City of Swords (8 page)

Chapter 15

The place had been a boutique at one time, one of those pricey little consignment shops filled with designer clothes and painted a mix of pastels. The original name could be seen faintly in bleached green paint
: Seconde Fois—“second
time.” But over that in eggshell-white was its new name in block letters, TOMES TRANQUILLES.

Tranquil Tomes was a bookstore of sorts, three doors down from Les Nymphéas Review, where they’d eaten dinner, a restaurant that borrowed the name of one of Monet’s most famous paintings. Sarah had hardly touched her wild-duckling Rouennaise; she was anxious and didn’t want a heavy meal to dull her senses.

This was all on her.

She’d found Tranquil Tomes after a lot of research. Lawton had been pleased with her find. Her mission to be in charge of. This was a real chance to prove herself.

And it was smack-dab in the middle of Rouen, Dr. Lawton’s city of choice.

He’d sent two men with her, twins—Luc and Gaetan Neveu. Of his associates, they were the closest to Sarah in age. Though black, they had been adopted as infants by a rich white couple north of Paris, friends of Dr. Lawton’s. Sarah was glad to have the two with her. Their company was a nice break from Archard’s. If he’d been along, he would have taken charge.

This was
her
mission.

The bookstore posted evening hours, and the three of them went in shortly after eight. It smelled of something she couldn’t place, some musky scent that hung heavy in the air, so sweet she almost gagged. Probably an incense stick…. Ah, there it was, smoldering in the cupped hands of a ceramic Buddha. Sarah hated incense. She noticed Luc wrinkling his nose, and was pleased it wasn’t just her.

The books, displayed on two walls, were sparse compared to most bookstores. Sarah took the shelves to her right, the brothers the ones to the left, their long raincoats swishing around their calves. She watched them pick up one thin book after another, reading the titles. Luc started to page through one, as if he was actually interested.

Sarah nodded to the salesclerk at the back and picked up one of the thicker books. She watched the black-haired shopkeeper out of the corner of her eye, trying to decide if it was a man or woman hunched over the counter, staring at an iPad. The clothing could have passed for pajamas.

Creating Values
was the title of the volume in Sarah’s hands. Half the books appeared to be in English. She glanced at the table of contents and the foreword, which mentioned Nichiren Shōshū, a Japanese Buddhist denomination dating back to the 1200s. “‘Sōka Gakkai means the “society for creating values,” founded in 1937 by Tsunesaburo Makiguchi and Josei Toda.’” She struggled with the pronunciations as she read aloud. “‘Derived from Nichiren Shōshū, it has recently spread into Europe and the United States.’”

Sarah’s research had revealed that in the past five decades, the sect members had been aggressively proselytizing, using a strategy called
shakubuku,
or “break and subdue.”

“Happiness is the primary goal of life, eh?” Gaetan flapped a thin book in his right hand. He had a small ceramic Buddha in his left, a price tag plastered on its bulbous stomach. “I can get into happiness, but this place gives me the creeps.” He placed the book on a shelf.

Sirens blared and lights flashed as an ambulance and two fire trucks sped past the shop window. The sounds receded and she heard chanting. It was coming from the back room behind the shopkeeper.

“So, these claim,” Gaetan continued, “that happiness is gained through goodness, prosperity and beauty. Well, the guy back at the counter is no beauty. Says, too, that it relies on the teaching of the
Lotus Sutra.
Wonder if that’s anything like the
Kama Sutra.
”

Sarah’s face colored. She knew Gaetan was just trying to get a rise out of her.

“They’re getting stronger in France,” she said. “These Buddhists.” She was talking a little too loudly and drew the attention of the shopkeeper, who finally looked up. A man. He had a soul patch growing beneath his lower lip. “They’re in other places in Europe, but mostly in France, from what I gathered.”

“So, happiness can include material success, like cars, big houses,” Gaetan said. “That guy doesn’t look like he’s got money, though.”

“Can I help you?” the shopkeeper asked.

“Just looking,” Gaetan replied.

“You can help me,” his twin called from the other side of the shop.

“Of course.”

“How many members do you have?” Luc asked.

“This bookstore—”

“No, no. I don’t mean branches of this bookstore. You have all these books on Buddhism.”

“Buddhism is the largest religion.”

“But you’re part of a particular kind of Buddhist sect, right? I mean, all this material…the books, pamphlets, that poster advertising meetings. One tonight. You’re…?”

“Members?” The shopkeeper stroked his soul patch. “In this city?”

“All over,” Sarah said.

“Six million in the world. We are new to Rouen.”

“I see,” Luc said.

“And you are interested in Sōka Gakkai? You want to join? Study?”

“This book…” Luc pointed to one in French with a red cover. “This book mentions a political party, Clean Government.”

“Yes, formed in the 1960s. Kōmeitō. Third largest political party in Japan.”

“You’re from Japan?” Sarah asked.

“My grandparents and my father. My mother is French. I was born here.”

Luc walked up to the counter and propped his long fingers together. “So, you belong to a Buddhist branch? Like an offshoot? You hold meetings here?”

The shopkeeper nodded vigorously. “A branch of Mahayana Buddhism.”

“And you accept anyone? Color doesn’t matter?”

“Yes, although we ourselves were not always accepted.”

“What do you mean by that?” Gaetan had joined them. Sarah stayed near the shelves.

“In the 1940s, I was told, my grandparents were arrested as ‘thought criminals.’ Our branch had fewer than three thousand families then.”

“And now you have six million?”

“In the world, yes.” He indicated the beaded curtain behind him. “They meet here on Mondays. You can join them and observe, if you’re quiet.”

“And what do they do back there?” Luc asked.

“We discuss, we study, we evolve. We practice personal fulfillment, which leads to a better society…. How did you learn of us?”

Sarah craned her neck so she could see the shopkeeper. “I got one of your pamphlets. That’s why we came.”

The man appeared even more pleased.

A bell tinkled, the door opened and a woman came in, tugging a young boy. She went straight to a shelf with incense burners. “Which one should we get Aunt Vicki for her birthday?”

Her son didn’t answer; he was watching Gaetan and Luc.

“You discuss what?” Gaetan asked.

“The
Lotus Sutra.
An important passage stresses that every one of us has a latent Buddha nature. All of us can attain Buddhahood.”

The chanting grew louder, and Sarah could pick out the words—
nam-myoho-renge-kyo.

The shopkeeper was saying something else, but Sarah had missed part of it, caught up in the mesmerizing sound of
nam-myoho-renge-kyo, nam-myoho-renge-kyo, nam-myoho-renge-kyo.

“—the divine life state, the true path of enlightenment. We read in the doctrine of
Three Thousand Realms in a Single Moment of Life,
by Ichinen Sanzen, that—”

Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, nam-myoho-renge-kyo, nam-myoho-renge-kyo…

“—Buddhism is practiced here, in the back room, in the shop, out on the streets of Rouen. It is practiced everywhere in daily life. It is not relegated to some mystical place high on a mountaintop.”

Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, nam-myoho-renge-kyo, nam-myoho-renge-kyo…

“We overcome all of society’s obstacles. We defeat, spiritually and intellectually, those things that—”

Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, nam-myoho-renge-kyo, nam-myoho-renge-kyo.

Sarah replaced the book she was holding and drifted closer, her feet moving in time to the chant.

“I think this one will do nicely for Aunt Vicki, don’t you?” the customer asked the little boy, who was still watching the twins. It was a rosy-pink Buddha incense burner with a grin spread wide across its fat face. “And I suppose we should get her some incense to use with it.”

Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, nam-myoho-renge-kyo, nam-myoho-renge-kyo…

The shopkeeper looked around the twins to the woman and her boy. “May I recommend the Auroshikha varieties? The cones of lemongrass, French lavender and ylang-ylang are especially pleasing.”

Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, nam-myoho-renge-kyo, nam-myoho-renge-kyo…

“So global warming would be history if everyone was Buddhist, right?” Gaetan said, drawing the shopkeeper’s attention again.

“I suppose you could look at it that way.” The man nodded thoughtfully. “Here we teach our members how to apply Buddhism to their daily lives and to promote its spread through society.”

“That’s exactly why we showed up,” Luc said.

“To join us?”

He shook his head.

Sarah walked over to the customer. “Lovely little boy.”

The woman looked up from the incense assortment. “Michael. His name is Michael, and he just turned three.”

“American,” Sarah said. “Sounds like you’re from Boston.”

The woman smiled. “New York, actually. My husband is teaching a semester at the business school in the city. He wants to live here full-time.” She paused. “You’re American, too.”

“From Boston.”

“Visiting? Studying…”

“Are you a Buddhist? One of these sect members?”

“Not exactly,” the woman answered, surprised at the change in their conversation. “But I come here a lot. I like the way they think.”

“You would do well to leave now,” Sarah said.

Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, nam-myoho-renge-kyo, nam-myoho-renge-kyo…

The woman gave her a curious look. “See here. I’ll shop where I want, read what I want, and I’ll—”

Sarah pulled out the SIG Sauer she’d concealed beneath the flap of her jacket. She pointed it at the woman’s forehead and pulled the trigger. It made a spitting sound with the silencer. Blood and brains splattered out the back of her skull, dotting the array of incense burners and some of the books. The woman’s body dropped and the boy started to cry.

Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, nam-myoho-renge-kyo, nam-myoho-renge-kyo…

“Casse-toi!”
the shopkeeper hollered, his mouth dropping open. He wasn’t able to get anything else out—in one fluid movement, Gaetan reached into the folds of his long raincoat and pulled out a saber, raising the blade and slicing through the man’s throat. The twins jumped back to avoid the spray of blood.

Sarah stepped around the wailing boy to the front door, locked it and flipped the sign around to read Closed.

“What about the boy?” Luc asked.

“He’s three,” Sarah said. “Too young to read.”

Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, nam-myoho-renge-kyo, nam-myoho-renge-kyo…

The people chanting in the back room must have been able to hear the boy, but were too caught up in their chanting to come check.

“Let’s move.” Leading with the gun, she stepped through the curtain and started firing. Gaetan was next in and rushed a tall Japanese man who looked to be making a martial arts move. Gaetan finished him in two swipes. Luc joined them a heartbeat later, drawing a saber with his left hand and an antique katana in his right.

“May we finish this for you?” Luc asked Sarah as he slashed a young woman, who dropped to her knees and clutched her stomach, as if trying to hold herself together. But Luc swung at her again, cutting off her head with the katana.

“Certainly.” Sarah thrust the SIG Sauer back in her waistband and watched the twins appreciatively. She counted twenty-eight people in the room—she’d taken out five right away, which left twenty-three for the twins. The ones who lived past the first few seconds were still screaming for help and mercy. One old Japanese man rocked back and forth on a rug, continuing to chant. Gaetan finished him.

The sabers and katana glistened in the light of a few dozen candles. They seemed to whistle as the twins continued to slay the people assembled. The brothers were fencers who’d competed at the 2008 Olympics in Beijing. Gaetan had narrowly missed medaling. Now they ran a small fencing school near Dr. Lawton’s warehouse. Sarah knew they favored foils, but sabers were more effective for killing, because they had a slashing edge.

“That didn’t take long,” Luc said. He looked at his watch, then knelt and wiped the blood off the blades. “In and out in less than a half hour. Honjo Masamune served me well.”

“Hopefully, I will gain my named sword soon,” Gaetan said.

“Hey, me, too,” Sarah said.

“Security camera,” Gaetan pointed out. “Got to find the feed.” He returned to the front room.

“Make sure they’re all dead,” Sarah told Luc. “No one except that little boy gets to keep breathing.” Then she followed Gaetan. He was rummaging around under the counter.

“Found it.”

“Can you erase us?”

He was fiddling with some of the controls. “Oh, hell,” he said. “I’m not familiar with this model.” He yanked at the machine and pulled it loose. “Let’s just take it with us.”

“Computer?”

Gaetan shook his head. “Primitive operation. Just a calculator, cash box and ledger. Oh, and the iPad. Looks like he was playing solitaire.” He slipped the ledger and iPad under the same arm as the security-system hardware. “Might have some links saved on it, find some other Buddhist hot spots in Rouen.”

“Finished, Luc?” Sarah fixed her gaze on the boy. He’d stopped crying. He was sitting next to his mother, patting her hand and asking if they could go home now. “We need to get out of here, guys. We’ve got more stops to make tonight. And you’ve got a chartered flight to catch before sunup.”

“It’s a shame you won’t be coming with us, Sarah.”

She shrugged. “I guess Dr. Lawton’s got other plans for me. That’s okay. But before we do anything else…my stomach’s growling and I’ve got a hankering for a foot-long. There’s a sandwich shop the next street over. A cold-cut combo would do nicely.”