The Boy Who Glowed in the Dark (The Nadia Tesla Series Book 3)

by Orest Stelmach

  Bobby summoned the source information. Half a page of gibberish came up. Bobby pointed at the screen with his pen.

  Sender> Okuma-asahi.net.

  “This is where the message originated,” he said.

  “Asahi,” Nadia said. “That sounds Japanese.”

  “Must be the local Internet provider.”

  Bobby searched. Asahi Net was, in fact, one of Japan’s top broadband providers. While the sender’s name had struck a familiar chord, the Japanese source baffled him.

  “What about Okuma?” Nadia said.

  Bobby searched again. A Wikipedia page offered five subjects named Okuma. Nadia and Bobby scanned the list. Bobby didn’t look beyond the fourth entry. He knew Nadia was staring at the same entry without even bothering to look at her.

  Okuma was the name of a Japanese town in the Futaba District. It was part of a larger district known throughout the world for all the wrong reasons. The second boy had sent the message from this location.

  Fukushima.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Nadia said.

  “Fukushima,” Bobby said. “The only place other than Chornobyl to experience a level seven disaster on the International Nuclear Event Scale.”

  “You know anyone in Fukushima?”

  “No.”

  “Tokyo?”

  “No.”

  “What about Facebook friends? Or your other social media followers?”

  “Nope. Hockey’s not a big deal in Japan.”

  “Have you answered the message?”

  “Not yet.”

  Part of Bobby wished he’d been honest with her. But the other part shut him down. He could always confess later.

  “What should we do?” she said.

  Bobby thought about her question for a moment. “Play the fox,” he said.

  Bobby knew his father, a notorious con artist, had given her the same advice when she’d met him in Chornobyl on his deathbed. With foxes, we must play the fox.

  Nadia smiled. Not a blatant full-tooth smile like the hockey moms gave everyone when they came into the rink to pick up their kids. Just a subtle one to let him know she got it. She was cool that way, too. She knew how to hide her emotions, not make a big deal of things.

  They debated what to write. Nadia advised him to be conservative and say as little as possible. Let the sender do the talking. Eventually he would reveal himself. But Bobby was his father’s son. He had started to realize that during his stint in jail. The sender would be expecting a tame approach. The optimal course of action was to provoke him with the unexpected.

  Bobby suggested they answer with a question. What are the stakes?

  The answer was the fate of the free world. It was the line that had started it all more than a year ago, when a man whispered it in Nadia’s ear before collapsing on a New York City street. If the full formula existed, it could affect the fate of the free world. A nuclear power with a cure for radiation would have an advantage over its enemies. If the second locket contained the rest of the formula, the boy who possessed it would understand the message.

  Bobby sent his reply. Nadia went back to bed. Bobby set his computer to ping with the arrival of a new e-mail. He tried to sleep but couldn’t.

  The computer pinged three times over the course of three hours. The first two e-mails were spam. The third wasn’t.

  Bobby read the message, saw the light on under Nadia’s door and called her. She hurried to his room in a robe and pajamas. She peered over his shoulder and read the response.

  The fate of the free world depends on us.

  A minute later, a second e-mail arrived with instructions.

  Sunday. Tokyo. The mural at Shibuya train station. Noon. Meet in front. Just you and Nadia. My friend will find you.

  Genesis II.

  Bobby found information about a mural at Shibuya station on the Internet. It was called the Myth of Tomorrow. It was an abstract picture consisting of fourteen panels.

  It depicted a human figure being hit by a nuclear bomb.

  CHAPTER 2

  NADIA TOLD BOBBY to get some sleep. He’d just been released from jail that morning. She’d informed his teachers at Fordham Prep that he would return to school next week. She wanted him to rest and recuperate first. They’d agreed it was a prudent idea, noting it was mid-April, and there was plenty of time for him to catch up before June.

  She lay awake in bed until 5:00 a.m. Questions swirled in her head. She needed a shower, a cup of coffee, and a discussion with Johnny Tanner. Johnny was her attorney and best friend. He knew the truth about Bobby’s true identity, that he was Nadia’s cousin from Ukraine and his real name was Adam Tesla. Johnny had helped them escape the clutches of Russian mobsters when Bobby had first arrived, and defended him successfully against the recent murder charge.

  Nadia left a message at 6:00 a.m. Johnny returned her call half an hour later.

  “What’s this about life and death?” he said. His voice sounded distant, as though he was on a car speaker.

  “Are we alone? Is there anyone else in the car with you?”

  “We’re alone. And you’re officially scaring me.”

  Nadia described the e-mail, its source, and its contents. Johnny usually played it cool, but he couldn’t conceal the note of excitement in his voice.

  “Do you believe it’s genuine?” he said. “That there really is a second locket?”

  “There are three possibilities. First, it’s a hoax, there is no second locket, and the goal is to steal Bobby’s locket.”

  “Toward what end? If there’s no second locket, no completion of the formula, who would care about it?”

  “Someone who knows the rest of the formula, thinks he knows how to get it, or believes the entire formula is on Bobby’s locket. Second possibility, it’s real but the sender’s intentions are not noble.”

  “Meaning the goal is to steal Bobby’s locket and have them both.”

  “Correct. Third possibility is the preferred outcome. There is a second locket and it’s in the possession of a good boy.”

  “You’re sure it’s a boy and not an adult?”

  “It’s a small hand.”

  “Could be a woman,” Johnny said. “Or a small man.”

  “Fair point. Duly noted.”

  “What do you make of the response to Bobby’s e-mail?”

  “This started a year ago when a stranger who said he knew my father whispered ‘Fate of the free world’ in my ear, suggesting it depended on me. Whoever sent the e-mail knows the potential importance of the formula in question. Odds are high he knows it’s a countermeasure to radiation.”

  “Any idea why this is coming from Japan?”

  “No. Bobby says he doesn’t know any Japanese people. I believe him.”

  “It’s eerie. Because of the nuclear disaster in Fukushima. I mean, it makes you wonder if there’s a Japanese scientist with the other half of the formula, or something like that.”

  “I agree,” Nadia said. “It’s remarkable to get these e-mails from the only other place to experience a level seven nuclear disaster. But we have to stick to the facts and not let our imaginations run away from us. The invitation made reference to a friend. So we know there are at least two people involved. Possibly a boy and an adult. Possibly two adults.”

  ‘What about the timing of all this? Right when Bobby gets out of jail? Is that a bit of a coincidence?”

  “Three e-mails were sent over two weeks. The last one five days ago, when things didn’t look good for Bobby at all. Anyone who knew the particulars of the case at that point would have thought there was little chance Bobby would be released soon.”

  “Meaning whoever sent the e-mail didn’t know what was happening in Bobby’s life. Didn’t know he was in jail.”

  “Agreed. If you have a
second locket, and you know the kid that has the first one is in jail on murder charges, you don’t send a message that assumes he’s going to be there to read it. You worry about how to get him a message in jail.”

  “And the sender knows you exist. He used your name. If he thought Bobby was in jail, he would have found some way to get you the message instead of him.”

  “Especially given the stakes.”

  “The alleged stakes.”

  Nadia chuckled. “Right. The alleged stakes. Thank you, counselor.”

  “Sorry. Occupational habit. So what’s your next move?”

  “I’m not sure. I can’t see Bobby going to Japan after everything he’s been through in the last three weeks. Not on skimpy evidence. Not when this whole thing could turn out to be a hoax. And he needs to get back to school. He needs to return to normal life.”

  “I hear you. And you can’t go either.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You can’t leave him alone. He was on meds in jail for the claustrophobia. He got beaten up. He had a rough ride. You say he needs to return to normal life? You need to be there.”

  Nadia wanted to argue but saw his point. The sound of traffic subsided as though Johnny had pulled into a garage.

  “There’s too much unknown for either of you to go,” Johnny said.

  “What do you suggest? We try to change the agenda and get them here? I doubt that’s going to work—”

  “I’m going,” Johnny said.

  “Oh, right. Sorry. You must have court. Will you have any time later this morning?”

  “No. You don’t understand. I’m going to Tokyo. Instead of you.”

  It was preposterous, but the offer soothed Nadia’s soul. “Johnny, you’re the nicest guy ever to pass the bar and the best friend a person could have, but there’s no way you’re going in my place.”

  “The only other person who could do this is your brother. But he just spent a week in Eastern Europe with you and he has a business to take care of. I’m your man.”

  Nadia already felt indebted to Johnny for all he’d done for Bobby and her. So much so she could never repay him. This would only increase her debt. “Johnny, this is way beyond the call of friendship.”

  “You mean as opposed to getting kidnapped and interrogated by Victor Bodnar, and listening to him murder two men while I sat chained to a chair in a meat locker?”

  Victor Bodnar was one of the mobsters who had chased Nadia from New York to Eastern Europe and back in pursuit of the formula. After they returned to New York, he’d kidnapped Johnny to coerce information about Nadia and the locket. Johnny had stood up to him, and had seen to it that she’d never hear from the old man again.

  “I see your point,” Nadia said. “But that’s all the more reason I can’t let you do it.”

  “I was an exchange student in Tokyo during college for a year. Granted, it was a long time ago and I’ve forgotten all of the language I knew. But I still know how to say hello, bow properly, and act less like a gaijin.”

  “Gaijin?”

  “A foreigner. An outsider who doesn’t belong.”

  “What about your court cases? You’re probably juggling several.”

  “Two. I’m wrapping up an immigration case this afternoon. And I can ask another associate to cover for me on the burglary. I’ve covered for her multiple times. She owes me.”

  Nadia protested. The more she did so, the more Johnny insisted he was going.

  “Even if your associate covers for you,” Nadia said, “what explanation will you give your boss for leaving in the middle of the week?”

  “I’ll tell him it’s a family matter.”

  “Aw, Johnny. You’re so sweet. But seriously. You can’t lie to your boss.”

  “Maybe it’s not a lie. I don’t have any family. Which makes you guys the closest thing I got. Maybe that’s saying too much. But that’s what it is.”

  Johnny was counselor, confidante, and friend, but she had no romantic feelings for him. None whatsoever. He wore a ponytail, drove a muscle car, and loved the spotlight. Nadia preferred understated men. And yet his words struck deep in her heart and left a mark.

  “You’re too much, Johnny Tanner.”

  “Good. It’s settled. Forward me the e-mails. Should we send a new e-mail and be up front that you’re sending a delegate?”

  Nadia pondered the question. “Yes. We should be honest.”

  “Good. The fewer lies, the better.”

  “My motto exactly.”

  “I’ll get a phone that works in Japan. You should give them my number and get one from them. And try to get a description of this friend I’m supposed to meet with.”

  “They’ll probably ask for the same.”

  “A six-foot-two, two-hundred-ten-pound gaijin with a ponytail is probably going to stand out in Tokyo.”

  “Nice image. Thanks for that. I’ll arrange for the hotel and plane ticket, pay for your expenses.”

  “Including the hostess at the Turkish bathhouse?”

  “How quickly they fall off their pedestals.”

  “It was inevitable.” A car door slammed shut. “The guy on the pedestal has nowhere to go but down.”

  CHAPTER 3

  JOHNNY LANDED AT Tokyo’s Narita Airport at 9:05 p.m. on Saturday. He took the Narita Express to central Tokyo and caught a taxi to the Hotel Century Southern Tower in the Shibuya district. After checking into his room, he called Nadia to let her know he’d arrived, ate some sushi, and went to sleep.

  On Sunday he enjoyed a breakfast of steamed rice, grilled fish, rolled omelet, seaweed, and pickled vegetables. Afterwards he spent the morning reacquainting himself with the city. Shibuya was the western hub of Central Tokyo. Young people partied in Shibuya. Older people tended to avoid this part of town. The roads were not as pristine, the storefronts not as elegant as in other parts of the city. Cheap restaurants, karaoke bars, and nightclubs crammed the streets. It was Johnny’s kind of place.

  He’d studied at Tokyo’s Sophia University eighteen years ago as an exchange student from Seton Hall. His return was no different than his first visit. The crowds, noises, and smells overwhelmed his senses. The sheer mass of humanity moving along sidewalks and climbing onto subways made New York City seem small. The cacophony of sounds hurt his eardrums. Buses, cars, and trains. The ring of a thousand pinball machines hitting their targets simultaneously in Japan’s popular pachinko parlors. It was urban chaos and Johnny loved it.

  The smell of fish mixed with exhaust to form a uniquely Tokyo scent. This smell, in turn, stirred memories. The stress of nightly language memorization. The rock star status that resulted from him being tall, young, and American. Cute college girls dying to practice their English with him at all hours of the night. And that little guy in pink tights who pressed his thigh against Johnny’s leg on a crowded subway bench. Eighteen years ago the experience had nauseated him. Now it made him laugh.

  He visited the Shibuya train station twice. First in the morning, as soon as he left the hotel at 7:30 a.m. Genesis II had picked the perfect location to put them both at ease. On a weekday, two and a half million people used the station each day. Even on a Sunday morning, it was so crowded there was simply no way to create a trap. There were literally hundreds of witnesses walking by the mural every minute. The only people who weren’t moving were the cops watching the turnstiles and a gaunt man loitering by the side door of the main entrance. He was disheveled with flecks of gray in his shoulder-length hair, a lost look in his eyes, and a begging bowl in his hand. A homeless man was an embarrassment to himself and the community. Hence, everyone pretended he wasn’t there to save face.

  Johnny returned to the station a second time at 11:45, fifteen minutes before the meet. He stood in the corner against the wall opposite the mural and waited. He tried to study the faces of the people walking
by but there were too many of them. The exercise left him dizzy.

  “Mr. Johnny Tanner?” A young man’s voice, Japanese accent, high-pitched.

  Johnny turned. A boy had snuck up to his side. Carrot-colored hair with black roots covered his ears. He was dressed in a black t-shirt and leather jacket with designer jeans. He looked like a Japanese punk rock version of Bobby.

  “Yeah. I’m Johnny Tanner. Who are you?”

  “May I see identification, please?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your passport. To see your passport.” The boy blushed and bowed. “Please.”

  Johnny looked around. No one was paying attention to them. He turned back. The kid stood with a stiff posture, hands thrust in his pants. He seemed too nervous to be a professional operator of any kind. Johnny pulled out his passport, opened to his picture, and extended his hand so the boy could see it.

  The boy’s eyes widened. He studied the name, the photo, and Johnny. Tension eased from his face. He exhaled audibly—a uniquely Japanese expression of relief and gratitude—bowed again, and followed it up verbally. “Thank you, sir. Thank you very much.”

  Johnny returned the bow. It was an instinctive thing. He didn’t bend his waist or dip his head as low as the boy did. He was acknowledging, not deferring.

  “What’s your name?” Johnny said.

  The boy didn’t answer. Instead he pointed to the mural. “You have seen painting?”

  “Yes. I have seen the painting.”

  “Taro Okamoto. Very famous Japanese painter. Painting is called Myth of Tomorrow.”

  “I’m more focused on today. For instance, you know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

  “We must worry more about tomorrow and less about today.”

  Great. Another philosopher. Like Victor Bodnar. He was always saying stuff like that. “Who are you? What’s your name?”

  The boy smiled. “Answers. Yes. Outside.” He extended his arm toward the exit to the front of the station. “This way, please.”

  “We don’t need to go outside. We can stay here. You have something you want me to take a look at?”