The Severance Trilogy Box Set

by Mark McKay

  After a couple of hours the traditional Japanese restraint had mellowed considerably. Oyama, who had always been quite controlled when drinking with his students in London, loosened up. He was joking in both languages and filling peoples’ glasses with beer. The recipients would then return the favour and that soon necessitated the arrival of more beer. Nick kept his glass full and sipped occasionally. He didn’t want to turn up at Kate’s place in a drunken stupor.

  He asked Mariko to write Kate’s address in Japanese and then he could show it to the nearest taxi driver when he got to Shinjuku station. She took the card he’d been given and wrote below the English version, in tiny characters.

  ‘There,’ she said, handing it back with a smile. ‘I think Kate Suzuki must like you. Yes, I’m sure she does.’

  Mariko looked a bit flushed, she had consumed a few bottles already. He grinned at her.

  ‘She’s just helping out, that’s all.’

  She remained unconvinced. ‘You will see.’

  Mashida had been quiet, up till now. He’d drunk as much as anyone, but apart from a little colour in the cheeks, seemed quite unaffected.

  ‘Before I forget,’ he said. ‘Here’s the list you wanted.’ He passed Nick a sheet of paper covered in Japanese characters, then he realised his mistake.

  ‘Mariko,’ he laughed. ‘Translate this.’

  Nick gave her the list. She looked it over for a minute. ‘Nothing, really.’

  ‘Tell me anyway.’

  She sighed. ‘OK. It’s a list for the whole month. He was driven to an address in Chiba district, every Wednesday afternoon.’

  ‘Doesn’t tell us much.’

  ‘Probably a woman. It isn’t unusual for a man of his status to have a mistress or two. Not quite every Wednesday though. On Tuesday 19th August he was driven to the airport, then he was picked up again on the Friday.’

  ‘A short holiday perhaps, with the mistress?’

  ‘No, he was alone. Perhaps it was a short holiday, though. He flew to Greece.’ She turned to her father. ‘He has no business interests in Greece, does he?’

  Mashida shook his head. ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘Where in Greece?’ asked Nick.

  Mariko took another look. ‘The airport is Heraklion, where is that?’

  ‘That’s in Crete. I’ll be damned.’ He took a long swig of beer and sighed deeply. ‘Tonight’s party just got a whole lot more interesting.’

  Takashi Yamada’s estate was in the Azabu district, an affluent part of Tokyo which was home to the rich and famous. The house was modern in design, with high outer walls of smooth white stone, long terraces with equally smooth balustrades on the upper level, and lots of shiny glass windows and sliding doors. Several smaller houses of a more traditional construction were lined up along one side, about 30 metres from the main residence. This still left room for a spacious lawn occupied by cherry, poplar and pine trees. The place was enclosed by a ten foot high concrete wall topped with a spiked railing and the only way in was through a heavy-duty solid steel gate, which hinged inwards to admit visitors.

  ‘It’s a fortress,’ remarked Nick, as the taxi proceeded along the paved driveway leading to the front of the house. The driveway had been decorated with fluorescent paper lanterns strung between wooden posts hammered into the lawn, on either side. The taxi’s interior was bathed in a myriad of shimmering colours as they passed by.

  ‘A beautiful fortress,’ said Kate. ‘There’s a zen garden set inside a bamboo grove, out the back. One of the finest in Japan.’

  They pulled in behind a number of other taxis and then stepped out. He noted a couple of Bentleys and an Aston Martin parked a short distance away, but it seemed most guests had chosen to arrive by cab. He checked out a couple who had just emerged from the taxi in front. The man was Japanese and in his fifties, wearing a well-fitted pinstripe suit. His companion was much younger, a slim woman not much more than twenty, wearing a sheer white dress that clung in all the right places. He wondered if his own attire would pass muster. Kate had thought so when she’d answered the door an hour earlier, looking stunning in a simple white cotton jacket worn over a backless blue silk dress. They’d decided he should be a travel writer and friend from London for the purposes of this evening. That was better than admitting he was a cop, which in his experience often inhibited people in their choice of conversational topics.

  Kate presented her invitation at the front door and they were in. They went straight up a marble stairway to a huge reception room running the full width of the house. The sliding glass doors were all open and most people were out on the terrace. The soft breeze up here made the humidity quite bearable and he walked across the wide expanse of the terrace to take in the view. A waiter stopped to offer him a glass of champagne from a tray. Kate had excused herself and moved towards a group of people she obviously knew, so he stood sipping the drink, which was very good, and watched the paper lanterns sway. She wasn’t away too long.

  ‘Come and meet some people. They’re not all stuffy bankers and politicians and gangsters. Some of them are quite normal.’

  ‘Pleased to hear it. Where’s the garage?’

  She came and stood next to him, and put her arm through his. Then she gestured towards the front gate, as if pointing out something of interest.

  ‘It’s actually below us, and to the right,’ she said. ‘You’re not thinking of going down there, I hope.’

  He didn’t answer that. He was acutely aware of her hip pressing against him, and her perfume. She didn’t move.

  ‘Hello Kate, I didn’t know you were bringing someone.’

  They turned. Takashi Yamada was indeed a good-looking man. Carrying a little extra weight as Kate had said, but his tailored suit took a few pounds off him and he was tall enough to carry a little extra, anyway. Hard, dark eyes and a decadent twist to the mouth gave him an almost piratical look that Nick supposed women might find attractive. He had his arm around a young western girl, who was small but endowed with full breasts and well-shaped hips, which her tight jeans and clinging top showed to full advantage.

  ‘Takashi,’ said Kate. ‘This is Nick, a friend from London.’

  They shook hands. ‘Welcome to my house,’ said Yamada. ‘This is Jenna.’

  ‘Hi there,’ said Jenna. She was pretty. Her expression was glazed though and the pupils of her eyes were huge. Nick wondered what else was on offer here, besides champagne.

  ‘Kate tells me you’re an avid art enthusiast,’ he said to Yamada.

  ‘Yes, I like beautiful things. Perhaps later on Kate can show you some of the paintings I have. She knows where most of them are.’ He smiled enigmatically, then said something to Kate in Japanese.

  ‘Business,’ said Kate to Nick. ‘Excuse us for a minute or two.’

  He was left with Jenna, who smiled and stood next to him at the balustrade. ‘How long have you known Takashi?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, just a week or two,’ she replied. She had a lovely American accent, from somewhere in the south. ‘I came here for a break and a mutual friend introduced us. I’m from the States.’

  He smiled. ‘Yes, I thought so.’ He grabbed another drink for both of them from the same passing waiter.

  ‘He keeps threatening to show me his etchings,’ said Jenna. She giggled. ‘Think he wants to get me drunk, first.’

  Seems to be working, thought Nick. They chatted for a bit until Yamada’s business was concluded and then Kate reclaimed him and took him to meet the ‘normal’ people.

  The evening became more animated as the champagne flowed and inhibitions eased. Nick could feel the booze kicking in and he knew he should retain some sense or he’d say something stupid, sooner or later. Everyone else seemed to be right into the party spirit, except for two men who sat away from the others at one end of the terrace, drinking what looked like orange juice. They were young and well-built and observant. Watchers, ensuring that nobody overstepped the bounds of propriety or messed with Mr Yamada’s ar
t work. He saw Yamada and Jenna leave the terrace and go downstairs. He looked at his watch and then got up and moved over to the balustrade. He took out his phone and hit speed dial. It was answered straight away.

  ‘He’s gone downstairs. He might be going to the gallery. Now would be a good time,’ he said and then hung up.

  A minute later there was the sound of an explosion from behind the house. Everyone got up at once and ran to both ends of the terrace to see what was going on. The two watchers went straight inside and down the stairs. Nick stayed where he was, suddenly tense. He saw Kate staring at him from one end of the terrace, a look of confusion tinged with disbelief. People started to go inside, with the intention no doubt of going outside. Then the phone rang.

  ‘Come to the garage,’ said Oyama.

  He got up as casually as he could and went downstairs. Many of the other guests were already outside, but going in the other direction. When he got to the garage the big iron gates were wide open but there was no one to be seen until he got further inside. It was huge down here, the sloping approach ramp ended in an expanse of concrete floor stretching the full width of the house. There wasn’t much light, but he could see a group of people clustered around the back wall. As he got closer, he saw what had happened.

  Part of the wall was open; it appeared to slide back, like every other door in this country. Yamada must have come out of the gallery when he heard the explosion and that was when he ran straight into Mashida and Oyama, along with two other Japanese men Nick hadn’t seen before. They had guns covering the watchers and the man who had been taking invitations on the front door, who were all now stood flat against the wall, with their hands by their sides. The tension was palpable.

  Mashida and Yamada were talking in low voices, their expressions grim. Yamada looked up at Nick’s approach.

  ‘This is your doing?’

  Nick said nothing. Mashida said something else and then Yamada swore, or at least that was what it sounded like to Nick.

  Yamada spoke to his men, who then carefully reached into their jackets and put handguns on the floor. They walked off, with one of Mashida’s men close behind.

  ‘They will get everyone back inside,’ said Mashida. ‘A gas canister exploded, that was all. The party will carry on as usual.’

  He gestured to the open wall. ‘Come and see this.’

  They all went inside, Yamada leading the way along a wood-panelled corridor to an entrance door, which he opened. They stepped into a spacious antechamber, which was softly illuminated by recessed wall lighting. Two golden lions stood sentinel on each side of the door leading to the next room, gazing impassively at the intruders with their emerald eyes, daring them to enter.

  ‘You were right, Nick,’ said Oyama. Everyone bar Yamada had stopped, arrested by the sight. The photos hadn’t done them justice, thought Nick. In this relatively small space, standing head and shoulders above the men looking up at them, their presence was almost sentient.

  They recovered from their momentary astonishment and followed Yamada into the next room, which was a mixture of office and lounge. There was a bar area, chairs and sofas, a large flat screen television, an audio system, and a desk with a laptop. Nick counted six paintings around the walls, a mixture of cubist, impressionist and classical. He thought one might be a Renoir, but the rest eluded him. What he took to be Oyama’s swords adorned one wall, each sword hung horizontally, with a smaller short sword below it.

  ‘Where’s Jenna?’ he asked.

  Yamada gestured at another door. ‘Passed out.’

  With whatever drug you gave her to make her more compliant, thought Nick. He walked across the room and opened the door. It was a bedroom. He could make out the shape of a woman under the silk sheets on the double bed. When he did a quick check he saw she was naked under the sheet, her chest rising and falling regularly. They could wake her up later.

  When he came out of the bedroom Mashida’s man had disappeared, presumably keeping watch. Oyama and Mashida were on one sofa, facing Yamada on another. Takashi Yamada’s expression was a mixture of shame and defiance.

  ‘Where are the other two lions?’ Nick asked.

  ‘Not here,’ said Yamada. ‘I bought two, only.’

  ‘Where was Le Roux going after Crete?’

  ‘I didn’t ask.’

  ‘I presume,’ continued Nick, ‘that it was cash on delivery. How did he get them to Japan so quickly?’

  ‘They were flown in. Again, I didn’t ask.’

  ‘You transferred money to an account somewhere. I need the details.’

  There was a rapid exchange in Japanese between Yamada and Mashida. Then silence for half a minute, followed by more heated dialogue. Yamada leaned back on the sofa, looking quietly furious.

  ‘This is what we have agreed,’ said Mashida, rising from his seat. ‘He will give you the account details you want. He will also transfer a sum of money to a holding account for the investors he defrauded. He will not attempt to contact this Le Roux man. If he breaks the terms of the agreement, the authorities will learn about this collection of stolen art and he will be finished.’

  ‘What about the lions?’

  ‘They stay here.’

  ‘He’ll just move them.’

  ‘I will know if that happens.’

  Nick sighed. ‘Fine.’ If two lions should suddenly be recovered now, that would only spook Le Roux.

  ‘You’ve forgotten something,’ said Oyama. He got up and walked across the room, towards the swords. ‘I’m taking these.’

  As Oyama collected his swords, Yamada went across to his laptop and fired it up. Mashida joined him and five minutes later a bank transfer was complete. Yamada then browsed a few files and wrote something on a notepad. He tore off the sheet and handed it to Nick, without a word.

  ‘Time to go,’ said Mashida. He took one long and one short sword from Oyama, sliding the shorter one under his belt, on the hip. Oyama did the same.

  ‘Don’t be stupid enough to send anyone after us,’ he said to Yamada. ‘Or we will be tempted to use these.’

  There were two cars waiting outside. Mariko was at the wheel of one. Nick got in front with her and Oyama and Mashida took the back seat. The two other men Mashida had brought with him waited till they were well on their way down the driveway, then followed.

  Mariko glanced across. ‘Did you enjoy the party?’

  Nick smiled, in spite of the tension he still felt. ‘Kate Suzuki is going to kill me.’

  He heard Oyama grunt, seemingly amused, behind him. ‘Don’t worry about her. Takashi Yamada will probably kill you long before she does.’

  Chapter 15

  The car with Mashida’s two men in it followed them out of Tokyo for an hour and then turned off somewhere. The tension Nick had felt on leaving Yamada’s estate was gone, but he wasn’t tired. Oyama sat behind him, clutching the two sheathed long swords across his lap like they were long lost children. Both he and Mashida had abandoned their normally serious faces and wore half-smiles. They were like two cats who’d waited a long time for the cream and were now savouring every last drop of it.

  He turned to Mashida. ‘What made you want to go after Yamada, tonight?’

  ‘It was a gamble, perhaps,’ the sensei replied. ‘We knew he probably had stolen paintings in his gallery. But if we had exposed him, he could have said he’d bought them in good faith. He could hardly say the same about the golden lions. Now I have some leverage.’

  True enough, Nick thought. Yamada had illegally obtained two items of Indian ‘national treasure’. If the Indian government were to be made aware of that fact, they would no doubt apply some serious political pressure to secure their return and to have him prosecuted.

  ‘Good thing we found them, then,’ said Nick.

  Mashida nodded. ‘I agree. What do you intend to do with the bank account details he gave you?’

  ‘Find out who the account holder is. I doubt it will lead straight to Le Roux, though. But if he
makes a transfer from that account we might be able to find him through whoever receives that money.’

  Special Branch would have the necessary resources to monitor a suspicious person’s bank account. He’d share his information with Flynn and Halloran, as soon as he could.

  It was almost 3am when they arrived back at the retreat.

  ‘Get some sleep,’ said Oyama. ‘Training as usual, 8 o’clock.’

  Mariko looked at Nick’s bemused face and grinned. ‘Better when you’re a little tired,’ she said. ‘Then you don’t think too much.’

  He came into the lodge as quietly as he could, trying not to disturb Rory. He got into bed and closed his eyes, but the adrenaline was still flowing and he was too high to fall asleep. He wondered about Kate and how the evening might have panned out without the disturbance Mashida had created. He’d put her in an awkward position and just hoped it hadn’t damaged her relationship with Yamada. He should really contact her later and apologise. Perhaps they could concoct some story that would get her off the hook. He was still inventing and rejecting various scenarios when he fell asleep an hour later.

  He skipped breakfast, staggering out of bed with just enough time to get ready for the morning run. It was a gorgeous warm morning, with a slight pine-scented breeze. After a slow start he felt the exertion of running bringing his senses back to life and he was surprised to find he was enjoying it. His fitness had obviously improved in the week they’d been here. Given the lack of sleep and last night’s booze, he’d expected this to be more challenging. Then he noticed that the pace was slower than usual. He realised that the other students were also carrying a surfeit of alcohol after their Sunday lunch date and were suffering accordingly.