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"I'm in a hurry," said Mr. Esmeralda. "I have an appointment.''
"I won't keep you longer than I have to, sir."
Mr. Esmeralda sat sweating in his seat as the cop walked back to his
motorcycle, and began to read his license-plate and driver's-license numbers
over his radio. The woman whose car he had hit remained beside him, saying,
"It's going to cost a. fortune to straighten my neck out. I know it is. A
fortune."
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The cop came back, his eyes invisible beneath the peak of his helmet.
Esmeralda tried to smile, but the cop unbuttoned his holster and said, "I want
you to get out of the car, sir, please, keeping your hands in sight."
"I don't understand, it was an accident," protested Mr. Esmeralda.
"This has nothing to do with the accident, sir," the cop told him in that same
even voice. ' 'You're under arrest for attempting to murder a man named Gerard
Arthur Crowley."
Tengu CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
353
It was nearly seven o'clock the following morning before Olive's husband
called back from Honolulu and told them what they wanted to know. He sounded
tired, and more than a little slurred. "I've been drinking all night with this
Japanese guy, Hachiro Nakamata. Suntory whiskey on the rocks. Hachiro used to
work for the memorial museum in Hiroshima, indexing and filing the names of
survivors. He knows more about the people who escaped from that blast than
anybody. What happened to them, how they tried to live their lives afterward."
Olive said, "Did he know anything about societies for crippled people?"
Robin Nesmith burped into his first, a burp that carried 2,000 miles, and
said, "Sorry. Yes, he did. He knows all of them. The Society for the A-Bomb
Handicapped, the Hiroshima Benevolent Group, dozens of them. But he
particularly mentioned something that I'd never heard about before, the Circle
of Burned Doves."
"The Circle of Burned Doves? What's that?"
"It's a group of people who were born deformed because of the effects of gamma
radiation when the bomb dropped. All of them, in one way or another, have
become wealthy and influential, and they apparently have wealthy contacts in
several of the largest and best-known Japanese industries. When you consider
that many of the chairmen and managers of the big Japanese industrial combines
were officers in the Japanese forces during the war, it's not surprising that
they've been diverting some of their money and energy into getting revenge.
The Japanese are not as fatalistic as many Western people seem to think;
they're fiery and emotional, and they never forget. The general feeling in
Japan is still, even today, that the dropping of the atomic bombs was
unnecessary and unjustified, apart from all the moral questions involved. And
the Circle of Burned Doves is dedicated to making America pay for
354
Tengu
what she did through economic attack and through any other means at their
disposal. According to Hachiro although I can't say how true this is our car
industry was sunk almost entirely through the economic planning of the Circle
of Burned Doves.''
Jerry, who had his ear pressed to the phone so that he could hear what Nesmith
was saying, asked Olive, "Find out what 'any other means at their disposal'
might mean."
Nesmith said, "I asked Hachiro that myself, but he was incredibly vague. All
he said was, 'It could mean an eye for an eye.' "
"You mean dropping an atomic bomb on America?"
"He wouldn't say."
Olive gave Robin her love, and then put down the phone.
"Well," said Mack, "where does this get us?"
"Nowhere at all, much," said Jerry. "Have you heard of the Circle of Burned
Doves, Gerard?"
Gerard hadn't slept very well on Jerry's sofa. His eyes were ringed with dark
circles, and he was breakfasting off crackers, cheese, and Chivas Regal. He
shook his head. "It doesn't ring any bells."
Maurice said, "I'm going out for some muffins and stuff. Anybody want
anything? Olive?"
"No, thanks, Maurice."
Jerry, rolling up his shirtsleeve and nervously scratching at his elbow,
walked across the window and stared out at the sunshine. "It looks as if we've
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been guessing right up until now, but I still don't see why they've brought
back the Tengus. They didn't spend all that money and set up that center just
to kill off me and Admiral Thorson. They've got to have something really
catastrophic in mind."
At that moment, the phone rang again. It was Sergeant Skrolnik, sounding as
tired as Robin Nesmith. "Mr. Sennett? I thought you might like to know that
we've arrested a man in connection with the murder of Sherry
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355
Cantor, and with several other murders."
"You've arrested someone? Who is it?"
"I'd like you come down to headquarters, if you don't mind, and take a look at
him. His name's Jesus Carlos Esmeralda, he's a Colombian. We picked him up
after a tipoff from the CIA."
Jerry said, "I'll be right down," and hung up the phone.
"What's going on?" asked Gerard.
"That was Sergeant Skrolnik. He's arrested your man Esmeralda. Apparently he
was tipped off by the CIA."
"Francesca," snapped Gerard angrily. "She agreed to give me some goddamned
time."
Jerry said seriously, "Come on, Gerard, I think this is the time for us to
throw in our hand with the police. We've come so far, but there isn't very
much else we can do, not on our own. If they've picked up Esmeralda, the
police must be quite close to clearing this up themselves. Maybe we could help
them."
"They didn't say anything about my wife and daughters?" asked Gerard.
Jerry said, ''No. They just said Esmeralda."
"Fucking Esmeralda," said Gerard.
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