Milton sat on the bed, thinking hard. He had no business being here. He had brought Sakura to a place of safety, or at least safety of sorts. The doctor seemed competent enough, although what he was doing working on the sidelines in Bali was anyone’s guess. If Victoria was using him because he was discreet… well, if that was the case, then Edwin was certainly operating in the margins.

Milton knew that he had other options. He could get up, leave Sakura in the doctor’s care, and let everything else work itself out.

He knew it was no good trying to fool himself. He was involved now whether he liked it or not.

“What’s your son’s name?”

“Yamato.”

“And where is he now?”

“Tokyo. And if I don’t do what they tell me to do, I’ll never see him again.”

23

Sakura watched as Smith sat in silence on the bed, evidently considering the story that she had just told him. He looked as if he was wrestling with his own thoughts. At least they had that in common; Sakura was struggling with hers.

She had been honest with him. Takashi had insisted on keeping Yamato as security, and she believed him when he said she would never see her son again if she let him down. Sakura had pleaded for clemency; she pleaded that Yamato was only a child, and that the son should not be punished for the sins of the father. She had used what little knowledge she had of the yakuza’s codes of behaviour. Miyasato had explained the Jingi to her, and she had argued that to harm a child would be dishonourable. All her efforts had done was to whet the edge of Takashi’s anger, and to reinforce his hatred of her for turning his son against him. He had reminded her that Yoshida Shōin’s tantō was priceless, and that she was lucky that he had offered her a debt that she might one day be able to repay. He had considered murdering her and Yamato, he said, or forcing her to work in a ‘black jail’—a brothel—for the rest of her life, but he had seen the value of clemency. That was honourable, he argued, not the bastardisation of Jingi that she had tried to rely upon. She had been lucky that he was an ethical man.

She had begged again and again, and Takashi had ignored it all. Sakura would carry to her death the sight of Yamato’s tear-streaked face pressed against the rear window of the car as he was driven away. She would get him back—she would do everything that Takashi asked—or she would die trying.