Katsuro kept his distance as the white-liveried van made its way back toward the hotel. He had followed it to the harbour, but there had been no easy way for him to continue once it had passed through the security gate. It looked as if the driver of the van had bribed the guard to let them in, and that wasn’t an option that was available to him, not without running the risk of compromising his anonymity on the island. The last thing he needed was to arouse the attention of the local authorities and, frustrated and angry, he had slotted the car at the side of the road and waited for the van to reappear.

The reason for the trip was obvious: they were arranging for Sakura to leave the country in such a way that her departure would not be noticed. They would get her onto a ship, and that would be that; she would be gone. Katsuro was irked at the turn of events, but not yet ready to give up. Ships were slow. They took a long time to reach their destination. All he needed to know was where she was going and, with that in hand, he would be able to fly ahead of her so that he could be waiting whenever and wherever she reached land. Victoria Deschamps would know where she was headed. Her husband, too. Katsuro would arrange a meeting with one of them and extract the information that he needed, and then he would act upon it.

This was just a temporary setback, he told himself. Nothing more. He would still find her and bring her back to his father.

The van reached the hotel and rolled slowly into the grounds. Katsuro followed it and waited as it negotiated the security barrier. It drove ahead, turning off the road and heading toward the small parking lot where the hotel kept its vehicles. Katsuro pressed his key card against the reader, gave the guard a cheerful wave as he went by, and parked the car in the guest lot. He got out, reached around to pat the Glock that was pressed up against the small of his back, and arranged the folds of his shirt so that it was hidden.