The Nicholas Linnear Novels (87 page)

“We are all by now aware of the necessity for speed in setting up the Sphynx-Sato
kobun
,” Nicholas said. “I must tell you that there has already been a certain amount of, er, clandestine activity around our main Sphynx locations in Connecticut and in Silicon Valley. We are, quite frankly, in a similar situation to the one in which you find yourselves here. We are small with, to be sure, an enormous growth potential. But for today we are overshadowed by the three or four giants who would literally give up half their net profits for the past five years to gain the secrets of the new Sphynx T-PRAM, the totally programmable random access memory chip.”

“If you are having security difficulties,” Ishii said, rising to the bait, “you surely cannot expect us to lift a hand to help you. Not after the scandals of last year and the year before.” He was referring to the members of a number of Japan’s most prominent computer companies being caught in their attempts at industrial spying in Silicon Valley.

“You misunderstand me entirely,” Nicholas said, his tone as well as his words deliberately abrasive. “What I mean is that if attempts at industrial espionage against us are beginning in America, it is only reasonable and prudent to expect the same situation to arise here. Other than the property in Misawa, which, I think we are all agreed, is perfect for our joint venture—if, of course, you were not already in the process of greatly expanding the Niwa Mineral Mining
kobun
—what is available is a small but adequate tract in the middle of the Keiyo industrial belt in Chiba prefecture.”

Ishii nodded. He was a bearlike individual, roughly handsome, with short bristly hair and clever eyes a soft brown color. The muscles of his arms and chest rippled his suit jacket. “There is our perfect site.”

Nangi smiled thinly, sensing the corner into which the
gaijin
had painted himself. “Ishii-san is quite correct. As you know, Keiyo is built on landfill reclaimed from Tokyo Bay. It is close to the center of the city, close to Sato Petrochemicals’ main offices and plants. The logistics of shipment and transceiving would be greatly simplified and, as such, would more than compensate for the higher real estate cost of the land itself.” Nangi sat back, pleased with the way in which the negotiations were progressing.

But only Nicholas could read that subtle display in a face that was in all ways perfectly serene. He allowed a small silence to build before he leaned forward and, directing his words at Nangi in particular, said, “But that is what worries me the most. Keiyo’s nearness to Tokyo. That closeness, combined with the fact that our plant would be virtually surrounded by our
larger
and
more powerful
competitors fills me with alarm.

“Sato-san’s
konzern
could not employ enough personnel to stave off the inevitable security problems, nor would we want him to. The cost as well as the added activity would surely be counterproductive to the new
kobun
’s best interests. While, by contrast, when we set up shop in Misawa, a small town far to the north of any major industrial center, we would have as neighbors only Niwa and the U.S. Army base, neither of which as far as I can see pose any security threat to the Sphynx T-PRAM secrets.”

He glanced down at several sheets of paper before him as if they pertained to what he was about to say. “And, gentlemen, as far as the lost land to Niwa is concerned, I have spoken to Mr. Tomkin and he has agreed—since at the time of our merger Niwa will be one of our sister companies whose welfare we must take partial responsibility for—to finance the purchase of new acreage so that the
kobun
’s plans for immediate expansion will not be delayed in any way.”

He spread his hands, watching the awe suffuse the Japanese faces. “Now what could be fairer than—”

A commotion just outside the office door caused him to break off. Several voices had been raised in alarm or anger. Then, riding above these dominantly male voices was a higher-pitched female voice, much closer than the others now. It was laced with an emotion close to hysteria.

In a moment, the door had burst inward and Miss Yoshida half-stumbled in. Strands of black hair had come undone from her perfect coif and now drifted, untended, over her ears and eyes.

Her face was pinched and all color seemed to have faded from her cheeks.

She bent at Sato’s ear. At first, Nangi, who was still smarting from Nicholas’ remarks, paid her no attention. He was far too angry. But as Miss Yoshida continued with her whispered report, as the sallowness of Sato’s skin became more apparent, he turned his withering gaze away.

He said nothing but watched carefully as Miss Yoshida, her tale of woe completed, stood up. Her eyes darted about the room like a pair of frightened plovers, never coming to rest for long, never looking any of the men around the table in the eye.

After a moment, Sato said to Ishii, “Please inform Koten that he is needed.” Then, as the executive departed, he leaned over and spoke for a moment into Nangi’s ear. The older man’s body stiffened and he jerked away from Sato as if the other were giving off an electric shock.

He turned his head. “You will excuse us now, gentlemen. I really must insist. This meeting is at an end. Please see Miss Yoshida on the way out and she will schedule our next session.”

But Sato’s hand was on his arm. “If you don’t mind, Nangi-san, I would like Linnear-san to accompany us.”

“What?” Nangi’s exclamation, a breach—at least as far as he was concerned—of iron-clad etiquette that history dictated could not be broken, was quickly stifled. He wanted to say that this was none of the
gaijin
’s business, that taking him in on such a matter of utter privacy was dangerous. But he had been taught never to argue with a family member—whether business or blood—in front of outsiders. Thus, despite his bitter opposition, he held his tongue, merely bowed his head curtly.

“Please, Linnear-san,” Sato said by way of explanation. “There has been a terrible tragedy. I know of your skills.” He held up a hand as Nicholas began to protest. “Denials are really quite unnecessary.” He put his palms flat on the conference table. “But before we go I must have your own assurance that what you will see and hear will also be held strictly private.”

Nicholas understood the privilege he was being accorded and began to nod his head.

“No member of my company will make such a unilateral promise,” Tomkin said abruptly. “What you are asking could ultimately result in actions detrimental to Tomkin Industries. He cannot make such a pledge.”

“I can,” Nicholas said, “and I do. You have my word, Sato-san, that I will reveal nothing of this to any outside party.”

“Does that include the police?”

“What the hell is this?” Tomkin cried. “What’re you two trying to pull?” He stood up. “C’mon, Nick, let’s get out of here.”

Nicholas made no move to rise. His gaze was locked with Sato’s. “You ask for a great deal.” His voice was soft but nevertheless carried quite distinctly in the room. Miss Yoshida had come out of her anxiety-filled reverie and now stood just behind Sato, staring fixedly at the two of them. Even Tomkin had been silenced.

“Hai.”
Sato’s head nodded. Yes. “But it is no more than any business associate would ask of another. This is family now, you understand.”

“Hai.”
Nicholas’ head bobbed as Sato’s had a moment before. “My pledge stands. It includes everyone.”

“Well,” Tomkin began, “I want no part of this. Nick, if you think—” He froze as Nicholas looked up at him, the force of will behind those dark eyes so powerful he sat back down without a word.

When he had done so, Nicholas turned his head back to Sato. “That goes for Tomkin-san as well.”

Sato bowed. “Good.” He stood up. “Please follow me.”

They were met at the elevator by Ishii and another Japanese. This second man was enormous. He was dressed in
montsuki
and
hakama
; his blue-black hair was intricately coiffed in
ichomage
, marking him as
yokozuna
—a
sumō
grand champion. Sato introduced him as Koten. There was no doubt that he was a bodyguard.

Nicholas stopped them in the corridor before the steam room. The steam had been turned off in the room but still Sato suggested they take off their jackets before entering. Miss Yoshida draped each one, carefully folded, over her left arm. She remained outside the door, an odd, glazed-eye guard. No one else was around.

“Jesus Christ,” Tomkin said when he saw the body half sprawled across the tile bench.

“Please be careful of the blood,” Sato said, and they all stayed on the perimeter of the room. “Kagami-san was found just moments before Miss Yoshida interrupted our meeting.”

Nangi, standing, swaying slightly on his walking stick, said nothing.

“Do you see his cheek?” Sato asked. “The left one.”

Tomkin looked at Sato; he’d had enough of staring at the mess lying across the room. “You sure don’t seem broken up.”

Sato turned to him. “He is dead, Tomkin-san.
Karma.
There is nothing I can do that will bring him back. But he was with us for many years and I will miss him. The privacy of grief is something that is understood here.”

Tomkin turned his head away, put his hands in his pockets.

Sato watched for a time, then slowly redirected his gaze. “Linnear-san?” His voice was quiet.

Nicholas had not moved from the time he had entered the steam room and caught sight of the corpse. His gaze had been immediately drawn to the man’s left cheek.

“It looks to me like a character.
Kanji.
” Sato’s voice floated in the room.

“All I see is blood,” Nangi said curtly. “He was cut at least a dozen times.”

Without a word, Nicholas went carefully across the wet tile floor. Pink, stringy puddles were everywhere but he moved with such care and grace that they were left undisturbed. Tomkin had seen Nicholas move in such a way before, the night in his office building when Saigō had come to kill him.

With an abrupt movement like the skim of an insect across a still lake, Nicholas removed a handkerchief and carefully wiped away the trickles of semicoagulated blood from Kagami’s left cheek.

The breath whistled through Nangi’s half open lips. “It
is
a character: Ink.”

“What’s it mean?” Tomkin asked.

“Wu-Shing,”
Nicholas said. He could not believe what he was seeing. The blood pounded in his temples like a hammer on an anvil. He felt lightheaded, as if reality were slipping away from him.

“That’s Chinese, I know,” Sato said. “And old Chinese at that. But without seeing the character I don’t know what it means.”

Nicholas turned around, his face pale. It had been a decided effort to break away from the sight of this bloody crimson character, glowing with evil intent. He looked at all of them.
“Wu-Shing,”
he said slowly, “are a series of ritual punishments of Chinese criminal law.”

There was silence for a time. Sato looked from Nicholas to the pathetic drained corpse of his employee and friend. When he looked back again, he said, “There’s more, isn’t there?”

Nicholas nodded. His eyes were sad. He had never thought to say this in his life. He turned back and again gazed at the glyph, etched into human flesh, terrible and mocking. “This is
Mo
,” he said. “It means tattooing of the face. And it is the first of the mutilating punishments taught at the Tenshin Shoden Katori.” His heart was breaking as he turned back to them; he could look at the glowing character no more. “That is the ninja
ryu
from which I came.”

Nicholas was on his way to Tomkin’s room when the call came through, that fragile line connecting them so tenuously. Justine’s voice, thin and stretched out by the electronics of the medium, made it seem as if he had been away from her for weeks. “I miss you so, Nick. West Bay Bridge isn’t the same without you. I’d love to be in a foreign place with you.”

“Japan’s not foreign,” he said without thinking. “It’s too much like home.”

“Even now? After all this time?”

Belatedly, he heard the terror in her voice, but he could do nothing about it. “My soul is Japanese,” he said. “I told you that when we first met. Outwardly, perhaps, I am my father’s son. But inside…the
kami
of my mother resides. I can no more do anything about it than I can pull the clouds down from the sky. I wouldn’t want to.”

There was silence for a time, the gentle wheezing of the unquiet wire unable to hide from him the soughing of her breath

“You won’t want to stay, will you?” Her voice as tiny as a child’s.

He laughed. “Permanently? Good God, no. Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Please let me come, Nick. I can be on a plane tonight. I promise I won’t be in the way. I just want to be near you. To hold you again.”

“Justine,” he said as gently as he could, “it’s just not possible. There’s too much to do here. We’d have no time together.”

“Not even at night?”

“This isn’t a nine-to-five business.”

“I think I liked you better when you were doing nothing.”

“I’m happier now, Justine.”

“Nick, please let me come. I won’t be—”

“It’s out of the question. I’ll be home soon enough.”

That singing down the wire, as if
kami
, hovering, were growing restless.

“The truth is, I’m frightened, Nick. I’ve been having a recurring dream; a kind of…premonition. I’m scared something awful is going to happen to you. And I’ll be left here—” Her voice choked off abruptly. “Then there’ll be no one.”

“Justine,” he said quietly, “everything’s fine and it’s going to stay that way. As soon as I get back, we’ll get married. Nothing’s going to prevent that.” Silence. He pushed the thought of the murder out of his mind. “Justine?”

“I heard you.” Her voice was so still, he had to strain to hear her.

“I love you,” he said, hanging up the phone.

Was there something more he could have said? he wondered. Sometimes her irrationality was impossible to control. Fears in the night. Phobias. The terror of darkness. These were all alien to him and he had difficulty understanding the fixity of their power over others not like him.