“Not exactly the Twelfth Precinct,” Joe said.
The structure was nothing like the typical American police station. The outer walls were painted in a rainbow of pastel colors, while an officer in full-dress uniform and white gloves stood at attention near the main entrance. He held a polished wooden staff firmly in his right hand and neither blinked nor seemed to breathe as people walked past.
“Ritsuban,” Kurt said. “Standing guard. Letting the public know that the eyes of the police are always watching.”
“That’s reassuring,” Joe said.
“Apparently, not to Master Kenzo.”
They entered the building and found themselves in a diamond-shaped room with two doors leading in and two leading back out to the street. Expecting a duty officer, Kurt and Joe found only screens and a computer voice talking in Japanese.
Kurt stepped up to one of the flat-screens. It reminded him of the arrivals and departures monitors in the airport except everything was in Japanese. “Can’t read a thing.”
Joe tapped a spot on the screen and was rewarded with the option to change languages. Two versions of English were listed. American and UK.
Joe tapped on the American flag icon.
“Welcome to the Yamana Police Station,” the computer voice said in English. “Please state your reason for arrival.”
“We have a two o’clock meeting with Superintendent Nagano,” Kurt said.
“Please state your name and nationality while looking at the camera.”
“Kurt Austin, American.”
“Joe Zavala, American.”
Silence followed.
“Hiram would love this,” Joe whispered. “He and Max could double-date out here.”
Hiram Yaeger was NUMA’s resident computer genius. He’d designed some of the most advanced computer systems the world had ever seen. Max was his finest creation. Built on the fastest processors and operated by special programming Hiram had created himself, Max was a unique machine with true artificial intelligence, an active mind and even a sense of humor.
* * *
• • •
A PLEASANT CHIME sounded and the door to the right of them opened. “Assistant Superintendent Nagano has confirmed your appointment. Please enter.”
Kurt and Joe walked up three steps and found themselves in a bustling room filled with men and women watching screens and tapping away at computer consoles. The design was open and modern. Stainless steel accents and pinpoint lighting had been used to great effect. Kurt saw no dirt or grime, no tattered mug books, grimy fingerprint stations or crowded holding cells. Nor did he see any criminals. Which wasn’t a surprise, since Japan’s crime rate was the lowest in the industrialized world. Partly because the nation was so wealthy, partly due to effective policing, but mostly because the collective Japanese sense of order remained a pervasive influence.
Aside from a few glances, the staff ignored them until a Japanese man wearing black slacks, a crisp white shirt and a thin gray tie came over to meet them.
Tall, a highly trained triathlete, the man had a wide face, with a distinct line around his mouth and a cleft in his chin. His hair was short, thick and black.
“I’m Superintendent Nagano,” the man said.
Kurt bowed slightly, but Nagano shook his hand instead. His grip was solid steel.
“It is an honor to meet both of you,” Nagano replied. “Please, follow me.”
He led them back to a small office that was modern to a fault. At his urging, Kurt and Joe sat down.
“This is easily the finest police station I’ve ever been in,” Joe said.
“No, no,” Nagano replied. “It requires much work to bring it up to standards. But we’re doing the best we can.”
Joe looked around, searching for a flaw. Kurt would explain later that the Japanese sense of humility required they not take a compliment unless they had achieved perfection.