principals to avoid them whenever possible.”
“In this instance, it's just that my master prefers the incomparable staircase.”
As if Kamichi had been here before.
Third floor. And with every upward movement, Savage heard the attendant struggle with the bags. Too bad, Savage thought. The elevator would have been easier for you. But an elevator's a trap, and anyway I've got the feeling other rules apply here.
The man in the uniform stopped at a door.
“Thank you. Leave the bags out here,” Savage said.
“If that is your preference, sir.”
“Your tip—”
“Has been arranged, sir.”
The man handed three keys
not
to Savage or Akira but Kamichi. Savage watched as the man disappeared down the stairs. Did the man have security training? He knew not to compromise the hands of the escorts.
Kamichi unlocked the door and stepped back, allowing Akira to inspect the room.
When Akira returned, he nodded to Kamichi, faced Savage, and raised his eyebrows. “Would you care to … ?”
“Yes.”
By the standards of hotels that catered to the wealthy, by
any
standard, the room was primitive. An unpainted radiator. A dim light bulb in the ceiling. The single window had simple draperies. The floor was bare worn pine. The bed was narrow, concave, covered with a very old, homemade quilt. The bathroom had a hand-held shower attachment on a clip above dingy faucets. The moldy smell persisted. No television, though there
was
a telephone, old-fashioned, black and bulky, with a dial instead of buttons.
Savage opened the only closet. Shallow, it exuded must. He stepped toward another door, this one beside the window and the radiator. Peering out, he saw a small balcony. Spotlights at the rear of the building reflected off an oval lake directly below. Cliffs rimmed it to the right. A dock projected from the left. Beyond the water, a shadowy trail led up to pine trees, then a murky bluff. Savage's scalp shrank.
He left the room.
“Do my master's quarters meet with your approval?” Akira asked.
“If he likes to feel he's at summer camp.”
“Summer camp?”
“A joke.”
“Yes. So.” Akira forced a smile.
“What I meant was, the room's not exactly luxurious. Most of my clients would refuse it.”
“My master prefers simplicity.”
“By all means, Kamichi-san's desires are paramount.” Savage bowed toward his employer. “What troubles me is the balcony—and the
other
balconies. It's too easy for someone to move from one to another and enter the room.”
“The balconies on either side belong to
our
rooms, and as I explained, the hotel has few other guests,” Akira said.
“They and their escorts are trustworthy. The principals are associates of my master. No incident is anticipated.”
“I'm also troubled by the trees on the opposite side of the lake. I can't see into them, but at night, with the hotel lit, someone would have an excellent view of Kamichi-san at a window.”
“Someone with a rifle?” Akira shook his head.
“It's the way I'm trained to think.”
“My master approves of caution, but he has no reason to fear for his life. Extreme security won't be necessary.”
“But—”
“My master will now have his bath.”
The ritual of bathing was one of the greatest Japanese pleasures, Savage knew. But bathing meant more to them than just cleansing themselves. First Kamichi would fill the tub and scrub his body. Then he would drain the tub, swab it, refill it, and soak, perhaps repeating the process several times.
“Whatever he wishes,” Savage said, “though he won't find the water as hot as he's used to in Japan.” He referred to the fact that the Japanese preferred a temperature most Westerners found painful.
Akira shrugged. “One must always allow for the inconvenience of travel. And
you
must learn to enjoy the solemnity of these peaceful surroundings. While my master bathes, I'll order his meal. When he's ready for bed, I'll return and permit you to rest.”
Kamichi picked up
“In this instance, it's just that my master prefers the incomparable staircase.”
As if Kamichi had been here before.
Third floor. And with every upward movement, Savage heard the attendant struggle with the bags. Too bad, Savage thought. The elevator would have been easier for you. But an elevator's a trap, and anyway I've got the feeling other rules apply here.
The man in the uniform stopped at a door.
“Thank you. Leave the bags out here,” Savage said.
“If that is your preference, sir.”
“Your tip—”
“Has been arranged, sir.”
The man handed three keys
not
to Savage or Akira but Kamichi. Savage watched as the man disappeared down the stairs. Did the man have security training? He knew not to compromise the hands of the escorts.
Kamichi unlocked the door and stepped back, allowing Akira to inspect the room.
When Akira returned, he nodded to Kamichi, faced Savage, and raised his eyebrows. “Would you care to … ?”
“Yes.”
By the standards of hotels that catered to the wealthy, by
any
standard, the room was primitive. An unpainted radiator. A dim light bulb in the ceiling. The single window had simple draperies. The floor was bare worn pine. The bed was narrow, concave, covered with a very old, homemade quilt. The bathroom had a hand-held shower attachment on a clip above dingy faucets. The moldy smell persisted. No television, though there
was
a telephone, old-fashioned, black and bulky, with a dial instead of buttons.
Savage opened the only closet. Shallow, it exuded must. He stepped toward another door, this one beside the window and the radiator. Peering out, he saw a small balcony. Spotlights at the rear of the building reflected off an oval lake directly below. Cliffs rimmed it to the right. A dock projected from the left. Beyond the water, a shadowy trail led up to pine trees, then a murky bluff. Savage's scalp shrank.
He left the room.
“Do my master's quarters meet with your approval?” Akira asked.
“If he likes to feel he's at summer camp.”
“Summer camp?”
“A joke.”
“Yes. So.” Akira forced a smile.
“What I meant was, the room's not exactly luxurious. Most of my clients would refuse it.”
“My master prefers simplicity.”
“By all means, Kamichi-san's desires are paramount.” Savage bowed toward his employer. “What troubles me is the balcony—and the
other
balconies. It's too easy for someone to move from one to another and enter the room.”
“The balconies on either side belong to
our
rooms, and as I explained, the hotel has few other guests,” Akira said.
“They and their escorts are trustworthy. The principals are associates of my master. No incident is anticipated.”
“I'm also troubled by the trees on the opposite side of the lake. I can't see into them, but at night, with the hotel lit, someone would have an excellent view of Kamichi-san at a window.”
“Someone with a rifle?” Akira shook his head.
“It's the way I'm trained to think.”
“My master approves of caution, but he has no reason to fear for his life. Extreme security won't be necessary.”
“But—”
“My master will now have his bath.”
The ritual of bathing was one of the greatest Japanese pleasures, Savage knew. But bathing meant more to them than just cleansing themselves. First Kamichi would fill the tub and scrub his body. Then he would drain the tub, swab it, refill it, and soak, perhaps repeating the process several times.
“Whatever he wishes,” Savage said, “though he won't find the water as hot as he's used to in Japan.” He referred to the fact that the Japanese preferred a temperature most Westerners found painful.
Akira shrugged. “One must always allow for the inconvenience of travel. And
you
must learn to enjoy the solemnity of these peaceful surroundings. While my master bathes, I'll order his meal. When he's ready for bed, I'll return and permit you to rest.”
Kamichi picked up
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