Stones: Theory (Stones #4) (58 page)

Jessica grabs a long stick off the forest floor and runs her hand along its surface. “So you’re not giving up?”

“Giving up?” Matt picks up a baseball-sized rock and tosses it in the air between them. “Why would I do that? There’s still a lot left to do before we sock it to him.”

The rock crests and starts to sink back to earth. Jessica swings the stick like a bat as Matt jumps to the side. There’s a crack as the wood makes contact with the rock and blasts it away through the trees.

It narrowly misses a lone figure in a white robe making his way to them. Matt and Jessica walk in his direction. They meet at a point halfway between them.

Miyazawa bows quickly. “Follow me. There’s something I’d like to show you.” He turns and walks through the trees to the left, with Matt and Jessica trailing behind. As the sound of owls grows louder, Yarah rushes to Matt’s side and slides her hand into his.

Ahead of them, an ancient cedar towers over the other trees, it’s height accentuated by deep vertical grooves in the bark. A thickly woven
shimenawa
rope is draped across its girth with lightning-shaped
shide
paper dangling down.

The priest stops and presses his hands together. After bowing deeply in the direction of the tree, he stands and turns around.

“Most of the trees on this mountain were cut down during the last century to make charcoal for World War II. For some reason, the workers left this one standing. It was here that I first heard the music inside my head.” His gaze travels up the trunk. “It may have been a trick of Ryzaard’s like so much of what I’ve seen and heard over the last several months. But I can’t help believing that it’s still possible.”

“To do what?” Matt says.

Miyazawa leans close to the old tree and runs his fingertips along the rough bark. “To find the
Kami
, to find the peace they offer, to live in harmony with them.” He turns to face Matt. “To bring the human race together as one family, as it is meant to be.” His other hand goes up to the blue jewel behind his ear. “I’m afraid it may be too late for me.”

Standing beside him, Matt touches the tree. “It’s not too late for any of us.” He stares at the green moss on the trunk, its mighty bulk pulling on him with a force like gravity, drawing him into its orbit. For a time, he resists until the longing to be one with it overcomes the inertia that holds him inside his own body. Warmth radiates from his Stone. A door opens, and his consciousness flows out to join with the tree. As the rest of the world falls away, the tree draws him upward. His arms and fingers take on the shape of the branches, his feet and toes grow long and sink deep into the dark soil. Each twig and leaf becomes part of his awareness.

A single chord vibrates within him, low and steady. Other chords, higher in pitch but pleasing in their harmony, join the music. The sound weaves a rich tapestry of sensation, a sea of joy.

The trees are singing to you. To me. To everyone.

Matt recognizes the voice of Yarah in his mind.

Other strains of music join, each with a unique tone and timbre. Matt knows without knowing that it is the flowers and bushes, insects crawling on the bark, snakes in the ground, squirrels in their nests, hawks soaring overhead. Nearby rocks and flowing water.

The
Kami
.

As the sound fades, Matt opens his eyes and draws back his hand.

“You’re crying.” Jessica touches the corner of Matt’s eye.

Miyazawa steps closer, his face only inches from Matt. “Did you hear the music? Is it real?”

Matt nods. “It’s real. I felt it.”

“So did I,” Yarah says.

Letting his gaze drop to the ground, Miyazawa lifts both hands up to the tree and leans on the trunk. “Then my work has not all been in vain.”

“Nothing we do is in vain.” Matt reaches for Jessica’s hand. “Nothing we do is lost.”

“Shall we go back?” Miyazawa turns and walks away from the tree, smiling down at Yarah. “I have received news of other implant fabrication plants from trusted colleagues. Though, as you say, it may only be symbolic, their destruction awaits.”

A
ll of them sit around the crystal table, saying nothing.

A semi-transparent soccer stadium the size of a shoe box hangs balanced in mid-air in front of Kalani. He stares down into it as a tiny player lunges forward and kicks a neon yellow ball past the keeper into a netted goal. Cheers climb into the air from out of the stadium’s open top, and Kalani raises both arms above his head.

Jing-wei glares at him. “I suggest you put it away. I don’t think he’s in the mood.” She turns back to the hi-res holo map of the planet. Eight red dots light up along the horn of Africa on the border between land and ocean.

Looking up, Kalani reaches for a gold jax on the table and swipes his thumb across its surface like a cigarette lighter. The soccer stadium winks out of existence.

All of them hear the crisp footsteps of carbon-steel soles on glass descending the double spiral staircase. As the footsteps near, tension flows into the room.

Ryzaard walks onto the floor and makes his way to the high-backed chair at the head. Without a word, he drops down and lights a cigarette that already dangles from his lips. After a deep inhale and exhale across the table, he turns to Jing-wei and nods.

She lifts her hands and places them palm-down on the glass edge, looking like a praying mantis.

Kalani stares at her and can’t suppress the snicker that jumps from his nostrils to pierce the silence.

“It happened ten minutes ago,” Jing-wei says. “Eight fabrication plants were destroyed, simultaneously, without a single casualty.”

Ryzaard’s eyes squint as he inhales again. “The modus operandi?”

“Same as before. Molecular bonds in the building materials and equipment were severed. The entire facility collapsed into ashes.” Her eyes stare through the holo at Jerek. “Seconds before the attack, nine satellites were conducting deep scans in the area on all spectrums. Our analysis of the results reveals no leads. No unusual particle signatures. No electromagnetic disturbances. No visual evidence of anything out of the ordinary.”

Diego Lopez looks up from the table. “Without the satellites to support the location algorithm, there’s no way to confirm—”

Leaning forward, Ryzaard’s open palm hits the table with a loud slap. “We don’t need your location algorithm! It’s no longer of any use to us. Don’t you understand? He’s found a way to evade it.”

Jerek folds his arms across his chest. “What I don’t understand is how he’s able to destroy the facilities without leaving a—”

“Stop acting like idiots. It’s perfectly clear what he’s doing.” Ryzaard’s voice fills the entire floor. No longer able to contain his nervous energy, he stands. “Stopping time. As simple as that.”

“But how can he—?”

The old man glares at Jerek. “I’ll tell you how he does it.” He takes a deep inhale as a prelude to a long exposition. “He knows the exact locations. Someone is feeding him the coordinates. He and the little girl each have a Stone, and they’re working together. Just as he makes a jump to the inside of a facility, she stops time. They destroy the facility—it’s easy to do with the Stones—and move on to the next target. One by one, they set it up. Then they jump away and allow time to restart.” He blows out the last of the smoke in his lungs. “Poof. What was once a cutting edge fabrication plant turns to dust.” Ryzaard turns his back on the group and walks away from the table.

With trembling hands, Jing-wei picks up the slate in front of her. “What can we do?”

Ryzaard stops. “I’ll tell you what we can do.” He drops the cigarette to the floor, rushing back to the table. Lowering his hands to the edge, he towers over the rest of the group. “I want the names of every individual that knows the locations of the plants in Africa, and the ones in Japan. All the workers, the builders, local people on the ground who knew of the construction.”

“But that could be thousands,” Jing-wei says. “Tens of thousands.”

Ryzaard turns to face her. “Then let it be tens of thousands! Just get me their names.”

Kalani pulls his feet off the table and leans forward. “What are you going to do with them?”

“Kill them.”

“But—”

“Anyone who gave out information deserves to die.” Ryzaard walks to the staircase. He reaches a hand out to the railing and pauses, his voice returning to normal. “In spite of the destruction of fabrication plants, I trust that manufacturing of the implants is still on schedule.” His gaze drops down through the transparent floors of the building. “Is that right, Jerek?”

“Yes.” Jerek says. “We built in a generous redundancy factor to cover this sort of scenario. At current production rates, sufficient quantities of the implants will be produced in the next twenty-four hours to complete the plan.”

Ryzaard nods and moves up the stairs.

T
hump, thump, thump.

Matt puts the bowl of miso soup back on the low table and takes in a deep breath. It’s difficult to quell the primal fear that starts from inside his chest as the vibrations penetrate the thin walls of Miyazawa’s living quarters.

“Look.” Yarah jumps up and points outside. “A white transport is dropping down out of the sky. Like a dove.”

He scoops a clump of sticky white rice out of his bowl, pulls it off the chopsticks with his teeth, and chases it down with another drink of the salty miso. All of them watch through the window as Miyazawa’s ship touches down on the bed of pearls in the courtyard. Large pads spread out from the bottom of the landing legs sticking out of its underbelly.

The four rotors slowly come to a stop.

But the sound doesn’t. It only gets louder and closer.

Matt’s gaze jumps to Miyazawa across the table. Jessica grabs the pulse rifle leaning against the wall.

“Do not be alarmed. Another transport is coming to take away my assistants so that we will have the white one to ourselves.” Miyazawa stands from the table and walks across the tatami to the front door. “They have come to check on my condition and will be suspicious if I do not meet with them. After we talk, they will go away in the other transport.”

Tightening a sash around his waist, Miyazawa puts on the stiff outer robe of white silk, adjusting it on his shoulders and tying a cord in front. As a final touch, he picks a tall black hat off a hook and places it atop his head, securing it in place with a thin ribbon under his chin. Then he moves past them and steps down from the main floor into the
genkan
where his wooden
geta
sandals wait. “Remain here until they leave. Mix this in my tea and make me drink it as soon as they are gone. Do not delay.” He throws a clear packet of blue powder onto the table.

Reaching deep inside the sleeve of his robe, Miyazawa takes out a green cube and strips a thin square off the top. Without looking, he lays it against the inside of his wrist where it turns orange and becomes part of his skin. The acrid scent of sulfur fills the small room. All color drains from his face, leaving behind an empty stare and large pupils in fully dilated eyes.

He slides the door open and walks outside.

A combat craft that resembles a huge black shrimp settles down next to the white transport and cuts its engines as its landing legs penetrate the veneer of pearls. An articulated portal in its side opens like an eye, disgorging two female soldiers dressed in light armor. Each has a firearm strapped to her thigh. They fold their arms and stand on either side of the opening, staring at the massive white ship behind dark lenses.

Matt takes a drink of green tea and puts it down. “Keep an eye on them, but don’t get too close to the windows.” He lifts the cloaking box off the table and slowly rises to his feet. Crossing the tatami floor, he walks down the hallway to the back of the living quarters and turns left into the guestroom where they first met Miyazawa. From a vantage point next to the wall, he can crouch down and observe the scene without standing next to the window.

Jessica and Yarah join him.

“Look,” Yarah says. “People are coming out of the dove ship.”