Temple of the Gods (10 page)

‘There’s something else we can offer,’ she said, seeing his hesitancy. ‘We can make the charges against you go away. Completely. You’ll be able to go home. To your wife.’

Eddie was silent for a long moment. ‘How can you manage that?’

‘Let’s just say my employers have a lot of influence.’

His suspicion returned. ‘Then why do they need me to do this job?’

‘Because you’re very highly motivated. I’ve read your IHA file too; you’re extremely good at what you do. If anyone can get to Stikes, you can.’

‘So I take it he’s not just hanging out by a pool somewhere. Where is he?’

‘Do we have a deal?’

He considered it . . . then nodded. ‘Where’s Stikes?’

‘Japan. Tokyo, specifically. But he’ll be hard to reach. We can get you into the building, but you’ll have to make your own way to him from there.’

‘What building?’

Scarber finished her cigarette. ‘The headquarters of Takashi Industries.’

I
t was Nina’s first visit to Japan, and she looked out at the sprawling city from the limo that had collected her from Narita Airport with great interest. As a New Yorker she was no stranger to tall buildings, but the differences between those of her home and Tokyo intrigued her, not least the way that some rooftops were home to so many garish billboards and advertising banners that they resembled clipper ships, about to set sail across the urban sea.

One building stood out – not because it was festooned with hoardings, but instead because several wind turbines rose gracefully above its roof. She guessed it to be around fifty storeys tall; nothing remarkable by New York standards, but enough to put it in the upper ranks of this earthquake-prone country’s structures. An illuminated logo stood out near its summit. A stylised T, the letter drawn with the flowing strokes of Japanese calligraphy.

The same logo appeared on the letter the bowing limo driver had presented to her at the airport. A greeting from Takashi Seiji, apologising for not meeting her in person. Instead, the industrialist had written to humbly request – the exact words of the letter – that she meet him at his penthouse.

To her surprise, it turned out that the penthouse was above the corporate headquarters. Takashi was apparently so dedicated to his work he literally lived at the office.

The skyscraper was set back from the streets, surrounded by an expanse of perfectly manicured lawn. Knowing Tokyo real estate was among the most expensive in the world, Nina recognised that something as simple as a patch of grass was making a subtle yet powerful statement:
yes, we can afford this
. Having done a little research during the flight, she knew that Penrose was right about the company’s being a major force in Japan. Takashi himself was the third-generation leader of the business, and in the forty years he had been in charge he had taken it to heights of which even his successful father and grandfather could not have dreamed.

The limo pulled up at one of the building’s entrances, the driver opening the door for Nina and bowing again as she got out. A young Japanese man in a crisp Italian suit came to meet her, bowing even lower before extending his hand. ‘Good afternoon, Dr Wilde,’ he said. There was a faint West Coast accent to his English. ‘I’m Kojima Kenichi, Takashi-san’s secretary. I hope you had a pleasant journey.’

‘A little short notice, but yes, thank you.’ She’d had an extremely nice surprise at JFK when she discovered she had been upgraded to first class, courtesy of Takashi.

‘I’m glad to hear it. Please, follow me – don’t worry about your bags, you’ll be taken to your hotel after the meeting.’ Another bow, then he started for the entrance. Nina followed.

Kojima led her to a marble reception desk in the lobby – where she was startled to discover that the figure behind it was not human. The receptionist was actually a robot, designed to look like a young and pretty Japanese woman. The illusion was convincing enough for Nina to have reached the desk before noticing something was amiss, but now that she knew, she found the replicant’s slightly stiff movements and glassy eyes unsettling. The robot turned towards her and spoke Japanese in a high, girly voice.

‘Uh . . . what do I do?’ she asked Kojima, who appeared amused by her discomfiture.

The robot bowed its head and spoke again, this time in a distinctly lower register. ‘My apologies, madam. I did not know you spoke English. May I take your name, please?’

‘Nina Wilde?’ Nina offered hesitantly.

The robot’s mouth pulled into a smile. ‘Thank you, you are expected. Mr Takashi is waiting for you. If you will please take your visitor’s pass, and wear it at all times while you are in the building?’ Its hand gestured towards a slot set into the marble desktop, from which emerged a laminated card bearing Nina’s name and photograph – which, she realised with unease, must have been taken just moments before by a camera in one of the robot’s eyes. She picked up the card, finding it still warm from whatever gadget had produced it, and clipped it to her jacket. ‘Please go to elevator number one,’ the simulacrum told her. ‘Have a nice day.’

Nina stepped away from the desk with haste. ‘Well, that was . . . creepy,’ she said. ‘Aren’t there any, y’know,
real
people who could do that?’

Kojima smiled as they crossed the lobby. ‘Takashi is a world leader in robotics. One of the best ways to test our new technology is to put it in the front line, so to speak. Also, Takashi-san only employs the best and brightest people, and believes that hiring such people for menial work would be a waste of their potential.’

‘Uh-huh,’ said Nina noncommittally, wondering how Lola would react to having her job described as ‘menial’. To her mind it seemed better to provide a person with work and a wage than to spend God knew how much money building a freaky robot to do the same thing, but then, she reflected, that was probably why she wasn’t the head of a multi-billion dollar company. ‘So, before I meet Mr Takashi, is there anything I should know? I haven’t had much time to brush up on Japanese etiquette.’

They approached a bank of elevators, one of which was separated from the rest and guarded by two uniformed men – who were, to Nina’s relief, genuine human beings and not robots. ‘Don’t worry about it, Dr Wilde,’ said Kojima. ‘You are Takashi-san’s honoured guest. You would have to work very hard to offend him.’

‘I’ll try not to anyway,’ she said as they reached the guards. She expected them to check her identity, but instead a line of laser light from a sensor above the door danced briefly over a barcode on her pass. The absence of alarms and sirens satisfied the two men that she was approved to enter, and they bowed to her before moving aside.

‘This is Takashi-san’s private elevator,’ said Kojima as the doors opened and they entered. Despite the building’s height, there were only three buttons on the control panel. He pushed the topmost. ‘It only serves the parking garage, the lobby, and the penthouse. But,’ he continued as the car started to rise, accelerating quickly enough for Nina to feel it in the pit of her stomach, ‘he rarely uses it these days.’

‘So it’s true he hardly ever leaves the penthouse? Why?’

‘I wouldn’t presume to speak for Takashi-san. But I’m sure he will tell you if you ask.’

Nina was indeed curious, but she had more important questions for the reclusive industrialist. Before long, the elevator stopped. ‘Follow me, please,’ said Kojima.

The hallway of Takashi’s penthouse was decorated with pale wall panels intercut with beams of contrasting dark hardwood, the floor varnished and polished to a lacquered shine. It was austere and minimalist, yet clearly extremely expensive. Windows to one side looked out across the sunset sprawl of Tokyo, the white peak of Mount Fuji visible in the distance. ‘That’s a hell of a view,’ she said, feeling a twinge of vertigo.

They passed several doors before arriving at the end of the hall. Kojima knocked on the double oak doors there, waiting for several seconds until hearing a reply from within and opening them. With another bow, he gestured for Nina to enter.

The room beyond ran the entire width of the skyscraper, windows on three sides providing a panoramic view of the city. Despite its size, it was sparsely appointed, with more potted plants than items of furniture. A large desk was the focal point, a single elegant chair placed before it.

Behind the desk was Takashi Seiji.

The official photograph Nina had seen on the company website was considerably out of date. She guessed him to be in his seventies, at least twenty years older than his public face. He was bald but for thin grey wisps above his ears, wrinkles and bags narrowing his eyes to sleepy slits. However, there was nothing remotely tired about his gaze, which locked on to Nina as she entered the room. He stood, revealing a hunched, but still strong, figure.

Kojima guided Nina to the desk, then spoke to Takashi in Japanese. She recognised her name amongst the words. The old man said nothing, but bowed deeply, so far that she thought his head would touch the desk. When he straightened again, he spoke, his secretary translating. ‘Welcome to Japan, Dr Wilde. I am most honoured by your presence.’

‘Thank you, Mr Takashi,’ she replied. ‘It’s my pleasure to be here.’

Kojima relayed this to his boss, who sat back down and nodded at the solitary chair. ‘Please take a seat,’ Kojima told her.

Nina did so. The plain wooden chair looked as ascetic as the rest of the room, but turned out to be surprisingly comfortable. ‘Would you care for any refreshment before we begin?’ Kojima asked. ‘Tea, coffee?’

‘No thank you, I’m fine,’ she said. ‘I’d like to get down to business.’

Takashi made a small sound of amusement – before Kojima could translate for him. He understood English? ‘Takashi-san appreciates your attitude,’ the younger man told her after his boss spoke. ‘The Japanese obsession with protocol slows down business and wastes too much time.’

‘And at my age, time is a more precious resource than money,’ Takashi added. Though he had a strong accent, his English was precise. He smiled slightly. ‘My apologies, Dr Wilde. Speaking through a translator is another protocol that is expected. But now that I see you have as little patience as I for such things, we can continue in a more efficient manner.’

‘What would you have done if I’d asked for coffee?’ Nina asked mischievously.

‘Since a leisurely pace would have made you more comfortable, I would have continued speaking through my secretary. But no matter. You are here on business, so now we can discuss it.’ He nodded to Kojima, who bowed and retreated to the outskirts of the room. ‘I imagine you have many questions.’

‘I do,’ she replied. ‘First, you said that you own one of the statues. Where did it come from?’

‘Kojima-kun can provide you with a full written account of its known history, but to summarise, it came from Tibet into China during the reign of the Chenghua Emperor, in the Ming Dynasty.’

Tibet: where one of the farthest – and last – outposts of the Atlantean empire had been established. That tied in with her theory that the Atlanteans had, for whatever reason, dispersed the statues as widely as they could. ‘Fifteenth century, I believe?’

‘Yes. It remained in the possession of successive emperors until the Japanese occupation of China before the Second World War. It was brought to Japan along with other treasures, where it passed through the hands of several private collectors before I obtained it in 2002.’

‘What was your interest in it?’ Nina decided to tread carefully and avoid mentioning anything about the statue’s special properties unless Takashi himself brought the subject up. The United Nations might have trusted him, but she was still going to reserve judgement for the moment.

‘There is a legend about the statue, Dr Wilde,’ said Takashi. ‘It is supposed to contain great power, but a power that can only be used by a chosen few. The power of the earth itself.’

The intensity of his gaze suggested to Nina that he was expecting a response from her, confirmation that she knew exactly what he was talking about. She kept her expression and voice neutral. ‘What kind of power?’

‘It has many names in different cultures. Inyodo, Feng Shui, dragon lines, ley lines, telluric currents, chi . . . all are the same thing. A network of lines of power generated by the earth itself, a natural source of energy. Just as blood flows through our veins, so this energy flows through the world around us. The life force of the planet, you might say. I have been fascinated by the concept ever since I was a child, and I first heard the legend of the statue over thirty years ago. When the statue came on the market, I had to have it. I had to find out if the legend was true.’

‘And what did you find?’

‘Nothing.’ He shook his head. ‘I had the stone analysed. It was unusual, apparently a meteorite, but it did not possess any special properties. At least, not that
I
could find.’

Again, Nina refused to take the bait. ‘So you bought it and kept it . . . until it was stolen.’

A grunt of annoyance. ‘Yes. I had a second property at the time where I kept my collection of antiquities. It was robbed, very professionally – but the robbers took only the statue and left other items of far greater value. I believe you also encountered these thieves.’

‘Yes, I did,’ she said, recalling a mad chase through San Francisco to recover a stolen Atlantean artefact. ‘They were employed by Pramesh and Vanita Khoil.’