by LC Champlin
Eyes forward, Nathan sighed. “Ken. It’s been a very, very long night.”
“I see you brought friends. It’s lovely to see you again, Albin-san. And other friends of Nathan, I’m honored to meet you. I have a surprise for you all. Lower your weapons, please.”
No more surprises today. “Ken, I—”
A panel in the rear wall slid aside to reveal darkness.
“Mr. Serebus! Mr. Conrad!” A dark-skinned man burst into the light, arms outspread and grin flashing.
Another man, gray in hair and complexion, followed at a walk.
Shock paralyzed Nathan for a breath. “Badal! Mikhail. Thank God.” Holstering the pistol, he caught Badal’s hand as the software engineer met them. Black hair combed back, orange button-down T-shirt clean, the Indian looked none the worse for wear. His grin stretched from ear to ear as he pulled Nathan into an embrace.
“Easy! Ribs.”
“Oh, sorry, buddy.” Anyone on speaking terms with Badal earned the title buddy. Pain lessened as Badal stepped back, hand on his employer’s shoulder. “At least you’re in one piece.”
“Barely.” Wry smile. Relief flooded in, but a heartbeat later disappointment froze the flow. “I’m relieved to see you, but I was hoping you’d escaped.”
“So were we.”
Judge yipped, tail wagging at the humans’ joy.
To Nathan’s left, Mikhail wore a look of relief as he exchanged a handshake with Albin. For his part, the attorney gave the hardware engineer a slight smile. Mikhail hesitated, as if he wanted to follow Badal’s example and bear-hug Albin. He knew better, though.
As Albin extricated his hand from Mikhail’s welcome, Badal sidestepped to catch it and slap the blond on the shoulder. “Mr. Conrad!”
“Mr. Shukla.” Albin’s smile remained.
Two allies more. And two more people to escort through Hell.
“Mikhail.” Nathan grasped the Russian’s hand in both of his.
“Mr. Serebus.” He smiled, lips only. Grayer than usual, his skin blended with his gray eyes and prematurely gray hair. His posture sagged in relief. “We were afraid you fell during the attacks. The St. Regis, everything—” He let go and turned away, shaking his head. Mikhail saw the country’s end in his beginning. Chaos led to tyranny.
Nathan eased his arm around the older man’s shoulders. Tension charged Mikhail’s muscles. “We’ll deal with this. Think of it as a puzzle, like you think of our projects.”
Straightening, Mikhail took a breath. “One step at a time.”
“Precisely. We’re a team, correct?”
“Always.” Mikhail’s eyes strayed to Albin.
Nathan turned back to the group, where Badal took the initiative to welcome Jo and Marvin. “I see you’ve met Arete’s lead software engineer. This”—pat on Mikhail’s shoulder—“is Mikhail Kuznetsov, my chief hardware engineer. Mikhail, this is—”
“Josephine Behrmann, ABC 7 Action News.”
“Marvin.”
“The gang’s all here!” Ken’s voice from the doorway. Then he stepped into the light, all five feet of him. Wiry, with shoulder-length black hair falling across his glasses, he looked ten years younger than his forty. From his white T-shirt grinned the lower half of a black oni mask. Kanji characters ran below it. Jeans and Nikes completed the ensemble. Not the sinister character Marvin and Jo expected, judging by their looks of surprise.
The reporter recovered first. “Mr. Oshiro?”
“Call me Ken. I already know your names.” A smile ear to ear but stopping short of his eyes followed. “Welcome. Let’s get down to business. The world is falling apart, and I suspect, Nathan, you’re not a bystander.”
++++++++++++
“Your lab would be a better place for explanation,” Mr. Serebus began, coming abreast of Kenichi-san as the Japanese inventor started back into the darkness.
“You just want to see my new computers.” The Oshiro’s owner shot a calculating glance at Mr. Serebus, then gave a laugh. “Before you ask, I agree to put your colleagues up in style.”
“We would be grateful for the beds.” Mr. Serebus gave Albin a pointed look.
“Come.” Their host waved them on.
As the group left the entry chamber, lights clicked on, continuing down for the length of the twenty-meter, royal-purple hall.
Looking over his shoulder, Mr. Serebus added, “Badal, Mikhail, I’ll require your expertise.”
“Sure.” The Indian’s smile widened to a grin as his posture straightened.
“Of course, Mr. Serebus,” Kuznetsov agreed with a nod.
At the hall’s end, it branched to the left in a green passage and right in blue. Years had passed since Albin’s last visit to the mansion, but if memory served, green halls meant technology lay ahead. Kenichi-san held a hand toward the blue hall. “Follow it down. Badal and Mikhail, show the way, then join us in the lab. The kitchen is at your disposal, of course.”
“The rooms are great,” Shukla confirmed, then set off with a spring in his step.
Albin took the lead beside him. At the attorney’s left elbow hovered Kuznetsov. He gave Albin a smile of warmth and relief. If the engineer expected the attorney to protect him, he required a lesson in self-sufficiency. Security came from adaptability, independence, and resilience. In short, it came from oneself, not others.
“I think,” Behrmann began from behind, “I’ll go watch the geniuses decipher Birk’s puzzle.”
Marvin snorted. “They’ll kick you out.”
Kuznetsov stopped at a sliding door on the right. “Your room, Mr. Conrad. Mine is three doors down if you . . . need anything.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kuznetsov.” Albin closed the slider behind him.
At his entry, the lights brightened to bathe the room in sunset-yellow, turning the walls to cream. American and traditional Japanese furniture occupied the room: a queen-sized mattress on a raised platform, a dresser, two bedside tables, and a low chair upholstered in white. A bas relief of a waterfall adorned the wall at the bed’s head. Sliders with a crisscross of supports formed the far wall.
A sigh escaped him, rising from his toes. “It is not permanent, however.”
Loosening the plate carrier’s tethers, he lifted the armor off. As he set it on a chair, his hand brushed a square object in one of the front pockets. A magazine? He reached inside to discover a black notebook little bigger than a deck of playing cards.
Settling onto the edge of the bed, he began paging through. The first page listed Victor Anthony Birk as the owner, meaning Mr. Serebus had taken it from the car, since Albin had worn the armor while they occupied the house. No apparent organizational system existed; numbers, phrases, and names littered the pages. “Two-for-one at Dutch Bros,” Albin read under his breath. “Library due dates.” Addresses filled the next page. None of the names looked familiar, except for—“Lexa Birk.” Who was she? Mother, sister, aunt, wife, daughter . . . Birk had never mentioned a wife or child, which he surely would have done while begging for his life.
With a shrug, Albin returned the notebook to its pouch. The need for sleep superseded the need for answers.
Chapter 31
Belief
Rise Up - Disciple
After Ken ushered his guests into the spacious, sprout-green lab, Nathan summarized their situation. A number of the events fell into the Need to Know category, and Ken didn’t need to know. Thankfully, Josephine avoided supplemental information.
Ken asked few questions. He likely knew more than he let on. No doubt he had designs on Birk’s files. At best, he planned to hold the data hostage from Nathan. At worst, he planned to use the research—assuming Birk’s storage devices contained Doorway’s files and not pictures of fish—in the manner of the terrorists. Not that he wanted to terrorize, but who wouldn’t want an army of cannibals at their disposal when society collapsed? With Ken, you never knew what direction he would take, but he’d certainly keep it entertaining.
Elbows against his sides, hands clasped over his sternum, Nathan studied the magazines and cards before him. Did they represent a memory palace in hard form, a way for Birk to remember the details of his discoveries?
Nathan rubbed his temples as a dull ache grew behind his eyes. He adjusted the glasses Ken had supplied him with. Like Google Glass, they provided a virtual display. Voice and gestures controlled their interaction with the Oshiro’s network.
“You’ve had an exciting time,” Ken commented as he moved forward to pick up a magazine. He began paging through. “But I think it’s for the best.”
“What?” Nathan turned his frown on his part-time rival.
“I should beat around the bush like a good, tactful son of Japan, but I prefer the American style of ugly bluntness at times.” Pausing in his reading of Horror, he smiled. “It’s your chi.”
“My chi. Is this part of your buffet-style belief system? A little meat of science, a slice of sorcery, a side of spiritualism?”
With a shrug, Ken shoved his hands in his pockets and settled his gaze on the cards. “In psychology terms it’s called your affect, or the psychic nucleus in Jung’s work. But it’s deeper than that. Your motivation has changed.”
“No, it has not. Winning is still paramount.”
“It’s the okami.”
Japanese for . . . It would come to him. “I’m more focused than usual. Near-death experiences tend to sharpen a man’s attention.”
“Death is but another step on the Way, the wu wei.” Ken moved to half sit on the edge of Nathan’s desk. “What about your butcher-shop belief system? Has it changed?”
“Evolved is the word.” Nathan pushed to his feet and started toward the other room to check the engineers’ progress.
“You don’t believe in coincidences, do you.”
“Neither do you.”
Ken drummed his fingers on the edge of the desk. “The confusion in the world is chi shifting between states. At times like this in history, it practically sublimates!” His laugh should accompany the retelling of an embarrassing mishap, not the end of civilization as they knew it. “It’s a new stage of human evolution—the inner being, I mean. When massive disasters such as this hit, people see the world, life, and death, in ways they never have before. It’s like rain on a sown field. It’s beautiful!”
Not this again. “And this puts a select few on the Way a little closer to joining the Immortals, correct? I’m well aware of your beliefs.” Hopefully that would prevent Ken from elaborating in Full Mystic Mode. “The world descending into chaos isn’t going to make you immortal or send you to Shangri La, Valinor, or whatever transcendent paradise you believe in this week. Trust me.”
“Trust you?” Ken chuckled. “I’ll pass.
“The Masters say harmony and peace come from living in the flow of the Tao. The wu wei is action that does not involve struggle or excessive effort. It is what flows naturally. But they forget that a river’s course can be changed. Mankind’s consciousness will evolve as we transcend our humanity. Certainly you’ve felt it.”
On the screen of Nathan’s mind flashed blood, fangs, gold eyes. His hand went to the incision, pain grounding him.
“Nathan!” Badal leaned back in his chair to wince at his employer. “The files are all encrypted. Without the key, we’re screwed tight.”
“I’m not surprised,” Josephine sighed before Nathan could say the same. Leave it to Birk to bait them with clues, only to leave them up shit’s creek in the middle of a shit-gator congregation.
Nathan frowned. “Keep looking. He may have inadvertently left something useful.”
“Like a key?” Badal deadpanned.
Chapter 32
Weird Tales
This Must be the Place - Lumineers
Albin jerked into consciousness, his heart pounding. By habit he produced his mobile. 11:23. What woke him? No sounds or signs of danger manifested. No nightmares came to memory.
Letting out a breath, he closed his eyes. Ten minutes passed. Despite his exhaustion, sleep could not fit him into its schedule.
Rolling to his feet, he found his torch by feel under his pillow, then trudged to the sliders. The barrier glided aside. A garden opened before him, with vines, palms, and flowers conjuring a jungle ambiance rather than the traditional Buddhist meditation garden common to Japanese courtyards. Bioluminescent mushrooms and moss glowed beside a path that wound through the vegetation. Overhead, stars twinkled through a glass ceiling.
Something white moved behind the palm leaves. A serpent dragon floated toward the glass, tendrils wafting about its body like gauze. Another dragon, this one cobalt with gold filigree, floated up to greet the other.
Albin rubbed his eyes. The slider glided shut to block the Japanese version of Narnia. Hallucinations? “Wait a moment.” Kenichi-san specialized in illusions. No doubt he used projections on sheets or Plexiglas screens.
Albin stepped outside into the jungle. Crickets chirped in accompaniment to fireflies’ flashes.
Ahead, leaves rustled in a way no illusion could cause. He dropped to a defensive stance. A wolf emerged from the flora, halting on the path to stare at him, eyes aglow with the blue-green of decay.
“Judge? Come here, girl,” he whispered as he patted his thigh.
She padded up to him and allowed him to scratch behind her ears. Then, with a whine, she trotted up the path.
“Is Timmy in the well?”
He followed her. Around a bend, the trail increased in incline, then transformed into the barrel arch of a traditional Japanese footbridge. Water gurgled beneath it.
Judge disappeared into the foliage. With a shrug, Albin mounted the bridge. He halted at its apex to look into the ink below. Through the darkness swam lights, cyan like the fungus. Kenichi-san likely purchased genetically modified fish to stock his water features.
Bushes shifted to the right. “Judge?” Instead of the Shepherd, a human emerged. Albin’s torch beam snapped up to blind the interloper, before flicking down to the man’s feet. “Mr. Bridges. Should you not be sleeping?”
“Call me Marvin, okay?” He sighed as he joined Albin on the bridge, resting a hand on the rail. “Nightmares?”
“I do not suffer from nightmares.”
“I suppose not if you’re awake.” Bridges forced a smile.
“That is precisely when we experience the worst nightmares.”
++++++++++++
Nathan slouched back in the office chair, feet out as he scanned the magazines and cards. Birk had wanted him to find the safe’s contents. Did he mean it as bait for a trap, hoping to land his nemesis in trouble with the DHS, or even suspecting mercenaries and / or terrorists would come to the house? Perhaps the house held nothing of value beyond the kitchen’s contents. No, Sarge and Friends believed the residence hid assets. Then again, no law said two groups couldn’t make the same mistake. Birk might have tricked them all. With a snort, Nathan shook his head. On April Fools’ day, Birk would be the type to eat the toothpaste-filled Oreo, not the one who spread the Colgate.
Until they found the encryption key, which might not even exist on the storage devices they possessed, they could make no headway on the files. Even 128-bit, semi-low-end encryption algorithms rendered data practically unassailable.
Swiveling his chair, Nathan picked up the newspaper clippings and their Magic: The Gathering cards. The Gutclencher Oni stared back at him, its face like an ape’s skull, with horns sprouting from its crown. Below it, the caption, Blood sings. Blood stings. Blood and only blood is true.
Next, the Mad God Oni, a machine, according to the text. The white-faced demon leered up with crimson eyes.
Judging from the augmented-article reality and the Oni cards, Birk wanted to involve ONI, and by extension Ken. Or Ken had wanted to involve Birk. If the Doorway researcher possessed a shred of business acumen, he wouldn’t allow the data to go lock, stock, and file to Cheel.
Nathan adjusted his earbuds as his vision unfocused. The riffs of Avenged Sevenfold’s Unholy Confessions roared.
What did Birk want him to know? What had the twit said? Phone out, Nathan thumbed to the audio files. Play. Skip, skip—there: Weird Tales and Lovecraft. He didn’t mention the cards. Perhaps they held information he wanted to keep private.
With a grunt of frustration, Nathan lifted the magazine in question: Weird Tales—Isle of the Undead. Ghouls in red cloaks towered over a buck-naked Caucasian male who had his back to the reader. Horror porn from the ’30s? As he thumbed through it, annoyance grew. Right now Birk no doubt sat in his cell, wearing his stylish orange scrubs and laughing at the man who had annihilated his grand scheme at Doorway. “They’ve got you on a leash.”
Idly Nathan unfolded the corner of the page. Damn Birk, couldn’t the savage understand how to use a bookmark? He’d even marked the text in pencil. Wait. “And so, my dear,” Corio was saying, “we entered into a pact with the—Master, a pact sealed with blood. In exchange for our lives we three were to bring other humans to this island for the feasting of the dead-alive.” A pencil dot bulleted the name Corio.
He set the magazine aside and grabbed the next, which featured HP Lovecraft’s The Shadow Out of Time. “We are almost out of time,” he muttered.
Good story, The Shadow. A fellow body-swapped with an ancient alien race against his will. They wanted to create a library of other races. Like all Lovecraft tales, it didn’t end happily.
Aha, another folded page corner. There, by the name William Dyer, a star in pencil.
Chapter 33