Stones: Experiment (Stones #3) (4 page)

“No doubt the generous donations to his offshore investment accounts helped in the effort. And the miraculous manner in which his grandson was made the ceremonial head priest of the shrine. Clever.”

Choking on his tea, Miyazawa goes into a coughing fit, spraying a fine mist across the table. “I can explain—”

Ryzaard raises his hand. “No need to explain anything. You are doing it exactly right. In fact, I want you to do more of the same, but on a much more aggressive scale.”

“More aggressive?” Miyazawa’s eyebrows rise above his dark eyes. “We’ve been dedicating almost 300 locations a day. Five new factories are turning out pre-fabricated shrines and torii gates night and day. We’ve set up a financial subsidiary to manage the flow of funds. How much more aggressive can we get?”

“Mr. Miyazawa.” Ryzaard pulls himself closer to the table. His voice drops to a whisper. “You underestimate the strength of your position. And mine.” Pushing away, Ryzaard stands up. “Let’s go for a walk. The fresh air will clear your mind.”

“But—”

“I have a proposal to make. You will find it most interesting and well worth your time to consider.”

J
ust before he makes the jump, nausea surges in Matt’s belly.

I must be crazy.

Heart beating wildly, Matt peels back his eyelids as the white flash dies, Stone in hand, ready to lunge in any direction.

Ready for an onslaught of blue lightning. A burst from a pulse rifle. Someone trying to kill him.

But the room is dark, empty, deserted. He faces the great wooden desk.

It stands next to the window like the hulk of a wrecked battleship, with papers, books, an antique-looking statue, slates and more than one jax strewn on its surface. A red sofa hugs the wall to his right. Chinese calligraphy hangs above it. To the left is an old grandfather clock standing like a silent tombstone. Everything is just as he remembers it.

Ryzaard’s office.

It’s crazy to come here. If Jessica knew, Matt knows what she would say.

How can you be so reckless?

Blame it on the dreams. For the past week, he’s seen the same scene over and over, like a repeating loop on a holo ad in the Tokyo subway. One of the many dreams he hasn’t told Jessica about.

Moving as quietly as he can, he walks to the back of Ryzaard’s desk. The statue catches his eye, a little man standing erect, wearing armor, one hand on a hip, the other hand holding the remnants of a spear, staring back at the chair where Ryzaard sits. Without thinking, Matt reaches out to pick it up. It’s comfortable in his hand. As he brings it closer to his eye, he sees the well-worn surface of the abdomen and legs. But the eyes are still etched in high relief. The eyes of a king, an emperor. A god.

And then Matt realizes what he’s looking at.

Zeus.

It makes sense. Ryzaard fancies himself as a modern-day conqueror of the world. Strong enough to take down even the mighty Chinese.

Matt drops the statue with disgust. It thuds to the desk and rolls to the side.

Recalling images from his dreams, he remembers seeing Ryzaard move around the desk, searching for something. Matt opens the drawer in the middle, reaches into the far left corner and gropes for the key.

And finds it. Exactly as in the dream.

Retrieving the key, he moves to a drawer on the far right, inserts the key, and opens the lock. The drawer slides out easily, and another key lies in the middle. He replaces the first key back to its spot and bends below the desk, dropping his hands to the smooth wood floor, searching for a slight indentation.

His fingers drop half a centimeter, and he senses the cool surface of metal. Finding the tiny hole, he inserts the second key, twists and pulls. A lid moves up on squeaky hinges.

Matt reaches inside.

The sound of approaching feet comes from the hallway on the other side of the closed door.

Panic sweeps through his chest, freezing his movements.

Still gripping the Stone in his left hand, he thinks of jumping away.

No.

Ignoring the sound, he plunges his right hand into the hole and gropes for the object he saw in his dreams. A cube.

Fingertips brush against a smooth surface, cold to the touch, and pull back.

Footsteps, crisp and clean, are now just a few meters from the door.

Hand sliding along the cold surface, he wraps his fingers on the cube, pulls it out, flips the metal lid back down and turns the key. In an instant, the key is back in its spot in the drawer.

Everything is back to where it was. Ryzaard will have no idea Matt was in his office.

Matt stands up, gripping the cube. His eyes drop to the small green jewel floating inside.

The footsteps outside the door go silent. Matt knows he should jump away, but can’t. Overcome with curiosity and adrenaline, he waits for the door to open.

The locking mechanism turns.

Matt is as still as the statue on Ryzaard’s desk. His mind is screaming at him to jump away, but his body refuses to move. All he needs is a glimpse.

The door cracks open, slowly, carefully. Delicate fingers appear. Then a blonde head. A body clothed in black glove leather pants and top. A woman, something familiar about her.

Her eyes look up, meeting Matt’s. For an instant, she freezes, then steps into the room, closing the door behind her. She folds her arms, shaking her head.

“If Ryzaard knew you were going through his things, Matt Newmark,” she says, a cautious smile on her face. “I’m sure he’d have a lot to say. Find anything of interest? Would you like to talk to him? Shall I call him now?” She pulls a slim cylinder of chrome and glass out of her pocket, fingers poised to tap its side.

“Wait.” Matt’s eyes scan the room, searching for a trap, anything that might present danger. “I remember you. Alexa, isn’t it?”

“Good guess,” Alexa says.

Matt brings his Stone up like a pistol. “Drop the jax.”

“Certainly.” Alexa leans back against the door, visibly relaxing her arms and crossing her legs. Opening her hand, the jax slips from her fingers, clatters to the floor and rolls away. “I’m all ears.”

“Where is he?”

“Ryzaard? He had business that took him away. I’m sure you don’t expect me to tell you
where
.”

“How many Stones does he have?”

Alexa smiles. “More than you.” Her eyes drop to the single Stone in Matt’s left hand. “And soon, very soon, he’ll have all the rest, if you know what I mean. I’m surprised you haven’t tried to stop him. Or at least go after the other Stones.”

The jax on the floor lights up neon green. Alexa nudges it with her foot.

The head of a young man with dark hair pops above it. “Alexa, I’m getting a strange energy reading from Ryzaard’s office. Almost as if—”

“Ignore it,” Alexa says. “I’m in his office now, doing some tidying up while he’s gone.” Her eyes go up to Matt. “There’s nothing here. Must be a malfunction with your equipment.”

“Got it,” the man says. “I’ll reset the parameters. Let me know if you see anything strange.”

“Will do.” Alexa lets a half-grin hang on her face.

The jax goes dark.

“You’ve been gone so long. You’ve missed so much. But it isn’t too late, you know.” Alexa draws her hands behind her back. “Ryzaard is forgiving. He’s going to win, in the end. He always does. He has foreseen everything. You should see what he’s already accomplished. His plans overlap and allow for every contingency.” She stops as if smelling the air. “From the looks of it, I doubt if you even have a plan.”

For an instant, Matt stays silent, transfixed by her words. “What
is
Ryzaard’s plan?”

“I’ll answer with three words.
Resistance is futile
, as they say. Take my advice. Bring your girlfriend and the two kids back here with you. Cooperate with him. Become his ally. He’ll welcome you with open arms. Any other way is suicide.”

“What about
you
?” Matt says.

“What
about
me?”

“Are you a true believer in his grand strategy?”

Matt sees the movement of her arm behind her back.

“I’m a realist. I like to be on the winning side. And, as much as you might like to believe otherwise, Ryzaard is going to win. He’s gotten too strong to lose.”

Her hand whips out a miniature pulse pistol, finger dancing on the trigger.

Matt is already engulfed in white light, jumping away, as the projectiles disintegrate against the energy field clinging to his body.

R
yzaard is right.

The cool mountain air has an immediate effect on Miyazawa’s mind. He is wide awake.

“Increase our rate of growth by a factor of ten? Three thousand shrines a day? That’s impossible. Utterly impossible.” Miyazawa holds his hands behind his back and shakes his head.

Two parallel tracks in the light snow follow behind Miyazawa and Ryzaard. The sun is just dropping below the ridgeline to the west, casting a warm glow above the mountains.

“India is a huge country, with more interest in religion that China. But this time, I don’t have the luxury of waiting for you to take six months to convert it to Shinto.” Ryzaard lights another Djarum and sucks the March air through the black cigarette. A long tail of blue smoke flows behind him in the fading light.

“India?”

“That is where you will be going next.”

Miyazawa shakes his head. “It doesn’t make sense. We’ve built shrines throughout China. All its allies, Korea, Russia, Southeast Asia, Africa, will want shrines now. Shinto will spread naturally. Everyone knows China has buried secret nukes all over India. Why would we go there, to China’s arch enemy? Besides, I don’t see how we can move any faster than we are.”

“Nonsense,” Ryzaard says. “You can build new factories. Find new sources of cedar wood. Increase your production of shrines and torii gates. It’s simply a matter of scale.”

Miyazawa is careful to stay upwind and looks sideways at the filth curling out of Ryzaard’s nose and lips. “Yes, we can do all those things, but only if we have the funding.”

“That’s a given.” Ryzaard takes another pull on the cigarette and twists his lips to blow the smoke away from the priest.

“It’s not that simple.”

“What is the problem?”

“Priests.” Miyazawa’s arms spread wide out in a rare display of emotion. “Even if we can build the shrines, we won’t be able to find and train enough priests to run them.”

“Pardon my directness, but don’t be stupid.” Ryzaard exhales and lets the smoke drift into Miyazawa’s face. “I’ve already found a ready source of recruits. Enough to satisfy all your needs.”

“Our organization has a presence on every university campus in Japan.” Miyazawa takes a step back. “We are doing the best we can. It takes time—”

“That’s your problem. Looking in the wrong places.”

“You have a suggestion?”

Ryzaard moves closer, his face only inches from Miyazawa’s nose, cigarette smoke spewing from his lips.

Miyazawa holds his breath.

“Listen to me,” Ryzaard says. “I have a huge source of men and women ready to enter the Shinto priesthood
today
. All of them well-trained in ancient traditions. Good at handling people. Patriotic. Submissive to authority. And they
love
Shinto. The robes will cover all their tattoos. It is a perfect match.”

Miyazawa’s eyes widen. “You can’t be serious.”

“It’s the only way.”

Miyazawa closes his eyes, trying to imagine a Shinto shrine run by
Yakuza
thugs.

“It’s never been done before,” Miyazawa says.

“Don’t you remember what your predecessor, Naganuma-
san
, used to say?”

“Yes, of course. But—”

“I believe he said
some compromises must be made if Shinto is to reach its full potential
.” Ryzaard lifts an eyebrow. “Are you going to stand in the way of Shinto fulfilling its destiny to become the dominant world religion?”

“No, of course not! But
Yakuza
? Japanese mafia?”

Ryzaard drops his cigarette, stamps it out on the snow and grinds it into the sacred sea of white pebbles below.

“China and India are only the beginning.” He turns back to Miyazawa’s living quarters. “Buddhist connections will push you quickly through Thailand and the rest of Southeast Asia. Atheist populations in Russia and North America hunger for a new green religion. The Vatican will welcome the enthusiasm that Shinto creates. With their official support, you will move through the ossified Catholic communities of South America and Africa like a tidal wave. You cannot wait for all this to simply happen by osmosis. You must
make
it happen. With my help.”