Zero. Part 43

Such as their first-and only-trip here. It had been on her insistence, of course. His reluctance to encounter any part of the old world was like an anchor weighing them both down. His idea of a trip had probably consisted of two weeks in the hinterlands of Burma or the Hindu Kush.

For their last night in the world's most romantic city they had booked a dinner cruise on a bateau mouche, which Philip had mistakenly called a barquette, much to the amus.e.m.e.nt of the waiter.

She already spoke fluent French, and he was chagrined by his lack of expertise. (If they had gone to Burma or the Hindu Kush, Lillian was certain that he would have spoken any dialect they could encounter there.) That had made him angry, of course. Or angrier, because he was already angry at having been talked into coming to Paris. There was no such thing as civilization anywhere in Europe, he had told her in no uncertain terms. A European-especially a Frenchman- had no concept of what true civilization meant. And furthermore, when he was confronted with someone-a j.a.panese, say-who was truly civilized, he was incapable of comprehending it.

Maybe, Lillian had said in an attempt to appease him and thus salvage what was left of their trip, the Frenchman was just incapable of admitting it.

That had made him see red. The only thing a Frenchman was capable of admitting, Philip had said hotly, was that he was G.o.d's gift to the fairer s.e.x. Which was so patently foolish he did not want to discuss it further.

So she had spent much of the dusky-rose twilight sitting alone at their white-linen-covered table, watching the Right Bank or the Left Bank slide by.

When she found herself watching the backs of heads while the boat floated slowly past the Notre Dame, she got up and went in search of Philip.

"You look like death warmed over," Eliane said. "Didn't you sleep at all on the plane?"

Michael maneuvered the rented Nissan through the multi-lanes of traffic. "How could I?" he said. "I kept thinking about Audrey." It was late evening in Tokyo. Was there any time of the day or night when the access roads from Narita Airport weren't clogged? "How did that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Ude get her into that DC-9? And how did they get off the ground without tower clearance?"

She did not take her eyes off him. "How are you feeling?"

"Not bad." He flexed his torso in the limited amount of room the seat belt afforded him. Caught a glance at his heavily bandaged nose and upper lip.

"I've felt better," he admitted. Thinking, too, about Jonas. How depressed he had sounded. As if he were sick. But Michael could not remember Uncle Sammy being sick a day in his life. Which made this all the more frightening.

There had been no answer at Uncle Sammy's home. The BITE station chief hadflown in from Honolulu to straighten things out with the INS. What a mess-but that was his problem. Michael and Eliane had needed to get out of Hawaii quickly. Following the DC-9 with Audrey.

The windshield wipers whick-whicked back and forth, smearing the lights of the oncoming traffic as they cleared away the drizzle that had begun to fall. Rain that seemed to him to be the sky crying. There was a mood of despair inside Michael that he found difficult to dispel.

"I can sense that you're in pain," Eliane said. "Are you sure you're all right? You haven't said a word since we left Maui."

"Leave me alone," he snapped. "And stop reading into things. Whatever you sense is wrong."

"Why are you angry with me?"

"I'm not angry," he said, knowing that he was. "I'm just tired of your belief in the spirit world. The next time we're on some kind of sacred ground, leave me out of it, okay?"

"That kind of stupid comment makes me sure I'm right," she said.

"What does that mean?" He wondered why he was suddenly so angry with her.

Then, with a start, he realized that he had been angry at her all through the flight.

"It was all right when you saved my life in Kahakuloa, because you're the man," Eliane said. "You're supposed to act heroic. But when the situation is reversed-when I save your life, it's hard to take, isn't it?"

"That's ridiculous," he said, but even he recognized the lack of conviction in his voice.

They continued on in silence. The whick-whick of the windshield wipers counted off the seconds.

"I'm sorry," Michael said after a long time. "You're right. But only in a way.

I think I'm more angry with myself. I looked like a G.o.dd.a.m.n amateur back there in the plane."

"But, Michael," she said, putting a hand on his leg, "that's exactly what you are. An amateur. There's nothing to be ashamed of in that."

"Tsuyo, my sensei, would never be forgiving. If you hadn't been there, I'd be dead now."

"It's foolish to think about what might have been," she said softly, "don't you think?"

He nodded. Inside, he was more confused than ever. Eliane had saved his life by intervening when Ude was about to kill him. Did that mean she was on his side? Maybe. But if she were working for Masashi, she would want him alive, at least until he had uncovered the riddle of where his father had hidden the Katei doc.u.ment. But then, wasn't Ude ostensibly working for Masashi? Why, then, would he want to kill Michael?

The brilliant lights of Tokyo shone through the rain and mist with such intensity that the night gave grudging way before the power of its aura.

Michael drove on, his thoughts chasing one another around and around until he was dizzy. And still in the back of his mind was the nagging suspicion that he was missing an essential element that lay right in front of him.

"Where are we going?" Eliane asked. "You made reservations at the Okura. This isn't the way to the hotel."

"We're not going there," Michael said. "Masashi's sure to have his men on the lookout for me. Maybe they'll find my name at the Okura and waste some time staking it out, waiting for me to show up."

She watched him, the silver reflections of the rain sliding down the side of his face. "Maybe you're not such an amateur after all."

He grinned at her. "No," he said. "I'm just a quick study."

Lillian found him, after a fashion.

Rather, she saw him. And what he had found. A tall, slim j.a.panese woman with a narrow, patrician head and eyes with such p.r.o.nounced epicanthic folds they were barely more than slits.

There was nothing beautiful about this woman that Lillian could see. But then her heart had been locked tight against Orientals for some time. She couldrecognize, however, in the sinuous movements of the j.a.panese woman a kind of s.e.xuality she could only define as sinister. Not only because it was directed at her husband, but because it possessed, in its own right, a quality wholly unknown-and therefore unfathomable-to her. It was something beyond the limits of her world, and thus not only alien but, to her way of thinking, dangerous.

Which was, of course, why, she had told herself, her husband courted it. She was fully aware of Philip's professed affinity with the Oriental mind-it could hardly have been otherwise. But that did not necessarily mean that she believed him. Rather, it was far easier-and safer!-to tell herself that his reaction was akin to hers. He liked danger; he had made no secret of that.

Craved it, in fact, like an alcoholic needs his booze. That was all right as long as it went no farther than his work. But Lillian suspected that it did not.

Now, as she watched her husband with the j.a.panese woman, all her suspicions burst open like a wound. They stood close enough so that their bodies were touching. They were not kissing, but they might have been. There was an odd kind of intimacy at work that caused her to shiver, though the evening air was warm enough.

They were not making love, but they might have been. What is it, Lillian had asked herself with a terrifying degree of desperation, that was pa.s.sing between them? She was certain that she would never know. She was not even sure that she would understand it if it were explained to her. She felt like Philip's Frenchman confronted with a truly civilized man.

The sense of inadequacy that washed over her was so overwhelming that she was dizzied. And with it came a kind of despair. It was as if she were a little girl watching two adults act and react in a world of which she was not a part.

Because it was she who was being betrayed, and the sense of inevitability-that of course this was happening; it was a consequence of her own inadequacy-was crushing.

She fought back tears of hurt. Or so she had thought at the time. Years later, when she contemplated the motivation for her own betrayal, it would occur to her that they were also tears of rage.

Masashi and Shiina were on the wooden catwalk that overhung the vast bas.e.m.e.nt of the warehouse at Takashiba.

"I must admit," Masashi was saying, "that I was wrong about Joji. I didn't think he had it in him to challenge me for the clan."

"I was silent at the time," Shiina said, "because you did not seek my advice.

And this is your family, after all. Joji is your brother. But I felt then that he would not accept being cut off from the only legacy your father left for you."

They were watching a large crate being wheeled into the chamber below them.

The men surrounding the crate wore loose-fitting suits that covered them from their ankles to the tops of then- heads. They wore thick-soled boots. The clicking of their hand-held Oeiger counters could be heard, amplified by the acoustics of the open s.p.a.ce.

"I suppose," Masashi said grudgingly, "that my brother is not quite the whipped dog I had thought him to be."

"Far from it," Shiina said. "You know Daizo's prowess. He would not have been easy to defeat."

"Joji was always good at learning," Masashi said. "And the martial arts were no exception. I just never believed that cut off from Michiko, his chief ally against me, he would have the stomach for a personal war."

"Now you are witness to your mistake," Shiina said. "And a costly error it has proved to be."

"I'll be able to replace Daizo quickly."

"I wasn't thinking of Daizo," Shiina said. "I was thinking of your loss of face among your men." His old face was shiny in the harsh fluorescent lighting. "You must kill Joji."

The men had the crate open now. They were carefully easing the contents onto a heavy-duty lead-topped trolley."I already have the death of one brother on my conscience," Masashi said. "I have no desire for another."

"What other choice do you have?" Shiina said. "If you don't avenge the dishonor done to you, your power as oyabun of the Taki-gumi will quickly erode."

Shiina knew which b.u.t.tons to push, which strings to pull. Being oyabun was paramount in Masashi's life. He was a man who had lived his entire life in his father's shadow. That was a burden that Masashi did not want to bear. Shiina understood this. Men too proficient to be moved by a sword, he believed, could often be manipulated by something that the long years had shown him to be far more powerful: the human mind.

That was the fallacy of being so involved with one's own body, Shiina had learned: One always saw force as action. With the gradual erosion of his own body, Shiina had come to rely more and more on his mind. And gradually his definition of force had changed. He had come to see the truth: that force was intent.

"I read the reports on the FAX's test flight," he said. "Very impressive."

"You should have seen it," Masashi said. "It does everything n.o.buo promised it would."

"Good. And he has modified the fusilage for this rather unique payload?"

"It is all done."

Now on to the difficult work, Shiina thought. Knowing the answer already, he asked, "Has Ude brought Audrey Doss back yet?"

"Ude is dead," Masashi said. "There was some difficulty at the airport.

Apparently, Michael Doss discovered Ude's plan and tried to prevent him from sending Audrey Doss off. The important thing is that Michael Doss is still on the trail of the Katei doc.u.ment his father stole from me. He will not slip our surveillance."

"Did Ude discover who killed Philip Doss?"

"No. There seemed to be no clues. Then he stumbled upon Audrey Doss, and she took precedence."

Shiina, wanting to know what Masashi was doing with Eli-ane Yamamoto, said, "How will you ensure that Michael Doss leads you to the Katei doc.u.ment?" He was angry over Ude's death. Ude had been useful to him; it was a shame that he was gone.

"I should kill her," Masashi said, his mind still focused on Audrey Doss, "for the trouble her father has put me to."

"Kill her or let her live," Shiina said. "What does it matter? It is only a life. The Katei doc.u.ment is what is important to us both." He repeated his question.

"Michael Doss will not slip the leash I have on him," Ma-sashi said. "And when the Katei doc.u.ment is returned, that same leash will be wrapped around his neck. He will strangle on it."

Shiina considered. The leash Masashi had on Michael Doss must be Eliane Yamamoto. Why else would she be in Maui, and with him? But why would Eliane do Masashi's bidding? She hated him. Then Shiina remembered a conversation he had had with Masashi. I wouldn't worry about Michiko, Masashi had said. I have already put into motion a plan that will effectively neutralize her. If that plan neutralized Michiko, Shiina wondered, would it also coerce her daughter, Eliane, into working for Masashi? It seemed so.

Shiina saw it all now: Masashi was using Eliane to get close to Michael Doss, become his companion-his coconspirator, even-in his quest to find the Katei doc.u.ment. Eliane would be useful to leak certain information to Doss at the proper times. She would be even more useful when the Katei doc.u.ment was found.

She would kill Michael Doss. This, Shiina could not allow. It had been Philip Doss who had murdered Shiina's son so many years ago. It was Shiina's desire to kill Michael Doss himself. That was only fitting: a son for a son.

"Information has come to me," Shiina said, "regarding the death of Ude."

Masashi turned. "You knew about his death?"

At that moment, Shiina almost felt pity for Masashi. He was so young, far tooyoung to manage the enormous power that Wataro Taki had left behind. Masashi had shown his surprise. A true oyabun would not have allowed any emotion to be seen by either friend or foe. Emotions were disadvantageous when they were made manifest. It would be many years, Shiina suspected, before Masashi would learn that vital lesson, and by then it would be far too late for him.

"I knew," Shiina said. "I also know that it was not Michael Doss who killed Ude. It was Eliane Yamamoto."

"Eliane? I don't believe it! Where did you get this information?"

"I have a contact high up in the U.S. Immigration and Naturalization Service in Hawaii. He contacted me some hours ago, after he had finished his preliminary investigation."

"But it is impossible! Unthinkable!"

"Why? Because Eliane Yamamoto is working for you?" Shiina laughed. "Your expression betrays you, Masashi. I guessed. Just as I have guessed that you have coerced her and Michiko in some manner. I congratulate you on your cleverness. But I also must caution you to bring Miss Ya-mamoto in as quickly as possible, to find out what she is up to. Perhaps she is more devious than you expected, eh? Perhaps she wishes the Katei doc.u.ment for herself."

Masashi thought about this for a moment. He was furious with Shiina for having seen parts of his plan that Masashi had no intention of revealing to him. But he was even more furious with Eliane. What was she doing interfering? And if Shiina's information was correct, why had she killed Ude?

Reluctantly, he nodded. "I'll bring her in," he said.

The men in the baggy suits were finished unpacking the contents of the crate.

"Look," Shiina said, pointing. "It's finally here. The beginning of our dreams for a finer j.a.pan."

The two of them stared down at the nuclear device.

"How did you get it?" Masashi asked. He was a bit awed, despite himself.

"The Jiban has far-ranging connections," Shiina said. "We have many friends who are sympathetic to our cause."

"It's so small," Masashi said as the men in the antiradiation suits wheeled the device into the underground laboratories beyond the gallery.

"That is its beauty," Shiina said. "And its desirability. But don't confuse size with strength. This device will level one third of Beijing on impact. The inhabitants of the rest of the city will die within several days, those in the outlying suburbs perhaps as much as a week later."

"But long before that," Masashi said, "whatever is left of the Chinese government will have capitulated to our demands. j.a.pan will finally have all the room it needs for its people."

He thought of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. He thought of the air shaking itself apart. He thought of the rip in the cosmic fabric that would be made when the missile they would launch detonated over Beijing. From that moment on he was certain that history would remember him, Masashi, not his father, the G.o.d Wataro Taki.

The boys were almost through with their game of boules. The men who had been lounging along the periphery of the rough circle had already begun drifting away. All save one. This man waited until the very end. Then he sauntered over to Lillian's bench and sat down. He was good-looking, obviously French. He did not look at her but, rather, opened up a current edition of the International Herald Tribune and began to read.

Lillian watched the boys laughing and cuffing one another good-naturedly.

Their cheeks were red from the exertion, and they scuffed clouds of dust wherever they walked. Again she was struck by how at home she felt here. And by how far she had come since standing in Dulles Airport waiting to depart.