Kusanagi (13 page)

Stafford opened the door. He looked down at Akira. ‘What can I do for you today, Professor?'

‘May I come in?'

‘Mr Evans is not here and neither is the regalia.'

‘May I come in anyway? Perhaps you will allow me to explain myself and then relay a message.'

Jane's kiss was a bit like a punch in the mouth, and her first embrace like a mildly modified judo throw. Her body was even more snaky and athletic than when she had left him three months before. Her skin was tanned mahogany, her black hair burnt to ash brown. She was lifting him off the ground with one arm. She was hard beneath her slim-cut clothes, not filling them as she had when she had left.

There was a bedroom in his jet and he was going to tell the pilot to fly the long road back.

‘Let's get out of here,' he said.

‘OK,' she said.

‘But first you've got to put me down.'

Jim had never really wondered about the relationship between danger and the need to procreate but it was certainly going through his mind as the Gulfstream sped down the runway. Jane was unbuttoning his shirt when the real acceleration kicked in and suddenly the physics of weight, acceleration and their relationship became very clear in his mind as they flattened him on the bed.

Jane was laughing as the lift-off sent them down the mattress and into a heap on the bedroom wall. They arranged themselves in a sitting-up position as the plane rose into the air. She unpicked his buttons. ‘We'd better wait till we level out,' she remarked.

‘OK,' he said, ‘but I've already got my seat in the upright position.'

‘You sure have.' She pulled his shirt open and ran her finger over the fresh scar across his ribs. ‘This is new,' she said, giving him a sarcastic look.

He gave her one back. ‘I've been meaning to talk to you about that.'

He started to unbutton her blouse. Below where her dark tan faded at the neck, the skin was perfectly white. He eased the buttons open and began to kiss her chest. Her body seemed to be melting under his touch, hard, bunched muscles suddenly fluid, white skin becoming pink.

She giggled. ‘Gee, it's been way too long this time.' She grabbed a handful of his hair.

He couldn't wait until they got to thirty thousand feet. He pulled her belt end and unhooked the buckle.

She pushed him off and rolled him onto his back, pulling his hand away from her pants. She pinned his shoulders down and licked his fresh scar. He shuddered, the disrupted nerves firing in a cascade of strange signals.

‘Tasty,' she said.

He unclipped her bra and pulled it off. Her nipples stood out from her flat muscular chest. As he rolled her back she had somehow managed to get his jeans undone.

‘Stop,' she commanded.

He propped himself up on one hand. ‘What?'

‘Take your socks off, you goddamn Brit. At once!'

He laughed. ‘OK, OK!'

It proved difficult with his legs pointing up in the air as the jet soared into the blue.

The front door swung open. Stafford was on the other side.

‘Oh – hello,' said Jim.

‘Afternoon, sir.' He nodded. ‘Afternoon, General.'

Jane smiled. ‘Colonel,' she said.

‘Colonel?' enquired Jim, turning back.

‘I've been busted down. How else do you think I can get out and about?'

Jim's concern showed on his face.

‘Don't worry,' she said, smiling. ‘I asked for the demotion. It was either that or a permanent desk job.'

‘I'm sorry,' said Stafford, ‘but you have a visitor.'

‘Visitor?' said Jim, his happy bubble popping.

‘From Japan.'

‘The professor?' he exploded. ‘You are joking?'

‘Going back to school?' asked Jane, innocently.

Jim groaned. ‘It's a long story I was saving for later.'

‘Sounds interesting,' she said, following him.

‘Well, actually, now you come to mention it, it is.' He laughed.

Akira got up as they entered.

Jim noticed Stafford had had the window replaced. That was quick, he thought. ‘Professor,' he greeted him, smiling as best he could. Akira bowed. Jim shook his short hand. He could feel the man's tension. ‘This is my girlfriend, Jane.' She bowed and Akira reciprocated. ‘How can I help you?' He threw himself onto the sofa.

‘I want you to sell me the objects.'

‘OK, sit down,' said Jim. ‘No funny games this time, eh?'

‘No,' said Akira, perching uncomfortably on the edge of his seat.

Jane sat on the sofa arm.

‘First I must apologise for my previous actions. I do not know what devil entered me.'

‘What did he do?' asked Jane.

Akira squirmed a little.

‘Nothing really,' said Jim. ‘Just tried to chop my head off.'

Jane looked at Akira, who wasn't making any attempt to contradict what Jim had said. She seemed perplexed. ‘OK,' she said. ‘That's fine, then.'

‘It's all right, Professor,' said Jim. ‘I don't hold grudges.' He flexed his shoulders as if that might not be totally the case. ‘Anyway, I accept your apology.'

‘Thank you,' said Akira. ‘I would like to make you an offer for the objects.'

‘Go ahead.'

Jane threw a glance at Stafford, who stood by the door with a tray in his hand and a white cloth on it. There was a pistol under the cloth – she could tell even at that oblique angle. She stiffened and stood up.

‘It's hard for me to know what to pay,' said Akira. ‘What would you suggest?'

‘Make me an offer and we'll go from there.'

‘As you know, they are very precious.' He put the fingers of his long arm to his lips. ‘A hundred mirrion dorrars.'

‘A hundred billion dollars,' replied Jim pretending to mishear. ‘OK, I'll accept a hundred billion.'

‘No, no, no,' said Akira, his eyes bulging. ‘Mirrion not birrion.'

‘A hundred million,' said Jim, laughing. ‘That's like a nice Van Gogh, right? A hundred million is peanuts.'

Jane was giving him a questioning look.

Akira closed his eyes. ‘I'm sorry,' he said, opening them, ‘but I cannot negotiate these kinds of vast sums. I simply do not have the authority.' He suddenly looked desperately sad.

Jim felt a bit sorry for him. ‘What do you think they're actually worth?'

‘The regalia are beyond price,' sighed Akira.

‘Are you talking about the Japanese regalia?' asked Jane.

Jim nodded.

She seemed confused.

Jim jumped up. ‘Let's ask Mr Google,' he said, striding to his desk. He opened a browser. ‘What is the value of the British Crown Jewels?' he typed. ‘The British Crown Jewels are worth thirteen billion pounds, apparently.'

‘What's the
Mona Lisa
worth?' asked Jane.

Jim typed. ‘Wow – only a billion. Anybody got any other comparisons?' he asked. ‘It says here that the Emperor's palace was worth seven trillion dollars in 1989, more than all the real estate in California. So if his house is worth that, how much for his Crown Jewels?'

‘The Japanese Crown Jewels,' said Jane. ‘What's this all about?'

Akira stood up. ‘Please,' he said, ‘I'm sorry, I understand you are angry with me and I do not wish to make things worse. Can I suggest a plan?'

‘Why not?' Jim said, grinning.

‘I will bring a small group of experts to examine the objects.'

‘Wait a minute,' said Jim.

‘No, no, no, please,' protested Akira. ‘They will examine the objects on your terms. They will then advise others on any offer. Then it will be for you to make arrangements with the correct authority as to what price is fair and reasonable. Does this seem possible to you?'

Jim shrugged. ‘Yeah, sounds fine.'

Akira bowed. ‘Then it is agreed.'

Jim nodded. ‘Yes.' He waved a finger at the professor. ‘But no more tricks.'

Akira bowed again. ‘No more tricks.'

Jim glanced at the window. ‘Oh, shit! It's low tide and what a beauty! It must be full moon.' The stony foreshore now fell nearly twenty feet to the neap tide line. ‘Come on,' he said to Jane and Akira. ‘Let's take a look before the tide turns.' He went to the window, opened it and raised his foot over the sill. ‘Come on, Professor, let's see if we can find some more treasure.'

Jane came down the twelve steps after him in three easy movements.

Jim breathed in the muddy scent of the Thames. He loved the dank clay odour. He trudged to the waterline across the shingle that clattered under his feet. He gazed back at the row of Victorian and eighteenth-century warehouses that fronted the river. It seemed to him that he was looking into another era, as if time had moved at a different pace on the steeply sloping foreshore, leaving it as a gateway to another age.

He could almost hear the sounds of the past, the barked messages and greetings along the once frenetic riverbank. The Thames had been a heaving thoroughfare. For most of the city's life, the river had been the key artery by which people had preferred to travel, rather than braving the smelly, polluted and crime-ridden streets. Now it was placid and empty, with only the occasional boat travelling on it. Like a deserted Roman road buried in a field, an empire had fallen and its broadways had been forgotten.

Akira struggled down onto the beach and walked towards them.

‘Look here,' said Jim, as he arrived. ‘See where the stones stop and the mud starts? This is where the metal is dropped by the tide. You look here for things – along this line.'

Akira bent down to pluck out a fragment that flashed silver. He pulled and a glistening black and silver chain snaked out of the mud. ‘Like this?' he said.

Jim looked into his blank but nonetheless questioning eyes. ‘Let me see.' He was amazed at Akira's instant success. He took and examined the watch-chain. It was made of links meshed together in a tightly interwoven cord. ‘I've never found anything this good in the hundred times I've been down here,' he marvelled.

‘Then keep it,' said Akira, ‘as a token of goodwill.'

‘No,' said Jim. ‘I couldn't. It's special. You found it so it's yours.'

Akira bowed.

Jim smiled. ‘Let's see if you can find anything else.'

Akira turned and bent down. Jim caught a glimpse of something else silver on the ground.

Akira picked it up and offered it. It was a bottle cap. ‘I'm afraid my luck has ended.'

‘Oh!' squealed Jane, from ten yards away. ‘Now that's more like it.' She held up a gold-red tube. It was a wartime .303 round. She spotted a scatter of red laser light at the professor's feet and looked up at Jim's apartment: a top-floor window was open. She shook her head. ‘We've really got to have a talk with Stafford.'

Kim looked out over Tokyo from the fifty-fourth floor. On a clear day the view to Mount Fuji was breathtaking but it had been a long time since anything had lifted his jaded mood. He had thrown up many such great blocks by the power of his will. He built what he liked because no one dared stop him. He built with the huge debt he was allowed.

He owed his banks so much money that only by constructing newer buildings, bigger and higher, could he justify his empire having the assets necessary to cover its giant liabilities. Like a staggering man about to fall, he had to run headlong to stay upright. Without forward momentum he would come crashing to the ground.

Money was a fiction, an illusion built on confidence. They saw his towers and could not value them, so everyone was happy when he told them he was easily able to continue to pay what was due. Yet they all knew that it was only the negligible interest rates in Japan that let the fiction roll on.

If they had to be sold, Kim's assets could not cover his mountains of debt. His ten billion dollars of loans were secured by no more than five billion dollars of property, if he was forced to sell them in the depressed market that had dragged on in Japan for more than two decades. Once he had been a mighty billionaire, but the grinding deflation of the last generation had ground once stratospheric property values back to earth. Yet the debt stayed, and all that kept it serviced was yet more borrowing. He was now a minus billionaire, living like a king off the vast loans that piled ever higher.

If he could lay his hands on the regalia, he could pay everything off in one transaction.

The lights of the buildings lit the heavy clouds, and the rain shone as it fell. He stared out over the vast city.

Tokyo was built inside the crater of a giant active volcano. Mount Fuji was merely a pimple on the rim of a huge, festering boil. One day it would explode and everyone would die. The skies would fill with ash and the world would fall into a decade of never ending winter. Civilization would wilt and humanity shrink back to a level not seen for a thousand years. Sometimes he wished it would happen in front of him and end his predicament in a disaster so great his calumny would be drowned in its overwhelming monstrosity. Now he had a different hope.

He turned to his desk and poured sake into a tall glass. He took a net on a short stick and fished in a bowl, catching an almost transparent prawn. He flicked the prawn into the glass of sake. He lifted the glass and watched the creature twist and turn. He wondered what it felt. He wondered if it thought and, if so, what it was thinking. Was it in agony? He could see its black eyes twisting, the blood that pulsated through its delicate veins into its brain. Man could not even dream of creating such a complicated and refined thing. He tilted his head back and poured the contents of the glass into his mouth. The prawn struggled as he bit on it with a crunch.

The sharpness of the sake contrasted nicely with the slight oiliness of the flesh. The living always tasted so much finer than the dead.