by Steve Bein
The furrows in Azami’s brow grew deeper. Kenbei’s eyes, the color of storm clouds, threatened lightning. “Daigoro or Okuma Daigoro, it makes no difference,” said Kenbei. “Your coffers are empty. Your clan is destitute. My brother’s pity for you outweighs his coin. Lord protector or no, you are in my debt.”
“Then I ask you to forgive the debt. As my loyal vassal. Will you obey?”
“What if we don’t?” Azami snapped. “We have heard from Lord Sora. He does not support you; he has only promised to stand clear of the fray. The same goes for Lord Mifune in the north and Lord Inoue in the south. What does it mean if your own fatherin-law will not stand by you?”
“My fatherin-law is not here. I will demand his fealty later. Today I demand yours.”
“No,” Kenbei said. “Izu is no longer your home, Bear Cub. You have no support here.”
“He has my support,” said a reedy voice behind him.
Yasuda Izu-no-kami Jinbei looked more ghost than man. His face was almost as pale as his snow-white topknot. He clutched a railing with bone-thin hands, but a fire burned in his eyes. Before leaving his sickroom he’d even taken the trouble to don his swords. Wracked by ague, he could scarcely bear their weight, so he kept his feet only through sheer force of will. He was, in short, the living spirit of bushido.
“He has our support,” the aging lord said. “Young master Daigoro is the third Okuma lord I have served. I had not thought to live long enough to kneel before a fourth, but by the gods, Kenbei, I would have guessed I’d live to serve a hundred more before I guessed one of my own sons would betray our closest friend.”
“Father, I—”
“Shut your mouth!” Kenbei shriveled like a dead worm in the sun. Azami remained adamant, balling her fists. “And you,” Lord Yasuda told her, “I have been patient with you for far too long. I have called you a she-bear before, but now I see you for what you are. Your tongue drips venom into my son’s ears. Now you have made him one of your own: a viper.”
“Wrong,” she shouted back. “If I were a viper, I’d have poisoned you ages ago.”
“Azami!”
No one expected her husband to strike her, least of all Kenbei himself. Evidently he still retained enough filial devotion to take offense when his wife insulted his father. The whip-snap sound of his slap across her cheek seemed to hang in the air. He was well within his rights as a husband, but clearly it was a line he’d never crossed before. He froze like a rabbit, stunned at what he’d done.
Azami all but growled and bared her teeth. The breath came loud and long through her nostrils. Then she punched him in the jaw.
The woman had the forearms of a blacksmith. Her fist caught him on the tip of the chin and knocked him cold. If Kenbei’s slap made everyone gasp, Azami’s punch rendered all of them speechless.
Except for Lord Yasuda. “Be gone! And drag my fool of a son with you! Find a new hole to make your den; you are not welcome here anymore.”
The outburst was enough to make Lord Yasuda light-headed. He swooned, but his white-knuckled grip on the railing prevented him from falling over. Before he could right himself, a fit of coughing bent him double.
His eldest son, Jinichi, rushed to his side. Daigoro wanted to as well, and with Aki’s help he made a few hobbling steps in that direction. Lord Yasuda waved all of them off. “I’m all right—or if not all right, then at least right enough to keep my footing. Damn this demon in my lungs! And damn you, Jinichi, for letting things go this far.”
Jinichi kneeled and bowed. “I’m sorry, Father. When you made Kenbei steward of the Green Cliff, I thought—”
“You thought what? That he was fit to lead? I stationed him here so I could keep an eye on him.”
All eyes turned to Kenbei, who still lay as limp as a wet rag. Azami proved she was not quite as heartless as Daigoro supposed. She did not drag her husband across the flagstones, as Lord Yasuda had commanded. Rather, she left Kenbei lying there to gather raindrops, and stormed off to their quarters to collect her things.
The wizened little lord bowed to Daigoro as deeply as he could manage. “You have my most abject apologies, Okuma-sama. I knew Kenbei was trouble from the moment I first met his sons. Mountain monkeys, all of them. I cannot imagine where he learned his fathering instincts, but I pray to all the gods and buddhas that it was not from me. I should never have agreed to marry his grandson to your mother, but you were in such need, and it seemed such a clever idea at the time… .”
“No apology is necessary,” Daigoro said. Together he and Aki finally made their way to Lord Yasuda’s side. “I asked a favor of you and you granted it without hesitation. What more could anyone ask? Azami spoke the truth: of all the lords protector, the only one to stand by the Okumas was you.”
“The only one to make trouble for the Okumas was me.”
“No, Yasuda-sama—”
“Enough with that sama nonsense. You are Lord Okuma Izu-no-kami Daigoro again. Now you listen. You will not know it, Okuma-sama, but once I was young like you. I used to go out drinking and whoring with my friends.” He gave Katsushima a knowing wink, which Katsushima returned in kind. “I used to get good and drunk in those days, but if I was ever so drunk as to mate with a monkey, I cannot remember it. It must have happened, though, because I do not know how else Kenbei came to be so unlike his brothers.”
Daigoro chuckled. “As direct as ever, Yasuda-san.”
“Ha! Laughter. That’s more like it. Now introduce me to this bride of yours. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
*
In the end, Aki and Daigoro stayed at the Green Cliff for three days. It was long enough for a Shinto priest to marry them—redundantly, as Aki insisted—and long enough for the old man to embrace Aki as a granddaughter. Since Jinbei was so welcoming of her, Daigoro thought he ought to show House Yasuda similar generosity. “Lord Yasuda,” he said as they were readying to leave, “may I ask you to reconsider Kenbei’s fate? Even if you got him on a mistress, and even if your mistress was an ape, is he not still your son? You’re within your rights to turn him out, but … well, he is a Yasuda. Must he become a vagabond?”
Yasuda coughed. “It seems to me being a vagabond toughened you up some. He could do with a bit of that.”
Daigoro smiled and shook his head. “I suppose he could at that. But even so—”
“If he makes the same request, I’ll grant it. If not, he deserves to wander, or else to find a new den with that she-bear of his—or viper, or whatever it is I’m calling her these days.”
The old man laughed, which brought on a fit of coughing. Daigoro decided it was time to go, since his departure would remove Lord Yasuda’s last excuse for staying out of his sickbed. They bade their farewells and Aki and Daigoro called for their horses. Katsushima rode with them, and Old Yagyu too; his two new patients required more care than Lord Yasuda. Yagyu was optimistic about Katsushima’s hands, less so about keeping Daigoro’s gaping, bitelike wounds free of infection.
Daigoro’s mother and her infant husband sat in the shade of a palanquin, and an honor guard from the Okuma compound had ridden up to accompany them. They had brought one of Daigoro’s mares with them, wearing one of his old saddles, the kind that accommodated his withered leg. Sitting in that particular saddle, surrounded by that particular landscape, facing south on that particular road, it finally dawned on Daigoro that he was going home. Not merely the place of his birth but his house, his home, where once again he would sit as head of the clan and Lord Protector of Izu. He was Okuma Daigoro again. At the end of this ride, he would not just come back home; he would come back to himself.
He had the whole ride home to think about everything that meant for him—and not just for him, but for his unborn child, for the memory of his father and brother. When at last he reached the Okuma compound, riding through the great gate felt like stepping back into his own body. He swung out of the saddle, set foot in his courtyard, and said, “I’m back.”
BOOK ELEVEN
HEISEI ERA, THE YEAR 22
(2010 CE)
49
Mariko stubbornly dialed Han’s number again. He’d ignored the last four calls—or rather, he was tied up in the middle of a SWAT operation and didn’t have the attention to spare for personal calls. Mariko rang him anyway. It gave her something to do.
Otherwise, she was stuck sitting in the BMW, not four blocks from the Shinagawa rail yard. She’d have driven farther if only she knew where to go. The unfortunate truth was that she had no idea where Joko Daishi was or where he was headed. Her only clear idea was of what he’d do when he got there. He intended to purge close to a thousand children of their impurities. Or sacrifice them to purge Tokyo of its impurities, or some damn thing, anyway. Mariko didn’t know what the Divine Wind called it. Her term for it was mass murder.
Her call went to voice mail, so she called Han again. And again. On the eighth call he finally picked up. “What?”
“Car thirteen oh four,” she said. “Go to the north end and work your way back south; otherwise it’ll take you forever to get to it.”
It wasn’t lost on her that neither of them made any attempt at witty banter. It spoke volumes about how frazzled they were. She saw no need to correct it, and neither did Han. “Thirteen oh four,” he said. “You got anything more specific for me?”
“It’s a boxcar, brown and rusty, in a big string of eight identical cars. Somewhere in the middle—the fourth or fifth, maybe? Screw it, just look for the one with a guy padlocked to it.”
“Padlocked?”
“Yeah. Don’t open the doors; call the bomb squad first. I don’t think the car is rigged—I mean, they trusted a total idiot with the key—but you never know. Oh, and call paramedics too. You can tell them you think the kids were dosed with sleeping pills.”
“Mariko, how the hell am I supposed to explain where I got this information? People are going to ask.”
“Anonymous tip from a concerned citizen?”
“Concerned citizens don’t take down a suspect and leave him physically attached to the crime scene. You know who does that? Spider-Man.”
Mariko couldn’t help but laugh. “Then tell them Spider-Man did it. Hell, Han, I don’t know. You’ll figure something out.”
“Yeah, maybe, but it’s got to be something that doesn’t put you at the scene for assault—”
“And criminal trespassing and a million other charges. I know. Let’s take care of the kids first. Tomorrow we can talk about whether we can still pull my ass out of the fire.”
He didn’t take long to think about it. “Anonymous tip it is.”
“One more thing, Han. Get me a head count on the kids as soon as possible, okay?”
“It’s not twelve ninety?”
“No. Way less. I’m not sure how many, but if you can give me a number, it might help me narrow down the places I go looking for the others.”
Han was silent for a moment. Mariko heard a rasping noise and could picture him scratching his cheek where a long sideburn used to be. “Look, Mariko, I have to ask. Where are you getting this stuff?”
“All I can say is trust me.”
He sighed. “All right. But we’ll talk about this later, neh?”
“You bet. Oh, and Han? Hurry.”
She killed the call and pounded the steering wheel in frustration. A lot of detective work was done on the phone, and on most cases she didn’t mind. But on this one she felt every second bleed away as if it were a drop of her own blood. She had to find that “new church,” but how? It could be anywhere, and Mariko had no one in the Divine Wind to question. The only members she knew by name, Akahata Daisuke and Hamaya Jiro, were both dead, and the only others she knew about were in that rail yard and probably in custody by now.
No, there was one more. She put in a call to Furukawa. “Status report,” he said.
“That’s not why I’m calling. I need to talk to Norika.”
“All things in due time. Status report.”
“Fine. I found a couple hundred kids in the Shinagawa rail yard,” she said. “I think they’re all alive; I sent cops that way to make sure. Now here’s the important bit: they’re keeping the kids in different groups. I think that’s why you didn’t pick up anything when you analyzed traffic patterns: they’re not all going to one place.”
“How many locations?”
“I don’t know. I know Joko Daishi is on his way to the first batch right this minute.” If he’s not there already, she thought. If the slaughter hasn’t already begun. “He’s going to some place his people call ‘the new church.’ Norika was close to him, neh? Like his concubine or something? Put her on the line; she might know where this church is.”
“Young lady, you need to learn your place. I will not be ordered about by a—”
“Save it. I get enough of that shit at work.” Mariko kneaded her temple with her free hand. A tension headache was settling in; it felt like steel cables pulled taut under her skin. “Look, either she knows where the ‘new church’ is or she doesn’t. Which is it?”
“Norika-san has given a full report about the Divine Wind’s internal structure. This includes the locations of many churches. I have people investigating each one, including the newest.”
“How long is that going to take?”
“You’re a detective, Oshiro-san. You of all people ought to know how hard it is to answer that question. It takes as long as it takes.”
Those steel cables pulled tighter. She needed a list of the locations Norika identified. Then she could figure out which ones could house a thousand kids and a bunch of whack-job cultists. As soon as the thought struck her, she realized it wasn’t especially clever. Furukawa must have thought of it already, and performed the same process of elimination she would have carried out, except much faster, with many more resources. The only question was how much he was willing to share with Mariko.
“Have you found him already?” she asked.
“No.”
“If you had, would you tell me?”
“Of course.”
It was a stupid question and a hollow answer; if he was lying, she had no way of proving it. But it didn’t gain her anything to assume he was holding out on her. “Look,” she said, “I don’t think we can wait any longer. If we can’t find Joko Daishi, then we have to make him come to us.”
“Oh? What do you have in mind?”
“He needs his mask. He wants my sword. Let’s give them to him.”
“Hm.” Furukawa sipped something. Ice clinked against crystal. “He does have people watching your apartment—or at least he did when last I checked. If we move the mask, he should learn of it soon.”
“Make sure. Let it leak throughout your organization. You said he still has moles in the Wind, neh?”
“We must assume so, yes.”
“Then get the word out.”
Mariko felt something release in her chest, like a fist loosening up. It felt good to make progress, even if she hadn’t actually accomplished anything yet. At this point, even an idea was good enough.
“It’s a dangerous gambit,” Furukawa said. “He believes the mask gives him divine power. And he is very clever. If he manages to steal the bait from off the hook, he may go on to do much worse than we’ve seen so far.”
“How can it get worse than kidnapping and murdering over a thousand children?”
“How could it get worse than bombing an airport? Before this morning, Haneda was the worst we’d ever seen.” He took a sip from whatever he was drinking, and much too calmly for Mariko’s liking. She would have liked to hear those ice cubes jingling, as if held by a nervously quivering hand. “You ask how much worse it can get? I ask you, do we want to leave it to Joko Daishi to answer that question?”
Now Mariko’s hands were shaking. “Good point. But I don’t see any other choice. I don’t want to just sit back and wait.”
“No, that isn’t your style, is it?” Furukawa was almost jovial. He seemed to find
her impatience adorable. “Very well. We’ll do it your way. There’s a pool hall called Kikuchi Billiards. Do you know it?”
“Is it anywhere near Kikuchi Park?”
“Across the street, in fact. We maintain a safe house there. I’ll send the mask and sword. Can you beat them there?”
“I’ll leave right now. I’ll see if I can get a SWAT team on site too.”
“And if not?”
“Then I’ll see how many yakuzas I can have waiting for him. It’s all pool balls, neh? The Bulldog is as bloodthirsty as they come. If he isn’t willing to help me find Joko Daishi, maybe he’s willing to take a shot at him if I put the fucker in front of him.”
“Well, now. That’s most insidious of you, Detective Oshiro. You may be one of us after all.”
Absolutely not, Mariko thought, but I’m counting on you being right about all the destiny stuff. She’d promised Shoji not to harm her son. If Shoji and Furukawa were right about Joko Daishi’s fate, then Kamaguchi firepower couldn’t kill him. Neither could SWAT. Only Mariko could do that. But if they were wrong, she had practically called for Joko Daishi’s execution. Not a bad outcome, Furukawa would say, but Mariko made a promise to a friend and she didn’t intend to break it. Besides, she’d be right there with him; she might end up in the cross fire herself.
Her phone beeped and she saw another call coming in. She hoped to see Han’s name there; instead she saw the last name she’d expect.
“Hang on,” she told Furukawa. “I have to take this.” Then she clicked over to the other call.
“It’s me,” said the Bulldog. His rasping voice was unmistakable.
“Long time, no hear,” Mariko said. “What’s it been, half an hour?”
“Don’t get cute. I changed my mind about those kids, but if you decide to fuck with me, I’ll change it right back.”
He sounded angry. “Are you okay, Kamaguchi-san?”