'Could be, Bleveans agreed.

'What of… congressmen'? Endo said, struggling with the word a little.

'How's tha- Bleveans had sat forward to hear Endo better, then stopped, and just nodded. 'Hmm.

'Yes, Hisako said, looking at Philippe. 'They were to fly over tomorrow. She looked at her watch, to see if it was past midnight, but of course they'd taken her watch. At least that had not been a dream. 'Today, if it's past midnight. She looked round the others. 'Is it?

'Yes, Philippe nodded. 'Near four and a half in the morning; I think they change guards on four-hour watches, and the last change was not long ago.

'So it's today, Bleveans said, tapping the carpet with one finger. 'The plane's meant to fly over today. He looked at Philippe and Endo. 'What d'you think, guys; SAMs?

'Pardon?

'Wakarimasen.

Hisako translated Surface to Air Missiles for Endo; Bleveans used the words rather than their acronym for Philippe. Both nodded and looked worried.

'I no see any… samus, Endo told Bleveans.

'No, Philippe agreed. 'Their weapons I see are… guns; grenades.

'Same here, Bleveans said. He glanced at Hisako. 'Just a thought. But if that is what they're up to I guess they would keep the heavy weaponry away, out of our sight.

'On the Nakodo? Hisako ventured.

'Mm-hmm, Bleveans yawned, nodding. 'Yeah, the Nakodo rather than the Le Cercle. Safer loosing off rockets from that than a tanker full of fuel.

'You think they shoot plane? Endo said quietly.

'Maybe, Bleveans said.

'Is very dangerous, I think, Philippe said, frowning.

'Might just start World War Three, Mr Ligny, Bleveans said, nodding in agreement. 'Yeah, I'd call that dangerous. If that's what they intend doing. He rubbed his eyes, sniffed. 'Anybody thought of any escape plans yet?

'No, Philippe said.

'Hmm. I guess they got this bit thought out fairly well. He stretched again, looking back for a moment. 'Leaving us free is a kindness; gives us something to lose. Keeping those stools in front of the bar is gonna make rushing the guy next to impossible… unless we want to take serious casualties. We could try a diversion, but… I have a feeling that's always looked a lot more easy in the movies than it really is.

'Doesn't everything? Hisako blurted, then put her hand to her mouth.

'I guess so, ma'am. He started to get up. 'They letting us use the heads?

'Yes, Hisako said, when the two men looked blank. Philippe understood. He shook his head. 'I check in there Captain; I do not think is way out there.

Bleveans smiled as he got to his feet. 'I guessed that much, Philippe; I just want to take a leak before I crash, you know? Excuse me. He nodded to them and walked off, swinging his arms slowly, holding each shoulder alternately. He gave a sort of half-salute to the vencerista behind the bar, who waved the Coke bottle in return.

Todai is not to be taken lightly; it is The Place, the Harvard, the Ox bridge of Japan; virtual guarantor of a job in the diplomatic service, the government or the fast track of a zaibatsu. In a country more obsessed with education than any other in history, Tokyo University is the very summit. Still, she sailed through it. She had grown; shot up in height at the last moment, becoming briefly gangly, her aboriginal, Ainu heritage catching up with her again. Still smaller than most gaijin, she became used to looking down on the average Japanese man. She swam, she hiked, she went gliding a few times and sailing occasionally. She kept up her Japanese sports too; the way of gentleness; the open hand; archery; kendo. These activities were financed with the money she got from the string quartet she helped form; they were popular, always raising their fees to keep demand down. She knew she didn't practise enough, and she scraped through numerous exams, because no matter how smart and how energetic you were there was still only so much time in each day. She still thought of it as sailing through, then and afterwards, and never lost a night's or even an hour's sleep over an exam, while her friends and the other people around her got far better grades and worried themselves sick.

She knew she didn't have to worry; she would float through everything, she'd be found regardless, and at her finale mountains would tremble. So she thought of it sometimes, in her wildest moments, when she'd had too much beer with her friends. She would survive; she would always survive. She was smart and strong after all, and with gaijin words or a gaijin music box, she'd get by.

For a while she had just three problems. Two were solved in one night. After a great deal of thought, having decided she didn't need love the way everybody else said they did, or thought they did, at least not the sort that you couldn't get from a mother or a few close friends, or feel towards a piece of music, or your homeland, she decided to be seduced, and to let a gaijin do the seducing.

He was called Bertil and he was from Malmo in Sweden; two years older than her, spending a year at a language college in Tokyo. He was blond which she loved and oddly funny, once you got past a layer of half-hearted Scandinavian gloom. She was still plucking her eyebrows and shaving her legs and arms, thinking them hairy and horrible, but when they got to the Love Hotel in Senzoku, and he undressed her — she'd told him she was a virgin, she hoped he wouldn't be put off by the way she trembled — he stroked her pubic hair (so that suddenly she thought, Oh no! The one place I didn't shave! — and it's a forest down there!) and said… well, she was too flustered to remember the exact words, but they were delighted, admiring words… and the one word she didn't forget, the one that a quarter of a century later she still could not hear without shivering; the word which had become almost synonymous with that feeling of a soft, sensual stroking, was the English word — how pleased he had sounded to think of it — luxuriant…

Bertil had to go back to Sweden a week later; the parting was excitingly bitter-sweet. She threw her razor away.

Which left just one problem; she hated the idea of flying. She traipsed out to Narita sometimes, to watch the jets take off and land. She enjoyed that, it was no ordeal. But the idea of actually getting on to a plane filled her with horror.

She auditioned for the NHK, the same orchestra she'd heard in Sapporo when she'd been a little girl and decided she wanted a cello. That she was nervous about.

But her fate was unstoppable now. She scraped through her last exams at Todai just as she'd scraped through the rest, but it was still a pass, and she'd hardly finished celebrating when the letter came from the NHK.

The day before her mother was due to arrive from Sapporo, she went back to the bald summit of the hill north of the Fuji Five Lakes, and sat there cross-legged in her kagool, listening to the rain drip off the trees and spatter on her hood, and watched the clouds trail like skirts round the base of Fuji. She took the letter out a couple of times and reread it. It still said yes; she had the place; it was hers. She kept thinking something was going to go wrong, and prayed her mother didn't change her mind at the last moment and in a fit of extravagance fly down to Tokyo.

'In the Caribbean, Mr Mandamus said in the midst of the storm, pronouncing the name of the sea in the British manner, with the emphasis on the third syllable, 'if you are on a low-lying island or part of the coast, you must beware of the slow-timed waves. The normal timing of waves hitting a shore is seven or eight per minute, but if the frequency becomes four or five beats a minute, you must flee, or be prepared to meet your maker. First of all, the sky will be cloudless and brassy, and the wind dies, leaving a leaden heat. The sea goes strangely greasy-looking, becoming uniform and undisturbed except for the long, ponderous waves; all lesser movements are smothered. The breakers hit the beach with a slow monotony, regular and machine-like and mindless.