Yoshima finished his drink and reached for the one he’d poured Randi. “His family was one of the wealthiest and most powerful in Japan before the war. MacArthur considered them part of the feudal system that had created Imperial Japan and stripped them of everything. Did you know that? Takahashi’s childhood was one of cold and hunger. His family was forced to find shelter with former servants and do hard labor just to survive.”

“I guess you can’t keep a good man down.”

“Clearly. His father began rebuilding his empire almost immediately—during the American occupation. At first his business affairs were less than legal but eventually he managed to legitimize them. Now the family is once again one of the wealthiest and most powerful in Japan.”

“I’m not sure I understand, Kaito. If Takahashi’s as smart as you make out, why isn’t he playing the game? Why is he courting a confrontation that would turn into a disaster for his country?”

“I admit that it’s perplexing. Perhaps his mind is going. Sometimes the past looms large to the elderly. The defeat at the hands of the Americans, the years of humiliation, the loss of self-determination.” He smiled. “All things too complex to be considered by crude weapons like ourselves, right, Randi? Now, where were we before I was diverted into this subject? I believe it was our business enterprise.”

“And what enterprise is that?”

“Think about it, Randi. You and me. Hanging out our…roof tile.”

“Shingle.”

“Of course. Shingle. We would name our own price and be turning away work within twenty-four hours of moving into our luxury office suite. I was thinking Dubrovnik. Lovely place. But of course I’m open to suggestion. Paris? Rome? Istanbul? The world is our…Help me. I find American idioms so challenging. It’s not clam…”

“Oyster.”

“Precisely.”

The dull thump of helicopter rotors became audible and Yoshima laid down his drink to walk to the window. “We’d have the power to choose our jobs. Think of it. Nothing we aren’t interested in. Nothing we don’t believe in. I’d rather trust my own conscience than—”

Suddenly he was in motion, diving to the right and slamming a hand into what looked like a blank section of wall. A moment later a series of steel curtains fell from the ceiling, covering the windows.

Startled, Randi grabbed the Glock from her bag but then spun at the sound of a battering ram hitting the front door. The crack of splintering wood accompanied the first impact, but the second blow generated the dull ring of steel on steel. Clearly not the stock condo door.

When she turned back, Yoshima was calmly punching a code into a safe set into the floor. He pulled out a Sig Sauer and a small bag that Randi assumed was full of passports, fake credit cards, and cash. She had similar bags stashed all over the world.