Collector of Secrets (47 page)

“The second diary said that Nixon returned billions—called the M-Fund—back to Japan in exchange for funneling back corporate donations to help get him elected.”

“Are you serious? Damn! No wonder people are hunting for that book.”

“And believe me, from what I read, it’s just the tip of the illegal iceberg.” Max rubbed his ankle. “So what about all the crates and containers?”

“The prince couldn’t do anything about all the wealth stolen during the war.” Jeff paused, visually checking the guard before continuing. “He seemed remorseful about his role in hiding some of the loot in the Philippines, but he also stated that wealth can be rebuilt, while history can’t. He hired people to help him trace statues, paintings, scrolls, porcelain—basically anything he could find, and he brought everything he could get his hands on back here. The plan was to return it to each country, as a gesture of forgiveness, when the full extent of Golden Lily was revealed to the world.”

“So why didn’t he do it before he died?”

“No idea. All he said was that he didn’t think the time was right to tell the world. That it would be the responsibility of future generations to figure out when that time would be.” Jeff stretched slowly onto his back on the heated floor. “The videotape was dated 1989. Since Emperor Hirohito was still alive at the time, maybe the prince was afraid of the impact on the royal family. He could have wanted to wait until the next emperor was crowned. You know . . . let more time go by.”

“But Prince Takeda lived until 1992.”

“He looked pretty frail on the tape.” Jeff shrugged. “Maybe he was too sick. I don’t know, bro.”

“Still, it’s just not fair that the emperor should get away with so much theft, not to mention starting the war in the first place.” Max switched from rubbing his ankle to massaging his ribs. “
He
should have been held responsible, don’t you think?”

Jeff propped himself up on his elbows. “Yeah, you’re right, and I’m not defending his actions—but let me ask you this, Maxie—do you know what was in his head at the time Japan entered the war? Was it conquest, or was it fear of his generals and the giant corporate heads? Maybe if he hadn’t agreed to go to war, they would have just killed him and done it anyway. What if the emperor’s decision was based on concern for his family? Even if the safety of his family meant the death of thousands or millions of innocent people, isn’t that what most people try to do—protect their loved ones?”

“Sure,” Max’s voice rose to an irritated hiss, “but I’m not talking about intention. I’m talking about taking responsibility for the results.”

“I understand, and it’s an extreme case, but my point is people make choices they regret later, and often it’s impossible to see the outcome in advance—good or bad—we weigh the pros and cons and take our best shot. Would you have gone to Mr. Murayama’s office if you knew all this would happen?”

“No, of course not.” Max’s voice trailed off as he pondered the insight, recalling the last night at Toshi’s, wondering if Tomoko regretted choosing to leave or harbored any guilt over her decision to hold onto his passport.

“I didn’t think so,” Jeff replied. “So, let’s just find a way to get out of this and get your girl back safe.” He held out a straight arm with a fist on the end, and Max bumped it lightly with his own fisted knuckles. “We can debate the rest later, over beers.”

“Agreed.”

A
nother thirty minutes ticked slowly past before the round handle on the steel door spun open. The dozing copilot leaped to attention, training the headlamp and the gun on his hostages.

Entering from the antechamber, Toshi motioned for the man to put the gun away. He walked to the center of the room and sat down on the Haiku
lettering embedded in the center of the floor. Clearing his throat, he said, “I’m sure that you are angry so please listen before judging.”

Traitor!
Max’s chest felt tight. He wanted to lash out at Toshi’s duplicity, but chose instead to wait for the justification, skeptical that any reason could possibly explain the messed-up situation.

“I come from royalty.”

“Of course.” Max’s shook his head, recalling the first meeting on the train when Toshi had handed him the business card. “Your ring is the royal symbol—I should have known.”

Toshi nodded. “My parents rarely spoke of it, but my mother was very proud of her heritage. Since they were murdered, my actions have tried to honor them. It’s why I became a priest—for my mother.” He appeared to be struggling to find the right words before he continued. “Can you imagine my shock when you came to my door with Prince Takeda’s diary? I needed to find out if the things it said were true or not. Then when you were sleeping on the airplane, I looked at the second diary. The things in both books could do great harm to the royal family . . . my blood. I thought that if the stories were lies, or could not be proved, then it was my duty to destroy the diaries.” Toshi glanced back toward the steel door. “But there is so much evidence in there. My parents would want me to serve truth, not bloodlines.”

Max struggled to absorb the words he had just heard. Could they really be true? He remembered his relief at finding a safe haven after the robbery, and the elation of escape as Toshi’s jet carried them into the sky.
He arranged for me to see Mr. M one last time.
“So why didn’t you just talk to me. Why not tell me?”

“After you came to my house, I consulted with the
kami
spirits. Their guidance told me to help you when I was asked, but not to interfere. The answers would come when the time was right.”

Jeff climbed to his feet. “Wow! Spiritualism with a bullet. I feel so much better.” He motioned to the ramp. “So, are we still hostages or can we leave?”

“You are free to go. Please accept my humble apology.”

As Toshi began to rise, Max reached out and grabbed his forearm. “Wait.”

The gun snapped up and took deadly aim.

“Put that away!” Toshi shouted, forcing the copilot to slink backward.

“Thanks.” Max started breathing again, his anger melting away. “I think your parents would be proud of your decision.”

Toshi responded by helping Max to his feet.

“So that’s it?” Jeff snorted. “You hold us here, this guy points a gun at me, and now all is forgiven—we’re all best buds?”

Max gripped Jeff’s shoulder. “He can help us get Tomoko back.”

Toshi nodded. “Especially since Oto Kodama is on the island.”

“What?”
The room echoed as the two friends shouted together.

Toshi continued. “His jet landed here before noon today. Another pilot, a friend of mine who works at the airport called to inform me—and I found the hotel Oto is staying at.”

Max tried to stay calm, but the strain in his voice betrayed him. “Was Tomoko with him?”

“My friend saw a woman matching her description being escorted from the plane to a car.”

“She’s alive!” Max shouted, shaking two clenched fists in the air before pressing them against his forehead and exhaling hard.

“So how do we get her back?” Jeff interjected.

Max paced around the semi-dark chamber. “After talking to Ben, I think Oto believes there’s an actual treasure map in the diary that points to Golden Lily burial sites. That’s why he wants it.” He motioned to the steel door. “When we found this place, I thought it might have a map that I could barter with, but even if there is one, we couldn’t find it.”

Toshi took his time before responding. “But why do you need a real map?”

A brief silence ensued before Jeff spoke. “That’s brilliant, dude! Why didn’t we think of that?”

“Because Tomoko’s life is at stake.” Max paused. “Because I want her back in one piece.”

Jeff slapped the back of one hand into the open palm of the other. “But Oto won’t know what a real map looks like. So we give him a bogus one, get her back, then make a run for it.”

Max paused to think. “It would need to be an incredible fake.”

“Remember all the posters in my living room in Tokyo?” Toshi suggested slyly.

The air hung silent while the statement settled.

Max drew a sharp breath when the realization finally dawned. “You have company artists—people working for you who make those posters?”

“Yes.”

“Could they make a map convincing enough to fool the
Yakuza
?”

An impish smile crept across Toshi’s face. “It would fool Prince Takeda himself.”

T
he four exited under a deep blue evening sky. The sun was a slender, vanishing glow on the horizon.

“How soon can you get working on the fake map?” Max asked, aware of the danger of time pressing in.

“Possibly tonight, but tomorrow morning at the latest. My people should have it ready in twenty-four hours.”

“I just hope that’s fast enough.”

Jeff’s phone, which had received no signal inside the hill, trilled loudly, indicating that a text message had been received. He rested against the crumbling wall and scrolled through the menu. Within seconds, he sprang back to his feet. “Uh—bro—there’s someone wanting to meet you ASAP.”

Max stopped talking and turned around. “Who?”

“According to the text I just received, it’s Lloyd Elgin.”

THE TAXI screeched to a halt next to a red single-story building. Vincent tossed money to the driver and climbed from the back without a word. Looking around, he took in the lay of the land. Heavily treed grounds encircled the five-hundred-year-old fortifications of Shuri Castle. Curving outer walls surrounded the higher inner walls, which served to guard and protect the numerous rebuilt structures inside the hilltop expanse.

It was almost 10 a.m. Buses had been arriving for the last hour. The Shurijo Park visitors’ lobby was swarming with tourists, and Vincent figured that was exactly what Max wanted when he’d insisted on the meeting place. It was a naïve and sometimes deadly mistake of amateurs to convince themselves that nothing bad could happen in a public forum. And, yet, he couldn’t help but be mildly impressed with Max. The kid had made it this far, after all.

Vincent serpentined through the slow-moving crowd blanketing the park’s main causeway. The path ran beneath numerous arching gates on its way to the hilltop. The hike would take about five minutes. Within the first dozen yards, he noticed he’d picked up a tail. A curly-haired Caucasian man with sunglasses was standing near a tree, keeping an eye on the entrance. He was trying to remain undetected by keeping his distance, but his tie-dyed shirt was a dead giveaway. A best guess placed him as Jeff Moreau.

Arriving at the hilltop, Vincent bought a ticket for entry to the castle’s main courtyard. In the open plaza, an audience was gathering beneath a tent to watch a group of
Ryukyu
performers dressed in traditional costumes. Drums beat as dancers swayed in time. The tie-dyed shirt hovered nearby on the crowd’s edge.

Ignoring the activity, Vincent climbed a short staircase and entered directly into the expansive brown-and-white tiled Una plaza. Blood-red pagoda-style buildings surrounded him on all four sides. The most elaborate structure was that of the Seiden, straight ahead. The double-roofed, two-story wooden building was sheathed in red clay roof tiles and fronted with a colorful four-columned marquee.

He could see no blond hair in the plaza, but the agreement had been to meet inside the Seiden, near the throne. The entrance to the surrounding buildings was up the stairs to the right.

Removing his shoes, Vincent entered the hushed building. He placed his footwear in a plastic bag provided by an elderly woman. Looking ahead, a half dozen people were turning left at the far end of the otherwise empty corridor. Vincent glanced sideways, out the sliding glass entrance, in time to see Jeff and his shirt-of-many-colors entering the plaza in hot pursuit.
Amateurs.

Moving swiftly down the hundred-foot corridor, he could see there was construction occurring at the far end. Outside light glowed through milky plastic sheets hanging from the rafters, where the far wall of the corner should have been. As he turned left, a voice spoke from behind him.

“Lloyd Elgin?”

Vincent stopped, but only his head and shoulders pivoted round. “Yes.” He could see a young man with brown hair just out of sight, at the turn in the corridor. He was standing in front of the plastic sheet. “Max Travers, I presume?”