The Nicholas Linnear Novels (116 page)

Minck returned across the room to stand in front of Nicholas. There was too much tension now in his frame to allow him to sit down. “Not more than ten days ago one of my young cryptographic geniuses broke one of the Soviet’s new random access Alpha-three ciphers. They’re changed weekly so its usefulness is limited. Still, he works on the Alpha-threes exclusively because only the highest priority signaling is done through them.”

Minck stuffed his hands in his trousers pockets as if he had no idea what else to do with them. “Before I tell you what that signal contained, I must explain that for the past nine months we have been extending our best efforts in trying to determine who was running the Kuriles operation.

“It should have been Rullchek, Anatoly Rullchek, the head of the Seventh Directorate. And indeed we put a finger on his movements in and out of the Kurile Island command post three or four times during that span.

“But frankly, something smelled. There was just too much GRU movement over there at the same time. Rullchek I know well and he hates the GRU with the fierce fanaticism of the old regime. Too, I kept getting reports of a certain Colonel Mironenko who was gradually assuming command while Rullchek was home in Moscow seeing to his bureaucratic flank. What was going on there that no one knew about? I began to ask myself.

“Was
Gospadin
Rullchek really running the ops, and if so, why would he cede even partial control to the GRU? Because, Nicholas, I will tell you quite truthfully that the idea of a united KGB and GRU fills me with a deep sense of foreboding.

“But then again the alternative, that Colonel Mironenko was running the show, seemed even more farfetched. Surely the Kuriles ops was far too crucial to entrust to a young colonel.

“So then what was the truth?”

Minck now folded himself, perching on the arm of a white rattan chair. One leg swung back and forth like a metronome as he spoke. “Now we return to the intercepted signal. It speaks of someone known as Miira. It tells us that Miira is in place and is feeding regularly. Which makes Control grow richer.”

Minck withdrew his hands and pressed the palms together. Nicholas noticed that they were sweating lightly. “This signal was sent from somewhere in the north of Hokkaido and was received by the Soviet Kuriles command post. This was at a time when Colonel Mironenko,
not Gospadin
Rullchek, was presiding.”

Nicholas thought it high time he added to the proceedings. “And was this signal signed?”

Minck’s leg ceased its hypnotic arc for a moment and he nodded his head as if he were a professor approving of a pupil’s question. “Oh, yes, indeed. But we’ll come to that in a moment. First would you be so kind as to tell me if this word
Miira
means anything to you.”

Nicholas thought a moment. “It would help if I saw the
kanji
character in order to be certain of which meaning was being employed. But guessing just by the context, I would say it was Japanese for mummy.”

“Uhm. Mummy.” Minck appeared to mull this over as if it were all new to him. “A mummy, you say.”

There was no point in answering.

Minck lifted his head. “I’d say it was more like Dig Dug.”

“Dig Dug?”

Minck seemed pleased to be able to explain something again. “An arcade game. We keep a large supply two floors down to increase eye-hand coordination in stationary personnel. The object of Dig Dug is to have your man burrow, burrow, burrow through the earth in order to score points.”

“You’re saying that the person referred to as Miira is a mole?”

“In effect, yes. The text makes sense taken in that light, doesn’t it? Miira is in place and is feeding—insert information there—regularly. Of course Control grows richer.”

“But where is this mole?” Nicholas asked. “Did the signal give you a clue?”

Instead of answering, Minck stood up. He brushed down his trousers with his hands. “Tell me, did you ever wonder why Mr. Tomkin was so insistent on the site of your proposed Sphynx plant being at Misawa?”

Nicholas nodded. “Of course. Especially when it became a source of contention in the negotiations. I advised him to drop the idea; it was holding up consummation of the merger. Then he gave me the facts and figures as to why we had to have the Misawa site.”

“Bullshit,” Minck said blandly.

“What?”

“What he gave you—and Sato’s people—is bullshit.” Minck lifted a hand. “Oh, the cost ratio study was done all right and all the figures’re real. That’s just not the real reason for Tomkin’s insistence on Misawa.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Tomkin’s insistence on Misawa stemmed from the same source that caused Sato to resist giving it to you. The company is involved in an operation of its own. We don’t know what it is, only its name:
Tenchi.
By its name alone, Heaven and Earth, we know it must be incredibly important.”

“And whatever
Tenchi
is, it’s being done in Misawa?”

“We believe that to be so, yes. Although the
keiretsu
maintains offices for a mining
konzern
in Misawa, we have confirmed information that there is not enough actual mining being done to warrant all the activity there.” Minck, the master of his profession, allowed that innocuous remark to hang before adding, “It’s my opinion that the Russians also have this information.”

Nicholas was instantly alert. “Miira?”

“Right now there’s no way for us to know.” Minck stared directly into Nicholas’ eyes and there was no mistaking his intent.

“Oh, no,” Nicholas said. “That’s not my line of work.”

“On the contrary.” Minck’s eyes would not let him go.

“But you have men trained for this. Use them.”

“I have,” Minck said simply. “For nine months. The last one was sent back in appalling disrepair. There’s no point in sending another of mine in; I’ve run out of cover. Besides, my time’s just about run out.”

Nicholas thought about that for a moment. “Are you convinced that Miira is placed within the
keiretsu
?”

“Where else would the Soviets place Dig Dug to extract maximum information about
Tenchi
?”

“It’s likely then that they’re further along in solving the mystery than you are.”

The ensuing pause was more forceful than anything Minck could have said.

“Do you know anything else about the mummy?” Nicholas asked, knowing that he was one step closer to doing what Minck desperately wanted him to do.

“Unfortunately, no.”

“Jesus, why don’t you try blindfolding me, putting the donkey’s tail in my hand, and spinning me around.”

Minck stared at his polished nails. “I’ve heard it said that ninja—true ninja, that is—can kill people blindfolded, in the dark. I’ve heard that they can infiltrate the most heavily guarded areas; appear and disappear at will into the night. Disguise themselves in the most remarkable ways.”

“All of that’s true,” Nicholas said. “But I won’t do it for you.”

“Oh, it’s not for me that you’ll do it, Nicholas. Not at all. There is, as you call it,
giri.
Tomkin passed on responsibility to you. I think you owe
him
that. I know that he would ask it of you if he were here. Besides, the merger will be meaningless if the Soviets succeed in penetrating
Tenchi.
”

Now, Nicholas knew, nothing mattered. What he thought of Minck or what Minck wanted him to do. There was
giri.
And without duty, life would become a meaningless jumble of unrelated noise and action. When he had walked in here an hour or so ago he had had no intention of being coerced into a situation he had no interest in. But Minck had very cleverly robbed him of that option. There was
giri.
Nicholas owed Minck nothing and Minck knew it. But Tomkin was another matter entirely.

Now, in the light of all this new information, what was Nicholas to make of the three murders at Sato Petrochemicals? Could they possibly be the handiwork of Miira? He thought it unlikely, since
Miira
’s job entailed anonymity and quiet, and therefore decided not to bring it up to Minck. Besides, he had given his word to Sato not to talk of them with anyone. Technically, of course, that referred to only the first murder.

“What do you know about
Tenchi
?” he asked after a time.

“Four hundred billion yen, that’s what the Japanese government has already poured into the project, and there’s no end in sight.”

“Christ, what the hell is it?”

“Your guess will probably be as good as mine.”

“Oh, God.”

Minck stood up. “There is no one else, and that’s no lie.” He walked back to the windows. The sprinklers had begun again, their sprays beading the glass at the beginning of each pass.

“And now, I suppose, we come to the person who signed the intercepted signal.”

Minck’s back stiffened just as if he had scented the enemy. “Oh, yes. That. You’ve got a good memory. It was signed, ‘Protorov.’”

Minck turned around, the light streaming in behind him, shadowing his face, “Viktor Protorov, my friend, is the head of the KGB’s Ninth Directorate.”

“What’s their field of expertise?”

“It varies with whom you speak to. Some say the Ninth is the KGB’s overlord, their own private watchdog. But that seems to me to be overly redundant even for the Russians. Besides, that would be just the thing the GRU would agitate for, so I’d discount it.”

“Well, then.”

“My own theory is that the Ninth controls and regulates the worldwide terrorist network the Soviets train and, in some cases at least, control.”

“A very dangerous man, this
Gospadin
Protorov.” He was watching Minck carefully because he suspected that they had come to the heart of the matter.

With barely a flicker of his eyelids Minck said, “Extremely dangerous. He’s exceptionally militant. Exceptionally bright. But even worse for us, he’s no bureaucrat.”

“They’ll purge him in the end, then,” Nicholas observed. “They’ll take care of him for you.”

“I suppose they’ll try.”

“Meaning?”

Minck came away from the windows. “For years Protorov was head of the First Directorate. Then about six years ago he was elevated. I rather think that this particular
Gospadin
has already amassed too much power for that.”

“I’ll have to remember to use extreme caution, then.”

“Ah,” Minck said. He watched Nicholas. “I’d be, er, grateful if you did. Protorov has a nasty habit of bringing ferrets in and playing around with them.”

“Is that what I am now? A ferret?”

“Sato Petrochemicals is the tunnel I’m putting you down,” Minck said, taking Nicholas’ hand. “Mind you only light the lamps as you go.”

They went back through the odd house. “Tanya will give you an access code that will tie you in to the network twenty-four hours a day. You can always get either one of us.” He smiled at last, perhaps out of relief. “And, Nicholas, I’d appreciate it if you’d memorize the thing.”

Dusk was gathering when Tengu decided it was time to take his leave of the
dōjō.
Ever since his brother in arms, Tsutsumu, had been found slain at the feet of the
sensei
, Kusunoki, he had become increasingly ill at ease in this walled castle that had been his home now for more than a year.

How had Tsutsumu been discovered? He had begun asking himself that terrifying question as soon as he had heard the news. If Tsutsumu, then why not him?

In the time he had been here he had come to understand that there were more forces in the world than he had ever dreamed could exist. He had witnessed feats he had previously thought impossible and to this day could not fathom. All these and more could be his if he stayed on and worked diligently. But that was not to be.

The signal from Control had assured that. Tengu now wondered who he was more afraid of, Control or these strange folk all around him. Though he had lived with them, he was intelligent enough to know that he was not part of them. He floated outside their orbit as a cold moon does a sun, soaking up what energy it could through the vastness of the gulf between them.

Part of him was loathe to leave, but that area could stand little scrutiny, Tengu knew, and he forcibly pushed his thoughts in another direction.

Even so he would not be preparing to depart now had he not found the safe. It was an accident and, afterward, Tengu realized that that would have been the only way anyone would have stumbled upon such a cleverly concealed cache.

All the novices took turns picking the day lilies that, dew laden, lined the slopes of the Yoshino foothills beyond the walled compound. Today had been his turn and just before dawn—as Kusunoki had done when he was alive—Tengu climbed the slopes in search of the most esthetically pleasing blooms.

Returning to the
dōjō,
he went to the
sensei
’s study. It was deserted. As was the custom at the
dōjō
, this room would never again be used save for studied contemplation of the spirit of the master, which was the spirit of all that was taught here.

Tengu knelt before the earthenware vase which stood atop the raised platform of the
tokonoma
, the contemplative alcove within Masashigi Kusunoki’s study. Pouring fresh spring water into the narrow neck of the vase, he began to carefully arrange the lilies.

In truth his mind was far away. Instead of concentrating on the spirit of the flowers in his hands, his mind was recalling all that he had done during the past week to discover the
sensei
’s secret. What it had to do with he did not know—and it was not for him to know.

Of course his search was hampered by how circumspect he needed to be around these highly dangerous people. But at that moment he was engrossed with wondering where he had been remiss.

And because his mind was wandering in the Zen sense, he became clumsy. But, ironically, it was just this clumsiness that led to his discovery. As he was arranging the lilies, several drops of water fell onto the highly polished wooden surface. As he moved to wipe them off with the edge of his sleeve, he perceived the barest hairline shadow.

At first he thought it to be a natural fracture of the grain caused by the expansion and contraction with changing temperature. But his concentration returned and he then observed that the line ran straight as an arrow’s shaft for perhaps five inches. At that point he saw another hairline connecting with the first at right angles. His pulse began to jump and he looked around, fearful that he might be observed. All was quiet.