Milton stood with his hands clasped in front of him as the elevator ascended. Fumio and the guard had no idea who he was and, more particularly, of what he was capable. It would have been simple to disarm the guard and then kill them both. The noise would be contained within the elevator car; no one would hear a thing. Milton could arrive at the penthouse to greet Takashi with the knife and then play the game that way. But that wasn’t what he had planned. It would be too risky; he didn’t know where Yamato was, and the possible repercussions for Sakura, her son and Hachirō were too great.

Milton had another plan. One which, unusually for him, did not involve violence.

He rocked on his heels as the counter above the doors ticked past the floors. When the number twelve lit up, the elevator slowed and then ground to a halt. With a pneumatic sigh, the doors began to open.

86

Takashi turned as the door to the apartment opened, curious to see his visitor. He had heard a lot about the Westerner: the man who had foiled Katsuro in Bali and then Manila and bested the two men who had followed him and Sakura after they had met Hachirō. Fumio was astute, too, and he had gone down to assess the man and decide whether he was fit to be brought up to see him. He evidently considered that he was. Fumio stepped out of the elevator, followed by the gaijin.

“This is John Milton,” Fumio said in English. “He says that he wishes to discuss a matter of some importance with you.”

Milton stopped about ten feet away from him and bowed. “Takashi-sama. Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

Takashi raised his eyebrows. At least the man had some manners. Proper comportment was, he thought, growing rarer and rarer these days. The man was dressed casually in jeans and a white shirt. His face was severe, with an old scar that sliced from his nose to his ear. He had the most intense blue eyes that Takashi had ever seen. Takashi looked carefully at his first lieutenant to see if he could learn anything from the expression on his face, but it was blank.

“Milton-san,” Takashi said, “welcome.” He gestured to the desk in the corner of his vast living room. “Please, sit.”