Milton hadn’t completely settled on a plan, but he had an idea of how he might secure the tantō so that it could be returned to Takashi. He thought that he would be able to manage it himself, but it would be considerably easier with the benefit of a second pair of hands. He just had to work out how much risk that would entail for Sakura’s father. He was evidently capable and was very far from an innocent, but he was old and had made the decision to remove himself from situations that might involve questionable ethics. Milton knew that Hachirō would want to help his daughter, but he did not want to take advantage of the old man’s parental obligations at the expense of his future well-being. Milton would make an assessment of the risk before deciding.

“John,” Sakura said quietly, “I’m afraid.”

Milton put his arm around her shoulders. “What of?”

“I’m afraid for you. They might kill you.”

“That’s not easy to do.”

“And then Yamato and my father, then me.”

“It won’t come to that.” Milton squeezed her, drawing her body against his. “There’s a way through this. Give me a couple of days and it’ll all look very different.”

“You promise?”

Milton couldn’t do that, but he knew it was what she needed to hear.

“I promise.”

82

Takashi stood at the penthouse window, his arms folded, looking out at the view while his fool son explained just how he had made such a mess of what ought to have been a simple enough assignment. He had landed at the airport an hour ago and had hurried across town to see him. He had started to apologise as soon as he had stepped through the door. Takashi had listened without seeking to hide his impatience. He considered himself to be hard, but fair. He had little tolerance for failure, though, and even less for incompetence. Katsuro had failed—that was incontrovertible, since the drugs had not been delivered to the premans as contracted—and now he was trying as hard as he could to argue that he had been unfortunate and not simply negligent.

“I don’t understand,” Takashi said when his son had finished. “This wasn’t the first time you have escorted her. What happened?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t come through the airport as she should have done. The man she was with—the gaijin—he took her through a private door before immigration.”

“Why would he do something like that?”

“I don’t know, Father.”

“How did she know him?”

“I don’t know. She was alone when she boarded the plane in Istanbul—I checked with her chaperone.”

“What do you know?”