After five o'clock, just as the sky was beginning to brighten, he left that apartment.
He could not wait for the nearby residents to wake up.
A foreign man coming out of an abandoned building would be very easy for people to remember.
He bought two cans of coffee and a bottle of water from a vending machine, and then went to a convenience store to buy bread. The clerk did not look at him more than necessary from start to finish, and when checking out, said "Thank you for your patronage" just like usual.
When Coleman walked out carrying the plastic bag, his mood did not improve much because of it.
The receptionist at that hotel yesterday was also very polite.
This was the most troublesome part of Tokyo.
You simply could not tell who was just an ordinary clerk and who might casually make a phone call after you left.
In the morning, he made one last attempt at a water route.
Of course, the regular ports in Tokyo Bay could not be touched. What Coleman considered was detouring further south to find a small boat that did not need to go through formal passenger procedures. As long as he could get out of Tokyo Bay, there would be many ways to handle things afterwards.
He still had a few connections in the maritime transport business left over from his past in Japan.
But after actually taking a trip toward the Wangan direction, he abandoned this plan as well.
The security around the main docks had obviously increased, vehicles entering and exiting were checked, and several places where boats could usually be temporarily rented had also started registering customer information.
What was even more troublesome was that a boat owner who used to be willing to do things for money remained silent for a long time after hearing his voice on the phone, and finally only said that he was not taking business from foreigners lately.
"Why?"
Coleman asked at the time.
The other person did not reply.
Just saying:
"You had better leave quickly."
Then hung up the phone.
By noon, Coleman had completely understood one thing.
It was absolutely impossible for him to leave Tokyo on his own.
Therefore, at 2:17 in the afternoon, he returned to Taitō Ward and circled the public telephone booth a full two times.
On the first circle, he just passed by from across the street.
On the second circle, he went into a grocery store, bought a pack of cigarettes, and observed for a few minutes from inside the glass door.
Until he was sure that no one nearby showed any interest in that telephone booth for the time being, did he walk in.
Coleman fished coins out of his pocket.
The cash he still had plenty of in his hands would not last much longer.
As long as he was still in Tokyo, he needed to eat, find a place to sleep, change clothes every day, and try his best not to repeatedly appear in the same area.
The longer it dragged on, the more traces he would leave behind.
After the call was dialed out, Coleman stared outside the glass.
The line went through two transfers.
At the first place, no one spoke, and only a prompt tone sounded.
The second place had a longer wait.
About half a minute later, the call finally went through.
"It is me."
Coleman said in a suppressed voice.
There was a pause in the earpiece.
Shortly after, a voice he was already very familiar with came through.
"Speak."
Hearing these words, the irritation that Coleman had been suppressing for over a day finally loosened up a bit.
At least this line was still there.
"I need support."
He said it very directly.
"The original evacuation routes have all failed. I am still in Tokyo, and it is basically impossible to get out through normal methods."
This time, the other person's silence lasted even longer.
Coleman waited, swallowing saliva somewhat nervously.
His mission had failed, and he had long since withdrawn from the CIA system. If the people higher up started considering damage control at a time like this...
Fortunately, the other side of the phone did not ask why the operation failed, nor did they ask why the girl who was supposed to be dead was still alive.
"To what extent have the police investigated?"
"... I do not know."
Coleman let out a long breath, looking at the alley entrance.
"What I can confirm is that inspections have been stepped up at all major transportation nodes. The Shinkansen, airports, highways, and ports cannot be touched anymore."
"What is even more troublesome are Saionji's people; they have also dragged hotels, car rentals, transportation, and other commercial channels into this."
He paused here for a moment.
"Right now, that passport of mine cannot be used anymore. I need someone to meet and back me up."
"Have you been exposed?"
"Probably not for the time being."
Coleman pressed the earpiece with his right hand, keeping his mouth as close to the microphone as possible.
"The news published the photos of a few people in the operation team. I have not been on TV yet. But they have already started investigating toward the middleman contacts; dragging it out any longer is just a matter of time."
The sound of pages turning came from the other side of the phone.
"Do you still have contact with the operation team?"
"No. It cut off after the operation ended, and everything that should have been isolated has been isolated."
"What about the weapons line?"
"No valid evidence was left behind either."
Coleman spoke very quickly.
These questions had already been confirmed many times before the operation.
What he was responsible for was the connection.
Weapons entered Japan through different channels and were then transferred to the hands of locals; the people actually responsible for the second-stage operation were not directly transferred from a certain US agency.
Even if he got caught, the things he could hand over were limited.
The problem was that Coleman did not want to use himself at all to verify whether this setup design was reliable or not.
"Sir, what I need right now is not to reconfirm operation isolation."
His tone became a bit heavier.
"I need to leave Tokyo."
The other end of the earpiece was quiet for a few seconds.
"How much money do you still have on hand?"
"Cash is enough for a few days."
"Identification documents?"
"Two sets. But it does not mean much. Once the photo enters the system, no matter how clean the passport is, it cannot save me."
Saying this, Coleman glanced at his watch.
"I have not truly slept for thirty-seven hours. I cannot return to the safehouse, and I cannot touch past contacts anymore. Drag it out for another two or three days, and I will definitely make a mistake."
"Which route do you want to take?"
"Anything is fine."
Coleman's voice grew lower and lower, his speed of speech faster and faster.
"By sea, freight, detouring from the north—as long as it can get me out of Tokyo. Preferably without passing through any places that require normal document registration."
The other person did not reply immediately.
Coleman glanced at both ends of the alley again. At the intersection on the left, someone rode past on a bicycle, with two bags of rice tied to the back seat. There were no police cars.
"There might still be channels near Yokosuka."
The other person finally said.
"I need to confirm first. There were a few maritime routes used before, but now the Japanese side is cracking down very tightly; using them rashly will only expose more people together."
"How long will it take?"
"Give me two days."
Coleman's expression immediately turned ugly.
"Two days?"
"I will be as fast as possible."
"I already said just now, staying one more day will increase the probability of exposure by a lot."
"I know."
The voice on the phone remained calm throughout.
"But casually giving you an unconfirmed route now is just helping the Japanese find you faster. You have worked in Asia for over twenty years, you should know the difference."
"..."
Coleman clenched his fists, almost unable to control himself from smashing them aside, but worried that the commotion might be too big, so he could only loosen them again.
"... I understand."
"This is the only way."
The other side of the phone seemed to sense his irritation, and their tone became a bit softer.
"Before that, do not go to the US Embassy, and do not contact any active-duty or retired US government personnel anymore. The Japanese are waiting right now for these connections to surface on their own."
"I am not that stupid."
Coleman let out a self-deprecating laugh.
After he finished speaking, he remained silent for a moment.
"Sir, what is the reaction over in Washington?"
The other end of the phone paused for a few seconds.
"What do you mean?"
"The Japanese government has already started putting pressure, have not they?"
"Yes."
"What about Saionji?"
"Also putting pressure."
Hearing this answer, Coleman could not laugh anymore.
This meant the situation was even more troublesome than he had imagined.
If it were just the Japanese police investigating an attack case, those old connections back in the US still had many ways to drag it out.
But once it turned into Saionji applying pressure on Washington together through Wall Street, corporations, and political connections, the matter was not a question of how long a retired CIA operative could hide.
"What if they finally need someone to take the blame?"
Coleman's voice lowered.
"A retired operative, no longer on the roster, and without any active-duty status. Throwing me out can both prove this was not done by the US government and make Tokyo shut up for a while."
"This is... the cheapest way to handle it."
There was no sound from the other side of the phone.
Coleman stared at the faded advertisement on the glass.
"Sir."
He called out again.
"You guys would not do that, right?"
This time, there was finally sound in the phone, saying only a single sentence:
"I will not give up on you."
Coleman waited for a moment.
There was nothing afterwards.
Not "Washington will not."
Nor "The US government will not."
Just "I will not."
Having worked inside for so many years, he naturally understood what this meant.
But at least there was still this sentence.
"Good."
Coleman exhaled a breath.
"Then I will wait for you for two days."
At this moment, the sound of an engine came from the left side of the alley.
He naturally turned his head sideways, glancing with his peripheral vision. A white van was slowly driving in from the alley entrance.
There were no markings on the car body, but the speed was too slow. In such a narrow alley, this speed had only two possibilities—looking for a parking space, or looking for someone.
"I have to go."
"Stay safe."
Coleman hung the earpiece back up, pulled his hat brim down low, and walked quickly along the right wall toward the other end of the alley.
When he reached the corner, he looked back again. The van had stopped, and its door had not opened.
Then he turned into another narrower alley, disappearing into the shadows.