The Nicholas Linnear Novels (134 page)

The man nodded. Then as an afterthought he said, “Hey, Mr. Nangi, my name’s Fortuitous Chiu.” The whites of his eyes showed again. “I’m Shanghainese. My family owns one-third of the go-downs in Sam Ka Tsuen and Kwun Tong. We’re into restaurants and tourist cabarets—you know, the high-class topless places outside of Wan Chai. We trade in carpets, diamonds, jade. If I don’t show on time you go to my father, Pak Tai Chiu. He lives in the villa with the jade green tiled roof up on Belleview Road overlooking Repulse Bay.”

Nangi knew enough about the ways of these people to understand how much of himself Fortuitous Chiu was revealing. “You come to room 911 this morning, Fortuitous Chiu,” he said as the first warm drops of rain began to fall, “and I’ll have more for you to do.” He pointed. “Right now you’d better get your top up or you’ll drown in the next five minutes.”

The ringing of the phone, although muted from inside the house, disturbed the contemplation that the tea ceremony brought them.

For a time there had been perfect harmony in the room. The two men kneeling on the greenish-yellow reed
tatami
, both in flowing kimono. Between them were the carefully placed implements of the
chano-yu
: porcelain kettle with a pair of matching cups, whisk. At right angles to this display was the hardwood case within which reposed Nicholas’
dai-katana
,
Iss-hōgai.

Also between the men, and above them to the right, was Sato’s
tokonoma.
The slender, translucent vase contained two pure white peonies—flowers that Sato knew Nicholas loved. Above the froth of the blossoms was the scroll on which had been hand-lettered this phrase,
“Be intent on loyalty / While others aspire to perform meritorious services / Concentrate on purity of intent / While those around you are beset by egoism.”

Nothing else was of import within the study. The confluence of forces from these entities and objects created the aura of harmoniousness that is so rare in life and toward which each individual strives. The momentousness of the moment was lost on neither man.

After the ringing came Koten. He bowed deeply, waiting for his master to become aware of his powerful spirit, an intrusion and, thus, an end to harmony.

Sato’s head came up, his eyes refocusing slowly. He and Nicholas had been at the Void, together, as very few men in this imperfect world had been during the long, burning pages of history. His heartbeat, as well as his breathing, were still abnormally slow. He might have been in a trance of a mystical state well known in the Far East, and highly prized.

“A thousand pardons, Sato-san.” Koten’s voice, high-pitched and slightly comical emanating from that vast, rumbling body, never ceased to amuse Sato. “The man who will not leave his name has called. He must speak with you.”

“Yes.” Sato’s voice was slightly thick. Nicholas had made no move, and Sato envied him. He rose and followed Koten out of his study.

During the time when he was alone, Nicholas slowly pulled himself back from the Void. It took him longer than it otherwise might because part of him did not wish to leave. The vast harmony that he had just been a part of still hovered like an afterglow in the study. After a time, he lifted his head and studied the words on the
tokonoma
scroll.

They were oddly unpoetic, yet very much in keeping with the kind of man Nicholas had come to know Sato was. He was a
kanryōdō sensei,
one of the last true
samurai
-bureaucrats. Soon, sadly, there would be no place for him in the world. As Japan moved fully into the modern world, the last of the
kanryōdō sensei
would die out. And in their place would come the new breed: the Westernized entrepreneurs who understood world economics, no longer true Japanese at all but world citizens. Japan would need them in the coming decades, these far-thinking, trend-analyzing dealers, if it was to survive past its difficult adolescence. These were the men who would remember the policies of Reagan and Mitterand long after they had forgotten those of Ieyasu Tokugawa.

Without having seen him, Nicholas knew that Koten, the giant
sumō
, had entered the study.

“Are you any closer to finding the murderer?”

He had an odd, direct style of speech that, outside the
dohyo
at least, was stripped of politeness and the traditional niceties.

“Unless Sato-san can summon up the past wholesale,” Nicholas said, “all I can do is protect him and Nangi-san.”

Koten said nothing. Nicholas turned, saw that the giant was glaring at him. He laughed. “Don’t worry, you’ll get in your licks.” It was somewhat of a relief to be able to speak freely again.

“If you’re good,” Koten said, “we’ll work together. No one will get past us.”

Nicholas said nothing; an American here would have boasted about his prowess.

“No one will get past us,” Koten repeated. Then, as he heard Sato returning, he retired to the hallway.

The older man’s demeanor had altered considerably when he reentered the study. All languorousness had melted away. In its stead was a high degree of excitement held tightly in check.

He came swiftly across the room and sat close to Nicholas, breaking the host-guest barrier. “I have had some news.” His voice was very soft but urgent. “Concerning
Tenchi.
Of course the
keiretsu
has official protection from the government concerning the project.

“But privately I enlisted the aid of several members of the Tenshin Shoden Katori
ryu.
Ninja such as yourself to safeguard our secret.” He paused for a moment, looking around. He nodded his head and rose.

Together they went through the open
fusuma
, into the garden. The bees were out, descending on the peonies. The gray plover was long gone from his spot beneath the boxwood tree. The sun wove in and out from behind silver and purple clouds.

“A
sensei
was killed there not long ago, along with a student. Now my contact—whose
ryu
name is Phoenix—informs me that a second student was killed only yesterday. It now appears from what this man tells me that the
ryu
has been infiltrated.”

“Infiltrated?” Nicholas echoed. “The Tenshin Shoden Katori? Are you certain?”

Sato nodded. “But Phoenix was not calling from Yoshino. He’s in the north. In Hokkaido.” Sato’s face was grave. “I fear our last stand against the Russians has begun, Linnear-san. You were quite right about their involvement. It took Phoenix some time to evaluate his situation. The death of the
jonin
; he was their spiritual leader.” He cocked his head. “Did you know him? By the purest chance he had the same name as the hero we were discussing once, Masashigi Kusunoki.”

“It’s been many years since I’ve been at the Tenshin Shoden Katori,” Nicholas said.

Sato looked at him oddly for a moment, then shrugged. “His death was totally unexpected, and they were thrown into chaos for a time. It took all of Phoenix’s skill to return absolute order in such a short time. Meanwhile, it seems the Soviet agents were doing their work.”

His beefy shoulders were bent as with an incalculable weight. “We cannot allow
Tenchi
to be infiltrated, Nicholas-san. The knowledge that the Russians are so close fills me with dread. They have the power to destroy us—all of us—if they discover
Tenchi.
”

“What has happened?” Nicholas said in a voice a good deal calmer than he felt.

“Phoenix is pursuing one of their agents—the last remaining one within the
ryu.
The man has fled north with a top-secret profile of
Tenchi.
He is now on Hokkaido. Phoenix has allowed him to go even though the man murdered one of his students in the process. He believes the agent will lead him to the Soviet local control. But you cannot imagine just how dangerous this maneuver is. This agent
must
be stopped by any means before he can pass on that profile.”

Viktor Protorov, Nicholas thought. I must be at this Phoenix’s side when he infiltrates the Russian’s base. Sato will have his secrets back and I will have Protorov. “Where is Phoenix now, precisely?”

Sato glanced at him. “I fathom your intent. But if you go, I must also.”

“That is impossible,” Nicholas said sharply. “Purely from a tactical point—”

Sato raised his hand. “My friend,” he said softly. “There has already been too much murder here for me to allow it to go on. Three human beings—people I counted as friends as well as valued work colleagues and indispensable parts of my
kobun
—have ceased to exist because of me. That is a heavy burden for anyone to bear.

“While you were gone, funerals for all of them were held, as well as temporary burials. Miss Yoshida had no family, so it was not so bad in her case. But the others—Kagami-san and Ishii-san—both did. They will of course obey my orders to keep the police out of it. We do not need the
Kempeitai
in here, stomping around in their efforts at investigation.

“But I do not like it. I want these people to have proper burials in their family plots. Can their
kami
be at rest until then?”

Nicholas thought of the afternoon with Miss Yoshida, the sight of her kneeling within a long stone’s throw of where his own mother and father were buried. He resolved to be at her final burial, to light joss sticks before her gravestone, and to say the prayers of reverence for the safekeeping of her spirit.

“I know where this is all leading,” Nicholas said, “and I cannot allow it. You’ll stay here where it’s safe.”

Sato’s laugh was hollow and without humor. “Have you so soon forgotten the
Wu-Shing
, my friend?”

“That’s what Koten is here for,” Nicholas said stubbornly. “Do you doubt that he can do the job?”

“This has nothing to do with Koten or anyone else.”

“I am responsible for your safety, Sato-san. This is what you wanted; it is what we have sworn to.”

Sato nodded gravely. “What you say is true, Nicholas-san. You are sworn to protect me and I am sworn to consummate the merger of our
kobun
without difficulties. But this oath only goes so far. I am the final arbiter of my life and death. You must accede to this. You know you must.”

There was a silence for some time. A brace of plovers broke cover past Sato’s left shoulder, racing into the clouds. The wind was picking up and a heaviness was returning to the air. Unless the wind direction changed abruptly there would be rain again, a good deal of it.

“Then the oath that binds us is severed.” It was a desperate ploy. One which Nicholas feared would not work.

“Are you free to walk away then?” Sato smiled. “By all means do so. I will not think ill of you.”

“I can force you to stay here.”

“And where would you go, my friend? Only I know where Phoenix would meet us. You could roam all of Hokkaido without ever finding either him or the Soviet agent.”

There was a deliberate silence.

“Then you’ll still join me.”

“I seem to have no choice in the matter.”

“Good. We will take Koten and fly to the north island. From there a rented car will take us to our final destination.”

“Which is?” Nicholas said warily.

“A
rotenburo
—an outdoor hot bath—my friend.” Sato smiled with real warmth. “And why not? You appear to be in need of some relaxation!”

In the middle of the night the phone sang shrilly in her ear. Justine, who had had trouble falling asleep, started awake. Her mouth was dry and her throat sore, as if she had been straining for something or constantly calling out in her dreams.

She brushed her hand out to the receiver to stop the racket, picked up her watch off the nighttable. Just after three-thirty. Jesus! She heard squawking from the phone, picked it up as if it were alive.

“Justine?”

“Rick, what’re you—”

“Don’t tell me you forgot.”

She put her hand to her head. “I don’t—”

“Haleakala. The dormant volcano. You promised I could take you up there.”

“But it’s three-thirty in the morning. For God’s sake, Rick—”

“If we leave now we’ll make it in time for the sunrise. That’s the time to be up at the crater.”

“But I don’t want to see the sunrise. I—”

“You’ll never know until you’re there. Come on now, we’re wasting precious time. We’ve got to be there by five-thirty.”

Justine was about to protest some more but suddenly she felt too tired to try. It seemed easier just to go along with him. Besides, she thought wanly, maybe it will be fun.

It certainly proved to be nothing she had expected. For one thing, just the drive up the winding slope of the volcano was fascinating. The summit was two miles up, and she could see the terrain changing before her eyes as they ascended. Rick had cautioned her to dress warmly in slacks and sweater, a jacket as well if she had one. Walking out to the car in the cool but balmy night air she had felt faintly ridiculous being so overdressed. It seemed inconceivable to her that there could be any place on this tropical paradise where the temperature was hovering at thirty-five degrees Fahrenheit.

But as they rose, as the terrain metamorphosed from palm tree laden, to the dominance of spiky desert cactus, to long stands of stately pine trees more appropriate to Maine or Vermont, she was obliged to roll up her window and don her jacket.

Near the crater itself, Rick switched on the heater. They had already passed the tree line, and now she looked out on black desolation. Long ago, massive lava slides, spewed up from the depths of the earth, had rolled slowly downward, inundating all in their paths. Now hardy grasses peeped up here and there through the dark mounded lava. But otherwise there was nothing. As the car made one switchback after another, Justine glanced back over her shoulder. From this vantage point she could look across the vast undulating slopes of Haleakala’s base, down to the shoreline, the crescent beach just beginning to glimmer with an odd kind of phosphorescence and the utterly black feathery silhouettes of the slender-boled palms.

She had said not a word to Rick on the long drive up, huddled on her side of the front seat as if she expected him to deliver a blow to her face. She was shivering by the time he pulled the car into the wide blacktopped parking lot. She put it down to the unnatural cold.