Tanaka assured Yoshi he would transport Hiraku and her companions to their respective homes when the party was over. Yoshi was grateful his boss and business partner was also a trusted friend. He bowed respectfully and departed for the airport.
Bellies filled with food and drink, Hiraku insisted they all go dancing at an American-style discotheque. She wanted to dance and sing the latest from Madonna, Janet Jackson, and the Pet Shop Boys. It was well past three in the morning when the nightclub closed its doors. Tanaka suggested they continue the party at his penthouse apartment and everyone thought it was a great idea since it was only a 15-minute limo drive from the nightclub. Once at the penthouse, the girls chatted, sipped more plum wine and danced with the two kobun. They soon fell asleep on the couches in the spacious living room with its panoramic view of the glittering city.
At mid-morning, the kobun drove Hiraku’s friends to their homes. Tanaka convinced Hiraku to stay and wait for Yoshi rather than return immediately to the tiny apartment she shared with her uncle in a far less opulent quarter of the sprawling city. The yakuza boss knew the phony business to which Yoshi had been dispatched would keep him occupied for at least two days. The flights each way between Tokyo and Saipan would consume many hours. More time would be spent discussing the incident with the casino night manager and the police, who would be confused by Yoshi’s concerns since no such assault had occurred. When it came time to report his findings to Tanaka, Yoshi would be told a rumor apparently had gotten out of control and led them all astray at The Lucky Carp.
Hiraku agreed to remain until nightfall, when she would take a cab back to her apartment. She was not afraid to stay there alone. She’d done so many times when Yoshi was in Saipan. Besides, she was enjoying the luxurious surroundings, the fashionable furniture and artwork, a kitchen made for a gourmet chef, and a master bathroom with sauna, steam room, and a glass-enclosed shower where faucets sprayed water from six nozzles.
She read magazines, watched TV and tried to relax, but the sound of Tanaka’s agitated voice as he paced the room while conducting business on the phone disturbed her mood. She decided to take a shower, helping herself to two of the white, fluffy, oversized towels that were among dozens neatly stacked on a teak shelf. She was shocked when Tanaka entered the shower where the gush of warm water was working wonders to wash away the previous night of partying. She screamed. She knew she had locked the door. “What are you doing in here? Get out!”
Tanaka was naked and erect. “Hiraku is a beautiful name. It means radiance, and you are truly radiant,” he said, stepping into the shower and wrapping his strong arms around her.
“Please let me go.” She tried to wriggle from his embrace but he held her tightly, pushing himself between her legs.
“No. Stop!”
Tanaka persisted. He had imagined this moment many times – although in his mind it occurred on a bed of rose petals, not in the shower. And in his vision, Hiraku was willing – perhaps the initiator, possessing innate charms he did not have the words to describe.
Hiraku felt an excruciating pain that pulsed across her abdomen as Tanaka pushed inside her. She screamed loudly, scratching Tanaka’s face and shoulders, causing him to momentarily thrust deeper before he released his grip and withdrew.
Thin streaks of blood were swirling toward the floor drain. Hiraku began to cry.
Tanaka stepped out of the shower and turned to face Hiraku. “Get dressed,” he said. “I’ll have someone take you home.”
Hiraku couldn’t stop crying. She was in disbelief. She wrapped herself in a towel and ran to the bedroom where she and two of her friends had slept the previous night. She closed and locked the door and sank to the floor. “My uncle will kill you,” she shouted. “Do you hear me? He’ll find a way to kill you.”
Tanaka put his lips close to the door. “Listen to me carefully, Hiraku. If you mention any of this to Yoshi, he may try to do something foolish and you will never see him again. That I can assure you.”
Three years had passed since then, though to Tanaka it seemed only yesterday. But he felt no remorse for having raped the young woman.
Tanaka’s reverie was abruptly shaken when Hiraku slapped him hard in the face, leaving the imprint of her delicate fingers and claw marks from her long fingernails.
“Didn’t you hear me? I said you’re a pig, a fat disgusting pig. And a rapist,” she shouted. “I want to talk to my Uncle Yoshi, now. And I want to leave here of my own free will.” She poked a threatening finger into his barrel chest and again her shrill voice filled the room. “I’m going to call the police.”
When Hiraku attempted to slap him a second time, he grabbed her wrist, twisted it as though breaking a tree branch and pushed her down on the floor. Staring at her with his chilling snake eyes, he said, “Enough games, Hiraku. I want to know what you told the CIA.”
8
The Rise of Hideyo Mashima
Saipan
Northern Mariana Islands
March 1990
Hannah contacted the local tourism office to introduce herself as an Argentine travel company representative. She was prepared to set up discount packages for hotel and beach vacations with water sports and resort-based gourmet dining. She even suggested a Sunday cock-fighting event in the remote village of San Antonio that might appeal to adventurous tourists with cultural interests, looking for more than paddling a kayak over the reefs of the atoll or taking a nature walk along a trail clogged with a plethora of large lizards.
The woman who answered the phone at the tourism office didn’t seem interested in what Hannah had to say, but promised she’d leave a message for her supervisor. Hannah paid no mind to the lax response. She was more concerned should anyone later follow up, they’d confirm Mariel Becker made a phone call that supported her travel company cover. It was part of her establishing a paper trail. It was also the way things worked on Saipan.
In an effort to remain low profile, Carrington rented a dun-colored, sub-compact Nissan that they drove to Micro Beach in Garapan, posing as tourists while doing a recon of the village layout and its main attractions. Once on the white sand beach they spread two beach towels beneath a palm-thatched umbrella. They tossed their books and water bottles atop the towels and jogged into the warm surf.
Hannah wore a two-piece polka-dot bikini that Carrington found so distracting he forced himself to take a solo walk to the far end of the beach. He knew his married days were numbered, but until a judge signed the still-to-be-drafted divorce papers, the wet blanket of guilt hung heavy on his shoulders.
Hannah’s feelings for Carrington were a jumble. She loved his boyishness. And then there were the little things that made her smile, like his enthusiasm for high-quality knives, flashlights, backpacks, climbing rope, antique spyglasses, state-of-the-art binoculars, night-vision scopes, portable radiation detectors, top-notch hiking boots and polarized sunglasses. All these items she referred to collectively as his Boy Scout arsenal. She often razzed him about the number of backpacks he owned, and each time he’d assured her the packs were quite different from one another and designed with special purposes in mind.
While some people might have accused Carrington of being an equipment junkie, Hannah appreciated the fact that he actually used these possessions as a CIA officer. Those at Langley who had worked with Carrington trusted him implicitly because in the world of dark ops, he ranked among the best. It was well known he spent more hours in the agency’s innovation lab than most other officers, discussing field scenarios and possibilities with the agency’s top craftsmen, scientists and engineers.