Stones (Data) (4 page)

Matt never lies to his dad, but he needs to buy a little sympathy. He takes a deep inhale. “Smells delicious. Your cooking skills never cease to amaze, Dad.” He takes another audible whiff of garlic. “A few boulders were sticking through on Powder Puff. I did a Super G run and just shaved one a little close. No big deal.”

“And, it turns out, no helmet either, right?” Kent raises an eyebrow, scanning Matt from head to foot.

Matt knows from experience that his dad won’t miss anything. He never does. “See?” Matt points at his head. “Just a little scratch.”

Getting to his feet, Kent comes closer and gazes carefully into his son’s face, eyebrows furrowed, blue eyes behind round reading glasses, the kind that nobody wears anymore.

Matt hates it when his dad stares at him like this. It makes him feel like he’s ten years old again. Through dark bangs, he does his best to put a bland look on his face. But his dad’s blues eyes are reading him like a book.

“Let’s see,” Kent says. “Fresh blood on the chin from the edge of a ski. Looks like you bumped the maximum speed up. A jagged gash on the forehead. Must be from the boulder. An assortment of other scratches, marks and abrasions. There was a rough tumble after impact.” Kent reaches out and pinches Matt’s shoulder, and Matt winces from pain. “A bad bruise there.” A few seconds of silence pass, and Kent looks up. “Did I miss anything?”

“Right on the money.”

Kent shakes his head and ruffles his son’s hair. “I guess you’ll live. Somehow, you always do.” Putting the palms of his hands together, he looks to the ceiling with feigned piety. “Thank the Good Lord.”

“No, Dad.” Matt grins and drops down in his spot at the table. “Thank my Dynastar AI799s and superhuman reflexes. That’s what saved me. It’s always worth it to have the best equipment.”

Kent walks to the stove, picks up a skillet, brings it back to the table and puts it down between them, pausing long enough to look squarely at Matt. One eyebrow lifts for dramatic effect. Without a word, he pulls off the lid.

A white cloud of steam jumps up, carrying with it all the smells and culinary delights of millennia of Asian cooking.

Matt’s eyes widen. “Just what I need.” He stares down at the sizzling gyoza. “You load me up on garlic just before I pick up Jess. Are you trying to drive her away?” His eyes narrow with suspicion, and then he laughs, taking another long look at the steaming gyoza.

“It took all afternoon to make these.” A distant smile floats across Kent’s face. He sits down and turns to gaze out the window at the mountains, elbows on the table, chin propped up on one hand. “Besides, she won’t let you kiss her anyway.”

“You got me there, Dad. I guess I’ll risk the garlic.” Matt grabs his chopsticks and loads his plate with the dumplings in a matter of seconds. “I think Jess will understand.”

Kent seems lost in thought, still staring out the window.

Matt surveys the table like someone ticking off items on a checklist. “Let’s see, gyoza… check… sticky rice… check… miso soup… check… pickled radish… check.” He pauses, as if searching for one last item. “OK, there it is. Ketchup… check.” Stabbing one of the dumplings with a chopstick, he plunges it into the ketchup and holds it up for inspection. “Like everything else in my life, a seamless blend of Japanese and American culture.”

When he inserts the gyoza into his mouth, it slowly melts into delicious oblivion. Utter contentment spreads across his face.

Through it all, Kent is still staring out the window.

Matt follows his dad’s gaze. The upper reaches of the mountains are veined with white snow. He thinks about blazing down Powder Puff, dodging boulders, and the future stories he will tell of the
Great Crash
. He thinks about seeing Jessica in less than an hour, about getting on the transport tomorrow for the flight to Tokyo, about the bliss of being on his own, half a world away from his dad, for the first time in his life.

Looking down, Matt sees ripples in the miso soup. He realizes his right heel is bouncing up and down again, causing the whole table to shake. The Japanese have a funny word for this.
Binbou yusuri
, the
poor-man shakes
. Rich people are thought to be in control of their mind and body, unlike the lower classes. It’s a nervous habit that manifests itself whenever he’s on the cusp of a new adventure. With conscious effort, he presses his foot down and makes his leg stand still.

His dad is still silent. Matt knows who and what he’s thinking about.

“Hey Dad, remember how angry Mom used to get when I dipped her gyoza in ketchup instead of that special Japanese sauce?” He looks across the table at his dad, trying to pull him into the conversation.

Kent remains silent, but a smile creeps across his face. Finally, he turns from the window. His eyes go from Matt down to the gyoza on the plate. “It’s been twelve years.” Selecting one, he dips it in ketchup and stuffs it into his mouth. The smile leaves his face, and he seems to be looking at Matt without seeing him, eating without tasting.

“Mom would be proud of you, Dad. A few more years of practice and your cooking
might
be almost as good as hers.” Matt reaches across the table and playfully punches his dad on the shoulder. “Keep it up. I expect you to be even better when I get back.”

Kent smiles again and picks up a yellow pickled radish with the tip of his chopsticks. He chews mechanically and then stops. “It’s hard to let you go, son.” His eyes glisten. “You’re the only part of Yoshiko that’s left.”

“Now don’t get all mushy on me, Dad.” Matt slurps miso soup through a mouthful of rice. Nothing tastes better in the world. The bouncing in his leg starts up again, and he doesn’t try to stop it. “Let me be honest. I can’t wait to get to Hokkaido University. They say Professor Yamamoto is the leading authority on Japanese folk legends.” He swallows the rice. “He’s never had an American research assistant before. He said he looks forward to working with me, and he’s already got some research lined up for me to get started on. He’s even going to put my name on any papers he publishes with my assistance. It should be a great summer.”

“The professor is a good man. He helped us back when we escaped from New York and got to Japan after we lost…” Kent drops his head and stops talking. He can’t seem to get out the final word. Then he swallows and begins again. “After we lost Mom.”

Matt stops chewing. “I don’t really remember much about that.”

“Professor Yamamoto didn’t have to help us. We were refugees with no place to hide and enemies everywhere. It would have been easy for him to just turn us away. But he didn’t.” Kent starts to eat and talks between bites. The food seems to wake him up and give him new energy.

Matt’s cheeks are packed with rice and gyoza. “It’s all just a blur. I was only ten.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any point in trying to change your mind.” Kent stirs his miso soup and takes a long sip out of the cup. “There are plenty of good graduate programs in Asian history right here in Colorado.” His voice sounds hopeful.

“Not a chance, Dad.” Matt shakes his head. “We’ve been over this a million times. I’m twenty-two years old. Never lived away from home. The longest I’ve ever been gone was a week, and that was scout camp. It’s time for me to grow up and get out of here.” He stops chewing and lets out a long sigh. “It’s time for
you
to let me go.”

Matt can feel it starting again. The same old arguments with his dad. He knows there’s no way to stop it.

“That’s just the point, son. You don’t understand what’s out there. I’ve had to protect you from it, ever since…” Kent’s voice falters again. “Ever since they took your mother from me. From us.”

Laying down his chopsticks, Matt shakes his head. “But Dad, that was twelve years ago. Even if it wasn’t just an accident, how do you know they’re still looking for you? They’ve probably just forgotten about the whole thing by now.”

“That’s not the way it works.” Kent puts down the miso soup. “They’re still looking for me. And you. They’ll never stop. There’s too much at stake.”

Matt knows he won’t win an argument with his lawyer-dad, but he isn’t going to give up that easy. “I found that surveillance-cam you stuck on the rearview mirror of the truck.” He grabs a pickled radish with his fingers. “You’ve taught me well. I’m ready for this.”

“You don’t understand.” Kent shakes his head. “I’ve never told you the whole story.”

“Then tell me now.” Matt plays with the radish in his teeth. “I’m not a kid anymore. It’s time I heard it. All of it.”

“Are you sure you want to know?” Kent looks at him through the round glasses, making his eyes look huge.

“Positive, Dad. I want to know. I
need
to know.”

K
ent inhales and lets out a long exhale, dropping his eyes down to the table. “I suppose I’ve put it off long enough.” He leans back in his chair, folds his arms and looks up at the ceiling. “I was still working at Myers & Sullivan in New York. I went there right after my clerkship for Justice Hammond. You were one year old, running our life, and we loved every minute of it. Life was good and looking to get a lot better.”

Reaching for his jax, Matt plays it under the table in his left hand without taking his eyes off his dad, looking for the Myers & Sullivan Mesh-point. He stabs another gyoza with the chopsticks in his right hand.

“You remember the little white house we bought in Hawthorne up in Westchester County? The school just a block away? I’d leave for work before daylight so I could get home in time for dinner with you and Mom.” Kent smiles and shakes his head. “She was such an incredible cook—and not just gyoza. Every meal was a work of art. Her way of expressing love.” He brings the miso soup up to his lips and takes a long sip.

Matt pops a dumpling in his mouth.

“Before I knew it, nine years had flown by. Things were going well. I had just been made a partner at the firm. You were the star sweeper on your soccer team. We had a golden retriever. What was his name?”

“Champ,” Matt says.

“Right. I loved that dog.” Kent takes a mouthful of sticky rice and chases it down with miso. “I’d take the whole month of August off every year, and we’d go to Japan to visit Mom’s family. It was a good life.”

Matt remembers his dog Champ, playing fetch with him in the little park across the street, the wet licks. He remembers running home from school to a house filled with the smell of fresh baked bread and apple pie. His Japanese mom could cook American food better than anyone else in the neighborhood.

Looking down at his jax, Matt finds the Mesh-point and reads in his best deadpan voice. “For over 90 years, Myers & Sullivan has been an elite law firm for the most sophisticated international corporate transactions. William Myers and James Sullivan met while in the U.S. Army in the Gulf War and attended the Columbia University School of Law together after the war on the G.I. Bill. After a few years of practice, they started their own firm in Midtown Manhattan.”

Matt’s dad laughs and pushes another gyoza into his mouth.

“M&S was the most prestigious law firm in New York City when I went there. Still is. They had a standing offer for the top-two Columbia Law School students of every class. That’s how I got my job.”

A pickled radish goes into Matt’s mouth to chase down another dumpling. So far, he’s heard all this a hundred times before. “I can see it now. You had a plaque in your office.
Kent Tiberius Newmark. Certified Genius.
Come on, Dad tell me something I don’t know.”

Pausing to enjoy a mouthful of rice, Kent continues with his story. “So here I am, a newly minted partner with a bright future in the top law firm in America. I’m one of the rising stars in the high-octane world of corporate mergers and acquisitions. A new deal comes in from one of our most important clients. The firm gives it to me and tells me to run with it.”

“Cool,” Matt says. “You must have been quite a hot-shot.”

Kent puts down his chopsticks and drums his fingers on the table. “I really shouldn’t tell you this.” He shakes his head. “It’s better if you don’t know.”

“Dad, it’s too late to stop now. I’m old enough to hear what happened to Mom.”

Taking another deep breath, Kent closes his eyes. “As you wish.” His eyes float open. “So our client was a mega-corporation selling one of its subsidiaries to an investment fund backed by Chinese money.”

“Wait, Dad. What was the mega-corp’s name?” Matt holds his jax in his left hand and grabs another pickle with the chopsticks, popping it into his mouth. “Anyone I’d recognize?”

“You don’t need to know. Better if you don’t.” His dad takes in a mouthful of rice and a sip of miso soup. “Anyway, it turns out the client is selling a subsidiary that operates a huge open-pit mining operation in Northern India near a place called Devprayag. Ever heard of it? Two great rivers come together there to form the Ganges.”

Matt grabs the last gyoza, looks at it and licks his lips with relish. “What were they mining?”

“Uranium. A massive deposit was discovered a few years before, and the Indian government jumped on a new source for its expanded nuclear program. The client developed the project and operated it at huge profit for several years, and then suddenly decided to sell it.”