She saw him, just quickly—his smile, the spark of life that jumped in his eyes—and then the circle started to winnow away and the black was almost complete.

Katsuro released her. She fell to the floor and gasped for breath. The darkness receded, fading to grey and then white. The sudden rush of blood throbbed in her head.

“Just saying sorry is not going to be good enough,” Katsuro said. “You’re going to have to show me how sorry you are. You’re going to have to persuade me that I can still trust you. That’s how you get Yamato. Not by consorting with a gaijin.”

“I’ll show you,” she rasped. “I promise. Whatever you want. What do I need to do?”

“Get your things,” he said, waving his hand at the bag by the bed. “We’ll spend a little time together and think about that.”

103

Milton walked to the hotel, looking up with wry amusement at Godzilla. He was in an optimistic mood. The first part of his plan had promised to be the most difficult, with the most moving parts to manage, yet he had pulled it off without significant issue. He was too jaded by experience to allow himself to believe that the conclusion would be as easy, but perhaps Sakura’s emancipation was not too distant a prospect after all.

He nodded to the bellboy who held open the door for him, and made his way across the foyer to the elevator. He pressed the button to summon it and waited as it descended. He stepped in, pressed the button for the fourteenth floor, and looked at himself in the mirror as the doors closed. He looked tired, but he knew that the effort he had expended over the last few days had been worth it.

The elevator arrived and Milton walked to the room. He put his hand in his pocket for his key card, held it to the reader, waited for the click and the green light, then pushed the door open.

He stopped.

The room had been disturbed, with a chair kicked over and the items from the bureau scattered over the carpet.

Sakura was on the other side of the room. She was on her knees.

There was a man in front of her.

He turned at the sound of the door.

Milton recognised him.

Katsuro.

Milton saw a pistol with a suppressor on the bureau.

Katsuro swivelled, grabbed it and took aim.

Sakura sprang at the man, her shoulder colliding with his arm at the moment he pulled the trigger. The pistol fired, but the shot went high, cracking into the ceiling above Milton’s head.

Katsuro pushed Sakura away and then backhanded her with the pistol. She dropped to the floor and lay still.