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s Colombian factory in the llano negro is normal； not the killer stuff the Japanese are manufacturing。 So at least he's not involved in that side of it。〃
〃Small fort；〃 Tori said。
They were sitting at a window table at a second…floor kissaten…one of thirty thousand such coffee shops in Tokyo…overlooking the trendiest street in the trendy Roppongi district。 The decor was highly futuristic； both inside the kissaten and out in the street。
Red neon strips hidden by pink lacquer sconces that ran the length of the interior of the coffee shop lit stainless…steel sculptures of bonsai trees； waves； cranes in flight。 Old symbols in a new medium。 It was as if the Japanese； in stepping boldly forward into the future； were duty…bound to drag their past with them。
Outside； people passed like peacocks； their clothes so outlandish they could be considered costumes。 Russell noticed that the futuristic domes were almost colorless： black； white； putty； simple hues that allowed the fantastic cuts and shapes of the blouses； skirts； and jackets to take center stage and； like sculpture； to make their own impact in the purest state。
〃Tori；〃 Russell said； 〃why is it that everything in Japan is a symbol？〃
〃That's not so hard to figure；〃 Tori said。 〃The Japanese fixation on symbols is merely a reflection of their culture： say one thing； act another way。 Too many people in too little space。 And because of chronic earthquakes； the traditional housing construction was of wood and paper…easier to rebuild after a quake has leveled your house。 But both these factors made for an acute lack of privacy。 Did you ever try to tell someone a secret in a room whose walls are made of rice paper？ Don't bother。
〃In Japan； everyone shares； everyone is part of a series of groups； so it was natural that an elaborate system of politeness and protocol should arise。 The obsession with symbols is an outgrowth of these things。 A symbol is easily identifiable for groups； something happily embraced by many。''
〃I'm with you so far； dudette；〃 Russell drawled； and they both smiled。 〃But if you take the time to look behind these symbols； you find that they have no meaning。〃
〃Right。 And that makes sense； too； if you can learn to think like a Japanese。 What is on the surface is to be admired； but not necessarily adhered to。 As long as form and protocol are outwardly satisfied； what difference does it make what's really on your mind or in your heart？ Under these circumstances； it's far better for the symbols to be meaningless。 That way； there's no chance of an entanglement that could cause shame and loss of face。〃
Tori thought； I am so Japanese； yes。 All the while I'm expounding like a professor on their culture； I am part of it； a living symbol。 I am talking； hearing myself talk； but that is only the surface； the gleaming shell； all that I'm allowing Russ to see。 To show him more would bring me shame； a loss of face。
Tori was trying desperately to e to terms with her own emotions。 Ever since she had seen Russell in the Medellin cor…rida； about to die； something had changed inside her。 She knew； deep down； that it was not merely a sense of decency or even guilt that had motivated her to leap into the corrida； climb upon the bull's humped back。
And later； in the 727 on the way to Tokyo； when he had burst in on her； had held her while she was racked with the pain of the trust she had lost in Estilo。 She had been so certain that Russell would reprimand her； push her face into the uncertainty that now loomed before her： could she trust any of the network of friends she had so slowly； so painstakingly nurtured； cultivated； relied on？ Her network was her eyes and ears on the clandestine movements of the world。 And now that that network had so clearly sprung a leak； now that she was bleeding； was the time for the Russell Slade she knew to hit her； hit her hard； so that he could at last wrest the reins of control from her。 Because she had been convinced that this was Russell's weakness： he was a control freak； and the fact that she had her own way of running a mission drove him crazy。
And yet。。。 Russell had not acted in character。 Just the opposite； in fact。 He had been gentle； kind； understanding； all traits she could not reconcile with the Russell Slade she had known in the past。
The fact was； she had gotten a great deal of pleasure from driving Russell crazy。 And the fact that she was so obviously successful with her unorthodox methodology should have shown him his own weakness as clearly as if it were a mirror。 It hadn't。 She hadn't counted on his stubborn streak…and the depth of his weakness。 Control was everything。
Tori had promised herself on the day he had severed her from the Mall； that one day she would create a laboratory experiment where Russell's sense of control was stripped from him。
This new mission had presented just the opportunity she had been looking for。 Since it was clear Russell and Bernard were desperate to have her back； she had decided to exact her revenge on Russell。 The field was the greatest laboratory she could hope to find。 There was no control in the field； where one was continually bombarded with the randomness of life。 The only problem was that she had herself forgotten how random a mission could be； and events had not gone as planned。
For one thing； Estilo had betrayed her。 For another； Russell had turned out to be far more clever and resourceful in the field than she ever could have imagined。 She had maneuvered Bernard Godwin into ordering Russell into the field with her just so she could show him up as the desk jockey he was； to send him back to Mail Central humbled and defeated by his inpetence。 But； Tori thought； that's not how it's turned out。
She had been increasingly impressed by his expertise； his bravery under fire； both psychological…at Cruz's apartment… and physical； at the cocaine factory in the llano negro。 And then in a stunning display of courage； he had challenged Cruz； throwing himself； weaponless； into the corrida in Machine…Gun City。
My God； she thought； sitting across from him in the second…floor coffee shop in Roppongi； this can't be happening。 I don't know this man at all。 Russ has been my rival； my enemy。 Who does Bernard love most； me or Russ？ That's the way it's been ever since Russell came on board…at least； I'm convinced that's how he's seen it。 Bernard Godwin； the Mall's eminence grise； has been our surrogate father； and like disputatious children we've been yelling ''Choose me！ Choose me！〃 at the top of our lungs。
Staring at Russell across the table； watching him drink his ten…dollar cup of coffee； Tori could no longer see him as the man who had outsmarted her at every turn at Mail Central。 I'm supposed to hate this man； she thought。 Haven't I hated him from the moment he severed me？ I hate him； I don't； I can't possibly…
But she could not even think it； and with an inner convulsion； she turned her thoughts in another direction； any direction to distract herself。。。
She remembered a time at Diana's Garden in L。A。； late in the day； when the shadows grew long and as dark as plums； her favorite time； lazing by the pool after a ninety…minute workout on the board and in the water。 She was in her second year of junior high； and Greg was a sophomore in college； home for Easter。
She was staring up at the glazed sky。 Greg was at her side。 She could feel him； his coolness close to the heat of her own body。 She liked that he was always cool； always a contrast to her warm skin； because often； when she looked in his face； it was like staring into a mirror； two pairs of identical angel eyes reflecting。
Her workout had not been enough to calm her on that particular day； and Greg had caught her crying。
〃What's up； Tor？〃
〃Nothing。〃
〃You're crying over nothing？'' He grunted。 〃That's stupid。''
〃I'm not stupid。〃
〃I know。〃
She looked up； almost shyly。 〃I'm having a hard time in Russian。 I can't seem to understand it at all。〃
〃Don't give up on it。 It's important to him that we know Russian。〃
〃Uck！〃
It had always seemed an enigma that her father； so desperate to be part of American society in so many ways； also wanted not to lose his Russian heritage。 It was he who had insisted she take Russian instead of French； the elegant language most of her friends took。 Russian classes were filled with nerds with Coke…bottle…bottom glasses； thick necks； and pimply faces。 She hated them； and she hated the language in which nothing seemed to make sense。 She thought she'd rather study Martian。
〃You have a test today？〃 Greg asked。
〃Mid…term。 I got sick and threw up before I took it。 I think I might have failed it。〃
''You've got to apply yourself；'' Greg said； stretching into the last patch of sunlight on the coping。 〃It's easy if you try。 Everything's easy。〃
''For you； maybe。〃
〃For you； too。 We're not so different as you think。〃
〃But I don't understand a thing！〃 she wailed。 〃I've gone to every class； I take notes； but I don't know what it is I'm writing。〃
〃Maybe it's the teacher； then。 Who've you got？〃 Having graduated the same junior high six years before； Greg knew everyone。
〃Mr。 Broker。〃
〃Broker sucks；〃 Greg said。 〃I'll go have a talk with Bob Hayes； the p