Temple of the Gods (11 page)

Takashi nodded. ‘I was told they used their Internet technology to intercept people’s private communications. I imagine that is how they learned about my statue. But that raises a question.’

‘Why they wanted it in the first place?’

‘Yes. For them to have gone to such lengths to steal it, the statue must be of greater importance than it appears to be.’

Nina had another question. ‘Why didn’t you report it stolen? When it was recovered from the Khoils, you could have got it back from Interpol. Rather than buying it on the black market.’

‘You do not approve, Dr Wilde?’

‘No. It just encourages the illegal trading of antiquities – if thieves know they can get a high price for what they’ve stolen, they’ll keep on doing it.’

‘On this occasion, I had no choice. There were other interested parties, and I could not let the statue – the statues, all three – fall into their possession.’

‘Which other interested parties?’

‘That is no longer important. What matters is that I now have them.’ Takashi stood. ‘In answer to your question,’ he told her as he slowly walked round the table, ‘I did not report the theft of my statue because even though I have rightful ownership, there are those who want it taken from me and returned to China. For the sake of diplomacy – and their own political ambitions. If the statue had been brought to me through Interpol, they would have interfered, or even attempted to seize it.’ He gestured to Kojima, who went to another set of doors and opened them. Takashi started for the exit. ‘Please come with me, Dr Wilde. I am sure you are keen to see the statues for yourself.’

Unable to deny that, she followed him. Near the door, set against the outer wall, was a wood and glass booth that she had assumed was some sort of display cabinet. Closer up, she saw that it contained an orange sphere around five feet tall. Takashi noticed her curiosity. ‘My escape pod.’

Nina couldn’t believe her ears. ‘Your
what
?’

‘In case of a major earthquake.’ Seeing her still incredulous expression, he went on: ‘You do not have escape systems in American skyscrapers?’

‘No – or if we do at the UN, nobody’s ever let me in on the secret.’

Now it was his turn to look disbelieving. ‘I hope it is never needed,’ he said as they left the office.

To Nina’s surprise, the next room contained a beautiful rock garden, shrubs and miniature trees carefully arranged amongst large rounded stones, all surrounded by gravel precisely raked into wave-like patterns. She wanted to stop for a moment to admire it, but before she could even offer any praise Takashi had moved on to the next set of doors. They went down another hallway, passing more rooms of the penthouse. Outside, a tall white mast rose from a tier a few storeys below: the tower of one of the wind turbines she had seen from the limo. Light from the setting sun flickered off the rapidly turning blades above. ‘That’s something else I’ve never seen on an American skyscraper,’ said Nina, looking up at the structure.

‘They generate up to ten per cent of the building’s energy needs,’ said Takashi with pride. ‘I would like more, but I must battle with the city planners over such things.’ He stopped, turning to face her. ‘This is why I am so interested in the earth’s natural energy. Renewable sources like wind and wave power are a beginning, but the world’s energy demands are growing faster than they can be met. We need more, and it must be non-polluting, or we shall all choke. If earth energy can be harnessed, it could be the key to the future of humanity.’

‘It could be dangerous, though.’

‘All energy sources are dangerous, if used wrongly. That is why they must be kept in the right hands.’

The obvious question was somewhat rude, but had to be asked. ‘Yours?’

‘Not mine alone. But those who are seeking global stability and security.’ He set off again. ‘This way.’

He led them into a large, softly lit gallery, the walls of which were home to numerous paintings and woodcuts. Nina didn’t recognise any, but from their style and condition took them to be the work of Japanese artists dating back at least two centuries, some of them clearly much older. At the room’s far side was another set of double doors. Takashi signalled to Kojima, and the secretary pushed a button on the wall. The doors were panelled in dark oak, but the hum of powerful machinery as they slowly swung open suggested that there were heavier and more secure materials behind the façades.

‘My strongroom,’ said Takashi. ‘After the statue was stolen from me, I had the rest of my collection made as secure as possible. It is why I live here now, at the top of my own skyscraper. No intruder can reach this place without being caught. My guards see to that.’

Nina was dubious. ‘What, the two guys all the way downstairs?’

A knowing smile. ‘They are not my only guards. But come, come.’ He beckoned her through the doorway. Lights came on as they entered.

Her eyes went wide at the sight within. The industrialist had an incredible collection of antiquities. Most were Japanese, which was not her area of expertise, but she recognised other items as being from China, India, Tibet and more. Scrolls bearing gorgeous calligraphy; exquisite carved statues of ivory and jade; a full set of ornate samurai armour; jewellery in gold and silver, precious stones glinting from the settings. The value of the room’s contents was easily tens of millions of dollars, perhaps even hundreds.

Kojima’s phone trilled. He spoke briefly to the caller, then bowed to Takashi and Nina. ‘My apologies, but there is a matter I must see to. I will be back soon.’

Takashi nodded, then continued into the room as his secretary departed. He paused as he reached one item. ‘Do you recognise this, Dr Wilde?’

Nina examined it: a sword, the white blade long and notched in places with the scars of battle. ‘I’m afraid not. What is it?’

He looked disappointed, apparently expecting her to be more impressed. ‘This is Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi, the sacred sword of the great warrior Yamato Takeru. It is one of the three Imperial Regalia of Japan.’

The sword’s name dredged up a vague memory from her childhood, when her parents had taught her the legends of other countries. ‘Kusanagi . . . that’s the Japanese equivalent of Excalibur, isn’t it? I thought it was kept in a temple.’

‘The Atsuta Shrine in Nagoya, yes. That is what the priests there claim. It is good for business.’ A brief, grunting laugh. ‘But I have owned it for more than thirty years.’

‘If it’s part of the Imperial Regalia, doesn’t it really belong to the emperor?’

Takashi struggled to conceal his irritation. ‘A few politicians have suggested that. But they are now
former
politicians.’ He moved on, keen to change the subject. ‘Here, Dr Wilde,’ he said, standing before one particular display case. ‘Here is what you have come to see.’

Nina gazed at the objects within. They seemed unremarkable: crude figures, primitive carvings made from an unusual purple stone. One had been bisected vertically, the left and right halves put back together and held in place by thin elastic bands. Compared to the treasures around them, they appeared all but worthless.

She knew that was far from the case, however. They were conductors of earth energy, which in certain hands – her hands – produced extraordinary effects. When separated, each statue glowed, brighter bands of light pointing in the direction of its two companions. When all three were brought together . . .

That
was the main reason she had come to Japan. To find out. She had never had the chance to complete the set before they were stolen by Stikes.

Now, that chance had come.

D
ressed in a cheap suit from Hong Kong, Eddie entered the Takashi building.

Scarber had provided the information he sought. Stikes was in the building right now, meeting the company’s boss on the fiftieth floor. The first obstacle he would have to overcome was getting up there. The penthouse – apparently the guy lived right above his headquarters, which Eddie supposed was one way to cut down on commuting – was only serviced by a single lift, which was permanently guarded. He could see two uniformed men standing at a set of doors away from the other elevators, and guessed they were backed up by electronic surveillance.

But that wasn’t the lift he would be taking. Scarber had also given him the name of a contact within the company, who could get him up to the thirtieth floor. That left another twenty, but one step at a time . . .

Feigning casualness, he strolled to the reception desk. ‘Hi, I’m here to see – whoa!’ He flinched as he realised he was talking to some sort of mechanical mannequin rather than a young woman, and looked round to see if he were being secretly filmed for some elaborate practical joke. ‘What’s this, Realdoll HQ?’

The robot’s response was to bow its head, then say, ‘My apologies, sir. I did not know you spoke English. May I take your name, please?’

‘Ed— er, Barney Phelps,’ he stuttered, thrown by the disconcerting encounter.

‘I’m sorry, I did not hear you correctly,’ said the robot apologetically. ‘Could you repeat that, please?’

‘Barney Phelps,’ he said again. ‘Look, no offence, but I’d rather talk to a real person. Wait,’ he added, ‘why am I apologising to a fembot?’

A lifeless smile spread across the robot’s face. ‘Thank you, you are expected. Mr Jiro is waiting for you. If you will please take your visitor’s pass, and wear it at all times while you are in the building?’ The machine indicated a slot in the desktop. Eddie hesitantly took the pass that slid out and attached it to his lapel. ‘Please go to elevator number twelve and exit on the thirtieth floor. Have a nice day.’

‘I might, if this wasn’t fucking Westworld,’ Eddie muttered as he headed for the lifts. ‘Okay, number twelve . . .’

He was the only person waiting; at this time of day, Takashi employees were just starting to leave for the evening. Once the elevator had disgorged its occupants, he entered and rose up through the building alone. The doors opened, and he stepped out into a small lobby area. Another of the unsettling robot receptionists was waiting at a little desk, but to his relief an actual human being came to meet him before it could speak. ‘Mr . . . Phelps?’ said the thin-haired Japanese man. Despite the air-conditioned cool, sweat was beading on his forehead.

‘That’s right,’ Eddie answered. ‘You’re Jiro?’

‘Yes, yes.’ He gave the Englishman a perfunctory bow, glancing about to check that nobody was watching. ‘Come with me, please.’

Eddie followed him down a corridor into a small office. Jiro quickly closed the door behind him, then pulled open a drawer and, hands shaking, took a holdall from it. ‘I will be fired if anyone learns of this,’ he said. ‘Or worse. Give me your pass.’

Eddie took it from his jacket. ‘What’re you going to do with it?’

‘I will log you out of the building. On the computer, it will look as though we left together. I don’t want to be connected with whatever you’re doing.’ He exchanged the holdall for the pass.

Eddie opened the bag. Inside was a gun, a Russian Makarov PMM automatic. Considering Japan’s extremely strict gun laws it must have taken some work to obtain. He eyed his contact. ‘Doesn’t sound like you’re too happy about helping me.’

‘I don’t want to. Scarber is making me.
Busu ama
!’ He almost spat the insult.

‘So how do I get up to the penthouse?’

‘You will have to get into the central core. Only two elevators go to the top of the building – Takashi-san’s private elevator, and one for maintenance. But the maintenance elevator is controlled by computer, so you will have to climb up.’

‘There are security cameras on the stairs, I take it.’ Jiro nodded. ‘So how do I get into this central core?’ Eddie asked as he checked the gun. It was fully loaded with twelve nine-millimetre rounds.

‘There is a door used by the cleaning robots. You will—’

‘Wait, the what? Jesus, is everything in this place robotic?’

‘You will have to be careful,’ Jiro continued impatiently. ‘The door only opens for the robots, and they stop if a person gets too close. For safety.’ He scribbled a rough map from the office to the service entrance. ‘When you are inside, there is an elevator that goes to the maintenance hub on the forty-fourth floor. From there . . . you are on your own.’

‘Looks like I already am,’ Eddie said scathingly as Jiro hurriedly prepared to leave. ‘What if I run into anybody on the way?’

‘There is a fake pass in the bag, so put it on. If you look as though you know where you are going, no one will be suspicious.’

Eddie took out the laminated pass. He couldn’t help noticing that its picture was not of him; the grinning youth with extravagantly styled hair seemed to have been clipped out of a magazine advert. ‘Only way this could’ve looked less like me would be if you’d used a photo of Pamela Anderson.’

‘All you
gaijin
look the same. I am going now.’ Jiro donned his coat and scurried out. ‘Be sure no one sees you leave my office.’

‘Not going to wish me luck?’ Eddie called after him. He examined the crude map and memorised the route, then affixed the bogus pass to his jacket. He opened the door a fraction. Nobody was in the corridor. He pocketed the gun and set out.