The nausea came again and then passed. It was strange and unpleasant, a combination of biliousness and drowsiness. She lay down, closing her eyes against a sudden swell of disequilibrium. Maybe she was tired. Sleep would help. She checked her watch. They had another five hours to go. She would try to pass the time in sleep and, when she woke, they would nearly be there. The thought of reaching her destination reminded her of who would be waiting for her.

Katsuro.

She tried to erase him from her dreams, but his image was persistent, like a stain that would not be wiped clean, and, as sleep finally came to take her, she saw his face: leering, derisive, expectant.

11

Milton woke up as the captain made an announcement that they would be landing in thirty minutes. He unclipped his belt and pushed the moveable TV screen out of the way. He had been watching the new Christopher Nolan film and had drifted off toward the end.

He looked over the divider and saw Sakura. She was sitting up and she looked dreadful.

“Hi,” she said. Her voice was weak.

“Are you okay?” he said. “Are you sick?”

“Don’t… don’t feel well.”

“How do you mean? Are you drunk?”

She gave a little shake of her head. “Not drunk.”

He believed that. She had pretended to drink, but had only been sipping at the champagne in her glass. “Have you taken something?”

She nodded, then took a deep breath. “Swallowed.”

Milton looked at her eyes. Her pupils, which had been so dark and languid, were now little pinpricks. “What have you swallowed?”

“Drugs,” she said.

“What?”

“Heroin. Condoms. Lots and lots of little condoms.”

He swore under his breath. This was ridiculous. He should have guessed that his good fortune would not be quite as auspicious as it had appeared. Why wasn’t it possible that he could enjoy a surprise upgrade and the company of a good-looking girl who appeared to like him without being dragged into yet another moral quagmire? He had known it was too good to be true. Good things didn’t happen to him. Not for a long time. He’d long since chalked that up to karma.

“That’s why you were in Turkey?”

She nodded. “Not for money. Don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice.”

“I don’t. They’ve got my son. If I don’t do what they say… I’ll never see him again.”

“Who has your son?”

“Takashi.”

“Who?”

“Takashi Nishimoto. Yakuza.” She took out her phone. “Look.”