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Birand, we will finally have the piece of information we need to apply pressure.”
    I pressed my lips together, then spoke. “I still don’t believe that I can do anything for you.”
    “As Colonel Martin has been explaining, the American forces are in a bind. We have, of course, military police and some investigators present in Japan, but the scope of their powers is extremely limited. Without permission from the Japanese government, they can’t force a search of a Japanese citizen’s home.”
    “I’ve told Mr. Hendricks that we can’t do anything, either,” Mr. Watanabe said in his soft voice. “There is not enough evidence for our national police agency to obtain a warrant.”
    “Why not just ask Takeo to submit his piece of pottery voluntarily to an inspection? Have you even tried to seek out a peaceful resolution?” I asked.
    “We cannot risk creating a situation in which he might alert Osman Birand.” Michael Hendricks pushed a thick manila envelope toward me. “In here, you’ll find a new passport and an itinerary.”
    I didn’t touch it. “What do you mean?”
    “We’d like you to take a short trip back to Tokyo. You’ll have a cover story—that you’re buying antiques—and a new passport with an official visa that shows your affiliation with our embassy. During that time, we’ll expect you to visit with your old friend Takeo Kayama at his family home. Without making it obvious, you’ll find a way to examine the vessel closely and tell us if it’s the item stolen from the museum.”
    “He’ll never let me do that! After the way things ended, he won’t ever want to see me, not in his beach house or anywhere that I can think of—”
    The screen flashed another picture that had once run in a Japanese tabloid. It was taken on a gray afternoon in Roppongi, when Takeo and I were saying good-bye to each other as I was getting into a taxi. You could tell from the way our bodies leaned into each other that we had not wanted to part.
    I felt something clutch deep inside me, and I began to sweat.
    “He’ll let you in,” Michael Hendricks said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Who wouldn’t?”

4
    Up-two-three-four.
    Hold!
    The eighteen-pound bar felt more like eighty during this third, most excruciating set of repetitions. I pressed upward, trying to keep the bar level, while at the same time gluing my lower back to the bench.
    I had been insane to undertake a power-lifting class with a hangover, but after my ordeal at the Smithsonian, I couldn’t imagine going home soon. I’d lightened the load I usually lifted, because this time I had a different kind of weight to bear.
    It was my duty to go , each one of them had said. Colonel Martin said it was a chance to serve my country. Michael Hendricks argued that it was important to stand up against international art criminals who robbed the people of all nations. The Japanese consul believed that it was a special privilege to solve a serious international problem. But Takeo—I couldn’t get near Takeo. If I did, I would wind up hurting him, hurting Hugh, hurting myself.
    “Rei! Come on, don’t forget the powerhouse!” Jane, the blond, outrageously muscular teacher, barked at me.
    This powerhouse was not a sandwich, though I could have used one. Jane was referring to the abdominal muscles. I hardened my belly as I pushed up the bar, struggling to keep the left side in balance with the right.
    I couldn’t undertake a classified project that was actually governmental spying, though no one had used the word. When I’d suggested that this might be a job more appropriate for a CIA operative, everyone had reacted as if I’d passed wind. It was as if nobody in government used that acronym, just as nobody in Japan said the word yakuza . And Michael had asked me, completely straight-faced, to work for them for no pay. They’d give me my expenses, but that was it.
    Not quite it, I thought, as I sat up and rubbed away the ache on the back of my