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edient of sexual attraction。 The one true magic potion…passion…was the great leveler that cut through race； religion； even class。 Honno considered it the most powerful force on earth。 How many great men had been laid low by their lust？
Fukuda gestured； and Honno followed him silently back through the maze of offices； the whining fax machines。
Downstairs； the streets were slick with moisture。 A kind of precipitation was falling on Tokyo that could not quite be called rain。 It had picked up so much of the industrial pollutants in the air that it fell like sleet； though the temperature was warm。 One day the Japanese would find a term for it； just as they would find a way to describe the automatic nocturnal conversations between faxes。
The purring Mercedes took Honno and Fukuda onward； through the nocturnal traffic； deep into the heart of Shinjuku； dark with forbidden pleasures despite the sprays of brilliant neon shooting up the sides of buildings； reflected endlessly in glass towers； spreading like dye along the wet tarmac of the streets。
The Mercedes slid to a stop in front of an udon…a noodle parlor。 Fukuda took Honno through the dingy； steamy restaurant； down a long dark hallway that echoed with the tiny sounds of the city seeping through the walls like sweat。
They entered what was obviously a Yakuza gambling house。 Long low tables were set out upon the floor； around which were arrayed an interesting melange of men。 They were illuminated by wide…shaded lamps hung by cords from the ceiling。
Fukuda and Honno kept to the shadows ringing the walls。 Honno could see the irizumi…covered Yakuza； their fantastically conceived tattoos given a life of their own by the movements of their bodies as they moved packets of money around the tables。
This was no local gambling house； these were games played for the highest possible stakes。 And now Honno began to concentrate on the faces that belonged to the gamblers： the conservatively dressed； immaculately groomed； sober…visaged men； men such as she had seen every day of her business week trooping in and out of Kunio Michita's office。
Fukuda leaned unobtrusively toward her； whispered； 〃The third man on your left。 The one with the pencil mustache and the largest bets in the house。 He is the senior vice…president for administration for Kaga。''
Honno watched as if enwrapped by a kind of enchantment； as the senior Kaga officer proceeded to lose 6；500；000 yen… approximately 50；000…in just over an hour。 By that time his hair was disheveled； his tie was askew； there was sweat beading his pencil…thin mustache； and he was frantically writing out a marker for an equal amount。 The marker was passed from one Yakuza to another until； at length； it arrived at the head of the table。
A bald man with the image of a dragon tattooed on his shining skull took the slip； read it。 Then he looked up； poker…faced。 With a little thrill； Honno saw that he was looking directly at Fukuda。 Fukuda gave an almost imperceptible nod； and the man with the dragon tattoo pocketed the marker； slapped three packets of yen onto the table； had them passed to the Kaga officer。
Honno was wondering just how deeply Big Ezoe's claws had penetrated the Kaga conglomerate when they arrived at their third destination。 They were still within the precincts of Shinjuku； but this was the far side； where sleazy streets were inhabited by all manner of nocturnal creature； where it was often not safe to walk deep in the night when these creatures slithered out of their lairs。 Honno had certainly heard enough stories of this section of Shinjuku…every resident of Tokyo had； she imagined…but she had never been near it。
〃Have no fear； Mrs。 Kansei；〃 Fukuda said； as if reading her mind。 〃You are with me。〃 They stepped out onto the rainswept streets。 It was now well after midnight。
There was a scent Honno was not familiar with。 It was the stench of the effluvia of a large city…any city…where a certain section of human wreckage congregated： the psychologically halted； the emotionally crippled； the perverse and the perverted； caged； sent down； inhabiting a nighttime netherworld in the bowels of the city。
The Mercedes had stopped opposite a dark bridge over which rumbled an endless line of trucks which only had access to Tokyo's streets during the night。
Fukuda did not lead Honno across the bridge； but rather took her down under it。 She could hear the lapping of the river against ancient wooden pilings； and the stench of deposition was very strong。
They went into a building。 Honno recognized it as an akachochin； an assignation bar； where anything and everything could be bought…for a price。
In the unpleasant crimson illumination of its interior； Honno saw beautifully clothed and coiffed women whispering on the arms of salesmen； low…level businessmen who could not afford the more affluent after…hours clubs in Nihonbashi or the Ginza； where even the price of one drink could take your breath away。
〃The man directly in front of you；〃 Fukuda said unexpectedly； 〃the distinguished one with the thick gray hair； is the chairman of Kaga。 He es here because of his sexual proclivities。 He is certain that no one who would recognize him would ever frequent such a dive。〃
〃But he's wrong；〃 Honno said。 〃You've recognized him。〃
〃We are always wrong；〃 Fukuda said cryptically。 〃Big Ezoe owns this akachochin。 You would be astounded at the wide range of information that may be acquired in places such as this。〃 Fukuda nodded。 〃Now watch as we walk past the creature who has the chairman's undivided attention。〃
Honno kept her eyes on the beautifully dressed woman on the Kaga chairman's arm。 As they passed the couple； Honno stifled a gasp of recognition。 The woman was a man。 A transvestite。
Outside the akachochin； Honno breathed deeply。 She weled the rain pattering down on her。 How her perceptions had changed。 The night air； filled with deposition； seemed almost pure pared to the atmosphere inside； gravid with sinister lusts。
In the sanctuary and fort of the Mercedes； they slipped across the river； headed toward the bright lights； the modern high rises of an entirely different Tokyo。
In the Akasaka district the Mercedes sped them toward the Capitol Tokyo Hotel。 In the Origami Coffee House； Fukuda ordered them the justly famous German apple pancakes。 Honno found that she had no appetite。 She watched in a kind of numbed silence as Fukuda ate his food then； determining she had no intention of eating hers； cut into her pancakes。
Five minutes after he had finished； as if on cue； he turned toward the entrance to the restaurant。 Honno followed his gaze； saw to her amazement her boss； Kunio Michita； walk through the door。 He spoke briefly to the hostess； who seated him at a table with a man Honno had not noticed before。 Now she did。 He was the finance minister of Japan。
The two men bowed cordially to one another and began to talk in animated fashion。 They ordered only coffee； but hardly touched their order。 Minutes later they got up to leave。
Fukuda paid the check and took Honno out。 They followed the two men out into the semidarkness of the night。 All around them glittering high rises bespoke the enormous wealth of t