Collector of Secrets (41 page)

“I’m going to get some sleep. Wake me when we arrive.”

Vincent made his way to the back of the thirty-foot cabin. The mission was now into its fourth day, exceedingly long for a Lloyd Elgin operation. Andrew McCloy would soon be growing angry and impatient. It was time to box in the quarry and end the game.

MAX CHECKED his pocket watch for what felt like the hundredth time; it was 1:07 a.m. The taxi driver had assured him that the address was correct, and for the exorbitant price charged, he hoped the guy was right. Knocking on the front door had produced no result. The house was dark and quiet. Shōwa Day had officially begun, and there was still no sign of Jeff.

He could smell the nearby ocean’s salty tang, even if it wasn’t visible. Sitting on the ground beneath the single outdoor light, he swatted at the bugs buzzing around in the muggy, semi-tropical air. His shirt was stuck to his back where it pressed against a concrete post. He watched a spider perched in an elaborate web suspended between the bungalow’s exterior wall and a twenty-foot palm tree.

A maroon sedan drew his interest as it crawled past the house. Max stood and limped to the driveway’s end. He was sure he’d seen that same car drive by thirty minutes before. Even if it was just his imagination playing tricks, he needed to stretch his stiff legs. Sitting on the stoop was causing his muscles to tighten. It was also providing too much time to conjure up a variety of horrible fates for Tomoko. In the distance, he observed the car’s taillights turn and vanish from sight.

Looking back at the house, Max watched with surprise as the opaque vertical windows on both sides of the front door suddenly grew bright. He glanced up and down the silent street. That was odd, since nobody had come in from the road. The only other way in was the beach.

He walked up to the door and banged loudly. A slurring voice from inside yelled in response. “Come in, babe. I unlocked it already.”

Turning the handle, Max stepped into a rectangular room housing both a kitchen to the left and an adjoining living room at the far end. Beyond the sofa were two plate glass windows looking over the illuminated waters of a kidney-shaped swimming pool. The butt of Jeff’s shorts protruded from an open refrigerator. He was wearing an untucked shirt and no shoes. Max felt lightheaded with hunger as he watched his friend push plastic containers around in an obvious quest for food.

The voice reverberated inside the open fridge. “I know you’re mad, baby, but every guy at the party was looking at her. She was barely wearing anything, and—” He turned and stopped in mid-sentence. His bloodshot eyes stared blankly for a moment before a wide grin spread across his surf-tanned face. “Hey, buddy!”

Despite the painful embrace, Max relished the incredible sense of relief as he felt himself locked in a bear-hug grip.

“Sorry, bro. I thought you were Rina. We had a scrap at a beach party, and she left. But she’ll calm down in a couple days.” Jeff stepped back. “So what? I move away three months and you go all
J-rock
on me with that short brown hair?” He laughed heartily. “When did you get in?”

“A couple of hours ago.”

Jeff took a couple of tottering steps before steadying himself against the counter. “Why didn’t you tell me? You could have come to the party. There were so many beautiful babes, although Tomoko might not have been too happy.” He adjusted his shell necklace and placed a hand on his curly red hair, which was pulled into a ponytail, the ends bleached white from the sun.

It was clear that explaining the past few days would be pointless until a little sobriety took hold. But indulgence was par for the course with Jeff; he was brighter than most but lived completely and absolutely in the moment. “The flight was kind of . . . sudden,” Max replied.

“Well, you’re here now. Hey, put your bag down, ’cause I need to show you something. Follow me, bro.” He turned and led the way through the living room and onto the outside patio, past the swimming pool. A waist-high gate sat in the middle of a concrete fence that ran along the property’s back. The rusting hinges squeaked on opening. Continuing down a path carved through a dense grove of trees, he descended a short, steep trail that changed to sand at the bottom.

“Where are we going?” Max called out, struggling to keep up in the darkness.

“Have faith, amigo.”

The salty breeze grew stronger as they made their way along a sandy path between patches of tall grass. Ahead, the beach glowed, illuminated by the homes running along its length. Jeff picked up the pace as they approached the water. Max raised his voice against the sound of the lapping surf. He could do without this game, whatever it was. “Where are you going?”

Jeff was laughing while dropping the shirt off his tanned back. “I hate to tell you, bro, but you stink—for real. And here’s the biggest bathtub in the world.” Hopping from foot to foot, he pulled off his clothes and raced naked into the black surge.

Max looked up and down the empty night beach. It had been days since he’d bathed.

Jeff’s disembodied voice mocked him from the dark surf. “Afraid of the ocean? Didn’t you do some scuba diving back home?”

Max noticed that his jeans were hanging loosely on his hips, making them easier to remove. Jeff continued to spout taunts at him as he charged into the tepid water. Salt water bit at the wound on his hand and stung his scrapes and cuts, but the pain passed quickly. The ebb and flow of the surging water felt almost healing.

“I’m telling you, buddy, you should quit your Tokyo job and move here. It’s a way better life.”

“I’d need to work out a few things first.” Max straightened upright and briny water washed into his mouth. He spat it out. “Hey, are there sharks around here?”

“Bro, there are sharks everywhere. You just have to relax and learn to swim with them.”

“Yeah.” Max rotated onto his back again. “I’m learning that the hard way.”

“T
hey found me in Nara. They can find me here.” The bitter recounting was sharp, but short lived, replaced by exhaustion. Max’s head pressed back onto the sofa and as he spoke, his mouth felt detached from the rest of his body. “And since there’s no map to the Philippine treasure, I need something other than just the diary to give the
Yakuza
in exchange for Tomoko. That is, if she’s still alive.” The words stabbed even as he spoke them.

“Don’t talk crazy, man. She could be back home already. You may be worrying for nothing.”

“I tried calling. There’s no answer at her place.”

“Even so, she’s smart—that girl can talk her way into or out of anything.” Jeff held out a fresh beer. “Here you go, buddy.”

“I don’t know, man―this is scary―on a whole new level.” Max instinctively reached out, then stopped with his hand in midair. The bottle swung like a tempting pendulum, promising to numb the ache in his soul.

“It’s cool and refreshing.”

Max snapped his hand into a retreating fist. It wasn’t the time to lose what little control he had left. “No, no thanks. I’ve had enough.”

“Suit yourself.” Jeff dropped back into his plush chair and pushed their recently cleaned plates and a half dozen empties to the far edge of the coffee table to make room for his feet. He was holding both diaries. “Bro, it’s unbelievable what you’ve been through—
Yakuza
car chases, murder, a rooftop duel—all for these little books.” He drank down the first beer and started on the second while slowly leafing through the pages. Noticing a protruding edge of loose paper, he pulled it free and opened it. “Is this your
Hanjie
puzzle?”

“Huh?” The reply was groggy.

Jeff extended his leg and tapped Max’s knee with his toe. “Come on. Sleep time. We’ll figure things out in the morning.”

“Okay.” Max peeled himself off the sofa. He swayed on his feet but managed to stay upright. “Even if I get rid of the
Yakuza
, what about the police? And what about Mr. Golden Lily?”

“Let it go for now.” Jeff grabbed an arm, guiding the way to the adjacent room. “Don’t worry, bro. Remember that you’re talking to the dude who likes to swim with sharks.”

Max fell forward onto the partially made bed, his mumbling lips barely moving. “Gonna remind you . . . you said that.”

O
utside, a male figure slipped from the passenger’s door of a maroon car before sinking into the shadow along the front edge of the bungalow. Hundreds of cicadas chirping in the trees masked the sounds of his movement. Approaching the outdoor porch light, he unscrewed the bulb with a gloved hand, plunging the front yard into darkness.

Crossing the inky driveway, he knelt beside the motorcycle. His fingers squeezed through the bike’s frame, attaching a stamp-sized magnetic device to the underside of the gas tank. Unless a complete overhaul was performed, the owner would never notice the ultra-small radio transmitter. The broadcast range was short, but it would have to do.

The man peered cautiously around before rising and jogging away unseen, swallowed by the night.

TOMOKO’S RUMBLING stomach woke her from a half slumber. She felt so hungry that she barely noticed the reek of rotting fish infusing the truck’s stale air. Hiro’s shoulder was pressed against hers, beneath the heavy fibers of a single blanket. Together, they were nestled against the stack of boxes.

A brief, uncontrollable shiver ran through her body. She’d initially resisted sitting so close to Hiro. Yet somehow, he seemed more pathetic now that he was also a captive. He had become sullen and withdrawn, like a wounded animal waiting to die.

The truck had been parked for hours in the cool night air, and the temperature in the cargo box had plunged. Tomoko fought it for as long as she could. Cold and exhaustion finally forced her to relent and climb beneath the blanket. A few days earlier, she would never have believed it, but now she understood how anything was possible in perilous times.

A metallic latch groaned and the truck’s back door notched open. Two plastic bottles rolled inward, before the door slammed shut again. Grabbing them, Hiro stuck one to his mouth and handed the other to Tomoko. The water felt miraculous sliding down her parched throat, even if it did taste mildly salty.

The truck rumbled to life and began to move. It was impossible to figure out where they were going, since they didn’t know exactly where they were. Several times during the long night, they’d heard the sound of ambulance sirens, but it didn’t help in determining their location. The Osaka area was home to eighteen million people. They could be almost anywhere.

“Talk to me!” Tomoko tucked the blanket back in where it had pulled out.

His voice, a muffled whisper, could barely be heard above the engine. “What?”

“I shouldn’t have been so insensitive. Changing your life―any life―is hard. I’ve read articles about
Yakuza
—but that doesn’t mean I know who you are.”

“And yet you were right.” He studied the ceiling for while. “I read stories about great adventurers, and think constantly about making another break, and still I stay in the same place.”

She shrugged. “We all have regrets.”

“I should have at least died trying.” His words hung ominously in the air.

“I’m sure you had your reasons for staying.”

The road smoothed out as the truck accelerated up a ramp. They were on a freeway again