Return to Atlantis: A Novel (10 page)

Kojima relayed this to his boss, who sat back down and nodded at the solitary chair. “Please take a seat,” Kojima told her.

Nina did so. The plain wooden chair looked as ascetic
as the rest of the room, but turned out to be surprisingly comfortable. “Would you care for any refreshment before we begin?” Kojima asked. “Tea, coffee?”

“No, thank you, I’m fine,” she said. “I’d like to get down to business.”

Takashi made a small sound of amusement before Kojima could translate for him. He understood English? “Takashi-san appreciates your attitude,” the younger man told her after his boss spoke. “The Japanese obsession with protocol slows down business and wastes too much time.”

“And at my age, time is a more precious resource than money,” Takashi added. Though he had a strong accent, his English was precise. He smiled slightly. “My apologies, Dr. Wilde. Speaking through a translator is another protocol that is expected. But now that I see you have as little patience as I for such things, we can continue in a more efficient manner.”

“What would you have done if I’d asked for coffee?” Nina asked mischievously.

“Since a leisurely pace would have made you more comfortable, I would have continued speaking through my secretary. But no matter. You are here on business, so now we can discuss it.” He nodded to Kojima, who bowed and retreated to the outskirts of the room. “I imagine you have many questions.”

“I do,” she replied. “First, you said that you own one of the statues. Where did it come from?”

“Kojima-kun can provide you with a full written account of its known history, but to summarize, it came from Tibet into China during the reign of the Chenghua Emperor, in the Ming dynasty.”

Tibet: where one of the farthest—and last—outposts of the Atlantean empire had been established. That tied in with her theory that the Atlanteans had, for whatever reason, dispersed the statues as widely as they could. “Fifteenth century, I believe?”

“Yes. It remained in the possession of successive emperors
until the Japanese occupation of China before the Second World War. It was brought to Japan along with other treasures, where it passed through the hands of several private collectors before I obtained it in 2002.”

“What was your interest in it?” Nina decided to tread carefully and avoid mentioning anything about the statue’s special properties unless Takashi himself brought the subject up. The United Nations might have trusted him, but she was still going to reserve judgment for the moment.

“There is a legend about the statue, Dr. Wilde,” said Takashi. “It is supposed to contain great power, but a power that can only be used by a chosen few. The power of the earth itself.”

The intensity of his gaze suggested to Nina that he was expecting a response from her, confirmation that she knew exactly what he was talking about. She kept her expression and voice neutral. “What kind of power?”

“It has many names in different cultures. Inyodo, Feng Shui, dragon lines, ley lines, telluric currents, chi … all are the same thing. A network of lines of power generated by the earth itself, a natural source of energy. Just as blood flows through our veins, so this energy flows through the world around us. The life force of the planet, you might say. I have been fascinated by the concept ever since I was a child, and I first heard the legend of the statue over thirty years ago. When the statue came on the market, I had to have it. I had to find out if the legend was true.”

“And what did you find?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head. “I had the stone analyzed. It was unusual, apparently a meteorite, but it did not possess any special properties. At least, not that
I
could find.”

Again, Nina refused to take the bait. “So you bought it and kept it … until it was stolen.”

A grunt of annoyance. “Yes. I had a second property at the time where I kept my collection of antiquities. It was robbed, very professionally—but the robbers took
only the statue and left other items of far greater value. I believe you also encountered these thieves.”

“Yes, I did,” she said, recalling a mad chase through San Francisco to recover a stolen Atlantean artifact. “They were employed by Pramesh and Vanita Khoil.”

Takashi nodded. “I was told they used their Internet technology to intercept people’s private communications. I imagine that is how they learned about my statue. But that raises a question.”

“Why they wanted it in the first place?”

“Yes. For them to have gone to such lengths to steal it, the statue must be of greater importance than it appears to be.”

Nina had another question. “Why didn’t you report it stolen? When it was recovered from the Khoils, you could have gotten it back from Interpol. Rather than buying it on the black market.”

“You do not approve, Dr. Wilde?”

“No. It just encourages the illegal trading of antiquities—if thieves know they can get a high price for what they’ve stolen, they’ll keep on doing it.”

“On this occasion, I had no choice. There were other interested parties, and I could not let the statue—the statues, all three—fall into their possession.”

“Which other interested parties?”

“That is no longer important. What matters is that I now have them.” Takashi stood. “In answer to your question,” he told her as he slowly walked around the table, “I did not report the theft of my statue because even though I have rightful ownership, there are those who want it taken from me and returned to China. For the sake of diplomacy—and their own political ambitions. If the statue had been brought to me through Interpol, they would have interfered, or even attempted to seize it.” He gestured to Kojima, who went to another set of doors and opened them. Takashi started for the exit. “Please come with me, Dr. Wilde. I am sure you are keen to see the statues for yourself.”

Unable to deny that, she followed him. Near the door, set against the outer wall, was a wood-and-glass booth that she had assumed was some sort of display cabinet. Closer up, she saw that it contained an orange sphere around five feet tall. Takashi noticed her curiosity. “My escape pod.”

Nina couldn’t believe her ears. “Your
what
?”

“In case of a major earthquake.” Seeing her still incredulous expression, he went on: “You do not have escape systems in American skyscrapers?”

“No—or if we do at the UN, nobody’s ever let me in on the secret.”

Now it was his turn to look disbelieving. “I hope it is never needed,” he said as they left the office.

To Nina’s surprise, the next room contained a beautiful rock garden, shrubs and miniature trees carefully arranged among large rounded stones, all surrounded by gravel precisely raked into wave-like patterns. She wanted to stop for a moment to admire it, but before she could even offer any praise Takashi had moved on to the next set of doors. They went down another hallway, passing more rooms of the penthouse. Outside, a tall white mast rose from a tier a few stories below: the tower of one of the wind turbines she had seen from the limo. Light from the setting sun flickered off the rapidly turning blades above. “That’s something else I’ve never seen on an American skyscraper,” said Nina, looking up at the structure.

“They generate up to ten percent of the building’s energy needs,” said Takashi with pride. “I would like more, but I must battle with the city planners over such things.” He stopped, turning to face her. “This is why I am so interested in the earth’s natural energy. Renewable sources like wind and wave power are a beginning, but the world’s energy demands are growing faster than they can be met. We need more, and it must be nonpolluting, or we shall all choke. If earth energy can be harnessed, it could be the key to the future of humanity.”

“It could be dangerous, though.”

“All energy sources are dangerous, if used wrongly. That is why they must be kept in the right hands.”

The obvious question was somewhat rude, but had to be asked. “Yours?”

“Not mine alone. But those who are seeking global stability and security.” He set off again. “This way.”

He led them into a large, softly lit gallery, the walls of which were home to numerous paintings and woodcuts. Nina didn’t recognize any, but from their style and condition took them to be the work of Japanese artists dating back at least two centuries, some of them clearly much older. At the room’s far side was another set of double doors. Takashi signaled to Kojima, and the secretary pushed a button on the wall. The doors were paneled in dark oak, but the hum of powerful machinery as they slowly swung open suggested that there were heavier and more secure materials behind the façades.

“My strongroom,” said Takashi. “After the statue was stolen from me, I had the rest of my collection made as secure as possible. It is why I live here now, at the top of my own skyscraper. No intruder can reach this place without being caught. My guards see to that.”

Nina was dubious. “What, the two guys all the way downstairs?”

A knowing smile. “They are not my only guards. But come, come.” He beckoned her through the doorway. Lights came on as they entered.

Her eyes went wide at the sight within. The industrialist had an incredible collection of antiquities. Most were Japanese, which was not her area of expertise, but she recognized other items as being from China, India, Tibet, and more. Scrolls bearing gorgeous calligraphy; exquisite carved statues of ivory and jade; a full set of ornate samurai armor; jewelry in gold and silver, precious stones glinting from the settings. The value of the room’s contents was easily tens of millions of dollars, perhaps even hundreds.

Kojima’s phone trilled. He spoke briefly to the caller, then bowed to Takashi and Nina. “My apologies, but there is a matter I must see to. I will be back soon.”

Takashi nodded, then continued into the room as his secretary departed. He paused as he reached one item. “Do you recognize this, Dr. Wilde?”

Nina examined it: a sword, the white blade long and notched in places with the scars of battle. “I’m afraid not. What is it?”

He looked disappointed, apparently expecting her to be more impressed. “This is Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi, the sacred sword of the great warrior Yamato Takeru. It is one of the three Imperial Regalia of Japan.”

The sword’s name dredged up a vague memory from her childhood, when her parents had taught her the legends of other countries. “Kusanagi … that’s the Japanese equivalent of Excalibur, isn’t it? I thought it was kept in a temple.”

“The Atsuta Shrine in Nagoya, yes. That is what the priests there claim. It is good for business.” A brief, grunting laugh. “But I have owned it for more than thirty years.”

“If it’s part of the Imperial Regalia, doesn’t it really belong to the emperor?”

Takashi struggled to conceal his irritation. “A few politicians have suggested that. But they are now
former
politicians.” He moved on, keen to change the subject. “Here, Dr. Wilde,” he said, standing before one particular display case. “Here is what you have come to see.”

Nina gazed at the objects within. They seemed unremarkable: crude figures, primitive carvings made from an unusual purple stone. One had been bisected vertically, the left and right halves put back together and held in place by thin elastic bands. Compared with the treasures around them, they appeared all but worthless.

She knew that was far from the case, however. They were conductors of earth energy, which in certain hands—her hands—produced extraordinary effects. When separated,
each statue glowed, brighter bands of light pointing in the direction of its two companions. When all three were brought together …

That
was the main reason she had come to Japan. To find out. She had never had the chance to complete the set before they were stolen by Stikes.

Now, that chance had come.

D
ressed in a cheap suit from Hong Kong, Eddie entered the Takashi building.

Scarber had provided the information he sought. Stikes was in the building right now, meeting the company’s boss on the fiftieth floor. The first obstacle he would have to overcome was getting up there. The penthouse—apparently the guy lived right above his headquarters, which Eddie supposed was one way to cut down on commuting—was only serviced by a single elevator, which was permanently guarded. He could see two uniformed men standing at a set of doors away from the other elevators, and guessed they were backed up by electronic surveillance.

But that wasn’t the elevator he would be taking. Scarber had also given him the name of a contact within the company who could get him up to the thirtieth floor. That left another twenty, but one step at a time …

Feigning casualness, he strolled to the reception desk. “Hi, I’m here to see—whoa!” He flinched as he realized he was talking to some sort of mechanical mannequin rather than a young woman, and looked around to see
if he was being secretly filmed for some elaborate practical joke. “What’s this, Realdoll HQ?”

The robot’s response was to bow its head, then say, “My apologies, sir. I did not know you spoke English. May I take your name, please?”

“Ed—er, Barney Phelps,” he stuttered, thrown by the disconcerting encounter.

“I’m sorry, I did not hear you correctly,” said the robot apologetically. “Could you repeat that, please?”

“Barney Phelps,” he said again. “Look, no offense, but I’d rather talk to a real person. Wait,” he added, “why am I apologizing to a fembot?”

A lifeless smile spread across the robot’s face. “Thank you, you are expected. Mr. Jiro is waiting for you. If you will please take your visitor’s pass and wear it at all times while you are in the building?” The machine indicated a slot in the desktop. Eddie hesitantly took the pass that slid out and attached it to his lapel. “Please go to elevator number twelve and exit on the thirtieth floor. Have a nice day.”

“I might, if this wasn’t fucking Westworld,” Eddie muttered as he headed for the elevators. “Okay, number twelve …”

He was the only person waiting; at this time of day, Takashi employees were just starting to leave for the evening. Once the elevator had disgorged its occupants, he entered and rose up through the building alone. The doors opened, and he stepped out into a small lobby area. Another of the unsettling robot receptionists was waiting at a little desk, but to his relief an actual human being came to meet him before it could speak. “Mr.… Phelps?” said the thin-haired Japanese man. Despite the air-conditioned cool, sweat was beading on his forehead.