The backup man now appeared in the shattered storefront, his face slashed by broken glass, one arm sliced open and bleeding. O'Hara did not retreat. He leaped sideways, deep into the darkness of the store, out of sight of the two remaining men for an instant, then charged the backup man from the darkness, jogging to the right and left and twisting sideways and diving under the man's outstretched arms, coming up with a palm-heel shot that demolished what was left of the man's jaw, knocking him back into the alley. A second later he felt a knife foot shot to his kidney, a blow that sent pain streaking up his spine and cramping his shoulders. It knocked him forward, but again he did the unexpected. He took two quick steps and then thrust backward, twisting as he did and colliding with the middle man, dropping to his knees, grabbed two handfuls of sweater and flipped the man over his head through the shattered window. The middle man landed on top of his backup.
O'Hara ignored the pain in his side and attacked again, this time using his favorite move, one which combined the arcing swing of the side foot blow with the ball of foot, a move requiring total commitment, for he had to literally twist in midair, picking up momentum from the swing of his foot, then turning it so the ball of his foot landed up under the nose. It was a perfect strike and the middle man sighed as he whirled away and collapsed.
But the backup man was still not out. His arms whipped into a defensive position as he stood and then just as quickly he tried his own side kick to O'Hara's ribs and followed with combinations, an elbow shot followed by a two-fingered thrust up under O'Hara's chin that snapped his head back and missed his windpipe by a fraction of an inch. Backup's mistake was overconfidence. As O'Hara's head jerked backward, the backup stepped in and tried a back fist strike.
O'Hara landed flat on his feet, saw the peculiar augering punch coming, moved backward with it, let it glance off his cheek, slashed down with his own arm and locked Backup's elbow under his own. He spun him around, snapped a knee into the man's groin, and as he arched forward, got his other hand under Backup's chin and twisted. The elbow snapped and O'Hara let the arm go, completed the move by swinging Backup in a full circle, letting him loose and hitting him twice with two spear hand punches. Backup dropped in a heap at his feet.
O'Hara turned toward the other two. It was all over. He instantly shook out the aches, massaged the pain from his kidney as he ran out of the passage, leaving the three attackers behind, and continued his journey back to the hotel.
He entered the hotel and found a quiet place near a rock garden in the corner of the lobby. Focusing on the water, he went to the wall and, entranced, began playing back everything he knew so far. The chain was becoming clearer to him. Chameleon, Hooker, Danilov—they were the keys. And one other. Dragon's Nest.
Everything led to Kyoto and beyond, to Tanabe. They were getting close, the attack proved that. He didn't know how long his three assailants had been following him, but it was safe to assume that they knew about Eliza and the Magician. They were all in danger.
It was Eliza who broke his concentration. "What happened to you?"
She was standing over him, looking at the torn jacket, the two bruises that were beginning to appear under his jawline.
"We're shaking them up, whoever 'they' are," O'Hara said. "I just got jumped by three pros a few blocks from here. I don't know how long they've been following me, but the message is perfectly clear. Somebody's nervous."
She was more concerned about O'Hara than about the implied danger to all of them. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. I may have a sore throat for a couple of days, but other than that I'll live. Have you heard from the Magician?"
"No, but I have some interesting news," she said and recounted her conversation with Yerkes. "And there's one other thing," she added.
"What's that?"
"You remember the notation in Lavander's book about Midas? It said 'lgr. Ghawar.' Remember that?"
O'Hara nodded.
"O'Hara, Ghawar is the largest oil field in the world. It's in Saudi Arabia. Maybe Midas is an oil field and the 'lgr.' means larger than. Larger than Ghawar."
"Which would make Midas the largest oil field in the world."
"Right!"
"Well, where is it?"
"I don't know the answer to that one."
"You just can't hide the largest oil strike on earth."
"Maybe the Magician's turned something up," she said. "I'll check the message desk."
"Wait," O'Hara said. "When you find the Magician, I just want you both to get out of Tokyo. Get the Howe satellite van and drive down to Kyoto tonight. I'm going on ahead by train."
"Can't we all go together?"
He shook his head. "I've made arrangements to talk to Hooker. The sooner I get there, the better."
She touched the bruises on his throat. "You're sure you're all right?"
"I'm okay. I just want you two out of Tokyo. Besides, the answers aren't here, they're at Dragon's Nest."
She kissed him lightly on the lips. "Look, I'll just check the desk..."
"I've got to go," he said, "or I'll miss the train."
"But—"
"I'll make reservations for you at the Royal Hotel. You should be there by morning."
"But—"
"Just check out the van, round up the Magician and do it." He kissed her on the cheek.
"But—"
He was gone.
God, she thought, he's maddening, the most impulsive man I've ever met. She went to the desk and checked both her messages and O'Hara's. There was an urgent message to meet the Magician at a street whose name she could not pronounce. She rushed out to try and stop O'Hara, but he was gone.
"Shit," she said aloud and hailed a cab.
The place was near the waterfront, down a dirty rut road that led across the railroad tracks and past a coal shack. The place was a dump, an overgrown lean-to with a red, white and blue sign that said "Harry T.'s." Rusting metal beer signs pockmarked the place, while behind it the sprawling Bridges shipyard obscured the bay.
The Magician was standing near the door of the place with his hands in his pockets looking forlorn. The sleeve of his suit was torn loose and there was a large rent in his pants.
"My God," said Eliza, "you look like an eighteen-wheeler backed over you."
"Worse," he said.
"Worse?"
"Worse. I got attacked by a bear."
"By a bear?"
"I'll tell ya all about it. Where's the Sailor?"
"He got this hot flash. He went to Kyoto. We're supposed to meet him there tomorrow night."
"Shit. What am I doin' here?" the Magician said to nobody in particular and looked off into space shaking his head. "The last thing I needed was that fuckin' bear, I'll tell you that."
"Magician, what in hell are you talking about?"
"What happened is, I was doin' these waterfront bars down here tryin' ta get a lead on Red Bridges. I mean if there's one, there's fifty bars down here. I was just hopin' to, you know, luck into something. I am, after all, a piano player, not fuckin' Front Page Harry."
"Maybe the next time there'll be something you can do on the piano."
"I can piss on it, if it's anything like the piano in there," he said, jerking his gloved thumb toward Harry T.'s. "Anyway, they's a lot of American sailor types around here, workin' these yards, and everybody is telling me if I want info on Bridges, I need to talk to Kraft American."
"Who?"
"Kraft American."
"Is that somebody's name or what you had for lunch?"
"It's the guy's name, okay? What do I know. So that's how I wound up here."
"Why here?" asked Eliza.
"Because Kraft American owns the joint."
"So? Is that it?"
"No, there's more. I just didn't get to it all yet."
"Why?"
"I had a run-in with this bear in there. Y'know, four legs, lotsa hair, long nose, big teeth, big fuckin' teeth."
"What kinda bear?"
"I dunno, a Japanese bear, I guess. He's wearing this little straw hat that says 'Win with Nixon' on the brim."
Eliza started to laugh. "I don't believe a word of this."
"Look, what are we standin' here talkin' about it for? There's a fuckin' bear at the fuckin' bar drinkin' a fuckin' beer. Go see for yourself."
"I'm just going to take a look inside," Eliza said.
She took a look. "My god, it is a bear! That's a big damn bear, too! I mean, look at that son of a bitch!" Eliza said.
"I wouldn't talk about him like that," said the Magician.
"What the hell is a bear doing drinking beer in a bar?"
"How the hell do I know? Ask the bartender, he used to work for Bridges. He's the one we need to talk to."
"That's Kraft American?"
"That's what I understand."
The bartender, a barrel of a man with a crew cut, a nose that had been broken so many times it wasn't sure which way to point, and arms as thick as a tire tube, was wearing a black T-shirt with "Hot Tricks at Budakan" stenciled across the front in bright-yellow letters. The tattoo on his left arm, an anchor embroidered with roses, had "USS Billfish" bannered across it. A toothpick lingered forgotten in the corner of his mouth.
"Wouldn't it be illegal serving a bear beer? You can't even take a dog in the supermarket back in America," Eliza whispered.
"You can reason with a dog," the Magician said, which made as little sense as the bear at the bar drinking beer.
"Gooda see yuh," the bartender said. "Everybody calls me Kraft American. I own the place. What'll it be?"
"I need something really strong. A piña colada," the
Magician said. "And beer for my friend."
"Okay I make that piña colada with Russian rum?"
Kraft American asked.
"Russian rum?" the Magician said, somewhat aghast.
"It's all I got till my delivery tomorra."
"Sure," the Magician said with a shrug. "It fits in perfect with everything else."
"Uh ... what's with the bear there?" Eliza asked.
"Yuh mean the one with the hat?"
"I don't see any other bear in here."
"What can I tell you," Kraft American said apologetically. "He comes with the store, okay? The guy who owns the place before me, he's kind of like a patriotic nut. The bear is just one thing. You haven't gone to the john yet. You sit on the seat, a recording of 'God Bless America' plays. Anyways, the deal is, the guy wants out. He offers me the place. The only catcher is, see, the bear stays. And his rah, rah, rah, America hat stays too. And the flag-wavin' toilet seat, everything."
"Does he have a name?"
"Name's Harry S. Truman."
"Does he often tear a man's clothes off his back?" the
Magician asked, still annoyed.
"It was the piano. I woulda warned ya, but I didn't see yuh siddown to play. Only problem we got with Harry S. is that the goddamn bear goes apeshit when he hears flat musical notes. Hurts his ears or sumpin. That piano ain't been tuned since they built the Canal. The only way, see, to calm Harry S. down when he gets outa sorts like that, all yuh gotta do is whistle the 'Star-Spangled Banner.' "
"You ever know a guy name of Red Bridges?" Eliza asked.
"Know him? Shit, yuh can't count the nights I wheeled his ass outa here. Red was in here alla time. He loved Harry S. I mean, they was asshole buddies. Red'd sit there, tell that goddamn bear his troubles, he'd never talk to anybody else. He used to bitch about the dish."
"Dish?" Eliza asked.
"Yeah, enormous thing, maybe as big around as, uh, half a football field. Like that."
"What do you do with it, invite a thousand of your closest friends to dinner?" said the Magician, looking around for a laugh.
Kraft American laughed. "That's a good one," he said. Harry S. belched, then rolled his lips back and smiled at everybody.
"Actually, what it is, it's an underwater environment thing."
"How come it was so big?" Eliza asked.
"I dunno this fer certain, okay? This is scuttlebutt. But from what I hear, this saucer-type thing could sleep maybe twelve, fifteen people. Had regular apartments in it, like they was gonna live down there. It was designed by that Greek guy, y'know the one does all the underwater shit."
"Nicholas Kaginakas?" Eliza said.
"That's the one. He died too. He was here for a while and then he went back to Greece and one day he dropped dead."
"What did Bridges make before they started building the dish?" Eliza asked.
"He was hot and heavy into the salvage business. Then Red bought about—oh, fifteen, sixteen of those old Liberty ships from World War II. Big, ugly bastards, but they could hold a ton. He worked on them for a while, refitting, putting in tanks."
"What for?"
"Red comes up with the idea that you could gut them, put in storage tanks and use them for oil tankers. He did lotsa business, none of 'em ever came back to complain. They was very unique, y'know, had ballast tanks in them like a submarine."
"Ballast tanks?" said the Magician.
"Yeah. I guess so's they could equalize the way they float, empty and full."
Harry S. picked up his empty mug between his paws and rapped on the bar, and Kraft American went down and drew him another beer.
"What d'ya think?" the Magician whispered to Eliza.
"Didn't Danilov say something about killing a man in Greece?"
The Magician nodded.
Kraft American came back with a piña colada and one draft beer.
"This dish, you know where they took it?" the Magician asked.
"Nope."
"And Red Bridges died before it was finished?"
"Yeah. Old Red was gettin' fed up with the operation. It got bigger than he had planned. See, Red was just a good old pirate, a salvage jockey. He loved lookin' for old wrecks. If he'd made a fortune dredging up some old treasure ship or a war vessel full of relics, that woulda made him happier than a pig in shit—pardon the French, lady. But converting old tubs into tankers and building some underwater flyin' saucer, that wasn't his thing. That definitely was not his thing. He din't wanna be no big-timer."
"Did he ever find anything when he was salvaging?" the Magician asked.
"Sure. Just before he quit we found an old Jap troopship lyin' in twelve fathoms off the Volcano Islands south of here. She was running from Iwo Jima in '45 and our dive bombers caught up with her. Then he got involved in this big-time shit and he never went back. She's still down there, rusting away."
"Nobody else went back either?"
"Far as I know, Red never reported the find. He was always planning to go back there when he retired."
He stopped and shook his head forlornly, then went on, "He really agonized over selling the yard, though, after thirty-five years. I heard him tellin' Harry S. all about it one night. He got a little soused, was unloadin' on old Harry. Some people he worked with after the war wanted to buy him out. Poor son of a bitch dropped dead before he could make up his mind."
"Before?" said Eliza.
"Yeah. Two nights before he passed away, he's in here with a bag on. He's bitchin' about gettin' in a squeeze with the big boys. But what big boys he didn't say."
"And nobody ever said what happened to the dish?"
"Nope. Hauled it outa here—shit, must be three, four months ago now. Actually I'm glad it's gone. Everything was very hush-hush, the guys'd come in, wouldn't talk shop. That's about the time they started hiring a lotta Jap guys. Hadda pass security tests, the whole shithouse mouse."
Harry S. belched again. "Ye're excused," Kraft American said.
"Who owns the shipyard now?" Eliza asked.
"Uh, some big outfit over here. Can't remember offhand, seems t' me it's down south somewhere."
"AMRAN?" Eliza ventured.
"No, sumpin like—"
"San-San?" said the Magician.
"Yeah, you got it, man. That's it, the San-San Company ."
"Whatsa matter, Harry, you got the blues?" Kraft American said. "He gets the blues, y'know, sits there with his face in the glass like some drunk, moaning."
"Maybe he's horny," the Magician suggested.
"I never thoughta that," Kraft American said and moved on down the bar to talk it over with Harry S., who continued to stare bleakly into his glass.
"It's beginning to fit together," Eliza said. "One more thing, Mr. Kraft American, did Red ever mention the word 'Midas' to you?"
"Sure, lotsa times."
"He did?"
"Yeah. That's what they called the dish."
4
IT WAS ALMOST MIDNIGHT when he arrived at the house in Kyoto. He slipped through the gate, but the dogs were with him before he got to the garden. They went crazy. The male, Kazuo, threw back his head and groaned low in the throat, like a shy wolf serenading the moon.
"Quiet," he said in a hushed voice. He knew Kimura would be asleep by now, and there was no light in Sammi's room. He went to the house in back. Tana was asleep, curled in a ball on her tatami, her black pigtail in a twist over her shoulder.
O'Hara was weary from the traveling. It had been three days since he had loosened up. He went down the hall away from Tana's bedroom to the practice hall. It was no larger than a big bedroom and its floor was covered with mats. One wall was mirrored, like in a ballet studio. He looked for the flowers. Tana put fresh flowers in the room for him every day whether he was there or not. The vase was in the corner, filled with yellow carnations, and the longing started.
The room was dark, streaked with light spilling in from outside, but he lit no lights.
He was relieved that Tana was asleep. He needed time to prepare his body, to clear his mind, to erase from it everything but the immediate objective.
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