Hiro leaned in closer. The cloth turned pink with blood as he gently wiped at the wound. His sleeves were rolled up close to his elbows, and she could see the tattoos snaking down his arms. The odor of stale cigarettes floated from his mouth. Tomoko instinctively turned her head away, but his hands gently guided her face back toward the light. There was something about him that was so oddly sincere.
“You must listen to me. Being an illegitimate child is Oto’s weakest spot. If he didn’t think you were still a useful bargaining chip, he would have killed you for mentioning it.”
Tomoko shifted in her seat. “But everyone knows his father never publicly acknowledged him and that the leaders of the other Yakuza gangs treat him like an outcast. They believe he should never have inherited his father’s position. Oto seized power but never paid his dues. There was a magazine article about it just a few months ago.”
“True, but a magazine can’t describe how dangerous and volatile he is.”
Tomoko bit her lip and flinched at the sting of hydrogen peroxide. “Ow!”
“He’s been searching for this map since his father died more then twenty years ago. It’s not just the money he wants. He believes if he discovers the map and recovers the fortune, he’ll gain the full respect of his peers in the Yakuza community. That’s the most important thing to him.”
“You mean he’s just a child who wants the other kids to like him?”
Hiro shrugged. “Yes, I suppose.
She could feel the bandage on his hand pressing into her hair. “I’m sorry about your finger. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Don’t worry.” Hiro placed the final piece of medical tape into place. “That should hold until morning. The swelling will go down in a few days. You should get some rest. I’ll see if I can get something for your headache.”
Tomoko flinched again but this time from surprise. “How can you be so sure I have a headache?”
He turned away, tossing the water into the corner and gathering up the medical supplies. “I’ve been hit a few times before. I know how it feels.”
MAX WOKE with a start. A clanging bell was demanding attention. He strained to force the pea-soup fog from his sleepy brain. Sitting up, he noticed he was on a double bed pressed into the back corner of a room. The walls were cedar logs infilled with white caulking, and he recalled staring up at a cabin perched on an ancient rock base. Ben had settled him in before leaving to take his granddaughter back to Osaka. There’d been a promise that they would speak again when he returned. The remainder of the day was filled with frustrated agony, pacing near the gate and imagining every woodland noise to be Tomoko’s footfall. But with nightfall’s descent, the only visitors were the stars and so, despondent, he’d withdrawn back to the cabin.
I must have fallen asleep.
The piercing jangle continued unabated as Max stumbled to the desk at the cabin’s front. The solid black receiver of the chrome-dialed 1950s phone felt heavy in his hand. “Hello?”
“We are not alone!” Ben’s voice on the other end was burning.
Max paused. Now that the ringing had ceased, he could hear baying voices—dogs. It was the sonorous cries of animals on the hunt. “What’s happening?”
“Someone’s here. I can see on the security cameras. They came over the fence, and there’s more than one man.”
The Yakuza . . . or the police! Max felt his heart skip a beat. “I don’t know how they found me.” His free hand ran through his unkempt hair.
“Come through the trees and meet me by the flagpole. Use the flashlight I gave you, but be careful. They may see it.” Ben’s voice overflowed with urgency. “Hurry! There’s no time!”
Max threw the receiver onto the desktop. He turned and lunged back to the bed. His hands shook while stuffing loose articles into the almost empty daypack. Where’s the diary? He paused for only a second, straining to recall. Ben’s got it. Now move! Rushing for the door, he reached for the handle, but paused as it dawned on him that the invaders could be waiting on the other side and he’d walk straight into a trap. He considered turning on the porch light, but decided against it. The darkness could work to his advantage. Max slowed his breathing and pressed himself against the strip of wall between the door and a large picture window. Inching the curtain back, he peered out onto the front deck. A dim glow drifted up from the yard light at the distant base of the stairs. The coast looked clear.
He cracked the door open and eased out into the crisp night air before edging toward the staircase. A flights of staris led him down to the first landing. Pausing to crouch, Max stared through the handrail’s slats. Far below, a shadow raced from the bushes toward the base of the rock wall. It could have been the shape of a bulky animal, but as the figure drew closer to the yard light, it clearly became that of a man. He was dressed entirely in black with broad shoulders and a slender waist—but it was his thick neck that gave him away.
Holy crap, it’s him!
Max’s panicked mind raced in circles. He was fairly sure he hadn’t been seen yet. The problem was that the only escape route was now cut off—there was no alternate way down.
Thick Neck was almost at the bottom of the stairs when Max saw the shiny reflection of metal in his hand. It could mean only one thing.
Scurrying upward in retreat, he could feel the big man’s weight vibrating from below. It would be only a matter of seconds before the killer arrived. Clambering onto the nearest handrail, Max scanned the steeply pitched rooftop. The end of a slender rope, likely used for maintenance, stretched down from the peak. He grasped and pulled with all his might, trying to move as noiselessly as possible on the asphalt shingles, praying that the line would hold his weight as he scrambled up its length.
The footsteps below reached the landing and stopped just as Max eased himself over the far side of the peak’s crest and lay still. He tried to slow his rapid breathing. Both hands clutched the peak to keep from sliding backward to his death.
Suddenly, the door was kicked inward with a crashing bang. Stomping boots raced inside. He heard Thick Neck cursing in frustration. The bed frame was flipped and slammed about in anger. The room was empty, but the thug was bound to figure out soon enough that the roof was an option.
A cell phone rang and he heard the killer answer, still yelling.
Max knew he needed to do something quickly. Masked against the noisy conversation below, he slithered left toward the chimney. The stonework began at the peak and ran about three feet down the backward-sloping roofline. He peered into the darkness below.
If I stay, he shoots me. If I jump, I die.
A whisper of a thought eased into his brain—there was another possibility. Rising up, he straddled the roof’s peak and slid the daypack off his shoulder. Undoing the zipper, he probed around inside, finally retrieving a dagger.
The blade cut easily through the twine-like maintenance rope.
Max forced himself to concentrate as his shaking hands fed the material through his belt loops. Using what little light was available, he struggled to join the two loose ends together with a fisherman’s knot, making sure to leave an eight-foot loop of loose rope. The result was the makeshift ring of a lineman’s belt attached to his waist. Standing up, he secured himself by easing the loop over the chimney top’s four corners—he was attached.
All I have to do is climb onto the outside of the chimney and stay hidden till he’s gone.
Below, the two porch lights snapped to life, illuminating the cabin’s front and the surrounding canopy of trees. Frozen in place, Max stared down onto Thick Neck, who strode into plain view. The man had his broad back to the roof as he moved to the balcony’s front. He rested his handgun on the railing before lighting a cigarette.
Max’s muscles burned hot, and he struggled to remain absolutely still.
Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. Please, don’t turn around.
Smoke curled slowly into the air, dissipating into the dark sky as Thick Neck leaned against th
e handrail, drawing repeatedly on the burning ember dangling from his lips.
Max held the painful pose as the seconds ticked past, biting his lip, swallowing a groan.
Finally, Thick Neck’s cigarette flicked outward into space and then, without warning, he turned and looked straight up at the rooftop. The two men held eye contact for a split second as the big man grinned maliciously and spoke a single word—“Tomoko”—while drawing a line across his throat with a bulky finger.
No! She can’t be dead!
The air exploded with action as Thick Neck dove toward the gun. Grasping it, he spun and fired repeatedly. Max dropped, hugging the roof, scarcely avoiding the bullets ripping past. He could feel the projectiles’ searing heat as they screamed past his skull.
Springing forward, the big man clambered onto the handrail, which groaned under the immense load. As he struggled to pull himself onto the roof, he lost the grip on his pistol, cursing its fall into the dark bushes below.
Max grasped the chimney and pressed the toe of his shoes between the stones. Reaching around the far side, he gripped the rock and prayed the rope would hold as he swung out into space. The loop tugged at his waist but held firm against his body’s weight. Every limb shook, and he prayed for strength while clinging precariously, inching his way around to the outside edge.
Thick Neck screamed curses as he struggled to reach the chimney, but his voice fell silent when he reached the daypack resting on the peak. Max understood enough Japanese to know that the man was muttering, “Where is it? Where is it?” Moments later an angry cry preceded the sound of the pack clattering down to the deck. The killer was now reaching around the chimney, grasping. He grunted as he tried to catch Max’s arms. Each swipe missed by mere inches, before the attempts ceased.
Max listened for sounds of movement, his mind reeling. It can’t be true. Tomoko can’t be dead.
The rattle of a chain preceded a hammering weight crashing violently into the chimney over his head, causing him to shout and duck. Bits of rock and dust rained down, choking the air.
What the hell?
The metal ball slammed again, even closer this time.
Shit! Max listened to the rattle of the links being retracted. He knew the device would get him eventually and his mind spun desperately. A fresh burst of adrenaline coursed through his veins.
You’re gonna pay, you bastard!
Max edged back the way he’d come, and waited.
The weight smashed into the rock a third time. Closer yet, it brushed the hairs on his head, while shards of rock bounced against his face.
He reached a hand around the stone corner and leaned back against the lineman’s belt, releasing a roar as he swung hard away from the chimney, back in the direction he’d come, kicking his legs horizontal. His feet struck Thick Neck squarely in the shins, breaking the man’s single-armed grip on the chimney’s top, sending him reeling backward before he slid down the roof’s back slope.
The sudden force of weight tested the limits of the lineman’s belt as Max dropped hard, crashing into the chimney’s side. The collision hammered the wind from his lungs, and he could taste blood. He gasped for air. But even as he hung against the rope, his hands and feet instinctively struggled for a hold. Using every ounce of remaining strength, he clawed back up the stones, barely noticing the Yakuza’s screams for help as he collapsed back onto the asphalt rooftop, gasping.
Looking up, he saw that Thick Neck had slid down to the roof’s back edge. The top of the thug’s torso was flat against the shingles, but his feet and waist were kicking into empty space over the sixty-foot drop. He was using friction to slow his gradual slide downward as he shouted for help. “Tasukete! . . . Tasukete! . . . Tasukete!”
Max hugged his aching ribs as he stood up straight, straddling the peak. He freed himself by pulling the rope back over the chimney’s top.
“Tasukete!”
Reliving the image of Thick Neck drawing a finger across his throat, Max spat blood as he shouted his greatest fear. “Did you hurt her?”
“Tasukete!”
“I’ll kill you, asshole! Itsu?—when did you see her?”
Thick Neck’s eyes were wild with fear. “Tomoko—okay.”
“Okay? You’re sure she’s okay?” Max was struggling to free the rope from his waist, intending to toss the end down.
“Okay—Tasukete! . . . Tasukete!” The deep voice shifted to a whimper as the Yakuza slid farther over the edge.
Suddenly the absurdity of his good intention hit home. Help you? Are you joking? “What am I doing? You expect me to save you? After everything you’ve done? After killing Mrs. Kanazawa?” He rose to his feet. “Go to hell.” Turning, he lay flat, edging down to the cabin’s front before swinging to the deck below. As he gathered up the daypack and turned off the deck lights, he heard the bloodcurdling scream of Thick Neck plunging to the ground.
Rage and exhaustion washed over Max.
Sayonara, asshole.
Max stuck close to the shrubs as he crept from the trees on the north side of the central garden. There was enough ambient moonlight to navigate without the flashlight. Following the eastern boundary, he was on edge, focused, watching closely for any signs of movement.
Before long, he could see the thatched hut near the flagpole. He dashed to the building and hugged the perimeter as he scrambled around to the opposite side. Crouching, he tried to calm his labored breathing.
Ben materialized from behind a bush. “Where have you been?”
“One of them found me. The same guy who chased me in Tokyo.” Max licked at his bleeding lip. “And he told me Tomoko is dead!”
Ben gripped his arm in solidarity. “I am so sorry.”
“But then he changed his story and said she was okay, so I don’t know what to believe. What if she’s been caught? How do I save her?” Max asked helplessly, certain now that there was nothing anyone could do to stop the spiraling descent into madness.
A half-dozen heart beats passed before Ben replied, “Wait here.” He turned and vanished inside the hut.
Max listened to the trees and the wind and his own rushing blood, thinking how angry he’d been on the train and then imagining Tomoko abducted by the Yakuza, realizing with regret that it was his own stubbornness which had forced her into such a difficult dilemma. She’d been willing to challenge the norm, and he’d admired her for that, encouraging defiance of the way things had always been done, but then when she’d asked for help to uphold just one tradition―caring for her parents―he’d dismissed the request without a thought. I should have listened. I should have paid attention.
Ben rematerialized a few feet away, one arm full. “There are still at least three men. You’re not safe here. You have to go. Here—take this with you.” He pressed forward a wrapped cloth bundle.
“Aren’t you coming?” Max took hold of the offering reluctantly. “Where’s your wife?”
“We’re not leaving our home.”
“But they have guns. They’ll kill you!”
“We know where to hide. Now listen. Inside here is the yellow diary, and also its companion.”
“What?” Max couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Another diary?”
“Yes, but only the prince and few select people knew about the second one. You need to take them both. It’s the only way you can help Tomoko.” Ben’s voice wavered. “I don’t wish your story to be the same as mine.”
Max opened his mouth, about to speak, when the realization struck hard. “Oh my God―you mean like your sister.”
“Yes . . . so listen!” A silent figure could now be seen exiting the trees on the garden’s north as Ben pressed on. “This is a continuation of the prince’s life story. The secrets in it are powerful. You must take great care. Many have died to keep it safe.”
“I don’t understand. What do I do with it?” He wanted to believe the books could make a difference, but it didn’t seem possible.
“Go to Okinawa. Use them to f
ind what you need.”
“You mean the Southern Islands?” Frustrated, Max ran a hand through his hair. Little of what he was hearing made any sense. “Why? What’s there?”
A second figure emerged from the forest, behind the first.
“I’m sorry. There’s no time to explain. Go to Okinawa Island. The blue diary is written in English—read it and find what it shows you.”
“I can’t. It’s too risky.” He held out the bundle. “I can’t do it, Ben.”
“You must use it to save her . . . it’s your destiny.”
The intensity of the moment felt overwhelming and he closed his eyes. Only days earlier, Mr. Murayama had uttered the same fateful words. Images of the Korean Queen, and the past week, and Tomoko’s smiling face flew by like a slideshow. Finally he spoke, astonished to hear himself agreeing. “All right . . . I’ll try.”
“Good man.” Ben placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “But remember one thing. Make sure to guard the real treasure until the time is right.” Ben’s head flicked up, and Max followed the direction of his gaze. The two silhouetted figures had been joined by a third, and the group was moving down to the pond and across the arching bridge. “You’ll know what I mean when the time comes.” He pointed south. “Now go through the trees. Walk straight. When you come to the main road, go across it and back into the forest. The hill will drop, and you’ll find a stream. Follow the water’s flow. It will lead you to town.”
“Thank you, for everything.”
“You’re welcome.” Ben motioned with both hands. “You must go. Quickly!”
Max dashed into the trees before stopping to peer back. He watched the old caretaker vanish into the shadows. Good luck, Ben.
Saturday, April 28
“YOU CALLED for me, sir?” The mustached police commander respectfully stood at attention.
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