Linnear 03 - White Ninja (70 page)

'The trouble with you, Kusunda,' Killan had said, 'is that you see me as a female. You make beautiful noises about my abilities, my mind, my ambition, but you always temper that by saying it's a pity I wasn't born a man. Do you understand how that makes me feel, how it shames me? No, of course not. How could you have any idea?

'Well, you're going to understand now, because I'm going to exact a heavy price to save your face. I want a position of authority within Nakano.'

'Once a revolutionary always a revolutionary,' Kusunda had said. 'Well, I suppose it was inevitable, but I must say you've disappointed me, Killan.' He pursed his pouty lips.

'On the other hand, I know you now. Like all revolutionaries, you long for the respectability you can by definition never have. Because once you do, you've been co-opted by the establishment, you're a part of it, the revolution's washed away on the tide of inevitable change.' He made a dismissive gesture. 'Take your position, then. Anywhere in the consumer division. Which job do you covet so much?'

Killan had smiled thinly, but the venom so long held in check had come to the surface. 'You think you know me so well, but you don't. There's more. I don't want a position in the bogus consumer division you're setting up as a front, but in the area where it's really happening: the R and D. I want a piece of what's going down with mantis. Ten per cent of profits.'

Killan thought she had seen all the blood drain from Ikusa's face. She had so desperately wanted him to ask, Where did you find out about mantis? But all he said was an address and a time. 'You bring the tape,' he said, 'and I'll have a contract for you to sign.'

It had been that simple.

'What if he doesn't show up?' the Scoundrel asked now.

'He'll show up,' Killan said, moving from one foot to another. 'What other choice does he have?'

'We should have insisted on seeing the contract before the meet,' the Scoundrel said. 'I should have handled the negotiations.'

'Are you kidding?' Killan said. 'You're invisible in this. I don't want Kusunda to know how I found out about mantis. You're my strength and my weakness, so stay back in the shadows when we see Kusunda coming. I don't want him recognizing you.'

It was now two minutes past the time Ikusa had set for the exchange of documents. A black Mercedes turned a corner, headed their way. The Scoundrel retreated to

the shadows. As it came closer, they could see that its windows were heavily tinted.

It was less than a block away. 'Here he comes,' Killan said confidently. She had stopped shifting from foot to foot.

The Mercedes, very close to them now, abruptly began to accelerate.

'Are they crazy?' the Scoundrel shouted.

The Mercedes mounted the kerb, headed directly for them.

'God in heaven!' Killan breathed, rooted to the spot.

The Scoundrel ran at her, grabbed her hard around the waist. At the same time, he jerked the bulge beneath his windbreaker. He lifted the pistol as it came free, aimed it at the windshield of the careening Mercedes.

He put tw-o shots into the glass, then they both jumped to avoid the heavy grille. iWScoundrel, his heart pounding so hard he thought he was going to have a stroke, hit his shoulder on the Mercedes' off-side fender as it shot past, then they were both up and running as hard as they could.

They heard what sounded like a crash but they did not stop, did not even turn around to see what had happened. They reached their car, which they had parked out of sight. The gears ground as the Scoundrel hurriedly started it up. They shot forwards, racing down a deserted street. The Scoundrel was still gulping air. Killan began to cry in terror and relief.

Smoke filled the house. It was so thick, so acrid that Nicholas knew immediately that the fire had been deliberately started.

'Get down!' he yelled in Justine's ear. 'Keep down!' They were on the floor of the living-room, and already the crack and spark of the flame filled the house, eating even the atmosphere. It was impossible to see clearly, and

Nicholas had to pause a moment to remember the layout of the house he had not been in for years.

There was a great deal of glass - an easy exit - but getting to it was a problem. Flames were everywhere, and they were in the centre of a huge space. But the smoke was as serious a problem: the longer they delayed, the worse it would be for them.

He glanced up. The angelfish, as if sensing the danger or merely feeling the heat, were huddled in the centre of the tank, fins rippling in agitation. Gus, the catfish, was traversing the gravel as if frantically searching for something.

Nicholas took Justine's hand. He could see the fear in her eyes, but also the trust in him. He closed his eyes, went into himself, centring. He found Getsumei no michi, that special place where he could see without his eyes, where hidden strategies were eventually made manifest to him. And saw the way out.

'Let's go!' he yelled, leading the way as they sprinted around the partition, leaping over an easy chair and through a narrow patch of flames. The sudden sickening smell of singed hair.

Six feet beyond, he knew, lay the sliding glass doors and safety. He rushed them forward, but a sudden sharp crack filled the air.

Nicholas felt the collapse of a wooden joist, eaten through by the ferocious fire. He did not need to see it coming. He jerked Justine sharply towards the kitchen, moved himself. The heavy, flaming joist crashed down, the edge of it slamming into the meaty upper part of his left arm. His skin began to burn and Justine cried out, wrapped her hands around the spot.

She screamed as an explosion resounded. She covered Nicholas with her body. Glass fragments shot at them as one of the kitchen windows cracked in the fierce heat.

The smoke was much worse now. Justine started to

cough, and Nicholas felt her falter. He scooped her up in his arms, leapt over the flaming joist. He turned sideways, crashed through the safety glass of the sliding door out to the porch.

The night exploded into ten thousand fragments, but the shards were not sharp, and they clattered off Nicholas and Justine like sleet.

On the beach, Justine bent over, retching and gasping oxygen into her lungs. Nicholas took slow, deep breaths. Prana. He had ceased to breathe in the normal manner the moment he woke up.

He stroked Justine's hair, holding her shoulders. All the hair had been burned, off his left arm, but otherwise he was unharmed.

Already he could hear-the sirens approaching. A neighbour must have called the fire department. People were rushing along the beach. They brought first-aid kits and blankets, one of which Nicholas threw over Justine's shoulders. Someone put Polysporin cream on his left arm, but other than that there was nothing to do but watch the house burn. It was wood frame, as were all the houses on the East End of Long Island, and the fire ripped through it with appalling speed.

'What happened?' someone asked. 'How'd it start?'

'I don't know,' Nicholas said. But of course he knew. He could smell the taint of Tau-tau. Senjin Omukae, the dorokusai, had been here; he had started the blaze. Why? To kill them? In such an impersonal manner? Nicholas doubted it. Then what? Nicholas re-entered Getsumei no michi. Allowed his mind to drift towards the answer. The emeralds! How Nicholas reacted after the fire would tell Senjin if Nicholas had hidden the rest of the stones in the house.

Justine, her head on his shoulder, stood beside him, shivering. He put his arms around her. 'Oh, Nick,' she said softly. 'I can't believe it. It's all gone.'

The fire trucks were arriving, the hoses snaking out, connecting up to the water lines, spraying the house from several directions at once. The firemen swarmed, already breaking a sweat. They fought valiantly. But it was useless, Nicholas saw. The fire ate voraciously at the house, seemingly oblivious to the water being poured on it. It was too well entrenched, raging out of control.

'Look out!' a fireman called, as the centre roofbeams collapsed inwards, sending great gouts of flame shooting skywards, followed by a cascade of sparks and cinders. The gathering crowd oohed and ahhed as if it were the fourth of July. 'Everyone stay clear! This is a dangerous area!'

Nicholas, looking sadly at a part of his past, repository of so many memories, knew that Justine was right. It was all gone.

Detective Albemarle opened the holding cell door, stepped back. 'You're free to go, Senator. I'm truly sorry for the inconvenience.' He shrugged. 'We've all got our jobs to do. Sometimes mine's not so wonderful. This is one of those times.'

Cotton Branding looked at him silently. He stood, slung his tuxedo jacket over his shoulders. His sleeves were rolled up, and his tie and cummerbund were stuffed in his pocket.

He walked out of the holding cell, and said, 'Will you kindly tell me what the hell's going on?'

Shisei, who had been standing in the dense shadows of the precinct corridor, moved into a pool of fluorescent light. Albemarle had taken her into the precinct through a side entrance because the front steps and surrounding street were brilliantly flood-lit with hastily erected television lights, jammed with press clamouring for news of Branding's status.

Shisei said, 'Howe's dead, Cook. He shot himself tonight.'

'What?'

Albemarle nodded in response to Branding's look, but he did not say a word.

'Apparently,' Shisei went on, 'Howe, obsessed with your growing success, decided to do something drastic about it. After a fight with David Brisling which ended in Howe killing him, Howe decided to try to implicate you in Brisling's death.'

'Good God.'

"That seems to sum it up nicely,' Albemarle said. He led the way down the corridor. 'There are just some papers for you to sign, Senator, and you can have your personal effects back.' He turned. 'If you want to call any of your friends in the media from here,' he said, 'be my guest. There's a whole bunch of them outside. I don't know how you want to handle them, but it's no sweat to get you out unseen, if you want.'

Branding nodded. 'That's very decent of you, Detective.'

They went through the formalities in the privacy of Albemarle's chaotic cubicle. 'It may not look like much,' he said, 'but it's all mine.'

'After that holding cell,' Branding said, 'it looks awfully, good to me.'

Albemarle left them for a moment to file the forms Branding had signed and to get his things.

Branding and Shisei looked at each other.

'You're all I thought about in there,' he said. 'I thought I really hated your guts.'

Shisei looked at him levelly. 'Does that mean you don't now?'

'What do you care?' Branding said, bitterly. 'You played me for the perfect fool.'

'Is that what you think?'

'Oh, please. Don't deny it. It's what I know.'

Branding noticed Albemarle standing in the doorway, and he and Shisei lapsed into an uneasy silence.

The detective looked from one to the other, concerned. 'You two having a fight?' He sat on the corner of his desk. 'It's none of my business, right?' He slit open the large manila envelope he was carrying, said to Branding, 'Make sure everything's there, OK?'

'It is,' Branding said shortly, putting away his wallet, keys, address book and other items returned to him.

'Sign this.' Albemarle nodded, as if the preliminaries were over. 'Here's what I have to say, Senator. You can take it any way you want or not at all, that's your privilege. This woman's got a lot of guts. I don't know your history, don't want to. Maybe too much water's gone under the bridge.' He shrugged. 'Anyway, you ought to know. She fought like a sonuvabitch to see you freed. She knew you didn't murder Brisling, and she was willing to put herself in my line of fire in order to help prove it.' He spun the sheet of paper Branding had signed on to his desk. 'All things being equal, that ought to count for something. At least, that's the way it seems to me.' He smiled. 'But what do I know, right?'

He got up off the desk. 'Goodnight, Senator, and good luck.' At the doorway, he turned. 'Feel free to use the office. I've got to give a status report to the Indians outside, then I'll be waiting in case you need me to spirit you out. Use the phone, if you want. Dial nine, for an outside line. Like I said, it's up to you. Handling the press is your metier.'

When they were alone, he and Shisei stared at each other for a long time. When, at length, she saw he had nothing to say, she picked up her handbag.

'Wait a minute,' Branding said. 'Don't go.'

'You said that once before,' Shisei told him, 'and look at the trouble it got you into.'

'What trouble?' Branding said.

When she did not answer him, he picked up Albemarle's phone, got an outside line. He went through his address book, calling all his media contacts either at home or at work. He got them all; a good number were outside the precinct house, linked to their offices - and Branding - by mobile phones. These people never took vacations; they were news junkies, it was all they lived for.

Forty-five minutes later, he was finished. 'Well, that's done,' he said. He called his press secretary, briefed her. 'I'll hold a full news conference tomorrow. No, not in the morning. I've given a preliminary statement - that'll have to hold them for the time being. Let's go for the jugular. Yeah, right. Prime time. Take a page from the President's book. And let's do it from SM.' Branding was referring to his coveted hideaway office in the Capitol Building. 'Take the cameras inside. We'll make it very personal. You know. The photo op will be irresistible. And priceless. We'll get massive coverage. I'm going to turn this thing right around, make all the points I can and then some. It'll hit the public like Reagan getting shot and surviving. The news of what Howe tried to do to me will make me a hero. Yeah, and Maureen? I want this Washington police detective, Albemarle -' He looked through the papers on the desk. 'Philip Albemarle.' He gave her the precinct number. 'I want him at the conference. No. Up there with me. Shoulder to shoulder. Right. You know the kind of thing. The press will eat it up, see us as brothers, kindred spirits. Right. OK, do it. See you. And Maureen? Thanks.' He put down the phone, sighed deeply. 'Long night.'