Kusanagi (26 page)

Jim saw the professor waiting outside Virgin check-in on the concourse. He looked unusually relaxed and happy.

‘Good morning, Evans-san.' He smiled boyishly. ‘Now to finish our historic quest.'

‘That's a hell of a long cab ride to the airport,' said Jim.

‘You look very cheerful today, Evans-san.'

‘Really? I don't know why – I've only had about an hour's sleep.'

Narita airport was a paragon of efficiency, and in a few minutes, they were going through the formalities of leaving Japan.

There was a parade of luxury stores inside the airport but he knew buying anything for Jane was pointless. For one thing he had no idea when he was going to see her again. His head was throbbing. He found himself in a shop selling strange candies. ‘These are very famous,' said Akira. ‘Rice cakes.'

Jim squinted at the boxes and their exotic contents. ‘Rice cakes?'

‘Very delicious,' said Akira.

‘Let's buy some for Stafford,' said Jim, and wondered what his butler would make of them.

‘He will enjoy them, I'm sure.'

The Virgin lounge at Narita continued the Austin Powers theme that had started in London and seemed to complement Jim's mild hangover. He was eating a sausage butty and the professor was regarding his sushi as if he had to show it a little respect before he consumed it.

‘So,' said Jim, swallowing a mouthful, ‘we get in first thing in the morning, go straight home, pick up the items and take them straight to your embassy on Piccadilly.'

‘It opens at ten but they will not be expecting us. I can't trust anyone but you with the plan.' Akira sipped his green tea.

‘I have no idea where Stafford's stashed them,' said Jim, ‘but they must be relatively handy. The sooner we get hold of them the better. They know you at the embassy, right?'

‘I will show them my letter if there is any delay,' said Akira. ‘Once we are through the front door I think we are safe.'

‘I disagree,' said Jim. ‘Once we've handed it over properly, we're home and dry, but on the wrong side of the counter we may as well be out on the street.'

Kim sat at the back of the small HS-125 jet. They were refuelling. Damascus had stayed open for him and military fuel was being pumped into the tanks. His masters had friends, and their friends were only too happy to oblige him.

He had refused pain relief from his doctors in Tokyo. He didn't want anything dulling his mind, and the pain in his ribs would spur him on. The nurse sat forwards in the galley and awaited his command, but no man had ever died from bruised ribs.

The mirror and the sword had not yet been returned. He would smash his enemies into a pulp and take Kusanagi and the Yata no Kagami.

The banks were calling his office incessantly as his stock price had failed to recover from its collapse. Rumours of the incident at his office had spread like wildfire, and the gossip was as bad as any front page headline. To some extent, he had managed to hush it but… The mirage of his invincibility had vanished. He had to get the remaining pieces of regalia or he was finished. Even one item would be enough to buy him out of his dire financial situation. If he could get both, his riches and power would multiply.

It was a desperate gambit, but it had to work. Otherwise his life was over. His best men awaited him in London.

Jane was reviewing her email on the floor of the transport plane. She would have preferred a seat, but the floor would do. She had enjoyed the first hour or two but now her butt needed something less Spartan. When she'd had enough of the hard floor, she would go for a walk and talk to the pilots. These days, some of them knew her by reputation and that was a buzz.

The trouble was, a question kept popping up in her mind, and no matter how she thought about it or responded to it, it wouldn't go away. It was like a furious itch that wouldn't be banished by scratching.

The conundrum lay somewhere between: What the hell am I going to do with Jim? and What the hell am I meant to do with Jim?

Ranking officers had husbands and wives and they lived the army life. It was a comfortable, normal American existence in happy, well kept communities. They went to church and followed college sports. They had barbecues and drank beer. They did charity work, and held garage sales. They wore T-shirts, shorts and flip flops.

Normal expectations didn't intersect with the Jim-world. She was having the kind of does-not-compute moments that guys had with her.

Going any further down the road with him would rip her world apart. He wouldn't turn into some dim, gentle, shrugging guy taking care of business while she shot off around the world blowing shit up. He wouldn't be sweating the money and the kids' education. How was she going to be in charge with him, Mr freakin' Billionaire, successor-designate to the legendary Max Davas, the US Treasury's own financial market manipulator?

If she committed to Jim she'd end up heading straight at a hell she had spent her whole adult life avoiding: the idea of a family being a guy and his little wife.

She knew what her mom would say – she could even hear her voice in her head: ‘Don't be a fool! What are you waiting for? You love him, so what's the issue?'

She knew what her dad would say too: ‘Duh! I mean, you don't want him? That strikes me as not the smartest thought you've ever had.'

When she had saved Jim's skin in the Congo, she had felt much closer to him. Now he had done the same for her in Tokyo, she felt out of control.

She was staring at her email stack, her eyes unfocused. She blinked, then scanned the plane's no-nonsense skeletal interior. Stripped down was good. Complicated was bad. Her thing with Jim was complicated.
Ergo
…

She wished she had a stick of gum to chew. It would help her think.

Maybe the next time they were together the whole thing would resolve itself. She closed the Apple Airbook, got up and walked towards the flight deck.

Stafford came into the lounge where Smith was watching the television. ‘It would appear from this cryptic message that Jim will be back in the morning.'

‘Really?' said Smith. ‘Can I see?'

‘If you must.'

‘“Get the tea on,”' he read out. ‘Very cryptic.'

‘I thought so,' said Stafford.

‘Do you think he got Jane out?'

‘I would imagine so,' said Stafford, ‘or his message would not have been so flippant.'

‘I could find out – what do you think?'

‘Can we wait to hear it from Jim himself?'

‘I'm expecting full disclosure, you know,' said Smith, as if it was a punishment.

‘I remember.'

‘And London is still crawling with Far Eastern miscreants,' Smith goaded.

‘I don't doubt you,' said Stafford.

‘I hope your explanations are going to live up to my expectations.'

Stafford closed his eyes. ‘I can't possibly guess.'

Smith made an exasperated grumbling noise, then perked up. ‘You wouldn't have a beer hidden away somewhere would you, Bert– Stafford?'

‘I'm sure I can find one.'

Akira appeared at the end of Jim's Upper Class cubicle. Jim pushed the monitor to one side.

‘Evans-san, can I speak with you?'

‘Sure,' said Jim, taking his foot off the little seat at the end of his plastic and leather clad capsule.

Akira sat down. ‘I want to ask you something.' He pulled out his mobile. He opened it and started hitting buttons with his thumb. He registered something and smiled. He turned the phone around and showed it to Jim. It was the Happy Fox he had been chatting with all night at the restaurant. ‘Is she not very beautiful?'

‘Very,' said Jim.

‘Her name is Mitso.'

‘Nice.'

‘I'm not a man of the world like you, Evans-san. I am an academic and a cripple.'

The word ‘cripple' rang harshly in Jim's ear.

‘Do you think she and I can be together?' said Akira.

‘I don't know,' said Jim. ‘Does she like you?'

‘Yes,' he said. ‘More than I could have hoped for.'

Jim was struggling to put the right question. Eventually he came up with ‘Was she still liking you this morning?'

‘Yes.'

‘Well,' said Jim, ‘that's OK, then. If she likes you that much, there's no reason she won't carry on liking you.'

Akira took the phone back and pressed a button with his thumb. ‘The Happy Foxes are very famous celebrity outlaws,' he said, showing Jim a glimpse of another picture, this time with Mitso posing by a large custom bike.

‘Does that mean trouble?' asked Jim, as Akira showed him another image of Mitso pulled from the Internet.

‘For me, yes. For her, no.' Akira flipped to another picture.

Mitso wasn't wearing much in the glamour shot Akira showed him next.

‘Don't expect me to be any help,' said Jim. ‘My love life's a disaster.'

‘But Jane-san is your wonderful sweetheart,' said Akira, suddenly concerned.

‘Yes,' said Jim.

‘And you heroically rescued her from the evil man Kim.'

Jim sighed, ‘Well, that's all well and
manga
, but the reality is, Professor, that I'm here and she isn't.'

Akira nodded. ‘I feel that loss for the first time myself.' He clutched his chest. ‘It is a heavy sensation.'

Jim took the phone from Akira and looked at the next picture he had selected. Mitso was skimpily clad in leather pants with a tight T-shirt and was again draped over some alien motorbike. The professor clearly had no clue what he was getting himself into. ‘Nice motorbike,' he said. ‘Would you like to see more?' Jim stifled a sigh. ‘Sure – how many have you got?' ‘Many.'

Kim looked at the plans with the captain, who was also called Kim. Captain Kim was far too old to be an army captain any more. He had been working in the organisation for fifteen years and was the key man in Europe. He was responsible for kidnapping in Britain, Holland, Germany and France, and his success and skill had reflected on his clan's prosperity in the deep countryside of North Korea. His sons were in China as a result of his boss's patronage. He had sold his life and those of the people he took for the sake of his children. He believed any man in his place would have done the same. One day the impossible might happen and he might escape, but while his family and village depended on his absolute obedience that was just a tantalising dream.

His boss perused the plans. ‘I don't understand this man. It is not a normal house, it is a fortress.'

‘It is the house of a very rich man,' said Captain Kim.

‘But so young,' he shook his head, ‘too young.'

Captain Kim didn't reply. He waited for the boss to finish his inspection of the plans.

‘Can you not just break the front wall down with a truck?'

Captain Kim waited for a respectful moment. ‘That might work but these are very solid walls and we would need to push away any parked cars in front before the ramming assault. If the truck did not breach the frontage, the attack would be over and thwarted.'

‘An explosion will bring attention quickly.'

Captain Kim nodded. ‘Yes. We have six minutes to execute the operation.'

Kim stood slightly stooped – his ribs were aching. He looked gravely at the captain. The banks were demanding meetings and Toyoda had reported that they were beginning to threaten foreclosure. He had no alternative but to risk it all on a desperate plan. ‘You must bring them to me alive.'

The captain took a deep breath. If what he said turned out to be wrong it could prove disastrous. If he was right, it might save the whole risky endeavour. ‘Sir, I believe the items you seek are in the house.'

Kim whirled round to face him, pain shooting through his torso. ‘How so?'

‘We have observed, and we believe the old servant brought the items to the house from their hiding place at a moneylender's. Our watcher had no opportunity to strike.'

‘Are you sure of this?'

‘No, sir, but I believe it to be highly likely.'

Kim scowled. ‘This changes everything. You must do all you can to recover the items. Beyond this, the people inside have no value.' He looked at Captain Kim, his face implacable. ‘I cannot instruct you further. You must and will succeed.'

The captain nodded.

‘If you succeed,' said Kim, ‘it will be a happy day for all of us.'

The captain knew there would be a terrible punishment for failure, but so many provisional death warrants hung over his head that the threat meant nothing. He wondered for the thousandth time whether killing his master might be the real solution to his living hell.

It was five and the sun was about to rise. It was dark in the cavernous warehouse. Strip lights illuminated the space, throwing long shadows. Kim stood in front of his men. He could see the fear in their eyes. They were unnerved by what they had to do. They were going to the lion's den a second time and they had no choice.

Not only did he hold their lives in his hands but also the lives of their families in North Korea. They had heard how relatives disappeared when Kim was displeased. They knew, too, why their families had survived the famines and dire conditions of their country. Their families fed while others didn't. Their wives receive Party rations because they were Kim's soldiers. Every three years when they returned home on leave, they brought back money and things that made them heroes in their villages. They were heroes of their nation – so long as they did whatever Kim asked.

Kim knew they feared him more than death. He made sure of it. He knew they understood that what they did was terrible and he knew they did it for their own survival. Now his own survival hung in the balance. Many times in the past there had been moments when failure would have destroyed him. Those moments had often been followed by long periods of success.

‘Men, today you will attack the house again and bring back what I require. You will not fail and I will reward you well. You will not fail and your loved ones will bless your name. You will not fail and your country will praise you. You will not fail.'

‘We will not fail,' shouted the captain.

‘We will not fail,' echoed the men.

The troop saluted.

Smith heard the doorbell, grabbed the machine pistol and rolled off the bed fully clothed. He didn't mind sleeping dressed – it was better than having to fight barefoot and naked. He had taken the mickey out of Stafford – fancy waiting for a blitzkrieg in dressing-gown and pyjamas! – but the old spy wasn't having any of his teasing. He seemed prepared to die a gentleman in his PJs rather than lie down to sleep in his day clothes.

Stafford must already have been up because he was at the door surveying the scene outside on his iPhone. ‘Is everything clear?' said Stafford, into the intercom.

‘Yeah, no problem,' came Jim's voice.

Stafford seemed to weigh his new pistol in his grip for a second, then opened the door. Smith was aiming his machine pistol into the space that would be filled by a sudden rush of attackers.

Jim and Akira walked in, lugging their bags.

Stafford hurried them along and closed the door smartly.

Jim patted Stafford on the back, then caught sight of Smith. ‘John, what are you doing here?'

‘Playing Davy Crockett at the Alamo. What about Jane?'

‘We got her back.'

‘Excellent,' said Stafford, spontaneously.

‘Well done,' said Smith. He came forwards and took Akira's heavy bag. ‘Now I'm expecting some explanations.'

‘I've got the Japanese Crown Jewels,' said Jim. ‘They've been lost for a few hundred years and we've got to get them back to the Emperor.'

Smith looked at him sourly, ‘For fuck's sake, Jim, when are you going to let me in? This is no joke.'

Jim pushed past him, grinning.

Stafford flexed his right eyebrow sardonically.

‘The situation is still very dangerous,' said Akira.

Smith's face showed that he was having difficulty in accepting this. Akira stared blankly at him.

Smith turned and followed Jim into the lounge. ‘You're not serious, are you?'

Jim sat down in front of his computer and fired up his email. ‘They aren't some bunch of rocks and gold stuck with fur,' he said, opening a window to look at Kimcorp's share price. ‘They're like the embodiment of the spirit of Japan. One is like King Arthur's Excalibur, and another is a mirror the sun goddess thought was so beautiful she came out of a sulk for it. They would have paid me a trillion dollars for them if I'd asked.' He clicked his mouse. He had made money closing his Kimcorp short position and the price was still in the toilet. ‘But we've got to give them back. They're toxic.' He turned to Stafford. ‘Where are they?'

‘Here.'

‘Here?' said Jim.

‘Yes.'

Akira looked excited.

‘And there is a reason for that?'

‘Yes.'

‘OK,' said Jim. ‘And the reason is?'

‘I felt that putting them into someone else's safe keeping might not, in the end, prove sensible. I thought they might be expropriated.'

‘Right,' said Jim. ‘I have no idea what you're talking about.'

‘I thought about lodging them at the Bank of England,' continues Stafford, ‘but as the regalia are worth many times our gold reserve I thought better of it. Lodging them in a pawn shop also seemed rather too basic a solution. I have no wish to see the regalia nationalised, purloined or seized.'

‘Where are they?'

‘Under my bed.'

Jim shook his jetlagged head. ‘Whatever. Can you bring them down? When the clock hits nine we're going to make a run for the Japanese Embassy.'

‘A trillion dollars?' said Smith.

‘Excuse me,' said Akira, ‘but you asked for a hundred billion dollars.”

‘Would you have paid more?'

‘It's difficult to know,' replied Akira.

‘I think that's a yes,' said Jim.

‘Possibly,' shrugged Akira.

‘So,' continued Jim, ‘this Korean property guy, who must have been tipped off, kidnapped Jane to swap her with me for the jewels.'

‘Why didn't you tell me?' said Smith.

‘Wait,' said Jim. ‘Forget the jewels. Think of the money. A hundred billion dollars, five hundred billion, a trillion. Do you think your life or my life or ten thousand other lives wouldn't be sacrificed for that? If someone else had got hold of the regalia we would have never got Jane back. It wouldn't matter if it was the Japanese mob, your bosses, the CIA or Stafford's lot. Jane would have been dead by now and probably all of us too.'

Smith didn't seem very happy.

‘If I'd told you and you'd reported back, we'd be swarming with yet more killers wanting to get their hands on a trillion dollars.' He fixed Smith with a stare. ‘John, just think. We're dealing with hundreds of billions of pounds and they're ready for the taking by whoever is prepared to go no holds barred.'

‘I don't believe any of it,' said Smith.

Stafford came in carrying the sword and a bag containing the mirror.

Smith scowled. ‘A hundred billion?' he said.

‘A trillion.'

Smith took the bag, opened it and looked inside. ‘You must think I'm stupid,' he said, taking out the sword and passing the bag to Stafford.

‘Don't worry, mate,' said Jim. ‘It's all going to be sorted today.'

‘It'd better be,' said Smith, ‘and when it's all over if you don't tell me the real story I'm going to arrest all of you under our delightful anti-terrorist laws and keep you locked up till you explain in triplicate every last detail of what's been going on. Even then I might not let you out.'

‘I take it I'm excused that,' said Stafford.

‘Don't be too sure.'

Jim looked at his gold Rolex Cosmonaut. It was seven a.m. Japan's stock market closed. ‘Boom.' He was looking at the crashing share chart. Kimcorp's had sagged further in the closing minutes.

Stafford was looking at his iPhone. ‘Oh dear,' he said.