12: June, 2020

Sittin’ in the morning sun
I’ll be sittin’ when the evening comes
Watching the ships roll in
Then I watch them roll away again

Miss Okano packs a lunch and we plan to spend the day on a stretch of beach within sight of the entrance to a fish processing facility operated by JRG, Okinawa, Ltd., a subsidiary of Seigyoki Kabushiki Gaisha. It is, like the baseball club I work for, a small cog in the larger machine that is the Seigyoki Corporation; a machine whose workings I’m finding it increasingly difficult to comprehend. This isn’t a terribly crowded area, owing in part to the odor from the plant that occasionally wafts over on the wind when it blows to the north, as it is today. We sit under a large umbrella, and Miss Okano, dressed in a dark blue one-piece bathing suit and wearing a white sun hat and dark glasses, alternately listens to her portable marine radio and consults her laptop while we wait for the return of the Shoho Maru No. 3, a fishing vessel owned and operated by JRG, Okinawa. We are here to test Miss Okano’s assertion that some of these ships return empty from their brief voyages at sea.

Vessels enter the facility at one end and exit at another. The entire off-loading operation is concealed from our view, so it isn’t simply a matter of waiting to see if anything comes out of the boat.

Miss Okano photographed the fishing vessel as it left its home port, four days earlier, paying particular attention to the draft marks on the ship’s bow. She would photograph it again on its return, the draft marks would tell us if it is riding any lower in the water, that is, whether it’s carrying any fish back to port. She has a point to prove, and wants me here as a witness when she does so.

Mostly we just wait. I try to read the latest issue of Chance.

The Shisa ended up losing the game the night before, despite Takahiro Ito’s fleeting return to form. I don’t want to think about the rest of the series, or what’s happening to Ito, whom the club still owes many millions and who’s having trouble hitting above his weight. The feeling I get is that more jobs than just Ito’s are riding on his performance.

I turn to my companion. “What if the boats are empty?” I ask. “What does it mean?”

Miss Okano looks up from her work. “Well, I don’t really know. More investigation would be warranted to figure out what are they doing out there if they aren’t catching fish.”

“Care to speculate?” I ask.

“No, I wouldn’t. I’m not a crackpot, Kusonoki-san. I only go where the evidence leads. So far, it just leads to more questions.” She glances at her laptop. “Our boat is coming.”

The Shoho Maru No. 3 certainly doesn’t look like anything special. Through my binoculars I see a white fishing ship with a large bridge near the bow and something like a mast behind it. Large booms, I presume for operating the fishing nets, are attached to the base of this mast.

Time passes as we wait for the vessel to come close enough for Miss Okano to photograph it. I continue to watch it with my binoculars.

“Just need it to turn to port,” says Miss Okano, “and I’ll have my shot.”

The ship slows down as it approaches the processing facility, close enough that I can hear the deep thrum of its diesel engines. I keep my eyes on the bridge. I can see men standing there wearing beige jumpsuits and yellow hardhats. One of them is scanning the shore with binoculars of his own. And then he stops. We stare at each other for what seems like half a minute. One of his hands drops to his side and he picks up a radio handset. He speaks into it and puts the handset back. He points in our direction and other men in beige jumpsuits and yellow hardhats pick up binoculars.

“That should do it,” says Miss Okano, “all done.”

I get out of my chair. “We need to go. Now,” I say.

“What? Why?”

“We’ve been seen. We need to go.”

“Seen doing what? Taking pictures on a beach? Hardly suspicious activity.”

I take Miss Okano by the arm. “We need to leave. Grab your things, quickly.”

She gives me a dark look. “Fine,” she says, and puts her things in her bag.

I lead her to the car.

“If we just leave that umbrella on the beach you won’t get the deposit back,” says Miss Okano.

“I don’t care about the deposit. Get in.”

We throw everything in the trunk and I pull out of the parking lot and onto the main road. There’s enough afternoon traffic to get lost in, but also to slow us down. Three blocks behind there are two of those crossover station wagon things, black and white with amber emergency lights on top.

“What exactly did you see?” Miss Okano asks me.

“Some guy on the ship. He was looking right at us. He said something into his radio. Then everybody else grabbed binoculars to look our way. And now I think we’re being followed by those cars.”

One of the vehicles pulls into the parking lot we left a few moments before.

Miss Okano turns to look. “Maybe they just wanted to check out the hot girl sunbathing on the beach,” she offers.

“I’m certain that’s not what was going on.”

“Oh, really?” she asks in a tone that should have acted as a warning.

With one car to lose I cut the traffic light a bit close, stepping on the gas. We are through the intersection and I make a turn when I think we’re out of sight. We’re now heading east into the island’s interior. I drive on for a few minutes until I’m sure that we aren’t being followed. We drive in an uncomfortable silence, finally broken by my companion.

“You really think that the man on the fishing boat called some sort of private security team? Do I have this right?”

“That sums it up, yes.”

“We’ll come back to that,” she says, glancing at her open laptop. “If it makes you feel any better, the boat was empty. The draft marks match up exactly, so we don’t need to do this again.”

I check my mirrors. “I can’t say that I’m happy, exactly, no. We still don’t know why, and I’m not sure that I want to know anymore.”

“I don’t want to offend you, but I get the feeling that you aren’t exactly cool in a crisis, Kusonoki-san. You should drop me off by my apartment, that is, if you think we lost our tail. It will take me a while to figure out what to do next. I guess, in the meantime, we can think about whether you should be a part of this anymore. I don’t know what your employer is up to, Kusonoki-san, but I don’t think that we’re investigating some Bond villain.”

We actually aren’t far from Miss Okano’s residence, and I decide that perhaps saying nothing might not be my worst course at this point.

“I’ll be in touch,” she says as she walks away from the car.