Stones: Theory (Stones #4) (5 page)

“I’m not surprised or impressed. Shinto has brought peace to the world. We should expect nothing less.” Miyazawa runs his palms down the starched white tunic on his chest.

As the transport floats down past the two high towers on the west end, Miyazawa gazes out at the vertical lines of a massive stained-glass window set in the middle, his eyes drawn irresistibly upward.

He raises his hand. “Stop here for just a moment.” He stares at the white statues of ten people arranged in a row above the arched entrance. “Who are they?”

“Christian martyrs from the 20th century.” The aide points out the window. “Some killed by Nazis. Some by communists in China. One was even killed by the Japanese army during World War II. All victims of oppression and tyranny.”

A thumb and index finger goes up to Miyazawa’s chin. “Then it is fitting that our jinja shrine face in this direction. It will be a symbol of the end of such oppression and tyranny.”

“May it be so, always.” The aide’s head drops in a short bow.

The heli-transport touches on the ground, soft as a cherry blossom. A muffled whining is faintly audible from the interior as power is cut to the over-sized rotors. As they decelerate to a stop, each of the eight-bladed turbines casts a spoke-like shadow on either side of the transport. Amid subtle creaks and groans, the whole ship settles and spreads out on the earth, like a great dragon. A glass door slides open, and a golden ramp moves out from cabin level to the grass below.

Miyazawa stands and straightens the tall black hat atop his head and pulls the starched tunic and sleeves down hard until they are as straight and stiff as wooden boards. Turning to the open door, he walks down the ramp, careful that his right foot is the first to touch down on the sea of white pebbles.

A hushed reverence rolls over the gathered faithful as a few catch glimpses of the Shinto priest. Thousands stare up at suspended screens the size of soccer fields to see the white figure emerging from the white transport.

In a carefully choreographed move, the western doors of the Abbey open to reveal the Archbishop of Canterbury standing in his red vestments emblazoned with the symbol of the sun. His white under-robe and collar match Miyazawa’s tunic. A white mitre cap rests on his head, shaped like a shark’s mouth gaping upward.

The Archbishop takes two steps forward, stops and holds out his arms in a gesture of welcome to Miyazawa.

Moving to the lowest marble step, Miyazawa executes a deep bow. Carefully keeping his body upright, he ascends the stairs, the bottom hems of his robes all but concealing his feet, giving him the appearance of an angel floating up to the Archbishop.

At the top, the Archbishop moves forward, extending both hands to grasp Miyazawa’s arms. At the same time, Miyazawa drops his upper body forward into a stiff bow at a precise forty-five-degree angle. For an instant, the Archbishop’s fingers brush against Miyazawa’s nose before both men realize their mistake and pull back.

Awkward silence ripples through the crowd.

“My mistake.” The Archbishop smiles gently, dropping arms to his side and bending forward in a stiff bow. “Welcome to our sanctuary.” Turning to the multitude of kneeling humanity, he raises his arms again, palms up, reaching out to the crowds on his right and left. “We are pleased to enjoy the presence of our great benefactor.” His voice bursts from hidden speakers mounted high on the towers of the Abbey. “His face is familiar to all of us. He is the one whose mighty hand stretched forth and stopped the destruction of millions. He is the Bringer of Peace, the Great High Priest of the Earth United Shinto Alliance, the most holy Tomoyuki Miyazawa.”

In the sea of bodies, thousands of eyes close as palms come together in silent adoration.

A head taller than the older Englishman, Miyazawa turns and stands arm to arm with the Archbishop. As they face the crowd, the rotors of the heli-transport engage and begin to silently rotate. At the end of a full minute, it lifts off the ground and floats back up past the towers above them, slowly banking away.

A pathway of white pebbles opens out from the bottom of the stairs. It leads through the courtyard, across the street to the opposite side where a small Shinto shrine stands alone. The gold-plated surface of its peaked corners glints in the noon sun. Over its entrance, a new
shimenawa
rope of braided rice straw loops down and back up like a smile, as thick as a man’s waist. White
shide
paper in the shape of lightning hangs along its underside like a fringe. A hint of incense drifts across the open expanse.

“It’s now my pleasure to escort you to the dedication ceremony.” The Archbishop moves down the steps ahead of Miyazawa.

Following two paces behind, Miyazawa walks in half-steps, careful to let the Archbishop take the lead.

As they proceed across the courtyard, robed acolytes on either side of the roped-off walkway toss handfuls of sea salt onto the white pebbles to purify the ground under Miyazawa’s feet.

As Miyazawa and the Archbishop cross the road onto the temple grounds and approach the torii gate, the Archbishop stops and allows Miyazawa to move ahead.

Pulling a flat wooden stick from his sleeve, a sign of his status, Miyazawa walks under the torii gate, leaving the world of the profane behind and entering sacred ground. At the base of the steps to the shrine entrance, he stops and turns back to face the Abbey.

To the amazement of the multitude, a flock of white doves explodes up from the towers of the Abbey, their wings beating in the quiet summer sky as they swoop down and cross the courtyard just above the heads of the kneeling crowd. In a show of impressive symbolism, they land in perfect symmetry on the awning of the Shinto shrine.

The meaning is clear to everyone present. Anglican Christianity has just given official endorsement to the Shinto movement. The two are bound together.

I’ve grown weary of dedication ceremonies,
Miyazawa thinks as he ascends the steps to the shrine.
Just a few more.

“T
ell us about the location algorithm.” Ryzaard takes another drag on his black Djarum and blows smoke across the table.

Diego picks up the slate. “You mean the
new and improved
location algorithm.”

Elsa’s holo of the graph vanishes back into the table. In its place, a large 3D globe of the Earth rises up out of the polished surface. Dozens of red dots orbit its surface. The lines of a grid system form between them, like a net around the planet. “With seven Stones and another hundred dedicated satellites, we now have instantaneous detection capability. No more lag time. No more extrapolation. If a Stone shows up, we know its location
immediately
. If it’s out in the open, we can get a visual within seconds.”

“Impressive, as always.” Ryzaard blows smoke at the holo of the globe and watches it drift through the blue interior. “Any hits since we last spoke?”

“Only the one we already know of in Greece, which is to be disregarded pursuant to your instructions. Otherwise, nothing since the Event, three months ago, when we detected them in Vancouver.” Diego says. “We’ll continue to monitor carefully and keep you apprised. If anyone tries to use a Stone, we’ll know about it.”

“How can that be?” Elsa says. “If they’re somewhere in the world, why can’t we detect them, regardless of whether they’re using the Stones?”

Ryzaard smiles and lays the cigarette on the edge of the table. “That mystery has been solved.” He produces a small gray box and sets it on the table. “This comes from my personal collection and is a fake. They have the real one. Put a Stone inside, and it deactivates, making it impossible to track. But no need to worry. Let them play their game of hide-and-seek. At some point, they’ll make a move, use their Stones and we’ll know about it.” He turns to Diego. “Good work. What about the freedom camps?”

Diego brushes the slate, and the red dots floating around the globe drop away. In their place, scattered green dots pop up on land masses on all seven continents. “These were the freedom camp locations shortly before the Event. When we destroyed six of them along the West Coast in one day, all the rest suddenly disappeared, within hours.”

“Any confirmed sightings?” Ryzaard says.

“The former inhabitants of the freedom camps call themselves the
Children
, and they’re mingling with the general population. In the cities, out in the rural areas. Everywhere. It’s an easy group to infiltrate. There’s no security, no technology. No organizational structure to speak of.”

“How do they communicate?”

“Word of mouth.” Diego says.

“What about leaders?”

Diego scratches his head. “They don’t say much about leaders. From all we’ve been able to gather, there’s only one, a mystical figure that only a few have seen.”

“What do they call him?” Ryzaard leans forward and picks up his cigarette.

“
The Finder
.”

Ryzaard laughs. “You’ve got to be kidding. An obvious reference to
The Boy Who Found the Stone
. So he’s become the leader of the Children? Ironic but fitting.”

“So it appears.” Diego says.

“And what does
The Finder
say to them?”

“Not much. Most of the Children won’t talk about him. But that changed about an hour ago. I’ve been waiting to tell you.”

Ryzaard turns his full attention to Diego. “Tell me.”

Nodding, Diego brings up the image of a man in his mid-fifties, gray hair, haggard face and dark tanned skin stretched over a bony face. Missing his right arm. “Our people just found this guy shouting obscenities about The Finder down in Times Square, and he was happy to talk. Said he’s been to see The Finder somewhere in the Great Smokey Mountains of East Tennessee. Apparently he trekked there to hear precious words of wisdom and wasn’t much impressed. Just some hokey stuff about dreams and visions. Warnings about masses worshipping blindly at shrines across the world. All The Finder really had to say was to stay away from Shinto. Those were his exact words.
Avoid Shinto
.”

“Sounds harmless.” Kalani uncrosses and crosses his ankles on the edge of the table. “At least he doesn’t have an army.”

“I’m not surprised,” Ryzaard says. “Weakness breeds weakness. When did the man last see The Finder?”

“Ten days ago,” Diego says. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. The Finder moves around a lot, but he may still be there.”

Ryzaard puts out his cigarette on the table and forms his fingers into a steeple, clothes flashing red. “Perhaps.” He turns to Jing-wei. “Send some troops and attack ships to the last known location. Nothing too heavy or obvious. Just enough to apply pressure. It will be a good way to test the new hardware we’ve acquired.”

“Got it.” Jing-wei’s fingers bounce across her slate. “I’m sending two ships from a base near Knoxville. They should get there in the next ten minutes.”

“Does anyone else have anything to share?” Ryzaard’s eyes drift past Jing-wei to Kalani. “Nothing at all?”

“Well,” Kalani says. “I’ve had some ideas about our problem with raising funds to support the spread of Shinto and keep up with our growth and expenses. From what I’ve heard, we need a whole lot more than our current financial arrangements are able to generate.” He leans back in his chair and lets his eyes roll past Elsa, sitting next to him. “Besides, what we just heard about the new betting scenario doesn’t sound very promising, to tell the truth.”

“What do you mean?” Elsa glares at Kalani. “It’s going to work brilliantly.”

“Let’s hope so.” His eyes move back to Jing-wei. “But just in case it doesn’t, we’ve come up with an idea that doesn’t depend on people coming to us.”

Elsa drops her head down to her palms, elbows on the table. “Can’t wait to hear about it.”

“I’ll let you do the honors.” Kalani turns to Jing-wei on his right, followed by all eyes in the room.

She drops her hands to the table. “We asked ourselves a simple question. Where does the money flow? I’m not talking about where the money
sits
. Static bank accounts and asset values of the rich and powerful aren’t much help to us. I’m more interested in
movement
.”

Jing-wei’s eyes are met by blank stares around the table.

“I’ll give you a hint,” she says. “Mesh transactions.”

“Are you talking about the IMU Exchange?” Elsa brushes a lock of stray blonde hair out of her eyes. “The IMUX handles all Mesh transactions.” She sounds like she’s reciting lines from rote memory. “It’s administered by the United Nations. The nominal fees they receive go to support poverty eradication projects around the world. World commerce making its contribution.”

Picking up her slate, Jing-wei glances at Kalani. “That’s what we thought too. It’s the standard explanation you’ll get if you search the Mesh. But we wanted to see exactly how it worked, so we hacked the IMUX and got an anonymous look at its actual inner workings.”

As Jing-wei talks, Kalani becomes visibly excited. His fingers drum on the table top, and he twists back and forth in his chair, looking like a caged cat. Finally, he can’t hold back any longer.