their dubious business in another country. And what about Mr. Watanabe, that double-dealing bastard?”

“Early next year, apparently, he’s rotating out of the embassy and retiring to go into private industry.” Michael took a sip of wine. “Obviously, the scandal that he tried to prevent wound up tainting him, too.”

“Well, frankly, I’m glad he’s not staying in office. I can hardly stand to live in the same city as the man who betrayed me to someone who hired a thug to do away with me—”

“Yes. I made a sorry choice in recruiting him to help, although he probably would have been fine if it had not turned out that our real suspect was one of his colleagues.” Michael looked at me. “I’m sorry, Rei.”

I shuddered. “Well, you did start warning me to be cautious, pretty early on. And at least it’s over.”

“Yes. And even though there won’t be newspaper clippings this time around telling the truth about what you did over the last few weeks, you must feel satisfied knowing that you’ve uncovered corruption within immigration circles.”

“I was lucky. I guessed the truth at the critical moment.” I felt uncomfortable with all the praise.

“I disagree, and I’m writing an analysis of your experience, to be shared agencywide. You’re the first person in our employ who’s pointed out that governments must be highly vigilant to make sure diplomats don’t foster immigration fraud. Just think how terrorists might get into our country, if we had an ambassador who operated the way Harada did.”

“You’re very kind to make such a big deal about it,” I said.

“Rei, I want you to work for us again.” Michael was looking straight at me in a way that made me drop my own gaze. It was too intense, too close.

“I promise that I’ll think about it,” I said. Kendall was sure she could find work for me decorating her friend’s new restaurant, and my grandmother had cooked up some kind of an opportunity to catalog a famous netsuke collection in North Baltimore. But I’d keep Michael’s offer in mind. It was bound to be the highest-paying, and it had the advantage of travel—something that sounded good to me, now that I no longer had a home.

When I left Zola two hours later, I discovered that the sun had completely vanished, obscured by what looked like snow clouds. Snow in early November in Washington? It could happen, though it was unusual.

Much of my trip back to Bethesda was underground, so when I got out of the station, I was pleased to see a faint dusting of white everywhere. The bus to Potomac was delayed because of the weather, so I decided to walk.

The two miles to Kendall’s house went rather slowly because of my impractical shoes. But I didn’t mind. As I picked my way along the path, I looked heavenward and let the flakes fall on my cheeks, eyes, lips, and hair.

The snow kept falling. The dull suburban landscape was now completely frosted in white, except for the black asphalt roads and the tiny holes that my heels were making on the snowy sidewalk. Tomorrow I would teach Jackie and Win how to make snow angels.

I had the time, because it would be a snow day—and because I finally understood that my own winter years were nothing to be afraid of.

The Typhoon Lover
owes its existence to many helpful people on both sides of the Pacific. The things that I’ve done right are because of them; all mistakes are my own.

I am indebted to my Sisters in Crime writers’ group of nine years: Marcia Talley, John Mann, Karen Diegmuller, and Janice McLane. The staff at the Smithsonian Institution’s Sackler Museum was amazing, especially the curators Louise Cort and Ann Gunter, its former public relations director Barbara Kramm, and Sarah Rodman of the Air and Space Museum. And with regard to the realities of modern espionage, I am grateful to the retired CIA analyst Rob Krespi for vetting the manuscript. I also salute the people who keep my spirits up with excellent coffee and conversation: Mike Sproge, Glen Breining, and the entire crew at the Evergreen coffeehouse, and the Baltimore intelligentsia who inhabit it (you know who you are).

In Japan, I give my deepest bows to Satoshi Mizushima, an English teacher at the Japanese Self Defense Forces School in Taura who carefully checked my Japanese; Chris Belton, an established Japan hand and great writer, for details of geography; Hidetomo Hirayama for the music; and my former neighbor Mihoko Morikawa, for the walk along the Hayama beach road. To William Morgan, Peter Vanburen, and Gentry Smith at the United States Embassy in Tokyo, thank you for welcoming me at a time of increased tension and for answering my many questions about how things are done to help Americans in trouble abroad. I also raise a glass to my dear friend and mentor, John Adair, Jr., owner of Kurofune Antiques in Roppongi, who continues to teach me about Japanese antiques. At the Grand Hyatt Tokyo, I thank Mark Kobayashi and Chisato Yagi for the tour. Yohei Omori, Waseda University alumnus, was a great tour guide to the campus and so helpful in many other ways.

This book was written during the year that my husband, Tony Massey, was mobilized by the Navy Reserve and left our home to serve with the Navy’s Medical Corps. Despite the stress of his new job and cramped living quarters, Tony took charge of our children so I could return for a while to do research in Tokyo. I couldn’t have done it without him—whether in uniform or not, Tony will always be my Navy hero.

Finally, there are the many good souls at HarperCollins who ferried this book from manuscript to print, and I thank you all. I remain in awe of my longtime editor and friend, Carolyn Marino; her able assistant, Jennifer Civiletto; and the publicity, art, and marketing departments. At Inkwell Management, the encouragement of my agent Kim Witherspoon and David Forrer made writing this book almost easy.
Arigato gozaimasu,
everyone!