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suggestion. “Well, then, in the meantime, why don’t we report the letter to the police?”

The members were taken aback, but as Kurata had anticipated, ultimately the board came to the hasty conclusion that they would report it to the police and see what came about, thereby delaying their decision for the time being.

After the meeting was adjourned, Shiroyama thanked Kurata, taking the opportunity to broach the subject of their stock, which Shirai had mentioned. Shiroyama’s state of mind was such that the smallest thing caused him to worry.

“Our stock price had been pretty high since the beginning of April, the parity price for convertible bonds has been going up as well, and our margin account position has been increasing about hundred thousand per week, so . . .”

“I’m aware of all that.”

“Yesterday’s preliminary figures showed that margin buys were over two million, so when I asked them to investigate the source I was told that purchases were coming in from various brokerages all over. It seems word on the street is that in early fall we’ll be adding a chain of convenience stores into our business affiliates, but perhaps that information had come from . . .”

Kurata stopped short, as if regretting what he had been about to say, and instead sighed grimly. Shiroyama had to urge him to continue.

“This is nothing more than gossip, but the name of an investment management company operating under the umbrella of the Seiwakai has surfaced. They’re among the G.S.C. group.”

“Does this have to do with Okada?”

“I don’t know. Two million stocks don’t amount to much in the grand scheme of things, but given the times we’re in, we ought to be wary of any high-risk moves.”

Although Shiroyama could not fully comprehend the substance of Kurata’s concerns, he was sure that only a man who had glimpsed the shadow world could have hunches like these. The thought gave rise to yet another tangible worry, piled up on top of the others.

On the morning of Saturday, April 29th, while the majority of the board members were out at the Matsuo Golf Club for Hinode’s Kantō regional competition, police investigators disguised as Tokyo Electric Power Company maintenance workers entered the main office, which was deserted for the holiday weekend, and retrieved the letter from “Lady Joker.” Shiroyama was informed of the details of this interaction when he arrived at the office on the morning of Tuesday, May 2nd. The police had explained their plan to carry on as before without disclosing anything—including the arrival of the letter—to the public.

Two mornings later, Shiroyama received a call from the usual officer from Investigation Headquarters. He wondered why the officer sounded so stiff and formal, and then the head of MPD’s First Investigation Division, Chief Inspector Kanzaki, came on the phone to request a meeting with Shiroyama in person. Shiroyama replied that he had no time to spare, but Kanzaki insisted that the matter took precedence over everything else, so that ultimately Shiroyama relented, agreeing to meet him during lunchtime.

久保晴久 Haruhisa Kubo

It was before noon, and in the Nanashakai kisha club at MPD the Toho press nook was tranquil, now that the follow-up report on the arrest of the cult leader-mastermind behind the subway poison-gas terror attack a week ago had been put to bed. The front-page headline on the evening’s early edition pronounced holiday refreshment alongside a color photo of the beaches of the Boso Peninsula. Although the deadline for the third edition loomed, hardly any articles needed to be replaced, and the direct line to the news room had been pretty quiet. Kubo had taken the opportunity to begin organizing his notebooks; beside him, Kuriyama flipped through a travel magazine, attempting some armchair escapism.

Just then, a call came in on the outside line. “This is Yamane, from the post in front of Hinode’s main office!”

The beat reporter’s energetic voice jolted Kubo out of his reverie—he was startled by mention of Hinode, whose name he hadn’t heard in a while.

“A car with the head of First Investigation just entered the underground parking lot,” the reporter continued. “There was no time to stop him and talk. What should I do now?”

“Keep watch by the parking lot entrance! I’m on my way. If I don’t make it there in time, do whatever you can to stop the car as it comes out of the lot. Make small talk, doesn’t matter what you say—just call out to him and be sure to take note of his expression. He tends to avoid eye contact when something’s up. Got it?” Kubo had already grabbed his day pack by the time he hung up the phone. “Chief, it seems the head of First Investigation’s inside Hinode’s main office. There may be some action on the case.”

No sooner had Kubo said the words than he rushed out of the press nook, propelled by a feeling of freedom after these last few days of boredom. If he sped, it would take him half an hour to get to Kita-Shinagawa, where Hinode’s office was. Kanzaki had only returned to his official residence in Himonya twice during the first few weeks of April, so there was no reason to think he had time to be making courtesy visits to Hinode. Perhaps they’d received the criminals’ demand. Kubo’s instinct stirred. There is no doubt about it, the criminals have made their move, he thought to himself.

城山恭介 Kyosuke Shiroyama

In a private room at the beer restaurant on the fortieth floor of the building that housed Hinode’s main offices, Shiroyama welcomed Hidetsugu Kanzaki, the head of MPD’s First Investigation Division. During their phone call early that morning, Shiroyama had been unable to surmise what the police business was, so he had suggested that they have lunch together, an offer that Kanzaki had readily accepted with a simple word of thanks.

Kanzaki’s appearance was ordinary enough, but the overall impression he gave—the head of gray hair, clipped short, with its formidable, weather-beaten forehead and small, steadfast eyes beneath—reminded Shiroyama of a non-commissioned army

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